The Guests on South Battery

  I took a step toward the house, but she remained where she was, her eyes studying something in an upstairs window. I followed her gaze and saw the image of a young girl in a white nightgown, her long blond hair tucked behind her ears, staring back at us.

  “Do you see her?” I asked quietly.

  “No. But I sense her.” She turned to me with troubled eyes. “But you’re seeing her now?”

  “Yes,” I said with surprise. “I think I’ve seen glimpses of her nightgown, but this is the first apparition.”

  “It could be Button’s niece,” she said. “Hasell. She died at the hospital, but she spent most of her life inside this house. It would make sense that she’d return to it.”

  “But she’s a child. Why would she be sticking around?” Our eyes met.

  “Unfinished business. Just because she was a child when she passed doesn’t mean that there weren’t things left incomplete.”

  I looked back up, surprised to see the girl still in the window. “Her mother died in the house. Did you know that?”

  Ginette shook her head. “No. I’d already left Charleston by then and wasn’t in touch with anybody who would have told me.”

  “And she was buried in Aiken, and not at Magnolia, where Hasell and Hasell’s father are buried.”

  “Sumter,” she said, her voice very low. “I remember Sumter. I had such a schoolgirl’s crush on him when Button and I were in high school.”

  “Then help me, Mother. Help me figure this out. Help me to help Hasell.”

  She faced me again. “That will depend, Mellie. Will you help me with Veronica? I think that would be fair, don’t you?”

  I looked back up at the window just as a dark shadow appeared behind the girl and an arm grabbed her around the shoulders, pulling her out of sight. I blinked, wondering if I’d imagined it just as I had when I was a little girl and thought I’d seen a caped figure in my closet. I sucked in my breath. “All right. You win. But I’m not going to be the one to tell Dad.”

  She didn’t seem to be listening. I followed her gaze back to the window, where the girl had been but where a cat was now perched on the sill, watching us closely until something startled it from behind and it leaped back, disappearing from sight.

  CHAPTER 13

  Isat up in bed with General Lee at my feet, my phone in one hand, my laptop on one knee and my iPad on the other, trying to reconcile the various spreadsheets and calendars I used to plan my days. What would normally have been a ten-minute task was taking twice as long because of a certain husband intent on nuzzling my neck.

  “Don’t you need to work on any to-do lists or plans for tomorrow and the rest of the week?” I asked.

  He blew warm air into my ear, making me shudder with anticipation. Without raising his head, he said, “I have an appointment at the Charleston Museum archives tomorrow at ten and then I thought I’d come home and have lunch with the twins and give Jayne a break before heading into my office to work a little bit on my new story idea.”

  I pulled back to look at him. “I thought you went to the archives this morning.”

  His tongue began a slow lapping around my ear and I had to practice my Lamaze breathing so that I wouldn’t scream at the torture. “I did. But they have a new person in charge now and he’s a guy. And apparently somebody who believes in calendars and rules and appointments. You’d probably like him.”

  “I probably would. Should we invite him to dinner sometime?”

  He lifted his head and frowned at me. “No.” His gaze traveled to my electronic gadgets, then back up to me. “It’s time to turn these off, I think,” he said as he reached for my iPhone.

  I held it away from him. “Hang on—I’m almost done. You know how boneless I get after we, um, well, you know, so I have to do this now while my brain is still functioning.” I squinted down at my laptop. “Either something’s wrong here and it’s not syncing properly or Jayne isn’t being consistent with updating the spreadsheets for the twins.”

  In a move like a stealthy panther, Jack sprawled across me and reached into my nightstand drawer. “Mellie, didn’t your grandmother ever tell you that squinting is going to give you wrinkles?” He dumped my reading glasses into my lap, then returned to his nuzzling. “Maybe this will make you get your work done faster so we can play.”

  I placed the glasses on my nose and mentally slapped down all my nerve endings and brain cells that were reaching for Jack. “But seriously, what if she’s not doing the spreadsheets? And I don’t think she’s labeled their drawers yet, either.”

  With a heavy sigh, Jack straightened and plumped a pillow behind his head so he could sit up against the headboard. “Whether she did so or not, she’s spent countless hours playing with them, taking them for walks, reading to them, singing to them, making them laugh. The sorts of things we do with them when we’re here. I’d rather my children be happy than organized.”

