The Splendour Falls

by Rosemary Clement-Moore

  ‘Is it because of the cousin thing?’ he asked earnestly. ‘Because really it’s like fourth cousins twice removed.’

  That rated a half-smile. ‘It’s more the catfish thing. I don’t eat them.’ I turned, and Gigi trotted beside me as I walked along the porch, heading for the back door.

  Shawn accompanied us at more of a stroll, but he stopped when he saw the garden where I’d been working. ‘Hey, you’re clearing out around the big rock.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He jumped off the porch and went through the hedges. Gigi barked and ran after him, and I followed, too, surprised Shawn was so interested. I was proud of my start, but there was still an overwhelming amount of ground to cover.

  I joined him at the central planting bed, not sure why I needed to explain, ‘It was something to do. Paula’s big into the whole “idle hands are the tools of the devil”, I think.’

  ‘Are you going to uncover the rock?’ he asked, nodding to the vine-covered stone in the middle. ‘I always wondered what this garden was supposed to look like.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, answering his question. ‘I need some better clippers, though. That vine is insane. Is it kudzu?’

  ‘The vine that ate the South,’ Shawn confirmed. ‘I’m surprised it hasn’t blanketed this whole garden. You may have a tough time getting rid of it.’ He glanced down at me with a smile of approval. ‘This is a good sign.’

  ‘The kudzu?’ I asked doubtfully. My dad had told me it was originally imported and planted to prevent soil erosion, but it grew out of control and turned into an invasive nuisance, an example of what happened when you introduced something and upset the natural balance of an ecosystem.

  Shawn laughed. ‘No, that you’re working on the garden. You know, digging into the old family place.’

  He winked, acknowledging the pun. But the statement shook me, resonating with my childhood fascination with how cut plants would put down roots, what I’d told John seemed magical to me. Dad had taken pains to cut himself off from his family tree and transplant himself halfway across the country. Was I now grafting myself into the very place he’d left?

  I couldn’t ignore the question that wrapped around my mind like the kudzu around the rock. What if there was a good reason that Dad had left here in the first place?

  Chapter 16

  After Shawn went home, I let Gigi run around for a few more minutes before we headed for the back door. Paula was in the kitchen with Clara, so I left the dog on the porch to play with one of her toys.

  ‘How was your meeting?’ I asked, making conversation.

  ‘Just fine.’ She sat at the table, still wearing her going-to-town clothes, a big glass of iced tea in front of her. ‘How was your lunch?’ she returned with pointed curiosity.

  ‘Oh my God.’ I fell into my usual chair, stunned – but also not – that the news had made the rounds so quickly. ‘You mean it didn’t even take an hour for it to get back here?’

  Clara, not bothering to hide her amusement, joined us, settling down with her own glass of tea. ‘Rhonda Maxwell from Paula’s bridge club called from her cell phone before you’d even ordered your meal. Did you like the lemon chess pie?’

  I covered my eyes and groaned, not really exaggerating my consternation. ‘It’s like I’ve gone through a time warp to the fifties, but with better telecommunication.’

  Paula actually laughed; her meeting must have gone very well. ‘That Shawn Maddox. He doesn’t move slow.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’ I wished I could enjoy the moment, that I could be a normal girl being teased about her social life by her relatives – in Clara’s case, an honorary one – and not be unnerved by this outdated matchmaking.

  ‘Well, honey,’ said Paula, misinterpreting my confusion, ‘not to put too fine a point on it, you’re a novelty. You’d be getting plenty of interest even if you were uglier than a coonhound. But you’re not.’

  ‘Plus, I’m a Davis.’ Sobering, I sat up in the chair, getting to the crux of my unease. Gossip was one thing. But this level of excitement about my social life made the townspeople’s expectations more than irritating. ‘How much of this is because it’s supposed to be good luck when our families get together?’

  Paula took my question seriously, maybe picking up on my disquiet. ‘I know it seems strange to you. It’s just that the Davis and Maddox families have a long history together. In business, and otherwise.’

