CHAPTER NINETEEN

I kept Rebecca close to my side, her dreams of ghosts and voices calling to her from the pond haunting me. I had spoken to all of the servants and threatened them with dismissal if I ever heard that one of them had mentioned the Indian woman and her baby to Rebecca. Still, I wanted the child with me, trusting my protection more than any promises.

With the heavy heat of summer gone, we spent a great deal of time outside. I would speak soon to John about buying a pony for Rebecca and teaching her to ride, but for now, we would go for long drives in the small buggy that had been Elizabeth’s favorite. We would race along the lane of oaks in front of the house and beyond, but I would slow the horse as soon as we reached the levee road.

I was still uncomfortable on the levee after my fall, and would have avoided it altogether if the child had not clamored for it. She loved the view of the water and could never be convinced to try a different route.

On an overcast morning, just as Rebecca and I approached the levee, we were hailed by a lone rider. With dismay, I thought at first it was Philip Herndon but soon realized that it was Dr. Lewiston. I smiled warmly and waved back.

He bowed grandly to both Rebecca and me, wiggling his golden eyebrows as he did so and making her giggle. “What a lovely surprise to find two such beautiful ladies out for their morning ride. I would be so flattered to accompany you, if only so I can bask in your beauty.”

Rebecca laughed harder and I had to smile, too, despite my trepidation. I could only imagine John’s anger were he to find out I had seen Daniel again without John’s presence.

Daniel pretended to be hurt, and pressed his hat to his heart. “You wound me, ladies. I am merely trying to brighten this terribly cloudy day, yet you laugh at me.”

He winked at Rebecca, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a string of licorice. “And this, my dear, is for you. I always carry it around in case I am lucky enough to see you.”

Rebecca reached up to take it, her smile never fading. Then she placed it in her lap, one of her gloved hands on top lest it should fall off. I assumed she was protecting it to make sure it made it to her collection in the bottom of her bureau drawer.

Despite my wariness, I could not help but show my genuine gladness to see him. “It is good to see you again.”

I smiled up at him and he grinned back, but his eyes were serious. “You are looking as lovely as ever, Catherine.”

I looked down at my gloved hands, attempting to hide my discomfiture. I knew Daniel was simply being gallant, but I doubted John would have considered it so innocently. The thought of John sobered me considerably, casting another cloud onto my day. I considered Daniel my friend and felt I should not be made to feel guilty for spending time with him.

“Thank you, Daniel. Your flattery goes too far, but it is always nice to hear. But I am afraid we need to be returning home.”

Daniel looked disappointed. “But surely you could spare a little bit of time for me to show you Rebecca’s secret place.”

Intrigued, I looked at the little girl beside me. She jumped up and down on the seat, her eyes pleading. “Please? There is my own little waterfall, and sometimes I find bird eggs and rocks for my collection. I have not been there since my other mama went up to heaven.” Her blue eyes shimmered.

Reluctantly, I nodded, hoping that our extended excursion would not be noticed. “All right, Rebecca. But just for a little while.”

Daniel leaned over and reached for Rebecca. “Then come on, little peanut—let us go for a ride and show your aunt our special place.”

“She is not my aunt anymore, Dr. Lewiston. She is my new mama.”

Daniel’s eyes met mine over Rebecca’s blond head and he nodded approvingly.

“Let us go, then,” I said, and flicked the reins on my horse. I followed Daniel and Rebecca along the levee for a short distance before turning off onto a narrow dirt road hardly wider than a trail. It bisected a dense pine forest, a thin line of brown against lush green. We dismounted and tied the horses, then followed Daniel into the woods.

It was hard to imagine that we were so close to the river in this secluded place. The only sounds were those of the birds and other small forest creatures who inhabited the tall, scrubby pines. A thick layer of pine needles lay across the path, bristling and cracking underneath our feet. Rebecca held the doctor’s hand, and I followed quietly, not wanting my voice to ruin the magic of this place.

We soon came to a clearing, a brilliant white gazebo marking the end of the path. It was large—large enough for a couple to dance the waltz—and the roof had been painted a dark green. A weathered brass hawk perched on the cupola, its eyes bright and penetrating, frightening away any small birds who might come to perch there. In the far distance, a great house rose into view, its unprotected back glaring at us. Half of the roof was missing, the charred walls like blackened bruises on the white house. A flock of sparrows lifted off what had once been the attic, darkening the sky and leaving us in the quiet solitude of the ruined mansion.

“Where are we?” I asked, completely lost.

