Garden of the Moon (4 page)

Unable to believe the possibility and instantly alert, Sara forced her eyes open and pushed the covers off her head. She blinked several times, but the face smiling lovingly down at her remained as solid and as real as the bed in which Sara lay.

***

Slowly, she sat up, never allowing her gaze to leave the woman at her side lest she vanish. Anyone else would have been frightened half to death. But then everyone else wasn’t like Sara. Hadn’t her mother reminded her of that many times over? Sara was used to seeing dead people, and that one had chosen to pay her a nocturnal visit wasn’t at all unusual.

What did surprise her was who it was. Sitting beside her, love shining from her blue eyes, her body surrounded by a halo of white light, was Alice Wade, her beloved, dead grandmother.

Chapter 3

“Hello, dear,” Sara’s grandmother said, as though she wasn’t an apparition sitting on her granddaughter’s bed in the middle of the night, but instead a relative who had just dropped by for afternoon tea.

Gran wore the antique white lace dress in which she’d been buried. Pinned on the dress’ high neck was the cameo brooch Sara had given Gran for her last birthday. How young, vital and beautiful her grandmother looked. Gone were the wrinkles of age and the hint of loneliness that had dimmed her eyes and been always present after her beloved Ezra had died. The scent of magnolias surrounded her. Instantly, all the love and security Sara had always experienced around her grandmother wash over her.

Suddenly, Sara noticed something in the corner of the bedroom, which was almost obscured by the figure of the older woman. A small ball of milky white light pulsated, moving up and down like a child’s ball and then back and forth like the pendulum on a clock. But she was too excited by her grandmother’s presence to delve into what it was.

“Gran, is it really you?”

Her grandmother patted her hand. “Yes, my darling girl, it’s me.”

“Oh, Gran, I am so happy to see you.” Her touch was surprisingly warm. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Oh, my dear, I’ve missed you, too.” She squeezed Sara’s hand.

The ball of light in the corner grew bigger and pulsed with a new strength.

Gran glanced at it, and then snatched her hand back. “All right, dear, I hear you.” She smiled apologetically at Sara. “He warned me not to touch you.”

“He?”

Gran dismissed the question with a wave of her hand, something Sara had seen her do many times when she didn’t want to be bothered with what she considered life’s trivialities.

Life’s too short to be giving one jot of time to unimportant things
, she’d always say, and then set off on another entirely different subject.

Though exciting to be sitting here having a conversation with one of the most important people in her life, Sara was curious as to why, after so many years, her grandmother had chosen now to appear to her.

“Gran, why are you here?”

“My darling girl, I have hung around here for five years waiting for you. I thought your mother would never agree to let you come to Harrogate.” She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “I never saw what your father found so enchanting about that woman. If you ask me, she is stubborn, opinionated, and much too concerned with the dictates of society. Her mother used to say that even as a child Patricia would dig in her heels and–”

“Gran!” Sara didn’t want to talk about her mother. She wanted to hear what had prompted her grandmother’s unexpected visit.

“Sorry, dear.” Gran smiled. Then her expression softened even more. “I came because I needed to tell you that there’s something very special waiting for you here.
Very
special.”

“Special?” Sara blinked. “What is it? What’s special?”

***

Her grandmother shook her head. “I can’t say. He’d only let me speak to you if I promised not to say too much.”

Sara grew impatient. “Who is this
he
you keep referring to?” She glanced around the room.

“An unimportant detail.” The ball of light pulsed frantically, but Gran paid it no heed. “I just don’t want you to give up on being the mistress of Harrogate and leave because things get…difficult. That would be tragic.”

“Leave Harrogate?” Appalled at the thought, Sara shook her head firmly. “I’ve waited forever to live here. I would never leave.”

Gran cast a skeptical sidelong glance at her. “You may change your mind.”

“No! Never!” Sara sat straighter. Her chin had firmed into the stubborn pose that, to Sara’s everlasting disgust, made her resemble her mother at her most obstinate, but she didn’t care. “Why would you even think such a thing?”

