Traces (16 page)

If Grandma had left everything as is, then her diary should still be under the floorboard in the closet. She opened the door and pushed aside her dresses hanging inside. Two boards from the back of the closet, she pressed on the knothole and popped the third shorter one up. She reached into the dark space, trying not to imagine something grabbing her hand. Feeling around, she found the red clothbound book and drew it into the light. She stood and started to close the door again, but spied a large wooden box up high on the second shelf above her head. She blinked. Her samples. She stretched onto her tiptoes but couldn’t reach the prized box of fabric scraps Grandma had supplied to Paulette from her sewing projects. Scraps that became dresses and blouses and skirts and tops for her Barbies. She wanted to take it down, but she had never been able to reach it. She needed the chair.

She turned around and spied the only movable object in the room she could stand on. The desk chair. She’d used it before to reach her box. One more time wouldn’t hurt. She hurried to it and rolled it to the open door.

* * * *

Grizabella raised her head, eyes and ears trained on the parlor door. Meredith paused in reading, a frisson of anticipation brushing across her nerves. Was it the Lady in Blue? She sniffed but smelled only the cinnamon-scented candle burning on a small side table. The front door knocker banged twice, making the cat leap from her napping place and dash into the hallway. Meredith hurried after her to answer the door.

“Howdy and welcome to the neighborhood.” A lanky brunette with heavy makeup blinked at her with hazel eyes that sparkled with mirth. The woman thrust a foil-covered casserole dish into Meredith’s hands. “We haven’t met yet. My name’s Luanne Brashears. I’m your neighbor to the south of here.”

“Nice to meet you, and thanks.” Meredith held the cold dish, not quite certain what she should do with the gift. She didn’t want to be impolite, but she also didn’t want company. Would it be rude to not invite her in?

“I’m so glad you came to take charge of this beautiful plantation.” Luanne smiled at Meredith even as she looked beyond her into the house. “Mrs. O’Connell set such store in your ability to polish this old place up like a new penny.”

“You knew my grandmother?” Did everyone know Grandma? And her desire for Meredith to restore the plantation?

“Sure. I stopped in now and then to bring her some veggies from my garden. You know you can never eat all the zucchini and squash even a small patch yields.”

“How kind.” Meredith clasped the door, debating on how best to end the conversation.

“I’d love to see what you’ve done since you moved in. May I?”

Panic flared in Meredith’s chest. “I’m sorry, but I’m really busy at the moment. Perhaps another time?”

Luanne blinked rapidly, cocking one hip as she contemplated Meredith. “I see. Well, sure. I don’t mean to intrude.”

That was code for Meredith had hurt her feelings. Not her intention, by any means. “I am sorry. I—”

A loud scrape upstairs preceded a muffled scream. Meredith gaped at Luanne as a second scream reached down the steps. Meredith plopped the casserole on a side table, and then they both raced up the stairs.

“Paulette?” Meredith called. “Paulette, are you okay?”

“Owww. In here.”

Meredith steeled herself against the anticipated emotional onslaught and hurried into their once-shared bedroom. She focused on her sister, struggling to sit up on the floor. An overturned desk chair, its wheels spinning, lay on its side in front of the open closet. A quick glance inside showed a wooden box stuffed with various scraps of colored cloth nearly falling off the highest shelf.

“What were you doing?” Meredith helped Paulette to her feet.

“I found my old box of swatches and patterns.” She checked herself over and then looked at Meredith. “I used to be able to balance on the chair, easy peasy.”

Meredith frowned. “It’s always been foolish to try to stand on a chair with wheels.”

“Why did you want that old box?” Luanne asked.

Meredith blinked at the unfamiliar voice, having forgotten momentarily the woman had followed her upstairs.

“I’m sorry; I don’t believe we’ve met.” Paulette smiled at the stranger and stuck out her hand, and Meredith snickered at the non sequitur. “I’m Paulette O’Connell.”

“Luanne Brashears, your southern neighbor.” Luanne shook hands with Paulette. “Nice to meet you. So, why did you risk your neck?”

Paulette chuckled. “Over some scraps of fabric, I’m afraid. Dad always said it was a waste of time. I didn’t realize it could be dangerous too.”

