"No, she lived until 1925. Ripe age."
"Then we look at Alice first," Stella decided.
"And see what we can find on servants during that period. Wouldn't be a stretch for Reginald to have diddled around with a nurse or a maid while his wife was breeding. Seeing as he was a man."
"Hey!" David objected.
"Sorry, honey. Let me say he was a Harper man, and lived during a period where men of a certain
station had mistresses and didn't think anything of taking a servant to bed."
"That's some better. But not a lot."
"Are we sure he and his family lived here during that period?"
"A Harper always lived in Harper House," Roz told Stella. "And if I remember my family history, Reginald's the one who converted from gaslight to electricity. He'd have lived here until his death in..." She checked the book. "Nineteen-nineteen, and the house passed to his son, Reginald Junior, who'd married Elizabeth Harper McKinnon—fourth cousin—in 1916."
"All right, so we find out if Alice died here, and we go through records to find out if there were any servants of the right age who died during that period." Using her notebook now, Stella wrote down the points of the search. "Roz, do you know when the—let's call them sightings for lack of better. Do you know when they began?"
"I don't, and I'm just realizing that's odd. I should know, and I should know more about her than I do. Harper family history gets passed down, orally and written. But here we have a ghost who as far as I know's been wandering around here for more than a century, and I know next to nothing about her.
My daddy just called her the Harper Bride."
"What do you know about her?" Stella readied herself to take notes.
"What she looks like, the song she sings. I saw her when I was a girl, when she came to my room to sing that lullaby, just as she's reputed to have done for generations before. It was... comforting. There was a gentleness about her. I tried to talk to her sometimes, but she never talked back. She'd just smile. Sometimes she'd cry. Thanks, sweetie," she said when David poured her more coffee. "I didn't see her through my teenage years, andbeing a teenage girl I didn't think about her much. I had my mind on other things. But I remember the next time I saw her."
"Don't keep us in suspense," Hayley demanded.
"It was early in the summer, end of June. John and I hadn't been married very long, and we were staying here. It was already hot, one of those hot, still nights where the air's like a wet blanket. But I couldn't sleep, so I left the cool house for the hot garden. I was restless and nervy. I thought I might be pregnant. I wanted it—we wanted it so much, that I couldn't think about anything else. I went out to the garden and sat on this old teak glider, and dreamed up at the moon, praying it was true and we'd started a baby."
She let out a little sigh. "I was barely eighteen. Anyway, while I sat there, she came. I didn't see or hear her come, she was just there, standing on the path. Smiling. Something in the way she smiled at me, something about it, made me know—absolutely know—I had child in me. I sat there, in the midnight
heat and cried for the joy of it. When I went to the doctor a couple weeks later, I already knew I was carrying Harper."
"That's so nice." Hayley blinked back tears. "So sweet."
"I saw her off and on for years after, and always saw her at the onset of a pregnancy, before I was
sure. I'd see her, and I'd know there was a baby coming. When my youngest hit adolescence, I stopped seeing her regularly."
"It has to be about children," Stella decided, underlining "pregnancy" twice in her notes. "That's the common link. Children see her, women with children, or pregnant women. The died-in-childbirth theory is looking good." Immediately she winced. "Sorry, Hayley, that didn't sound right."
"I know what you mean. Maybe she's Alice. Maybe what she needs to pass over is to be acknowledged by name."
"Well." Stella looked at the cartons and books. "Let's dig in."
* * *
She dreamed again that night, with her mind full of ghosts and questions, of her perfect garden with the blue dahlia that grew stubbornly in its midst.
A weed is a flower growing in the wrong place.
She heard the voice inside her head, a voice that wasn't her own.
"It's true. That's true," she murmured. "But it's so beautiful. So strong and vivid."
It seems so now, but it's deceptive. If it stays, it changes everything. It will take over, and spoil
everything you've done. Everything you have. Would you risk that, risk all, for one dazzling flower?
One that will only die away at the first frost?
"I don't know." Studying the garden, she rubbed her arms as her skin pricked with unease. "Maybe
I could change the plan. I might be able to use it as a focal point."
Thunder boomed and the sky went black, as she stood by the garden, just as she'd once stood through
a stormy evening in her own kitchen.
And the grief she'd felt then stabbed into her as if someone had plunged a knife into her heart.
Feel it? Would you feel it again? Would you risk that kind of pain, for this?
"I can't breathe." She sank to her knees as the pain radiated. "I can't breathe. What's happening to me?"
Remember it. Think of it. Remember the innocence of your children and hack it down. Dig it put. Before it's too late! Can't you see how it tries to overshadow the rest? Can't you see how it steals
the light? Beauty can be poison.
She woke, shivering with cold, with her heart beating against the pain that had ripped awake with her.
And knew she hadn't been alone, not even in dreams.
THIRTEEN
On her day off, Stella took the boys to meet her father and his wife at the zoo. Within an hour, the boys were carting around rubber snakes, balloons, and chowing down on ice cream cones.
Stella had long since accepted that a grandparent's primary job was to spoil, and since fate had given
her sons only this one set, she let them have free rein.
When the reptile house became the next objective, she opted out, freely handing the controls of the next stage to Granddad.
"Your mom's always been squeamish about snakes," Will told the boys.
"And I'm not ashamed to admit it. You all just go ahead. I'll wait."
"I'll keep you company." Jolene adjusted her baby-blue ball cap. "I'd rather be with Stella than a boa constrictor any day."
