The Ghosts of Summerleigh Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  I waited—for what, I did not know. I half expected the door handle to jiggle or doors to slam, but none of that happened. Instead, the phone rang. “Jesse Clarke, you’re going to give me a heart attack,” I whispered into the phone.

  “I’m on the way. Don’t open the door. Eddie is there, isn’t he?”

  I eased to the window and peeked out the curtain. There was no one there. No Eddie. No strange man with an angry face. “No. It was a false alarm. There is no one there. I think I may have set the sensitivity too high.” God, I’m horrible at lying. “I’m adjusting the settings now.”

  “You aren’t telling me something. What’s really going on, Jerica?”

  “Jesse, you’re going to have to trust me. I’m fine. The alarm went off, but I’ve checked and there’s no one there. I’ve got the doors locked, and I’m about to take a shower and cook some supper. Really. I’m perfectly fine.” I don’t need you to rescue me, Jesse. I’ve been fine by myself for all these years, I thought but didn’t say.

  “Alright. Well, call the diner if you need me.” And he hung up, clearly unhappy with me.

  I hung up the phone and retrieved my flashlight. I did need help, but not from Jesse.

  I was going to have to find a way to connect with Harper. The only place I knew to find her was Summerleigh. I paused at the window and searched the yard for any evidence that the man with the angry face lingered. I didn’t see him. Well, now is as good a time as any.

  I left the safety of the cottage and walked across the yard. The air was dead still, and the sky had a strange, sepia quality to it. I felt as if I were walking in an old photograph of Summerleigh. There were white gardenias growing under the kitchen window, but there were no lights on inside.

  Yes, I should go through the back door. If Harper was here, that was where I would find her.

  I put the key in the lock and stepped inside.

  Chapter Six—Mariana

  “Mariana, of all the rooms here at Pennbrook, I think this one is my favorite, dearest. I am really surprised that you have not claimed it for yourself, as you should. Look at this view, and the new furniture is stunning. This is the new suite, correct? All the way from Bermuda? Ah, what a lovely see-dar scent.” I tried not to notice Claudette’s slight lisp, which tended to resurface whenever she became excited about anything. Even after all these years of regular speech lessons with marbles in her mouth, and after gargling with lemon juice and rubbing her neck with honey lotion, the lisp never truly disappeared. It was a fact that brought her much despair at times. No, it would not be kind to mention it now.

  “Yes, it is lovely. Father had it delivered this week, along with a few other things. It has a peppery scent, very different from anything I have ever smelled,” I said as we both rubbed our fingers across the red-tinted finish. I knew it was Bermuda cedar only because of Father’s excitement about this particular line of wood furnishings. He owned the most successful lumber mill in south Mississippi but had quite recently entered the furnishings business along with his now-disfavored partner, Mr. Chapman.

  “You know, as the lady of the house, you could move into this room. No one would say a word about it, not your servants or your brothers. Not even your father. If I were the Lady of Pennbrook, that is what I would do.”

  I shook my head in embarrassment at her reference to the title of “lady” yet again. Claudette appeared very fixated on such a silly thing, but I didn’t argue with her.

  “It has everything, Mariana. Shade in the afternoon, sunlight in the morning. You could sew in here, read and even paint. It is very well appointed, a picture of paradise. Much better than before, dearest.” Her lisp resurfaced as her “dearest” became “dear-wist,” but I smiled and nodded without flinching. I could not bear it if I caused her to break down in tears again on this particular subject.

  I wondered at her assessment of the room, as I had not known her to spend much time in here previously, but I appreciated the suggestion. I most certainly agreed with Claudette’s opinions, but I would never abandon my own rooms in the attic. It was home to me, and I had the entire floor to myself with plenty of space, even if it did have a tendency to get warm in the summer months. She sighed happily as she touched the blue floral wallpaper and closed her eyes to daydream about some romantic idea she had conjured in her own head. Claudette was a romantic, through and through. I sometimes felt like a character in one of her stories. She did like telling them, and I liked hearing them. Especially the one about the snake charmer and the sultan’s daughter. I used to get lost in the stories she’d read to me when we were younger.

