“Colton said something about that. How did you all manage to get inside?”
“It wasn’t easy. We had to hike along the river and then up the hill. It was always done on a dare.”
That explained the beer can Colton had found. “Why?”
“Because it’s cursed, darling,” she said, laughing. “The late Mrs. Carter—”
“Elaine’s grandmother.”
“I suppose. Anyway, her husband gave it to her as a wedding gift, as the story goes. Rumor has it that somewhere in the mid-1940s, she was complicit in killing a man.”
“Who?”
“That detail changes depending on who is telling the story. Family connections saved her from jail or real scandal. It’s said the dead man haunts the grounds—especially the greenhouse, because he knows she loved it so much.”
“You ever see the ghost?”
“Who needs to see a ghost to be spooked? There’s nothing like drinking Fireball while lying under that arched dome and trying to imagine spirits stalking the dark woods around us. Deliciously creepy.”
“You ever hear the name Sadie? Her name was scratched in the glass.”
“No, I never heard about her.”
“She must have been close to the Carters. The date under her name was 1942.”
“Very curious.”
“I feel deprived,” Libby said. “We never had any ghost stories at boarding school.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Maybe when you’re at Woodmont again, you’ll finally get your wish.”
Boarding school had meant a great education, but it had created a disconnect between Libby and her friends, including her father. The summers would have been a chance to keep up, but her father had often sent her to Europe to study.
“Elaine’s invited me back for dinner tonight,” Libby said.
“My, aren’t you getting cozy with the landed gentry?”
“She says it’s so we can review my photography proposal.”
“That can be done via email and text, dear. I would say you’ve made an impression on Mrs. Grant.”
“Maybe.” The scratch of little feet scurrying behind the walls drew her back to the moment. “I’ll help you here when I have free time.”
“When do you have free time?”
“It rears its ugly head every now and then. Like you said, hard work is easy.”
Sierra hooked her arm into Libby’s. “Well, aren’t we two codependent castoffs looking for a new life?”
Libby laughed. “Put that way, we sound dire.”
“Maybe we are.”
“I don’t want to see us that way.”
The shadow in Sierra’s gaze brightened. “Then we’ll deny it until the end.”
Libby spent the afternoon working on the shoot schedule for the coming weekend wedding and trading texts with Joan, the bride. This rehearsal dinner and wedding were going to be held in Richmond’s historic Main Street Station. Because it was still an active train station, her lists included not only the names of the wedding party and guests but also the train schedules (6:35 p.m. and 8:30 p.m.). She double-checked her room reservation in town and triple-checked that the second shooter she had hired was on target. Immediately she rattled off another worst-case list. Hurricane season. An influx of train passengers wandering into my shots. Drunken guests.
She also wrote up a proposal for Elaine and printed it out on white linen paper and tucked it in a glossy pocket folder embossed with her logo. The time slipped by quickly, and she was proud to report, should anyone care, that she had checked Jeremy’s and Monica’s Instagram pages only twice. To her disappointment and relief, there were no new pictures of the baby bump or the upcoming wedding.
At four o’clock, she showered and washed and actually blow-dried her hair, something she rarely did on a weekday. She also took time to apply a little makeup and found clean jeans and a white eyelet top that was wrinkle-free. She grabbed a bottle of chardonnay from the wine rack, which was her sole souvenir from the house she had shared with Jeremy.
Now familiar with the twenty-minute drive to Woodmont, she found herself enjoying the rolling countryside more each time. At first she had been frustrated by the area’s sparseness, but it had started to grow on her. She pulled into the long driveway, and as the dirt kicked up around her tires, her gaze was drawn to the east field, where two black horses grazed.
Proposal and wine bottle in hand, she parked in the front and walked up to the door. Taped to the door was a precise handwritten note. Libby, go around to the side family entrance.
Libby tugged the note off the door and walked around the house, past the boxwood hedges and blooming beds of pansies and irises.
