Garden of the Moon (2 page)

But as much as she loved Raina, right now Sara had to fight down the urge to shake the woman for scaring the bejesus out of her for no apparent reason. “Raina, what is it?”

Eye’s widening, Raina leaned to the side to see around the large body of Samuel, her father, seated atop the driver’s bench. “Dis place makes my skin itch, Miss Sara.” Frantically, Raina ran her hands up and down her bare arms.

Sara laughed, and then looked around. Her laughter died in her throat. Drawing her handkerchief from her sleeve, she dabbed at the perspiration on her forehead and top lip, perspiration not entirely a product of the humid, summer, Louisiana weather.

Since she’d been so absorbed in her thoughts, Sara hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings, but now the cause of Raina’s alarm became abundantly clear. All along the tunneling oak alley leading to the mansion, the gardens seemed to close in on them. An unexpected spasm of unease coursed through Sara. Had her grandmother’s home always been…so untamed, so hostile?

Unlike the formality of the grounds outside her father’s Garden District home or the Wade’s Magnolia Run Plantation just outside New Orleans, the landscaping at Harrogate afforded no sense of order. The careless growth of overgrown foliage seemed to have a mind of its own, as if cloaking the secrets of the old house from the outside world. Without form or design, the branches of the shrubs had interwoven into a tangled, jungle like setting, giving the impression that they were hiding some long-held mystery within their shadowed recesses, a mystery to which only they were privy and which they would vigorously guard from intruders.

An inexplicable chill ran down Sara’s spine.

Suddenly, doubts buffeted her. Was she capable of running this big house? This plantation? Could she care adequately for all who resided there and who would depend on her? Would her gift prove to be an asset or a hindrance?

Had Sara allowed her mother’s disdain for something she couldn’t and didn’t want to understand to cloud her own judgment, to make her take on more than she could reasonably handle just to slip from beneath her mother’s controlling thumb?

She searched her mind for answers.

***

Sara had inherited the ability to see dead people from her beloved, deceased, paternal grandmother and had long ago accepted it…something of which her mother seemed incapable. Sara’s
affliction
, as her mother referred to Sara’s ability to see and converse with departed souls, had always embarrassed Patricia.

Sara had always loved this old house. Since the reading of her grandmother’s will, five long years ago, she’d dreamed of the day she would be able to live permanently in the only place in which she had ever felt she really belonged. However, her mother, a socially-conscious, cold woman, would hear none of it. It just wasn’t seemly for a young, single woman to live alone.

Then came the
mishap
at Patricia Wade’s lawn party, when her mother had caught Sara talking to a dead person. Patricia had changed her mind overnight. Not only would she allow Sara to go to Harrogate, she’d strongly encouraged it. Sara had Raina packing her trunks before her mother could order tea, all the while trying not to be hurt by her mother’s haste to hide her daughter from her society friends.

Affliction
. How degrading. How humiliating. Her mother made it sound as though Sara had some horrible, disfiguring disease. When in reality, no one could guess by merely looking at her.

Of course, when her mother’s smug, society friends had quizzed Patricia about why she was sending Sara to Harrogate
alone
, Patricia hadn’t mentioned the affliction to them. She’d swept the truth under the rug as effortlessly as Raina swept dirt out the door and then her mother had lied through her perfect teeth.

***

“Since poor Sara’s passed a respectable age for marriage, I’ve given up, trying to find a suitable man for her. I’m afraid her unmarried state has become somewhat of an…embarrassment to her father and me. Allowing her to set up her own home at Harrogate in the seclusion of the country is the wisest choice.” She’d paused for effect, and then confided, “Perhaps after living alone for a time, my willful daughter will come to her senses and think twice about her lofty requirements for an acceptable suitor and, hopefully, find a husband. Of course, all the men of her age are already spoken for, so perhaps a widower…” The words had faded off into a deep, heartfelt sob and a dramatic dab at her eyes with the corner of a white linen handkerchief.

Her mother’s friends had nodded in sympathetic, yet sage agreement, and then patted Patricia’s shoulder in consolation for having a daughter who would
rain down such embarrassment on her dear mother’s head
.

