Woman Without a Past

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  “Hello, Garrett,” I said. “Is this a bad time to talk?”

  “No, it’s fine. You’re not interrupting anything important. I seem to be blocked at the moment—not a useful idea in my head.”

  “I know the feeling. I haven’t been able to think about my next book for ages.”

  “At least you’re not bound by dull and stubborn facts when you’re writing fiction. The so-called facts around Nathanial Amory’s death are pretty interesting, but cloudy, and nobody in the family opens up. Even Honoria sidesteps some of my questions, as though she’s afraid of stirring things up.”

  I had nothing to offer, so I watched the sleeping cat. Now that I was in the same room with Garrett, I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t tell him about Charles.

  He ran his fingers through his thick dark hair and pushed his chair back from his desk. “What are you doing out here, Molly?”

  “I’m staying here now. For a few days anyway. It seemed a good idea to get away from Charleston for a while.” I sat beside Miss Kitty on the wide windowseat, pushing her over a little. She opened her eyes, blinked at me, and went back to sleep. The tip of her pink tongue protruded a tiny speck, and I lost my heart all over again.

  “What’s happened?” Garrett said.

  “It’s a long story, and I’m tired of telling it. Let’s just say that things aren’t going well with my mother. Daphne thought I’d better come out here, and I’ve been given a room upstairs. Orva is moving into the one next to me, so I won’t be alone.”

  “A good idea. You should be fine here at the Hall.” But I thought he sounded doubtful.

  “I should be fine anywhere. What do you mean by ‘here’?”

  He got up and stretched widely. “You seem to have a talent for getting into trouble.”

  “Because there are those who want me to leave?”

  Garrett pulled a sheet of paper from the roller, crumpled it, and threw it into a wastebasket that was already half full. “I can’t move ahead on this until I pick up more facts. Porter wants me to let the whole matter—he calls it an ‘episode’—of Nathanial’s death go. Just skip it. But that’s not what I want to do.”

  I couldn’t focus on Nathanial now. “Can we talk about earrings?”

  “What about earrings?”

  “That one Daphne gave you yesterday—with the coral lotus. Valerie Mountfort has a pair almost like it.”

  “I know.”

  “Stop being enigmatic! Tell me what that one earring is all about!”

  “Nathanial wrote a poem about earrings. I showed it to you.”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything. Please explain.”

  Oddly enough, even when he was aggravating me, I felt more comfortable with Garrett than I ever did with Charles. At least he paid attention to what I said.

  “Those earrings go back in history, Molly. But I’m not sure where they lead. The one Daphne showed me was found out here at Mountfort Hall. Something made her remember it recently, so she brought it to me and told me how she happened to have it. Maybe we’d better let it go at that—since I don’t know any answers.”

  I wasn’t ready to let anything go at this point. I wanted answers. “Daphne told me that a little girl—a friend—brought the earring to her years ago when she was a child.”

  “You’re not part of this, Molly, and it’s better to stay uninvolved.”

  “But I’m not uninvolved. I have a twin sister I’m worried about, a disturbed mother I’ve never known, and a father who died under mysterious circumstances. How can I ever be the same woman I was when I came here?”

  He swiveled away from his desk. “All right—you have a point. I’ll tell you what little I know. After I left you yesterday, I took that earring to the jeweler’s shop in Charleston where it was made. The old man who created those little works of art is still alive, and he remembered the earrings very well. He was able to tell me who had ordered them.”

  Garrett paused again, and I prodded him. “I know that Simon Mountfort gave Valerie the pair she wears. Lotus earrings set in gold. The one you showed me was set in silver.”

  “Simon ordered the second pair too—those with the silver setting. I haven’t an inkling of what this means or who they were intended for. It may not really matter. The world is full of lost and mismatched earrings.”

  “But you’re pretty interested, aren’t you? I suppose my father had a mistress, and he gave her the less expensive pair. So what?”

  He stared at me thoughtfully. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s the case. Everything I’ve heard makes me believe that your father never looked at another woman, after Valerie.”

  I wanted that to be true, but I didn’t know if it could be. “Daphne said the earring she gave you was brought to her caught in some fishing line. Do you think it was from Nathanial’s boat? Why wasn’t the boat ever found?”

  “I can think of two possibilities. It could have been swept out into the Atlantic by river currents. Or someone could have made sure it would never be found.”

  I sensed Garrett’s sadness. His research had perhaps begun to involve him with a ghost.

  “Why does Nathanial Amory’s death matter after all these years?”

  “Maybe everything’s connected—past and present. Maybe it’s all inevitably linked. I’d like to learn the truth for this book I’m working on. In spite of Porter, I’d like to make it an honest book.”

  “Will Porter allow that?”

  “I’m not sure he’ll allow anything I may write about Nathanial to be published. He claims he has nothing to do with Mountfort history. I’m not so sure, and I have to go ahead, whatever happens.”

  His concern with Nathanial seemed almost an obsession. Miss Kitty woke up suddenly and leapt from the windowseat, once more on her hind legs boxing with dust motes in a beam of sunlight.

