Prologue

The dreams returned.

Not sure if coming home to Charleston, which I always dreaded, or just being back in this house, this cold mausoleum of a plantation triggered the dreams. But, they were back, in full force, as if they’d never left.

A man in clothes from another time with riding boots shined to a high polish over his riding breeches appeared. He looked like he stepped right out of one of the paintings hanging in the wing of the mansion where my family’s ancestors’ paintings were housed.

As a child, I was terrified of those paintings. It always felt as though the eyes were following me and I was sure my ancient relatives would jump out of the painting, grab me, take me back into the painting and no one would ever find me.

Ah, the imagination of a child.

Yet, tonight the dream was different. Clearer, with sharp edges and clean lines. Like the lens of a camera being turned until everything is brought into focus. I was in a bedroom, sitting in a window-seat, looking at the blossoming magnolia tree in the backyard. A horse’s soft whinny floated through the open window, traveling on the early spring humidity. Odd, we hadn’t owned horses in years. Since then, the barn had been turned into a garage for my father’s car collection.

Sweat began to form on my neck and I got up to turn the ceiling fan higher. Why wasn’t the air conditioning on? Spring in Charleston was definitely not too soon for a little A/C. Something was wrong, I could feel it. I looked up at the ceiling. There was no fan! In fact, there weren’t any lights either. Not in the ceiling, not on the bedside table. The room was illuminated merely by one lit candle that was almost a nub.

I stood to examine my surroundings when a male voice said, “Miss, I need your help.”

I froze. Well, as much as one can freeze with their heart pounding tightly against their rib cage.

Whirling around, I was confronted by a man. Well…maybe an apparition of a man, standing in the middle of the room. I had no idea how he’d gotten in, but there he was, all shimmery and almost glowing. He reached out a hand to me, and I thought I saw something like sadness in his deep brown eyes, but there was such a shimmer around him it was hard to tell. He almost looked as if he was standing in front of funny mirrors at the circus.

“Miss,” he pleaded, “please. I need your help.”

I opened my mouth, so many questions, but they all stuck in my throat as he walked, no, floated, toward me. The closer he got, the stronger my urge to run, but the heavier my feet felt planted to the floor. “Please,” he said again, “find me.”

Find him? I had no idea who ‘him’ was. Besides, this was a dream. Right?

I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream, but I could swim up out of this bizarre happening in my subconscious. Forcing myself to wake up, I steadied my breathing for a few beats before I opened my eyes. The shadowy movement of the fan blades overhead let me know I was back in the present and it had only been a dream. I heard soft breathing and turned on my side to see my precious five-year old, Emma-Kate, sleeping softly beside me. Since the beyond ugly divorce between her father and me, her sleep had become troubled and she’d taken to sleeping in my bed. Tonight, I drew her to me and held her closely in my arms, taking comfort from her.

~ * ~

I must’ve fallen back to sleep, because when I awoke the heat from the May Charleston sun streamed through the windows and warmed my face. Even with the fan on high and the air conditioning running, heat permeated the room. I lay back on the pillows and shut my eyes, letting the warmth bathe my face. As a little girl, I’d always believed the sun had mystical powers it could impart to me if I only let it. Nights were scary, dark places, but the sun made everything clear, bright, real.

I needed the sun’s strength to face the day ahead of me. Family lawyers were descending on Alston Plantation this afternoon to go over my father’s Estate. Being an old Charleston attorney from a long line of Charleston attorneys, Father was meticulous in planning how his assets were to be distributed after his death. With me being the only off-spring in the family who followed in the Alston family tradition of joining the judicial system, he’d made me his executrix. I know he would’ve preferred my brother to have joined the family practice, but Daddy was happy to have at least one of us. Alston and Alston, Attorneys at Law remained intact, even if it was William Alston, III and Margaret Alston and not William IV.

Groaning at the thought of facing my siblings while doling out the family possessions, I pulled the covers over my head and squeezed my eyes shut. If ever I wished I had gone into another profession, it was now. Charleston County dog catcher would’ve been nice. I always loved animals.

“Wrapping yourself up in the quilts ain’t going to make the day disappear.”

“Bitsy, how am I going to get through this?” Before I could do anything, the woman who’d been with our family since the day I was born unceremoniously pulled the quilts off me, leaving me on the bed with my University of South Carolina Gamecock football jersey twisted around my thighs.

“You’re going to get up, take a shower, put yourself together and do what your daddy wanted you to do.” Bitsy was never one to mince words.

She also always knew what I needed and when I needed it. Sitting on the side of the bed, she removed the pillow I had thrown across my face and took my hand. “Maggie, you’re the baby of this family, but you’ve always been the strongest.” I groaned even louder, threw my arm over my eyes, and fought the tears that threatened to spill.

“You’ve hated hearing that since you was a little girl, but true is true.” I looked at her hand holding mine, her light brown skin against my always too-pale skin, and knew she was right. “Your daddy may have never shown it, but he was proud as the dickens he had you by his side in that law office of his.” Bitsy’s voice, her soft southern drawl, soothed my nerves.

“I wish I’d done it all differently. Another profession in Timbuktu or someplace. Any place, but Charleston.” Now I let the tears come, slowly, but down my face they fell.

She took me in her arms and rocked me like she had when I was a little girl and had bad dreams. “You don’t mean that, Maggie.”

Then it hit me. Pulling out of her arms, I looked Bitsy in her deep brown eyes.

“Bitsy, what started my fear of the dark?” Bits and pieces of last night’s dream began to emerge. But, something else was in my memory, too, right at the edge, but still out of reach.

She pulled away and began tidying the room.

“All children are afraid of the dark. Nothing unusual about that.”

“Then why did you stop looking me in the eye?”

No answer.

“Bitsy, I’m a thirty two-year-old woman with a law degree and a five-year-old child. Yet, I still sleep with a night light plugged into the wall. Emma-Kate is braver in the dark than me.”

Bitsy picked up Emma-Kate’s stuffed doggie and put him on the bed, still avoiding my gaze. My heart began to beat a quickening rhythm. Bitsy never avoided anyone’s gaze.

“Maggie, it’s getting on to eleven in the morning. You need to get up and shower. Get ready for the reading of your daddy’s will. Emma-Kate’s had her breakfast and is playing in the garden with Zeke.” Zeke had been our groundskeeper since time began. He loved teaching Emma-Kate how to garden.

I knew when to leave something alone with Bitsy, to not push. Now was one of those times. But she was hiding something and the lawyer in me was bound and determined to find out what it was.

A ‘humph’ drew my attention to Bitsy holding up the two dresses I’d brought from home to choose from for today’s family gathering. A black, cap-sleeve linen and the same dress in navy blue. My power dresses when I had a tough case in court. I’d left the matching jackets at home due to the heat and humidity.

“What? No dainty pearls?” Bitsy teased good-naturedly.

“They’re in my purse.” I grinned sheepishly.

We shared a laugh and the tension brought on by my question was gone. I would pick my time to pursue the answer and Bitsy knew it. But for now we let the subject drop.

 

 

 

 

1

Bitsy brought me a tray with my favorite black tea and some of her famous biscuits and homemade rhubarb jam. The steaming tea soothed me, even on this hot morning. I tried a biscuit, but even with Bitsy’s delicious jam, it felt dry going down my throat. Sighing, I placed the dish back on the tray and finished my tea. Sitting in the window seat with the floral chintz cushions I’d had as long as I could remember, I looked around the only room I’d known as a little girl. No warm fuzzy feelings came to me. It wasn’t that my parents didn’t let me have slumber parties with my friends, just the opposite. They loved having parties for my siblings and me at the plantation. It’s just that as far back as I could remember, this room gave me, for lack of a better word, an odd feeling. Like every Alston who’d ever inhabited this room before me left a small part of themselves behind and they were all still here inhabiting the room with me.

I’d never told anyone. I was scared my family would think I was beyond nuts and commit me to a padded room. Besides, what would I say? “Um, Momma and Daddy? Our ancestors like my room so much they won’t leave. Want me to ask if there are any family jewels hidden anywhere?”

I froze. Suddenly, my attempt at imaginary humor wasn’t so funny.

“Help me, miss, please.”

Last night’s dream came rushing back. Sitting in this room, memories flooded me. It wasn’t the first time I’d dreamt of a long-ago man asking for my help. I wanted to pack my clothes, grab my child and run back to my safe, modern home in Mt. Pleasant. I hadn’t slept in this room in years and now I remembered why. I only slept here last night because it meant so much to Emma-Kate to spend a night in the room Mommy slept in as a little girl. I lived less than ten miles away, but visits to the plantation were limited to day visits and no sleepovers. Images from last night started to come back in bits and pieces. Who was this man and why had he always invaded my dreams? What did he want from me?

A loud knock on the door made me almost leap out of the window.

“Megs? You in there?” My older sister Francine had come in from Asheville, North Carolina. Even though only three hours by car, she’s the only one of the Alston children who’d left the state. I envied her that.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Frankie.” If I let her into my room, she’d see my shaking hands and I wasn’t in the mood to try and explain what had me so spooked.

Typical Frankie, she didn’t take the hint and invited herself inside. We were eighteen months apart, but one would’ve thought we were from different generations.

“Girl...” Her drawl today was rich and thick. The texture she used when she wanted something. “You’re not even dressed.”

“I’m working on it, Frankie.” Again she didn’t take the hint. Instead, she sat on the overstuffed chintz covered chair that matched the window seat covering and propped her Jimmy Choo’s on the ottoman.

