Happily Never After (2 page)

And then she was gone, leaving a rank cloud
of jasmine perfume in her wake; no congratulations, no questions
about graduation, nothing. I sighed. No matter how often it
happened, her indifference and cruelty still hurt. Back when she
started dating Daddy, she was charming and loved to laugh. It all
changed with one fatal heart attack.

I only hoped I wouldn’t have to deal with her
daughters today as well.

“What are you standing here for, freak. You
heard her.” No such luck.

Annabelle came out of the large storage room
that we currently used as pageant central. She had the same white
blond hair as her mama, but instead of teasing it into a gravity
defying mess, it flowed past her shoulders soft and shiny. Without
a doubt, the twins were beautiful but their cold attitude and nasty
demeanors made it very hard to see.

“Yeah, get to work,” Suzie mirrored as she
posed beside Annabelle with her hand on her hip. Her hair was
shorter, layered to her shoulders. “You think you get to relax
because you graduated today? Mom told us that next year when we
graduate we’re going to have the biggest party this town has ever
seen.”

“Bigger than our Debutante party.” They’d had
one of those ridiculous ‘coming out’ parties where they were
launched on the poor unsuspecting young men of society. Marietta
used the allure of our family name and our history to push her way
into the snobby circle of women who really ran this city. Of
course, they ordered me to stay in the back with the help when, in
all reality, it should’ve been my party as well. Not that I wanted
to be shown off like a piece of meat.

I ignored them and walked into the storage
room. Rising up to their challenges never turned out well for me. I
could stand up for myself when I had to but they were masters at
waiting a couple of days before striking for something I didn’t
remember. The last thing I wanted to do was make my day-to-day life
any more difficult. An all out war would have only one
casualty—me.

I started going over the hideous costume for
Suzie’s so called talent of tap dancing. The layers and layers of
tulle were supposed to transform her into an old west saloon girl,
but I couldn’t see it. Instead, she was a cross between Madonna and
a cotton ball. The twins went back to practicing their walks on the
other side of the room.

They were competing in the Georgia Southern
Miss pageant held in August. I hated pageants and everything they
stood for, which meant I actually thought they stood a good chance
of winning. Everything I found lacking about our society and our
preoccupation with beauty showed in the twins. They were a perfect
example of ‘beauty is only skin deep’.

On the other hand, their talent and walking
skills were amazingly awful and it took everything inside me not to
laugh openly when they rehearsed

Movement near the door caught my attention.
Marietta stood just outside the room and something drew my eyes to
hers. I almost shrunk back in revulsion.

There was such an intense hatred coming from
her as she looked at me. Behind her, the shadow rose up and
expanded. The heavy smell of river water, musky and wet, drifted
towards me and I fought the sensation of not being able to catch my
breath, like I was drowning. Overcome by a paralyzing fear, my body
began to shudder in response.

“You will never see your eighteenth birthday,
Quinn Roberts.”

I jumped back in shock and knocked over the
chair, pressing myself against the wall. Vaguely, I noticed Anna
looking over and muttering ‘loser’ before turning her back on
me.

The raspy, female voice echoed through my
mind as Marietta kept her eyes trained on me. My instinct told me
it came from the strange thing I sensed clinging to her, but why
would it want to cause me harm?

Then, just as sudden as it started, Marietta
broke eye contact and walked away. In the next instant, everything
went back to normal. A quick glance told me the twins were
completely oblivious.

I couldn’t stop shaking or get my heartbeat
to calm down. It pounded against my chest in a savage beat. My
terror and the lingering smell of putrid water were the only hints
of what occurred.

The room started to spin and I knew I needed
to get out of there. With my mind set on breathing some fresh air,
I hurried out of the room. As I passed through the doorway, I heard
a faint splash and looked down.