  The word “blasphemy” came to my tongue, but I bit it back. Because somewhere, deep down, I realized that he might be right. “Still,” I said, “I think she should discuss with us if she wants to change something.”

  “Well, actually . . .”

  “Jack! Don’t tell me you had a conversation with her about our children’s care and didn’t consult with me!”

  “Well, last Saturday when Jayne had her day off, we happened to leave the house at the same time for our morning run and of course our conversation turned to the children and what she thought of her job so far.”

  “Jayne runs?”

  He shrugged as if he hadn’t really considered this before. “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, she had no problem keeping up with me and she looks pretty fit, so maybe she does do it regularly. Anyway, she mentioned how much fun she was having with the children, how bright and sweet and well tempered they are—guess they get that from me, huh?”

  I smiled as if I were listening to what he was saying instead of obsessing over his words “she looks pretty fit.” Jayne was the nanny. Presumably, she had a body, but Jack wasn’t supposed to be noticing it.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “she was mentioning how much she enjoyed their outings and playtimes but how she was afraid it was cutting into her other chores such as keeping up with the spreadsheets and labeling. So I told her to keep doing what she was doing, because the children are apparently thriving and love her.”

  “Without consulting me first,” I said frostily, immediately regretting my tone. My toes were still tingling from his caresses and I didn’t want to disappoint them or the rest of my body if there would be no follow-up because I’d been unreasonable. It was all about control, something I’d had to fight for ever since I was a little girl and was currently having problems relinquishing now that I had more support in my life. It was just really hard giving it up completely.

  He sat up straighter. “Now, Mellie, we love our children equally. And you’re a great mother. But you and I have different styles of parenting. I’m wondering if maybe the reason why we haven’t been able to hang on to any of the previous nannies was that they were stuck in a tug-of-war—”

  An earsplitting scream shattered the silence outside our bedroom. Before I could even register what it was, Jack was already leaping from the bed and running toward the door. “Stay here,” he said. General Lee looked up and gave a quick bark, then returned his head to the mattress. A quick yip from one of the puppies brought his head back up and then, with ears pulled back, he was racing out the door like a superhero.

  “Don’t worry,” I muttered, sliding from the bed. “I’ll be fine.” I recognized the sound of someone crying—Jayne?—along with the sounds of General Lee and both puppies barking, Jack asking what was wrong, and Nola making soothing noises to the dogs to quiet them. There was no sound from the nursery—not that I expected any from JJ, and even Sarah, although probably suddenly awakened by the sound, was much too laid-back, li
ke her father, to let things ruffle her. Not willing to remain in the room any longer, I made my way to the door and peered out.

  Nola, wearing her father’s old college football jersey, stood with a puppy under each arm, staring helplessly at the scene in front of her. Jayne was crouched over something on the hallway carpet runner, sobbing hysterically, and Jack—shirtless, I noticed—had his arm around her, trying to draw her to him.

  A tingling on my scalp drew my eyes down the corridor, where a black shadow, human shaped but wider and taller than any human I’d seen, crept along the wall, growing larger as it made its way toward Jayne’s open bedroom door.

  I gasped, and Jayne jerked her head up in time to see the black mass reach her doorframe, the shadow thrown from the streetlights’ shining through the downstairs windows, elongating it over the wallpaper like a vengeful bat.

  And then I couldn’t see it at all, although I could feel it. Could feel the cool air in the upstairs corridor, could smell the rotting scent of mold. I reached up and flipped the light switch, and all that was left was Jayne with tears streaking down her face and wearing only a thin nightgown, and my shirtless husband with his arms around her trying to offer words of comfort.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. There was a lot wrong with this particular scene, but I was pretty sure I was the only one noticing that part of it.

  “The night-light,” Jayne sobbed. “Somebody pulled it out and smashed it.”

  I stepped closer and I immediately felt a sharp stab in my big toe. Lifting my leg, I saw what remained of the small, clear lightbulb that had been happily burning in the pretty plastic flower night-light when we went to bed. It was pulverized now, as if a large and heavy shoe had trampled on it, mashing it into the rug.

  Stepping back and placing my weight on my heels, I said, “How did that happen?”

