The House on Tradd Street

by Karen White

  Something hard hit my hip as a chilled breeze brushed my face. I moaned and tried to remember where my hip might be so I could rub it.

  “Melanie? Melanie? Are you here?”

  A hard and solid object that could have been a shoe jabbed my ribs and then warm fingers were touching my face. It felt nice, and I tried to turn my cheek into the seeking fingers, pretending that they were Jack’s but knowing that they couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be touching me like that. Unless he thought I was Emily. I groaned and tried to roll over, away from him.

  Then strong arms were lifting me up. I fought against my rescuer, wanting the warm cocoon of sleep and the sense of carefree peace it had brought to me. The sirens were louder now, and I tried to move my hands over my ears to drown out the noise so I could go back to sleep, but my hands had become leaded weights, and my arms rubber tubes that weren’t connected to my body at all.

  Cold, prickly grass tickled my skin as I was laid in the garden, and I thought to myself that this would be a lovely place for them to bury me—here amongst the roses and camellias, where the sweet sent of the Confederate jasmine would remind me each year that spring had arrived.

  “Melanie, can you hear me? Melanie, wake up. It’s me—it’s Jack.”

  Jack. I wanted to open my eyes to see him again, to see his beautiful blue eyes with their wicked sparkle that I thought was a lot brighter since we first met. I felt Emily close by, and Louisa and the small hands of a child touching my hands as if trying to hold me down on the grass so I couldn’t float away into the night sky.

  Open your eyes, Melanie. It was my grandmother Prioleau’s voice, and I wanted so badly to see her again that I did open my eyes. But I wasn’t lying down looking up, I was floating above, looking down at me and Jack, and standing around us was a crowd of people I didn’t recognize—except for the gentleman in front, a Confederate cavalry officer who stood respectfully with his hat held over his heart.

  My grandmother was kneeling by my head, her hand on my forehead, but she was looking up at me and shaking her head. It’s not your time, sweetheart. You need to come back to my garden and have tea with your mother again. Open your eyes, Melanie. Open them.

  I saw Louisa, too, recognizing her by the dress she wore and the diamond necklace around her neck. She was kneeling in front of the fountain, pushing the grass back as if to expose something around the base, and I saw the Roman numerals that Jack and I had spotted before.

  I watched as Jack bent over me, and I felt his warm lips over mine. And then he blew into my mouth, his breath into my body, and it felt like the incoming tide on parched sand, feeding the parts of me that had been shriveled for so long. I closed my eyes, disappearing into the warmth of Jack’s breath, feeling like the sun dripping into the night’s ocean.

  And then I opened my eyes, and it was just Jack and me in Louisa’s rose garden, and his face was close to mine, the taste of his lips still lingering on mine.

  “Thank God,” he said, resting his forehead on mine, his breaths short and quick.

  I filled my lungs with air, as if to make sure that I still could, and coughed trying to get the burn of smoke out of them. Then I focused on Jack’s face and smiled up at him. “That didn’t count as a second kiss, you know.” My voice sounded odd, like the words had been rubbed with sandpaper.

  And then Jack smiled back at me, his eyes warm and bright, and I knew that everything was going to be all right.

  They made me stay in the hospital overnight to treat me for smoke inhalation and for observation. My dad, Jack, Sophie, and surprisingly, Chad, stayed in the waiting room all night, and crowded around me first thing in the morning as soon as my oxygen mask had been removed. I knew it was against hospital policy to have so many visitors at once, and I assumed Jack had charmed the nurses into allowing it, but was surprised when Jack gave all the credit to my dad, who must have treated the medical staff as if they were new recruits.

  Chad and Sophie stayed only a short while to say hello and make sure I was all right before Chad left to go feed General Lee and take him out. I watched with amusement as Sophie left with him, muttering some lame excuse about wanting to borrow Chad’s yoga mat. But first she kissed me on my forehead, her hemp necklace tickling my nose, and promised that she’d read my tarot cards for me just as soon as I was released. Obviously, we had missed something big, and she wasn’t about to let it happen again.

