The House on Persimmon Road (31 page)

“Listen,” Justine said, voice intense, “you can’t ever again talk about extending yourself. Okay? As it is, I’m never going to be able to explain you.”

Lottie huffed. “I don’t see why not. Seems like you got nothin’ but old women traipsing in an’ outta this house. One more ain’t likely to fetch attention.”

After they returned from town that afternoon, Agnes and Wheeler put their heads together at her desk. Pip and Judy Ann made short work of the yard debris left from the July Fourth picnic so they could hang around Lottie and listen to her tales of farm life in the 1800s. On the one hand, Justine wanted to caution Lottie about loose talk. On the other, the children were enthralled. Justine told herself it was educational.

When the sun began to drift deeply west, Lottie called Justine.

“Milo’s coming up the path. Reckon you can witness fer me?”

“Witness what?”

“I got to git him to dig up my things. It’s fittin’. He’s been a huntin’ them fer years.”

“What things?”

“My silver, an’ wedding ring, money—”

“Buried treasure, Mom!” said Pip. “Elmer hid it so the Union soldiers wouldn’t loot it.”

Milo stopped at the foot of the back porch steps.

Lottie fanned her face with the tail of the apron. Justine watched as something, tension, an arc of knowledge or intuition passed between them. Justine made the introductions anyway. Milo’s lean, rangy jaw dropped open.

“I knowed you was here!” he accused Lottie.

“You been misrepresentin’ yourself,” she told him. “Tellin’ folks you’re diggin’ fer gophers and snakes an’ such.”

He cut a glance at the children, at Justine. “I aim to have what’s rightfully mine. I’m a rightful descendant.”

“I can tell you where to dig,” Lottie said. “I can show you the exact spot. An’ you ain’t never come close afore, not once.”

Milo’s eyes went hard and glinty. “Show me.”

Justine put a cautionary hand on Lottie’s arm. “Whatever is buried belongs to Lottie,” she warned Milo.

“You takin’ up fer a ghost, missus?”

“She’s no more ghost than you or me.”

“Then the treasure ain’t hers, is it?”

A rock and a hard place, Justine thought. Milo was trying to put her between them. “She wants her wedding ring—”

“An’ my silver,” Lottie declared.

“That leaves the money. Agree to halve it, Milo,” Justine put to him. “That’s fair. Otherwise, Lottie won’t show you where to dig, now or ever. I’m buying the house. I’ve got a lease-purchase. Owner or not, you really aren’t even supposed to be on the property—it has to do with privacy laws. Lottie can wait until I sign the papers on the house, can’t you Lottie?”

“Sure can.” She eyed the outbuildings, the way the shadows were lengthening. In only a few minutes more they would be at their zenith. She felt flushed and fidgety and tried not to show it.

Milo’s greed won out.

“The money is in gold coin?” he asked.

“Elmer never said.”

“Only half,” Justine said.

Milo nodded.

Lottie walked to the corner of the porch, stood straight and ordered Milo to pace off her shadow.

“That’s it,” she said.

He stared at the ground. It was the center of a path that went round the house. Lottie grinned. “Elmer was fair smart, weren’t he? He knowed anybody lootin’ would be huntin’ under trees an’ barns and sheds, like.”

Pip offered to help dig. Milo refused. It took almost an hour before scraps of a rotted leather trunk were revealed.

“Law,” Lottie exclaimed. “Elmer oiled that good ’n fair. Now look!”

Milo went down on his bony knees. Lottie cried when he handed out the silver plates. They were black as smut.

“Don’t cry,” Judy Ann consoled. “We can polish them, can’t we, Mommy?”

“It’s worth a try.”

A small stiff leather pouch came up on the shovel. Lottie snatched it, tore it apart. Inside was her wedding band. She slipped it on her finger. “Now then,” she said holding up the dull filigreed gold for all to admire.

“It’s lovely,” Justine agreed.

Milo lifted out a rusted iron box, hit the padlock on it with the shovel, and peered eagerly inside.

“That’s the money!” Lottie said.

In the deepening shadows, Justine looked over Milo’s shoulder. She stifled a laugh.

The money was Confederate scrip, rotted and worthless.

“Where is she!” Tucker yelled as he came barreling into Justine’s office.

“Who told you?” Justine asked.

His eyes were blazing. “Damn it! Just where is she?”

