by Tracey Smith
“I got that for my granddaughter, Melissa, last year,” Ms. Brandy said as she came around a corner.
“Is she pre-med?” Maggie asked.
“During her senior year of high school that girl considered being everything from a doctor to an astronaut. None of it really stuck,” she laughed.
“She’s in Hawaii now, right?” Maggie remembered.
“Sure is, studying accounting of all things. Accounting! Cuz obviously you need to go all the way to Hawaii to study accounting!” Ms. Brandy rolled her eyes, but Maggie could see that beneath her exasperation she genuinely missed her granddaughter.
“You must miss her,” Maggie said sympathetically. She thought briefly of her own mother and wondered if she ever thought of her.
“Least I still got Lacey and all her youngins to spoil,” Ms. Brandy said happily. “I heard baby Aaron should be able to come home from the hospital next week. I know poor ole Travis is countin’ down the days till Momma comes home to help with all those little rug rats.”
Maggie laughed as she imagined the big hulk of a man she’d met at the hospital changing diapers and filling sippy cups.
“Are you related to Lacey?” she asked.
“Lacey is Melissa’s cousin on her father’s side. But family’s family as far as I’m concerned. Both girls used to stay with me all the time when they were growin’ up and now Lacey’s babies call me Granny,” Ms. Brandy said proudly. “Melissa will be back. She needed to strike out on her own for a bit, but she’ll come home. She’s got too much family here to stay gone.”
“It must be nice to have such a big family.” Maggie said wistfully. She’d never had any siblings or cousins growing up. She never even had any playmates outside of school.
Most of her childhood had been spent alone with her mother, learning how to be the perfect little lady, how to keep quiet and look pretty, to have perfect manners and popular opinions. Her father was always at the office or away on some business trip and she’d only had one living grandmother, who’d been a very stern woman that Maggie had always been somewhat frightened of. Maggie realized that the housekeeper, Mrs. Burton, was the closest thing she’d ever had to the kind of grandmother that Ms. Brandy was.
“Family doesn’t have to be blood,” Ms. Brandy told her, breaking into her sad reverie. “It’s the people you choose to surround yourself with, the people who love you. Family is what you make it.”
The sound of the door chime announced the arrival of the first customer of the day. Ms. Brandy came around the counter to greet the customer leaving Maggie with a few moments to collect her thoughts before the next customer arrived.
The morning passed quickly and when it was time for lunch Maggie walked to the grocery store to meet up with Andi.
“I have a plan,” she told her friend as they ordered lunch at their favorite café.
“Sounds devious,” Andi teased. “I’m in!”
“I’m staying in Georgia,” Maggie announced. It felt good to say it aloud. It made her decision feel more concrete.
“Oh, Maggie, that’s wonderful! I’m so glad you’ve decided to stay,” Andi gushed, “but what about medical school?”
“Mercer has a program in Savannah that I’m going to look into,” Maggie told her.
“We could be roommates!” Andi squealed. “I know where the Mercer campus is. It’s not that far from Savannah State. This is perfect!”
Maggie laughed at her friend’s enthusiasm. As she sat with Andi eating lunch and planning their future, Maggie realized that if she had left Aaron wouldn’t have been the only person she would have missed terribly. It may have taken her twenty-four years but Maggie finally had a best friend and she’d been worth the wait.
After lunch Ms. Brandy asked Maggie to help her uncrate some new items that she’d recently purchased at an estate sale. Maggie thoroughly enjoyed the task. It was like discovering buried treasure.
She unpacked and polished a silver serving set, which Ms. Brandy then priced and set out to display on an antique sideboard. They added some new items to an already crowded china cabinet and even hung a small crystal chandelier over a Chippendale dining room set that occupied the front window display. Next they unboxed some Tiffany-style lamps which they temporarily set on the counter in the back. There was very little, if any, table top space left in the entire store.
“There’s an old steamer trunk still in the back of the truck,” Ms. Brandy explained. “We can put the lamps on it, if you could just help me get it. That sucker was heavier than I thought.”
“Oh, sure,” Maggie agreed as she followed Ms. Brandy to the back door.
It took the women several minutes to negotiate the heavy trunk from the bed of the truck onto a dolly.
“I’d thought it was empty, but there must still be something inside, as heavy as it is. Let’s see what we’ve got,” Ms. Brandy said as they settled the trunk in a corner of the shop. The lock on the front was secured and the key was missing. Maggie watched in wonder as Ms. Brandy proceeded to pick the lock.
“I’m not even going to ask where you learned that,” Maggie said playfully.
“It’s best you didn’t know,” Ms. Brandy confirmed. Once the lid of the trunk was popped the two women leaned forward to see what was inside.
The trunk was stuffed with old magazines, newspapers and photographs.
“We should sift through it,” Ms. Brandy said. “You never know what we may find.”
Maggie began sorting through the items in the trunk while Ms. Brandy greeted an arriving customer. She gingerly laid the yellowed newspaper clippings in a pile, glancing at the headlines as she did so. Some of the articles dated back to World War II referencing major world events like Pearl Harbor. Others were local interest pieces announcing spring cotillions and Harvest festivals.