Daniel smiled. “We are at Pine Grove—the King family’s cotton plantation. Not that it can be called that anymore, since no crop has been planted in almost five years. It burned in the first year of the war, and they left. Nobody has heard from them since.”

A frown crossed his face for a moment and I looked away, studying the gazebo. It, too, appeared to be in disrepair, with floorboards missing and paint peeling, and a great sadness fell on me. It seemed that whatever the Yankees had not outright destroyed during the war had been left to face a slow and lingering death. Watching my own house burn to the ground had wounded my spirit more than a bullet to my heart ever could, yet at least I didn’t have to watch it slowly fall to the ground as a mother would watch a sick child slowly founder out of this life.

I turned to face Daniel. “It is so quiet here.”

He walked onto the octagonal floor of the gazebo, carefully stepping over a protruding board. Rebecca followed closely behind him, easily avoiding the first board and then skipping, with the agility of a child who had done the same movement many times, over two more gaping holes before finding a seat on the far wall.

Daniel leaned against an archway and studied me carefully. “Yes, it is. It is reminiscent of so many lives after the war, is it not? Everything in ruins.”

I walked around the gazebo, taking note of the late-fall scarlet camellias, their bright, leafy bushes hiding the base of the structure, which was nearly completely swallowed by brambles and vines. I turned back to Daniel, eager to turn the conversation. I had no wish to remember those desolate days following Robert’s return. “I have not had the chance to ask you what Philip was doing at Whispering Oaks the last time we met.”

Before he spoke, Daniel turned to Rebecca. “Go see if you can find any eggs—but stay away from the water until we come, all right?”

Eagerly, the child nodded and skipped off in the direction of a dirt path close to the one we had just been on.

“Is it safe?” I asked, remembering the dangers of our grotto.

Daniel nodded. “She has been there many a time and always stays away from the water—even though it is merely a trickle and cannot cause her more harm than wetting her pinafore.” He smiled. “She knows to not venture far from the path, and it only meanders into the woods for a short distance. She is perfectly safe and will wait for us until we are ready to come and get her.”

I wrinkled my brow. “It sounds like she has been here often.”

“Yes, she loves it here. Her mother and I would bring her here quite a bit.”

I nodded, remembering Mr. O’Rourke explaining to me the jaunts Elizabeth would take with Rebecca. How desperately Elizabeth must have wanted to get away from that house. She had hated the outdoors with a passion and had always gone to great lengths to avoid it.

I watched Rebecca disappear and waited for Daniel to answer my question about Philip. The doctor leaned down and picked up a long sliver of wood that had been dislodged from a floorboard and rubbed it between his fingers. Without looking at me, he said, “He was there to see you, regardless of what John might think about it. Luckily, I was able to persuade him otherwise.”

“He wanted to see me? Whatever for? I am quite sure he understands that his behavior toward my husband the last time we met is completely unacceptable to me. I will not see him.”

Daniel’s gaze traveled to the neglected camellias, their gentle beauty now hidden under tall grass and weeds. “I told him that, but he seems quite obsessed with you.”

“But that is absurd. We have known each other since we were children. It was always Elizabeth that Philip was interested in.” I took a deep breath, the memory of the baby that had died with Elizabeth never far from me. “I also gather that their relationship may have continued after Elizabeth’s marriage.”

A shade of sadness passed across Daniel’s face. “Perhaps. I do not listen to gossip, nor will I speak ill of the dead. But as for Philip, I think it would be wise to avoid him. His antagonism toward John could be due in part to the fact that John’s a Yankee and may have nothing to do with Elizabeth at all. I avoid him simply because he is a member of that rabble-rousing White League.” He dropped the scrap of wood, hitting the gazebo floor with an oddly hollow and lonely sound.

“He has threatened John. Philip said that John had taken his most cherished thing from him and now Philip would repay him. He is not the same boy I knew.”

Daniel swept his hand along a balustrade, peeling paint flaking off and drifting down onto the camellias. “No, Philip has changed. He ran away from the war and now is stirring up trouble in the hopes that people will forget his cowardice. But I would avoid him—especially now that he has all but admitted to being obsessed with you.”

I waved my hand in the air, dismissing his words. “He was obsessed with Elizabeth, and she and I bear strong resemblance—that is all. He certainly never gave me a second glance all through those summers of coming here to our grandmother’s.” I said it without bitterness, glad to have been left to my own devices to paint and read instead of worry about what my hair and dress looked like at all times.

Daniel smiled. “Perhaps Elizabeth’s shadow was simply too large for you to emerge from. But now that it is no longer here, we all see how you shine.”

