EPILOGUE

 

 The gentle night air fell around our shoulders as we strolled along the stone wall over the rolling acres of Overhome. The twilight was mellow, pastel. Stroking the cool surface of the ancient wall, I could not repress a tiny shiver.

“My father will be trustee until my 21st birthday, and Jeff and Aunt Monica will live here as long as they like. Miss Emma’s coming around, thank God. Dr. Ross says she’ll be up and about within a week. Miss Emma and Abe are beginning a well-deserved retirement, which I hope both will plan to live out here at Overhome. When I am twenty-one, the estate will be mine.” I turned to my companion. “I still can’t believe it, Luke. Any of it.”

“The police inspectors? They’re satisfied?”

“I told the truth. I said my uncle and I were having a race on our horses and that when his horse shied on the bridge, it threw him off. The rest was pretty evident.”

“So, you, Miss Emma an’ I—we’re th’ only ones who know what th’ horse race was all about?”

“Yep. I’m sure Monica has no suspicion about Hunter’s intentions. And Miss Emma told her she’d fallen and hit her head in Hunter’s office. Also true.”

“Sounds like th’ case is closed then. Now, tell me again about th’ slave graves,” Luke said. “It’s unbelievable.”

“Well, yes. I agree. Rosabelle left me a-a final memo, I guess you’d say. The rubbing Jeff and Hunter did of the ancestral tombstones. I’ll have to show you. It’s kind of creepy, actually, to think that it was waiting for me in my room, after…”

Luke put his arm around me. “Hang in there, Babe.”

I took a deep breath and went on. “After my uncle fell over the bridge, I went back to my room and, on my bed, was the rubbing, a rose beside it. ‘Free the slaves’ was scrawled on the back.”

“Seems pretty random. I mean even more random than usual for Rosabelle.”

“You know, I agree. I suppose she felt some kind of strong connection with the Overton slaves. Did you know she was enslaved in Africa herself for five years, when her ship from Scotland was pirated? I mean, who knows? Maybe she felt a special kinship with the Africans she knew there. And, then, she must have considered herself lucky that, as an indentured servant, she could live a free life, after the required seven years of labor. The slaves never had a chance to be free.” I smiled weakly at Luke. “My theory is Rosabelle was a full-on abolitionist.”

“So, you figger that was all a part of the FREE message she left on your computer?”

I nodded. “Why else would Rosabelle leave me that message about the slaves on the back of the tombstone rubbings? I’m getting good at reading between the lines.”

Luke nodded.

“Aunt Monica is determined to find the slave grave markers my grandfather threw away. She’s hired people to scout out the whole estate, including divers for the lake, if it comes to that. Unfortunately, right now there is no technology for reclaiming the bodies buried under the lake.” I took a breath. “We have some experts looking at old maps that show the exact location of the original slave cemetery located on the old estate. The Historic Preservation Society, no less, is involved. Maybe someday the bodies can be retrieved and given a proper burial, or re-burial, in a church yard.”

“I expect that will make a lot of people happy,” Luke said. “A lot of people and one stubborn spirit.”

“It will give Aunt Monica something else to think about.”

“How’re they takin’ it all? Monica ’n Jeff. What a shocker…Hunter dyin’ like that.” Luke’s drawl was as soft as the summer night.

“It will be a real adjustment for them, for everyone. But you know, Monica seems to be more concerned with being a good mother to Jeff. It’s like, when my uncle died she knew the responsibility for Jeff would be on her shoulders now. ‘I’ve finally grown up, Ashby,’ she told me. ‘I know what I have to do and I know how to do it, to be a real mother.’ I know it sounds cheesy, but I think she’s going to be a lot better off without someone as manipulative and condescending as my uncle hovering over her.”

“Well, I feel for Jeff. His father was his idol. I know what it’s like t’ grow up without a dad.”

“Roger that. But, you know, Jeff had an unhealthy fear of his dad, too. Unhealthy but understandable.” I sighed. “He and Monica are seeing a counselor to help deal with…with everything.” I leaned against Luke’s chest. “And Jeff does have another father-figure he looks up to. You, Luke.”

We stopped to sit atop the stone wall where I reflected on the solid, enduring feel of the aging structure. Built by slaves hundreds of years ago, it was not going anywhere any time soon. I liked that feeling because I planned to stay around for a long, long time myself. Overhome was my home now.

“So, I’ll go off to college in th’ fall while an estate manager runs Overhome. At least that’s th’ plan as of now,” Luke said.

“You’ll be happy to hear I’ve asked Eddie Mills to work the stables.”

“No way!” Luke winced.

“Way. He’s as eager as a schoolboy. And he’s promised to sever all ties with the Night Riders.”

“Well, Eddie’ll give Abe somethin’ to complain about, even if Abe does retire. It’ll keep his mind off my leavin’ for college, maybe.” Luke put his hands on my shoulders. “What about your college education, Ashby?”

“I still plan to take my year off—my gap year—and to spend it here at Overhome. Now that I know there will be no problem with money for tuition, I hope to get busy writing the novel I’ve been composing in my mind all summer. I mean, there’s enough raw material for a saga, at the very least. A trilogy. I figure next year my muse and I will find our way to the University of Virginia or some other nearby college with a good writing program.”

Hopping from the wall, I grabbed Luke’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s walk to the bridge and—” I stopped suddenly, remembering, with a lurch, the whole awful scene. “Oh, Luke. It was horrible. Terrible. A nightmare I can’t get rid of. But if it hadn’t happened…” I buried my face in my hands.

He put his arms around me and stroked my back. “Don’t dwell on it, Ashby. Think about how you’ve grown to love this place and the people in it. The current stable boy, for example.” He bent to kiss me.

“Wait. Smell the air. The perfume.”

He lifted his face to the breeze. “Trees, grass, horses. That’s country air.” He smiled. “Beautiful ’n sweet.”

Throwing back my hair, I looked at the stars low on the horizon, rising to meet the night. “Yes, trees and grass and horse smells. But there’s more, Luke. Roses. I smell roses.”

Then, I heard it, as Luke enfolded me in his arms. Soaring high on the breeze, ricocheting from mountain to lake and back to me, a jubilant voice crying, “Free! Free! Free!”

And with that, Rosabelle’s presence left me, probably forever. Vindicated at last, she was gone, free to cross over to the other side. Now, Overhome was rid of the malignancy of Hunter Overton. And one day, the slaves’ spirits would be free, again, to rest in a legitimate grave yard. The bluebirds had deserted my balcony; they had no reason to return. The spirit driving them had fulfilled her needs.

“Y’ know what this means?” Luke gave me a playful look. “Y’ know what y’ are now?”

“A damn Yankee,” we said at the same time, laughing.