Trace of a Ghost

by Cherie Claire

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The nice man in the hat helps my mother into the wagon seat and Menasha looks at me, nods for me to jump in the back. I turn around thinking she’s looking at someone else.

  “You child,” she fuses. “Get along now.”

  I do as I’m told, remembering I’m a young African American child, but once I’m settled Menasha touches my hand where it rests on the wagon’s side and squeezes. I’m surprised because I never thought that woman liked me, always yelling at me from her kitchen in the big house.

  “You take care, you hear?”

  The man kicks the mule into action and we take off through the slave quarters, then on to the road that leads to the Natchez Trace. I look out the back and watch sad Miss Cora, Menasha, the slave cabins, fields of cotton and indigo, and the main house of Briarwood disappear.

  Suddenly, I’m standing next to Cora and I’m back to being Viola. I look down at my hands to make sure I’m seeing right but they blur in front of me.

  “Vi,” a voice calls out.

  I look up and spot young Jacob in the back of the wagon, waving at me through the fog.

  “You can’t trust him,” he yells out.

  “Who?” I ask, wondering if it’s Wendell Meyers he’s speaking of.

  “Don’t go anywhere with him,” Jacob answers. “He wants you, but if he finds out about us he’ll take us with you.”

  I’m confused and I look to the women at my side for guidance but they’re fading away. In fact, the whole world is now covered in gray fog. And yet, somewhere in the dark ether I hear Jacob still calling out.

  “Remember the kitchen herbs.”

  I awake with a start, the kind where you snort and find dribble on the side of your mouth.

  “Taking a nap?”

  I look up to find Dwayne casting a shadow over me. I bolt upright and lean back against those bricks that I now know made up the smokehouse. “I must have dozed off.”

  He laughs and that charm emerges. If I didn’t know better, he’d be a perfect man, good looks and all. Right now, his shadow gives me the chills and I pull my jacket tight about me.

  “I thought you had an urgent edit assignment,” he says.

  “I did,” continuing the lie. “When did y’all get back?”

  Now that I think about it, the sun’s lower in the sky and darkness descends.

  “About ten minutes ago. Thought I’d go for a quick walk, see what’s around here.” Dwayne nods towards the bricks. “Guess you found something.”

  “Old smokehouse, I think.”

  His eyes narrow. “You’ve seen that in a vision.”

  That chill runs through me again and I shake it off. “Read about it somewhere.”

  He gives me a sly grin as if he knows I’m lying. “Dinner’s in twenty minutes.”

  Startled, I jump up realizing it’s much later than I imagined and I may have lost my cat. I call out Stinky’s name.

  “Stinky?” Dwayne asks.

  “Long story.”

  I look around the woods but my cat’s nowhere to be found. A horrible thought flits through my mind, that Dwayne may have hurt him in some way. I search through the brick remnants, behind the surrounding foliage and trees, and am just about to panic when my tabby comes strolling out of the woods.

  “Thank God,” I say, but Stinky immediately halts, the hairs on his back at full attention and his back arched skyward. He’s spotted Dwayne and begins a deep low growl that makes the hairs on my own neck rise.

  “Where the hell did that cat come from?” Dwayne asks, trying to appear unfazed.

  “Long story,” I repeat, then begin down the path toward the house, as far away from where Dwayne’s standing as I can get without struggling in the brush. I call out to Stinky but he’s still starring down Dwayne, that growl growing louder and fiercer.

  Dwayne reaches down and grabs a branch so I call to Stinky once more, this time more urgently, and the cat reluctantly trots off behind me, his back hairs still standing at attention. Once we’re a good way down the path toward home, I lean down and give him a pat the length of his spine.

  “Good boy.”

  He meows but there’s fear laced in that tone, and I’m pretty sure his heart is beating as fast as mine.

  We saunter up the steps to the second-floor balcony, passing the Penningtons shooting photos in the late afternoon light, that sweet moment for photographers. They look at Stinky, then gaze up at me.

  “Long story,” I say as me and my cat head towards our room.