  I pulled on her hand. “And one more thing. Remember my grandfather’s box that I told you my father found? It contained a shriveled rose in it. We’re thinking it might be a Louisa rose, but we were hoping you knew somebody at the college who might be able to identify it. I left it in my car at the house because I was going to bring it to you this morning.”

  She patted my hand. “Don’t worry about a thing. I still have the car key you gave me when you went on vacation three years ago. I’ll go get it and find out what I can.”

  Sophie and Chad left, and then Jack pulled up a chair close to the head of the bed. “So, Melanie, what happened last night?”

  I’d already told my story to the police and even I was surprised by how short and simple it had become. My voice still felt raw and raspy as I spoke. “I was upstairs in my bedroom and smelled smoke. I went downstairs and couldn’t open the door—I guess the smoke made me confused, and I must not have unlocked all of the dead bolts. I passed out on the floor in front of the door until you came and took me out of the house.”

  My dad squeezed my hand. “You are one lucky girl. You probably don’t remember, but you somehow managed to call the fire department and Jack before you passed out.”

  I looked at Jack. “I didn’t call anybody. I didn’t have a phone in my room, and I’d left my purse and cell phone downstairs.”

  I watched as my dad and Jack exchanged glances before Jack spoke again. “The fire chief told me that the call came from inside the house and that it was a woman—a woman who didn’t identify herself.”

  My dad cupped my hand between his. “Maybe you forgot. Maybe you called first from another room before you came downstairs. It’s not surprising that your memory is a little foggy. Smoke inhalation is a serious thing.”

  I turned my attention to Jack. “But who called you? Did you recognize my voice?”

  A muscle ticked in Jack’s jaw. “Actually, nobody said anything. Whoever it was kept calling and calling, hanging up when I answered, and then calling again. But it was your cell phone number. I know because I have it programmed into my phone, and your name popped up every time.”

  “See, Melanie? You must have made the phone calls before you passed out.” My dad patted my hand but I could tell that he wasn’t completely convinced.

  “Is the house okay? Was there extensive damage?” Even I was surprised by my question. It hadn’t been that long ago that the house burning down to the ground would have solved all of my problems.

  Jack shook his head. “Not really. The fire chief says that the fire originated in the kitchen, probably faulty wiring, and they got there fast enough to contain it. The kitchen is pretty much destroyed—not such a bad thing since it needed to be gutted anyway—and not too much smoke damage in the rest of the house because most of the rugs, furniture, and window hangings had already been removed. He thinks you’ll be able to go back in a couple of days—after airing it out—but Mrs. Houlihan is going to have to find another kitchen.”

  I frowned. “Did he have any idea why the smoke alarms didn’t work?”

  “No. And he checked them and verified that they were all wired correctly and all had working batteries. I’ve called the alarm company to check it out tomorrow. But it’s a bit of a mystery right now.”

  “The good news,” my dad said, straightening, “is that we’ll be able to make an insurance claim for the kitchen damage. I guess Mrs. Houlihan can create her dream kitchen, after all. Just to warn you, though—she’s partial to granite and stainless steel.”

  I looked back at Jack, who was frowning down at me. “W
hat were you doing at the house, Melanie? When I dropped you off at your condo, I assumed you were going to bed.”

  “I thought I was, too. But then I remembered something I’d seen in one of Louisa’s scrapbooks. A photograph of her and Nevin. I was lying in my bed, and all of a sudden I remembered the picture.”

  I looked from Jack to my dad before continuing. “In it, Louisa is wearing a necklace that Robert gave her. And it looks like there’s a large diamond hanging from it.”

  My father looked alarmed. “Were the albums damaged in the fire?”

  I shook my head. “I left them up in the bedroom, so they should be fine. We can go look at them later.”

  Jack leaned toward me. “You know what this means, don’t you? That at the very least her husband knew about the diamonds, and not only knew about them but had access to them, too.”

  I remembered something else I’d seen in the album before and hadn’t considered significant enough to tell Jack. Until now. “Jack, do you have any idea what Joseph Longo’s middle name was?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. It’s a family name they use in each generation.” He smirked a little. “It’s Marc.”