  But we weren’t alone in the room. Claudette’s silent attendant, an older woman named Eliza, busied herself with emptying Claudette’s trunk and boxes. It was as if Claudette planned to move in for a month, not spend the week with me. But then again, a lady could never have too many gowns, she would say. I watched in silence as the woman carefully removed one gorgeous dress after another, and I smothered the urge to race down the hall, retrieve my own new gown and show it to her. What a fight I had had with Jameson to keep it intact. But I had refused to open the door to him, and eventually Father called him away. No, showing off my new gown would not be polite, and I had other things on my mind. Besides, Claudette’s wardrobe was far more impressive than mine and certainly more mature. I blushed at the sight of the plunging necklines and the sleeveless ball gown. I had no bosom to speak of at all. Father must have observed that, for my gown was embellished with a silk rose right where my nonexistent cleavage would have been. The stylish accent hid the noticeable lack of breasts. I could not stop staring at Claudette’s wine-colored gown with the plunging neckline. She had the womanly figure that I did not.

  Surely she intends to wear a wrap with that!

  “Eliza, when you finish airing out the gowns, be sure to hang them up promptly so they do not wrinkle.” The older woman nodded without looking in our direction, and Claudette settled in the chair next to the small round table in the corner of the room. “What time is your father joining us for dinner, Mariawana?” Her hand flew to her mouth as she tried to hide her embarrassment. I did as I always did and pretended nothing happened.

  “I’m not sure. He’s been very busy with his new business lately. I rarely see him anymore, dearest,” I said with a polite smile.

  She squeezed my hand and sighed and appeared quite pleased with her arrangements. “I do love this room.” She released my hand and said, “Have you been to your father’s new mill, Mariana? It is a triumph for him, you know. He truly is the captain of his industry.” I wondered how she would know anything about it. Her father and mine were not friends, only neighbors, and I got the distinct impression that Mr. Anthony Paul was not one to mince words either. He was a judge on the Mississippi circuit and was gone much of the year on legal business.

  “No, of course not. He has never invited me to visit the mill, nor do I expect he will do so.” As usual, Claudette was two steps ahead of me when it came to gossip, even gossip about my own family. She knew something and was dying to tell me about it.

  Just like Jameson.

  “Claudette, I do not know anything about Father’s business, but I would like to talk to you about something.” I glanced in Eliza’s direction as Claudette sighed and waved her away. The woman discreetly left us alone to the privacy of the blue floral guest room.

  “What is it? What is on your mind, dear-wist? You know you can speak your heart to me.” She patted my hand and smiled at me. She appeared so patient, even though she was less than two years older than me. Sometimes Claudette could be silly and petty and eager to share unkind secrets about her family, but she was probably my only true friend in the whole world. Once upon a time, Jameson and I had been friends, but we’d been much younger than we were now. And that was before he began to tell his lies.

  “It is about Jameson, Claudette. I have questions, and I need you to be honest.”

  Her hazel eyes grew wide, and I could see she was cur
ious. “Of course I would be honest with you, my true friend. You know I am your friend, dearest Mariana. I shall always be your friend and will always tell you the truth. What is on your mind? Come now, hold nothing back. You can talk to me as if I were your true sister.”

  “Is it true that you and my brother will marry? That you have romantic feelings for him?”

  Her hand flew to her chest. She had such long, slender fingers. I could see that she was not expecting my question, and immediately I knew that I was not going to like her answer for she paled and her pale pink lips stretched into a pained smile. My friend had light olive skin, bright hazel eyes and light brown hair. I noticed that her straight hair was losing its curl; she wanted so desperately to have springy curls like my own, or at least so she said on many occasions. I had always thought that Claudette was a handsome young woman but not quite pretty. Certainly not beautiful but intelligent, humorous and even accomplished. She was in every way my equal even though my family was wealthier than hers by half. In the world that Claudette and I shared, those differences were very important. What young woman didn’t want to be considered beautiful or polished in her manners?