I turned away to study the camellias, embarrassed at his words.

He stepped down the gazebo’s steps and stood near me. Reluctantly, I looked up.

“Are you happy, Catherine?”

He stood so close, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable. I shot a glance toward the path where Rebecca had gone, feeling somewhat safer with her nearby. I stepped backward, still smiling, but trying to maintain a distance between us.

With a self-deprecating look, he stepped back, too. “I am sorry, Catherine. I forget sometimes that we have known each other for such a short time. Perhaps it is your resemblance to Elizabeth that makes me believe that I have known you for much longer.”

I looked sharply at him, curious as to how well he really did know my sister.

As if reading my thoughts, he quickly added, “Elizabeth and I were good friends. She needed someone to confide in, and she chose me. I know she confided in Clara, too, but I think that perhaps Elizabeth might have been more reticent in sharing certain things with her than with me. I was her doctor, after all.”

I nodded, my doubts satisfied. I glanced down at the scarlet camellias, their showy blooms staring out from among the glossy green leaves and the climbing weeds. Taking pity on the vain flowers, I knelt down and began plucking as many as I could fit in my hand. The weeds would soon choke out their beauty, withering their buds on the vines. I brought the cluster close to my face and closed my eyes, feeling the velvet softness of the flowers against my chin. These blossoms were so much like my dead sister: brash and vibrant, yet so vulnerable to the weeds of vanity and the fruitless search for happiness that had finally choked out her life. For a moment, I felt only pity for her instead of the anger that had resided in my heart since her death—my anger at her desperate and ultimately selfish act of leaving me completely and utterly alone.

A gentle touch on my arm made me open my eyes, and I saw Daniel’s compassionate ones staring into mine.

“Are you well?”

I nodded, then buried my face in the blooms again until I felt Elizabeth’s memory drift back into the dark recesses of my mind, where they belonged. “Let us go find Rebecca. We need to get back.”

We found her crouched in front of a thin rivulet, the water valiantly struggling over mud and rocks, creating a small, dripping waterfall that had entranced the little girl. It lay in the middle of an unexpectedly large clearing. I noticed with delight that the old camellias had found their way into this place and were pushing their heads toward the daylight sky.

Rebecca squealed in delight as Daniel swung her up on his back. I noticed the pockets of her pinafore bulged and I laughed. “Did you find many treasures, sweetheart?”

She nodded exuberantly. “Oh yes. No eggs today, but lots of pretty things.”

I smiled at her childish enthusiasm. “That is wonderful. You will have to show me everything when we get home.”

Daniel added, “We need to leave now, before people begin to worry.”

I looked at him with alarm, knowing to whom he was referring. “Yes, let us leave. I want to paint Rebecca in this light, and I probably have less than an hour before it changes.”

Following them down the dirt trail, I glanced at the camellias clutched in my hands, their stems sticking to my sweaty palms. They no longer seemed beautiful to me but, rather, were sad reminders of Elizabeth’s life and untimely death. They were also one more thing to explain to John, and I had no desire to travel that path.

Slowly, I opened my palm and let the flowers fall from my hand, scattering the bright red petals on the dirt path like spilled blood.

*   *   *

Daniel escorted us as far as the lane of trees leading up to Whispering Oaks. As we waved goodbye and watched him ride off for home, I again heard the keening cry of a baby. My skin chilled as if a breath had been brushed against the back of my neck.

Rebecca touched my arm, her eyes wide, and then I remembered the glass bottles. Turning in my seat, I spied Marguerite, half-hidden behind a tree trunk, a roll of twine and empty bottles at her feet. A movement from a low branch caught my attention, and I looked up to see Delphine clinging to a branch, a newly tied bottle dangling below her.

Marguerite looked at me for a moment, then turned her head in the direction in which the doctor had ridden. When our eyes met again, hers were all-knowing. Quickly, she bowed her head. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“Good afternoon, Marguerite.” I looked past her toward the bottles hanging in the tree and swaying in the wind, their ghostly cry spiraling among the gnarled oaks. “Does Mr. McMahon approve of having these here?”

“I do not know. I have never asked him.”

“Nor did you ask me, and I do not approve. The sound frightens Rebecca.” I looked up at Delphine so she would understand I was speaking to her, too. “I want all of these removed right now, and I do not want to see them again.”

Marguerite stared at me in silence for a long moment before nodding and saying, “Yes, ma’am.”

Not wanting further discussion, I picked up the reins and headed toward the house. In the short time since we had left the gazebo, heavier clouds had moved in, obscuring the light and changing my plans for painting Rebecca. I was not completely disappointed. I had been battling fatigue for more than a week, and I was happy for the excuse to lie down when Rebecca napped.