Below the newspaper clippings were old photographs. Most were of soldiers with their loved ones. Maggie sorted through them slowly, admiring the pictures as she stacked them neatly. Then she came across a photo of two young women dressed in billowing southern belle dresses standing in front of Devereaux Manor. There was no mistaking the distinctive house.
“Whatcha got there?” Ms. Brandy asked looking over her shoulder.
“I believe it’s a photograph of Devereaux Manor. Do you know who this is standing in front of it?” Maggie asked as she handed the photo to Ms. Brandy.
“Well, let’s see,” Ms. Brandy said as she pulled her reading glasses down from the top of her head. “Oh! This is Agnes Devereaux and Marge Garrison just before the spring cotillion of ’53. Quite likely the last picture those two girls ever took together.”
“Agnes Devereaux?” Maggie asked excitedly “Which one?”
Ms. Brandy pointed to the girl on the right. Maggie studied her image closely as if she could divine something from the young girl’s image that would give her some insight into the old woman’s actions. She was a beautiful girl, dressed in a tulle gown with flouncing layers. Her dark hair was piled high on her head in a sophisticated chignon with artfully placed ringlets falling around her face. The most striking thing about her however was the utter desolation in her expression.
Maggie looked to the other girl in the photo. She was similarly dressed, although not nearly as pretty. Her face seemed a bit pinched, her features plain, but her expression at least was what you would expect to see on a young woman about to attend a debutant ball.
“Who did you say the other girl was?” Maggie asked.
“Marge Garrison, you know her as Marge Bouchard,” Ms. Brandy answered.
“Mrs. Bouchard?!” Maggie exclaimed “She and Ms. Devereaux were friends?”
“Not exactly,” Ms. Brandy said. “They were cousins and came from the wealthiest family in the area. Back then that practically made them royalty. Marge was actually a year older than Agnes but had missed her coming out season the year before due to being struck with the flu. Therefore the two were both being debuted in the same year. It was quite the scandal at t
he time. Marge needed desperately to find a suitor, but as you can see Agnes was a much prettier girl. The whole town was buzzing with gossip over which girl would land the best match.”
“How do you know all this?” Maggie asked, realizing that Ms. Brandy couldn’t have been more than a toddler at the time.
“What followed that night was the biggest scandal this little town has ever seen and the story was still being whispered about at my own cotillion fifteen years later,” Ms. Brandy explained. “That’s how I knew exactly when that photo was taken. That was the last year that cotillion was held at Devereaux Manor, and also the last time that anyone would see Agnes Devereaux.”
“What happened?”
~19~
“Well, the story goes that Agnes was the belle of the ball, as everyone expected she would be. Every gentleman in the hall was doting on her, asking to be placed on her dance card. However people said that she looked distraught most of the evening, barely smiling and only acknowledging her suitors to the extent that courtesy demanded.
“People say that Marge was furious not only that she was being blatantly ignored by most of the men in attendance, but also that Agnes was disregarding the attention that she so desired. They say that she confronted Agnes and the two girls were seen out in the courtyard having what seemed to be a heated discussion.
“Then Marge returned to the party and Agnes didn’t. No one knew where Agnes had gone, no one expect Marge that is. Everyone was whispering about where Agnes could have disappeared to, but Marge feigned ignorance right up until the moment when she destroyed that poor girl.”
“What do you mean? Where was she?” Maggie asked.
“Well, the rumor goes that Agnes had confided in Marge that she did not want to be at the ball at all. Her father had forced her to attend because she was eighteen years old and of marrying age. It was expected of her to be debuted, to find a good match, and be married off by year’s end. If she didn’t, her father would arrange a marriage for her. That was the custom of the time, which was partly why Marge was so desperate for attention that evening. She was already nineteen. If she did not succeed in gaining the affection of a suitable gentleman then her father already had one in mind, a business partner of his that was quite a bit older than she was.”
Maggie understood the desperation that the girls must have felt that evening. As Maggie’s eighteenth birthday had approached she’d lived in fear of being informed that her father was marrying her off to one of his business partner’s sons to secure some sort of negotiation. She, however, had the option of going out on her own, cutting ties with her family, leaving for school, and making a life for herself. These girls, in the 1950’s, didn’t have that option.
“But why didn’t Agnes want to be there?” Maggie asked. “Wouldn’t she want to have her choice of husbands, rather than leave it in the hands of her father?”
“Apparently she was already in love with a young man who was not at the ball and would never be considered a suitable match for her. He was a young farmhand who her father had taken in when he was just a boy. He was an orphan. His own father had died in an accident on the plantation when he was ten. Mr. Devereaux had taken the boy in, converted an old barn into living quarters for him, and allowed him to live on the property. He and Agnes had grown up together.”
Maggie immediately thought of Aaron and realized he was living in the same old barn that Ms. Devereaux’s lover had lived in. Maggie also realized that this story must not have a happy ending, because seventy years later Ms. Devereaux was still living alone in the house, unmarried.
“What did Marge do?” Maggie asked, feeling a sense of dread settling into the pit of her stomach.
