"I don't blame the driver for not wanting to take his cab up this road," Gavin said. From the deep woods to our right, something made a weird noise. I jumped and spun around to see what it was.
"It's only an owl," Gavin assured me, "telling us we're in his territory. At least that's what my daddy would say."
As my eyes grew more and more accustomed to the darkness, the tops of trees and small bushes became clearer. They looked like sentinels of the night guarding against unwanted intruders.
"I'm cold," Jefferson complained. I knew he just wanted me to draw him closer. Now that the owl had stopped complaining, the only sounds we heard were our own footsteps over the loose gravel.
"I don't see any lights yet," Gavin said ominously. Then we made a small turn and the tips of the brick chimneys and the long, gabled roof of the plantation house came into view, a dark silhouette against an even darker sky. It loomed ahead and above us like some giant sullen monster who had suddenly risen from the pool of darkness below.
"I don't like it here," Jefferson protested.
"It will all look prettier in the morning," I promised. It was a promise I made to myself as well as to him.
"There's some light," Gavin said with relief. Through the windows on the first floor, we could see the dim, flickering illumination. "Looks like they use candles or oil lamps," he muttered.
"Maybe the electricity is off because of a storm," I suggested.
"Doesn't look like it rained here recently," Gavin replied. Without realizing we were doing it, we were both whispering.
As we drew closer to the front of the house, we could more clearly make out the full-facade porch. Over the great round columns ran thick vines that looked more like the tentacles of some terrifying creature who had the great house in its grip. We found the walkway between full hedges. It was chipped and cracked. We paused a moment and contemplated the murky front porch.
"Have you thought what you're going to tell them?" Gavin asked. But before I could reply, a dark shadow to our right suddenly took the shape of a man and stepped out at us. He was holding a shotgun.
"Stop right there," he commanded, "or I'll scatter you into the wind." Jefferson practically leaped into my arms. I gasped and Gavin drew me closer. "Who are you?" he demanded. "You kids come up here to bother us again?"
"No sir," Gavin said quickly.
"I'm here to see my Aunt Charlotte," I added quickly.
"Aunt Charlotte?" He stepped out farther until the faint light from the windows made his skin shine and his eyes glow. I could see that he was a tall, lean man. "Who are you?"
"My name is Christie. I'm Dawn's daughter," I explained quickly. "And this is my little brother Jefferson and my daddy's brother Gavin."
"Dawn's daughter?" He lowered his shotgun. "You come here all the way from the ocean?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes sir. Are you Luther?"
"Yes I am. Well, I'll be. I'll be. Ain't this some-thing? How'd you git here? Where's your ma and pa?" he asked quickly.
"They're dead," I told him. "Killed in a terrible fire at the hotel."
"What's that? Killed?"
"Can we go inside, Luther?" I asked. "We've been traveling all day and night."
"Oh sure, sure. Go on. Watch yourselves on the steps," he added. "Killed," he muttered behind us.
The three of us hurried up the shattered front steps to the enormous entrance. Our shoes clacked over the loose slats of the porch floor and what looked like bats flew out from under the eaves and roof. Luther moved up ahead of us and opened the door. The additional light illuminated his face and I saw that he had dark brown hair streaked with gray, all the strands going this way and that over his deeply creased forehead. He had a long, drooping nose and deep-set brown eyes with a sharp web of wrinkles at each corner. His rough, gray stubble grew in patches over his dark face. When he drew closer, I caught the aroma of chewing tobacco.
"Go on," he commanded and we entered the old plantation house.
We found a long entry way that led down a corridor lit by candles and kerosene lamps to the circular stairway. The three of us gazed up at the large family portraits lining the walls and Jefferson started to laugh. All the faces of what must once have been dour-looking Southern gentlemen and unhappy women with pinched faces were changed, some would say vandalized. Funny mustaches and beards were drawn over those that had none—even the women! Yellow, pink and red paint had been used to add color to these dark and otherwise depressing old black and whites. Some faces were given dots on the cheeks, making them look like measles victims; some had silly-shaped glasses drawn over their eyes and one woman had a green ring coming out of the nostrils of her thin nose.
