“Once I get the tests back, I can write a prescription for an antibiotic. Okay? I’ll have my nurse bring it over later this morning. In the meantime, give her this fever reducer every six hours, Ashland. Are you feeling nauseous, Miss Jardine?”
“Only from here to here.” I pointed to the top of my head to my feet. He laughed at my answer. “Well, I’m going to give you some Phenergan to stop the vomiting. It will make you sleepy, so absolutely no driving. Sleep is the best thing for you. Here we go.” He handed me a small white pill. I swallowed it and accepted the paper cup of water he handed me too. “All right, well, don’t forget. Ashland, take her temperature every hour until it gets below 100. That’s an order.” Ashland closed the door behind the doctor and locked it.
Ashland turned back toward me. “Here, do you need an extra…” He didn’t have the chance to finish his sentence because I pushed past him like a madwoman, headed for the toilet. Hot and rancid-smelling orange juice came back up, thankfully into the bowl. I shook after I vomited. It always did that to me. I would have made a lousy drunk.
“I have to take a shower.” I held on to the doorframe, certain I looked like something the devil spat out of hell. “Could you do me a favor? I need some clothing. Top drawer, underwear and a big t-shirt.” My internal gauge warned me that I was beginning to feel worse. I needed to hurry up and get still. But I wouldn’t get any rest smelling like vomit, and I knew a cold shower would cool me down.
“Is this okay?” He handed me what I asked for.
“Yes, thanks, Ashland. I’ll be right back.” I carefully stepped into the shower and stood under the cool water. I washed my hair but didn’t bother conditioning it. I’d be sweating for a while, and I was sure I would need another shower pretty soon. I wrapped the towel around my hair, slid on my yellow cotton panties and pulled my old Tweety Bird nightshirt over my head.
“Oh well, if he’s one of those guys that likes watching ‘angels’ in lingerie, he’ll definitely be disappointed,” I said to no one. A matching bra and panty set was about as “sexy” as I got, and that sure wasn’t going to happen today. I was a “slow mover” when it comes to guys. I didn’t feel compelled to sleep with someone just because we went on a third date. Ashland and I had been on only one date, but it was a magical night. I would never forget the stars zinging across the open water of Mobile Bay. Feeling wobbly, I reached for my toothbrush and brushed my teeth. I left the bathroom feeling better but sleepy and kind of goofy-headed.
Ashland rose from his chair and stood still. I could almost hear his thoughts. “So what are the protocols here? Should I stay? Should I go? What do I do?”
“I think you should go; I’ll be okay,” I answered him.
“What?”
“Didn’t you just ask me what the protocols were?”
He froze and stared at me like he’d seen a ghost. “Are you kidding me? I must have been talking aloud.”
“I guess so, right? I think I will be okay now.” In my hazy state, I was oblivious to what had just happened.
“Do you need some water?” Ashland still looked bewildered.
“No, I’m good. Thank you for being here with me.”
I plumped my pillow and lay back slowly. It felt good to lie down. My brain felt fuzzy and kind of “floaty.” It was a nice feeling—so much better than throwing up. Oh my God! I threw up with Ashland here. Now he will never want to kiss me again. I wish he’d kiss me now.
Ashland pulled the sheet up over me. “So you are a psychic, just like Mia said,” he whispered, sounding serious and kind of sad.
“Oh no, I’m nothing like a psychic. I’m a dream catcher. Way different than a psychic. At least I think so, anyway.” I rubbed my itchy nose with the back of my hand. I wished I had dried my hair first.
He sat in the chair next to my bed, the half-round chair that I liked cuddling in to read. “Tell me all about it. What do you mean you’re a dream catcher?”
I guess it was the medicine, because I told him everything. I couldn’t stop my mouth from talking, and eventually I passed out.
Chapter 6
My eyes opened slowly; I felt like I had one heck of a hangover. I blinked against the failing light, surprised to see Ashland sitting in my chair, poring over Calpurnia’s journals. His sleeves were rolled up, his leg was crossed over his knee, and he looked as serious as I’d ever seen him. He heard me stirring, closed the book and said, “Hey, you slept a long time. How do you feel?”