“In the kitchen, dobing a roast, whatever that means.”

Tucker turned on his heel.

“Wait!” Justine pleaded, racing after him. “She’s not dangerous, she’s just a sweet old lady.

He pulled up short in the kitchen, glaring at Lottie. “Where’s Agnes? Who the heck are you?”

“The new housekeeper?” said Lottie, looking past his shoulder for assurance from Justine.

“I needed some help, Tucker. You just can’t imagine the day we’ve had.”

“Sure I can!”

“Why are you yelling? Everything is fine. Really.”

Agnes hurried into the kitchen, halting two feet from Tucker. “You’re looking for me, I suppose.”

Justine spun about. “Oh, Agnes, what have you done now?”

“Let me tell you,” Tucker said between clenched teeth. “Agnes and Dad have been playing house. Rooting through my closets, my kitchen cabinets, changing everything around, even in the fridge.”

Agnes puffed up. “I’m left-handed. I only rearranged things for convenience.”

Wheeler moved in behind Agnes. “Hello, Son.”

The yelling brought Judy Ann and Pip down from the attic where they’d been exploring. Lottie passed a damp cloth to each. “Wipe those hands afore you sit to table.” Meek as newborn lambs, they complied.

Lottie moved around people setting the table. “Look’s like we’re all here,” she said. “Y’all sit to supper.”

"Tucker,” Justine pressed. “Calm down and sit down. Have supper with us. I was going to send Pip to invite you anyway.”

“I don’t know why you’re so mad, Son. You been saying you was gonna rent the house out. I figured with my pension restored and Agnes’s check, we could rent it ourselves.”

“If you make it cheap enough,” said Agnes.

Heart sinking, Justine turned to Tucker. “Rent out your place? Are you moving?”

Lottie served Tucker a plate of sliced beef and vegetable; and another of homemade biscuits.

“That smells good,” Tucker said, thinking fast. Lottie beamed.

Justine sat in the chair across from Tucker. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not.”

Nobody said the blessing. Nobody even thought of it. Lottie decided from here on out she’d say blessing while the food was in the pot. That way, they could all stay on the right side of Himself.

“And now that Justine has some household help,” Agnes put forth. “She won’t need me.”

Household help? Justine bit down on her lip. Up until the moment Lottie had appeared, Agnes had been certain there was an unnamed force in the house. Now, faced with Lottie, she refused to accept her as such. It was the old cliché, Justine thought. We fear what we cannot see. Lottie was as visible as Justine herself, hence it was beyond Agnes’s comprehension that Lottie possibly was, or ever had been the source of her fear.

“I’ve had all the suspense I can bear for a lifetime, Tucker. Get back to this business of renting out your place.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“Moved out.”

He gazed at Lottie. “You hired a cook.”

“That’s a whole other story. I’ll tell you later. That is, if I’m still speaking to you, which I won’t be if you don’t answer my question about your house.”

“Let’s talk about it later, privately.”

“No, Tucker, now.”

His cheeks went faintly pink. “Later.”

“Now.”

“The atmosphere isn’t right.” He cut into his meat and turned back to Lottie. “Magnificent.”

Justine stood and leaned across the table. “How would you like to wear that magnificent meat?”

“Are y’all fighting?” asked Judy Ann.

“Nope,” said Tucker.

“Yes!” said Justine.

Tucker put down his knife and fork and reached into his pocket. Then he stood and leaned across the table and plopped a box into the middle of Justine’s plate. He sat back down saying, “How would you like to wear that?”

Justine opened the box. Her hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh!”

“What is it, Mommy?”

“A wedding band,” Justine answered, voice barely audible. Eyes wide and liquid, she gazed at Tucker.

“Well?”

She nodded.

He grinned. “In that case, I’m moving. Here. Satisfied?”

She was trying to hold back the tears. “Yes.”

“I warned you the atmosphere wasn’t right.”

“It is. It’s perfect.”

“Law!” prattled Lottie. “Let me see.”

Justine passed her the ring.

“There’s some writin’ on the inside,” Lottie observed.

“It’s in French,” Tucker said, locking eyes with Justine. “
A jamais.
It means forever.”

“You’ll be my step-dad, then,” said Pip.

“That’s right. What do you say?”

“Great!”

He turned to Judy Ann. “What do you say? You mind having me for a dad?”

“Do you spank little girls?”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” he said with exaggerated horror.