Frankie made a big show of smoothing her expensive silk dress and adjusting her heavy David Yurman necklace so the diamond clasp was at her throat. Frankie was like our mother; they both had excellent taste and liked to show it off. They’d rather go without groceries if it meant buying another piece of designer jewelry. Or shoes. Or a handbag. Or, well...anything with a label.

Her performance was leading up to something and Francine never disappointed.

“I miss Daddy so much.” She brushed at her eyes with the back of one hand, but I doubted any tears were there. “Having to go through this task today of reading his will, seeing who he left what to…well, it seems almost grotesque.”

Bingo. There it was.

“It won’t take long, Frankie. It’s pretty clear.”

“I just don’t know if I can handle it without falling apart in front of the entire family.” She looked at me out of the corner of one smoky eyeshadowed eye.

“The entire family being you, me, and big brother William?” I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

That earned me a glare. So much for Frankie’s crocodiles tears.

“Look, Francine—” I didn’t have time for her games and I really needed to finish dressing—“you’ll know what Daddy left you when the rest of us know what he left us.”

“You already know because you helped him write it.” Her lower lip thrust out worse than a petulant child’s.

“Daddy went to an attorney he’d known for years. In this issue, I was his daughter, not his junior partner.” Taking a deep breath, I toned down my frustration. “Frankie, Daddy loved you. He loved all of us. It will be a fair divide. Now, if you don’t mind…” I gestured toward the door.

Taking my more than subtle hint, Francine finally took her expensively clad body and walked out of the room like a fashion model on a runway. Leave it to her to make a dramatic exit.

I love my sister, truly, I do, but she was so much like our mother. Daddy and Momma treated her like a queen, but she was never satisfied. She always had to have the most expensive and the latest styles. I often think she was so unhappy within herself, she thought all these material possessions would make her happy. Now she lived in a beautiful beach house on Isle of Palms and traveled a lot with her circle of girlfriends who either had rich husbands or large alimony payments.

I put on the black linen dress—seemed to match my mood—and threw on some lip gloss and mascara. My curly hair was particularly unruly in the humidity, so I hurriedly banded it in a low ponytail at the nape of my neck.

Putting my hand on the doorknob, I pressed my head against the door, the wood cool and smooth. I took a huge breath for courage, opened the door, and went downstairs.

~ * ~

Walking down the hallway on my way to the ‘grand’ staircase as Daddy liked to call it, I looked at portraits of Alston family ancestors on the wall. Realization hit that I was searching for the man in my dream, but none of the men in the paintings were him—not even close. Did I really believe I would find someone from my dreams to be an actual family member from generations gone by? Something bothered me and I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was, yet it was there, down deep in my gut.

I descended the stairs and walked across the marble-floored foyer to the dining room. I shoved whatever was upsetting me aside, figuring there’d be time enough at some point to deal with it. One stressful event was about all I could handle right now and dispersing Daddy’s estate was a doozey.

The long mahogany dining room table shone like a mirror. That table was Daddy’s favorite thing in this entire plantation. It’d been in the family for generations and he used to wonder out loud about all the discussions that had taken place around it through the generations. He would say, “the history this table has seen.” No doubt Bitsy polished it in hopes it would somehow make my father happy.

My brother William winked at me and gave me one of his beautiful smiles when I walked into the room. William was as calm and pragmatic as Francine was superficial and dramatic. He stood up from his chair, crossed the room to me and gave me a huge bear hug, lifting me off my feet like he had when we were children. I relaxed immediately. William always sensed when I was upset and knew just what to do to make me feel better.

“Hey, Mags.” He set me on my feet and tilted my chin up to look me in the eye. At 6’4”, William was very tall for an Alston. We figured some ancestor somewhere passed down those genes. “It’s a day like this I’m certainly glad I didn’t go into the family business and become a lawyer.” He laughed good-naturedly and I couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s a day like this I wish I hadn’t gone into the family practice either.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. He suddenly pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry about Frankie. Whatever Daddy didn’t leave her that she wants, her rich husband will buy her. If for nothing else but to shut her the hell up.”

I choked on my laughter and turned it into a cough, while covering my mouth. Frankie was staring at us, straining to hear our conversation. Thank goodness Daddy’s lawyer, Norman Stein, walked in before she could say anything.

We settled around the table as Norman took out packets of documents and passed one to each of us. I thought Francine would bust a gut before Norman gave us the go ahead to open Daddy’s Last Will and Testament.

 

 

 

 

2

The reading of the will took less than an hour. It was pretty simple, considering Daddy’s many assets. Bitsy and Zeke were taken care of for the rest of their lives, but that was no surprise to anyone. They were family.

William kissed me good-bye to get back to his surf shop on Folly Beach. He was proud to be an Alston, but never cared about the money and status that went with the name. He had a college degree, though I often thought he only did it to make Daddy happy. Forget the fact he owned a string of very successful surf shops. Give him a pair of Teva sandals, a surfboard with good tides and he was in heaven. We promised to get together for brunch on Sunday.

Frankie sobbed louder as each item given to her was read. William and I just looked at one another, rolling our eyes. Norman bit his lip to keep from laughing. As soon as it was over, she got in her Jaguar for the ride back to Asheville. I promised her I would begin work on getting her the items she was bequeathed as soon as possible.

Suddenly, my body felt heavy and I could barely move. I hadn’t realized how much anxiety I felt about today. Last night’s dream and Bitsy’s refusal to talk to me about my childhood dreams only added to my weariness.

“Mommy—” Emma Kate ran into the room—“come outside and play with me.” My heart melted at the sight of her curly brown hair bouncing around her shoulders, a huge grin on her sweet face. The best thing she got from her father was eyes as blue as the sky reflecting off the Atlantic. I sat in a chair and pulled her onto my lap facing me. I wanted to pick her up, but we’d both fall from my lack of energy.

“Zeke helped me plant flowers and I want you to see.”

I kissed her dirt-stained palm. Tired as I was, there was no way I could refuse my darling daughter’s request. Nap be damned, there was time enough for sleep.

“Mommy—” a frown creased her forehead—“who were you talking to last night?”

I looked at her and shrugged my shoulders, not sure what she meant.

“You woke me up. You kept saying, ‘Who are you? What do you want from me?’”

“Mommy was just having a bad dream, sweetie.” I had no idea I’d awakened her.

“Oh, okay. I thought maybe you were talking to the man in the room.”

I fought to keep my voice level and light, but my heart was wildly thumping in my chest. “What man, pumpkin?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “The man in the funny clothes with the long hair. He had a black bow in his ponytail like you do for me.”

It took all I had to keep my breathing steady. This wasn’t possible. It was my dream and now here was my five-year-old telling me she’d had the same dream.

“It was just a dream, honey.”

“Oh, no, Mommy. It was real.”

Bitsy came in the room and started cleaning the dishes and glasses from the snacks she’d served during the reading of the will. Her back stiffened as she heard our conversation, but she didn’t look at us.

“Emma-Kate, there was no man in our room last night.” I sounded much harsher than I wanted.

She fisted her little hands and planted them on her hips. She pulled back to look me directly in the eye. “Mommy, you thought I was sleeping, but I was awake. The man was there, asking for you to help him do something.” She lowered her voice into a whisper. “I think he was a ghost!”

I couldn’t do this. I could barely admit this to myself, let alone discuss it with my daughter—who was far calmer about the subject than I. “Pumpkin, I thought you wanted me to see the flowers Zeke helped you plant?” I lifted her off my lap and set her on the floor. “How about a snack outside? I think I smelled Bitsy’s famous peanut butter cookies baking earlier.”

She just stared at me with those huge blue eyes. My child was an old soul and not easily put off. After a long moment, while I tried to figure out what to say when I didn’t understand any of it, the bribe of Bitsy’s cookies and showing me what she’d accomplished outside did the trick. She didn’t push the subject.

I ran upstairs to change my clothes and promised to meet Emma-Kate outside.

~ * ~

Bitsy put out a blanket with a tray of cookies, plastic glasses and a carafe of milk on the lawn behind the house. Emma-Kate made a big showing of dipping her cookie into her milk while raising her pinkie in the air. My body relaxed muscle by muscle and soon the dream of last night and the stress of the day left my mind. The warmth of the setting Charleston May sun stroked my face while I enjoyed every minute of this time with my daughter. If possible, I wanted to remember this afternoon forever.

“Come on, ladies. Don’t stuff up on too many cookies. Dinner is in two hours,” Bitsy called from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Come on, my love, let’s wash up and relax before dinner. Is Sponge Bob on TV?”

We stood and started to clean our picnic items when Emma-Kate suddenly began waving. I turned to see who she was waving at and no one was there. I followed her gaze. My precious daughter was staring at the attic window high up on the house. The tray that held the cookies fell from my hands onto the lawn. The man from my dream stood in the window looking down at my daughter.

“See Mommy? Told you he was real. He’s right there. Can we invite him to dinner?”

I had to change the subject! “We need to get ready for dinner, pumpkin.”

I looked back up and he was gone. “See, sweetie, there’s no one there.”

I picked her up and carried her into the house before the strange man reappeared, my heart racing with each step.

 

 

 

 

3

“You’re not eating. I thought my fried chicken was your favorite?” Bitsy said.

“I don’t have much of an appetite right now, Bits.” I pushed my collards around on my plate with my fork. I looked her directly in the eye, hoping to see something that would let me know she knew anything about my dreams and what just happened with my daughter. Bitsy didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Not a muscle moved. I was now convinced, more than ever, Bitsy knew something.

“Bitsy, there’s a man living in the attic.”

Bitsy and I turned and looked at Emma-Kate. “He also came and talked to Mommy last night. He needs her to help him do something.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” I took a napkin and wiped the milk off her chin. “She has such an imagination, doesn’t she, Bits?”