“What?” Meredith strode to the closet and stared up at the box.

“You don’t remember?”

Something in her voice made Meredith turn to scrutinize her expression. She found disappointment blanketing her features. “There’s much I tried to block out from our childhood. Refresh my memory.”

Paulette righted the chair and pushed it back to the small desk. Resting both hands on the back of the chair, she turned and regarded Meredith. “I dreamed of being a fashion designer, of one day having my own line of clothes.”

“Like Coco Chanel?” Meredith grinned. “I do remember now. You made clothes for your Barbie dolls.”

Paulette shrugged. “I did.”

“They were pretty too.” Meredith considered her wistful countenance, the tension in her hands gripping the chair. “You became an interior designer, though. So what happened?”

“In a word? Dad.”

“Because it was a waste of time?”

Paulette nodded, knuckles white.

Meredith hurried to her sister, wanting to hug her but afraid of being rebuffed after all the rough water between them. “I’m sorry.”

“You should ignore your dad and follow your heart,” Luanne said, striding across the room. “After all, Meredith here did and look how successful she is. Your grandmother was so proud of all her accomplishments. And now she can apply her God-given talents to restoring this beautiful home.”

Meredith gaped at Luanne, flummoxed as to how to respond without making things worse. How dare she say such a thing? Her comment made it sound as though Meredith was somehow better, more accomplished than Paulette. As though Luanne understood anything at all about her family and the right course of action regarding Twin Oaks. She let her gaze wander instead of piercing into the intruder. Only then she had to face all the reasons why she’d avoided coming into this room.

The quilts her grandmother had stitched still graced the twin beds with their matching wooden headboards, each featuring a raised, carved bouquet of flowers. The clusters of pink roses on the cream wallpaper desperately clinging to the wall had seen brighter days, but they still made her think she smelled their delicate perfume. Her first, or rather only, cross-stitch sampler of the alphabet and numbers hung on the wall, its uneven stitches a testament to why she did not attempt another.

“Luanne, is it?” Paulette recovered first. “Is there something we can do for you?”

“Oh no, dear,” Luanne said, waving a hand as though shooing away an annoying gnat. “I simply stopped by to bring my famous casserole to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“I’m sure we thank you for your thoughtfulness.” Paulette managed to herd Luanne toward the door, drawing the intruder with her eyes and the motion of her body. “I’m sure you have other tasks you must attend to, as do we, so let me escort you to the door.”

Meredith bit back a grin and tagged along. When her sister launched into her bossy-bitch mode, nobody could stop her.

“I see.” Luanne scooted down the steps rather clumsily as Paulette hurried behind her. “Um, remove the foil and pop the dish in the oven for an hour at three-fifty, and you’ll have a nice hot dinner.”

Paulette opened the front door with a flourish. “Thanks again.” Luanne hurried through the opening. “Bye.”

Paulette leaned her back against the closed door and grinned at Meredith. “Whew.”

“Impressive.” Meredith crossed her arms and laughed along with her sister. The relief of being outside of the bedroom made her slightly dizzy. “I never knew you were so diplomatic.”

An unladylike guffaw erupted from Paulette. “She was a nosy neighbor more than anything else. I can’t stand them.”

Meredith sobered. “She was right about one thing.”

Paulette eyed her. “About your awesome talent?”

Meredith shook her head. “No. You really should follow your heart. It’s not too late.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Paulette pushed away from the door and walked to the foot of the stairs. “I’ll go paw through the memories associated with my childhood dreams, then donate the scraps to some quilting club or something.”

Meredith watched her sister mosey up the steps. So often some little thing a person said, whether thought through or not, directed or derailed the course of a person’s life. Paulette’s shoulders were rigid, her back straight, yet emotionally bowed from dreams abandoned after their father punctured them with a passing comment. If only she had a magic wand to wave in order to mend her sister’s broken heart.

An owl hooted from outside the kitchen, dragging Meredith’s attention from loading the dishwasher. She leaned onto the sink and stared out the window. The black, velvety sky sparkled with untold stars and a sliver of moon. She let her gaze slide back to Earth, touching on the white gazebo gleaming in the night.

