Haunting Refrain

by Mary Marvella

  He popped the cork and poured for both of them. Sarah was almost afraid to use the delicate spun glass confections.

  “Taste it. I think you’ll like it.” He watched her sip, like he’d made it himself.

  “Hmmm, excellent. Lightly sweet and fruity. Not the usual highbrow.”

  He looked over the glass rim, smiling at her. “Now let’s cook, I’m starved.”

  He fetched a big apron from a hook and tied it. When she turned him to fluff the bow he grinned.

  “Thanks.”

  “May I help?”

  “No, ma’am, you’re my guest.”

  Sarah had expected Peter to speak of love and all the things that had made her leery about this meeting. He had really hinted at the desire for a relationship. With each sip she relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy Peter’s company, as she had before her ghosts and William had warned her he wasn’t safe.

  He identified each ingredient and each spice or condiment and its use. He chopped, crushed and sautéed, humming and explaining each move. He really seemed like an expert.

  Where do you live, Peter?”

  He paused for so long she wondered if she had asked an embarrassing question.

  “I was living in Atlanta, but I wanted a change. I had heard about the University cooking classes here. A famous chef has chosen to settle here and work with southern dishes. I thought it would be a chance to start over, make a career change.”

  “Cool. Most young people go to the big city.”

  “Have you ever thought about following that trend, maybe leaving here?”

  “Nah, I belong here.”

  She didn’t notice Peter stop his food preparation, but he topped her glass often enough that she never saw the bare bottom. Her head buzzed slightly and the room warmed. The wine had gone to her head more quickly than usual. By the time they sat down to eat she saw her date through a candlelight haze. No more wine!

  “Water?” He filled her cut crystal glass. Good thing. Several glasses of water and food cleared her head enough to enjoy each tasty morsel.

  By dessert Sarah wished she had expandable clothes. The wine must have whet her appetite. Or maybe the food was just so good. This man should open a restaurant.

  “You never explained what you’ve been doing since you came here,” Sarah said.

  He looked so torn she wondered if he would answer her. Peter sighed, then emptied his wineglass. The time had come to tell a few truths. The lies had begun to tire him.

  “I’ve been teaching tennis at a country club.” He hadn’t meant to be that honest but he could recover. “I got so out of shape with desk work I decided to find a place to play. When someone mentioned I could make money as a tennis instructor and have free access to the club facilities, I thought it sounded like a good way to make extra money.”

  “Are you that good?”

  “Good enough to teach kids and bored housewives.” He cleared the table and removed his apron.

  “Let’s move to the den.” He took her hand and led the way. At any other time he would have begun his seduction with mood music, soft lighting, and more wine. The problem with lying was that staying sober was necessary.

  Roxy’s scent lingered in the den as in every room of this house. Cooking smells had covered it in the kitchen and dining room but not entirely in here. Why the hell was she on his mind? She was busy with her rich crook.

  Sarah sank into the plush sofa and slid her sandals off. When she sat on her feet she could almost look at Peter eye to eye. “Did you know that our families have a history?” she asked.

  He hadn’t expected that question. “How do you know so much? Your parents didn’t mention it. Are we kissin’ cousins or something?” His family had said so many things about hers that he found it hard to believe. They didn’t act like the greedy people he’d come to expect.

  Sarah laughed. “Not exactly. A few days ago I discovered some old journals left by a relative.”

  “And they were about our families? I’d love to see them. Maybe I can learn which family tall tales are just that, tall tales. Most of my family lives closer to Macon. That’s why I headed to Atlanta.”

  Sarah looked so serious he figured her buzz was gone. Had he missed his chance to seduce her tonight? Could he have done it with Roxy’s scent around? At least it provided the perfect place for an inexpensive date.

  “Peter, I think at one time there was a problem with your family and mine but I don’t think there should be, anymore.”

  “Are you saying you don’t think you’d be welcome at my family’s Sunday dinner? You parents were awfully nice to me.”

