Ciji Ware (71 page)

“In surgery,” Sim explained, standing. “They whisked him out of here and let you sleep. Libby’s in the waiting room keeping Alice and René Ebert company. They arrived a few minutes ago.” He stared at her with a puzzled frown. “You look a little pale. Are you
sure
you’re all right?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s four thirty in the morning. Christ, what a night!”

“When did the Hopkins family first arrive in California?” Daphne demanded.

“W-what?” Sim replied, amazed that she was asking such a non sequitur.

“It’s a long story,” she hastened to explain, “but I
have
to know right now—that is, if you know. What year did your family go west?”

Sim cocked his head and appeared willing to humor her. “Well… let me think. Around the time of the Gold Rush, probably. They struck out as miners so they moved south of San Francisco and started raising those artichokes.”

“That’s around eighteen forty-nine, right?”

“Yep… the Forty-Niners—the pioneers, not the football team,” Sim joked. “But what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Do you have a flashlight in your car?”

“Daphne,” Sim said, exasperated. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Remember the sketch of the peregrine falcon, supposedly by Audubon, that’s hanging in Maddy’s house?” she demanded.

“Yes,” Sim said, his brow knitted. “On the stairwell, right? You pointed it out to me once.”

“I think
your
ancestors gave that sketch to
my
ancestors, only I’m lucky my ancestors had any descendants at all, because several of them committed suicide by stuffing their pockets with rocks and throwing themselves into Whitaker Creek,” she finished breathlessly.

Sim looked at her strangely. “It’s pretty late, but maybe you’d better explain what you mean while we drive to Maddy’s. And yes, I have a flashlight. Two, in fact.”

“It’s pretty weird and I’ll tell you everything,” she promised. “But first we have to make a short detour to the Natchez Cemetery.”

“At this time of night? Or rather, morning?” he protested. “After everything that’s happened? Aren’t you dead on your feet?”

“No,
they
are!” she said, laughing strangely. She clasped Sim’s hand in her own. “But I just have to make sure!”

***

They parked on the grassy verge of Cemetery Road and, despite the time, sat talking for an hour.

“What a story,” Sim said as he stared out the windshield at the filigree fencing that surrounded the Natchez Cemetery. “If I hadn’t had that bizarre experience myself on the bank of Whitaker Creek, I might think that you’re as loony as a few of your ancestors.”

“Maybe Susannah and my namesake weren’t really
crazy
crazy, but just driven nuts by prolonged emotional abuse and too many pregnancies.”

“Well, it’s all speculation, unless we can find the headstones of the people who supposedly are buried here. Are you ready to meet your forebears, Ms. Magnolia?” Sim asked.

“Are you ready to meet
yours
?” she replied.

Sim arched an eyebrow, nodded, and opened the car door. Flashlights in hand, they walked slowly through the wrought iron gate into the town’s cemetery, established in 1822. The moon was low in the sky, casting little light as they picked their way through the thicket of gravestones. A sliver of pinkish-gold on the horizon hinted at dawn an hour away.

“The librarian told me that the old burying ground was on a hill near St. Mary’s, downtown,” Daphne disclosed, sweeping Sim’s flashlight along the shadowy paths between clusters of headstones, angel statuary, and marble crypts. “Then, when this cemetery was established north of Natchez by the town fathers, most of the remains from the old burial ground and from family graveyards on plantations all around here were gradually moved to here.”

“How’re we going to locate the ones we’re looking for?” Sim asked doubtfully. “This place is pretty big.”

“Well, I think I can remember the general area where Maddy’s husband Marcus and my cousin Clayton are buried, so that will take us to the Whitaker section,” Daphne replied. “Their ancestors helped found the town, so they’d be given the best plots, right smack in the middle, is my guess.”

They threaded past many a stone marker before Sim called out, “Oh, boy… here are some of Bailey’s folks… the Gibbses.”