Bitsy stood and began to gather the dirty dishes, never once looking at me.

“I asked Momma if we could invite him to dinner.”

“Baby girl, how about a nice bubble bath and then we can put in a DVD? What movie do you want to watch?”

“i-Carly!” Emma-Kate could barely contain her excitement.

I had packed enough videos to keep her entertained for a couple more days, but as soon as I could pack tomorrow, Emma-Kate and I were going home. I could work on what needed to be done for Daddy’s estate from my house and come back to the plantation on an as needed basis. There was no way I was spending another night in this house.

A cold breeze moved through my body and ruffled the napkins on the table, yet the windows were closed and the ceiling fan was set to low. I looked around the room, but everything else seemed to be in place.

A shiver of fear ran up my spine.

I couldn’t get out of here fast enough.

~ * ~

Emma-Kate barely made it through the first ten minutes of the show before she fell asleep. I turned off the DVD and picked her up in my arms. I put her in bed and covered her with the quilt before I got in beside her and snuggled close. I fought sleep. My body longed for it, but my mind raced at top speed, wondering if the dream would return tonight and trying to reassure myself there really was no man from another century in the attic window. Surely Emma-Kate was imagining things, and I was so exhausted handling my father’s estate, my mind was playing tricks, too.

Yet I couldn’t rationalize the fact they were the same tricks.

I let my lawyer’s clear, rational mind take over. There are no such things as ghosts. Not even in old plantation houses. Those are nothing but myths for tourists. I chanted this mantra several times in my head before I let sleep take me.

~ * ~

I ran barefoot in the dark. My white cotton nightrail whipped around my ankles, almost tripping me. The grass felt cool under my feet. I laughed, looking over my shoulder, knowing my love would catch me. I ran faster as I heard him approach, my laughter filling the night air.

Before I reached the barn door, I was swept up in my husband’s strong arms. My laughter caught in my throat at the sight of the feral glint in his rich brown eyes. Those eyes trapped me, drowned me in their depths. I didn’t want to be saved.

The horses’ soft knickers welcomed their master and mistress into their home.

With each step Samuel took, my heart beat a little faster, my breathing more labored. The pull in my lower body couldn’t be denied.

We went into an empty stall that had a blanket laid out on the ground. He lowered me to it, never letting go of me, nor I him. I held tightly to his neck, but Samuel pulled up to look at me directly.

“I love you, my lady. I always have and I always will” He ran his thumb over my forehead and down my cheek, tracing my face.

“Why so serious, my love?” I tried to pull him down for a kiss, but he wouldn’t move.

“Listen to me, Anna. No matter what happens, you and the children are my life.”

“You’re scaring me, Samuel.” Suddenly our time in the barn lost its magic.

He smiled and relaxed in my arms. “I’m sorry, love. It has been a long day and quite hot outside. I need my wife to relax me.”

He was my Samuel again and the moment that tightened my stomach in fear was gone. He pushed my gown above my hips as I undid the buttons on his breeches.

“I love you.”

And, I love you.”

It was enough for us.

~ * ~

Why on earth would I dream of these people—making love no less? The man was the one from my dream, but who was the woman with him? Obviously, his wife, but why would I dream of her, too? I didn’t know either of them.

I moved closer to Emma-Kate and saw she was definitely sleeping.

Quietly, I moved to the window seat. I’d always seemed to do my best thinking sitting there while looking out into the gardens in the backyard with the barn beyond. Zeke had turned off the backyard lights, but the full moon shone brightly making the area look a beautiful photograph. The night air was humid; it seemed to seep through the window panes and my hair felt damp against my neck. Yet hot as it was, a cold chill walked up my spine. Laughter, soft, yet distinct, came from the barn.

“I love you.”

“And, I love you.”

 

 

 

 

4

My arm flapped up and down like a bird’s wing. I opened a heavy eyelid to see Emma-Kate holding my hand in both of hers, yanking my arm up and down.

“Come on, Mama, get up. Bitsy made shrimp and grits with biscuits.”

“You go ahead, sweet pea. Mama wants to wash up and brush my teeth.” I sat up in bed and gave her a stern look. “Did you brush your teeth this morning, missy?”

“Of course.” Emma-Kate giggled. “You know I hate those sugar bugs staying on my teeth the dentist told me about.”

I leaned forward and kissed her forehead and ran my fingers through her soft curls. “You go ahead, Emma-Kate. I’ll be down soon.”

She ran out the door, so excited to have Bitsy’s special breakfast.

“You save me some of those shrimp and grits now, you hear me?”

Her precious giggles reached my heart even as her feet pounded down the stairs.

Throwing myself back on the bed, I groaned. I had to get to the bottom of this. The dreams. What did it all mean? After breakfast, I would see what I could find doing an Internet search. Truthfully, I’d never really known the plantation’s total history. Only that it had been in the family forever—at least since the end of the American Revolution.

Who were these people in my dreams, playing such tricks on my subconscious? What would I do with the information if I found any? The lawyer in me tried to stay pragmatic. My father had only recently died and knowing how much his home meant to him, all this weirdness was probably just part of my grief process. Handling all the details of his will wasn’t helping my stress level. Surely that’s all this was. Stress from Daddy dying after such a struggle with colon cancer on the heels of my beyond acrimonious divorce. I needed to get all the business of Daddy’s will done and go away for a bit. Maybe take Emma-Kate to Disney World. Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse giving joy to my beautiful daughter was just the ticket to relieving my stress.

Bitsy decided to spend the day in Awendaw with her daughter and her family. She happily agreed to take Emma-Kate. She loved playing with the other children, and couldn’t be in safer hands.

So now I could be alone to do my sleuthing. Although I certainly hadn’t told Bitsy what I planned. I doubted she would have left me alone if I’d been honest about my endeavors.

I took my coffee to the dining room and put a placemat on the table before I set down my mug and laptop. There was something comforting about sitting at Daddy’s favorite table while trying to find out more about the house. Leaving wet mug rings would be a definite no-no, so I quickly found a coaster.

I pulled up a search engine and suddenly—nothing. What, exactly, was I looking for? A man from my dreams and his wife? I had no clue where to start.

Deep in thought, I didn’t hear the front door open, so I startled when I heard it slam shut as old, heavy oak doors often did.

“Sorry if I scared you, baby sister,” William stood in the doorway.

“It’s okay.” I took several deep breaths before I continued. “No surf boards to sell today?”

“I know yesterday was hard for you. Frankie didn’t help much, but we all know Frankie is, well...Frankie.” Sitting beside me, he went on, “I know you don’t like being in this house much, so I wanted to check on you.”

My sweet brother. The kindest person I knew. No hidden agendas with William. I hesitated, wondering how much I could tell him without making myself sound like a raving lunatic. William wasn’t only kind, he never judged, but these events of the past couple of nights were too bizarre by anyone’s standards.

“William, what do you know about this estate?”

He shrugged. “How do you mean? It’s been in the family since sometime after the American Revolution.”

“I know that, but do you know anything about our ancestors from that time period?”

He waited a beat, his brows furrowing into a frown. “Mags, what’s with the sudden interest in history?”

“Remember when we were little and I had strange dreams?”

“You always did have quite the vivid imagination.” He grinned. “We thought you’d become a fiction writer or some-such thing.”

“Yes, well…I’m having strange dreams again.”

“I...” He stopped and his face flushed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my big brother embarrassed. Soon, he continued, “I’ve had dreams, too.”

“You have?” I sat up straighter in my seat. Could it be there were things William had never shared with any of us and I’d just opened a door for him to feel comfortable?

“Our father just died of cancer. He was in pain and there was nothing I could do about it,” he said quietly. “That’s bothered me since the day he started rapidly going downhill—when even the Morphine pump didn’t work.”

He held up a hand before I could speak. “Maybe if I’d made something more of myself instead of selling beach gear. Gone to medical school and…”

“And, what? Found a cure for cancer? Something scientists have been working on for decades?” I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Daddy was happy you were happy. William, you don’t just sell ‘beach gear.’ You have the most successful water sports shops in the county. People all over the country have heard about your shops, and your online business is thriving. Daddy was proud of you.”

“I know, but still—”

A loud crash from upstairs brought me to my feet.

“Maggie, why are you so jumpy? It’s probably Zeke cleaning something somewhere.”

“Bitsy took Zeke and Emma-Kate to her family’s house in Awendaw.” I looked at the ceiling as though I could see through to the upstairs. “We’re all alone here.” Damn, I sounded like something out of a Gothic novel, even to myself. All that was needed was the fog rolling in and the wind whistling through the moors.

“It’s windy out, I’m sure it’s just a loose shutter or something.” He grabbed my hand. “Let’s go exploring.”

I pulled away and crossed my arms over my chest. “No. I don’t want to go exploring. We’re not children anymore.”

Hurt crossed his eyes and guilt no doubt crossed mine. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I think between my divorce and Daddy dying, it’s been too much on me at one time.” I left out the part about the dreams.

“Sweetie, I know you’ve had it rough. I really do.” William picked me up in a bear hug, my arms trapped to my sides, my feet dangling off the ground. “Come on, let’s explore the attic like we did when we were kids and see what treasures we can find.”

Great. Freakish dreams and attic crawling. William’s attempts at making me feel better were so sweet, I couldn’t say no. He really was the best big brother in the world.

“Okay,” I agreed. “But, only if you put me down. The blood flow to my arms is being cut off.” We both laughed as we made our way to the stairs.