This entrance, recently outfitted with a new door, had no overhang. Before, she had not paid much attention to it. She climbed the newly laid wooden steps and knocked. Seconds later, hard footsteps crossed the kitchen, and the door snapped open.
The woman standing there was heavyset. White hair was cut short and brushed back off her round face, and she appeared to be in her seventies. She wore a loose-fitting navy-blue dress and black sensible sandals.
“Mrs. Reese.” As the woman stared at her, Libby gripped the note and the bottle of wine. “I’m Libby. Elaine invited me to dinner. I was the photographer at Ginger’s wedding.”
“What a soggy wedding that was. I don’t think I’ll ever get the floors cleaned right again. And call me Margaret. No one calls me Mrs. Reese. Elaine said you were coming. Come on inside.”
“Thank you. Am I early?”
“No. Others are always running late.”
“What did you think of the pictures I took at Ginger and Cameron’s wedding?”
Margaret’s face softened. “Elaine showed me how to open the link, and we had a grand time looking at them. They’re real pretty. Even in the rain.”
“There’s no planning the best moments.”
“Ginger is a brilliant doctor but would never make a good meteorologist,” she said with a laugh.
“She was lucky to get married in such a pretty place.”
“Yes, she certainly was.”
Libby held up the bottle. “I have wine.”
“Isn’t that sweet of you. And what’s the folder?”
“A proposal for Elaine.”
“I’ll take it and see she gets it.”
Libby hesitated, always liking to deliver her proposals directly. She handed the folder off to Margaret and followed the woman into a fully renovated kitchen that any chef would have envied. The countertops were white marble, the upper and lower cabinets a deep blue, and the large appliances stainless steel.
When she and her mother had toured the house, they had been escorted through the kitchen. Before the renovation, the countertops had been fashioned from wood, the large farmhouse sink had been white porcelain, and the stove, considered cutting edge at the time, had been white enamel with chrome trim, four burners, and two ovens.
“I remember the setup of the old kitchen. Did you cook on that white stove?”
“I learned to cook on it, and it served me well until Mrs. Carter replaced it.”
The room smelled of freshly baked bread, hints of cookies, and the savory scent of a roasting chicken. “Smells delicious.”
“I miss that old stove.” Margaret laid the proposal on the desk tucked in a nook and returned to the stove. Staring at the buttons, she said, “This kitchen has only been in place a week, and I still don’t know my way around it. The old kitchen had its quirks, but so do I. We were a team. But this new stove and that refrigerator are strangers to me. Colton turned on the oven for me, but I can’t figure out how to operate the burners.”
Libby had been in enough professional catering kitchens in the last few years. She pressed the black knob and twisted. A flame appeared. “There you go.”
Margaret drew in a deep breath, nodding. “Push and twist. I should have known.”
“Would you like me to chill the wine?”
“Swap
it for the other chardonnay in the refrigerator. And if you can find the wine opener, that would be great. I have no idea.”
“When I moved into Dad’s house in January, it took me weeks to figure out what was where.”
Margaret opened a box of fresh elbow macaroni. “Elaine said it was a nice funeral.”
“I didn’t realize she’d gone. The church was so full I didn’t get the chance to see everyone.”
Libby swapped her bottle for the cold one in the refrigerator and opened and closed three or four drawers before she found one jammed with a collection of odd utensils. She wasn’t sure how they’d gone from wine to funerals.
Minutes later the bottle was open and sitting next to two glasses from the cabinet. “Can I pour you a glass?” Libby offered.
“I don’t drink as a general rule. But you go on.”
Libby poured a glass. “Have you worked at Woodmont long, Margaret?”
“Came here to work a few years before Miss Elaine was born.”
“You must have been a child.”
“Eighteen years old.”
“And you’ve been here this entire time.”
“I have. Helped Miss Olivia raise Elaine when her folks died. Met my husband here and raised my kids on this property.” Margaret spoke with pride. She was as much a part of this place, maybe more so, than the Carter family.
