Traces (19 page)

“It’s not that I don’t want your help,” Meredith said. “Why don’t you see what else you can find online about Edith and her husband? I haven’t found much in the journals about them except Joe seemed to think Grace once had an interest in Anson.”

“Why did he think that?” Paulette rubbed two fingers against her right temple.

“Grace wrote to Joe about having an argument with Edith about Anson.” Meredith flipped open a journal and turned pages until she found the entry. “Here. He says, ‘Grace had been misled by the attentions of Colonel Anson Bigbee, and she vowed to protect Edith from his underhanded manipulations of her affections.’”

“Ooh, do you think the evil colonel was playing them off each other? An antebellum love triangle?” Paulette picked up another book and opened it, skimming its pages.

“Did they do that then?” Meredith slowly closed the journal lingering in her hands.

“Do what?” Paulette stopped turning pages to look at Meredith.

“If two sisters fell in love with the same man,” Meredith said slowly, “how might the man react?”

“If he’s anything like Johnny was, he’d lap it up.” Paulette tapped a finger on the page. “And if he were as ‘underhanded’ as Grace seemed to think, then he might even play up his advantage. Get the two sisters to engage in a good old-fashioned catfight over him.”

Her sister may be on to something with this line of reasoning. Leave it to her to dream up such a dastardly plot. “What if Grace tried to warn Edith away from this colonel, and Edith thought her sister wanted him for herself?”

“Kinda like we fought over Brandon when we were teens?” Paulette asked, a smile appearing on her lips and in her eyes.

“Man, he was cute, wasn’t he?” Meredith shook her head at the memory of the tall, black-haired teen with laughing gray eyes.

“Yummy to look at,” Paulette added, her smile fading. “But I wish we hadn’t gotten so carried away about him.”

“Hmm?” What did she mean? Meredith searched her memory and came up empty. “What do you mean?”

“You know…” Paulette zeroed in on Meredith’s expression.

“No, I don’t.” What was she talking about? A sinking feeling made her queasy as Meredith tried to follow Paulette’s thinking. “Talk to me.”

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“Paulette, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Meredith crossed her arms, more to have something to do with her hands than anything else. “So you’re going to have to say something.”

Paulette raked a hand through her hair and winced. “Damn headache.” She paused and exhaled. “Fine. Brandon must have been what caused this rift between us. I see that now.”

Meredith blinked at her sister as she tried to dig the facts from her brain. “I don’t think we fought over him, did we?”

“Not overtly,” Paulette said, worry lines on her forehead.

“Then what?”

“I knew you liked him more than me, so I didn’t pursue my feelings for him.”

“I didn’t like him much, not enough to go with him,” Meredith said, perplexed. “Besides he was closer to your age, so Mom would have had a fit if I’d dated him.”

“You mean, I could have dated him? Damn, I wish I’d realized that before now.”

“Is this what you think caused us to fall out with each other?” Meredith cocked her head as she searched her sister’s expression.

“Probably.” Paulette shrugged. “I can’t believe I’ve carried a grudge against you all these years for nothing.”

“You thought I wanted somebody I didn’t even care about. For that I’m sorry.” Meredith stared at her sister, the memory of all the years of bickering and tension between them flowing past like a fast-forward movie. “I didn’t know what had happened between us.”

“Come here.” Paulette struggled to her feet, grabbed Meredith’s shoulders, and dragged her into a fierce embrace.

Such anger between sisters over a man. A man who was replaced by each of them with better men. Meredith still didn’t know what actually occurred between Paulette and Johnny, why he’d abandoned her, but she did know Johnny was an improvement over Brandon and his little boy ways.

Meredith eased from the hug. “Imagine if we had really both loved Brandon how much antagonism we’d have endured between us. Could be what happened between Grace and Edith, you think?”

Paulette bobbed her head in agreement. “No wonder Edith ran off to Kentucky to get married.”

“But what happened to Grace?” Meredith paced away from Paulette, energy bursting inside at the relief flooding her. Finally she and her sister could begin to put their troubled relationship behind them, though she had no illusions it would not take time for all the hurt and negativity to dissipate. “Maybe she ran away before Edith and Anson did the deed?”