  Before I’m around the balcony corner, TB’s there, eyes wide with concern.

  “Are you okay?” he asks as he picks up Stinky, who’s happy to be back in TB’s care.

  “Weird experience in the woods.”

  I don’t go into detail because one, the cat needs to get inside ASAP and two, what I’ve learned remains for TB’s ears and no one else’s.

  “What’s going on?” TB asks once we’re inside our room.

  “What’s the dress code for dinner?”

  “Kinda fancy. Shelby stopped by and said the mayor’s coming to dinner.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  I need to shower, wash my hair, and change but my heart’s still in action mode. I exhale deeply, wishing I had a glass of wine.

  “You going to tell me what happened?” TB asks.

  I look up at my darling husband, dressed in that nice royal blue shirt tucked inside his best Levi’s. The man doesn’t own anything dressier than this look and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I long to grab him, pull him on to that four-poster bed, and send those clothes flying but work beckons.

  “I have to shower. But I got a name. Rebecca Hamilton used to be a slave on this plantation and Cora sent her and her son Jacob to Kentucky with Bertrand Willis, a member of the Kentucky family that took Cora in when her parents died.”

  I see the wheels turning in TB’s head and I hope he’s getting all this. I grab some clothes from my suitcase and my ditty bag. “Do you think you can check that out while I get dressed?”

  He silently heads to the bed and his laptop and as I watch that adorable blonde head pull up the Internet, I wish with all my might I didn’t have to be somewhere in fifteen minutes. What heavenly things we could do in that time. Stinky jumps up on the bed and nestles close to him, and TB scratches behind an ear while he studies the laptop screen.

  In a flash, I realize I love this man. I always did, both during and after our life with Lillye, the question always being was I in love. And yet, in this moment watching TB work, his blonde curls falling about that boyish face, my crazy cat by his side, I know it’s more than sharing a life and a child, that even though Lillye forced us together and we made the best of it, that I cut the cord when Katrina arrived and I started a new life, my love runs deep into my soul. Am I ready to commit? To stay with him forever? A feeling so sublime pours through me, like flipping on a switch in the darkness. Yes, I think. I am.

  Fifteen minutes later I’m clean and dressed and feeling punchy from the realization of before. I take TB’s arm and hug him close as we descend the stairs, wondering if we could renew our vows in some glamorous place such as this. He glances at me wondering what’s going on, but I don’t make eye contact, simply savor the moment and the feel of his arm on my cheek.

  “Hey guys,” Winnie calls out and joins us.

  We ask about the hike and what they saw while waiting for the rest to join us. The Penningtons arrive, and Joe leans close to my ear and asks about the cat.

  “He’s our baby,” I whisper. “We couldn’t leave him at home and he travels like a dog so why not?”

  Joe laughs. “I wish our cat would do that.”

  I shush him. “Don’t let Ricky know.”

  “Don’t let Ricky know what?”

  I turn to find my host impeccably dressed, standing behind me.

  “That I’m going to spotlight your place in my publication
,” I blurt out, hoping my editor feels the same. “It was going to be a surprise.”

  He brightens. A bit. The man’s a tough cookie. He pushes his glasses up his nose and motions for us to go into the dining room and, like cows to the barn, we follow because something smells incredibly delicious.

  The others are already there, gathered about the table and speaking with a tall drink of water that Ricky tells us is the mayor of the small town nearby. Ricky makes announcements, formerly introducing us to the mayor, and we gather around the table to sit. Just then, the couple I saw from before enter and look at both the journalists and the spread before them with hesitation.

  “Come in,” Ricky says to them with a big smile. “Please, join us.”

  “Are you sure?” the woman asks. “We don’t want to intrude.”

  “Absolutely,” Shelby says. “We’re a bunch of travel writers visiting and the mayor’s here to talk about the town. You’re in for a treat.”

  The man and his wife relax and head to the table where two chairs are free. As they move into the room, I get a good look at them both. My breath catches and I audibly gasp, for standing before me is the spitting image of Jacob Hamilton.