"That's Charlotte's work," Luther explained. "She thought they all looked too sad and angry. Emily must've done quite a spin in her grave," he added and smiled, revealing missing teeth.
"I was here once before, but I don't remember this," I said.
"That's fun," Jefferson said. "I want to do a picture too. Can I?"
"Ask Charlotte. She's got dozens in the attic she plans to do over," Luther said and chuckled. "Where is Aunt Charlotte?" I asked.
"Oh she's around. Either she's doing one of her needlework pieces or rearranging something here or there in the house. Go on into the sitting room on the right. Make yourselves to home and look for Charlotte. That's the only luggage you got?" he asked, nodding toward Gavin.
"Yes sir," Gavin said.
"Our things were stolen in the bus depot in New York City," I quickly explained.
"Is that so? New York City. I heard that's what happens there. You get killed or robbed minutes after you get there," Luther said, nodding.
"It can happen anywhere if you don't watch yourself and your things," I confessed sadly.
We continued down the corridor. The house looked even bigger than I had remembered. Above us hung unlit chandelier after chandelier, their crystal bulbs all looking more like pieces of ice in the dim light of the candles and kerosene lamps. We turned into the first doorway Luther indicated. Two kerosene lamps were lit, one on a round side table and the other on a dark sofa table. Luther went to the right and lit another lamp by a bookcase.
"Rest here a moment," he said and hurried out. The three of us looked around. Over the long semi-circular sofa was draped the oddest patchwork quilt I had ever seen. It looked like dozens of rags, pieces of towel, even washcloths were sewn together regardless of color or material. The same was true for the quilt thrown over the deep easy chair across fro, it.
On some of the walls, I recognized Aunt Charlotte's needlework. The pictures of trees and children, farm animals and forest animals were hung haphazardly. It was as if Aunt Charlotte had walked into the room and slapped them on wherever she found a space. Here and there, in the midst of this handiwork, were the old portraits and pictures of country scenes, houses and again, ancestors.
"Look at that!" Jefferson cried, pointing to the immediate right corner. In it there was a grandfather's clock, but over the numbers Aunt Charlotte had drawn and pasted pictures of different birds. Twelve o'clock was an owl and six o'clock was a chicken. There were robins and bluebirds, sparrows and cardinals, canaries and even a parrot. They were all drawn in bright colors.
"What the heck's going on here?" Gavin wondered aloud. All I could do was shake my head.
"Hello, everyone. Hello, hello, hello," we heard a jolly voice cry behind us and turned around to greet Aunt Charlotte. She wore what looked like a potato sack covered with strips of multi-colored ribbons. She was as short and plump as I vaguely recalled her and she still wore her gray hair in two thick pigtails, one tied with a yellow ribbon and the other with an orange. Despite her wrinkles, she had a childlike smile with soft, big blue eyes that sparkled with a schoolgirl's excitement. For shoes she wore men's brown slippers, each with a streak of white along the sides and a white dot on top where her big toe was located.
"Hello, Aunt Charlotte," I said. "Do you remember me?"
"Of
course," she said. "You're the baby who was born here. And now you've come to visit. I'm so happy. We haven't had visitors for so long. Emily hated visitors. If anyone came to see us, she always said we were too busy or we had no room."
"No room?" Gavin said incredulously. Aunt Charlotte leaned toward him to whisper.
"Emily lied, but she didn't think it was bad to lie. Well now she lies in a cold grave, right Luther?"
"Very cold," he said.
"Now then," Charlotte continued. "We must find you the best rooms to stay in and then we can talk and talk and talk until our throats get dry."
"They probably need something to eat and drink after so long a journey," Luther said. "I'll fix something while you take them upstairs, Charlotte."
"Oh good," she said, clapping her hands together. "Come along then." She started out and Luther stepped toward us. "I didn't tell her what you told me out there about your parents. You can explain it all when you come down to the kitchen. I was very fond of your ma," he added. "She treated us real well."
