Traces (26 page)

“What’s that?” Paulette folded her legs into a sitting position beside Meredith and peered over at the book. “Wow, is that what I think it is?”

“Yes, the O’Connell album prior to the breakout of the Civil War.” She traced the lettering with her index finger, the smooth, fluid feel of the ink still tantalizing, evoking a sense of time standing still.

“Open it. Let’s see what they looked like.” Paulette reached to do so, and Meredith stopped her hand in midair.

“Careful, the pages are falling apart. I’ll do it.” She slipped a finger between the cover and the first page and gently lifted.

Inside, photos were held in place by little slits in the page, the corners tucked into the crumbling paper, barely clinging to their places. Most of the people and places held no meaning to Meredith, but she slowly turned the pages. Black-and-white photos of serious men and women stared at her.

“Look, is that the girls and Grandpa Joe?” Paulette pointed to a formal portrait taking up one entire page.

Meredith examined the image of two young women, not more than teens, attired in hoop skirts and elaborate hairdos, flanking a young man seated on a hard-backed chair. The ladies each had a hand on one of his shoulders and, as was customary in formal portraits, grim expressions, as though they’d had their photograph made while at gunpoint. Below the photo script handwriting faded into history. She strained to make out the cursive, lifting the album to angle it in the soft light of the attic. A chill raced through her, goose bumps rising on her arms as a gust of wind slammed the door beside them. Both women jumped, the album sliding to the floor.

Meredith gasped and then frantically searched the attic with her eyes. She sniffed the air and forced her shoulders to relax. “She’s here.”

Paulette’s eyes widened before she too cast a frantic gaze around the attic. “How can you tell?”

“Honeysuckle. Don’t you smell it?” She hugged herself against the air blasting her bare arms.

Paulette sniffed cautiously and then gasped. “Yes. Damn, it’s cold in here.”

The rustle of silk accompanied the soft pad of footsteps. A gust of wind flipped the pages of the album lying on the floor in front of them. Meredith scooted back, afraid if she touched the whirring pages, they’d create a hurricane of dust and photos. The dust bunnies swirled along the baseboards like maniacal whirling dervishes. Finally the wind ceased and the pages settled. Meredith sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.

“Holy cow.” Paulette shook her head as she gazed on the photo staring up at them.

“What?” Meredith peered closer, picking out the twin magnolias first, though they were mere saplings in the picture. A stone wall in lieu of the current wrought-iron fence surrounded the large rectangle of grass, a picket gate closing off the family cemetery from the outside world. But even with those differences, the layout of the graveyard remained. More importantly, the cluster of people dressed in dark clothing stood next to Grandpa Joe’s grave. She searched the bottom of the page and found the caption: Joseph O’Connell, 1917.

“Grandpa Joe’s funeral.” Meredith lifted her gaze and looked around. She sensed Grace’s presence, though she did not see her spirit. Meredith studied the photo again. Evidently, Grace wanted her to be aware of Joe’s funeral. “Why did she want to show us this?”

“I can’t imagine.” Paulette squinted at her. “Is she trying to tell us something?”

Meredith shrugged. “Grace? Are you there? Tell me what you want me to do.” Meredith kept her eyes on the room, waiting, hoping for a response and dreading it simultaneously.

“And here I thought you were nuts before.” Paulette shook her head as she stood. “The window must have opened in the wind. It’s so cold in here.”

“Maybe she’s trying to tell us there are no happy endings after all. We just die.” Meredith stared at the photo. Only a few people really. Eight. Eight people cared enough to attend their great-great-great-grandfather’s funeral. How sad.

“Sure there are. Happy endings are different, though, for each of us.”

Meredith gaped at Paulette as if she’d grown two heads. “What do you mean? Surely you don’t believe in happily ever after endings? You of all people?”

Paulette inclined her head and studied Meredith for a long moment before resting a hand on her stomach as though she’d suddenly experienced a flock of butterflies inside. “Of course I do. I have to believe that no matter how many roadblocks and how much grief I endure, eventually I’ll find a way to be happy. I may even find a man to be happy with.”

