A Stranger in Alcott Manor

by Alyssa Richards

  She shook her head. “Beau. You’ve been cooped up in a tiny space for years. Before you left, you wanted to travel the world more than anything else because the whole town was too small for you. You can’t tell me that you’re not itching to leave and never come back.”

  “I’ve changed, Pey, and I’ve grown up. I wouldn’t want to leave you for any reason. Not travel or work or anything else.” He looked out at the ocean, ran his fingers through his hair. “I have been gone for a long time. But the simple freedoms I’m about to enjoy are pretty sweet. I’m about to get in my dad’s car, drive down the road and nothing is going to stop me. Least of all some stupid tintype.” He chuckled. “Heck, just walking across the floor without fear of falling through some crack is reason enough to celebrate. My point is that I’m happy with a lot less than I was before.” He held the side of her face with his hand, stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I’m just grateful.

  “So, promise me this, Pey. Whatever you decide, don’t make this about me and what you think I want. Or what anyone else wants. This is about you and deciding what you want. If you don’t get that figured out, you’re never going to be happy, no matter which direction you choose.” He kissed her. When he pulled away, his eyes were closed, as if it were their final kiss.

  A dark-haired man caught her attention while he walked toward them—more police, she suspected. Bad timing. But as he got closer she recognized that it was Ira. He was wearing sunglasses she’d never seen before and clothes she didn’t recognize. He had showered and changed. His hair was wet and combed close to his head. It had been a quick shower, she guessed. The kind he took after surgery and when he had somewhere else to be. When he arrived, he took off his sunglasses. His eyes were red and bleary, like he hadn’t slept in a while.

  “I’ll leave y’all to talk,” Beau said with a slight wave.

  When Beau left, Ira nodded to him. “Where had he been all this time?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said.

  “What, he was kidnapped or something?” He shoved his hands in his pockets, perhaps for comfort, never taking his eyes off of her.

  “Kind of. Yes.”

  He stopped. “Actually?”

  “It’s a bizarre story.”

  They faced the water, their wedding site behind them. Too many things not being said.

  “Shall we go inside and talk?” he asked.

  “I’ve been cooped up in there too much lately. The fresh air is probably a better idea.”

  “How about we walk on the beach, then?”

  They walked to the right, away from the white tent and the rows of folding chairs. Fat clouds the color of ash gathered overhead. She thought of running through the rain with Beau and the night they spent in the horse barn that wasn’t there anymore. Guilt flooded her insides and her stomach staged a rebellion. She pressed her hand to her abdomen.

  “Stomach okay, where you got scratched?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I bandaged it.” She stopped and took him by the hand. “Listen, something happened and you need to know—”

  He shook his head and placed two fingers over her lips. “Don’t.” He swallowed hard. “Just—whatever it is, don’t. I’ve given this a lot of thought over the last couple of days, even more so in the last few hours, and I’ve decided that I don’t need to know.”

  “Ira, I’m so tired of secrets. My entire life I’ve lived with secrets. I want to be honest with you. If we don’t discuss this, I think there will always be this shadow—”

  “I don’t want to know,” he said quickly. “Whatever happened, we’ll chalk it up to a very unusual situation. I’m guessing emotions ran high when he reappeared and—” He stepped away. He stared at the ocean and drew in a deep breath. “Whatever happened has happened. Today is supposed to be the day that we start our new life together. What happens from today onward is what matters most. I love you. More than life itself, I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she said. And she knew that she did.

  Tears welled up in his eyes. “I haven’t been around as much as I should have been.”

  “Ira—no. This was not your fault.”

  He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. “You’ve had a lot going on. A lot of stress with the wedding and this house and your mother. You told me you wanted a small wedding and I should have listened. I should have told my parents no when they started inviting more guests and high profile people. We’ll take our marriage vows today. On the beach. Just you and me and a minister. Maybe a couple of witnesses.” His smile was soft and full of love. He kissed her hands. “Let’s just—not mention the other again. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  “You love me, right?”

  “I do,” she said.

  With puffy cheeks, he exhaled a sigh of relief.

  She understood that he didn’t want specifics in terms of what happened physically with Beau. He didn’t want to hear her confess what led to her night with Beau, how events unfolded, or how she ended up in his arms. He didn’t want details. She could honor that. So they walked along the beach, and instead she told him what was on her mind and in her heart. Because a lot had happened in her life in these last few days, and she was through with secrets.

  26

  Peyton drove the rental car back from Mrs. Miller’s house with the windows down. She hadn’t realized how much she missed fresh air until she had been trapped inside the manor’s memories.

  She looked at Bertha Mae’s 1850s camera that she had strapped into the passenger seat as if it were a small child. It was an evil thing, she thought. If only because Bertha Mae had used it as such. Peyton remembered the tripod in the basement near Rachel’s body and the countless tintypes of Rachel when she was sick.

  She stopped at the intersection just before the Alcott property line. The manor looked majestic and peaceful in the distance, like it had been cleansed somehow. Emptied. She knew the feeling. Hidden toxic memories had been flushed up and out and left the both of them with clean slates.