  “That’s just it. I think the problem started with your family a long time ago.”

  “Sarah, you’re not making sense. Maybe you’d better start at the beginning. Where did you hear about this feud and what caused it and why wouldn’t I know about it?”

  Sarah chewed her bottom lip. She wasn’t making sense and she had blown it in a big way. How could she explain her fears without mentioning her ghosts? Most of what she knew came from ghosts beings with a big prejudice. If she’d known her grandparents, maybe she’d know more of the family history.

  Peter touched her cheek in a sweet caress. She flinched. He touched her bottom lip and she stopped gnawing it. If he tried to kiss her she’d bolt and hurt his feelings.

  “This isn’t going well, is it?” he asked.

  “This what?” She moved back into the sofa.

  “You seem distant tonight. What has changed?”

  “Peter, I really like you, you’re fun and sweet. You’re the kind of man I’d introduce to my girlfriends.”

  “I’m not sure how to take that. Explain.”

  “You deserve a woman who loves only you but I can’t be that woman.”

  “The professor?”

  “Yeah, William.”

  Peter waited for the pain of loss but it didn’t come. He liked Sarah and could've cared deeply for her, but he wasn’t hurt or upset as he would’ve been a week ago. She would have been his magic goose and made his dreams come true with one golden egg after another.

  “Sarah, I understand if you don’t love me, but we could’ve made a good team. That neighbor guy isn’t right for you either. He’s overbearing and rude. He’ll try to run your life.”

  “No way,” Sarah said as she remembered how often that had been true. He had tried to protect her from life. Last night he had kept something important from her. “You and I will still be friends, no matter what. I never thought you and I were in love and that’s what I demand in marriage.”

  Sarah rose and Peter’s hopes fell. The time had come for Peter to share one truth. “Sarah, my family has always thought yours had some special treasure.”

  “What treasure?” she asked.

  “No one ever said. I don’t know when the belief began or why.” Another truth. He didn’t know more than that he had staked his dreams on a vague belief and alcohol talking. Only the oldest Jacksons even thought about the Overby family, anyway. He had looked for an easy way to solve his problems. How foolish was that? He’d seen the way Sarah’s family lived and had let himself believe they were wealthy.

  He didn’t love Sarah. What still rankled was that Sarah had chosen the cocky professor over him. That did nothing for his pride. How would he find the money to get out of debt? Guarding Roxie would help only until Avery tired of her. Could this gig possibly last long enough?

  “Peter, are you listening?”

  Actually he hadn’t been. “I’m sorry, I was thinking about that treasure. Maybe pirates gold? That’s it, your ancestors were privateers. We can dig out your basement and find our fortune.”

  “If we found that treasure what would you do with your share of the money?”

  “I’d open a restaurant.” He couldn’t believe he’d said that, but it felt good.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Peter yawned as he drove to his day job. Why would a rich person need to be up and about at his count
ry club before noon? Eight AM for golf tee-time maybe, but for tennis lessons? Good thing he didn’t have a hangover.

  He couldn’t believe he’d been so straight with Sarah. They’d talked well into the night. They’d both switched to coffee, since he’d had to drive her home, after all. She’d promised to share the journals with him. That would give him time to try to convince Sarah he would be a better husband than the professor. She was infatuated with the obnoxious man. Bet he couldn’t even cook for her.

  Jackson men who married for love were unhappy. The only good Jackson marriage he’d seen had been for money. Uncle Bob treated his wealthy wife like a queen. He respected her and spent her money carefully and would inherit a fortune.

  Sarah needed a man who would respect her and spoil her. He could do that. Lust would wear off. Some day he’d laugh at his temporary attraction to Roxie and she’d be married to a rich man or at least a mistress to one.