An odd expression crossed Gran’s face. The same expression she’d always gotten when Sara talked to her about the portrait of the woman over the fireplace. Back then Sara had been too young to put a name to it, but now…Could it be fear? Shock waves rocked Sara.

The word
fear
and Gran just didn’t go together. Gran was the most fearless woman Sara had ever met. One of her favorite pastimes had been to don a pair of her husband’s trousers and ride like the wind, legs astride, over Harrogate’s lands and
to hell with the neighbors
. When other southern belles were adhering to a strict female society, Gran was doing as she pleased and laughing in the face of all the frowning matrons while she did it. It was one of the reasons Sara had admired her so much and one of the reasons she had loved coming to stay with her. Sara could be herself here and not have to worry about a flaming reprimand from her strict mother.

Why now was Gran afraid?

***

But before Sara could ask, Gran hurried on. “As much as I love this old house and want you to live here, I have to warn you that evil lives within these walls.”

A cold chill climbed Sara’s spine. When they’d come down the drive earlier that day, was that what she’d felt? Did the man in the upstairs window have something to do with it? In the deepest part of her heart, Sara didn’t believe that he did.

“E…evil? What kind of evil?”

Gran shook her head. “You have to discover that on your own, my darling girl.” When Sara would have protested, Gran held up her hand. “You have the courage. My blood flows through your veins. I know you can do it. I feel it, here.” She placed her hand over her heart. “All I can tell you is that the secret to your success, the way to claim victory over the evil, lies hidden in the house and inside you. Find it, and you will find all the answers you seek and happiness beyond your imagination.”

“But I’m ever so happy just being here, and I’m not seeking any answers.” At least she hadn’t been until a few moments ago. “How can you tell me there’s evil in this house, then not tell me what it is?”

“Your happiness depends on you learning the answers on your own. They’re a part of you, Sara. They always have been.” She stood as if to leave. “Search your heart.”

“No!” Sara said loudly. “You can’t go. Not yet.” She lunged for her grandmother’s hand, but Gran stepped out of Sara’s reach.

“Now, now, dear. Just remember what I said. Evil may lurk here, but something special also awaits you here.” She smiled warmly. “Believe me, no matter how harrowing the journey, it will be worth it.”

***

A million unanswered questions. Would she ever find the answers? Her brain throbbed. She fought to make sense of all her grandmother had said. “But what awaits me? What is so special? How can I find the answers to any of this?”

“Go to Candlewick Plantation and talk to Clarice Degas.”

“Clarice Degas? I–”

The older woman sighed. “I must go, my darling Sara.” She glanced toward the pulsating light. It had begun to grow brighter and throb more insistently. “Ezra is waiting for me, and if you recall, I’ve often told you that your grandfather was never a patient man, and bless his heart, he’s waited a very long time for me to join him.”

“But, Gran, you can’t leave me. I need you. I need your help.”

Wordlessly, Gran walked toward the vibrating light, and then stopped and turned back toward Sara. “Be careful, my darling girl, and be happy. Above all else trust in the power of love.” Gran smiled and waved, and then she stepped into the light.

In the time it took Sara to open her mouth to protest, the light closed in on itself, and Gran was gone, leaving in her absence only the faint, sweet scent of magnolias and a stifling silence.

Feeling as though she’d lost her grandmother yet again and fighting back tears, Sara collapsed back on the pillows. Bewildered, she lay in the big, moonlight-dappled bed with her grandmother’s warning ringing in her ears and wondered if she’d dreamed the entire bizarre incident. But in her heart, where the fear had taken root, she knew she hadn’t. Levering herself up on one elbow, she glanced toward the portrait above the fireplace.

Had the woman’s lips turned up in a sinister smile?

***

Sara played with the golden pancakes and brown sausages that Chloe, one of the best cooks in New Orleans, had prepared for her. Despite her gloomy mood, Sara smiled. Would her mother ever get over the loss of her cook? Would she ever forgive Sara’s father for giving Raina’s mother to Sara?

Though her mother had protested hotly at losing both Chloe and Samuel, Sara’s father believed strongly in keeping the families of his slaves together. It never would have occurred to him to separate Raina, her sister and their parents. When Sara took Raina from the New Orleans’ house, it followed that her mother and father would go with her. Patricia had thrown her usual temper tantrum, but to no avail. Gran would have approved heartily of how her son had stood his ground.

