Garden of the Moon (7 page)

“I didn’t say that to suggest anything, so don’t even think about buying me clothes, Sara. I can make do with what I have.”

“Nonsense.” A grin spread across Sara’s face. “I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, I wasn’t thinking of buying you new dresses. We’re the same size, and Papa has always spoiled me by buying me more gowns than I can ever hope to wear. I’ll sort through them and see what will suit you.”

“Thank you for not saying you’ll give me what you don’t want.”

Sara frowned. “I would never give you my cast offs.”

“Well, whatever you choose to call them, I can’t accept them.” Pride was about all Julie had left.

Sara’s frown deepened. “This is not a question of you accepting them or not. I simply refuse to take no for an answer. If it makes you feel better, then consider them on loan until you can get your own. I’ll have Raina bring them to your room as soon as I can sort through them. And if it makes you feel any better, since I don’t have a head for figures, you can help me balance the plantation’s account books.”

The stubborn set of Sara’s mouth, a gesture that oddly enough made her resemble the one person in the world Sara had no desire to emulate, her mother, said it all. There was no use fighting her on the issue.

“Thank you.” The thanks came as much for the offer of a place to live as it did for Sara sparing Julie the humiliation of taking charity.

“It’s the least I can do for all you’ve done for me.” She grinned. “Why, if it hadn’t been for you offering to go with him, I would have had to attend the Spring Pavilion with Jordan Longstreet.” Sara made a disgusted face.

For the first time in ages, Julie laughed, really laughed with happiness. “Come to think of it, you do owe me. I had to suffer through the entire night with that dolt walking on the toes of my new blue slippers. He made such a mess of them I had to throw them out, and my toes took weeks to recover from the abuse.”

Sara giggled, sounding much like she had back at school when they’d shared secrets after the lights went out.

“As I also recall,” Julie continued, “the reason you didn’t want to go with him was because you’d seen his grandmother’s spirit hovering over him, and you refused to accompany a man who took his dead grandmother to a dance with him.” Julie knew all about Sara’s gift and rather than being repelled by it had found it fascinating. Another reason the two of them had become inseparable friends. Julie simply accepted Sara for who she was.

Julie’s expression had sobered. “Speaking of grandmothers…I never said how sorry I was to hear you lost your grandmother. I know how close you were to her.”

Sara’s laughter, along with the light in her eyes, died. She became very solemn, then stood and laid her napkin on the table. “Let’s go into the garden. I need some fresh air.”

Julie followed her without a word. From the look on her face, Sara needed more than fresh air.

***

The garden was like none other Julie had ever seen. Everything from the unusual circular gate with the two, white marble dogs stationed on either side, to the profusion of snowy flowers went far beyond anything she could have imagined. In the distance, she could see the outline of a gazebo. She and Sara wound their way silently through the maze of gravel pathways that zigzagged through the garden.

Julie waited for Sara to speak. When she didn’t, Julie consigned her friend’s silence to grief she was still felling about losing her grandmother. She could have kicked herself for mentioning Sara’s grandmother. “I’m sorry I brought up your grandmother. I just thought that after five years—”

Sara raised her hand to stop Julie’s apology. “Please, don’t apologize. That’s not why I asked you to come out here.” She glanced at Julie. “I have something to tell you, and I didn’t want anyone else to hear us talking about it.”

Julie understood. Servants were well known for
hearing
everything that went on in the big house and then spreading the gossip like cotton seed throughout the slave community.

“Does this have anything to do with what you said earlier about you needing me now as much as I need you?” She hesitated before going on. “Does it have anything to do with that…that…thing you do?”

Julie was well aware, after having heard Sara’s complaints on her return to school from every vacation, how much her mother’s attitude toward her gift upset Sara. Being treated like a pariah by her own mother had to have been hard for her. Maybe it wasn’t wise to bring up the subject with Sara in such an agitated state, but the words were out, and it was too late for second-guessing.

Sara stopped walking and swung around to face her friend. As Julie had feared, anger tinted Sara’s cheeks a bright pink. “You’re my friend, and I’ve never hid it from you, so there’s no need for you to tiptoe around it. Just say it. I see dead people.”