Sara often wondered what they’d think if they knew the real reason her mother was suddenly shipping her only daughter off to St. Lucius Parish. Enraged at her mother’s performance, Sara had been seriously tempted to pop out from behind the door where she’d been eavesdropping on their conversation and telling Mrs. Dubois that her dead husband was smiling at her from over her right shoulder or that Mrs. LeFarge’s long-deceased father was scowling down at her from his perch on the mantel.

But Sara had controlled her urge for revenge and kept silent. Divulging her gift would have only labeled her as the freak her mother believed her to be, and that would have afforded her mother more of the attention and sympathy she thrived on. Besides, Sara hadn’t wanted to do anything that would have enraged her mother enough to change her mind about allowing the move to Harrogate.

Sometimes Sara wished that she simply had some physical flaw, a twisted limb or a deformed ear. At least she could hide a crippled leg beneath her billowing gown or a missing ear beneath her chestnut curls. Though she had gotten used to seeing dead people long ago, one aspect of Sara’s gift was often hard for her to hide, especially when her mother caught her talking to someone that only Sara could see. The dead spirits that sought her out had no discretion about when they’d suddenly appear on the scene.

Her father, on the other hand, had grown up with a mother with the same
affliction
, so none of it seemed strange to him. He’d even developed a bit of the same talent himself, but he’d never told his wife. It had been something he shared with no one but his only daughter.

Sara shook the doubts away. All this reminiscing was just magnifying her anxiety and taking the edge off her excitement. So what if the gardens were a bit wild? It certainly didn’t mean anything sinister lurked out there. It had been, after all, five years since the house had been occupied, and the grounds simply needed grooming.

Papa had promised to send her a dozen of Magnolia Run’s best gardeners tomorrow. But the thought of slaves from her father’s plantation coming the next day didn’t really sweep away Sara’s unease. Like Raina, she continued to study their surroundings with a wary eye.

The house came into view. Her unease did not ebb. Instead, the closer they got to the sprawling mansion the more intense her anxiety became.

Oaks dripping with amethyst wisteria and ghostly, pearl-gray moss surrounded the house. Stirred by the brisk wind, their gnarled limbs seemed to crouch over the roof like protective, disapproving dowagers taking measure of the intruders in their midst. Blazing, red azaleas and deep crimson, crepe myrtles hemorrhaged their blossoms into the overgrown lawn, spattering the tall grass like droplets of blood. From a tangle of holly shrubs and jasmine vines, marble statuary gowned in sage-green lichen peeked at her like naughty children preparing to do mischief. Even the angry puffs of dust nudged into life from the drive by a stiff breeze off the river seemed to voice the very earth’s displeasure at their intrusion.

What of the other times she’d visited her grandmother’s home? Had it been like this? No. On those occasions the house and grounds had always been a welcoming presence in her young life. Now, they seemed to be warning her away. But in the five years since her grandmother’s death, there had been no slaves to keep the place manicured. Logically, the grounds would be wild and overgrown.

***

But it wasn’t just the overgrown vegetation that made Sara’s skin crawl. The heavy atmosphere seemed to suck the air from her lungs, as though something dark and evil lurked in the shadows of the trees and bushes, something that had been waiting just for Sara.

I’m waiting
. The words the ghost had spoken to her in the bayou played through Sara’s mind. Was
he
here at Harrogate…waiting for her?

She drew her shawl closer around her trembling shoulders. Surely she was being foolish. But the icy fear continued to coil in a tight ball in the pit of her stomach.

Contrary to the inexplicable alarm that had suddenly turned her insides to ice, Sara calmly patted Raina’s arm. “It’s fine. Just a bit…out of hand is all. Samuel will have the men Papa’s sending organized in no time, and before you know it, everything will be as beautiful and orderly as when my grandmother was alive.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Raina didn’t sound at all convinced. Her wide-eyed gaze continued to dart over the snarled landscaping and her hands twisted in her lap until Sara thought the woman might remove the skin from them.

Sara shook her morose thoughts loose, and peered eagerly ahead of them. Nothing would spoil this day for her. Nothing. Clearing anything that would dampen this moment from her mind, Sara gazed raptly at the mansion.

