The Pirates’ House had a definite air to it. Although it was smaller than Nicole had expected, it seemed to ooze with history and personality—and perhaps even a ghost or two like Bernie insisted as they waited to be seated. Ryan had arrived before them and was waving to them from a corner table. He stood as they approached, shaking his brother’s hand and pulling out the chairs for Nicole and Bernie. Not for the first time, Nicole realized that Southern etiquette was more polished than Northern. She liked it.
“I took the liberty to order the prawns and fried mozzarella for the table,” Ryan said to Nicole. “I know Bernie and Alex like that. But if you’d prefer—”
“That sounds great to me,” she assured him. Ryan had on a white collarless shirt that showed off his tan, as well as his ivory teeth when he smiled. She glanced from him to Alex and wondered why she’d ever thought that Alex was the handsome brother.
“So how old is the Pirates’ House?” she asked. “I’m surprised that the building actually looks old. For some reason I thought it would be more like a tourist attraction. Like Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean. But this place looks authentic.”
“It should look authentic,” Ryan told her. “Although they’ve had various renovations over the years, this building originated before the Revolutionary War.”
“Really?” She looked around, impressed. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. It’s amazing how much history Savannah has. It’s almost as if this town was never even touched by the Civil War.”
“Savannah’s buildings might have survived, but we suffered from the Civil War in lots of ways,” Alex told her. “Savannah’s agricultural economy, like the rest of the South, was crushed for quite some time.”
“But at least you still had all your lovely buildings and parks and sculptures,” she reminded him.
“A lot of our surviving antebellum architecture was thanks to General Sherman,” Ryan explained. “He was a general who, as the story goes, spared Savannah as a Christmas present to President Lincoln.”
“Sherman?” she repeated. “Isn’t that Cassidy’s last name? Is her family related to that general?”
“Not that I’ve ever heard.” Ryan shook his head. “General Sherman was a Northern general with the Union Army. Cassidy’s family has been Southern for as many generations as our family. Pre-Revolution.”
“Oh.” Nicole nodded, thinking that made sense. Ryan and Cassidy—with their families’ Southern pedigrees—probably belonged together. “Well, I’m glad General Sherman spared this pretty city.”
“So are we.” Alex chuckled. “Even more glad that Lincoln didn’t decide to relocate Savannah to the north.”
“That couldn’t have happened,” Bernie declared. “No one can transport a whole city.”
“Stranger things occurred during and following that war,” her dad told her. “The North really pounded the stuffing out of the South. Fortunately, Southerners are strong and resilient. We know how to bounce back.” He playfully poked Bernie in the shoulder. “Right?”
She smiled brightly at him. “Right!”
The conversation lulled as the waiter set their drinks and appetizers on the table, then took their orders. After he left, Ryan turned to Nicole. “Did you know that a pirate friend of Robert Louis Stevenson was rumored to have stayed here in the Pirates’ House?”
“Really? Did Stevenson have pirate friends?”
“How else would he write about pirate adventures with such authenticity?” Ryan’s eyes twinkled.
She frowned. “But wasn’t he Scottish? Was he ever in Savannah?”
“He was Scottish, but he wrote about places like this, and about victims who were shanghaied from somewhere just like this. Some people believe that Treasure Island was inspired by some of the happenings right here in Savannah. And the owners of the Pirates’ House have some rare editions of the book on display upstairs.”
“That’s so interesting.” Nicole smiled at Ryan. “You’re quite the historian, aren’t you?”
Ryan shrugged. “It’s probably because I like old buildings. That lends itself to history.”
“Dad.” Bernie nudged Alex. “Tell Nicole about that other famous author. The one with the crazy parents.”
Alex gave her a blank look.
“You know, the dad killed the mom, then—”
“Oh, that’s probably not a good story for dinner,” Alex said.
“Nicole doesn’t mind.” Bernie turned to Nicole. “Do you? I mean, you went on the ghost tour with Uncle Ryan and me. You weren’t afraid.”
Nicole smiled at Alex. “What’s the story?”
“Have you heard of Conrad Aiken?”
“Not that I recall, but I’m not a real literary buff.”
“He was probably best known for poetry,” Ryan filled in. “Although he wrote several books too.”