“Oh!” Daphne said, startled. “And here are the Claytons.” She pointed to a statue of a baby sleeping on a stone pillow. “Doesn’t that just make you weep?”

“Can you find Daphne Whitaker Clayton?” Sim asked, striding to her side.

“Well… let’s see… yes…” Daphne said in a stricken voice. “Here she is. See the Whitaker monument? There’re Whitakers all over the place in this section.” With the beam of her flashlight, she pointed to a headstone tilted to one side. “‘Daphne Drake Whitaker Stimpson Clayton,’” she read aloud. “‘Born 1781. Died 1840. And the Wind Wept.’ That’s
her
!” Daphne said in a hushed voice. “She died in the Tornado of 1840, and can you believe it? In the end, she’s buried with her
sister
Maddy on one side and her
daughter
, Maddy on the other.”

“I suppose when they reburied the remains from Devon Oaks, they overlooked the fact the two sisters were suicides,” Sim said softly.

“It all gets lost in the mists of time.” She touched the three stones and said a silent prayer for their peaceful repose. Subdued by this discovery, she wandered down a nearby path, peering at headstones as she passed. Suddenly, she exclaimed, “Oh, my God…”

“What?” Sim said, still staring at the Whitaker family plot.

“Over here, Bird Man. I think you may be about to get the shock of your life.”

Sim bolted to her side and aimed the light at an impressive-looking stone mausoleum.

“Hopkins… John, James, Henry, Katherine, and
Rachel
Hopkins,” he said in a low voice.

“But no ‘Simon,’” Daphne said excitedly, “because of the fact that Simon the Younger, and his son, Simon III, headed
west
!”

“Wrong,” Sim declared, pointing the flashlight on the weathered side of the Hopkins family crypt. “Here’s Simon. In there.”

“But look at the dates. This Simon died in 1820. He must be Simon the Elder. The one who didn’t want his son to marry Daphne Whitaker. The younger Simon then married Rachel Gibbs—lost her to the tornado—and
that
event propelled
his
son to head for California.”

“This is all pretty unbelievable,” Simon said, pulling her close so that her back pressed his chest. “But you know? The more I think about it, my father
did
say that his ancestors—a father and son—followed the same route as Lewis and Clark.”

“How does Mark Hopkins fit in, then?” Daphne mused.

“That branch came from New York and ended up in Sacramento, selling goods to miners setting out for the gold country. Later, the famous Hopkins became a railroad baron. The hotel was named after the spot on Nob Hill where his mansion once stood.”

“Don’t you find it amazing that
your
people eventually farmed out west and raised artichokes, instead of trying to make a fortune panning for gold?” Daphne asked.

“Maybe that sort of life just came to them naturally… a holdover from the days the family raised cotton and dispensed Southern hospitality to folks like John James Audubon,” Sim replied softly.

Daphne reverentially patted the elder Simon’s gravestone. For a long moment, she and Sim continued to gaze at the Hopkins family plot. “I guess I’d say that Trey blazed his own trail, and yet in a way, he remained true to his roots,” Daphne mused.

“Kind of like us,” Sim said, nuzzling his lips against the nape of her neck. Daphne turned in Sim’s arms so she could face him nose to nose.

“So… what about you, shutterbug? Where does it feel like home to you?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he challenged. “Are you sure you’re not going to want to go back to New York?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Daphne said promptly. “Forget the Big Apple unless you’re with me. But please don’t duck the question.”

Sim shook his head. “The honest answer is, I don’t know. I’ll still have to travel some till I can figure out another way to make a decent living.” He brought his eyes on a level with hers. “You going to be okay with that?”

“Honest answer? Maybe.” Daphne affected a shrug. “I guess we have the best chance of keeping the good stuff between us going if we always keep the batteries on our cell phones charged.” Simon nodded wryly. “And considering my budding musical career, Althea says the Aphrodite Jazz Ensemble may be doing some traveling itself.”