The dishes could wait. She closed the door of the appliance and dried her hands on a towel. Flicking the light switch by the back door, she peered through the window. Yes, the fairy lights glowed across the ceiling of the gazebo. Hurrying, she strode through the house.

“Paulette, where are you?” She poked into each room she passed and then took the steps two at a time to the second floor and went down the hall where light peeked from beneath Paulette’s door. She tapped twice before pushing it open. “There you are. Come on, it’s a lovely night to sit outside and share a bottle of wine. You game?”

Paulette lay on her bed, her head propped on two pillows, a book open and resting on her tummy. She laid the novel aside and pushed to a sitting position, a grin on her lips. “If you insist.”

Before long they rested beneath the mass of tiny white lights, an open bottle of merlot between them. The soft glow of a citronella candle flickered on the table. Crickets chirped in the background.

“I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed sitting out here,” Meredith said, stretching her legs and crossing her ankles.

“Grandma had great taste in vino too.” Paulette sipped the dark red liquid.

“Her latest interest, apparently.” Meredith angled her glass, watching the candlelight dance in the reflection. She sipped, swallowed. “So, want to share why you came here? What happened to Mr. Perfect?”

The cricket symphony hushed in anticipation as Paulette sighed. “He’s probably wrapped up in a parka somewhere in Alaska.” She shook her head, peering into the darkness surrounding them.

“Alaska? Really? Whatever for?”

“His dream job. Wildlife journalist for
National Geographic
. Ugh.”

“I can’t imagine you among the polar bears and penguins, anyway.” Meredith chuckled. “You’re too much a hothouse flower.”

Paulette laughed. “You’ve got part of it right. First, there aren’t penguins in Alaska. Second, you’re dead-on about me needing a warmer climate. That’s why I’m here.”

“I thought you wanted to make me squirm.” Meredith sipped her wine, imagining the crickets rubbing their legs to create their unique music like a symphony orchestra warming up.

“I love seeing you squirm, but that wasn’t why I really came to find you.” Paulette scooted back in her chair, sitting more upright. She leveled her gaze on Meredith, resting her wineglass on her tummy. “Truth be told, I missed you. Or more accurately, I missed our friendship.”

“That was eons ago.” Meredith looked away. Although she longed for the closeness they once shared, she would never allow her sister to maneuver close enough to hurt her ever again. The emotional barrier she’d erected had to remain in order to protect herself from Paulette’s barbs.

“Hm.” Paulette twirled her glass slowly, the fairy lights glinting off the wine’s dark surface. “We can’t see the future.”

“No, yet we both know the past.”

“Do we?” Paulette cleared her throat, the sound harsh in the gentle spring evening. “I’m never certain I understand what happened, let alone the underlying meaning of events. It’s like music, as far as I’m concerned.”

Meredith focused her attention on her then, puzzled by the analogy. “How is music a mystery?”

Paulette waved her hand, palm up and open. “Music flows around me but is elusive, fleeting. I enjoy listening to it but don’t entirely comprehend what it’s trying to say.”

“Not everything has to have meaning, does it?”

Paulette nodded. “Absolutely. People crave to know why things happen. Think about all the symbolism applied to everything. Even the clothes we wear are said to show the kind of person we are.”

“Music is a different medium, though.” Meredith sat up, her back pressing into the Adirondack chair. “The notes speak to me, share a mood and a feeling simultaneously that carry the meaning. Don’t you hear the ambiance when you listen?”

Paulette slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She shrugged. “But maybe some of that seeps into my subconscious.”

“Even the crickets are sharing their mood, playing their sense of peace and joy.”

“It’s the soundtrack of their life, you mean?”

“Brilliant.” Meredith nodded and stared at her sister. She’d never thought of each person having a soundtrack of music that reflected who they were during their lifetime. The myriad of tunes and compositions heard during momentous occasions as well as the day-to-day happenings, all combined into a tapestry of sound. “What would yours be?”

Paulette put her glass to her lips but lowered it without drinking. “Mine would include nursery songs and ballads as well as a hint of blues tunes. And sewing.” She lifted her wine and sipped.

“Sewing?” Meredith cocked a brow. “How is sewing a kind of music?”

“To me, the stitches are like notes. When you combine different colors and patterns, you achieve music.”