“Anyway, as Bernie mentioned, Aiken’s father shot his mother.” Alex grimaced. “Then he killed himself. Aiken was just a boy, and he discovered his parents’ bodies.”
“The house is still there,” Bernie said. “Haunted, of course.”
“Of course.” Nicole nodded.
“But it’s Conrad Aiken’s grave that’s interesting,” Alex continued. “It’s at Bonaventure Cemetery, the same place his parents were buried. Apparently Aiken spent a lot of time there, so naturally, he wanted to be buried there too. He wanted his own grave to be shaped like a bench.”
“Right next to his parents’,” Bernie added.
“So that others could come and visit them,” Alex finished.
“Isn’t that cool?” Bernie looked very pleased with their retelling of the gruesome story.
Nicole wasn’t so sure. “I think it’s rather sad.”
“Do you guys remember what it says on Aiken’s bench?” Ryan asked Bernie and Alex.
They both shook their heads.
“‘Cosmos Mariner—Destination Unknown,’” he said in a somewhat dramatic tone.
Nicole shivered. “I still think it’s sad,” she said as the waiter approached the table with a tray.
“It’s Savannah,” Alex said. “We have our stories, our history. That’s what makes us what we are. The tragedies and the triumphs.”
She barely nodded as her plate of fish and chips was set down. For some reason she felt more like an outsider than before. Or maybe she was just homesick. Whatever the case, she just didn’t feel too chatty as they ate. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice, and the conversation moved along quite nicely without her. It was actually somewhat refreshing to see the brothers getting along so well. She’d been concerned that Alex hadn’t wanted his younger brother along.
“Well, this has been fun,” Alex said after they’d indulged in some rather decadent desserts, sharing bites of berry cobbler à la mode, key lime pie, and chocolate rum torte around the table. He pointed at Ryan. “So, little bro, since you crashed our party, should I assume you’re picking up the bill?”
Without missing a beat, Ryan reached for the check. “My pleasure.”
Alex looked slightly surprised and not entirely pleased. “I was just kidding,” he said quickly.
“I’m not.” Ryan placed a card with the bill and handed it to the waiter, who’d just returned to their table.
“Well, thank you,” Nicole told Ryan. “I really enjoyed it.”
“Even the grim tales?” Ryan teased.
“Yes, even the Aiken tale.” She turned to Alex. “You’re right, it’s all part of Savannah. I’m really enjoying learning the history. It’s so rich and unexpected. Sometimes I feel like I should be taking notes.”
“We can take you to see Aiken’s grave at the Bonaventure,” Bernie offered.
“Maybe not tonight.” Nicole smiled. “But sometime.”
“I want to go look in the basement here,” Bernie said. “It’s supposed to have real ghosts down there, and I promised Gina I’d send her a photo. Do you guys want to go down too?”
Nicole really wasn’t interested but didn’t want to be rude. “I might pass,” she said. “But I don’t mind waiting outside. It looks like a nice sunset right now.”
“Dad?” Bernie turned to Alex. “You have to come down there with me, okay?”
“Well, I—”
“Come on, Dad.” She reached for his hand. “You have to.”
He chuckled. “Okay then.”
“If you want, I can take you home,” Ryan told Nicole. “Then these two ghost busters can poke around as long as they like.”
“Oh, that’s not—”
“Thanks.” Nicole cut Alex off. “I’m happy to ride home with you.”
As Bernie tugged her dad away, Nicole told them both goodbye, and before long she and Ryan were in his pickup. “Do you want a better look at the sunset?” he asked as he stopped at an intersection.
“Sure,” she said. “It looks like a pretty one.”
They were soon parked along the river, where shades of orange, gold, and purple were reflecting on the water’s surface. “It’s so beautiful,” Nicole said as they sat on his pickup’s tailgate.
“Savannah is known for having some of the best sunsets,” he told her.
“I didn’t know that. But I can believe it.” She pointed at a riverboat that was slowly cruising down the river. “I just love those boats. Makes me think of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn.”
“Have you ever been on one?”
“No, but before this summer is over, I’d like to.”
