Another large wave crashed on the sand. She should have been on the phone with Ira right then, talking about how much they missed one another, discussing wedding plans. She should have been peppering him with questions about where he was taking her for their honeymoon.
But images of Beau flashed through her mind. He had returned to her life like a spray of fireworks, unexpected and beautiful and now she could barely think of anything else.
Ira had asked her once how she would handle it if Beau ever returned. Would she want him back? “It’s not a possibility,” she told him. “He’s gone. I have to move on as well.”
“But, assuming he did come back,” Ira asked. “Just walked out of the jungle one day and said he wanted you back. How would you react to that?” She knew what he was doing. Limiting his risk.
Years ago he had proposed to Amelia Gilroy, his childhood sweetheart. Six days before their wedding she ran off with his best man. “Anything can happen,” he said. “And usually does. So I have to ask.”
“You don’t have to ask me, because if Beau were alive he would have been at that wedding.” She still felt bad about that comment. It was as if she implied that Beau was better than Amelia because he would have shown up at their wedding if he could have. Or that maybe that she was better than him, somehow, because it was possible that her fiancé disappeared for reasons beyond his control. Unlike Amelia. She apologized and told him that the point was he could trust her.
That was the night she knew that he was going to ask her to marry him. She didn’t know specifically when he was going to ask, but she knew it was in the works. She knew in the same way she knew when a client was about to agree to the terms of their contract. She just knew.
So, even though she didn’t think that risk could effectively be insulated in affairs of the heart—the heart loves who it loves, her mother used to tell her—she ultimately told him what he wanted to hear. That even if Beau walked in the door on their wedding day, she wouldn’t leave with him.
A large wave built in height, big enough to swallow her whole. It crashed loud and hard, the spray carried on the wind and misted her face. She closed her eyes. And saw Beau: Blond hair, light blue eyes, full lips. Three piece suit. Smoking a cigar.
Her eyes flew open. He had walked right out of the shadows of the dining room, as if he had been sitting there all this time just waiting on her.
Now that he was away from her again she remembered how hard life had been without him, initially it had been too hard to bear. The worry. The rejection. The sense of failure. Waiting on him at the church, standing in her wedding finest—had he rejected her or had something happened to him?
It took years and monumental effort but she finally moved her life forward. Work kept her busy, therapy helped and then Ira came along. Sweet Ira. So caring, so giving of himself, so interested to see her happy. She couldn’t have asked for anyone better.
Her fingers traced over her cheek, she could still feel where Beau’s lips had pressed against her skin. She drank a long sip of her coffee. Her phone rang and she peeked at the screen. Ira. She hadn’t yet answered his texts. She bit into the glazed doughnut, her third that morning and one of a dozen that her mother had left for her on the counter the day before.
“Is everything okay?” Ira asked when she answered.
“Yeah, fine. Sorry, just busy.”
“You’re sure? Your mom’s not driving you crazy?”
“A little. But no, I’m good.”
“I didn’t hear from you last night.”
“I’m really sorry. I worked most of the night and I guess I lost track of time.”
“That’s okay,” Ira said. “Listen, my mother wants to know if we’re going to use the house in France for our honeymoon. I told her that I’d already made plans but if you’d rather…”
Peyton couldn’t focus on wedding details right then and she found herself staring at the manor.
“Peyton?” Ira asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you busy with something? I think I’ve just lost you.”
“I’m sorry, Ira. I guess my mind is just occupied with…” She exhaled. “…stuff.”
“Anything I should be worried about? Brides-to-be are supposed to be happy and thinking about all of these nuptial details, right?”
“Right. And I am. The bank is giving us reason to be concerned about the loan, so I’m trying to help them work that out.”
“Okay. I know you were worried about going back there. But I thought everything would be fine. Are you having a hard time being home again?”
Anxiety tingled in Peyton’s palms. She hadn’t told him about the blank spot in her childhood memory. And she wouldn’t. She had told him that she and Beau had their rehearsal dinner there. “No, I um, I was just remembering how much photography I used to do when I lived here. I’m thinking that maybe I’d like to get back into it.”
“Ah, okay.” Ira seemed to relax. “Well, if it’s something you want to do again, you should do it. Do you have a camera?”
“Several. They’re all in Boston.” Peyton looked out at the water and thought of the person she used to be when she lived in Charleston. She always carried a camera with her. She used to spend hours shooting photographs and creating exhibits for several local galleries.
“Then you should get back to that.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I will. I really enjoyed photography.”
“Good. That’s settled. Listen, I’m due in surgery in ten, I have to run.” He reminded her that she would be his bride in just a few days, that he loved her, then they said their goodbyes.
She glanced at the house and frowned. Earlier that morning she had searched the manor for signs of Beau and Bertha Mae and the guests she had seen the night before, but found none.
Another text alert. Her mother this time:
Morning! Mrs. Miller is texting me. She says she’s at the manor and that you’re not there. Is everything okay? I checked and it doesn’t look like you came home last night.