  She watched her mother’s car pull into the front drive and she followed her, parked her car right behind Jayne Ella’s. When she got out, Peyton’s phone buzzed with a text message alert. Amanda:

  Know you’re almost on your honeymoon (lucky dog). No need to respond. Just letting you know we got the Sweet Chocolate deal! Great job and Congrats, my new Exec VP!! Promotion is yours!!

  “Everything okay?” Jayne Ella forced a smile. She wore an Atlanta Braves baseball cap pulled low and her prescription glasses. No makeup. Under normal circumstances, she never did any of that.

  “Yeah. I got the Sweet Chocolate account. And the promotion.”

  Jayne Ella’s smile slipped. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart. Congratulations. I know that’s what you wanted. And you deserve it. More than anyone, I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks,” Peyton said. Something was off center about Jayne Ella’s tone. She sounded proud but not happy.

  “Layla called and said they’re keeping Horace in the hospital for another few nights. She said he was dehydrated, his blood pressure was too low. I don’t know where he’s been all this time, but she also said he was malnourished.” They were silent for a moment. Jayne Ella looked at the ground. “You put the keys back under the flower pot at Mrs. Miller’s house? And you got what you needed?”

  Peyton nodded, slipped her hands into her back pockets.

  Jayne Ella stepped closer to Peyton, rubbed her arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m really very sorry about everything.”

  “He put her in the backseat with me,” Peyton said.

  Jayne Ella closed her eyes for a long moment. “Never did I think he would do something like that. The whole thing is just horrifying. I wish I’d known, I would have done something.”

  “I did tell you what little bit I remembered from that night. You told me it never happened.”

  “I thought you were referring to something else.”

  “What something else?
” Peyton asked.

  “I never knew Ruby Lee was buried here. I promise. You have to believe me.”

  Peyton watched Jayne Ella closely for any signs that she might be lying. But her mouth was still. No lips twisted to the side, and she didn’t chew on her cheek.

  “I thought you were starting to remember the gold and I didn’t want you to.”

  “So you knew about the gold,” Peyton said.

  Jayne Ella nodded. “It was a stupid thing to do.” She told her about the night at the bank, how Austin showed her the gold. Her spur of the moment decision to do what she thought would end her financial problems.

  “Your father and I were arguing a lot in those days. In large part because I was involved with Austin. He didn’t know for sure, not initially, but he suspected. I thought Austin and I were meant to be together, and he often told me that he thought we were. I treated your father like he was in the way. The night when we moved the gold here, your father suspected that I was out with Austin. I told him I was working at the salon that night. I guess he drove by and I wasn’t there. It was late, and he went out looking for me. He finally found me here, with Austin.

  “We had already moved the gold inside when I heard a car pull up. I came outside and found him here, with both you and Layla asleep in the back seat. He saw Austin’s car and said he knew what was going on, that I was having an affair. He moved the two of you to the backseat of my car and told me he was leaving us.

  “After your father drove away, I told you to stay in the back seat and to watch over your sister, that I would be out in a few minutes. I went inside to tell Austin that I had to leave, when I turned around I found you standing in the great hall. We had gold bars on the floor, next to a big hole. You saw everything, including Austin.

  “You said you were wearing a white dress and that threw me. The only time I knew you were at the manor at night when you were ten, you weren’t wearing a white dress. It was dark blue.”

  Like a wriggling fish yanked from dark depths to land, that childhood moment found light. Standing in the great hall: her mother, Austin, stacks of gold, a hole in the floor. “Mama? What are you doing?”

  Jayne Ella had run toward her, guided her out of the front door of the manor.

  Peyton rubbed her forehead. She had forgotten that memory until just then. Apparently her perfect recall wasn’t one hundred percent perfect.

  “But the night he hit and buried Ruby was the night of his bank’s Christmas party. I wore a white dress that night.” Peyton said.

  “The night of the party was several days after we’d buried the gold. I guess he needed a hiding place for her body, remembered the hole we made in the manor and made use of it. I think he would have dug her up and moved her a long time ago. But I had cement poured over the subflooring, then we installed cameras and extra security. There was no way for him to get to her. I thought I was preventing him from taking the gold. I didn’t realize I was sealing Ruby’s body into the manor.” Jayne Ella’s lips remained still. She was telling the truth.

  Tears slid down Jayne Ella’s cheeks.

  “Are you going to jail?” Peyton asked.

  Her mother shook her head, exhaled hard. “I don’t think so. At least the attorney I spoke with says there isn’t enough hard evidence. I hope he’s right.”

  Peyton breathed relief. “Then what’s going on?”

  Jayne Ella studied her daughter carefully. “One of the bankers I met with this week has called. They’ve offered us a deal, but it’s not a workable one. So, unfortunately, they’re calling the loan.”

  “What’s the deal?”

  “They said they did some research on your credentials. They were impressed with your firm in Boston, the clientele and your reputation. They said we could keep the loan if you ran the manor.” Jayne Ella adjusted her hat.

  Peyton felt her mouth ease open. “But I don’t live here.”