Julie took a step back and held up her hands, palms out to ward off more of Sara’s anger. “Okay. You see dead people. What does that have to do with what’s bothering you? Talk to me, please.”

Instantly, Sara appeared contrite for her outburst. “I’m sorry.”

She dropped her gaze to her feet. Evidently, the wound her mother’s disapproval had inflicted on Sara’s heart hadn’t healed. And evidently something had happened to aggravate the situation.

Julie placed her hand on Sara’s forearm. She tilted her head to better see her friend’s face in the moonlight. “Sara?”

Without a word, Sara took Julie’s hand and led her to Gran’s favorite white, wrought iron bench nestled among a grouping of budding rose bushes and sheltered beneath the spreading branches of a towering magnolia tree. The tree’s deep green, leathery leaves glistened in the moonlight, and the heady mixture of the perfume from its saucer-sized, creamy blossoms vied with the moonflower’s intoxicating fragrance for dominance of the night air. The mixture made Sara lightheaded.

Once seated, Sara searched for the words to explain what had happened to her in the last few days. She raised her gaze to her friend’s. A strange light over Julie’s shoulder snagged Sara’s attention. The words froze on the tip of her tongue.

“Sara, what is it?”

Sara bolted to her feet. She could hear Julie, but she couldn’t answer her.

A few feet from them stood the figure of a man. Not just any man. It was the man from the window, the man in the portrait hanging in her bedroom. This time, she was certain he was Jonathan Bradford.

Chapter 5

Sara opened her mouth to explain her strange behavior to Julie, but before the words had passed her lips, the man’s image shimmered like heat waves and then vanished. Once more, they were alone in the garden.

“Sara? What is it?” Julie glanced over her shoulder then back to Sara. “You’re white as a sheet.” She stood and laid her hand on Sara’s brow. “Are you feeling all right?”

The concern in her friend’s voice roused Sara from the stupor brought on by the apparition of Jonathan appearing so suddenly in the garden. She forced a smile to her cold lips.

“I’m…fine.” The words rang with insincerity.

“You don’t look fine. You look like you’re going to faint at any moment.” Julie moved to her side and then guided Sara back to the garden bench. “Sit down.”

Not until Julie said it did Sara become aware of the rapid throbbing in her chest and the watery weakness invading her legs.

“You rest there, and I’ll go get Raina.”

Sara grabbed Julie’s hand. “No. I don’t need Raina and, what I have to tell you will just frighten her.”

This time, it was Julie’s face that was drained of color. She sank onto the bench beside Sara. “Very well. I’m listening.”

Even though Julie was aware that Sara saw dead people, she still had trouble finding the right words to tell her friend about what had happened at Harrogate in the past two days.

“When we came down the drive to Harrogate, I thought my life was perfect. I was finally free of my mother, and I was coming home to the one place I’d always felt secure and at peace,” she said, pushing the words out before she could change her mind. “But when we stopped in front of the house, things began to happen that I couldn’t explain. At first I thought it was fatigue from the journey or the shadows of the trees playing tricks on me, but I soon learned that it wasn’t.” Words continued to tumble from her in quick succession.

Once she started, she talked non-stop for the next hour, leaving almost nothing out, while Julie listened. By the time she’d finished, Julie knew everything: the man in the swamp and the upstairs window; the locket; her grandmother’s nocturnal visit; the visit to Clarice’s; the dead crow; the portraits; the diary; her uncanny resemblance to the dead Madeline Grayson; and the overwhelming sadness she’d felt when Clarice told her of Jonathan’s murder.

The one thing Sara did omit was the unprecedented physical reaction she had to Jonathan Bradford’s ghost. Until she understood it herself, she couldn’t very well explain why she longed for the touch of a dead man.

“Are you sure you didn’t just dream about your grandmother visiting you? You’d just made a very long journey from New Orleans and worked most of the day opening the house. You were probably sleeping very deeply. It could have been that you thought you were awake, but you weren’t.” The lack of conviction in Julie’s voice told Sara her friend was grabbing at straws. “As for the sadness…” Julie went on, “well…it’s probably no more than the same fatigue or grief you’d naturally feel for someone who died so violently.”