  “Honoria thinks she sees Nathanial,” I said. “Perhaps he can’t rest until the truth is known.”

  “Now you sound like Honoria, but who knows—maybe she’s right.”

  “What has caught your sympathy so deeply about Nathanial?”

  When he answered his voice was so low that I leaned forward to listen. “Nathanial Amory was my father. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I must follow through to whatever ending I find.”

  Everything fell suddenly into place about Garrett, leaving me not so much surprised as anxious. Ramifications opened in every direction, but I could find nothing sensible to say.

  He went on quietly, watching Miss Kitty’s antics. “My name isn’t Burke, of course. That’s my mother’s maiden name. Mine is Amory. Before my father died, my mother received a letter from him that she didn’t show me until she knew her own life was almost over. My father had left her some years before he wrote that letter. He was working at Mountfort Hall as a tutor. I was only a few years old, but in spite of her hurt, my mother talked about him often. Perhaps she created more between them than there’d ever been. He came down to South Carolina because he wanted to track down some distant family connection. Perhaps on the left-hand side of the escutcheon. His own bloodline led to the Mountforts. While he was working here, he came upon some damning information—to one Mountfort, at least. In his letter he hinted to my mother that he might be stepping into dangerous territory, but by that time it was a matter of principle with him. Some wrongdoing needed to be exposed.”

  “And so he died,” I said into Garrett’s silence.

  “Yes. When word came to my mother about his drowning accident, she didn’t believe that it was accidental at all. But there was nothing she could do against the powerful Mountforts, and she lacked the means and the courage to try. I didn’t know about this until two years ago, when she showed me my father’s letter. Afterward I seemed to have no choice. I owed it to him to find out whatever I could.”

  “Your mother must have still cared abou
t him.”

  “She did, though I never blamed him for leaving her. She was a difficult woman and they must have been very different. My mother was a realist. Nathanial’s poetry meant nothing to her. They’d married too young, and had quickly grown away from each other. Though I think I mattered to him. He wrote me letters that I still have. Letters one might write to a small child. Before he had the time or means to come back to see me, he was gone.”

  “Honoria must have been enchanting when she was young.”

  Garrett smiled. “I’m glad they found each other.”

  “Does Honoria know who you are?”

  “Perhaps she’s aware with that extra sense she seems to have. I’ve never told her, but perhaps my father has—if he really comes through. She has mixed loyalties because of Porter. Only Daphne knows. And now you. I’d reached an impasse, Molly—until you came.”

  “How could I make a difference?”

  “Everyone is reacting to you in different ways. I have the feeling that you’ve stirred up forces you may not be able to handle. So be careful, Molly. Stay on guard.”

  “But why should this be? There’s nothing I know that would make me a threat to anyone.”

  “There’s something. I’m not sure what. Has anything unpleasant happened since I last saw you?”

  I hardly knew where to begin. I didn’t want to tell him about Charles and the cypress swamp, so I described what had happened to me backstage at the theater when I’d stumbled and managed to knock myself out. And how I’d come to with that evil-looking halberd set deliberately beside me. I told him as well about the weird adventure with my mother in the dungeon of the Old Exchange Building.

  Garrett listened grimly until I was through. “I don’t know what the connection is, but we may be in this together.”

  “But not against all the Mountforts,” I said quickly. “I’ve become very fond of my sister. I’m sorry for my mother, but I don’t think I can help her. I haven’t any idea which way to turn.”

  “I’d like to trust Honoria. Even though she doesn’t know who I am, I suspect that she’s tapped into some deeper feeling that makes her my friend. I know she believes that rowboat was scuttled by someone who knew Nathanial and knew he couldn’t swim. Someone who lost an earring that became tangled in his fishing gear.”

  “Lost by the woman who scuttled the boat?”

  “That’s the obvious suspicion, but we don’t know. A man owned those earrings first. There may be complicated possibilities.”

  “Simon Mountfort?”

  “I didn’t say that. The trail’s too old to follow by this time, I’m afraid. The matching earring is probably hidden by whoever damaged the boat so that it would gradually sink once it was out on the river.”

  “Do you know who was here at Mountfort Hall at the time that Nathanial died?”

  “Everyone was here for a party. Valerie and Simon came out. Daphne was a child, and she came with her father. Honoria was working at the plantation as a docent and came to the party. Evaline and Charles lived here, of course, as well as Orva and her little girl, Katy. She was the one who found the lotus earring and brought it to Daphne.”

  “Katy? I wonder why Daphne didn’t mention that?”

  “I didn’t mention it either, until now. Does it matter who found it?”

  “It might matter if Katy remembers something she hasn’t told anyone. What about Daphne’s mother?”

  “Porter’s first wife was an invalid and seldom went anywhere. I don’t think she’d have come to a party.”

  A still greater dejection had settled upon Garrett, and my silent sympathy went out to him. He must have seen this in my face, for his look held mine, and for an instant a sense of something intangible—perhaps recognition—sprang between us. It was almost as if we had touched very briefly.

  “Thank you, Molly,” he said gently.

  I moved toward the door, feeling uncertain—not sure what had happened. Or if anything had happened.