Thoughts of her father’s mother nudged Sara’s mind back to the night before. She continued to absently push her breakfast around her plate. In her head, she replayed the visit from her ghostly grandmother.

Seeing a ghost wasn’t what concerned her. God knows she’d seen here share in her lifetime and had gotten quite accustomed to it. What bothered her was the message her grandmother had imparted. Was there really something special waiting for her here? If so, what? And what was the evil at Harrogate? And how was she to fight something when she had no idea what it was? Then her grandmother’s voice played through her mind.

Go to Candlewick Plantation and talk to Clarice Degas
.

***

Unlike Harrogate’s austere, Federal-Greek revival style, Candlewick’s elongated, wooden structure sprawled over the manicured grounds with a lazy grace. The house seemed to languish in the shade of the ancient, moss-draped oaks like an elegant lady at leisure. Shade dappled the expansive veranda hugging three sides of the house, each opening between the supporting posts capped with lacy grillwork. Magnificent double dormers graced the peaked roof. Brilliant white statues of Greek gods and half naked ladies draped in bits of material with a profusion of flowers at their feet dotted the grounds on either side of the long, curving drive. As was the custom of the homes near the Mississippi, a few of the many lower floor windows were open to allow the cooling river breeze to pass through the house.

Contrary to the first glimpse Sara had gotten of Harrogate upon her arrival yesterday, Candlewick seemed to open its arms to visitors and welcome them with all the charm of its Creole occupants.

Ahead of the carriage conveying Sara and Raina toward the house, a small, black boy raced up the drive yelling, “Carriage comin’! Carriage comin’!”

Sara smoothed her gown self-consciously. She’d chosen one of her best dresses, a lilac gown her father had shipped from Worth’s in England. She straightened the lace inset and adjusted the décolletage, then hooked her reticule over her arm. The herd of butterflies that always filled her abdomen just before she saw her mother began to gather in her stomach.

Stop it
!
She’s just an old woman, not a raging beast
.

Samuel pulled the horse to a stop before the stairs, and Sara stepped onto the stone steps provided to make dismounting from a buggy easier. Her feet had just touched the ground when a slave shuffled onto the porch. The woman wore the drab cream and brown clothes of a house servant, but the
tignon
covering her head was bright yellow, and tight, curly tufts of salt and pepper hair peeked from beneath the edges.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” she said in perfect English. Her stern, old eyes gave Sara and Raina a thorough assessment.

Smiling, Sara climbed the steps. “I’ve come to call on Mrs. Degas. I’m Sara Wade, the new mistress of Harrogate Plantation.” Though she hadn’t meant to, Sara’s shoulders had squared, her back had straightened and her chin had lifted with intense pride as she said those last words.

The servants face seemed to pale slightly. “The mistress is resting.”

“It’s all right, Cherry. I’m awake,” came a cracked voice from inside the house. “Ask our visitor in.” A pause. “You hear me, Cherry?”

Cherry glanced over her shoulder, shook her head. “Yes, ma’am, I hear you.” She stepped to the side. “This way, Miss.”

***

Sara moved past the servant and, with Raina following close behind, entered the cool interior. Cherry guided them through the handsomely appointed foyer with its elegant crystal chandelier and highly-polished cypress floors, and then into the sitting room. The room spoke loudly of the Degas’ affluence and awed Sara with its luxurious elegance.

Deep burgundy velvet drapes framed windows with hand-painted, stained-glass flowers nestled in the corner of each pane. An Aubusson tapestry depicting a unicorn and wood nymphs frolicking through a meadow of wildflowers hung above the Carrera marble mantel. A Baccarat crystal chandelier dripped from the intricate, frieze-work medallion in the center of the ceiling.

From one of the gold-leafed, French settees, a rail-thin woman in a black bombazine gown and a thick shawl gazed at her appraisingly. Her papery skin, drawn tight over her cheekbones, gave her a fragile look that reminded Sara of a French porcelain doll her father had once given her one year for Christmas.