Sara shook her head. “If that were the case, then how do you explain that the locket I found was buried with Maddy and that the ghost of Jonathon Bradford appeared just now.” She inclined her head in the direction where the ghost had been.

“Just now?” Julie glanced over her shoulder. “Is that what you saw? Is he still here?”

“No. He’s gone, but he was right over there.” This time Sara pointed at the exact spot beside a flowering azalea bush where she’d just seen him.

Relief evident in her expression, Julie sat back. For a few moments, she remained deep in thought. “You’re sure that the man in the swamp, and the window, and the portrait, and the one that just showed up here are all this Jonathan?”

Sara nodded. “I saw his portrait. There is no doubt in my mind.”

“Could he be the evil your grandmother warned you about?”

Sara thought about it. The man’s eyes were the kindest she’d ever seen. His smile warmed her through and through. Somewhere, deep inside she knew he didn’t want to hurt her. “No. I don’t sense any evil about him at all.”

“None?”

“No. None. I just wish I knew what he wanted.”

“If you don’t sense evil around him, then I’d say what he wants is pretty clear.” Smiling, Julie laid her hand on Sara’s. “If you look as much like Maddy as you say, then I think he believes his Maddy has come back, and that’s why he’s here.” She paused. “And he did say that he was waiting.”

Sara stood. “That’s absurd.” She walked to where the specter of Jonathan Bradford had been. “Why would he be waiting for me? I’m not Maddy.” She turned to Julie. “Am I?”

***

That night, after the house was silent, Sara made a trip to the attic on her own, determined to find anything else that would help her unravel the mysteries plaguing her and Harrogate. Armed with the pitiful light from a single candle and with no idea exactly what it was she was searching for, she began to dig through the myriad of stored family objects. She dug into drawers in half rotted dressers; pawed through trunks of yellowed clothing; opened books and fanned through pages that fell apart at her touch; looked behind, over and under anything she thought could be concealing something; and even ran her fingers along the overhead beams.

After almost an hour of fighting clinging cobwebs and choking dust, she’d found nothing that would shed light on any of her questions about anyone with a role in Harrogate’s past and the short, tragic life of Jonathan Bradford or Maddy Grayson or the evil that lurked here.

Discouraged and about to give up, she noticed a large trunk pushed under the slanting rafters, behind a pile of boxes. Placing her candle on a nearby hat box, she shoved the boxes aside, kneeled beside the trunk, and then pried open the lid. Since the hinges had rusted, it took several tries before it finally budged enough for her to lever the top up. Inside were items obviously belonging to a man: shirts, trousers, coats, several accounts ledgers with the name
Harrogate
written in gold leaf on their covers, and a set of engraved dueling pistols. Nothing of any help to her.

About to close the lid, she spotted a white porcelain shaving mug with the gold initials
JB
on it. She picked it up and traced the initials with her fingertip. This had been
his
. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. As when she’d touched the painting, her fingertips grew warm. The awareness rushed throughout her body, making her tremble. Suddenly, the sensation of millions of butterflies taking wing in her stomach made her weak all over.

What did all this mean?

Movement near the head of the stairs caught her attention. Thinking Raina had followed her, she turned to tell the maid she would be down directly. But the words never passed her lips.

Standing at the head of the stairs was the transparent image of Jonathan Bradford. Clutching the shaving mug to her breast, she froze, waiting for whatever would come next. None of the ghosts she’d ever seen had attacked her, but with Gran’s warning of evil in the house ringing in her memory, this could well be a first. Perhaps, contrary to Julie’s belief that he’d come back because he had Sara confused with Maddy, this man may have chosen to appear because he had something malicious in mind for her. If that were the case, why didn’t she feel it, why did she feel nothing more than a magnetic tug drawing her toward him and a warmth that went so deep inside her, it became a part of her?

For a very long moment he just stared at her, as though drinking in the sight of her. Then he smiled and beckoned for her to follow him. When he started down the stairs, Sara roused herself and quickly closed the trunk, grabbed the candle and, clutching the shaving mug, hurried after him. In the downstairs hallway, he stopped from time to time and looked back, as though to make certain she was still there. At her bedroom he paused, looked back again, and then disappeared through the closed door.