We made our way to the attic and the anxious feeling returned to the pit of my stomach. Some memory trying to claw its way up from the depths of my mind, but I couldn’t quite reach it. It wasn’t a happy memory, or a sad one, but it seemed something had happened to me in the attic when I was a child. Suddenly I was sure of it. William and I used to play in the attic as kids. Francine was Miss Priss from an early age and didn’t like getting dusty and grimy in “some old attic full of junk.” Instead, she would play dress-up in Momma’s heels and pearls when Momma was out of the house.

“William, why did we stop playing in the attic?” I stopped before we got any closer.

He shrugged. “I don’t rightly remember. Maybe we started doing other things instead. School work, sports.” He shook his head. “I really don’t know, it was so long ago. I just remember we sure had a good time while we did play.”

“Think hard. Did something happen to me to make me stop coming up here? Like, did something spook me?”

He stood there for a moment, deep in thought. “Come to think of it, I do remember one day you made the announcement that you were too old to play in the attic and weren’t going to do it anymore and I shouldn’t ask you.” He furrowed his brow, remembering. “You were maybe six and I was ten. You crossed those arms over your chest, like you still do now, and stood straight as an arrow. You were quite stern and even at that age I knew there was no messing with you when you got like that.” A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.

We continued walking toward the attic stairs and with each step, I wanted to scream and run away. Damn it, why couldn’t I remember?

We climbed the few stairs and William grabbed the door knob and flung open the door.

“Hello!” he yelled in-between bursts of laughter. “Any ghosts in here?” I playfully punched him in the arm.

“Not funny, William. So not funny.”

He had no idea just how not funny he was.

~ * ~

Against my will, I looked around the cluttered room. It had been decades since I’d been in here. The sun shone through the oval window in the opposite wall, dust motes in its beam. I doubted anyone ever came up here. Twenty years ago Momma had taken what she wanted after the divorce, before she moved to Boca Raton. Rather than gather the items herself, she’d given Zeke a list to come get her things for her. Heaven forbid she break a manicured fingernail rummaging through things in an attic.

I crossed the threshold after William, glad his back was to me so he couldn’t see the sweat that had formed on my upper lip. I quickly wiped at it with the back of my hand.

As attics go, this one was huge. Then again, this was a mansion. It spanned almost the entire second floor of the house. We’d often wondered if soldiers had used it as some type of sleeping quarters during the American Revolution or the Civil War.

Daddy used to say he was going to take a week off work and stay in this room as long as it took to catalogue everything and research the roots of things he didn’t even know were in here. Things left by relatives who’d lived here before us. He never did it, though. He’d always been too busy at work, never able to say no to clients and even take a week for himself.

I walked across the floor and looked out the window. Seeing the sun shining on the front yard and reflecting off the pond relaxed me. It was just an attic. An old, musty attic filled with old artifacts. Nothing to be scared about. Nothing at all.

Then why wouldn’t my heart slow down and why wouldn’t the feeling of dread leave my stomach?

 

 

 

 

5

After almost two hours, William and I were sweaty and hot and had barely made a dent in looking at the items up there. We’d decided to use our time wisely and divide things into three piles—keep, throw away, and check with historians for authenticity. Maybe we would find some goodies to donate to the historical society. Right now, though, it seemed our trash pile was the biggest.

The anxiety left me and I didn’t freak when William offered to get us some iced tea. I continued sifting through old clothes, papers, things family members who’d once lived here had probably tossed up here to get out of the way and then forgot. I did find a box of costume jewelry. Huge pieces with large, multi-colored gaudy stones. Bracelets and rings and hair clips. I put those aside for Emma-Kate. She’d love them to play dress-up.

I got up off the floor, stiff from sitting cross-legged for so long. I stretched my legs and twisted my upper body from side to side to work out the kinks.

Stopping mid-twist, I noticed something I had never seen before. While I was going through boxes on the floor, William had moved large items around to inspect them—old rocking horses and baby carriages and such. I saw what looked like a wooden panel in one of the walls. It blended in with the darkly painted wall, but I definitely saw an outline.

I walked over to it and crouched down. I ran a fingernail over the outline and there was a ridge. The section was about three feet high and it wasn’t surprising it was never noticed before with all the taller items that had been in front of it all these years.

Returning to the room, William knelt beside me with a glass of iced tea in each hand. I gratefully took one and ran the cold glass over my forehead, letting the condensation from the ice cool me down.

“What have you found, Maggie?”

I took a long sip of the tea before answering. “Looks like some kind of secret panel. It blends in so well with the wall, if I hadn’t seen the thin outline around it, I would’ve missed it. There’s definitely something behind here. Maybe it’s just a crawl space or something.”

William knocked on the wood. The sound in response was hollow.

“You know how these old houses are, lots of hidden places. Maybe this was used for storage years ago and forgotten. I don’t think our father ever knew about it and he knew every inch of this house.” He inhaled deeply of his tea. “Shall we see what’s behind door number one?”

We were on a mission to clean up this attic so we might as well do it all the way.

I got up and found the flashlight Zeke always kept up here when he had to find something and sat back down next to William.

“On the count of three,” I said.

We put our hands on the paneling and it easily fell to the other side. We peered in with the flashlight and could see there was room to stand.

“Let’s go.” William started to crawl through the opening, but I grabbed his arm.

“Let’s leave whatever is in there alone.” Anxiety rushed over me without warning. “Obviously, whatever is in there was hidden for a reason. Let’s leave well enough alone.”

William looked at me like I’d sprouted snakes for hair.

“Maggie, what in the world has gotten into you today? Since when have you shied away from an adventure?”

Going into a hidden space in a centuries old home that housed who knew what was not my idea of an adventure. Not after all that had transpired the past two nights. None of this bode well for my sanity.

“Want me to go in and bring whatever is in there out here?”

“Thanks, William, that would be great.”

“Sure…chicken.” He flapped his arms and made chicken noises. Worked when we were kids, but wouldn’t work now.

“Nice, William, really nice. I’ll hold the flashlight for you.”

He crawled through and stood up. His head more than cleared the vaulted ceiling. I shone the flashlight in his direction and the first thing we saw was a lot of dust and cobwebs. If whatever was in here was really old, it would probably be rotted by now.

The thick dust had William sneezing as he walked around the space. It wasn’t very big, but there were a number of things in there. From the light’s beam, I could tell they were placed neatly, as if someone took great care.

“There’s a lot of pictures in here—I can’t tell yet if they’re framed photographs or paintings. Shine the light over here and let’s see.”

Following the direction of his finger, I shone the flashlight where he was pointing. He turned a couple of the pictures around and we could tell they were indeed old paintings.

The first was of the plantation, maybe when it was first built in the 1700s. Definitely no electrical lampposts, but there was a horse and carriage in the circular drive in front of the house. The drive was dirt and not concrete. The second painting was an older man in a uniform. Maybe American Revolution. I made a mental note to find a historian to come out and take a look at whatever else we found.

“Maggie, look at this one.”

I looked up at the painting in his hands and screamed.

~ * ~

Startled, William dropped the painting and was by my side in an instance.

“I’m sorry. I thought I saw a mouse,” I lied.

Now he really looked worried. Growing up on a plantation with horses and all sorts of animals, one is never afraid of a mouse. But William didn’t push it and for that I was grateful.

The painting was the man from my dreams. The one asking me for help one night and making love to his wife the next night. Even the clothing he wore in the painting was the same as what he wore in my dream.” Against my will I entered the secret room and picked up the painting and dusted it with my hand. It was old, but relatively well preserved. William followed right on my heels.

“How long do you think these things have been in this hidden room?”

William shrugged. “I have no idea, but, in all the times we explored up here as kids, I can’t believe we never found it.”

Maybe we weren’t meant to find it until now, until after my dreams started up again the past couple of nights. I had no clue as to what any of it meant, but now I was more determined than ever to find out.

“It’s almost time for dinner. Bitsy and Zeke should be back at any minute with Emma-Kate.” I stood and brushed dust from my jeans. “Want to stay? Invite your family?”

He looked at me thoughtfully and I tried my best to keep eye contact. William always could see right through me when I was nervous or upset.

“No, I promised Leanne dinner out tonight. Rain check?”

An inner breath of relief whooshed through me. I wanted to closely examine this painting and I wanted to do it immediately. Patience never had been one of my virtues.

We walked to the door, but I had to take one last glance over my shoulder at the painting, now propped up against the wall outside the hidden space we’d discovered.

I would come back up here as soon as I could and retrieve it. Finding this painting brought more questions than it answered, but I had to know what it all meant.

Nothing could stop me when on a quest.

 

 

 

 

6

 

Dinner felt like lead in my stomach. I wanted to get back to the painting and begin my research. It felt as though I was in the middle of a giant jigsaw puzzle, trying to make all the pieces fit, yet some of the pieces seemed to be hidden. Emma-Kate chattered away about her day with Bitsy and Zeke in Awendaw and I barely heard anything she said.

The kitchen television was tuned to i-Carly, so my darling daughter didn’t realize I wasn’t paying attention to her. Bitsy, did, however. From the corner of my eye, I could see her checking me out as she ate. She had that same blank look on her face that she had when I questioned her about my dreams. The look in her eyes was something she could never fake.

“Emma-Kate, why don’t you take your ice cream to the den and finish watching television there?”

She scurried out of the kitchen as fast as she could. Eating and watching television in the den on the leather sofa was a treat and she loved it when she got permission.

Concentrating on my chicken tender as though it were the most interesting thing on the planet, I casually said, “Bits, what do you know about a secret room in the attic?”

Her lengthy pause made me look up. For one split second, fear flashed across her face.

“Maggie, some things should be left alone.”

Her family came from a long line of Gullah-Geechee with all their traditions and superstitions.

