by Carolyn Hart
Merrick called the house and excused her from dinner. Then they drove to Hilton Head Island and ate at the Old Fort Pub. He introduced her to okra gumbo and Gullah shrimp Creole. The Old Fort Pub overlooked Skull Creek, near the remains of a federal fort. It was only after a leisurely dinner, when they walked across a footbridge to look at a mound that represented the last of the federal works, that Leah once again felt the pull of the past. Still, she did her best to keep her fears at bay. She was young and falling in love.
They drove the long way back to Devereaux Plantation, Leah sitting close to Merrick and wishing they could stay like this forever. By the time they reached the avenue lined with live oaks, the moon was high in the sky above the house, and it was hard to believe that evil existed in such a beautiful place.
As Merrick pulled the station wagon up by the steps, Leah considered telling him what Cissy and John Edward and Mrs. LeClerc had told her that morning. But when he came around and opened her door to help her out, she went straight into his arms, and she knew she didn’t want to mar this perfect evening.
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, so lightly this time that it was almost more stirring than the kisses they’d shared earlier. Leah had to force herself inside at once.
“Good night,” she said breathlessly.
“Good night,” he murmured.
As she watched his taillights recede, she knew she would soon make a fateful decision.
She walked slowly up the shadowed steps, a smile on her face. Had anyone ever fallen in love so swiftly and so completely? She thought of the life they would share at Ashwood, loving all that was beautiful from the past while building their own shining future.
After she had entered the house, walking quietly so as not to disturb any one who might be in bed, she saw a bar of light from the partially open library door and heard the rumble of John Edward’s voice.
She certainly didn’t want to talk to him or any of the others now. This was her night to glory in the beginning of love. It would diminish the perfection of her evening to speak to anyone else.
She was just opposite the library door, her goal to slip quietly up the staircase, when she heard John Edward clearly.
“Are they still gone?” he asked.
“Still gone,” his sister replied.
The tone of their voices shocked Leah. He sounded sardonic, and Cissy’s voice was thick with satisfaction.
He laughed. “I never thought we’d be in Merrick’s debt. But he’s really swept her off her feet, hasn’t he?”
Leah knew they were talking about her. The happiness she carried with her shriveled like a day-old flower.
“He’s done a beautiful job,” Cissy agreed.
Blindly, Leah ran up the stairs to her room. With the door shut behind her, she leaned back against it and stared emptily across the room. She didn’t cry. It hurt too much to cry.
Yes, she thought bitterly, Merrick had done a beautiful job indeed.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, Leah applied her makeup carefully shading the blush just so, trying to hide the telltale dark smudges beneath her eyes. She paused and stared into the mirror. It was such an old mirror that her reflection wavered, giving her an insubstantial air.
It wasn’t hard to imagine her mother looking into this mirror. And Marthe.
A knock sounded on her door.
When she opened it she saw Henry standing there. “You have a telephone call. Miss Leah. There’s a phone in the upper hall.”
“Thank you, Henry.”
She walked slowly down the hall to an alcove in which a telephone sat on a table. She hesitated for a long moment, then lifted the receiver. “Hello?”
“Leah, I’ve planned a wonderful day.” Merrick’s voice sounded confident and happy.
Her heart twisted. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly, “but there are some things I need to do today.”
The pause on the other end of the line was absolute.
“Leah, what’s wrong?”
She heard footsteps and looked up to see Cissy walking toward the stairs.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just . . . I told you I wanted to find out what happened to my parents. So I’ve got things to do.”
“That shouldn’t keep us apart all day,” he said quietly.
She couldn’t tell him what she’d overheard, especially since Cissy was coming down the hall. And she wouldn’t tell him anyway, ever. It was too humiliating.
“I appreciate your thinking of me. Perhaps another day.” She didn’t miss the curious glance Cissy gave her as she passed. Leah looked down at the telephone table.
“I see,” Merrick said heavily. “I’ll talk to you later, then.”