Unlike the gardens, the snow-white, antebellum mansion resembled a giant, frosted wedding cake, an image of conformity, order, and balance in the identical wings that extended from either side of the main house. Though the grounds had been far from what she’d expected, in her heart the old house seemed to welcome its new mistress.

Samuel maneuvered the carriage down the drive and then drew the horses up in front of a wide porch flanked by two, sweeping staircases leading to the main level of the home.

Excitement drowned out the anxiety. “Oh, what parties I’ll give here.” Sara clapped her hands like an excited child. “They’ll be just as grand as the ones Gran gave, you’ll see.” Raina remained silent, obviously still not finding anything about the place to feel good about. “I’ll invite all the neighbors to celebrate the reopening of Harrogate, the rebirth of this stately old home.”

***

Raina still didn’t reply. She just continued to look around her as if some demon would lunge from the bushes at any moment and devour her.

“Can’t you imagine it, Raina?” Sara went on, caught up in her daydream. “Can’t you just picture elegant ladies in lovely gowns gliding over the galleries or hurrying down the wrought iron stairs to the veranda?” She giggled. “Maybe some will even sneak into the shadows of the Corinthian columns for a clandestine assignation with their sweethearts, out of the view and hearing of vigilant parents and hovering guardians.”

Plans for the future filled her head. Her thoughts bursting with images of her new life, Sara took in the beauty of the house. Closed shutters covered all the windows save one on the second floor portico. She glanced up at the window.

She gasped.

The tall, handsome man from St. Claire’s Bayou gazed down at her.

He smiled and nodded as though giving his approval for her to be there.

She blinked and gasped again.

Like a puff of smoke from one of Papa’s cigars, the man had vanished.

Chapter 2

“Oh!” Sara cried, half in surprise and half in disappointment that the man had disappeared.

Raina grabbed her mistress’ hand. “What?” Her gaze darted from Sara to the house and back. The woman’s eyes widened, nearly popping from their sockets.

Raina had already been spooked enough. No reason to add to her upset. Sara just shook her head and patted the chocolate-brown hand clasping one of hers like the jaws of an enraged ‘gator. “It’s all right. I was just taken aback by the grandeur of the place. I don’t recall it being this immense.”

***

The half-lie slid easily from her lips. Oddly, the appearance of the unfamiliar man in the upstairs window hadn’t caused her any alarm or discomfort. The words he’d spoken in the bayou echoed through her mind again.
I’m waiting
. His slow smile, in some strange way, had been welcoming, as if he knew she belonged here…as if he
had
been waiting for her.

Another shiver washed over her. However, rather than feeling apprehensive, a wild, rising tide of excitement swelled inside her.

Who was he? He couldn’t logically be the same man she’d seen in the bayou. It had to have been her imagination that had conjured him. Perhaps he hadn’t vanished at all. Perhaps he hadn’t been there at all. Or he might have just stepped from her line of vision. But, if it wasn’t the bayou stranger, then who was he?

The new overseer, perhaps? It wouldn’t have surprised her if Papa had hired someone to help manage the plantation. He’d been spoiling her without her mother’s knowledge for most of Sara’s twenty-seven years. Papa’s intervention had been the only reason that Sara hadn’t found herself walking down the aisle with that pimply-faced Jason Bannister from River Oaks Plantation. Why the man must have been forty-five if he was a day. When Sara had asked him to leave, her mother had been furious, screaming at her that she’d end up an old maid if she didn’t lower her standards. That night, out of sight of Patricia, Sara had hugged Papa fiercely. Just the thought of sharing her wedding night with that
old
man had made her skin crawl.

As the memories raced through her mind once more, Sara continued to stare at Harrogate’s upstairs window…waiting…inexplicably hoping the man would reappear. When he didn’t, she consigned the incident to a shadow cast by the towering oak trees or perhaps her excitement about finally coming
home
.

Still, the idea that a stranger, captivating or otherwise, could be wandering around in
her
house brought back a small measure of the creepy unease she’d experienced earlier.