“Bitsy, this isn’t like the legend of the ‘Boo Hag’ you told us about as children. A spirit isn’t going to suck the life out of me through my mouth.”

“Shh!! Don’t talk of such things.” Nervously she looked around the room.

Damn, but I’d never seen Bitsy’s composure rock and roll. She was my rock, the woman I went to when I skinned my knee, when my boyfriends broke up with me, when I had to get a divorce. She was more mother to me than my own mother. Yet, she turned to Jell-O when I talked about an old Gullah superstition.

“Bitsy...” Now I was exasperated and my voice didn’t hide it. “What is going on in this house? What has been happening to me since I was a child? Please, if you know what these dreams are about, if you know why I get them, tell me. I often feel like I’m losing my mind.” At that, all the exhaustion of the past few days, dealing with my father’s estate, the dreams returning, finding the secret room with the painting of the man in my dreams was too much. I put head in my hands and cried.

Bitsy grabbed my hand from across the table and squeezed. She started to let go, but I held tight. I wiped my eyes with the back of my free hand and looked at her. This time, her gaze was centered on me.

“Ever since you were a little girl, you’ve been…special.”

“Special? Like, I was your favorite?”

Her lips formed a half smile. It wasn’t what she meant and we both knew it.

She pushed her plate aside and wiped imaginary crumbs from the table into her hand. I let her have her time to collect her thoughts. It gave me the time to decide if I really wanted to know or if I wanted to grab a bottle of wine, go watch TV with my daughter and pretend none of this was happening.

“You could…sense…things most people couldn’t.”

“Daddy always said I was the most sensitive of all us kids.”

“I’m not talking about how easily you got your feelings hurt.” She looked me straight in the eyes.

“So, am I some kind of psychic?” I wondered why the sudden pit in my stomach felt bottomless. I always thought such things were foolish, superstitious nonsense. Yet, when I add it all together—the dreams of my childhood, my dreams the past evenings, suddenly finding the hidden room with the portrait of the man in my dreams—I wasn’t so sure there weren’t things that happened with no practical explanation.

“Psychic? You are definitely…sensitive. “

“Sensitive to what?” This was all so new to me. I was a lawyer, used to dealing with fact-finding and guilty or innocent. Not ‘what if’...

Bitsy chewed her lower lip for minute, clearly straightening out in her mind what to say. “The dreams started when you was a little girl. Not much older than your Emma-Kate.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. She was finally going to talk about the dreams I had when a child.

“I would wake you in the morning to get you dressed and fed. You would tell me all about your dreams from the night before. Even as a little child, you were so clear in how you told them to me. I didn’t think anything of it at first, because you always had such an imagination.”

Try as I might, my memories of my childhood dreams remained vague. I just know I had them and they made me feel…different. The kids at school had dreams of carnivals and cotton candy while I had dreams about people in my house.

My spine stiffened as realization dawned. The dreams were similar from my childhood to the ones I’d had since being back in the mansion. The man in the painting and the woman in the dream with him. His wife.

“They left me as I got older. Either that or I buried them deeply in my subconscious because they frightened me so much and all I wanted to feel was normal.” I brushed down the hairs on my arm that were standing on edge.

“You did stop talking about them as you got older and I never pushed it. I knew you’d come back to them when you were ready.”

“Who are these people, Bitsy? More to the point, what the hell do they want from me?”

She grabbed my hands again and held tight. “They need your help, Maggie.”

“Help? Doing what?” If she said “cross-over” I was going to call a reality show and ask to audition.

“Child, his spirit isn’t settled. He has no peace. You need to do something for him to help him on his next journey.”

Next journey? The man had been dead hundreds of years.

“Death is only final on this plane, Maggie. But, it’s never the end of our journeys.”

I really, really hated it when Bitsy read my mind.

~ * ~

Bitsy agreed to put Emma-Kate to bed in the room originally made up for her. I needed to be alone tonight in my old room to figure this all out. If that was even possible. The portrait leaned against the fireplace where Zeke’d placed it. My heart still skipped a beat when I saw the subject was the man in my dreams, but this time I didn’t scream.

I sat in front of it and simply stared. Who was he? Running my hands over the worn gold gilt frame, I smiled at the lack of dust. Zeke must’ve cleaned it before bringing it upstairs. I reached tentative fingers and lightly touched the man’s face. I shut my eyes, allowing my fingers to stay barely brushing it. Nothing. I really don’t know what I expected to happen. Some cosmic energy zinging its way from his painted face to my fingertips, up my arm and to my brain? Giving me all the information I needed? Laughter bubbled up from my throat and escaped into the room. Maybe I needed to see if that psychic hot-line number was still being advertised on television during late-night shows.

Picking up the wine I’d set on the floor, I sipped it slowly while I thought of my next plan.

Nothing like this had ever been taught in law school and I was way out of my depth. I knew nothing about magic or psychic or anything supernatural. The next day I would go to the College of Charleston and see if anyone there knew anything about this kind of thing. Charleston was full of mystical lore and maybe I could find some help.

Exhaustion set in and I got into my bed. I finished the wine and placed the glass on my nightstand. I left on the small lamp and looked at the painting. The low wattage cast a glow that centered on the man’s face, making it look almost three dimensional, as though he were staring directly at me. I clutched the covers tightly to my chest, but couldn’t look away. His gaze captivated me and wouldn’t let me go.

~ * ~

“Miss, please. Will you help me?”

“What is it you want me to do?”

He sat on the small sofa near the fireplace and buried his head in his hands. I sat upright in my bed, but made no move to get closer.

A few long seconds passed before he raised his head and looked at me. His eyes were a rich brown under dark full lashes. They held so much sadness.

“I…” he began. His shoulders seemed to slump in defeat. “I don’t remember.”

“Are you lost?”

“I don’t think so.” He looked around the room. “I know this is my home…was…my home. Yet it’s all so different now.” He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “I don’t think I belong here anymore.”

“Where should you be?” I was flying blindly here. But then what did I expect…I’d never spoken with a ghost before. I should probably be terrified, but I sensed he would do me no harm. The poor man was lost. “Where do you belong?”

He ran long fingers through dark hair that hung loosely around the collar of his white shirt. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, frustration etching his face.

Maybe I needed to try a different line of questioning.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Miss, please, I beg of you. Just help me find my way.”

“If you tell me your name that would go a long way in my helping you.”

He was gone. I had all the information I was going to get and it wasn’t much. I don’t know how long I’d slept, but no more dreams came to me this night.

 

 

 

 

7

It was a beautiful day to walk around the College of Charleston. The sun shone through the trees and dappled the sidewalks of the old school. Even though it was in the middle of downtown Charleston, which bustled with tourists this time of year, walking the campus made me feel as if I was in this contained world of academics in one of the most beautiful campuses on the planet.

Students moved around the streets on their bicycles with ease despite the heavy backpacks they wore and all the people they wove between. I entered the building that housed the history department and looked for the department chair. I’d decided to look first into the time period the man might be from based on his clothing before I looked into the supernatural elements. Truth be told, I wasn’t quite sure I was really ready to admit that train of thought yet. This was so much more than anything that had happened to me as a child.

Approaching this situation like a lawyer as opposed to someone with some kind of psychic gift made more sense and helped me process this a lot more clearly.

The department secretary, an older woman with short cropped graying hair, shot me a disapproving look. “You should have called before you came here. The department chair, Dr. Samuel Winston, is in class right now. He might possibly have time this afternoon should you wish to make an appointment.” She seemed rather annoyed I walked in without one, expecting to be seen. She was right. It was rude of me, but this was urgent. Making an appointment wasn’t high on my priorities.

She checked her calendar. “The only time he has available is three o’clock.”

“Thank you. That will be perfect.” I gathered my things to leave. “I appreciate your patience. Please accept my apology for barging into the office and not calling first.”

I got a scowl in return before she returned her gaze to her computer screen.

I walked out of the building and made my way to a wonderful local coffee shop that made pastries fresh daily. After all the troubling dreams I’d had, I decided I’d earned an indulgence and ordered a chocolate brioche with my coffee. Slightly heating it made the chocolate just soft enough that it was warm and slightly melted in my mouth. Heaven. Pure heaven. For a few short moments, my mind was off my father’s recent passing, my terrible divorce, and a man from the 18^th century inhabiting my dreams. It was just me, my chocolate brioche and a cup of strong coffee.

I pulled up the photos on my smart-phone and looked at the shots I’d taken of the portrait. A full shot and then several close-ups of different parts of the canvas. His clothing, his face, even his hair. Maybe something would give Professor Winston a clue as to the identity of my dream date

~ * ~

With over three hours until my meeting with the professor, I decided go to my office to check on things. I hadn’t been there since days before my father’s death and while Karen, the secretary of the century, was wonderful at changing appointments, delaying depositions and all-around managing my professional life, working on briefs would help me pass the time before I had to be back at the college.

This was the perfect time of year to be in Charleston and take a brisk walk downtown. The weather hovered in the seventies and the humidity wasn’t yet the slap-you-in the face kind Charleston was known for in late June and often into early September. I grew up here, and while I’d done a lot of traveling, this was home. Always would be.

I set down a bag I’d brought from the coffee shop on Karen’s desk. With a smile, she peeked inside.

“Vanilla latte…my favorite.” She all but swooned over her warm chocolate brioche. “Here, you take these while I enjoy this chocolate. You just made my day!” She handed me my messages.

“Thanks, Karen. I’m really grateful for all you’ve done holding down the fort while everything is happening.”

She smiled and gave a soft laugh. “You can show me how much at Christmas.”

We laughed and it felt good to smile. My face almost felt sore using muscles I hadn’t used in what seemed like a long time.