After a quick midday meal, eaten without John, who had remained at the mill office, I slowly climbed the stairs and put Rebecca to bed, barely able to keep my eyes open. When I reached my room, I collapsed on the bed, not taking the time to remove my clothes, and quickly fell into oblivious sleep.

When I awoke, John sat on the foot of the bed, staring at me with a contemplative look. My smile was not returned, and he morosely moved off the bed and went to the window, staring out at the pond.

Unease bled through my body, and I wondered if Marguerite had told him of my being with Daniel. I sat up, willing to do battle and defend my freedom and innocence. “What is wrong?”

He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “While you were out with Rebecca, Philip Herndon came to call.”

My unease scattered into relief. “What did he want?”

He turned to face me. “I do not know. It was you he wanted to see.”

“After our confrontation in New Orleans, I truly have no desire to ever speak to the man again.”

Without comment, John faced the window again. “He gave me the same threats he has given me before, and I told him I would shoot him if I ever found him on my property again. Not that I think I would. The man is not mentally stable, I am afraid, and I need to speak with his parents about seeking treatment for him.”

I slid off the bed to stand near him. “Surely not, John. I know you do not want to hear this, but he . . . cared for Elizabeth very much. He is grieving.” I touched his sleeve, willing him to look in my eyes. “Let someone grieve for her as she deserved.”

He touched my face with a gentle caress. “You are too kind and loving to people who are not deserving of it.”

“She was my sister, John. That will never change.”

He flinched slightly, and I was about to ask him why when the door was flung open. Rebecca stood in the doorway, her underclothing wrinkled from her nap and her unbound hair flying in all directions. She wore a wide smile, given only to those she loved the most, and in her chubby hands clutched two bright red clusters of camellias.

My heart skidded when I spied them. I remembered her bulging pockets and, knowing her love for flowers, it would have been inevitable that she would have wanted some to bring home with her.

John walked to her and knelt by her side. “These are lovely, Rebecca. Who are they for?”

“For both of you,” she said with glee, thrusting out her hand to John.

I stayed where I was, paralyzed, a sick feeling of nausea burning my stomach.

He took them from her and gave her a hug and kiss. “And where did you find such beautiful flowers?”

“Dr. Lewiston took me and Mama to our secret place, where these pretty flowers grow. I knew you would like them, so I picked a lot.”

An abrupt stillness seemed to fall on John, and Rebecca sensed it, too.

“What is wrong, Papa? Do you not like them?”

He had to clear his throat before getting the words out. “Yes, of course. Now, you go find Delphine to help you dress. I need to speak to your mama.”

She gave him a loud kiss on the cheek before skipping out of the room, taking all the warmth with her.

Slowly, John stood and faced me. “Well?”

I tried to push back the wave of nausea and squared my shoulders. “Well, what? I took Rebecca for a ride, and we ran into Daniel quite by accident. He showed us to the most lovely spot, and we chatted for a while before returning.”

His eyes flickered but he remained silent.

“For God’s sake, John! Daniel is your best friend, and I am your wife. Do you really think for one second that either one of us would ever betray you? I pity you if you cannot find it in your heart to trust those of us who love you best. And Rebecca was with us. Do you doubt my love for your child so much that you think I could be so despicable as to place her in that sort of situation? Maybe Philip Herndon is not the only one who is mentally unhinged. Perhaps you both should seek treatment.”

He placed his fingers under my jaw, his hand trembling from trying to control his emotions, and brought my face up to meet his. His words were harsh. “I can believe the worst of people for a reason. Remember that, my dear wife.”

His eyes flashed as they bored into mine for a long moment before he dropped his hand. With great deliberation, he raised his other hand and closed it tightly, crushing the fragile blooms inside, then letting them drift to the floor.

I trembled from hurt and nausea and his coldness, and was glad when he left the room without another word. I barely made it to the washstand before I vomited, taking the last of my energy. Collapsing to the floor, I sat there for a long time, feeling anger, hurt, and grief wash over me in continual succession. When numbness finally seeped into my heart and brain, I stood and cleansed my face. As I slowly dried myself, I spotted the lodestone sitting on my dressing table amid my brushes and jars of perfume.

Picking it up, I rolled it in my palms, noticing how my touch did not warm it. Instead it remained a frigid lump in my hand, as if my blood had chilled to such a degree that there was no more warmth to give.