  He let me go, and when I was out in the hall, I went toward the stairs. One room in the house drew me, and it was where I wanted to be. I saw no one on my way to the music room. The piano waited for me and I sat down before its closed lid.

  This was where my father had played Debussy in the last moments of his life. How I wished I could have known him. Wished that I could talk to him now. Perhaps even about that moment between Garrett and me—and whatever it might lead to. But first, I felt compelled to find answers to old secrets.

  Certainly I must talk again with Orva. And with Honoria. There must be a great deal both knew and had never told anyone over the years. I must coax these memories out into the open.

  I put my arms on the shiny black wooden lid over the keys and rested my head upon it. Silently I spoke to my father: You loved me as a baby. Perhaps you love me now. If there is some essence of you in this house, in this room, help me to understand what I must do.

  The strength of my longing was very great, but unhappily, no sense of his presence came through to answer me. I was ready to turn away from the piano when a sound told me that someone had entered from the hallway. Someone who stood silently behind me.

  I stayed where I was, hoping that whoever had come in would go away. But the person behind me waited too, until I gave up and turned around on the bench.

  Honoria Phelps stood in the doorway, watching me gravely. As always, she filled her small space dramatically. Her long batik garment hung to her feet in a pattern of startling royal blue and dark green. Copper earrings hung nearly to her shoulders and she looked exotic, and not at all like Porter’s Dresden shepherdesses. Miss Kitty slept on her shoulder, as though part of her costume.

  I could only stare at this sudden apparition.

  “Don’t look so surprised, dear,” Honoria said. “You needed me, so I came. I brought Amelia along and she’s visiting with Evaline. I’ve been feeling all morning that you wanted me to come, so when the feeling became acute, I drove out to find you.”

  “I was going to phone you,” I said lamely.

  “There was no need. I called Daphne’s bookshop and she told me where you’d gone, and that Charles had driven you out here. She also told me what happened with your mother last night, and why she thought you needed to get away from Charleston. I’m not sure Mountfort Hall was the right choice of a place for you to come.”

  “I really have needed to talk with you,” I admitted, feeling a surprising comfort in her presence.

  “Then let’s have a picnic outdoors. Evaline needn’t bother serving us lunch. I looked in the refrigerator, and there’s cold chicken, potato salad, and leftover corn bread—so we can have a feast.”

  She put the cat down, and I followed her into the big modernized kitchen, off the second-floor dining room.

  When we’d packed a hamper, Honoria led the way down to the riverbank, where an ancient live oak spread its enormous limbs over the water and a small table and metal chairs sat in its shade.

  We put out paper plates, but ate with the real silverware Honoria had brought, and drank lemonade from tall crystal glasses. The food tasted wonderful, and I was happy to be away from the house with all of its conflicting currents. For a little while I felt as if I could stop asking questions and let everything go.

  Honoria did nothing to disturb my mood. “This tree is at least two hundred years old,” she told me. “It has weathered wars and hurricanes, and I hope it will last through future storms. That’s always the terrible aftermath of a hurricane—the loss of magnificent trees.”

  I’d begun to feel very relaxed in Honoria’s company, and after we’d eaten, I was ready to talk.

  “Charles drove me to Cypress Gardens this morning,” I began.

  “Of course he thinks he’s in love with you,” Honoria said calmly. “You’re the other half of your sister—perhaps the half he’s most attracted to right
now.”

  Others seemed to be seeing what I hadn’t noticed at all. Or hadn’t wanted to? I set my glass down with a thump.

  “Please! Amelia and I are two very different women, and he can’t be in love with us both.”

  “You don’t want him, do you?”

  “Of course I don’t!”

  “That’s not a given, as they say. He’s a pretty attractive man.”

  I could hardly deny that, since I’d felt his charm more than once. If only I could talk to her about Garrett, who interested me much more. But I put the thought away quickly. Honoria was too good at sensing my thoughts. And as Garrett had pointed out, Porter was always there in the background when it came to Honoria.

  “I’m going to stay out here for a few days,” she went on. “At least for as long as you’re here. When things have quieted down with your mother, we’ll go back to Charleston. I’ll have to commute for rehearsals, since the play will be opening soon. Though I’m not sure we’ll ever be ready. But it will run for a week, and then I’ll be free.”

  The last thing I cared about at the moment was the play, and I put one of my questions into words.

  “When you spoke with me in Nathanial’s old room, Honoria, you said that I might be the one to tell you why Simon Mountfort died. What did you mean?”

  “I’ve done all I can. I’ve tried, believe me. But perhaps you will be the one to find out more about his death.”

  “Everyone says it was a heart attack—and then backs away.”

  “You might talk to Orva sometime. You’re not exactly one of us, yet you have an old tie with her. Sometimes there’s still a self-protecting attitude among older black people that started way back in slavery days, when it was a pretty good rule to follow. ‘Don’t get mixed up with white folks’ troubles.’ Perhaps Orva still holds onto a bit of that.”

  “Do you think she knows something the rest of you don’t?”

  “This is only a sense I have, Molly. She’s never opened up with me. I don’t think she trusts my spirits!”