The smile disappeared when I reached my father’s office. I couldn’t continue down the hall to my own without going in his first. I sat in his hunter green leather chair and pivoted around to look out the second-story window. After my mom left, Father did a top-notch job raising three children who were barely teenagers. Missing him threatened to swallow me whole. I couldn’t stop myself. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks.

I allowed myself a few more minutes of grief before I wiped my eyes and turned back around to his desk. I had to get to work, if only for a few hours, and Dad would want me to take care of clients instead of crying over him.

~ * ~

Sitting at my desk suddenly felt awkward and empty. I opened the first file on top of the stack and the words blurred into an unintelligible mess.

I grabbed my files and went back to my father’s office. Sitting in his chair amongst his law books, photos and paintings helped me feel his presence. Calm settled within me and once again, I was my father’s daughter. A sure, capable attorney with people who needed me to help them with the law.

~ * ~

I was in Dr. Winston’s office promptly at three. Getting a fair amount of work done at the office had helped my nerves. I really hoped he could help me in some way. The photos of the portrait were pulled up on my cell phone and my notepad and pen were in my lap. I tried to think of the best way to open the discussion when his office door opened and a student emerged, an instructor behind him.

“Miss Alston? Sorry I’m running a few minutes behind. Helping a student get ready for finals. I’m Samuel Winston.” A hand thrust into my view.

Fumbling to put my phone down and shake his hand at the same time, it took me a moment before I looked up. His handshake was strong, firm and I used his grip to help me stand. When I looked at his face, I also had to use his hand to keep from falling! I trapped the scream coming up before it escaped my throat. Dr. Samuel Winston was the man in my dreams.

“You okay?” Concerned creased his brow as he put his free hand to the small of my back to steady me.

“Fine. Thanks.” Keeping it together was really important right now. “I’ve been walking around downtown a lot today and you know how the Charleston humidity can get.”

“Come in my office and I’ll get you a drink of water.”

He kept his hand lightly on the small of my back while he escorted me into his office. A fine sheen of sweat coated my forehead and I hoped he believed my story about the Charleston humidity and had no clue how close I was to passing out for the first time in my life.

He herded me into a chair across from his desk and left to get my water. I breathed in through my mouth and out through my nose to a count of four each time. My heart was still racing, but I could feel myself calming. My palms stung and I looked down. No wonder. My fingernails were digging into my hands. I slowly unclenched them and kept breathing.

“Here’s your water, Miss Alston.”

I took the glass, grateful for something to hold in my hands, and ran it over my forehead. The icy condensation felt wonderful. I took a few swallows, all the while aware of Dr. Winston looking at me, a frown on his face.

“I’m sure you didn’t expect a stranger to show up at your office and practically pass out.” I tried to keep my tone light, but I sounded like a nut-job even to myself.

“It is humid out and walking around downtown can cause a person to feel faint before we even know it.” Wasn’t he the perfect gentleman? “Is the water helping?”

“Yes, tremendously. Thank you.”

When I was finished, he took the glass from my hand and set it on a coaster with the initial ‘W’ on his desk.

He leaned against his desk, crossing one long leg over the other at the ankle. His khaki trousers were just the slightest bit rumpled, but he filled them out quite nicely. I wondered if he might be a runner or a cycler. But this wasn’t the time to notice how handsome he was—and he was really good looking. I decided to get right to the point.

“My family owns…”

“…Alston Manor.” He finished my sentence. “I know who you are.” His smile showcased beautiful white teeth. “I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing.”

“Thank you.” I pulled up the photo of the portrait on my smart phone and handed it to him. “Do you have any idea who the man is?”

His tanned complexion turned a lovely shade of white paste when he looked at the photo.

Now it was clearly my turn to help him. “Would you like me to get you a glass of water?”

“Where did you get this portrait?”

“A secret room in the Alston family attic.” Mentioning I first saw this man in my dreams as a child wasn’t necessary. “I played a million times in that attic as a child, but never noticed this room until yesterday.”

“Wh-what else did you find?” His eyes never left the photo of the portrait on my phone.

“More paintings of people who look to be from the same time period. My brother was up there with me and actually looked around more than I did. I think maybe there were some artifacts, but I didn’t get beyond the paintings.”

He handed the phone back to me and went to stand near his window, looking out. He clasped his hands behind his back and even through his shirt I could see his shoulders tense.

“Would it be possible for me to come to the plantation and look at these portraits?”

“I don’t see that as being a problem, Dr. Winston. I was hoping with your background in Charleston history, you’d be able to help me.”

“I’ll have my secretary call you to set up an appointment.” He never turned back to look at me.

I’d clearly been dismissed. While I felt his behavior was beyond rude, I let it go for now. Something bothered him about the portrait and I highly doubted it was just the fact the man looked so similar to him. I took my phone, gathered up my purse and left.

He gave me information not in so many words, but his reaction spoke volumes. The portrait struck some kind of nerve in him. Maybe I was actually on some kind of path to helping the man in my dreams. I was anxious for Dr. Winston to look at the finds in the secret room in person.

Then maybe I could put all this behind me and move on with my life.

 

 

 

 

8

The doorbell rang exactly at 9:00 a.m. on Saturday. Dr. Winston was certainly punctual. Maybe he was as anxious as I to find out why my family had a portrait of a man who looked just like him in a secret attic room.

He wore khaki shorts and a black Polo shirt. He carried a black backpack over one shoulder. He looked like he’d just stepped of the catwalk for Ralph Lauren. Not the time to develop a crush. Sighing, I invited him in and offered him a cup of coffee.

“No, thank you. Not right now.” He paused and the room suddenly became uncomfortable. “I want to apologize to you for my rudeness the other day. I all but dismissed you and it was uncalled for.”

“You did dismiss me and I accept your apology.” I motioned to the living room. I sat on the leather sofa and Dr. Winston chose the wing-back chair across from me, the wooden coffee table keeping a safe distance between us.

Bitsy came in and asked if we wanted anything and Dr. Winston finally agreed to a cup of coffee. Before I could introduce them, she turned and left the room. I frowned at her rude behavior but turned my attention to my guest when he spoke.

“I’ll cut right to it, Miss Alston. I believe the photo you showed me of the portrait is my ancestor, Benjamin Winston.”

“I will admit, Dr. Winston, the resemblance is uncanny, but what is a portrait of your ancestor doing in my family’s home? This home has been in our family for centuries.”

He set down his coffee cup and looked at me for the first time since entering my home. “The Winston’s and the Alston’s are old Charleston families. As a historian and a lifelong Charlestonian, of course I’m interested to see if there’s a connection.”

“Dr. Winston, there are a lot of old Charleston families, so please forgive me if I’ve never heard of your family.” It was impossible to know all the families that had been here since the city was founded, so why did I feel guilty? “Would you like to see the portrait?” I wanted to see his reaction to looking at the portrait directly before I showed him any of the other items in the hidden room.

“Yes, I would very much like to see the portrait up close.” He took a loop and small penlight from his backpack and set them on the coffee table.

I’d had Zeke bring the portrait down to the library. With its large windows overlooking the back of the house, I was hoping the lighting would be better than in my bedroom. It also felt odd thinking of bringing this modern day man who looked so identical to the man of long ago in my dreams to my bedroom.

The painting was sitting on the window seat, leaning up against the window. Dr. Winston walked over to it and immediately took it from its perch. “The direct sunlight isn’t good for an old painting. If this is authentic, it could ruin it.”

“I’m an attorney, Dr. Winston, not an art connoisseur.” He was getting on my nerves again and for an instant I thought about tossing him out and finding other ways to solve what was going on in my dreams and my home.

He stared at me for what seemed like the longest seconds ever. A small smile turned up the corner of his mouth, but didn’t show any teeth. “I’m sorry, Ms. Alston, no offense was meant. Yet once again I have unintentionally offended you. Please understand, when you walked in my office and showed me the painting on your cell phone, even on such a small screen, it was quite unnerving to see what could easily be my twin staring back at me.”

“I understand.” More than he could imagine, I understood how it felt to have things happen that defied explanation.

“Please, Miss Alston, call me Sam.” That eased the tension a bit.

“Maggie. Everyone calls me Maggie.”

He smiled as he placed the portrait on the sofa. “Maggie it is.”

Turning on the flashlight, he closely looked at different areas of the painting. I had no clue what he was looking for, but I found myself peering over his shoulder out of sheer curiosity.

“It appears to be authentic, but it’s in terrific condition for a portrait that’s supposedly over 200-plus years old.”

He leaned in again toward the lower right corner. “If I am reading the signature correctly, the artist was Jeremiah Theus. He was a prominent Charleston artist of the 18^th century and some of his works now hang in the Gibbes Museum.” He stood and looked at me. “May I ask where you found this–in what part of the plantation?”

The question made me uncomfortable because his face was so neutral. What difference did it make if he knew? “The attic.” I thrust my hands into the pockets of my jeans, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

“Recently?” Damn, but he was persistent.

“Dr. Winston–Sam–since my father’s death, there has been his estate to handle. I had to go into the attic to see what was there to be distributed according to the terms of his will.” I gave him my best lawyer glare.

“”I really don’t mean to be insensitive.” He turned off the flashlight and turned to face me. “I’m a historian in one of the most historical cities in the country and I can’t find a missing chunk of my family’s past. And then, out of the blue, you show up at my office with a photo of an old portrait–a man in military uniform from the American Revolution–who looks suspiciously like me.”

I let out a sigh at the frustration in his voice. “I hear you, Sam. I understand how odd this must all seem.”

I made my decision and beckoned him to follow.

No matter what we found, I was going to show him everything in the secret room in the attic.