Simon’s brow furrowed briefly, and secretly, Daphne wondered if the trails west and south that began in the little town of Natchez, Mississippi, so long ago might not make it impossible for Simon Chandler Hopkins and Daphne Whitaker Duvallon to figure out where they truly belonged.

***

On March 20, marking the first wedding anniversary of King Duvallon and Corlis McCullough, a happy group lounged on the weatherbeaten porch furniture that dotted the veranda at Bluff House. Several champagne bottles stood empty on the table—including a bottle of Veuve Clicquot that Daphne had been saving for an entire year.

Bailey Gibbs raised his glass on high and called for attention. The commotion was enough to spook Harpo and Chico, and the two cats skittered across the porch and around the side of the house. Groucho, however, remained curled up on Daphne’s lap.

“Sim and I have an announcement, but I’m goin’ be the one to make it!”

Conversation ceased and all eyes came to attention as the elderly physician bowed formally in Sim’s direction.

“I am mighty pleased to be the one to inform y’all that, after much thought and due consideration,” Bailey said, “Doctor Sim Hopkins has decided to give up most of his wanderin’ ways to become the director of the Caroline Gibbs Memorial Bird Sanctuary.”

“Way to go, Bird Man!” Althea shouted over the applause.

“Oh, my God…” Daphne blurted, then flushed to the roots of her curly blond hair with embarrassment. This proved too much for Groucho, who headed off across the lawn.

Sim bowed modestly amid the clapping, and tilted his champagne glass in the direction of his well-wishers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he said.

“I convinced him that since, most likely, his family originally came from Natchez,” Bailey continued, “he was practically my relative. Therefore, he should reclaim his heritage and keep the sanctuary goin’ in honor of all families in these parts.”

Daphne merely stared at Sim in shock while everyone else continued to clap and cheer. Meanwhile, Bailey raised his glass once again, calling for order. “And I decided this mornin’ that I would do something else that would
really
seal the deal!”

Now it was Sim’s turn to look puzzled and surprised. The old doctor pulled a yellowed piece of paper sealed in a laminated pouch from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Sim.

“What
is
this?” the younger man asked, mystified.

“Oh, Lord…” Daphne murmured, peering over his shoulder. She gazed at Bailey, and declared to the group in a hushed voice, “It’s the original deed to Gibbs Hall Plantation.”

“That’s right,” the doctor declared over the exclamations of everyone present.

“Oh, Bailey… are you sure?” Sim murmured.

“You bet I’m sure!” he replied emphatically. He looked directly at Maddy, and declared, “And I’m not doin’ this because my cancer’s flared up and I’m settlin’ my affairs, or anything, darlin’. Far from it!”

Maddy burst into tears and accepted the cocktail napkin Amadora Bendhar hastily handed her to wipe her eyes.

“I—I don’t know what to say…” Sim said, looking from Bailey to Daphne with astonishment.

“Say you accept!” Bailey demanded jovially.

“Well, if I do, you’re welcome to live at Gibbs Hall forever,” Sim declared, giving his benefactor a bear hug.

“Not a chance,” Bailey announced.

“But Bailey—” Sim started to protest.

“That’s because I want to move into town.”

“You do?”

“How wonderful!” Maddy declared with a watery smile.

“That’s right, darlin’,” Bailey said, nodding. He gently hooked an arm around her shoulders, and declared, “Either you marry me, Miz Maddy Whitaker, or we’ll just shack up at Bluff House, here, and let the Town That Time Forgot say whatever they want. Take your choice.”

“Why, Bailey, I thought you’d never ask,” Maddy’s said, smiling, while wiping her eyes. “And you’re most welcome at Bluff House, now that I’ve remembered to pay the homeowners insurance!”

After the hubbub over this announcement died down, Sim rose from his wicker chair and seized Daphne’s hand, announcing, “Please excuse us, everyone, will you? I want to take the lady for a ride. We’ll be back in twenty minutes.”