Dixie hugged Emily and stepped outside to peer at the fence line. She could have sworn she’d seen someone moving just outside the gate. She’d had that feeling so many times in her life that she’d grown accustom to brushing it aside when she could find no one lurking in the alleys or hiding behind bushes. Once again, she couldn’t see anyone, but she still felt as though a stranger’s eyes were weighing her down.
“What are you doing?” Dixie watched as Emily peeked over her shoulder.
“I thought I saw someone out there.” She pressed her hand into Emily’s back and pushed her inside.
“Ya know, you’re extremely paranoid. You always say stuff like that.” Emily smirked, and her eyes widened as though she was taking in the beauty of the place. Dixie watched her spin around in circles and gaze up at the crystal chandelier in the foyer and then across the room to the parlor.
“I know, and the cabinets and doors opening on their own ain’t helpin’ me feel any saner.” Dixie pointed toward the kitchen where every cabinet and drawer had been opened, again.
“This building gets prettier every time I see it.” Emily’s lip curled in a devious smile, a sign that she refused to respond to the strange phenomenon in front of her.
“Yeah it’s something. Look at this. I need a frame.” Dixie pulled the poem she’d found upstairs from her pocket and pressed it into Emily’s hand.
Emily’s eyes scanned the page and then she dropped her hand to her thigh, her face glowing with excitement. “This is awesome. Who is Bindi Lanoux?”
Dixie shrugged and went back to wiping the pictures she intended to hang on the walls of the parlor. She’d been organizing her personal belongings upstairs and spotted something in a frame on top of the armoire. It was obviously a portrait or photograph, and it appeared to be antique. The frame in her hand reminded her to check it out the next time she went that way. The previous owner or owners had left behind lots of appealing pictures and such. Dixie enjoyed discovering them as she unpacked.
The old pipes, which ran exposed along the tops of each wall and down the corners to the floor, moaned. Emily stopped dusting to look up at them. “Well that’s creepy.”
Dixie giggled, grateful for Emily’s presence. She’d heard the noises already, and the idea of spending the first night alone in her new home was a little frightening. “I know, right? This old place makes all sorts of noises. Honestly, if you hadn’t called, I might have slept in my car.”
Emily smirked as she smacked at the bookcase in the parlor with a feather duster. “Hey, Dix, did you ask about the history of the building… like what it was originally built for?”
“Yeah, but the guy who showed me the house was a bit of a flake. He had no idea.” Dixie tapped a nail into the plaster wall, precariously tip-toeing on a step ladder.
“Good thing this place sold itself,” Emily added as she seemed to notice what Dixie was doing. “Get down from there before we end up in the ER… again.”
Dixie eyed her and then stepped off the ladder. She’d always been a disaster waiting to happen, and for once, she wasn’t going to argue the point. At least once a month she fell over something and was forced to sport purple bruises. Earlier in the day, she’d slid half way down the stairs and managed to get a nasty rug burn on her calf. With that thought in mind, she folded the step ladder and pushed it against the wall.
The rest of the day, the girls hung pictures and arranged and rearranged furniture. Once Dixie had everything where she wanted it, Emily hung drapes for her in the oversized windows, refusing to let her step back on the ladder. The temperature in the antique building was constantly shifting from freezing to inhospitably hot. Dixie had spent the better part of the day playing with the thermostat.
There was one king-sized bed upstairs, and Dixie had adorned it in super plush bedding. The pattern was a swirl of purples and blues. The blanket was the thickest one she’d been able to find while shopping on the internet. She was a firm believer in the notion that a decent night’s sleep could cure any ill. By the time they showered and climbed into the enormous bed, the girls were struggling to keep their eyes open.
“Man, did you hear the racket when I was in the shower?” Emily pulled her thick mane into a ponytail and glanced up at the bare metal pipes.
“Old house. Guess I’ll get used to it. I probably won’t even notice it in a week or two.” Dixie smeared moisturizer on her face and then dropped the bottle on her night stand.
“Yeah right, you’ll be begging me to move in by tomorrow.” Emily fluffed her pillow and dove into it.
Dixie didn’t care what her best friend thought about her new home or her ability to live there alone. She was giddy inside with her new acquisition. It was the first house she’d owned by herself, and at twenty-six she thought it a darn admirable accomplishment.
They drifted off to sleep without further conversation. Dixie was in a dead slumber, no dreams, no worries, until she heard a loud sigh and shot up in bed, ripping the covers from her body. The noise had been so close that she briefly considered it had come from her own mind.
“I’m not alone.” The voice was sweet, southern and resonated as it bounced around inside her head. She knew it had come from somewhere near, because she’d felt the heat of another person’s breath warm her cheek.
Dixie shivered and rubbed her arms as she fell back against the pillow and then sprung up again, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Before she could discern what was what in the corners of the unfamiliar room, the picture that had been perched atop the armoire across the room tumbled, landing with a thud. Next to her, Emily rubbed her eyes and squinted into the darkness.
“Did you hear that?” Dixie fumbled to find Emily’s hand under the blankets.
“The picture fall? Yes, I think the neighbors heard it.” Emily squeezed her hand.
“No, before that. It sounded like a girl whispering.” Dixie kept her voice hushed, although she had no idea why.
Emily gawked at her, disbelief evident in her twisted expression. “Okay, let’s go check out the damage.”
Dixie wasn’t about to leave Emily’s side. She scuttled across the floor and glued herself to the girl’s hip. The oil painting had wedged itself between the cabinet and the wall. Dixie slid it out, careful not to injure it further.
It was a portrait of a dozen young women in shifts and petticoats on lounge chairs or standing. Their faces heavy with blusher and their lips stained ruby red. The girls were all pretty, but one in particular, who stood off by herself, was a ravishing beauty.
Dixie scrutinized the picture. The girl was a bit younger than the others. She was Creole or quadroon, her caramel skin and delicate features exquisite. There was something terribly sad behind her eyes, and the beauty’s grief pulled at Dixie’s heart strings. She moved the image to the counter in the tiny kitchenette before climbing back into bed.
“Don’t you dare get up without me.” Dixie issued her edict.
“Yes, ma’am.” Emily yawned and turned away, seemingly able to drift off to sleep with ease.