~ * ~

The overcast sky coming through the one window gave the attic an eerie feel. I turned on the overhead light, but the fixture’s single bulb didn’t do much to brighten the room.

Sam walked to the middle of the room and turned around, taking it all in. “I’ve never seen such an organized attic.” He gestured to the multitude of times. “An historian’s dream.”

He had no idea what he was about to see. I couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face.

Without saying a word, I pushed aside the items my brother and I had put back in front of the secret door. I picked up the large flashlight I’d left on the floor and shone it on the area of the wall. “See anything different on this wall?”

Sam furrowed his brow as he moved closer. He clearly could tell something didn’t look quite right. His hand looked ghostly in the beam of the flashlight as he ran it over the wall. He pressed with his palm and the door opened. I heard his breath catch in the back of his throat when I turned the flashlight’s beam on the contents inside. An historian’s dream, indeed.

“My brother and I played up here a lot as children. We didn’t discover this room until a couple of days ago when we came in here to begin sorting items per our father’s will.”

“Is this where you found the portrait?”

I nodded affirmatively. “Go on in and take a look around.” The room still gave me the creeps after what happened when Will and I were in here. “I’ll hold the flashlight.”

He brought the items out one by one and we lined them up in the hallway outside the attic for better lighting. I had been so freaked out when I saw the portrait; I didn’t bother paying close attention to anything else inside the hidden room.

After giving everything a brief once over, Sam turned to me. “Maggie, do you have any idea what you have?”

Surprisingly, the excitement I thought I’d see in his face and hear in his voice wasn’t there. He seemed perplexed and there was something else underlying his tone. If I wasn’t mistaken, he almost sounded angry.

“Like I told you, I only discovered this room and its possessions within the past week.”

He walked up and down the row of the items he’d brought of the room and looked at them again.

“These are Winston family artifacts–they’ve been missing for centuries. We’d thought they had been lost in the American Revolution or perhaps destroyed.”

“How can you be certain after just a preliminary glance?”

“Our family has a bible–a history of sorts–and it has small drawings of Winston family items. Folks did a lot of this during the Revolution. Much like people now who take videos of their possessions for insurance companies.”

“That was very forward thinking of them.”

“There are drawings of each of these items in the family book.”

I looked more closely at the items lining the hallway and really saw them for the first time. Silver platters and pitchers. More portraits. A wooden box whose contents, if any, were still unknown. Brass candlesticks that needed a good polishing.

The box had a latch, but not a lock. It looked like tin, definitely not in keeping with the other, higher quality items. The latch took a couple of tries, but I got it to unhook.

Inside was a worn, black-leather bound book. I opened it and saw writing on the pages.

Some of the pages were stuck together, but it was definitely a journal. I opened the front cover and stared. The journal belonged to Benjamin Winston, an officer during the American Revolution.

Maybe this journal would be the answer to all my questions and I could help Benjamin Winston with whatever I was supposed to do. At least now, I could tell him his name.

Sam was elated by the journal. Not only was it an important piece of history–a journal of an officer of the American Revolution–but, it was part of his family’s history. A piece that had apparently been missing for centuries.

We agreed he would come back tomorrow morning after he’d had time to study the journal. The hope was it would give some insight as to why his family heirlooms were in a secret room in my family’s ancestral home.

For once, I was looking forward to my dreams. To my guest, now known as one Benjamin Winston, invading them. My one hope was that if I could help him, he would go away and never return. It was time to move on with my life and leave my past behind. Bad marriage, bizarre dreams and all.

After dinner, I curled up on the sofa to watch television with Emma-Kate. She’d spent the day at the beach on Isle of Palms with my brother and his family and so much fun in the sun had her conking out before the show was half over. I carried her to her room and tucked her in bed. She rolled over, hugged her stuffed dog to her chest and entered the innocent dreams of children.

I went back downstairs to grab a glass of wine to take up to my room. I tried to read a book, but the wine went straight to my toes and I couldn’t stay awake if a hurricane hit.

“Benjamin Winston. Your name is Benjamin Winston and you were an officer during the American Revolution.”

He looked at me like I had horns coming from my head. “Does your name sound familiar to you? Does any of this help you at all?”

“I thank you for your help, miss, but I just can’t remember.” He was sitting on the sofa in my room. He put his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. He looked so much like Sam, it was unnerving.

“I want to help you, but right now, that’s all I know.” My heart broke for him, but I wasn’t sure what else to do at this point. I was so hoping telling him his name would cause at least a spark in his memory.

“Mommy. Mommy! Wake up!” Emma-Kate was straddling my chest, covering my face in sticky jam kisses. “There’s a man at the door and he looks just like the man in your dreams.”

I sat up, carefully placing my daughter and her biscuit full of grape jam off me and on the bed. It was close to ten in the morning and Sam was already here, punctual as ever. I quickly brushed my teeth, washed my face and put on a clean T-shirt.

As I practically ran down the stairs to the library to our meeting, I said a silent prayer he found out information in the journal that could help me with his ancestor, Benjamin Winston.

 

 

 

9

The bags under his eyes told me Sam had gotten very little sleep. I had known he would be enthralled by whatever stories the journal told. Who wouldn’t be after such a find?

Bless Bitsy, she’d set out coffee and biscuits. I motioned for him to sit while I poured. The strong brew smelled wonderful and I couldn’t wait for the much needed caffeine jolt. Sam looked as grateful as I felt for the coffee, but waved away a biscuit.

He sipped the coffee while looking around the room. I got the feeling he didn’t want to look at me.

“Sam? What was in the journal?” Suddenly, my biscuit felt like lead in my stomach. “Any clues as to why some of your family’s artifacts were in my home.”

“I don’t quite know how to say this, Maggie.”

“Well, straight out, of course. Tell me what you found.”

“My family’s belongings were here because Alston Plantation is not your home.”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s something you should know.” He looked at me dead on and if I thought we’d broken the ice at all yesterday, the terse Dr. Winston had returned.

“Go on.” I braced myself.

“Your plantation isn’t Alston Plantation. It is really Winston Plantation. It belongs to my family.” He held the journal in his hands like it was the Holy Grail.

I wanted to burst out laughing at the absurdity of his comments, but the look on his face quelled any laughter I had inside me. “There are deed documents in that centuries old book?” I tried to sound light, but it didn’t work.

“Benjamin Winston, the man in the portrait—my ancestor—built this plantation.”

“Go on.” Though I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say.

“He fell in love with a woman by the name of Margaret Alston.”

Seriously? My family never told me I was named after an ancestor.

He took a swallow of his coffee before he continued. “Apparently, she and Benjamin Winston fell in love and wanted to marry.”

“They did marry, though.” He looked at me, shocked, and I realized I had just put my foot in it.

“How do you know that?”

“I’m assuming. It would explain why some of your family’s heirlooms were in my family’s attic.” Phew, good save. Telling him about my dreams was not an option.

“You have a point.” He gently opened the book to the back where jagged edges showed pages had obviously been torn out. “If only we knew where to find these missing pages.”

“Can we please get back to the part where you own my home?”

“After Margaret and Benjamin married, they wanted to settle into a normal life.”

“Okay, but how do you know this was the plantation he writes about? Maybe he and Margaret lived on his plantation and my family lived here.”

He gave a half smile. “A little research can go a long way and being a historian, research is one of my strong suits. This plantation was one of the foremost rice plantations of its day.”

It was true. I’d heard that way back when this plantation was a rice plantation. “Rice and Indigo were huge to Charleston back in the day. I am sure this wasn’t the only rice growing plantation.”

“You’re right, it wasn’t, but…” He paused and his exhaustion really came to the fore on his face. “Look at this.” He handed me the fragile journal where he’d carefully put a scrap of paper in a page.

Reluctantly, I opened to the marked page. My eyes and my brain couldn’t connect on what was drawn on the page. Though small and showing some smudges, there was no doubting I was looking at a drawing of Alston Plantation. Of course, it was an 18^th century drawing, but there was no mistaking the architecture.

“You’re family never lived on a plantation. Not until, Miss Alston, your family stole it from my family.”

“Well, if true Dr. Winston, I am sure the statue of limitations has run out on stolen property if it was stolen over three hundred years ago.”

We were back to formal names. Appeared the gauntlet had been thrown down. There was no way Dr. Samuel Winston was going to take my family home.

~ * ~

“An old journal with torn pages doesn’t give one ownership of a home.” Anger was rising in me.

“Look, Miss Alston–Maggie–obviously more research needs to be done into this matter…”

“Matter?” Anger was no longer rising; it was there. “There is no ‘matter.’ This is my family’s home and has been for centuries. Even with more research, are you telling me you’re going to try and claim Alston Plantation?”

There were no words for the absurdity of this.

“Please understand, as a historian, the implications of all this are mind-boggling.”

“I’m sure being a Winston doesn’t hurt, either, in your curiosity.”

“I’ve upset you and I’m sorry.” He walked toward the door, journal in hand. “I’d like to hang on to this journal for a bit longer, if that’s okay with you. I really do want to get to the bottom of this–for everyone involved.

I opened the door for him and showed him out without saying good-bye. Really, what could I say? He left without answering my question about coming after my home if, indeed, this foolishness were true.

I needed to take my mind off everything because tomorrow would be enough time to scour law books for some kind of precedent about ownership of historical homes. I would be surprised if I found anything. Spending the rest of the day with my precious daughter was the perfect medicine. Emma-Kate was beyond excited that she could plan the day with mom. Seeing her happiness relaxed me.

She decided she wanted lunch downtown and a carriage ride. Basically, she wanted to see Charleston like a tourist and I was more than happy to oblige.