  ‘I get that a hundred years ago people sealed deals with marriages and dowries and stuff. But seriously, this is the twenty-first century.’ I couldn’t explain my sense of outrage. Maybe I was again identifying with the Colonel’s hypothetical daughter, the duty she’d have to marry for money, or business reasons, or class. Adding ‘luck’ to the list of reasons didn’t seem quite fair.

  ‘It’s just a silly superstition, honey.’ Paula patted my hand. ‘Don’t let it bother you.’

  The patronizing hand pat annoyed me and made my reply sharp. ‘Did it seem silly to you when you were young?’

  Paula’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. ‘Before I was as ancient as I am now, you mean?’

  Clara chuckled, defusing the moment, and rose from the table. ‘I’ll leave you to this family discussion. Addie will be home from school soon and I want to make sure she studies before her council meeting.’

  I looked up, momentarily distracted. ‘Is that tonight?’ It seemed ages since the conversation in Caitlin’s car.

  She shook her head as she went to the door. ‘I swear sometimes it feels like every night.’

  Turning back to Paula, I began a new question. ‘About when you were here when you were young—’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Sylvie! No one tried to set me up.’ She got up and took her glass to the sink, dismissing the question, and me.

  My tone turned chilly. ‘I was going to ask about my dad, actually.’

  Contrite, she returned to the table, resting her hands on the back of her chair. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Do you know if anything happened the last summer he was here?’ For all we didn’t get along, I didn’t want to purposefully hurt my cousin’s feelings. She talked about the past like it was something ideal, and I imagined it would sting to know Dad had never mentioned his family history. ‘I just mean … It seems strange he never came back to visit.’

  Paula gave the question some thought. ‘I don’t know, honey. I was a year or two older, and stopped coming before he did. When you grow up, you don’t have the luxury of summers off.’

  ‘I don’t suppose Shawn has an aunt about Dad’s age.’ I was half joking. But only half.

  Paula didn’t smile. ‘I just figured he became too busy to visit. I only came back once or twice until I inherited the place.’

  ‘From your parents?’ I asked, trying to sort out the family tree.

  ‘From my grandfather. Your dad’s great-uncle. I’m the only child of his oldest son. Though, of course, primogeniture doesn’t really matter, since there’s no one else.’ Her gaze lost focus as memory reeled her in. ‘Granddad Davis was old as the hills when he finally passed away. He’d been in a home for the last ten years, so the place was empty …’ She trailed off and looked at me. ‘No wonder people see you as a good omen! Young blood, back in the old family manor.’

  ‘Somehow this conversation has failed to reassure me,’ I said sceptically.

  She smiled, seeming almost sympathetic. ‘We are very set in our ways down here. Even – no, especially – when it comes to socialization.’

  I had a sudden, horrible thought. ‘I’m not going to have to do a cotillion or anything like that, am I?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Paula said, with no apparent irony. ‘Debutante season has already passed.’

  My stricken expression made her snort. ‘Honestly, Sylvie. It won’t do you harm to get a bit involved here. Of course people are going to be all in your business. You’re the last of your line.’

  ‘So?’ In the back of my mind I’d realized this, but something about that phr
asing made me uneasy, which made me grumpy. Grumpier than usual, I mean.

  ‘So …’ Paula drew out the word, her subtext veryI-can’t-believe-you-haven’t-figured-this-out-for-yourself. ‘I have no children. I hope it will be a long time from now, but you’ll eventually inherit Bluestone Hill.’

  ‘Not if you sell it.’ Her look of absolute horror told me what she thought of that suggestion.

  ‘And you,’ she continued, as if I hadn’t voiced the idea, ‘will have the money to really fix it up, if you want.’

  My forehead knit in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, your father’s trust.’ She registered my blank look and explained, matter-of-factly, ‘That’s the way things split up. His side got the ironworks – which has since gone public, and the funds put into a trust. My side got the house and all the land.’

  My stomach twisted. Had I been living on the Colonel’s money all this time? ‘I thought my allowance came from what Dad invested from his business. And the life insurance.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. I suppose it does, because you won’t have access to the Davis trust until you’re eighteen. That’s the age your dad used the money to move away and go to school.’

