Lavender Morning (6 page)

belt. There was a bandana tied around her head and her shirt had been tie-dyed. “Wonder if she went to

Woodstock?” Jocelyn muttered.

There was the usual store full of old furniture and some other businesses.

And in the middle, on a big, grassy circle, was an enormous oak tree. There were half a dozen benches

under its shade and two teenagers were kissing, while some younger kids were laughing at them.

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The last two houses before the road disappeared into overhanging trees were the ones in the photos on the

Internet. They were big, white, and looked inviting. In front of one a woman was sweeping the porch, and as

though she knew who Jocelyn was, she halted her broom and stared.

Jocelyn was so absorbed in looking back at the woman that she almost missed the turn at the end of

Lairdton. One block down was a sign that said TAM WAY. She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw that the

woman was no longer on the porch. She probably went inside to start the gossip line. What would they say?

That the outsider is here to take over our beloved Miss Edi’s house?

Jocelyn drove slowly down the country road. There were only three houses along the way, and unless she

missed her guess, they’d once been part of the plantation of Edilean Manor. She could see that there were old

sections on the houses, but they’d been remodeled and expanded over the years.

When she came to some stone columns that were nearly hidden by vines, she knew she’d reached it. There

was a little marble plaque in one of them and she could see enough letters to know what it said.

This is it, she thought, and pulled into the drive. There were so many huge trees that she could see nothing,

and it occurred to her that maybe what she’d seen were photos of the house before it was torn down. She knew

from the research she’d done at school that you had to read the fine print under the pictures to see if the house

still existed.

Suddenly, the trees parted and she saw the house, and it was exactly like the photos. Because she’d visited

many old houses in her life, she immediately saw that the house was in pristine condition. There were houses less

than a year old that weren’t as well kept as this one was. Every window, shutter, and rain gutter was perfect.

On each side of the house was a wing with its own little porch, and for a moment Joce thought about

knocking on the doors and asking permission to go inside. But that was ridiculous.

With her eyes on the house, looking at every inch of it, she got out, opened the back of the car, and took

out her suitcase. She pulled it behind her as she climbed the wooden steps up to the small porch in front of the

door.

She took the key out of her jacket pocket, inserted it into the old lock, and when it turned, her heart began

to beat quickly.

“Hello? Anybody here?” Jocelyn called as she opened the old door. From the look of it, the door was

original to the house, which made it over two hundred years old. She left her big black suitcase by the door and

slowly walked farther inside, her heels echoing on the bare wooden floor.

She was in the entrance hall, and as she’d hoped, it went all the way through the house. To her right were

two closed doors and to her left on either side of the staircase were two more closed doors. She hoped the

house hadn’t been altered and that behind the doors were big rooms and not little cubicles that had been cut up

by centuries of owners.

The staircase was magnificent, and she felt sure that the banister was one piece of mahogany. Turning, she

looked up to the top of the stairs and saw more closed doors—and, just like in the hallway, there wasn’t a stick

of furniture to be seen.

She walked to the far end of the big, bare hallway and looked through the window. Outside were giant

trees that might be as old as the house. She wanted to walk under them and sit on one of the little white-painted

iron chairs.

As she watched, a young woman walked from the right side of the house with what looked like a dress

wrapped in a towel and a sewing basket in her hand. Joce blinked a few times, thinking she’d walked into a time

warp. Who sewed today? Who carried a big basket with what looked to be a pincushion top? Had Miss Edi

sent Joce into a place where time stood still?

She smiled at the idea, then, instantly, the smile was gone. Even though it had been months since her friend

died, Joce still wasn’t ready to let her go. No more funny e-mails, no more telephone chats that could go on for

hours. No Miss Edi to run home to whenever she had a chance. No more sitting together over a steaming pot of

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tea and confiding all her worries, fears, and triumphs. Never again would she hear those familiar words, “Of

course it’s none of my business, but if I were in your place, I would—”

Joce blinked back tears and gave a glance at the closed doors leading off the big hallway, then back at the

woman sitting under the shade tree. There were rooms to explore and she should see about groceries and

whether there was a bed for the night. But she looked back at the woman—and she won.

Joce had to use her key to unlock the back door, then she went out into the fresh spring air and toward the

woman. She was so absorbed in her sewing that she didn’t seem to hear anyone approach, so Joce had time to

look at her. She was quite young, early twenties, and she looked like a poster child for Innocence. Her face was

a perfect oval and her skin like porcelain. Her brown hair had golden highlights that looked natural, and she wore

a dress that could have come out of a Kate Greenaway drawing.

Joce didn’t want to startle her so she said, “Hello” from several feet away, but the young woman went on

sewing and didn’t look up. It wasn’t until Joce was just an arm’s length away that she saw the woman was

wearing earbuds. Smiling, Joce pulled out the chair on the other side of the table and sat down.

“Hello,” the woman said, not at all startled. She pulled the earbuds off and turned off her iPod.

“Let me guess,” Joce said. “Enya.”

The pretty young woman blinked, then smiled. “Oh, I see. I look like I’ve never seen a dirty movie in my

life, so I must play angelic music.” She pulled the earphone peg out and turned it back on. Out blasted ZZ Top.

“I have a hippie mother,” she said. “My father’s a doctor and as conservative as they come, but my mother likes

hard rock and plays it as loud as she can—when my father’s not home, that is.”

“The neighbors don’t complain?”

“One of them did, but my mom poured her a margarita, and when my dad got home they were dancing

together. There haven’t been any complaints since.”

Joce laughed, still looking at the pretty young woman. “Do you get your face from your mother or your

father?”