  JML. “Chances are, then, that Joseph Longo was aware that the Vanderhorsts knew where the diamonds were. He sent Louisa a newspaper copy of the photo. Nothing was written on it—it was just folded up in his monogrammed stationery.”

  “JML.” Jack’s eyes met mine, and I dared him to say anything about Marc being aware of this but thankfully he remained silent on the subject. He put his elbows on his knees, then steepled his fingers. “Well, now. This is getting interesting.”

  My dad stood and began pacing, his back straight, as if he were doing a military review. “Let’s go over what we know. The legend of the diamonds might actually not be a legend because we have quasi-proof—in the form of a necklace Louisa Vanderhorst was photographed wearing—of their existence. Apparently Joseph Longo—or whoever sent the newspaper clipping—realized this, too, and wanted to let the Vanderhorsts know that he was on to them. We know Longo was heavily involved in bootlegging at the time, and Jack has also found that Magnolia Ridge had more than one still and Vanderhorst might have been either a business rival or an associate of Mr. Longo’s. We know that the Vanderhorsts didn’t suffer financially during the Depression—either because of the diamonds, or because of his illegal business enterprises. Or maybe both. Either way, I can’t imagine that Mr. Longo would be happy to let Vanderhorst not only have the famed Confederate diamonds, but also a stake in what he probably considered his private enterprise.”

  “And don’t forget Louisa,” I said. “I think Joseph’s losing her to Robert Vanderhorst would have been far more personal than anything to do with money.”

  My father nodded. “Assuming he really lost her at all. Maybe she married Robert just to find out about the diamonds for Joseph, then ran off with Joseph and took the diamonds with her.”

  “No,” I said. “I guess it’s possible, but I know that’s not the truth.”

  They both looked at me as if waiting for an explanation, but I remained silent. I couldn’t explain to them how I felt transported into Louisa’s body every time I touched one of her albums, feeling the overwhelming love she had for her son, her husband, and their house, any more than I could explain to them that the previous night I had left my body and spoken with my grandmother again.

  Jack looked at his watch. “Let’s all ponder everything for a while, and we can discuss it later.” He turned to me. “They’re going to be releasing you in about half an hour. If you’d like, I’ll stick around and take you back to your condo.”

  I could tell there was something else he needed to talk about—something he wasn’t sure I wanted my dad to hear. “Yes,” I said. “Thanks. I appreciate it. But what about going to see Mr. Sconiers this morning?”

  My dad stood, obviously taking the hint. “I’ll go see him myself. I’ve got the roll of film, so hopefully I’ll have some answers by tonight.” He leaned down and kissed me, and I was touched by the moisture in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re all right, sweetpea. You had me scared there for a while.” He kissed me again. “I called your mother to let her know you’re all right. She would have been worried when she saw it on the news.”

  I was softened by the use of my childhood name. “That’s fine, Daddy,” I said, squeezing his hand.

  He said his goodbyes, then left, and then the doctor came in so that I could be released, and within an hour I was sitting in Jack’s Porsche, an odd silence between us.

  Jack’s voice was strained and oddly solicitous. “You’ll probably just want to go to sleep for the rest of the day when I get you home.”

  Considering that my lungs thought they’d swallowed a smoke bomb, I felt pretty good. “Actually, I want to go back to Tradd Street. I need to . . . I want to . . .” I stopped when I realized what I was about to say. I want to make sure that the house is all right. And it had nothing to do with the possibility of the hidden diamonds. It had more to do with the fact that the house and all of its contents, and all of its history, were mine. Not that I owned it—I don’t think anyone truly ever owns an old house, but I was its caretaker and I wanted to make sure that I hadn’t failed it in that capacity.

  “I understand,” Jack said, and I smiled out the window so he couldn’t see, and I knew that he did understand.

  He parked at the curb behind my car, still where I’d left it the day before. Yellow tape fluttered around the back of the house, where the kitchen was, and my father’s garden appeared trampled and unsettled but still somehow beautiful in its wildness. The rosebushes, a few blooms still tenaciously dangling from their stems despite the lateness of the season, sat clustered together behind the dry fountain, like children on a playground, waiting for someone to throw them a ball.