  Trace of a Ghost

  Chapter Fourteen

  TB, the Jacob look-alike, and his wife all stare at me like I’ve gone mad. I look around the table and find that most everyone else is staring as well.

  “Love this crystal,” I gush, grabbing a glass and holding it up. “Mr. Esteban, where did you find this beautiful set?”

  Ricky turns on like an iPod and starts discussing the history of this ugly crystal set — did I mention antiques outside of the twentieth century don’t interest me? I sneak a peek back at the man now seated on my right and he’s looking back with curiosity.

  I can’t help but stare. He resembles the boy in my vision, what I managed to see once I got out of his body. It’s those chocolate brown eyes, the tilt of his head — even his hands look the same and I saw those plain as day.

  “Uncanny,” I say out loud, not meaning to.

  “What?” the man answers with a tone. “You’ve never seen a black man in Mississippi before?”

  “Jacob,” the woman admonishes him.

  For the second time, I gasp, and once again the whole table notices.

  “Do you like the dishes too?” Dwayne asks with a knowing grin. What he realizes, I can’t imagine. I want to tell this Jacob he reminds me of a former plantation resident but of course this will come off odd and I don’t want Dwayne to know what I’ve discovered in the woods.

  “They’re spectacular,” I lie. They look like something my great aunt Gertrude used to have.

  I get the feeling everyone senses something else is going on but after an uncomfortable pause, they all start talking again, mostly asking the mayor questions about the area. I turn to the couple who are still studying me with a quizzical expression. I lean in close to Jacob so I don’t garner anyone else’s attention.

  “You remind me of someone,” I say in little more than a whisper.

  “Your gardener?” Jacob asks.

  His wife sends him a serious look. “You are being rude,” she whispers.

  Jacob looks down at his plate and begins playing with his knife. “Sorry, Ms…?”

  “Valentine.”

  “Ms. Valentine.” He looks up and smiles but it’s more for show. “First time visiting the great state of Mississippi.”

  He knows his ancestors lived here as slaves. I can feel it. And he doesn’t like it one bit.

  “No worries,” I say. “I get it.”

  He leans in close and his attitude is anything but friendly. “Get what?”

  “Jacob!” His wife places a hand on his forearm and squeezes.

  “Y’all alright down there?” Ricky asks.

  I smile and assure Ricky all is well, but Jacob’s still not smiling. I lean in close to my table partner and say quietly, “Mr. Esteban doesn’t like me much because I don’t agree with his history of the place.”

  Jacob’s countenance changes immediately. “And what might that be?”

  I feel a burning sensation on my left side and look over to find Dwayne studying me.

  “Tonight,” Dwayne mouths with a sexy smile.

  Next to me, TB tenses. He’s noticed the transaction between us. I sigh because I feel like that goldfish in a bowl. And then there’s Carmine, who keeps looking my way as if he’s checking on me.

  The salad course arrives and a nice African American lady places my dish in front of me and I notice Jacob giving his wife a knowing look as if to say, “See, things haven’t changed.” When the nice lady announces that she’s a local caterer, and what we’re eating was farm raised at her place, his wife gives him another stern look.

  I decide to focus on my salad for a while and Jacob remains silent, too. After a while, however, his curiosity gets the best of him. “What history?” he asks.

  I turn my head so my voice resonates within his earshot only. “Mr. Esteban thinks that the owner, Wendell Meyers, helped slaves to freedom. But I believe it was his wife, Cora, who sent a family to Kentucky.”

  As I suspected, Jacob reacts to this news. I add, “The slaves she sent away were Rebecca and Jacob Hamilton.”

  His wife must have heard that part for she drops her fork on to her plate.

  “You know about the Hamiltons who lived here?” she asks loudly.

  Everyone at the table stops talking and looks our way once again.

  “You must know our history,” Ricky steps in. “I was going to explain all that when I give you a tour in the morning but it sounds like you’ve read about us already.”

  Dwayne studies me again and that knowing smile returns. I clear my throat, remembering young Jacob’s warning. But what is it that Dwayne might want to take control of?