The woman’s entire life had been spent in such a small area. Was this what the rest of Libby’s life was going to look like? “That’s amazing.”
Margaret peered in the pot. “Good, the water is boiling. I must admit this stove works a good deal faster than my old one.”
“What are you making?”
“Noodles for the boys. They’d starve without them. I’ve roasted a chicken for us along with potatoes and a salad.”
“Terrific. Can I help you with anything?”
“You can help me set the table. It would have been done by now if I hadn’t had this stove to tangle with.”
“Sure.”
Sipping her wine, Libby crossed to the long mahogany table and set down her glass. She smoothed her hand over the polished wood, which smelled faintly of lemons. The dishes were Wedgwood china. They were ivory with faint blue flowers ringing a silver edge. The glass was crystal. “Putting out the finest, I see.”
From the refrigerator Margaret removed a glass pitcher filled with ice tea and sliced lemons.
“Elaine wanted to use the best. Though I’m giving Sam and Jeff plastic cups no matter what Elaine says.”
Libby set the seven plates out carefully and placed the silverware. Glass went just above the knife and spoon. She folded each green linen napkin on several diagonals, creating seven pyramid shapes.
“Well, look at you,” Margaret said.
“Hard to work in the wedding business and not know how to fold a napkin.”
“I thought you took pictures.”
“I’ve spent plenty of time in the catering kitchens eating a quick meal and helping the staff in a pinch. I not only can fold napkins and turn on stoves, but I also can cut a wedding cake in even slices and sew up torn or ripped wedding dresses,” she said with a laugh.
“Torn dresses?”
“Amazing how many grooms and fathers of the bride step on dress trains.”
The sound of barking and young boys’ laughter had her turning to the window to see Colton and his two sons walking toward the house with Sarge and Kelce. The boys were throwing a ball, but only Kelce chased it. Sarge yawned.
Colton had changed into a light-blue shirt and clean jeans. His hair was brushed off his face, and he had shaved. The boys were also dressed in clean jeans and T-shirts. And like their father, each boy had his damp hair brushed back, showing a few freckles from the sun.
“The world is about to stop turning,” Margaret exclaimed while smiling at the boys. “It was hard enough getting those boys cleaned up for the wedding, and now they’re cleaned up again! Tonight must be for your benefit, Libby.”
“I didn’t realize I was such a big deal,” Libby said.
“Oh, you’re all right. Elaine has been a nervous Nellie since she invited you to the property this morning. Is the house clean enough? What food will she like? What should I wear? What will we do? Endless fretting.”
“Why fuss over me?”
Margaret shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her.”
The side door opened, and Colton, keeping Kelce and Sarge outside, hustled his two young sons into the kitchen. His gaze swept briefly over Libby, and she had the vague sense he liked what he saw.
Desire had once burned in Jeremy’s gaze, but the fires had dimmed with each miscarriage. Their sex had become mechanical as they had focused on making a baby, and when that had failed, his desire had turned to something that was less. It was as if he no longer saw her as a person, a woman, and he pitied her on some level. That pity was what drove her out of the house.
There was no sympathy in Colton’s gaze, and for a brief moment she remembered that it had been two years since she had been intimate.
“The dinner smells good,” he said, striding toward the stove. He kissed Margaret on the cheek. “Hope there’s enough to feed an army.”
“You and your two privates are the closest thing,” Margaret said.
The boys lingered close to their father, both staring up at Libby. The youngest boy was a replica of his father and had dark hair and thoughtful brown eyes. The older one was a shade fairer and had more freckles over the bridge of his nose.
“Libby, I’d like you to meet my boys,” Colton said. “Jeff is the older of the two, but Sam is only a year behind him.”
“I remember you two from the wedding,” she said, smiling. “You boys looked very handsome in your suits.” Like their father, they had worn dark-blue suits, white shirts, and no ties.