  By the time Peter pulled into the Country Club parking lot he had a plan. Tonight he’d bake a pie and take it to Mrs. Overby tomorrow on the way to work. He’d grab a bouquet of flowers, too. Courting her mother would remind Sarah what she’d miss if she gave up on him. He’d still have the house to himself, at least until tomorrow night.

  ##

  Squinting against the rising sun, Sarah gripped her steering wheel. After only an hour of driving she felt like she was heading a lifetime away. Leaving at seven in the morning had made sense. since she hadn’t slept well the night before. Mama had offered to go with her or call William to ride with her. No way would she ask that stubborn man for anything. She and Sarita needed to do this together. They didn’t need William.

  Last night she’d asked her dad if he knew the location of the family plantation. He hadn’t. With her, he and her mama had studied the deeds and other papers. Then they’d gone on line for location and directions. Watching her parents surf the web had amazed her. Mama had found the site listing regional plantations and their histories. The last owner had let the place go for back-taxes in 1966. Studying a Georgia map Daddy had marked the way as far as they could, based on the most current location information by county.

  Soon she’d see the place where Sarita and Walter had lived. So far Daddy’s directions had been right on.

  On a county road well off the state highway, she spotted a sign welcoming her to Creation Community, population 500. She’d never seen a town without even one traffic light before, just a four-way stop.

  At the Creation General Store and Filling Station she’d sat in a wooden rocking chair on the porch and chatted with a bearded man wearing denim overalls and smoking a pipe. The storeowner had insisted she “set a spell” with a mug of coffee and a hot buttered homemade biscuit with peach preserves from a Ball canning jar. The Sarita part of her knew she couldn’t refuse hospitality or rush her host.

  She could imagine Sarita charming the man to learn what she wanted, arranging her voluminous skirts, fanning herself with a dainty lace fan. Not. A memory of Sarita stamping her foot and growling “I do not do dainty or lace!” made Sarah laugh. She didn’t either.

  Sarita had definitely come along for the trip. So Sarah hadn’t really come alone.

  The old gentleman and the proprietor had given her explicit and specific directions and an invitation to come back anytime.

  For now Sarah was on a mission. Two more turns, then the gravel road. Peach orchards lined the road for at least a mile. The longer she drove, the more she felt like she had traveled back in time. Weathered, sprawling farmhouses were surrounded by equally weathered outbuildings. Green pastures were littered with grazing cows followed by calves. Horses ambled, colts scampered around them. The winding road curved over green hills.

  She turned right at the Red barn, the one Joe Green had just painted that God-awful red, onto a blacktop road.

  Whoever Joe Green is, he must have plenty of resources to keep up the columned mansion she saw back from the road. From a distance the place looked like a restored Tara. Neat split rail fences ran parallel to the road. She made the last turn, still following the fence.

  When the fence ended Sarah forced her fingers to relax on the wheel. The approach of the gravel road nearly made her turn back. No neat fences marked the properties on either side of the road. Dirt driveways branched off, some led to ramshackle houses and some to God knew where. Each had a mailbox beside it. An occasional old truck or car gave her hope she wasn’t leaving civilization completely.

  A wall of tall, treelike bushes hid the property on her right. Soon she would see the driveway to Sarita’s house. There, just ahead. Tall brick pillars formed part of the arched entrance, supporting massive iron gates. They sagged open enough for a car to pass.

  She made a slow right through those pitiful guards, nearly losing control because of the overgrown rutted drive. Weeds and tall grass scraped her car’s undercarriage, but she couldn’t turn back now. Tall, dense trees blocked out much of the sun. Following the curve in the drive, Sarah saw a sight that broke her heart. She cried Sarita’s tears.

  The house ahead looked soulless. Time had been unkind to the mansion, peeling away paint and sagging the roof. Tears stung her eyes as she inched around the old circular drive. She steered between the borders marked by hedges of cherry laurels. Had horse drawn carriages really brought guests to parties here? Had wagons really brought people and supplies to this very house?