When he’d cut the connection, she stood there for several moments, holding the receiver tightly. Then she replaced it.
Cissy called back brightly, “If you don’t have any plans, Leah, let’s take a ride this afternoon.”
She tried to demur. “I don’t have any clothes or boots.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve found some things. Lilac will bring them to your room.”
The morning seemed interminable. Leah walked restlessly around and out into the gardens. She wondered if she should pack her things and drive off.
But that would delight John Edward and Cissy, wouldn’t it? They wanted her to drop her questions, to leave everything as it had been—murky and secret. And what about her grandmother? Carrie would not be pleased at all.
Despite the pain she felt, she wasn’t going to go until she succeeded in learning the truth about her parents. She wouldn’t let anyone or anything drive her away. Not even a bruised and disillusioned heart.
Perhaps Kent Ellis had made some discoveries. Leah hurried across the footbridge, passed the clearing and plunged into the forest of immense trees. She found Kent kneeling beside one of the slave cabins, carefully easing what looked like pieces of dirty chalk from the surrounding dirt.
“Bones,” he explained briefly. Then he rocked back on his heels. “ ‘Morning, Leah. How are you?”
“‘Morning, Kent. Fine.” Would she ever mean it again? The pain of her disappointment in Merrick made her feel old and somber. She forced a smile. “How about you? Any more close calls?”
He didn’t smile in return. “Not yet.” His mouth looked tight and hard. “I’m being very careful.” He stood up and brushed off his Levi’s. “I’ve been nosing around, and I think there’s a real story about what happened to your parents.”
“Kent, what have you found out?”
“Not one thing that’s concrete, but I talked to Lilac and she’s scared to death. She knows something.”
“I’ll go see her,” Leah said excitedly.
“Wait up, Leah. She’s not going to say any more. Jason’s your best bet. Go see him in the hospital. He’ll talk.”
All the way back to the house, Leah rehearsed it in her mind. As soon as she returned from her ride with Cissy, she’d call the hospital and find out the visiting hours.
Cissy greeted her on the back steps. “Leah, I’ve been looking for you. Aunt Carrie’s ready to lunch with us.”
In the cool dimness of the second-story veranda, they had a fruit salad of strawberries, cantaloupe, grapes, raspberries, watermelon and bananas, and a frosted lime drink.
Lunch was lighthearted and interesting, with Carrie regaling Leah and Cissy with stories of her many adventures in Nice. After lunch, Carrie excused herself to take a rest. It was then that the tone of the afternoon changed.
“I’ll meet you at the stables in fifteen minutes,” Cissy said.
“I don’t imagine I can wear your things.”
“I found some of your mother’s riding clothes in the attic. I’m sure they’ll fit.”
The clothes were waiting on her bed, tan jodhpurs and a white shirt, freshly laundered. Well-worn leather boots sat on the floor. Leah could smell the polish that had been used on them. Reluctantly, she picked up the shirt.
&
nbsp; The clothes did fit. And so did the boots.
She looked in the mirror and knew her mother must have stood there often, wearing these clothes. Mary Ellen had seen the image Leah now saw. And before them had been Marthe, small and dark with a quicksilver quality, not quite definite and clear, too elusive to capture.
Leah didn’t like the way she felt as she walked down the back veranda steps. It was as if she weren’t herself alone, as if she carried other personalities with her. She wished she hadn’t agreed to wear these clothes or take the ride. She stopped halfway to the stables and almost turned back, but Cissy came out of the tack room just then and called to her.
The breeze was sharpening to a wind. Gray clouds dulled the sky, hiding the sun. It wasn’t a very nice day for a ride. But she went obediently down the path.
The horses were ready, Cissy’s a piebald, Leah’s a fidgety black mare.
The stableboy came out and said, “Granddaddy wanted me to tell you, Miss Cissy, there’s a tropical storm watch.”
“Thank you, Bobby. I heard the forecast, too. Nothing’s expected to come inland until late tomorrow.”