“See, this is why I read nonfiction more than fiction. There’s no fantasy factor about the perfect man or woman, the perfect relationship, the perfect anything.”

Paulette laughed. “How sad is that? Of course, even in love stories nobody’s perfect, and thus no relationship is perfect. It’s about finding a way to communicate, to share, to be together. That’s what ultimately creates a happy ending. What was your favorite book the summer you turned twelve?”

“I don’t know.” Meredith hadn’t thought about storybooks in ages. “Why?”

“You used to read this one book over and over.” She stared at her, a smile spreading on her lips. “Don’t you remember?
Lassie, Come Home
. Now that’s a happy ending.”

Meredith had cried and laughed and worried her way through the story of the dog who had to find her own way home to Timmy and his family. The collie had to overcome obstacle after obstacle, but nothing stopped her from returning to her home and the family that loved her.

Another icy blast whipped through the attic, even though the windows remained shut. The pages of the album whipped closed with a resounding thud. The back cover stared up at them, a silent witness to the strange occurrence in the attic.

Meredith rubbed her hands on her arms to warm them as the air slowly returned to its normal temperature. She tentatively sniffed the air and exhaled with a smile. “I guess she left.”

Paulette mimicked Meredith’s actions and grinned. “Now that’s another happy ending right there. Do you think she got what she came for?”

Meredith nodded. “But what do you think it is?”

“The promise of a happy ending for her. She did point out the graveyard. Perhaps…” Paulette tapped a forefinger on her chin; then her shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. What do you think she wanted?”

Meredith stared at the blank black cover of the album, seeing again the photo of the three siblings, then Joe’s funeral. Of all the pictures for Grace to have emphasized, assuming it was her spirit turning the album’s pages, why those two? She raised her gaze to meet Paulette’s waiting expression and made a moue. “A happy ending?”

* * * *

Silver clanked against the yellow china plate as Meredith’s dad set the dining room table. He’d insisted he knew best how to lay the places for their Sunday dinner. In years gone by, Grandma insisted the family gather for a formal meal on the Sabbath. A time of sharing and connecting they often skipped during the week’s activities. Shrugging at the unusual claim, Meredith nonetheless acquiesced. If he wanted to pretend to be Miss Manners, she wouldn’t argue.

She made a few final tweaks to the floral arrangement she’d cobbled together from the various blooming flowers surrounding the house. Sean had performed miracles when it came to the landscaping and the abundance of fresh flowers available. The wide-mouthed, cut-glass vase held an array of spring blooms: daffodils, bearded iris, and tulips. Their combined scents softened the air.

“The salad fork goes on the outside,” muttered Brock as he made his way around the table. His large fingers dwarfed the handles of the silver.

Meredith grinned to herself. Reconnecting with her parents had proved to be less painful than she’d imagined possible. They’d slipped back into her life, not judging and not annoying her. Well, other than their initial reaction to her intended future for Twin Oaks. An intention wavering with each passing hour. She’d changed as much as they had. Both had mellowed, perhaps, not expecting quite as much from each other.

She lifted the vase from the side table where she’d been working and placed it carefully in the center of the dining table. She stood back, angled her head to obtain a better view, and then turned it slowly to increase the visual impact when one walked into the room. Perfect.

Brock placed the last of the silverware on the table and stepped back, hands on hips, contemplating his efforts. “Nicely done, if I do say so myself.”

“I agree, Dad. I couldn’t have done better.” Meredith straightened the alignment of the nearest spoon handle with the knife handle beside it.

“So there was room for improvement after all.” Brock chuckled at Meredith’s startled glance.

“It was only a touch off.” All a matter of perspective. Paulette’s chiding at the Hideaway played through her memory. She grinned. “Can’t help it, apparently.”

“You never could, always so precise.” Brock made his way around the table, double-checking the alignment of the silverware handles.

“Leave it, Dad.” Meredith gripped the back of the nearest chair. “It’s about time I relaxed my tendency toward perfectionism a bit.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Brock gazed at her, eyes serious. “Your talents rely upon such precision, so don’t give them short shrift.”

“Good point.” She studied him, his strong neck and steady hand, despite approaching his seventies. “Do you remember helping me with the Twin Oaks miniature?”