  I sat back, flummoxed. ‘I just thought it was all Dad’s money. And not—’ I made a ballooning gesture, encompassing the weight of a family legacy.

  ‘It’s all your dad’s money, honey,’ Paula said pragmatically. ‘You should really find out more about your business affairs. You’re almost eighteen, for heaven’s sake. Not a child.’

  You wouldn’t know that from the way she treated me, but my irritation took a back seat to my resurgent anger and confusion. Dad had – well, not hidden this, exactly, since I would have found out in a few months, even if I hadn’t come down here. But he’d certainly kept it separate and secret.

  I pushed that thought away, and concentrated on what I could discover about him here. Reading his mind was not an option, so I could only follow his past actions.

  The thought spurred me, and I got up – then had to take hold of the back of my chair to stretch the bikeriding muscles that had stiffened into knots.

  Paula frowned, borderline sympathetic. ‘Why don’t you go put your feet up. You’ve had two hard days, walking to Old Cahawba, then biking to town. I can’t believe you did that.’

  ‘I’m supposed to exercise my leg,’ I said, irked more at my own body than at her, ‘or it won’t get stronger.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said dryly, ‘but there’s such a thing as moderation.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’ I headed for the back door, trying not to limp and prove her point. As I let Gigi into the kitchen, it occurred to me that my cousin hadn’t answered my half-joking question. ‘Hey, Paula? Does Shawn have an aunt my dad’s age?’

  She’d been on the way back to the sink, but she paused, answering with a smile of remembrance. ‘No, but he has a second cousin who used to play with us when we were little. Rainbow Maddox.’

  ‘Rainbow?’

  Paula’s smile turned wry. ‘Her parents weren’t from around here.’

  ‘It sounds like her parents weren’t from this planet.’ At her ‘be nice’ expression, I asked, ‘Whatever happened to her?’

  ‘Heavens, Sylvie, how should I know? Went back to California with her folks, I guess.’ With a purposeful air of dismissal, she finished rinsing out her glass. ‘It’s just a silly superstition. Don’t be so paranoid.’

  The word put an end to my questions. I couldn’t afford to have her think I was paranoid any more than I could let her think I was delusional.

  Was I? I gnawed on the question. There was no reason that my nagging unease with this matchmaking had any connection to Dad and his time here. Except that the idea – and despite Shawn’s logical explanation about business deals and local dynasties, it was archaic at the very least – would, by its nature, go back generations.

  Everything here seemed to go back generations. Maybe that was why the notion of ghosts didn’t seem as crazy as it should. If there was any place where the habits of long-dead people and the impact of past events might echo into the present, it was at Bluestone Hill.

  I climbed the stairs stiffly, carrying Gigi in one hand and leaning heavily on the banister with the other. At my door, the lilac scent welcomed me back. It was the one peculiarity of Bluestone Hill that didn’t alarm me.

  Setting Gigi on the bed, I grabbed the back of the desk chair, bending over to stretch my hips and legs. The position put me at eye level with the drawer, and the Crazy/Not Crazy list inside. Was there any point in digging it out now?

  I sat down, my fingers slipping unerringly to the secret latch. The compartment popped open easily, and I pulled out my crumpled list. There was something underneath it, and I caught my breath when I realized what it was – a dusty leather book with the ruffle-edged pages of a handwritten journal.

  Gigi raised her head, ears pricked, nose twitching. The same alert curiosity rushed over me, my hands tingling as I carefully pulled the book from the compartment. The pages were yellowed with age. I gently ran my finger over the edges and dislodged something, which fluttered to the carpet.

  The pressed flower was flat and papery, but the now-familiar fragrance filled the room as if I’d found a whole spray of fresh blooms. Lilacs.

  With Christmas-morning excitement I carefully opened the book. There was no inscription in the front, no name. The ink was faded, and the handwriting spiky and uneven. Not exactly the neat script young ladies were supposed to practise.