  “Surely you must know, Mariana, that I will eventually marry, as will you. We are young women of marriageable age now, and of course our families will want us to marry and have our own families. Is it so offensive to you to think of me as your true sister? Would you object if I did marry into your family? For then, we would truly be sisters.”

  “You know that I love you as I love my own family, but my brother is not well, dearest. He does things that are not normal.” I noticed that Claudette’s hand went to her ear, and I quickly discerned that a lock of her hair was missing.

  So it was true, then!

  Then Claudette was on her feet, her hands curled into fists. I never expected such a defensive posture from her. “I have lis…lis…tened to you dis-cwedit your brother long enough, and I can do it no longer.” Not only was her lisp on full display, but she stuttered as well. I hoped for her sake that did not mean she would have a seizure. She rarely had them, but when she did, she would sleep for days afterward and wake up with bloodshot eyes and no memory of soiling herself. I prayed for her sake that it did not happen during my birthday party.

  But she would not relent. “No. I mean this, Mariana. Whatever displeasure you have held with your brother needs to end. Why must you insist on seeing the worst in him when there is good there also? Why? Is it because of Jacob? He is the one who is disturbed. Do you not understand that?”

  It was my turn to spring to my feet; my gown made a strange hissing noise as the layers of fabric settled around me like an angry cloud. “It is true, then. You are positioning yourself to marry my brother behind my back!”

  “That is not true, Mariana!”

  “All this time I thought you were my friend. But it turns out you were more interested in becoming Jameson’s bwide.” And in that moment, I did mean to mock her. It felt good to be hateful about her speech impediment. And if it hurt her, it was her own fault. She’d done this to herself.

  Claudette took a deep breath and shoved her hands in her skirt pockets. “Stop that, Mariana. You promised you would never mock me. I’m not doing anything of the sort. And as far as I know, nothing has been arranged for me; there has only been talk, and not just about me but about you too. Your father has already begun your marriage arrangements, or have you not heard? I can only hope to marry someone as wonderful as a McIntyre. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to be alone to west before dinner. Pw…please send my servant in,” she struggled to finish her sentence coherently. Claudette turned her thin back to me and stood before the open window. I wanted to talk more about this, to argue with her and explain my position, but she was having none of it and did not turn around. I was so shocked and overwhelmed by what I’d learned that I could hardly argue with her.

  To think, Jameson had told me the truth!

  “Very well. I shall leave you to your rest,” I whispered. I walked out the door and found Eliza leaning against it. I didn’t bother telling her that she should go in, for she had been eavesdropping and already knew this.

  As I stumbled down the hall with tears in my eyes, I shook my head at the news. Would my father make arrangements for my hand to someone I did not know? And if it was someone I knew, who was it?

  Jameson knew. I was sure of that now. I had to know! Who would I marry, and why was I the last to know? And why would Claudette want to marry my brother? She knew about his…perversions, his incessant need to cut at the things he admired.

  I walked down the hallway lost in my thoughts when I heard Jacob’s voice. He wasn’t talking or giggling as he had a tendency to do whenever something amused him; he was reciting poetry. Sir Walter Scott, if I wasn’t mistaken. That was something I had never been able to achieve with him. Perhaps Father had sent for a governess after all?

  I was beginning to understand that many things happened at Pennbrook that I was unaware of. I would surely have heard about a new governess’ arrival, wouldn’t I? I walked toward the nursery door and was shocked to see Jacob and Jameson sitting together on the long blue settee. Jacob had an open book in his lap and was flipping the page as I paused to listen. He read a little more, not perfectly but much better than before. Obviously, he’d been practicing. And that’s when Jameson saw me. He was holding a tiny pair of scissors and cutting into a stack of folded paper. Making paper dolls was an old hobby of his. I was surprised to see him working at it again.