A small, murky puddle was on the floor right
were Marietta had stood. Cautiously, I bent down, dipped my fingers
in it and brought them up to my nose. It was exactly what I’d
smelled in the room. I flicked the tiny drops off my fingers and
ran outside. The bile shot up my throat, taking me by surprise and
I barely had enough time to bend over before being sick.

When I finished, all that lingered was the
cold rock of fear in my gut and the realization that someone or
something wanted me dead.

Chapter Two

It was nearly midnight before I finished all
my chores and finally had a chance to make a sandwich. I took it
upstairs so I could eat while curled up with a book I found in the
public library on hauntings.

After the events at the salon, I really
needed to try to relax. I’d been tense and anxious all day, jumping
at shadows. No matter how hard I tried, the stale taste of terror
didn’t leave my mouth and throat. Invisible eyes followed me
everywhere. I hoped the book would have something about what I’d
experienced. There had to be a way to defend myself if it happened
again.

I had a feeling it wasn’t over.

Mama turned out to be right about Savannah
and the older I got the more I grew attuned to it. It took a lot of
energy for a spirit to manifest so it wasn’t often that I saw an
actual being. I knew the difference between a mere breeze and the
presence of something spiritual. Occasionally, I caught a personal
detail but mostly, it was a wave of emotion. I could tell them
apart, too. Some filled me with sadness. I sensed their anger,
their hatred or their need.

I finished my sandwich and closed the book,
it was impossible to concentrate. Nights like this, I immersed
myself in the history of what I’d found in the attic. It was nice
to get lost in the lives of other people in a different era.

The day before, I came across a small old
trunk full of yellowed letters, birth and marriage certificates and
other important papers. Since I was too restless to do anything
else, I got up and pulled the trunk over to my living area. I
grabbed a notebook to catalog what I found and made myself
comfortable on the floor. Mama had been a widely known archivist
and historian. It’s something she must have passed on to me because
I couldn’t get enough of it.

A slight rustle stirred the space beside me
and the humid night air cooled to an almost uncomfortable
temperature. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the very faint
figure of a small, black boy. Mama always mentioned being aware of
his presence and how she came to count on his company when she
found herself alone. Even Daddy, who grew up in the house, told me
about the boy and how he'd come to rely on the boy's comforting
friendship.

I tried to watch as he sat on the floor
beside me. If I looked at him straight on, the image disappeared.
As far as I could tell, he was about seven or eight years old and
wore tattered clothes. He always calmed me or made me feel content.
When I was a little girl, I named him George. The truth is, I might
never find out his real name, but that didn’t stop me from talking
to him.

“Hey, George, you’d think since I worked my
butt off today and graduated high school and had my life threatened
I’d be dead tired.” I grinned. “Sorry, about the pun. I’m just
excited to see what kind of stuff is in this box. It’s a welcome
distraction from this thing earlier. I don’t really want to talk
about that. I glanced at the dates last night and it’s the 1870’s
and on. Wonder if that was when you lived?”

A cold pressure appeared on my arm, as if
he’d laid his hand there and I caught sight of him nodding his
head. Reaching into the trunk, I pulled out a stack, savoring the
musty smell and the dry, wrinkled feel of the century old
papers

“These are letters, to a William Jennings
from Catherine Roberts. That would have been one of my ancestors.”
I paused to read a couple. “She’s thanking him for helping her
family out and she’s talking about their upcoming marriage. But it
just doesn’t sound the way a woman who’s about to be married, the
wording sounds too polite and stiff, even for those times. Which
means it must have been an arranged marriage.”

The dates on the letters and Catherine’s
mention of this man’s assistance made me wonder if William helped
our family out during the Reconstruction.

When Savannah surrendered to that jerk
General Sherman, he stopped his burning of the South and spared the
city. Still, it wasn’t safe. The War had bankrupted the once proud
South and the people of Savannah were hurting. I remembered reading
about how the Roberts’ cotton empire crumbled after the War. Maybe
this William guy gave them a loan.