I pushed my wild brown curls out of my face and sat up slowly. My stomach felt sore. I still felt warm but not as warm as earlier. “I’m okay, I think. You been here the whole time? What time is it?”
He looked at his gold watch. “Almost 5. Yes, I’ve been here—I’ve been reading.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, the worn journal in his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me you had these?”
“Do you mind if I go to the restroom before we get into that?” My mouth felt gross, and I really wanted to tidy up. Also, I needed some time to think about how I was going to answer that. I should have already told him that I had found the journals; they were his property after all.
“Sure. Sorry to seem anxious, but I’d really like to talk to you. You dropped quite a few bombshells on me before you passed out.”
I swung my legs off the bed and stared at him. “Oh no. Did I say something crazy? I’m so sorry. I don’t take drugs very often, and they make me loopy.”
“It wasn’t the drugs, Carrie Jo, and I’m glad you told me the truth—about everything.”
Darn, that doesn’t sound good.
He stood up and walked to the edge of the bed, helping me get to my feet. “We can talk about this when I get back. I have to run a few errands. The nurse came by and brought those antibiotics. You need to take those. Dr. Patterson says the strep test was positive, and you probably have a viral infection on top of it that’s upsetting your stomach. I’ll bring back some ginger ale and crackers. Those work for me when I’m sick. And then we can talk more. Will you be okay by yourself?”
“Yeah, I think so. Believe it or not, crackers and ginger ale sound good.” Ashland smelled so good. I leaned on his arm and walked to the restroom.
“I’ll see you back here in about thirty minutes. I am locking the door, all right?”
“Sure, I’ll be fine.” I didn’t feel fine, but I had been needy enough for one day. This was truly so unlike me. I cleaned up and got dressed. No more wallowing around in my pajamas; I put on blue jeans and a cotton shirt. I swallowed the antibiotics with a few sips of water but didn’t bother taking the Phenergan tablets. “Never again.”
As I brushed the snarls out of my hair, I had plenty of time to think about my confession. I couldn’t really remember much, but I had the feeling I had told Ashland much more than I wanted to. Oh God, please tell me I didn’t say something like “I love you.”
I sat in my favorite chair, running my fingers along the edge of the journals. I absently rubbed the key around my neck, thinking about Mia and her quest for the box. True to his word, Ashland returned with the promised goodies. I opened the door and helped him carry the bags in. “Did you buy the whole store?” I inspected his purchases, pulling out cans of soup and other treats.
“I got hungry, and you didn’t have much in the pantry. Besides, you’ll need all this to get better.” My head spun, and I held on to the kitchen counter. “Hey, go sit,” he said. “I think I can figure out where this stuff goes. Do you want to try some soup now or just the crackers?”
“Just the crackers and that ginger ale you promised.” I watched him arrange the cans neatly on the shelf. He really was too good to be true. Handsome, thoughtful and single. That couldn’t be right. Ashland must have had some deep, dark secret—something that would explain why some girl like Detra Ann hadn’t scooped him yet. I smothered a giggle thinking of Detra Ann catching him with a hunting net and a stun gun. Am I still feverish? Ashland poured us both a glass of ginger ale and handed me a sleeve of
crackers. I took them gratefully and sat on the floor in front of the bed. The shag rug was comfortable, and there wasn’t much seating in my apartment. I needed a change of scenery.
I tore open the crackers and snacked on a few quietly. I could tell he wanted to talk about the journals or maybe something dumb I’d told him while I was enjoying my pain-killer. I couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Ashland, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the journals—it’s just that so much happened so quickly. I never meant to keep them from you, I promise.”
“Yeah, it has been a crazy month or so.”
“I found a collection of them in a box upstairs before the air conditioners were put in. Some old letters from your mother were in there. That led me to believe that she knew about these books, and I thought you did too. I guess I was wrong to assume that.” I pulled a spiral of itchy hair out of my face and put it behind my ear. “What else did I tell you?”