Still clutching the stone, I slipped a pair of earbobs into my pocket, then left the room, intent on finding Rose. I was too exhausted to contemplate my next course of action, but perhaps she could help me find my way.

I found her alone in the kitchen, and she looked up as if she were expecting me. The black pot over the stove simmered, creating that oddly pungent odor I remembered from before. She greeted me, then motioned for me to sit while she stirred the pot, whisking the steam toward her face and breathing in deeply. Reaching into a glass jar on a high shelf, she pinched a crimson-colored powder and threw it into the pot, making it hiss and bubble.

Dipping the ladle into the pot, she poured the contents into two tin cups, then handed one to me. I turned away from the bitter brew, the odor making my stomach twist. Looking up, I caught Rose watching me closely, her eyes wide and knowing.

She sat down at the stained wooden table in the same seat she had used before and closed her eyes, the smoke from her cup rising in front of her and distorting her face like a reflection in old glass.

When she spoke, her deeply accented voice had once again transformed itself, its grainy thickness calling to mind moist river silt, carrying fertile words heavy with meaning. “Does your husband know you secret?”

I raised an eyebrow, my breath held. Until this moment, I had not even ventured to hope, but now joy leapt inside me and I knew. “No. I was not sure. . . .”

She waved her hand, her eyes tightly shut in her dark, wrinkled face. “You be giving you husband a son.” A corner of her mouth tilted up at a vision unseen by me. “That chile will be dark like his father, so Mr. McMahon don’ need to wonder no more about your true feelings for him.”

I flinched as her eyes flickered open and she stared at me, unseeing. “But there be many bridges to cross afore you can find that happiness you be searchin’ for.” She placed her elbows on the table and leaned over to me. “You and that girl chile be in terrible danger. She need you love and protection now, and you need it more than her. But you needs to know who you friends be and who not you friend.”

Her hand crept across the table like a large, dark spider. She grabbed my hand, prying open the fingers. She touched the lodestone, and it seemed to burn in my hand. I let it roll off my palm, and she replaced it quickly. “You carry always. You need it for protection now. And you needs to find out who you friends be.”

The cloudiness in her eyes passed and she gave me a clear gaze. “There be things you don’ know, that people wants to keep hidden. But you needs to know these things so you can understand the true nature of those closest to you.” She patted my hand. “You be hurt, but you soul mate—he be the one to get you through ’dis dark time.”

I cleared my throat. “You mentioned before two men I share my life with, and one who betrays me. Is there any more you can tell me?”

She sat up and wrapped her fingers around her mug. “No. I only see what I suppose to see. It be up to you to figure out what I means.”

Nodding, I stood, clutching the edge of the table for support. Leaning heavily on it, I thanked her and handed her the pair of earbobs Robert had given me to show my appreciation. Turning to leave, I felt a touch on my sleeve.

Rose’s eyes seemed to flicker in the dimness of the kitchen. “You watch Marguerite. Her power be much stronger than mine. And don’ you forgets to carry that lodestone.” Her fingers tightened over my hand with the lodestone and squeezed tightly. “You be needin’ it now more than ever.”

I thanked her again and left, the joy of my impending motherhood mixed inexorably with Rose’s dour warnings. Needing fresh air, I walked around the house, avoiding the pond, toward the front. As I passed the side, I looked up, a movement in a window capturing my attention. I realized the window belonged to Elizabeth’s old room, and there was no reason for anybody to be in there. Watching closely, I saw an almost imperceptible swing of the blinds, as if somebody were gently replacing them against the window.

I raced around to the front of the house and took the steps two at a time until I reached Elizabeth’s room. The door was shut and I flung it open, waiting for the bang as it hit the wall.

The room lay still and empty, just as Elizabeth had left it, her hairbrush and bottles now gathering dust on her dressing table. I blinked my eyes, noticing something dark and round hovering behind a wooden jewel box. Walking closer, my breath caught. I stared at the object for a long time before finding the nerve to pick it up. Lifting it toward the light creeping in from the blinds, I examined it closely. It appeared to be a short, thick, and twisted root of some kind, and it emitted an acrid odor, as if it had been soaked in some sort of oil. The object was dark and slick, the roots intertwined on one another and oddly resembling an old and withered face.

Staring at it, I nearly dropped it. Carefully laced in between the sinews of the root was a thin gold chain—my chain that I had left in the letterbox under my old bed, the key to the empty box hanging from the middle.

My hand shook as I held the gris-gris away from me. I had no doubt who had left it, and it was time to face my husband and his demons and hopefully put to rest some of my own.

Squaring my shoulders, I left the room, closing the door firmly on the emptiness inside.