“Oh, here’s a wedding announcement for
William and Catherine. And her death certificate, less than a year
later. How sad.”

I picked up another stack of more official
looking papers. The first was a letter addressed to the law office
of James Owens from the Roberts family attorney. I read aloud.

“While the Roberts’ family understands your
grief during this sad time, they regret to inform you, again, that
they will not accept your offer to purchase the home on Lincoln
Street.

“The Roberts estate has always passed to the
daughters of the family and while you were married to Catherine for
the length of ten months, she still has a younger sister, Daphne,
who will stand to inherit in Catherine’s absence. As her husband,
you do not have any legal right to the home and not being a citizen
of the South, would not understand our traditions.

“Your numerous and increasingly large
monetary offers are appreciated but wasted effort at this time. Mr.
Roberts and his wife will be eternally in your debt for your
previous assistance in such a difficult time but have absolutely no
interest in selling their family home.”

This William Jennings guy must have thought
himself entitled to the house after Catherine died. It made me
wonder about the circumstances under which Catherine married
someone who was obviously a Yankee, which back then was almost a
crime.

Daddy once told me about how the Yankees
flooded the South once the War ended. They swarmed like a bunch of
buzzards, circling over the remnants and picking off those who were
hurting the most. Even though they resented the Yankees, the
Southerners were forced to work with them. It was the only way to
stay above water financially and be a part of the rebuilding. Some
of the older families held on to their grudges still, as if their
lives depended on it.

Absently, I mumbled aloud, “I wonder how
William took the news about not getting the house.”

I found my answer in the next letter, a hand
written attachment to the one I’d just read from the family’s
attorney.

“I feel it is my duty to warn you, Mr.
Roberts, that Mr. Jennings’ demands and requests appear to be more
desperate with each attempt. He has ceased communicating to me
through his lawyer and has called on me several times in person.
You know what kind of man he is, sir. I must warn you, do not think
him an irritation that will soon go away.

“You knew my aversions concerning the union
of your eldest daughter to a Yankee from the beginning. Regardless
of what you thought you owed him, I feel he will not be satisfied
until he has finished your family. The mysterious circumstances
involving Catherine’s death should not be ignored.

“Please, as I believe for the safety and
prosperity of your family, we must find a way to pacify him before
it becomes too late.”

I blew out a breath. “Did you hear that,
George? The ‘mysterious circumstances’ of Catherine’s death. This
William guy must have been a real mental case.”

In answer, the letter I read blew off the
stack, revealing a newspaper article so brittle and faded it was
hard to make out the words. After studying it for a few minutes, it
became hot to the touch.

The article mentioned the unexplained
disappearance of William Jennings, who was last seen leaving his
home. After days of searching, the authorities believed he met an
unfortunate end. On a related note, at the end of the article, Mrs.
Margaret Roberts, mother to William’s deceased wife, was treated
for ‘emotional exhaustion’ and was being watched by doctors
following her breakdown.

My mind refused to settle on one detail.
There were way too many unanswered questions. I noticed George no
longer sat beside me. Once again, I was completely alone in the
attic. A part of me wondered what the connection was between
Catherine’s death, William’s disappearance and Margaret’s
breakdown.

I attacked the papers in the trunk with
determination but after another hour of scouring every piece, I
found nothing. Finally, I felt sleep trying to pull me down and I
decided to give up for the night. Tomorrow, I’d have a fresh eye
and see if I missed something. Also, there were the other trunks to
go through. One of them might have more papers, and answers. I
loved puzzles and mysteries and this was turning into just
that.

As I lay in bed thinking back to what I
learned, I couldn’t help but think the papers were only the
beginning. Maybe I’d spent too much time believing in ghosts and
spirits, or maybe I’d inherited Mama’s curiosity, but something
told me I was meant to discover those documents. I wanted to learn
more about why Catherine agreed to marry an obsessive sounding
Yankee and how exactly she’d died.