His pink lips curled slightly. I could tell he was enjoying this moment a little too much. “Quite a bit, actually, but we can talk about that later.”
I buried my face in my hands. “I apologize for anything dumb I may have said. Like I told you, I don’t take medications very often.”
Ashland laughed and agreed with me. “I don’t guess you remember this but you told me you were a dream catcher. Can you tell me what that means?”
I swallowed the mouthful of crackers I had and took a sip of my ginger ale. “I know how you feel about psychics—but I’m not a psychic. What I have, what I do, it’s different.”
“Really? Because I could have sworn that you read my mind this morning.” His bright blue eyes darkened a little, like he didn’t know what to think about me. Neither did I.
“That was some kind of coincidence—I’ve never done that before. I’m not a psychic! Sometimes I dream about people and places, but not always. It’s something that started when I was a kid, and it is definitely not something I asked for. It’s cost me a lot in the way of friends, relationships—you name it.”
“You told me about Ginny.”
“Did I?” My heart felt heavy thinking about my childhood friend.
Ashland rubbed his hand through his hair and nodded. “How does it work? Do you know? You must know something about it.”
I felt my glass sweating in my hands, so I set it on the nightstand. I had to explain this cautiously, and I was a hand talker when I was stressed. “I’m not really sure.” I clenched my hands together. “If I walk into a room while I’m awake—even one with lots of history in it, I can’t see or hear a thing. However, if I go to sleep in it, the past comes to life. It doesn’t happen every time, and I can’t pick which part of the past I see, but it just happens. Until recently, I thought I had it under control. But then I came to Mobile and well, I started dreaming again. Mia used to call it ‘dream catching’.”
“Have you dreamed about my house, about Seven Sisters?”
“Yes, I have. It happened the first night, when I fell on the carpet. I dreamed about a slave—a sweet boy named Muncie.” My voice shook as I thought again about the boy’s anxious face, his kind thoughts. “He was smart and full of life; he was Calpurnia’s friend. I just had to know what happened to him. That was before I promised to help you find her, find Calpurnia. Then when I brought some of the items from the house here, those journals, I dreamed about her. I have never had that happen before. I’ve never had a dream triggered by an object. I don’t understand what is going on. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about all this to begin with, but I didn’t think it would be an issue. And after I knew how you felt about the supernatural, I didn’t want to. If you remember correctly, I didn’t want to stay on the property. It was Mr. Matthews that wanted me there.” I quietly added, “I think he knew about me, about my ability.” My head throbbed just thinking about it all. Would it be rude to crawl back in bed and take another nap?
“What? How would he know about you?”
“Mia. Before he died, the day before he died, I heard the two of them arguing. It was about me—I’m sure of it. I think they were after something, plotting something. Maybe all of this was about the necklace that you mentioned.”
“I can’t believe it.” Ashland got out of his chair and walked to the window, his hands slung in the pockets of his khaki pants. “I want to believe you, but this really makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like this kind of stuff at all and… it’s not just about my mother.” He turned around and leaned against my desk, his back to the window. I didn’t press him, but I knew he wanted to tell me something.
“It’s okay if you don’t believe me.” I got on my feet, feeling tired and wobbly again. “I promise you that I am a damn good historian. I love the house, and I don’t intend to quit.”
He put out his hand to quiet me. “I never doubted that. It’s just—man, this is hard to talk about. I almost don’t believe it happened.”
I sat on my unmade bed, sensing the importance of the moment. This wasn’t about me. This was about Ashland. “What is it? You can talk to me about anything.”
“Man, I never thought I would talk about this.” He paced the floor, rubbing his hand through his hair. “People talked about my mother. They said she was crazy, and I know they were right for the most part. When she got really sick, I mean mentally, after my father died, Mother did some crazy things, like talk to the house plants and even to people that no one else could see. I always thought that when my dad died, she’d be happy; he was not a nice man. He didn’t care what I did, but my mother, she had to toe the line. Behave a certain way, be the perfect wife. She couldn’t do it. She was different. Don’t get me wrong, my mother was strong, but there are many different kinds of strong. She was beautiful and sensitive to the unseen world. After he died, she began hanging around people like gurus, mediums—you name it. Whenever there’s money involved, people come out of the woodwork. It’s not an exaggeration to say that every single one of them were frauds—except one.”