  The wife starts to say something, but Jacob grabs her forearm this time and says, “We’re looking forward to that.”

  “Mrs. Valentine here is related to Cora Meyers,” Ricky announces, and I wince. TB, who had a fork of greens heading upwards, stops mid-bite and gives me a funny look. Jacob and his wife also gaze upon me with a surprised look. I smile and shrug. But it’s Dwayne’s comment that ruins my appetite.

  “Cora’s descendant,” he says. “I can’t wait to hear all about it later on.”

  Dwayne gives me a wink and TB throws down his fork, his appetite apparently disappearing as well. I try to get my husband’s attention, to reassure him he’s being played, again, but he won’t look my way. Instead, he begins a discussion with the couple about Natchez and its many attractions.

  When the chicken course arrives with its farm-to-table beets and mashed sweet potatoes, my favorites, I’m not hungry at all. Still, I manage a few bites listening to the mayor go on and on about the travel opportunities of the region, the new brewery and rum distillery in Natchez, and how places such as Richfield tell more of the antebellum story than plantations of the past. I feel Jacob stiffen to my right and Ricky sends me a worried look, I suppose waiting for me to announce that Wendell raped slaves, not sent them to freedom.

  When the crème brulée arrives, and the conversation at the other end of the table heats up, I turn toward Jacob. “I’d love to talk to you about the Hamilton family.”

  “I’d like that as well,” he says quietly and I’m thankful no else is privy to our conversation. “After dinner?”

  I look over at Dwayne who’s busy charming up Kelly. Back to girl one, I think. Kelly catches me staring and I shake my head, hoping she gets the message that falling for this man once again is not a good idea.

  Watching this interaction also makes me determined to discover who this man really is, what his intentions are toward me and my SCANCy talents. How did he make Lillye appear? Will I be able to do it as well? Why does Carmine fear him, and Jacob the younger feel he’s a threat? Against my better judgment, I must know.

  “I can’t this evening, I have to meet someone,” I tell Jacob
and notice TB stiffening at my side. “How about over breakfast?”

  “That would be lovely,” Jacob’s wife says, and I realize I don’t know her name.

  I hold out my hand to them both and introduce myself.

  “Jacob Summerland,” Jacob says, giving me a hearty handshake. “This is my wife, Melissa.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “We have to leave around ten tomorrow,” Melissa says. “We’re meeting a genealogist at the library in Natchez.”

  I so wish I could tag along. “We’re leaving around ten as well, heading to Natchez for a bus tour.”

  “When is breakfast?” Melissa asks Ricky.

  “Are you hungry already?” Ricky answers and everyone laughs.

  “Just making plans,” she answers with a sweet smile.

  “How’s eight sound?” Ricky says. “Then we’ll have our tour and the travel writers can explore the grounds if they like.”

  “Or sleep in,” Pepper adds.

  I know that everyone will be down at eight, so I suggest meeting the Summerlands at seven-thirty in the back room and they agree. It’s close to nine when we finish, and even though any other night I’d be raring to go, all I want to do now is slip inside that beautiful bed and close my eyes. The others appear to have the same idea and head off to their rooms, but even though my body is demanding I join them, I hang back.

  “Your date’s waiting for you,” TB says as he passes me in the hall.

  I start to dispute this but my husband’s long strides are eating up the staircase. I look for my buds Winnie and Carmine but they’re ahead of TB, now on the second floor. Within what seems like seconds everyone has disappeared into their rooms.

  All except Dwayne.

  He’s hanging out on the back veranda waiting for me to join in whatever weird thing he has planned. I catch the red glow of his cigarette as he takes a puff, watch the cloud swirl about his head. My logical mind is screaming to join TB but my feet keep walking toward the back room, my hand opening the parlor door and entering the dark, cold night.

  As I do memories come flooding back. Lillye’s sweet little hand in mind, struggling to walk across the living room floor. An older Lillye on the swing set in the back yard, singing You Are My Sunshine as she swings back and forth, her head wrapped in a scarf because she lost all her hair. Her looking up at me from the hospital bed, telling me it would be alright.