“But why leave Twin Oaks if Edith was leaving?” Meredith counted her steps from point to point around the parlor. “And without telling anyone where she went?”

“Good questions.” Paulette laid the book back on the pile.

“Without answers.” Four strides from the window to the rocking chair. Six from the rocking chair to the door.

“I’ll go dig around online while you keep reading.” Paulette tapped the stack of letters.

“The mystery seems to grow deeper all the time. I do hope nothing tragic happened to Grace.”

“We may never know exactly what did transpire,” Paulette said. “After all, that was over 150 years ago.”

Meredith inhaled in preparation to reply and caught a hint of honeysuckle on the cool spring breeze.

* * * *

The next day started out bad and went downhill from there. Max paced his office, rolling a pencil between his fingers. First, while playing his favorite classical piece, he’d snapped a string on his baby grand—whoever heard of the seemingly impervious metal strings breaking?—and had to call in the piano tuner to have that fixed. Then Sue, his usually unflappable legal secretary, spilled her coffee all over the draft of the legislation he needed to proof by noon. The county council was set to meet in ten days to vote on his proposed ordinance placing restrictions on the use and modification of historic properties. State law required the draft legislation be in the hands of the county councilmen at least seven days prior to the vote. When Sue tried to print a new copy, the damn machine decided to give up the ghost, so she had to race over to the Quick Printer down the street. Time was running out before he had to leave to meet yet another obligation: the lunchtime rehearsal for the county high school spring concert.

If Sue’s grandson hadn’t been selected to perform a trumpet solo, Max would never have become involved. But how could he refuse to play when the usual accompanist had been called up and sent to Bagram? If the young woman could do her duty for her country, then Max could damn well do his for his county. He’d been hitting the old ivories every morning before work to prepare for his debut performance. No way would he embarrass Sue’s grandson by messing up the energetic jazz band piece.

He paused his perpetual motion at the window. The sun shone on the small town of Roseville he called home. Finding this position had been a dream come true. At forty-six, he’d reached most of his goals in life: stable home, stable career, stable friends. Only one achievement had evaded him: a wife and family. He’d simply never met anyone with whom he could envision settling down and raising a gaggle of kids.

Until now. Meredith, with those amazing eyes and luscious figure, intrigued him. Smart. Driven. Talented. Yet under the professional surface, a river of tension and grief flowed. She fit at Twin Oaks so neatly, he understood exactly why Mrs. O’Connell had selected her to inherit the place. Meredith could restore the plantation to serve as a shining example of the antebellum era in the county. Her education, experience, and contacts all combined to afford her the skills and abilities necessary to accomplish seeming miracles to the uninitiated historical architecture lovers like him. But somehow he needed to help her see a different path forward that didn’t include her current intent. A path including him.

“Here you are, boss.” Sue interrupted his musings by hurrying into the office and setting a small stack of pamphlets on his desk. “While I was there, I had them bound.”

Max moved to his desk and picked up the top copy. Flipping through it, he said, “Perfect. I’m glad you did.”

“It’s a more finished product, which will hopefully translate into the law being passed.” Sue automatically straightened the neatly stacked files in the inbox. “You grabbing lunch before or after the rehearsal?”

“After.” His stomach turned over at the thought of food at this point. Best to wait until his nerves settled a bit.

“Jeremy is thrilled you agreed to play, by the way.” Sue moved a pen from its wayward place in a pencil holder to a cup sporting a set of matching blue pens. “He wouldn’t have this opportunity without your kindness.”

Max swallowed, his throat dry. “Glad to help.” He checked his watch. “Speaking of which, time to head over to the high school. Don’t want to be late for my first time.”

He’d committed to doing this concert, but at certain moments he regretted having volunteered to play. What if he messed up? Would folks equate such a faux pas to his law practice? Not being able to play with teens meant he was unprepared to compete with the big boys in law? He mentally shook himself.
Get a grip, man.

“Have fun.” Sue trailed him out of his office and across hers to the front door.

He opened the door and nipped through it, soon covered by sunshine and the weight of the eyes and opinions of his town.