"Girls." Will exchanged a pitying look with each of his grandsons. "Come on, men, into the snake pit!"
On a battle cry, the three of them charged the building.
"He's so good with them," Stella said. "So natural and easy. I'm so glad we're living close now, and they can see each other regularly."
"You couldn't be happier about it than we are. I swear that man's been like a kid himself the last couple
of days, just waiting for today to get here. He couldn't be more proud of the three of you."
"I guess we both missed out on a lot when I was growing up."
"It's good you're making up for it now."
Stella glanced at Jolene as they walked over to a bench. "You never say anything about her. You never criticize."
"Sugar pie, I bit my tongue to ribbons more times than I can count in the last twenty-seven years."
"Why?"
"Well, honey, when you're the second wife, and the stepmama on top of that, it's the smartest thing you can do. Besides, you grew up to be a strong, smart, generous woman raising the two most handsome, brightest, most charming boys on God's green earth. What's the point of criticizing?"
She does you, Stella thought. "Have I ever told you I think you're the best thing that ever happened to
my father?"
"Maybe once or twice." Jolene pinked prettily. "But I never mind hearing it repeated."
"Let me add, you're one of the best things that ever happened to me. And the kids."
"Oh, now." This time Jolene's eyes filled. "Now you've got me going." She dug in her purse, dug out a lace hankie. "That's the sweetest thing. The sweetest thing." She sniffled, tried to dab at her eyes and
hug Stella at the same time. "I just love you to pieces. I always did."
"I always felt it." Tearing up herself, Stella pushed through her own purse for a more mundane tissue. "God, look at the mess we've made of each other."
"It was worth it. Sometimes a good little cry's as good as some sex. Do I have mascara all down my face?"
"No. Just a little ..." Stella used the corner of her tissue to wipe away a smear under Jolene's eye.
"There. You're fine."
"I feel like a million tax-free dollars. Now, tell me how you're getting on before I start leaking again."
"Work-wise it couldn't be better. It really couldn't. We're about to hit the spring rush dead-on, and I'm
so revved for it. The boys are happy, making friends at school. Actually, between you and me, I think Gavin's got a crush on this little curly-headed blond in his class. Her name's Melissa, and the tips of his ears get red when he mentions her."
"That's so sweet. Nothing like your first crush, is there? I remember mine. I was crazy for this boy. He had a face full of freckles and a cowlick. I just about died with joy the day he gave me a little hop-toad
in a shoe box."
"A toad."
"Well, honey, I was eight and a country girl, so it was a thoughtful gift all in all. He ended up marrying
a friend of mine. I was in the wedding and had to wear the most godawful pink dress with a hoop skirt wide enough I could've hidden a horse under it and rode to the church. It was covered with ruffles, so
I looked like a human wedding cake."
She waved a hand while Stella rolled with laughter. "I don't know why I'm going on about that, except
it's the sort of traumatic experience you never forget, even after more than thirty years. Now they live
on the other side of the city. We get together every now and then for dinner. He's still got the freckles, but the cowlick went, along with most of his hair."
"I guess you know a lot of the people and the history of the area, since you've lived here all your life."
"I guess I do. Can't go to the Wal-Mart, day or night, without seeing half a dozen people I know."
"What do you know about the Harper ghost?"
"Hmm." Jolene took out a compact and her lipstick and freshened her face. "Just that she's always roamed around there, or at least as far back as anybody can remember. Why?"
"This is going to sound insane, especially coming from me, but... I've seen her."
"Oh my goodness." She snapped the compact closed. "Tell me everything."
"There isn't a lot to tell."
But she told her what there was, and what she'd begun to do about it.
"This is so exciting! You're like a detective. Maybe your father and I could help. You know how he loves playing on that computer of his. Stella!" She clamped a hand on Stella's arm. "I bet she was murdered, just hacked to death with an ax or something and buried in a shallow grave. Or dumped in the river—pieces of her. I've always thought so."
"Let me just say—ick—and her ghost, at least is whole. Added to that, our biggest lead is the ancestor who died in childbirth," Stella reminded her.
"Oh, that's right." Jolene sulked a moment, obviously disappointed. "Well, if it turns out it's her, that'd
be sad, but not nearly as thrilling as murder. You tell your daddy all about this, and we'll see what we
can do. We've both got plenty of time on our hands. It'll be fun."
"It's a departure for me," Stella replied. "I seem to be doing a lot of departing from the norm recently."
"Any of that departing have to do with a man? A tall, broad-shouldered sort of man with a wicked grin?"
Stella's eyes narrowed. "And why would you ask?"
"My third cousin, Lucille? You met her once. She happened to be having dinner in the city a couple
nights ago and told me she saw you in the same restaurant with a very good-looking young man. She didn't come by your table because she was with her latest beau. And he's not altogether divorced from
his second wife. Fact is, he hasn't been altogether divorced for a year and a half now, but that's Lucille for you."
Jolene waved it away. "So, who's the good-looking young man?"
"Logan Kitridge."
"Oh." It came out in three long syllables. "That is a good-looking young man. I thought you didn't like him."
"I didn't not like him, I just found him annoying and difficult to work-with. We're getting along a little better at work, and somehow we seem to be dating. I've been trying to figure out if I want to see him again."
"What's to work out? You do or you don't."
"I do, but... I shouldn't ask you to gossip."
Jolene wiggled closer on the bench. "Honey, if you can't ask me, who can you ask?"