  My eyes traveled to the upper story, to the front window where I’d seen the figure of the man. Then I felt my breath escaping when I saw that he wasn’t there.

  Jack turned off the ignition but didn’t move to exit the car. “I need to . . . I need to tell you something . . . strange. Something that happened last night.”

  I turned to him, my face deliberately blank.

  “I know you didn’t make those phone calls. A fireman gave me your purse and your cell phone was inside, turned off. I don’t think that during the fire you would have had the forethought to not only turn it off but also to put it neatly in your purse.”

  I remained quiet, waiting for whatever he was going to say next.

  He focused on his hands gripping the steering wheel. “And when I came to the door and I tried to open it, it felt like somebody was holding it closed from the other side. It gave a little and then snapped shut, so I know it wasn’t locked. And when I looked through the sidelights next to the door, I saw . . . I saw a woman staring at me. I heard her telling me to hurry although she was inside and I was outside and couldn’t have really heard anything. When I tried again the door opened easily, and I found you and brought you outside.”

  Jack faced me, his skin a little pale. “I got the distinct impression last night that there were two people in the house with you—somebody who was trying to hurt you and a woman who was trying to protect you. It was almost as if once the woman asserted her presence, the other one fled.”

  I chewed on my lower lip, waiting for the inevitable question.

  “So tell me, Melanie”—he took a deep breath and then looked steadily into my eyes—“is your house haunted?”

  “Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to just believe that you imagined all that and everything had a logical explanation?”

  “Yeah, that would be easier. But it wouldn’t be the truth, would it?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Melanie, what are you afraid of? That I’ll laugh at you? I won’t, you know. Wouldn’t even occur to me. I actually think it’s a pretty amazing gift.” He paused for a moment. When I didn’t say anything, he asked again, “Your house is haunted, is
n’t it?”

  Slowly, I nodded. Without meeting his eyes, I said, “There’re three more prominent ghosts in the house—a woman and a little boy, and a man who is wholly evil. I’m pretty sure the woman and the boy are Louisa and Nevin, but I don’t know who the man is. I keep thinking that maybe he’s Robert Vanderhorst, but I’m pretty sure it’s not. Robert was taller, and Louisa loved him. She wouldn’t have loved somebody evil.”

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “And you know all this because you see dead people.”

  I looked away, toward the house, noticing as if for the first time its graceful lines and symmetrical perfection, and I felt a small stab of what I could only call pride. It’s a piece of history you can hold in your hands. I sighed, knowing I would tell Jack the truth. He wouldn’t laugh at me because he thought what I had was an amazing gift, and the thought made me smile. “Yes, Jack. I do. I always have. Ever since I was a little girl.”

  He just nodded and stared out of the windshield for a long moment. “Do you think you could just ask Louisa about the diamonds?”

  I laughed, but with my smoke-roughened voice, it sounded more like a bark. He looked at me with a worried frown. “It just doesn’t work that way, Jack. Honestly, I wish it did. Because I could just ask these people why they keep following me around and be done with it already.”

  “Must get annoying.” He gave me a crooked grin.

  “Yeah, sometimes.” My own grin softly faded. “Mostly I can ignore them. But not when I’m living in a house with them.” I looked down at my hands, recalling something my mother had once told me. “It’s a blessing. And a curse. I can’t help all of them, because with each one I listen to, each one I help, it takes a little something from me.” I looked into his eyes and saw only interest, not the ridicule or disbelief that I’d grown used to.

  “Do they ever scare you?”

  I remembered the weeks following my grandmother’s death when my mother and I lived in the house on Legare, and dark shadow people began appearing as suddenly as a November storm. I had thought at the time that they were relegated to my nighttime dreams, until my mother woke me in the middle of the night and took me out to my grandmother’s garden and told me that she saw them, too. And that they weren’t there to ask for my help; they were there to make me one of them. That was when she’d told me that I was stronger than them, and that if I repeated it often enough, I would begin to believe it.