"Thank you, Luther," I said and we hurried to catch up to Charlotte, who walked and talked as if we were right beside her.
"Luther says we have to do some of the things Emily wanted us to do, like not burn the electric lights much because of the cost. We have so much house to light up," she added laughing. "But I don't mind the candles and the lamps. It's just remembering to fill them with oil all the time. I hate that. Don't you just hate that?" she stopped to ask.
"We don't have lamps like that in Cutler's Cove," I said.
"Oh." She looked down at Jefferson. "Hello. I forgot to learn your name."
"I'm Jefferson," he said.
"Jefferson . . . Jefferson," she repeated and looked up. "Oh there's a man here on the wall named Jefferson," she said.
"A man on the wall?"
"She means a picture, I'm sure," I told him.
"Yes a picture. He was, um . . . a president."
"Jefferson Davis," Gavin offered.
"Yes," she said, clapping her hands. "That's the man. I'll show him to you. Oh, what's your name?"
"I'm Gavin," he said smiling. "Any Gavins on the walls?"
She thought a moment and then shook her head. But then she quickly smiled.
"I know. I'll draw your picture and do it with thread and put it in a silver frame. Just find your spot."
"My spot?"
"Where you want me to put it," she explained.
"Oh." Gavin shifted his gaze to me and smiled.
"I'm changing the house," she continued as we walked on. "Emily made it such a dreary place because she thought it was evil to make it bright and happy. But Emily's gone . . . " She turned to us. "She died and flew out on a broom. That's what Luther says. He saw her fly off."
"He did!" Jefferson said. She nodded and leaned toward him to whisper.
"Sometimes, when it's very dark and cold out-side, Emily flies around the house moaning and groaning, but all we do is shut the windows tight and close the drapes," she added and straightened up again. Jefferson looked up at me in astonishment. Even my smile didn't relieve his anxiety.
We walked up the stairs. When we reached the second-story landing, Charlotte stopped and nodded toward the right, now all in darkness.
"That's where your mother was and where you were born. In the morning, I'll show you the room if you like," she said.
"Yes, I would. Thank you, Aunt Charlotte."
"We live this way," she explained, turning to the right where there were kerosene lamps lighting the way. The walls here were peppered with Charlotte's handiwork, too—old pictures marked up and her own needlework pictures framed and hung in between, above and below the others. We passed a small table that was draped in what looked like a bed sheet over the front of which had been painted the face of a clown.
Despite the haphazard manner in which things were hung and placed, Charlotte's artwork was remarkably good. I could see that Jefferson enjoyed all the colors and pictures and I began to wonder myself whether or not Charlotte's childish redecorating wasn't of some value. This dark, cavernous old house was at least made bright and jolly by her work. As we passed other examples—jars and vases painted bright colors with happy designs and shapes, paper lanterns hanging from the ceilings and chandeliers, strips of colored crepe paper strewn over walls and windows—I felt as if we had somehow fallen into the mad but silly world of Alice in Wonderland.
"This used to be my parents' room," Charlotte said, stopping before the door, "and that was them," she said, turning to the portraits hung on the opposite wall. These pictures she hadn't tampered with, even though neither Mr. nor Mrs. Booth smiled. In fact, they both looked angry and unhappy about being painted. Charlotte turned back to the door and opened it. "I always keep a lamp lit in there," she explained. "Just in case their spirits return. Don't want them bumping into things," she added and laughed. Jefferson's eyes went wide again.
It was an enormous room with a great oak bed. It had pillars that went up as high as the ceiling and an enormous half-moon headboard. The bed still had all its pillows and blankets, but the cobwebs were thick. There was an enormous fieldstone fireplace with large windows on either side. Long curtains were drawn tightly closed and looked weighed down with years and years of dust and grime. Above the fireplace was a portrait of a young Father Booth. He stood holding a rifle in one hand and a string of ducks in the other.