So they mounted, though the wind was high enough now to rattle loose shingles on the stable roof and kick up a little dust devil in the beaten ground of the bridle path.
Cissy had to speak loudly for Leah to hear her. “We’ll go that way.” She pointed to a trail that curved into the pines. “There’s an old picnic place there. It’s a nice ride.” With that she was off.
Leah nudged her horse and cantered along behind. Cissy sat a horse well, her back as straight as a rod. She looked around once or twice, and when they came out of the pines onto a dirt road, she called, “Shall we?” At Leah’s nod, they urged their horses to a gallop and rode hard and fast for almost a mile.
As they gradually slowed and eased into a walk, Leah came up beside her. “Are we almost there?”
“About a quarter mile more. We used to ride here when we were kids, John Edward and Mary Ellen and I, with Merrick tagging along. Old Jason came with us, telling us what to do, especially Mary Ellen, who used to yank the reins all the time.”
Leah looked up the dusty road, trying to visualize an uneven group of riders with a slim, dark girl always in a hurry. But the road lay empty, gloomy with the huge pines tossing in the wind and the pewter-colored sky pressing close to the earth.
Cissy urged her horse to a trot, and Leah kept pace. The road curved away, but they cut off, following a faint path. They went slowly now, stepping over broken branches, once skirting a fallen palm. The trees closed in overhead, blocking out the light. On a hot, sunny day, the area would have been refreshing, but the high whine of the wind and the heavy air made it somber and cheerless.
The path twisted among the trees, dropping steadily, coming out finally in an overgrown clearing. Once, years ago, it must have been a beautiful spot, tranquil and sheltered, an airy retreat from the summer heat. Two rough-hewn wooden tables, shaded by a huge live oak, looked out over a broad sweep of river; but lightning had struck the oak, and a huge branch had crashed down to shatter one table. Thick, waist-high grass undulated in the sharp wind off the gray water like underwater tendrils of swamp grass.
Cissy turned a little in her saddle. They faced each other, and Leah realized they were adversaries, if not enemies.
“I had to talk to you,” Cissy said almost stridently.
Leah stared at her, waiting.
“I’m going to tell you what happened to your parents.”
Leah heart began to thud. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this.
“I want you to understand that I’d give anything not to have to tell you this.” Cissy paused. “I’d give almost anything—but not Aunt Carrie’s happiness or peace of mind. I’ve thought about it and thought about it. If Aunt Carrie learned the truth, it would kill her.”
Leah’s hands tightened on the reins, and her horse shifted uneasily.
“Look, didn’t Louisa tell you anything?”
“No.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nothing.”
Cissy bit her lip and frowned.
“What are you trying to tell me?” Leah’s voice sounded thin and defensive.
Cissy looked at Leah, her face smooth and lovely, her brilliant red hair sleek in spite of the whip of the wind. “Mary Ellen shot Tom, then shot herself.” She said it quietly, almost matter-of-factly.
“No.” It was a whisper, full of pain and heartbreak.
“I’m sorry, Leah. I didn’t want you to know. No one wanted you to know. But don’t you see what you’ve done by coming here? Aunt Carrie may begin to wonder if they did go down on The New Star. If you keep on poking and prodding, she’ll begin to consider what might have happened. Then, if she really remembers the way Mary Ellen was, she’ll soon realize what must have happened.”
“How do you know what happened?” Leah demanded.
“Don’t you think it might be better just to leave it like this and never speak of it again? It won’t help if you—”
“No! I must know—I must!”
Cissy stared out at the heaving gray water, then shrugged. “They quarreled soon after they arrived. Obviously, as things turned out, that quarrel was more serious than we thought. He must have had his suspicions . . .”
“What are you talking about?”
Cissy stared at her, green eyes cool and unfriendly. “Mary Ellen always wanted what she couldn’t have, even as a little girl. Usually, one way or another, she got what she wanted. She used to tease us when we were little and say that she was really Marthe, that she lived in Marthe’s room and that Marthe had always done what she wanted and the devil take the hindmost. Sometimes I thought she was possessed—then again, I would know she was riding us, one more way of making it clear that she was really a Devereaux and we weren’t, that she looked like Marthe and we didn’t.”