“My Great-aunt Lissie. Or so I’ve been told. She used her looks to snare the richest man in town, had half

a dozen kids, then proceeded to spend all her husband’s money.”

Jocelyn didn’t let her face show her recognition of the name “Lissie,” the woman Miss Edi had mentioned in

her letter. Instead, she said, “My kind of woman. Is that your dress you’re sewing?”

“Heavens no! I couldn’t afford something like this.” She held up the garment to show Joce. It was midnight

blue and had an intricate pattern of beads and crystals across the bodice, but several lines of beads were hanging

loose. “I told her to be careful. I told her there were to be no trysts in the moonlight, and no fumbling in the

backseat of the car. This dress cost thousands, and I said it had to be treated with care. But did she listen to me?

Of course not.”

“From the look of it, she did a lot of fumbling.”

“I think so, and since she was banging on my door at six this morning telling me I
had
to fix it by tonight, it’s

my guess that she did
not
fumble with her husband.”

Joce laughed. “Are you my tenant?”

“Oh! Sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Sara Shaw,” she said. “I live in that side and Tess Newland lives

over there.”

“I’m—”

“The entire town knows who you are. Everyone’s been waiting for you since the crack of dawn.”

“The woman at the grocery store stared at me.”

“My mother,” Sara said. “She’s already called and told me you were on your way.”

“And the woman on the porch with the broom?”

“My aunt Helen. She called Mom and got a busy signal because Mom was calling me. I would imagine that

by now the sheriff has looked up your license plate number.”

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by now

3/16/2010 the sheriff has looked up your license plate number.”

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Jocelyn didn’t know what to say to that, so she just blinked.

“Would you like some iced tea?” Sara asked. “I just made a pitcher.”

“I’d love some, but—” She hesitated.

“Only if it’s not half sugar?” Sara asked as she stood up, carefully rolled the dress in the big towel, then put

it on the little white table.

Joce could feel her face flushing red.

“Don’t worry about it. We’re used to Yankees down here.”

“I’m far from being a Yankee. I’m from Florida,” Joce said as she followed Sara toward the big brick

house. “That’s south of here.”

“Mm-hmm,” she said over her shoulder. “I think maybe Southern is a state of mind as much as a place.

And haven’t such a lot of people moved from up North down to Florida?”

Joce couldn’t help smiling. They’d reached the screen door of the east wing, and yet again she paused to

look up at the house. There were no oddly shaped windows, no rooms that jutted out, nothing that in modern

terms made a house “interesting.” Edilean Manor was as plain and therefore as beautiful as a house could be.

Sara stepped into the coolness of her side of the house, Joce behind her. They were in a kitchen that

looked like it had been put in in about 1965, and although it had been maintained, it certainly hadn’t been

renovated. “Is that Formica? And is that…?”

“Avocado,” Sara said, looking at the drab green refrigerator. “Personally, I think the Smithsonian would be

interested in this place. They should move it just as it is into a museum.”

Joce looked at the big, white enamel sink under the window and agreed. The kitchen wasn’t old enough to

be charming. It was just ugly.

“I think I’ll complain to my landlord,” Sara said.

“You should,” Joce said, looking at the old stove. It matched the refrigerator. Her head came up. “Oh!

Wait. I’m your landlord.”

Sara laughed as she went to the refrigerator and got out a big pitcher of iced tea. “Took you long enough.”

“This whole idea of owning a house hasn’t sunk in yet. I haven’t even seen the inside.”

“You’ll have time to explore. There are some old buildings outside too, but maybe you know that.” Sara

nodded toward the little chrome table against the wall. It had a red surface and matching chrome chairs with red

seats and backs.

Joce sat down and watched as Sara poured two glasses of tea and put what looked to be homemade

cookies on a plate.

“I know very little. All of this is new to me,” Joce said. “I’m still recovering from…from…”

“Miss Edi’s death?” Sara asked softly.

Joce nodded. “Did you know her?”

“No, I never met her. But I’ve certainly heard enough about her.”

“Have you?” Joce drank deeply of the tea. She hadn’t realized she was thirsty, then she ate a cookie in two

bites. When she started on the second one, she looked at Sara’s wide eyes. “Sorry. I’ve been driving for days

and I guess I forgot to eat.” The truth was that she’d been so nervous last night she couldn’t eat her dinner, and

this morning she’d skipped breakfast.

“Now that is true concentration!” Sara didn’t say anything else, but went to the refrigerator, took out a

bowl of something, then got some lettuce, mayonnaise, and bread. She put it all on the counter, then held up the

bread. “Look! It’s Yankee bread. No Wonder Bread allowed in my house.”

“Does it have pineapple in it?”

Sara looked confused.

“No pineapple, no bread. At home in Florida we put pineapple in everything. Or coconut.”

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It was Sara’s turn to laugh. “Okay, I’ll stop stereotyping. It’s just that Edilean is so near Williamsburg that

we get more than our share of tourists. They think we fry everything.”

“You don’t?”

“Not since we heard the word
cholesterol.
”

As Joce took the sandwich on a plate, she said, “You don’t have to do this. Really. I can feed myself.”

“You have a lot to learn about us Southerners. We feed people. I think it’s in our DNA,” Sara said. “Do

you mind if we take this outside so I can finish that dress?”

“Gladly,” Joce said as she carried her glass and plate and followed Sara out to the table. When they were

seated, Sara with the dress across her lap, needle in hand, Joce took a bite. “Did you make this?” It was chicken

salad and had sliced grapes and apples in it. It was delicious, like something from an expensive deli.

“No, my mother did. She’s sure I’m going to starve living alone. Or worse, that I’ll eat something that isn’t