  “Continue,” he said to my brother as he rose and walked toward the door. I thought about what to say to him, what to do. Should I apologize to him? Offer him some sort of peace offering? I hardly knew how to proceed. I felt lost, in a whirlwind, in a place where I had no control over anything. Jameson walked toward me, a wooden expression on his face. It was like I was invisible, like I wasn’t there at all. Was I a ghost? There was no welcoming smile on his face, not a trace of triumph.

  And then he closed the door.

  Chapter Seven—Jerica

  My exploration of Summerleigh availed me nothing. Whatever ghost or spirit showed up in my surveillance video wasn’t in the house now, and there was no sign that Harper was there either.

  Where are you, Harper?

  I was trained in grief management. Grief counseling had been a part of my job when I worked at the Sunrise Retirement Home. Although I didn’t want to admit it, I was beginning to suspect that a lot of my emotional uncertainty lately stemmed from the fact that I had not given myself time to mourn Harper. She’d been such an integral part of my life, especially during the loss of Marisol and afterward. Harper had been such a friend to me, almost a mother, that it seemed impossible to think I would never see her again.

  I mean, I knew she had passed away. I understood the concepts of life and death and mourning and grief. From the day she died until recently, Harper remained a part of my life in a strange, metaphysical way. But she was gone now. Yes. That was a fact that could not be denied. She was gone, and I had to move on with my own life.

  Maybe Ben Hartley had been right. Maybe it was Summerleigh itself that brought the melancholy out in me and in all who called the place home. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t have all day to think about it. Trucks were pulling up in the yard. Jesse. Emanuel and Renee were converging on Summerleigh as I pondered life in my kitchen. With a frown, I finished the dregs of this morning’s coffee. That’s when I heard a tap on the front door.

  “Coming,” I called. Renee was there waiting for me with a big smile on her face and a gift in her arms. It was wrapped in tissue with a big pink bow on it.

  “Brought you something, sweetie. I couldn’t wait for you to come to the house; I had to give it to you now.”

  I smiled at her thoughtfulness. “I’m just headed that way now. Can we go over there, or should we open it here?”

  “If you are ready to go, let’s head to Summerleigh. That’s where this belongs, anyway.” Renee’s long dark
hair was piled on top of her head in a casual yet perfect messy bun. As usual, she sported flawless makeup and like me wore shorts and a t-shirt even though it was November. When was fall going to arrive?

  “How did you get time off from the diner? I wasn’t sure you were going to be able to join me with Frank’s swollen toe.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Just lucky, I guess. And I told Frank that if he had one more injury, I was gonna fire him. He’s always dropping something or cutting something or setting something on fire. I swear, the man is a danger to himself and my business.”

  I poked her in the side playfully. “But you are crazy about him, aren’t you?”

  “What can I say? I have a weakness for klutzes.”

  We went into the kitchen and said a quick hello to Jesse, who was busy going over the furniture placement chart with Emanuel. There were others in the house too, craftsmen polishing up various projects, but the work was largely complete. For the first time, I could see the rainbow at the edge of the storm, and my dream of restoring Summerleigh was close to coming to fruition.

  Most of the furniture would arrive today, and the interior decorating was starting. This was my least favorite part, but Renee had proved repeatedly that she had an eye for those kinds of details. And Jesse knew all the historical touches that needed to be added. Not to mention I’d seen this place as it used to be many times in the dreams that Harper shared with me.

  Oh, Harper. I wish you could see this place now. If you can see me, find a way to let me know.

  I heard nothing but Renee chattering beside me. I followed her to the nearest guest room, which would’ve been Harper’s old bedroom. There was a wrought iron bed with a new mattress, a curtainless window and a shabby-chic dresser against the wall.

  “Go ahead. Open it.” Renee was so excited, I could hardly say no.