A smile lit his eyes and spread across his entire face. “You did a fine job. Your first piece too. I knew then creating lovely buildings was your future.”

Creating. Buildings. Two words strung together into one sentence summed her life’s ambition. Or had been until Willy’s senseless death, along with their little boy. At the thought, she waited for the feeling of emptiness, or desolation, to follow. But instead she longed for something else. Something
more
.

Since returning to Twin Oaks, she’d become aware of the family she’d distanced herself from. The family that, in some ways, she’d banished from her life in order to be with Willy. They’d moved away, putting a physical and psychological barrier between them and her family. Now she sat circumscribed by her heritage as well as her living family. Heck, her dead ancestors surrounded her as well. From the building itself, to the memories it contained, the furnishings used by her grandmother, parents, and sister, right down to the books, journals, and even handwritten letters handled by ancestors she’d never met. Her family, like her heritage, surrounded her.

She tried to summon up the desperate need to demolish everything in order to move forward, to push the past behind her where it couldn’t hurt her any longer. She tried to recall again her husband’s limp body, blood everywhere. She tried to feel the sharp pain of the bullet lodged into her womb. Nothing. Instead of pain, an undefined yearning crept through her.

“Dinner is almost ready.” Paulette sashayed into the dining room. She scanned the table with its shining china and silver, sparkling crystal, and colorful arrangements of flowers. “Lovely job, you two. I’ll tell Mom the table is set.” With that she hurried from the room.

“Seems like old times, doesn’t it?” Meredith was struck by the combination of new and familiar. Old and groundbreaking.

“Sure does.” Brock snagged a side chair and settled into place at the table. “I’m glad we came to visit for a while, though we can’t stay too much longer. I’ve got a job to do later this week.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” The Salisbury job still waited for her attention, but she’d been distracted by all the happenings here in Roseville. She’d never imagined she could be so diverted by small town happenings, either.

Meg carried in a platter of sliced roast beef and placed it on the sideboard next to the polished silver tea service. Hard to believe the teapot, coffeepot, sugar bowl, and creamer had been squirreled away for more than a hundred years and still could be refurbished and cleaned up to such a shine.

Dina walked into the room carrying a tray with steaming bowls. She added the tray to the sideboard, and Meredith caught the scent of boiled potatoes and pole beans. Paulette placed a silver basket, lined with a cloth napkin, alongside the vegetables. From the bacon and corn aroma, she’d bet a month’s salary it contained some of Meg’s famous buttermilk cornbread.

“That should do it. You all enjoy your meal.” Meg wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll be back to clean up after I have my dinner with Sean.”

“Thanks, Meg, for helping with dinner today.” Dina hugged the elderly woman. “You make me look good.”

Blushing, Meg headed for the door. “You’re more than welcome. Ta-ta!”

Meredith watched Meg hurry away, wondering about her future after Meredith moved on. One way or the other, things must change.

“Grab a plate, dear,” Dina said to Brock. “You start us off and get your hulk out of the way so we have room too.”

A knock on the kitchen door had Meredith pushing back her chair. “I’ll see who it is. You go ahead.”

Max waited in the kitchen by the time she arrived. A tremor of something nameless, or that she’d rather not name, slipped under her skin, warming her. Her earlier realization of wanting something she couldn’t define floated into her memory when he smiled at her. She grinned back, folding her arms across her chest. “You really need to replace my screen door so I can lock it.”

Walking up to her, he stopped out of reach. “Yes, I do. I’ll take care of replacing it this week.”

His eyes, so vibrant and captivating, did their job and held her attention. Others must notice different details about a person, but for her the eyes spoke the truth of the soul.

“What brings you here?” She gripped her arms to avoid the familiar compulsion to touch him. All it would take would be to move one hand a few inches and her fingers could feel his bicep.

“The coroner’s office released the skeletal remains to my custody to return to your family.” He nodded toward the door and thus his pickup parked beyond.

“Oh. We’re about to sit down to dinner.” Her pulse pounded in her ears, distracting her. Muddling her thoughts. Otherwise she wouldn’t have blurted out, “Care to join us?”