Colton coaxed Jeff forward with a gentle nudge. The boy extended his hand to Libby. “I’m Jeff. I’m seven.”
“He’s six,” Sam said.
Jeff shot his brother an angry look. “I’ll be seven in two weeks. Close enough.”
“You’re still six.”
She took Jeff’s hand, surprised by the strength of his grip. “I’m Libby McKenzie. Pleased to meet you.”
The younger boy, not to be ignored, elbowed his way past his brother. He put out his hand, waiting for Libby to shift her focus from his brother to him.
When she did, he grinned. “I’m Sam. I’m really five, and I’m in kindergarten.”
“Wow, that’s pretty big,” Libby said.
Jeff rolled his eyes. “I’m almost in second grade. That’s bigger.”
“It is not!” Sam said.
“It is too, dummy,” Jeff retorted.
“Watch the language,” Colton warned.
“Well, kindergarten is not bigger than second grade,” Jeff said.
Libby felt her nerves ease. “I think you both are very big for your ages. I would have thought you both were much older. Maybe fourth or fifth grade.”
The boys looked at each other. Jeff looked pleased. Sam scrunched his face as if to say, “There!”
“Libby brought wine,” Margaret said. “And there’s beer in the refrigerator.”
“I’ll grab a beer.” Colton moved to the new refrigerator. “Mom, how do you like all the fancy new equipment?”
“We’re still getting acquainted. So far, it’s giving me fits.”
He handed two sodas to the boys, allowing Jeff to open his own and try to open Sam’s. The little boy protested, insisting he could do it himself. Colton waited patiently, watching him struggle with the tab. When he tried to help, Sam refused. Colton left the boy to figure out the can and filled a bowl of water, which he set outside for the dogs. As he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator for himself, Sam held out the can to him.
“Dad, it’s broken,” Sam moaned.
Colton set down his beer and popped the top on the soda and then his beer. “Here, buddy.” He turned to Libby. “Mom has been
fighting the old kitchen for years. The burners always needed repair, the old freezer was temperamental, and it’s a miracle the house didn’t burn down. It was a love-hate relationship.”
“Well, I’m not ashamed to say I miss what I now don’t have. She was a fine kitchen who served this family for years.” Margaret set out a plate of crackers and cheese on the table. Both boys grabbed several chunks of cheese.
The boys were rough and tough with each other, and their aggression surprised Libby a little. As an only child, she had never competed with a sibling for her parents’ attention.
Jeff made a face at Sam, who quickly pushed him. The last time she had been pregnant, she had secretly searched Pinterest for images of nurseries. And when the ultrasound had confirmed she was having a girl, her focus had shifted from blues and toy trucks to pinks, little dresses, and bows.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs as Libby took a sip of wine. The soft, mellow blend of grapes tasted lovely, and if she were not so worried about carrying on a conversation with Elaine, she would have indulged a bit more.
Elaine appeared with a bright grin on her face. She smiled at Sam, Jeff, Colton, Margaret, and then Libby. “You all do clean up nicely. My apologies for being late. I was on the phone with Lofton. Turns out she can’t make it tonight, so it will just be us.”
Margaret cast a pointed gaze at Elaine before she said, “You folks need to get out of my kitchen for another fifteen minutes while I finish up supper. Go on outside and enjoy the weather.”
Elaine grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
The boys were out the door first, and as they burst outside, the dogs joined them in their hurried scramble across the yard toward an old oak tree. Colton held back as Libby went next and then Elaine.
“Come and see the letters,” Sam shouted to Libby.
“Letters?” she asked Elaine.
“It’s been a family tradition for generations to carve one’s initials into the tree,” Elaine said. “It’s said that George Washington himself carved his initials in the tree as he was heading west to survey the frontiers of Virginia.”
“Are your initials in the tree?” she asked Elaine.
“They are. My husband and I carved ours together the day we got married.”
Honeysuckle Season Page 8