  “That’s what I told them.”

  “I could design the plans from a distance and we could hire someone to implement them locally. We have lots of clients who do that.”

  “I told them that, too. But apparently we are one of the larger loans that they’ve inherited. They aren’t comfortable sticking their financial neck out with us unless we can show that we have local management. Someone of your caliber.”

  “Maybe if I talk with them, convince them that I would be hands on—”

  “That would be great.” Jayne Ella’s lips drew into a flat line and Peyton knew she didn’t hold out much hope.

  “I’m sorry, for everything. I really am.” Jayne Ella held her daughter close for a long time, then kissed her cheek. “I love you, Peyton.”

  When she stood back, Peyton noticed that her mother’s mouth remained calm and peaceful. “Thank you.” Peyton’s guard dropped, for what she thought might be the first time in twenty years. At least where her mother was concerned.

  “I was going to go inside and see what kind of mess the police left behind. But I’m just going to go home.” Jayne Ella took a final glance at the manor, then got in her car and left.

  Peyton unbuckled the camera from the passenger seat and saw the black book Beau had given her. She tucked it into her waistband, went inside and tried to figure out what to do with Bertha Mae’s camera.

  She could smash it, then she wondered if she should burn it. For the time being, she decided to park it on a display shelf in the ballroom. She stared at it, wondering if it still held the power it once did.

  Yellow tape at the bottom of the grand staircase caught her attention and she walked into the great hall. The giant hole in the floor was empty, no bodies, no gold. Even the presence she had felt in the area was quiet. No screaming, no fury or unexplained drafts. Bertha Mae’s spirit must have finally found some peace.

  She pulled the black book from her waistband and headed toward the porch. Drew in a sharp breath when she opened the cover. There was hardly any white on the pages, Beau’s small print filled every space, left to right, top to bottom. Many of the items he wrote about were the same memories that had reached to her through the walls since she had arrived. How he had proposed, how they met. There was even a mention of the rose quartz bracelet he gave her and the way the pink stone appeared against her skin.

  She ran her fingertips along the wall of the manor, seeing the house differently now, wondering if it had played a role in sending her Beau’s thoughts. To let her know that he was nearby, that he needed help, or to remind her of what had once been.

  She walked toward the front of the house, looked again at the hole in the floor, inexplicably knowing. The spirit that screamed with such fury hadn’t been Bertha Mae’s spirit at all. That wasn’t her style.

  The spirit that tried to make itself known, that knocked things over and howled and screeched, the one that had finally found peace—that had been Ruby Lee.

  27

  Peyton walked onto the back porch of Alcott Manor and flipped the switch on the ceiling fans to stir up the breeze. She picked up a couple of wadded paper towels that someone left behind and brushed errant dirt from the wicker couch cushions. The sun was just past its height for the day, edging toward the front of the manor. Magnolia shadows stretched wide across the short grass, white foam from calm waves bubbled onto the sand and left their trail. The tent and the chairs and the arbor had been removed from the great lawn, leaving another blank slate.

  She walked inside, strolled along the main hallway, let her attention run through the house. It was empty. Nothing reaching from the walls. Nothing emanating from the furniture, no stories circulating or needing to be heard.

  The rooms were at peace. The manor had let go of the many stories that once kept it too alive. With Mrs. Miller gone, Peyton was the only one left who knew all the history about Alcott Manor.

  She ambled into the ballroom and studied several of the tintypes that Mrs. Miller had left on the table. One was a holiday celebration, maybe Thanksgiving. She looked closely at the guests pictured at t
he gathering. There was one young woman with what looked to be red hair, auburn. She stood in the background and her features were fuzzy.

  She could have passed for a Ruby-lookalike, if guesswork were involved to imagine how she would have grown up. And if you were a grieving mother who desperately wanted to see her daughter again, to believe she could come back.

  The tintype clacked against the table when she put it down, and Peyton turned her attention to the exhibit featuring some of Bertha Mae’s belongings. She took down her tiara and her diary, her fan and white gloves, and placed them on one of the side tables. She would not allow Bertha Mae to be celebrated, or to be the center of anyone’s admiration.

  She thought about the museum that Mrs. Miller used to run and how it featured so many of Bertha Mae’s personal items. She would make certain that those came down as well. Peyton decided she would find more of Rachel’s personal belongings, she would feature those instead. The images started to flow and form.

  Since her life had been ripped apart nine years ago, she had struggled to figure out where she belonged. When she was young, she thought she belonged in Charleston with her mother, later she thought it had been with Beau. Then, she thought it was with her career in Boston, along with Ira.

  Now, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t blaming herself for anything—not for Ruby’s disappearance, or Mrs. Miller’s heartache. With the mysteries of her childhood and Beau’s disappearance solved, she felt a calmness, an inner peace that she suspected the manor also embraced. The belonging she had searched for strengthened inside of her. Fortified her. Not in the way she thought it would, but far better. She belonged everywhere, and yet nowhere, all at once. She was at home within herself.

  Then, with typical mystifying manor-like style, she knew. Simply. Clearly.