  March 1863. Marnie and I took blankets and medicine to the prison in town. Those poor souls – is that what we would want for our men and boys? When I think of my own brothers, off fighting with our father in Virginia …

  The book confirmed my instinctive certainty. Lilac Girl was the Colonel’s daughter.

  Chapter 17

  I spent the afternoon reading the journal, though deciphering might be a better description. By the time Paula called me down for dinner, I was bleary-eyed and pretzel-necked from hunching over the desk to get the best light on the page. I wanted to read the book in order, but it was slow going, between the handwriting, the author’s use of initials and shorthand for the things and people common to her but mysteries to me, and the fact that I had to be so careful with the fragile paper.

  The entries were a combination of her ruminations and a diary of events and domestic activities. She seemed so young, but she had a tremendous amount of responsibility. Her mother was dead, and all the men were off fighting. Plus, I’d seen Gone with the Wind and Sherman’s march to the sea, so I knew there was danger, even for those at home. But I couldn’t forget the old photograph in the Davis history book. No daughter in evidence. What had happened to her? I was as anxious for Lilac Girl as if she were a personal friend.

  I returned the journal to its hiding place before I went down to dinner. Eventually, I would have to tell Paula about it. The little bit I’d read so far might have value to a historian. She might get some money for it, to help with the house’s upkeep. But for now, my roommate was my secret.

  Once Gigi was in her crate with her own dinner, I went to the kitchen. Paula was pouring iced tea into four glasses. Addie had just finished setting the table. I didn’t understand the dagger-sharp look she threw me until I remembered that I hadn’t actually spent the entire afternoon a hundred and fifty years in the past. I’d had lunch with Shawn Maddox, and obviously news of my date had reached the high school campus.

  ‘Have a seat,’ Clara told me. ‘I’m dishing up now.’

  Things were looking up on the food front. Clara had made a spicy dish of red beans and rice, with a cucumber salad to counteract the heat. ‘This is fantastic,’ I said, barely waiting until she and Paula sat before digging in.

  Addie, however, poked at her bowl and said, ‘I can’t eat this, Mom. It’s nothing but carbs.’

  Clara didn’t improve things by nodding at me as she buttered a piece of corn bread. ‘Sylvie�
�s not worried about that.’

  Addie shot me another glare. ‘She’s so skinny, she can eat whatever she wants. Bowls of carbs. Eggs every day. Pie at the Daisy Café.’

  Since I realized that the food was not really the issue, I shouldn’t have baited her. But I took a big bite of the savoury rice and said, ‘The pie was delicious, too.’

  She narrowed her eyes dangerously. I expected another frontal attack, but instead, she came at me sideways. ‘So. Kimberly says you’ve seen the Colonel’s ghost.’

  My stomach dropped with a sickening twist. Clara and Paula, who’d been ignoring Addie’s sniping, stopped eating to stare at me in surprise and dismay. They couldn’t possibly have been more surprised and dismayed than I was.

  ‘I never said I saw the Colonel’s ghost.’ Frantically I cast my mind back over the conversation, trying to make certain. ‘Because I haven’t.’

  Which was the truth. I hadn’t seen anything definitive.

  Paula’s face pinched in concern. ‘Did Shawn rattle you with ghost stories? He’s always been fascinated with the tales, but that’s all they are, honey.’

  My hand fisted on my spoon. Her patronizing tone was infuriating, but I was already furious at Addie, and at Kimberly, so it was hard to tell the difference.

  Clara reached across the table to squeeze my hand. ‘Don’t let them harass you, girl. These old houses will play tricks on you. And the woods aren’t any better. When the wind starts blowing the moss around, I’d swear my old granny was coming to get me.’

  ‘I’m not rattled!’ But my voice climbed in panic. I was unnerved, just not for the reasons they assumed.

  Addie looked like a cat with canary feathers in its mouth, and I couldn’t figure out what she was trying to accomplish, other than to make my life miserable. ‘Kimberly said y’all had a whole conversation about spirits and stuff.’

  ‘Look,’ I said, getting myself under control. I wasn’t going to convince anyone of my sanity by raving. ‘Kimberly brought up the ghost thing. And yeah, Shawn did before that. I never said I saw anything.’