“You should. Some people, like my brother, make fun of them, saying they’re just a tourist trap. But there’s something very relaxing about cruising along . . . kind of like being transported in time.”
“You’ve obviously been on one before.”
“A few times, actually. My first time was with my best friend’s wedding party. That was pretty wild. But since then I’ve done a sunrise breakfast cruise as well as a sunset dinner cruise. Both were enjoyable.”
“I’m definitely going to do it.” She pulled out her phone.
“You’re booking it now?”
“No.” She laughed as she put her phone on camera mode. “I just want to get some shots of the boat. It looks so pretty with its lights reflecting on the river with the sunset colors. I think it’s something I’d like to try to paint.” She took several shots. “Sorry to act like such a tourist with all my photo snapping.” She slipped her phone back in her bag.
“I don’t mind at all. In fact, I do the same thing whenever I see an interesting piece of architecture. I’m sure some people have assumed I’m a tourist too.”
She chuckled. “And yet your family was here even before the Revolution.”
“Yeah, Mom’s been researching Dad’s family tree, and she’s fairly certain some of his ancestors came over on the Mayflower.” He chuckled. “But that might just be wishful thinking.”
“It’s quite a heritage, though.”
“Do you know much about your family’s roots?”
“Not really. I know my dad’s father has Swedish origins. His dad left Sweden to become a logger in Washington. My mom’s family is a mixture of English, French, and German. Not terribly interesting.”
“Sounds kind of like my mom’s family tree. She’s always playing it down. One time I even asked her if she was ashamed of her heritage.”
“Is she?” Nicole knew that Vivian’s family hadn’t been very well-off in Washington, but it seemed silly to be embarrassed by something like that.
He shrugged. “I know she’s not comfortable talking about her family. It’s probably because some Southerners put such great stock in family heritage. Descending from generations of prosperity is highly regarded in certain circles. But to be honest, I never really got that. I mean, think about it—if you descended from an old wealthy Southern family, chances are your ancestors were probably slave owners. Is that something to be proud of?”
“I never thought about it like that.”
“I know for a fact that my ancestors on Dad’s side were slave owners. No one talks about it, but the Grahams were an agricultural family. They had a huge cotton plantation. They might sweep it under the rug, but it’s a well-known fact that no one got rich growing cotton without slave labor.”
“I didn’t know your family owned a cotton plantation. I thought they were into shipping or something like that.”
“Yes, but that came as a result of the Civil War. After the bottom fell out of the cotton market, shipping was how they rebuilt their fortune. They ran their company through both World Wars and the Great Depression. That business was sold in the 1950s, back when my dad was a little kid. After that my grandpa started the investment company that Dad owns now.”
“And that’s where Alex works.” She was still absorbing all this family history. “That’s quite a heritage.”
“The investment company took a hit during the recent financial downfall. One more reason I’m glad I didn’t get pulled into working there.” He sighed. “Real estate got hit too. But I’d still rather invest my energy in houses. At least I can see where my money’s going.”
The sky was getting dark now, but the lights on the riverboats looked even prettier in this dusky purple light. “It’s so beautiful out there,” she murmured as she gazed out over the river. She almost added, “So romantic,” but she didn’t want Ryan to take it wrong. Or did she? Once again, she wondered about Cassidy. Just how serious was his relationship with her? It wasn’t as if they’d kissed this morning. In fact, they hadn’t even hugged. Still, Cassidy was beautiful and seemed genuinely nice. Plus she was a children’s doctor. What more could a nice guy like Ryan want? Could a high school art teacher even hope to compete? Why would she want to compete anyway?
“Nicole?” Ryan said her name in a way that suggested she’d been spacing out.
“What?” She turned to see him grinning.
“I think you were daydreaming.”
“Oh . . . yeah.” She felt her cheeks grow warm and was grateful for the dim light.
“Dreaming about being out on that riverboat with Mark Twain at the helm?”
She laughed. “Yeah, something like that.” A different kind of impossible dream. “But it’s getting late and I have to work in the morning. I probably should get going.”
As Ryan drove them home, Nicole tried not to think about him as a potential boyfriend. It was better if she just focused on building a solid friendship with him. What was wrong with that? Who wouldn’t want a guy like Ryan Graham for a good friend?