“Agnes had confided in her that she was in love with the farm boy and Marge had encouraged her to go to him. She promised to keep her secret, to cover for her, and give her this evening alone with him. Marge went back into the ball and filled her dance card pretending as if she’d never seen Agnes leave.
“Some say she waited until she’d secured an offer of courtship from Charles Bouchard, others say that she was pushed to it out of frustration because as the hours passed no one stopped asking about Agnes. It was no secret that the two girls had always been held in comparison over the years because they both came from high standing families and were of similar age, and it was also no secret that Marge never measured up to Agnes in beauty or wit or kindness. It was quite evident that Marge had always been jealous of Agnes. Many believe that she simply took this opportunity to crush the other girl out of spite. Regardless of her motive, what Marge did next destroyed Agnes.”
“She told them where Agnes had gone?” Maggie guessed. Ms. Brandy nodded sadly.
“Agnes was found in the barn, wrapped in the arms of her lover. Her reputation was destroyed. Her father was furious. She was literally ripped from his arms. He was arrested and charged with assault. Charges her father pressed with a vengeance. He was hung for his ‘crimes,’ and Agnes was never seen again.”
Maggie gasped in shock. “He was hung?! How could they do that?”
“It was a different time, and Mr. Devereaux was a very powerful man. He owned most of Sweetwater,” Ms. Brandy explained.
“What do you mean they never saw Agnes again? What happened to her?” Maggie asked.
“Her father had her committed to an institution in Atlanta. They say he blamed her ‘unstable mind’ for her immoral behavior. However, within a few months of that fateful night her father died from a heart attack. Agnes was his only child. Her mother had died during childbirth. He’d not changed his living will and everything was left to Agnes: the plantation, all his money, and his stock interests in most of the businesses in Sweetwater. Agnes was a smart girl. She hired a lawyer, was released from the institution, and declared cured. She’d moved back into Devereaux Manor before the year was up. But she never came into town again, has never been seen again,” Ms. Brandy finished.
“So that’s it? She’s just lived alone in that big house all these years?” Maggie asked.
Ms. Brandy nodded. “She never hires anyone local for work that needs to be done around the house and keeps a very tight circle of servants who are sworn to secrecy. No one knows anyone who has stepped foot in that house in the last seventy years, until you.”
The chime of the front door made Maggie jump as Ms. Brandy’s final statement sunk in. She stood from the floor brushing the dust from her knees as she went to greet the arriving customer. Maggie recognized the man as Aaron’s friend whom she’d met in town a few weeks earlier.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted him. “Mr. Branson, right?” Maggie asked, remembering the name that Aaron had given her when he’d told her about his meetings in Savannah.
The man seemed to hesitate for the slightest second. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” he replied, “as I don’t know your name.”
“Maggie Overton. I’m Aaron’s friend,” she reminded him.
“Oh yes, Aaron mentioned you,” the man answered smoothly. Maggie smiled at that news, flattered that Aaron would mention her to a business associate.
“You’re staying at the Devereaux plantation as well?” he asked.
“For the summer,” Maggie confirmed.
“Aaron is quite the lucky man,” he said, making Maggie blush.
“Are you looking at some property in the area?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“I have some family land nearby.” he replied.
“Is there anything in particular that you are looking for today?” she asked, gesturing around the shop.
“Just browsing,” he replied, but his eyes were riveted on her. Maggie felt a bit uncomfortable under his penetrating stare.
“Please let me know if there is anything I can help you with.” she said, excusing herself.
She returned to the trunk and began organizing the articles that were strewn about the floor. She picked up the old photograph once again. She’d spent a great deal of time contemplatin
g who Ms. Devereaux was, but to hold an actual picture in her hand, to hear her heartbreaking story, it finally made her real.
“It’s getting close to closing time,” Ms. Brandy said, walking back over toward Maggie. “We can finish going through the rest of the trunk tomorrow.”
“May I keep this?” Maggie asked, holding up the old photograph.
“Sure. It seems fitting somehow that you should have it,” Ms. Brandy told her. “Why don’t you go ahead and head home. I’ll close up.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow,” Maggie said. She retrieved her purse from behind the counter and headed out the front door.
As Maggie drove home she was lost in thought. She tried to sort through everything she’d learned about Agnes Devereaux. She was struck with the image of this poor, broken hearted girl, left to live out her life alone. She tried to figure out what would motivate her to bring random strangers into her home so many years later. Maggie couldn’t ignore the haunting similarities between her current situation and Agnes Devereaux’s tragic story. Had she brought them here to recreate her own catastrophic romance? Had she picked them each for this reason?
She glanced in the rearview mirror and realized there was a black car following behind her on the lonely dirt road. Maggie had never seen another car on this road, aside from Aaron’s. She felt a little nervous as she kept glancing back at the car. It was too far back to see the face of the driver. She continued to watch the car as she slowed down to turn into the driveway of Devereaux Manor. The car slowed as well, maintaining its distance.
Once Maggie had made the turn, the car drove past and she let out the breath she’d been holding. Her anxiety was obviously an overreaction to her growing suspicion that perhaps her arrival here hadn’t been random at all. But how had she been chosen? And why?