  Of course. Cousin Mattie had visited often. She’d forget to be ladylike, leaping from her buggy, racing up the steps to hug William and Sarita. Her beloved Yankee always smiled as he tended the horses, then joined everyone on the porch. Sarita could almost taste the lemonade in tall glasses, or the tea flavored with mint sprigs.

  The house didn’t look livable. Anyone living here today would need a four-wheel drive vehicle and a tent.

  Sarah killed the engine and stared around her. She shouldn’t have come alone, but she couldn’t go home yet. She grabbed her canvas tote with her water bottle and her mobile phone. She tossed her pepper spray in, why she had no idea, and the bottled Coke from the General Store. The sandwiches her mother had packed for her would be good for a picnic lunch, if she stayed that long. She climbed out of her car, thanking the inner voice that had told her to wear jeans and sturdy sneakers. The voice hadn’t belonged to Sarita or the lady ghosts.

  By instinct, Sarah found large stepping stones in the tangle of weeds. In another month the grass and weeds would likely hide them completely.

  Azaleas and gardenia bushes bordered the porch, alternating with massive hydrangeas. The Azaleas had bloomed out, but a few browned gardenia blossoms scented the air. Sarita would never have let them grow so high, like trees. Sarah made a tentative start up the crumbling brick steps to the wide wraparound porch, covered by balconies for the second floor rooms.

  Sarita had kept it swept. Seasonal plants had filled planters. Large, wooden rocking chairs had welcomed guests to sit and visit a spell.

  William had sat with Sarah rocking or swinging many times on her own front porch, though Sarah’s porch hadn’t been as large. They had enjoyed the old metal glider Grandma gave Daddy.

  Sarah smiled at Sarita memories of laughing and dancing on the stone-smoothed boards and large family meals in its shade.

  But this pilgrimage was about more than memories. Something had drawn Sarah here. So much of Sarita and Walter seemed trapped in this house and she needed to be here.

  Tall shutters covered the windows, but the falling door barely covered the front entrance.

  ##

  William stood at Sarah’s back door, his hand poised to knock. Would Sarah send him away again? He’d never seen her act so stubborn. He’d messed up by waiting to tell her about his Walter memories. He should have told her. But dammit it to hell, Sarah and I have history. More than the Sarita and Walter thing. We've been friends too long for her to push me away. She has to let me explain.

  The door opened before he could knock. “Comin’ in or not?” Doc Overby a
sked.

  Mrs. O. called. “Come in here, son. The coffee’s still hot and we’re having a second cup.”

  He didn’t hear Sarah yelling for him to go away. “Is Sarah up, yet?” He hesitated, then stepped inside, looking around. For the first time in many he felt uncomfortable in this home.

  Doc and Mrs. O sat at the table and Doc asked, “Gonna drink your coffee standing?”

  “Figured I ought to be ready to run.” William grabbed a chair and straddled it, resting his forearms on the back.

  Doc poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him. “She’s not here to yell at you.”

  William nearly toppled his chair when he shot back up. “What do you mean? What’s she doing out so early? When did she leave?”

  Mrs. O. put her hand on his shoulder. “Do you hear yourself? Get a grip. Sarah’s working things out like you are. She’s on her way to Sarita and Walter’s plantation.”

  He panicked. “You let her go alone?” Her parents seemed so unconcerned. He wanted to scream.

  Her dad smiled. “She’ll be fine in broad daylight. Sarah’s a big girl now, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “But she’s never been..” What had he panicked so badly? “Where is this plantation?” Because Sarah had never been this angry with him before, he answered his own unasked question. What if she never forgives me?

  “If you’ll relax and drink your coffee and have some breakfast,” Doc said. “we’ll give you directions. Mama, fix the boy a plate, please.”

  William watched Mrs. O dish up scrambled eggs, grits, pancakes, and bacon. “You already had it ready?”

  “Of course, we knew you’d show up hungry and worried. You’ve never stayed away for two days before.”