Grizabella stalked into the attic, little squeaky meows announcing her presence to Meredith, who rose to brush off her jeans. Nearby, two stacks—one of books and one of newspapers—evidenced her efforts for this morning. She’d grown tired of reading the letters, trying to decipher the elaborate script while at the same time figuring out who the people were that Grace or Edith or Joe mentioned.

“What’s up, Griz?”

The cat rubbed against Meredith’s shin in response.

Meredith hefted the stack of newspapers and carried them toward the door. She looked back at Grizabella. “Are you coming?”

The cat sat down and licked one paw.

“Suit yourself.” Meredith went down the stairs, silently counting each step. When she reached eight with only two more steps to go, Grizabella ran down the stairs and passed her, leaving her chuckling at her quixotic feline.

She shifted the weight of her load to carry it a little more easily and finished traversing the steps. After depositing the stack with the recycling on the back porch, she returned to the attic to retrieve the books. She’d decided to donate the tomes to the historic society in town as most of them were very old, even antique. She bent to scoop up an armload and noticed a piece of paper jutting from between the pages of one black leather-bound book. Pulling the book from the pile, she carefully slipped the yellowed paper from where it acted like a bookmark. She unfolded it. A letter. From Grace.

September 3, 1861

Dear Joe,

I only have a minute to dash off this note to you before the kind lieutenant said he must leave for Huntsville and the mail train there. Your kindness and attention to my petty desires is most appreciated. Thank you for remembering to send my favorite perfume all the way from Atlanta. If you hadn’t spoiled me last year with my first bottle of Midnight Honeysuckle Rose, you wouldn’t have needed to bother to make the purchase and have it delivered to me. Take care to return to us in one piece, and we will endeavor to also keep Twin Oaks in one piece until your return.

Your adoring sister,

Grace

Meredith read the short letter twice. Midnight Honeysuckle Rose.
Honeysuckle
. Her legs folded beneath her, and she plunked onto the floor. Grace’s perfume had honeysuckle in it. What an odd coincidence.

Now where had she heard there are no coincidences in life? What did it mean, then, that her ancestor’s perfume included the same scent as the mysterious odor she smelled in the house?

Folding the letter carefully, she tucked it inside the cover of the top book and picked up several to carry downstairs. She couldn’t believe there had been another letter, one her Grandma most likely missed in her previous research efforts. She started down the stairs again, her thoughts moving at lightning speed. What if she’d not noticed the bit of yellowed paper? She may never have known about the perfume. Were there other letters tucked inside the books?

She hurried to the parlor and set the small stack on the coffee table. One by one she lifted each book and riffled the pages. Disappointed, she found nothing. But there were more books still in the attic. She took the stairs two at a time.

She was disappointed yet again, though. None of the books held any other tidbits tucked inside. Not even a pressed flower. She carried the rest of the books to the parlor and added them to the pile.

“What are you doing?” Paulette paused in the open doorway, a laundry basket propped on one hip.

“Getting ready to donate these old books.” Meredith waved a hand in the direction of the stack.

Paulette dropped the basket to the floor with a
whump
, walked to the table, and lifted one of the books. She opened it, scanned the title page, and then looked at Meredith. “Why? This one was Grandma’s.”

“So? It’s only an old book lying around collecting dust. Who cares if it was read by somebody we know?”

“Really, Meredith, sometimes you, who once loved all things historical, make no sense.” Paulette returned her attention to the book in her hands, carefully turning the pages. “Grandma made notes throughout this one. I wonder if she did in any of the others as well.”

Meredith froze. Why hadn’t she thought to look more closely? She hated to admit it, but having her sister around helped her in ways she hadn’t expected. First the genealogical research, and now by preventing a huge mistake. “Let me see.”

“Oh, now you care.” Paulette quirked a brow as Meredith snatched the book from her.

“I’d looked through them for any slips of paper, after I found a letter from Grace to Joe tucked inside one.” She flipped through the pages, her grandmother’s lightly penciled commentary piquing her interest. She glanced at the cover, noting the title. These weren’t just old books, but rather more local histories. Setting the book to one side, she grabbed up another and began searching through it.