“What happened with the one who wasn’t?”
“My mother had a séance at the house, kind of like Mia did, but she held hers downstairs in the Blue Room. I remember her cousin, Robert Matthews, that was Hollis’ brother, chewed her out for that. He loved my mother and tried to help her, but she insisted on spending money on anyone who promised to contact Calpurnia Cottonwood. I’ll never forget that night. It was so foggy that you couldn’t see out the windows. Cousin Robert didn’t want to stay, and I didn’t want to be there either—I was just a little kid. Cousin Robert tried to take me with him, but my mother wanted me to stay. Her friend Madame Farouche said I was a sensitive; my presence could boost the spiritual frequency at our séance.”
I could tell it was a stressful memory for him; Ashland was paler than usual. He sat in my favorite chair and continued, “The séance started, and it was nothing special. Round table, fluttery tablecloth, crystal ball, lots of candles and some incense.” His lips curled up in a rueful smile. “It was everything you’d see in a bad movie. You remember those old black and white movies with gypsies and a gray moon?” He chuckled. “For about thirty minutes, Madame Farouche talked in a ‘fake’ voice, pretending to be Calpurnia. I knew it was all fake the whole time, but my mother believed every word of it. I felt so angry about being there—I’ll never forget that. Then suddenly the atmosphere in the room changed. The rest of the group didn’t notice that the fog outside was moving and that there were even lights in it. Don’t ask me to explain that. As a kid, I thought it was part of the sham—part of the act, but all the grownups had their eyes closed, calling out to the dead people in the house. I had been sitting on the floor playing with my cars when the room temperature plummeted—it was in the middle of summer and there was no draft, not even a door open. I felt the sudden urge to run, run as far away as I could. I did! You’ve heard of ‘fight or flight’, right?”
I nodded, my eyes wide, my stomach rumbling from the crackers.
“Well, it’s definitely a real thing. And how
was I going to fight a spirit?”
I pulled the desk chair next to his chair and took his hand. “It’s okay. Tell me what happened. You’re not crazy, and I swear I won’t tell a soul. I understand how personal this kind of stuff is, Ashland.”
“Thanks, Carrie Jo. I ran down the hall—that same hall you tripped in.” His bright blue eyes were wide with the sudden realization. “I didn’t really have a plan. I just wanted to run out the back door. But I couldn’t. A girl was standing there, an older girl in a big blue dress. I saw every detail of her perfectly. I wasn’t scared at first. She had blond curls here.” His hands motioned to the sides of his face. “She had a face like an angel, pale with pink cheeks and lips. Cherubic is a good way to describe it. Her. Her arms were pale, and she reached for me and blew me a kiss. When I first saw her, I wasn’t fearful—not at all. Surprised, curious but not afraid until I saw that she floated above the floor. The edges of her blue gown faded into nothing, no feet, no shoes. She floated there for a second and then hovered outside the door, beckoning to me with her hands. Still beautiful and floating, she smiled and whispered something to me, but I couldn’t hear what she said. I didn’t answer her, I couldn’t. In a split second, that sweet-looking face shifted into a snarl, and she came at me with a speed I’ve never seen before. I froze but screamed my head off.”
The hair on my arms stood up just hearing his story. He continued on, his voice wavering, “It tasted—I could taste lemonade, but I didn’t enjoy it. I felt like I was going to die. I screamed and screamed and screamed until I couldn’t scream anymore. Cousin Robert came busting through the door and grabbed me. And from that day forward, I stayed with him and never returned to the house, except for the day I found my mother almost dead in the Moonlight Garden. I took her to the hospital; she was diagnosed with pneumonia, but she had been sick for so long that she died in just days.”
Seven Sisters Collection Page 16