There was a lot of dark, beautiful antique furniture in the room and on the night table there was a large bible and a pair of reading glasses beside it. But the room smelled musty and stale. When Gavin and I saw that the vanity table still had brushes and combs and jars of skin creams on it with some of the jars opened, we looked at each other. It was as if the room were being kept as some sort of shrine, left just the way it had been the day Charlotte's father passed away. I remembered that her mother had died much earlier. Charlotte closed the door and we continued to the next.
"This was where Emily slept," she whispered. "I don't keep any lamps lit in there. I don't want her spirit coming back into the house," she explained. We walked- on, passing another closed door and then another. "Luther and I sleep in here," she said, pointing toward one. "Now," she said stopping. "These are two nice guest rooms." She opened the first door and went in to light a lamp.
The room had two single beds separated by a night stand. There were dressers on both sides and two large windows, one to the right of the bed on the right and one to the left of the bed on the left.
"This is a closet," Charlotte explained, opening a door, "and this door," she said, going to another, "is a door adjoining the next room. Isn't that nice?"
We looked into the room. It was nearly identical.
"Is Jefferson going to sleep with Gavin or with you?" Charlotte asked.
"What would you like to do, Jefferson?"
"I'll sleep with Gavin," he said, assuming a male bravado that made me smile. He wasn't going to admit to the need to sleep with his big sister.
"As long as he doesn't snore," Gavin said jokingly. "We'll take that room," he said, indicating the room through the adjoining door.
"The bathroom is just across the hall," Charlotte said. "There are towels in it; there always are, and there's soap, too, nice soap, not the soap Emily made us use. And we have hot water again, although sometimes it breaks down and Luther has to fix it. Do you have to change your clothes?" she asked.
"We have a small problem, Aunt Charlotte," I said. "When we were waiting in New York City for Gavin to arrive, all of my and Jefferson's clothes and things were stolen."
"Oh dear me," she said, bringing her hands to her throat. "How sad. Well," she said, smiling quickly, "tomorrow we'll go looking for new clothes. We'll go up into the attic where there are trunks and trunks of things to wear, including shoes and hats, gloves and coats, okay?"
"I guess so," I said looking at Gavin. He shrugged.
"Now let's all hurry down to the kitchen to have something to eat and then you can tel
l me everything from the day you were born until now," Charlotte said.
"That could take quite a long while, Aunt Charlotte," I said smiling.
"Oh," she said, her face turning sad. "Do you have to go home soon?"
"No, Aunt Charlotte. I don't want to ever go home again," I said. Her eyes widened.
"You mean you want to stay here forever and ever?"
"For as long as we can," I replied.
"Well that's forever," she said nonchalantly and clapped her hands together. Then she followed it with a short laugh. "That's forever."
We followed her out. She took Jefferson's hand and started to describe how much fun he was going to have exploring the house and grounds. As she shuffled down the corridor, she told him about the rabbits and the chickens and the sly fox that was always haunting the coops. When we arrived at the kitchen, we found that Luther had prepared cheese sandwiches and tea for us. Charlotte opened a bread box to reveal some jelly rolls she had baked.
"Soon after Emily died she explained, "we went to town and bought twenty pounds of sugar, didn't we, Luther?" He wooded. "And we buy it all the time now. Emily never permitted us to have sugar, only sour balls occasionally, right Luther?"
"Emily's gone and good riddance to her," he said firmly. The three of us sat around the table and ate our sandwiches while Charlotte went on and on about the things she had done since Emily's death. She had gone into sections of the house Emily had once forbidden her to go into; she had opened trunks and looked into dresser drawers and she wore perfume and even put on lipstick whenever she wanted. Most of all she had gone all out with her artwork and handicraft.
"Do you like to paint pictures, Jefferson?" she asked. He looked up quickly.
"I never did," he said.
"Oh, well you have to try it now that you're here. Tomorrow, I'll show you all my paints and brushes. Luther made me a regular art studio, didn't you, Luther?"
"It used to be Emily's office," he said happily. "I just moved all her things into storage and moved all Charlotte's supplies and materials in."
Midnight Whispers Page 23