We ate candied pralines and drank sweet tea while we walked all over downtown. I’d barely pulled out of downtown when Emma-Kate fell asleep. After I put Emma-Kate in her bed, I realized I was exhausted. A wonderful exhaustion after a long, beautiful day with my child. A nap sounded like a great idea.

My head had barely hit the pillow when Benjamin was in my room.

“The war was so horrible, but we had to fight for what was right and just.”

“I understand. Are your memories returning?” I noticed he seemed calmer, not so confused.

“I wanted to live a quiet life when it was over—” his brow furrowed—“with my lady. He tried to stop us.”

I hesitated, but had to check every possibility. “Who? Who tried to stop you?”

“After the war, I never wanted to fight again.” A light must have gone off inside him and he looked me directly in the eye. “But, he wouldn’t stop.”

We were getting somewhere, finally, and while I didn’t want to push too hard and stress him, I had to continue. “Who wouldn’t stop? What was his name?”

“No…I don’t remember…I just wanted to live in peace,” he said emphatically.

“Who was the man?”

“I…I don’t remember.”

“I’ve found your journal, but there are missing pages. Maybe those pages can answer questions. Give us answers to everything. Do you know where they are?”

“A journal? I kept a journal…” The blank look was back in his eyes. “Help me, ma’am. Please.”

He was gone. Damn it! I was trying to help Benjamin Winston, but my frustration was mounting. Two steps forward and a hundred steps back.

 

10

“Answers are always right in front of us.” Bitsy took a large bite of her biscuit, butter dripping onto her plate.

I’d slept restlessly after my dream ended. I was tired, frustrated and terribly grumpy. Philosophical platitudes were the last thing I wanted with my breakfast.

“Bitsy, just tell me what you know about all of this. My dreams, my being…sensitive.” Whatever you want to call me.

“Some people are just chosen to help others, Maggie. You’ve been chosen to help those that have passed.”

Great. I see dead people.

“Help them what?”

“Do what they need to do.”

“Which is what?” I pushed my hair out of my face, but I really wanted to pull it out. “Bitsy, please, stop being so cryptic.”

“I’m not trying to, dear child, I’m really not. Some things just can’t be rushed.”

With that, she took the breakfast dishes away.

I tugged on my lower lip while trying to make a plan of action. Maybe that was wrong. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to plan at all. Just let things happen as they were supposed to happen. Not easy for my Type-A personality. What was I supposed to do? Sit on the floor in the lotus position and wait for the heavens to open up and show me what I needed to know?

“Bitsy, please take Emma-Kate for a few hours. “I need to be alone while I wait for the spirits to talk to me.”

Bitsy let out a chuckle. “Now you’re getting it, Maggie.”

I was joking.

~ * ~

All the items were still lined up like soldiers in the hallway outside the attic. I looked at them again, picked them up in my hands and studied them. I knew nothing about antiquities so I felt like my efforts were a huge waste of time. I did wonder how everything was in relatively good shape for being so old. Maybe the hidden room was more airtight then I realized.

The tin box where Sam found the journal had me curious. All the other items were ornate and looked expensive. The box, by comparison, was simple in its construction and dents and scratches. Maybe Benjamin Winston thought an unassuming box was a great place to hide his diary. Much as I dreaded it, I needed to call Sam and ask him to bring the journal over so I could read it, too. I was more curious than ever as to its contents.

It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him. Truthfully, I don’t know how I felt about him. So many unexplainable occurrences had taken place, I didn’t know how to feel about anything. Yet, when a man who was a virtual stranger less than a week earlier tells me my family’s ancestral home really belongs to his family, it doesn’t make for warm, fuzzy feelings.

I stood up from my cross-legged position and felt the blood rush through my legs. I must’ve lost track of time because they started to tingle and felt like Jell-O. I fell against the wall when I tried to walk, hitting the portrait of Benjamin Winston. It promptly crashed to the floor, hitting my foot in the process. Letting out a loud, “ouch,” I sat back down on the floor–hard—before I fell onto the portrait.

The portrait was on its face and the fabric covering the back looked bumpy in places. I attributed that to age, but something caught my eye. I gently lifted the portrait and placed it across my lamp. It was heavy due to the ornate gold frame. I ran my hand over the back and felt something beneath the backing. I could almost trace the outline with my fingers. Whatever was under there felt oblong and thick.

Not wanting to rip away the backing material, I went to where it was tacked to the frame. The fabric came away easily due to age and I didn’t need to tear away much. Placing my hand in-between the cloth and the back of the actual painting, I touched what felt like paper. I used only as much pressure as I needed to guide a thick lump to the opening I’d created.

It was paper. Numerous sheets bound with a thin rope string. I placed the portrait upright against the wall and gently untied the string. I only wanted to handle the edges of the papers in case they were fragile.

As they straightened once the string was gone, I noticed dates on each sheet. The writing was strong, masculine and looked very old. I froze when I realized what I’d just uncovered.

Damn, if Bitsy wasn’t right. Things do have a habit of coming to us when we need them.

I pulled my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans along with Sam Winston’s business card.

I read each line as though reading a New York Time’s bestseller. While handwriting of the time period wasn’t always easy to decipher, I made my way through. Then, I re-read again–and again–to make sure I wasn’t mistaken.

He answered on the second ring. “I think you’d better come over here,” I said, barely able to keep the excitement from my voice. “I have something to show you.”

 

 

 

 

11

“I found them.” I waved Benjamin Winston’s missing journal pages above my head like a prize.

Sam Winston didn’t even have to ask me what I was talking about. From the look on his face, he knew. We sat in the den and I told him how I had found them. I handed him the missing pages while I told him what I’d read.

“My family and your family weren’t the best of friends. Margaret Alston’s father felt Benjamin Winston’s father somehow cheated him out of this land when it was for sale.”

Sam looked at me and then back at the pages. “Which is why they never married. Margaret Alston’s father, Thomas, forbid it when he found out they’ fallen in love.”

“No,” I went on in a rush, “They did marry. In secret. As was the practice of the day, they had slaves. Margaret had a slave by the name of Josephina who helped raise her from birth. She helped them elope.”

“I still don’t get it. If they were married, how did Winston Plantation become Alston Plantation?” He furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I know it makes no sense.” I pointed to the pages in his hand. “Joseph Alston vowed to get revenge on Thomas Winston for what he perceived as underhanded dealings in acquiring this land.”

I went on to tell Sam that my ancestor Joseph spent many years trying to hurt the Winston’s at every turn. When Margaret and Benjamin fell in love, Joseph became enraged. He burned the rice crop for the year and practically bankrupted the Winston’s. By then, Margaret and Benjamin had married and Margaret was pregnant with their first child. The guilt and remorse Joseph Alston felt overwhelmed him.

“Why hide the pages explaining all of this?”

“At first, Benjamin wanted Joseph arrested. Margaret was so hurt by her father, she agreed. Benjamin wrote a history of everything Joseph had ever done and where to find the proof.”

“Benjamin had a change of heart?”

“Yes. Their home was intact and they were able to rebuild the crops. The work was hard, but they survived. He hid the pages so no one would ever know it was Joseph. When people asked what he think caused the fire, he just blew it off.

“After the birth of their first child, a daughter they named Suzanne, they decided they wanted family in their lives. By then, Joseph Alston was a broken man. Sickly and old. Nearly broke.”

“I’m still not getting the part about the name change to the plantation.”

“Joseph died before ever getting to know his grandchild. Margaret and Benjamin moved her two brothers and their families onto the plantation because they were almost destitute due to their father’s poor business management while on his quest for revenge. Suzanne was the Winston’s only child.”

Bitsy brought in a tray of sandwiches and iced tea. She had a broad smile on her face and I could swear she winked at me. I suddenly had the strangest feeling. Was the slave Josephina who’d helped raise Margaret Alston somehow related to Bitsy? I shook my head. I was taking all this believing in the unexplainable way too seriously.

“The Alston brothers were wonderful farmers and helped the rice crops to thrive. Out of love for his wife, Benjamin renamed the plantation the Winston-Alston Plantation. Sometime down the line, it must have become the Alston Plantation, but that’s probably for another time.”

Sam smiled at me, showing beautiful white teeth. Damn, but he was handsome.

“You ever think of becoming a historian? Or maybe a private investigator? You’re good.”

“I’ll stick with the law, thank you.”

We laughed and it was an easy laugh. For the first time in days, I began to relax.

“I think, Miss Margaret Alston of the 21^st century, we need to further explore our family’s joint history. Maybe one evening over dinner and a wonderful bottle of wine?”

He had gorgeous brown eyes. I’d never noticed that before, but now they flashed with humor and life. “I think, Dr. Winston, that would be just perfect. For research purposes, of course.” I smiled back.

“Of course.”

We clicked our iced tea glasses in agreement.

~ * ~

“You were…are…a wonderful man, Benjamin Winston.”

“I didn’t do enough for Joseph.”

“You kept him from prison. He tried to ruin your life. If you and Margaret had been home, you could’ve perished in that blaze. And, your unborn daughter.”

“My Suzanne.” His face lit up like a brilliant sun at the mention if his daughter.

“Joseph died because of me. He was alone when he died.”

“Joseph died because of his anger over what he thought your father did. He allowed that anger to take over his entire life to the point where he tried to ruin your lives. In the end, we can only look to ourselves for our actions.”

“I suppose you are correct.”

“It’s time to be with your Margaret, Benjamin, and your Suzanne. They are waiting for you.”

“Thank you for everything.”

“You are more than welcome.”

For some reason, I felt guilt over Joseph Alston’s behavior. He died centuries ago, but his behavior bothered me. Oh, well, I guess we all had black sheep in our family trees.