“Okay.”

“I have some more news, too,” announced Agnes.

“The straw that broke the camel’s back,” murmured Justine, but nothing Agnes said or did now could ruin the swelling happiness she felt.

“I won a contest. The confirmation came today.” She looked at Pip and Judy Ann. “An all expense-paid family vacation…to Disney World in Florida! We can go before school starts.”

After the squeals and hurrays and hugs abated, Lottie said, “What’s Disney World?”

“Of course, I don’t believe her tale for a minute,” Justine said. She and Tucker were on his bed, leaning back upon a cushion of pillows. It was quieter here than at her house where the excitement of the upcoming trip to Disney World prevailed. “But she’s wonderful with the children and went through the house cleaning like a hurricane. She’s related to Milo by marriage, you know.”

“He probably put her up to it,” Tucker mused. “He probably wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything in the attic left to salvage before we put the down payment on the house. The old coot.”

“It could be true, though. In terms of simple physics, our bodies are nothing more than physical collections of electrically charged particles.”

“Did you talk to her about salary?”

“Of course.”

“There’s your truth,” he said dryly. “Ever hear of a ghost who needed money?”

“As it happens, no.” And that closed the subject. After a heartbeat, she said, “By the way, I think I’ve found a gimmick for the cookbook. Mother’s menu scrapbook gave me the idea. Remember, she said it goes back to her grandmother’s time. That’s over a hundred years, Tucker. They kept guest lists for balls and buffets and soirees. There are any number of famous writers and actors and politicians on those guest lists! Plus comments about who liked what. Just think! You could—”

He sighed and pulled her into his arms. “I don’t want to talk about gimmicks, or ghosts, or kids, or computers, or doing a honeymoon at Disney World. Disney World, for crying out loud,” he moaned glumly.

Justine turned over and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Poor baby. So much has been happening, I’ve neglected you. I’m sorry. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“I don’t believe so.” He smiled into her eyes. “Are you by any chance in the mood for showing me?”

“Will you flex your tattoo for me?”

He nuzzled her neck. “Dear heart, I’ll flex anything you ask.”

Much later Justine lay content within the circle of his arms. She could ask for no more than this, she thought, his presence at her side, the years before them, laughter and talk, her children growing strong and happily and…Lottie.

She smiled drowsily. What most people think is the truth, is what they believe. Who was to say that there was not a spiritual dimension that had been overlooked?

Lottie had already made herself a member of the family.

Pip and Judy Ann were thrilled with her. They were not yet old enough to be skeptics. If Lottie said she manifested herself into the real world again after having been between and betwixt, they were willing to accept the tale. Pauline had not even considered that Lottie could be other than hired help. And years from now, who would even question it?

Outside the window a breeze rippled, moss swayed and the dark was seamless.

An owl hooted. Whooo, whooo, whooo…

My point exactly
, Justine thought, and slept.

I wrote Romance novel’s for Harlequin Books for sixteen years, and have about a million books in print worldwide.  Venturing into the universe of eBooks is a wonderful new experience, along with the opportunity to publish some on my early timeless favorites to digital venues.

I was born in Mobile, Alabama and went to convent schools until I was eleven. Dad was called up during the Korean Conflict, and I’ve been on the move ever since. I love destination travel and immersing myself in different cultures.  After my children were grown and my husband left, I went to Central America where I lived first on an island off the coast of Panama, and later in a dry Pacific Rainforest—except it is seldom truly dry. I lived as many of the natives do in a small village carved out of the jungle. During the day I sheltered beneath a thatched roofed bohio, cooked with wood on a native stove, bathed in the River Camito, dispatched snakes with a machete and harvested mandarinas, oranges, bananas, mangos and coffee.  At dusk, I retired to my recama, a minuscule sleeping room where I read by lantern or candle light. I slept beneath a net while overhead tiny fruit bats taught their young to fly and geckos scampered over walls. I sometimes volunteered at a Sister’s of Mercy Mission where the focus was on Kuna Indian woman and children.

After I’d saved enough money give myself a new start, I returned stateside, went to college, earned a degree in History, and was fortunate to spend a semester abroad at Queens’ College, London University which was a treasure of new experiences.  Truth to tell, I never considered sitting still long enough to write another book.  Another truth: Divorce agreed with me. I was not looking for romance inside or outside of a book.  Nope. Been there. Done that.