Peyton replied:
worked all night on a walk be in shortly
After Peyton had pulled herself off the dining room floor that morning, she had checked her surroundings. She found her laptop where she’d left it. Files and papers scattered on the long, rectangular table. No fire had been burned in the fireplace. No candles had been lit in the candelabras. No plates or food were sitting out as if there had been a meal.
She had walked cautiously to the front parlor and found only the unpopulated room she had seen when she first walked in the manor the day before. No photographer or tripod. No guests.
She could have written it off as a dream if it hadn’t been for one thing. Chills spread down her arms. She drank the last of her coffee, felt its warmth cover the inside of her chest.
When she went into the ballroom earlier that morning, she had found two black and white tintypes sitting on one of the tables. The first was Bertha Mae and several of her friends standing in the parlor. Peyton held the tintype closer and looked in the background. It was a blurry image because she hadn’t held completely still while the lens cap was off. But there she was, in the corner of the picture, wearing the light blue dress she had worn for the photo that Mrs. Miller took.
She lifted the second tintype she’d found that morning—the Alcott family wedding. The man who resembled Beau had been standing to the side of the couch yesterday, looking like a wedding guest.
Today, he was gone.
10
Blair Spencer, Austin’s wife and Beau’s mother, had never stepped foot inside the manor. Although in years past, she had been quoted in several newspaper articles as saying that the manor was a danger to the community and should be razed. Today she called Jayne Ella and asked for a tour.
Jayne Ella was shocked but she obliged. Blair toured the home at glacial speed, examining every detail. At the moment, she stood silent in the middle of the front parlor, seemingly memorizing the finer features of the room.
&
nbsp; Jayne Ella waited patiently, stood in the foyer of her ancestors’ newly renovated home, feeling, finally, like the rightful matriarch of Alcott Manor. She had long dreamed of the day when she could claim Alcott Manor as the most elegant home in the county. And, she had often hoped to do that in the presence of Blair Spencer. Among a few other people.
“Bertha Mae owned it first, she owned it best.” Mrs. Miller had said something like that. Jayne Ella almost made a face.
Even her own daughter worshipped Bertha Mae. In fact, they had always been close until Mrs. Miller introduced her to Bertha Mae Alcott. When Peyton was young, her grandmother took her to the museum and Mrs. Miller introduced her to her Alcott ancestors. She showed Peyton old portraits, tintypes, and newspaper articles. One by one she pointed out all of her Alcott relatives and educated her on their histories.
Peyton immediately fell in love with Bertha Mae—her elegance, her poise and certainly her flawless reputation. This was at a time when her parents argued a lot, just a few months prior to the divorce. Her father used to tell the girls how he could have been happy if only Jayne Ella weren’t like this and didn’t do that. Peyton promptly adopted Bertha Mae as her role model, her idol, her preferred mother figure. As a result, Jayne Ella’s relationship with her daughter began to fracture.
In school, Peyton wrote several papers on Bertha Mae Alcott, lauding the woman’s triumphs over tragedy, praising the way she gave time and money to the poor, detailing what a gracious hostess she was to visiting dignitaries. “Why can’t you be more like Bertha Mae?” Peyton had often asked her.
Jayne Ella’s relationship with Layla, her youngest daughter, had never been great. She actually considered it something of a lost cause. Her relationship with Peyton was the one she held on to. Peyton’s intelligence, career achievements and beauty validated her somehow. Made her feel that all those years of mothering had amounted to something.
She couldn’t seem to change Layla’s opinion of her, but she wanted Peyton to look at her in the same way she perceived Bertha Mae. Because her eldest so loved this ancient relative, Jayne Ella considered herself in competition with the dead woman. And Jayne Ella was determined to win.
Admiration was the way a daughter should see her mother. Restoring the manor to its original glory might give her that. She would run the home like a tight ship, like Bertha Mae had, and such that Peyton would be proud of her familial association. Maybe she would even visit more often. Maybe she would want to move back to Charleston. Her heart swelled at the prospect of having a closer relationship with Peyton. It was no secret that mothers played favorites. Peyton was hers.
She also wanted Blair Spencer and the rest of her society friends to give her the public approval she was entitled to. This property was the springboard for that, too. A restored Alcott Manor would launch her into a secure place in society.
“I must say I am…stunned at how beautifully your family home has been restored. It’s beyond anything I expected,” Blair said.
“Our family isn’t afraid of a little hard work.”
“Might be more than a little.” Blair Spencer’s wide-eyed gaze covered the room. Her blond hair was cut blunt at the shoulders and pulled off her face in a black velvet headband. She had worn that style since she and Jayne Ella were in elementary school together. Jayne Ella always hated the way the style made Blair appear blue-blooded. Like she had inherent rights to wealth that Jayne Ella didn’t get.
Jayne Ella beamed with pride. She had a family mansion on her side now, one that was on the National Register. She let the quiet take over the room because Blair had to be the one to offer. She had finally figured out that that’s how the group worked. Invitations were extended and only rarely. She hoped she had gotten Blair to see that her group’s association with Alcott Manor was something she couldn’t do without.
“You know, Jayne Ella, I don’t know if you’re aware, but The Charleston Women’s League takes pride in the number of volunteer activities that we support during the year, and historical preservation is one of our favorite types of projects. I’m sure you have a grand opening coming up, and we could help with that. You might want to think about Saturday teas on the holidays, those could be a big hit. We could help with that as well. In fact, you might want to consider opening a year-round tea room with your gift shop. Those always do well.”