Cissy’s voice throbbed with anger. How she must have hated Mary Ellen. After all these years, she hated her still.
A pulse moved in her throat. “It must have been the same old story. Mary Ellen got Tom, then decided she didn’t want him, that she really wanted John Edward. Of course, Aunt Carrie wouldn’t have put up with that for a minute. ‘You’ve made your bed, now you lie in it,’ that’s what Aunt Carrie would’ve said. Maybe she told Tom she was through with him and was going to stay at Devereaux Plantation. Then they quarreled, and when he tried to make her go back to the boat, she shot him. When she realized what she’d done, she took the gun and—”
“You don’t know that,” Leah interrupted. “You don’t know any of it. You’re making it up.”
Cissy stared at her blankly, her face chalk-white. Gradually, reason came back into her eyes. “You must understand,” she said quietly, “I’m trying to help you. I don’t know what really happened. But it must have been something like that, because I know what I saw.”
It was darker now in the isolated glade on the riverbank, the clouds thickening. Cissy’s face was indistinct in the gloom.
“Louisa came running up from . . . from the boat. It was almost night by then and raining hard. I had just come in from checking the stables and still wore my raincoat. She was very upset, but she wouldn’t say what was wrong. She just begged me to come with her to the boat.” Cissy glanced toward the river. “You can almost see the dock from here.”
Leah could barely distinguish the weathered pilings from the gray, wind-tossed water.
“I ran down the path with her. She was hysterical . . .”
Leah looked at Cissy sharply. She couldn’t imagine Louisa Shaw ever being hysterical.
“. . . and I understood why when we reached the boat. Mary Ellen and Tom were in the main cabin—dead. Tom was lying on his back. Mary Ellen had fallen across him. I didn’t see her face, but the back of her head was gone.”
Leah made a small sound.
“I’m sorry,” Cissy said quickly. But Leah knew she wasn’t sorry, no matter what she might say
, now or in the future.
“I ran and fetched Jason. We could trust Jason.”
“What did you do?”
“Your grandmother begged me to help her get rid of the bodies. She was afraid it would be too devastating for you if it all came out. Of course, it would have been awful, with the newspapers dragging up everything about Marthe. The press would have had a field day.”
Leah nodded slowly. She could see how that would be true.
So they’d worked hard and fast, though hampered by the wind and the rain, and had wrapped the bodies. It was easier for Leah to think of them like that, not as her parents, not as Mary Ellen and Tom, but as bodies, inert, unfeeling, weighted with chains found God knew where by Jason and dumped into the wild, high-flowing river to be swept out to sea. Finally, Cissy and Jason had stood in the rain and watched the lights of The New Star fade into nothingness.
“None of it need ever have happened,” Cissy said bitterly. “It was all Mary Ellen’s fault.”
Chapter Thirteen
Leah wheeled her horse around. Ignoring Cissy’s call, she urged the mare along the faint trail, slowing only where fallen branches blocked the way. When she reached the dirt road, she gave the mare her head and rode like the wind, but the thunder of the horse’s hooves only echoed that devastating refrain, “Mary Ellen’s fault, Mary Ellen’s fault, Mary Ellen’s fault.”
Bobby heard the hoofbeats and ran out of the stables, alarmed.
Leah swung to the ground and tossed him the reins, ignoring the question in his face. She hurried up the oyster-shell path. She couldn’t talk to anyone right now.
The huge pines bent beneath the rising wind. The creak of their branches mingled with the shrill cries of the sea gulls. The wind keened through loose boards in the dilapidated tower.
She slowed a little and stared up at the house. It looked smaller in the heavy gray air, pulled in upon itself, withdrawn. Her room was on the northwest side. Her room. Mary Ellen’s room. Marthe’s room.