Jayne Ella nodded and kept her smile to a professional one. She didn’t want to seem too eager. But she knew Blair’s support was a big key to making a success of the manor. “Thank you, Blair. We would love to have your support, and I love the idea of the tea room.”
“Jayne Ella, I don’t know if you’ve ever thought of joining our little group, but belonging could really help you to promote the manor. All of our members are extremely well connected.”
Jayne Ella chose not to bring up the fact that she had tried many times to join the Charleston Women’s League, but her requests had never been approved. The membership consisted only of married women who were extremely well moneyed, either through family or through marriage. Jayne Ella's husband left her years ago for another woman. And though she had done well for herself, her savings didn’t compare to the millions the members flashed about. Closest she ever got to the Women’s League membership was doing the members’ hair.
“I know our two families have had some trouble—”
“That’s all in the past.” Jayne Ella put her hand on Blair’s shoulder.
“Austin was just upset that Beau—” Blair’s voice choked and she gestured toward the walls of the manor. “That Beau was last seen here.”
Jayne Ella cleared her throat and placed her hand on Blair’s arm. “We love Beau and we continue to have hope.”
Blair’s eyes became watery and she placed her hand on Jayne Ella’s.
“Thank you,” Blair said.
For the first time her relationship with Blair was markedly different. No longer was Jayne Ella the skinny and awkward little red-haired girl who didn’t have any friends, the one Blair didn’t want to have anything to do with. Neither was she just the hairstylist who did the hair of The Charleston Women’s League. She was their equal. Thanks to a fully restored Alcott Manor standing behind her.
She rested on the front porch as if it surrounded her like a throne. She had the one thing no one else in the society group had—a historical property.
With this group’s support, and Blair’s, she would have the entire town’s support of Alcott Manor. She would be Queen Bee. Everyone would want to have their weddings and their parties at Alcott Manor. She would take Blair up on the tea room idea. Jayne Ella could already hear the chamber orchestra music that she would have playing in the background. And she would have high tea on the holidays.
Her plans for an earlier retirement didn’t work out. Maybe now she would be able to sell her hair salon and retire the way she wanted. As a fixture in Charleston’s society. No longer would she be the hair stylist who had part ownership in the haunted wreck of a house. Most importantly, Blair would shut her husband down. She would put a stop to this loan-calling ridiculousness. Jayne Ella knew who wore the pants in that family.
Before Blair drove away in her dark blue Mercedes, she lowered her window and waved as if the two women had been friends for years.
Jayne Ella smiled and returned the wave, watched Blair’s car clear of the iron gate at the front of the property. She knew that Blair only visited her because she wanted an inside track on the manor. She was fine with that. She’d take the alliance no matter how superficial it was.
She turned around and startled at the sight of Mrs. Miller standing in the open doorway holding a mug of coffee.
“Good Morning, Jayne Ella. Making new friends, I see.” Mrs. Miller’s eyes held hers with a ready stare. “Blair Spencer, eh? She certainly has a lot of influence in town, doesn’t she?”
Jayne Ella tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “She’s interested in helping us with a few of our fundraising efforts just as soon as the ma
nor is open for business. Called me right out of the blue!” Jayne Ella smiled with worn out hope that she could disarm Mrs. Miller.
Mrs. Miller’s good eye seemed to focus more intently on her.
“It’s unusual for her to play the charitable sort.”
Jayne Ella didn’t answer. She didn’t want to jinx whatever good fortune brought Blair to her side of things. She gestured for Mrs. Miller to go ahead of her into the manor. “Shall we go inside?”
Mrs. Miller didn’t move.
“Isn’t Blair’s daddy the Chairman over at First Charleston Bank?”
“Yes. He is. That’s why this connection with Blair could be really helpful to the manor.”
“I read about her father and the bank merger in the paper not too long ago. That merger made quite a news piece because it combines Charleston’s two oldest banking families—her husband’s and her father’s. There she is right in the middle with all that money and influence. Newspaper said that Blair holds all of Charleston in the palm of her hand. Like a marble. One nod from her in any direction can make or break a business. Or maybe someone’s world.”
“I’m hoping that once she’s on board with the manor, that Austin will leave us alone. Just let us pay off the loan according to schedule.” Jayne Ella nodded to the fact that she blocked the doorway. “May I?”
Mrs. Miller maintained her eye contact and slowly stepped to the side.
Jayne Ella nodded a thank you. She took the key that was parked in the lock and shut and locked the heavy door behind her. A loud ka-thunk echoed through the main hallway.
“There was also an op-ed piece that said with her daddy controlling one bank’s loan strings and her husband doing the same with the other, businesses in Charleston didn’t stand a chance if Blair Spencer didn’t like you. No one wants to be on her bad side.”
“Well.” Jayne Ella pressed the hair that fell to the bottom of her neck. “Hopefully Blair likes the manor enough that we won’t be on her bad side.”
A Stranger in Alcott Manor Page 9