  I felt Nola and Jack staring at me, but I ignored them, meeting Jayne’s gaze instead.

  She sniffed. “I might have done it accidentally. I wasn’t sure if it was on, so I came out into the dark hallway to check on it. I might have panicked and then somehow knocked it out of the socket and stomped on it. I’m usually pretty controlled, even when I’m scared, but I think it’s because this is still a new house to me. . . .” Her voice trailed off as she studied the pulverized bulb and night-light.

  “We can get you a new one tomorrow,” I said before turning toward the nursery. “I’m going to go check on the babies.” And I did want to check on them. There had been something in the upstairs hallway, a dark, foreboding shadow that I was pretty sure had been the same presence I’d sensed the day the girls opened the Ouija board and Meghan Black felt something cold and disturbing in the cistern. But I also needed to step away to regain my composure and confidence that had somehow taken a severe beating at the sight of shirtless Jack with our nanny.

  I flipped on the small lamp in the nursery, the one that threw images of pink and blue elephants along the wall, then went to check on the babies. I was confused at first before remembering the new placement of the cribs. It did work better, giving more space in the middle of the floor for toys and blocks. But I hated it right now, if only because it hadn’t come from me.

  I peered into JJ’s crib, where he lay on his back with all four limbs splayed wide, his head to the side so his thumb could rest comfortably against the mattress while he sucked it. He smiled in his sleep and it made my heart squeeze with love for this happy little boy. Amelia had said that when a baby smiled in his sleep, it meant he was talking with the angels. I could certainly believe that, although I wouldn’t have been surprised if the angels were joined by others for a big old family reunion.

  I pulled the baby blanket over him, knowing he’d soon kick it off, then turned to Sarah’s crib.

  “Mamamamamama.”

  Sarah’s eyes met mine as I leaned down to pick her up. There was nothing like a sleep-warmed baby in footie pajamas pressed against your chest, your nose buried in downlike hair that smelled of baby shampoo.

  “Hello, sweet one,” I cooed.

  “Mamamamama,” she babbled again, and I held her a little tighter. Jack and Jayne had both pointed out that M was an easy consonant for children to say, which was why an M word was usually the first word uttered and that babies as young as JJ and Sarah might not necessarily be referring to me when they said “Mama”—not that JJ had done so, but one assumed it would happen soon.

  Still, I liked to think that Sarah knew who I was and was calling me by name. I held her close and started to sway, and even considered singing, but thought twice about it because I was afraid it might make her cry. I spun gently and felt her relax in my arms, until I became aware of the soft scent of roses permeating the room.

  Sarah’s head jerked back and she seemed to be staring at something behind my shoulder. She reached out her hand, then smiled. “Mamamamama.”

  “Louisa?” I whispered to the empty corner, but whatever it was had gone, leaving behind only the lingering aroma of roses and a sense of matronly warmth and safety.

  I was wrestling with a produce bag at the Harris Teeter on East Bay the following Saturday when I heard my name being called. Mrs. Houlihan was at a family wedding, which was why I was doing the food shopping, and it was Jayne’s day off, which was why I had both children in the buggy. So when I recognized the voice calling me, I cursed both the housekeeper and nanny for leaving me in this predicament. It was a lot harder to escape from a grocery store lugging two small children and a diaper bag than if I’d been by myself. I knew this because in my single days I’d done it more than once to avoid awkward situations.

  “Hello, Rebecca,” I said without warmth. She wore pink yoga tights and a matching jacket, and she carried her dog, Pucci—General Lee’s baby mama—in a little pouch she wore on her chest. “I didn’t know they allowed dogs in grocery stores,” I said pointedly.

  “Oh, they don’t. But I can’t bear to be separated from my baby, so I had her certified as an emotional support animal so she can go with me everywhere.”

  “How lucky for the general population,” I said.

  She reached over the babies and gave them each a quick pat on the head as if they were animals. Animals that might bite. “Hello there, little children,” she said in a way that made me hope she’d stick to dogs and never have actual children of her own.

  “Say hello to Cousin Rebecca,” I said, trying to be polite. JJ gurgled and reached for her blond hair while Sarah burped. I hadn’t trained her to do that, but I was just as proud nonetheless.

  “They’re so adorable,” Rebecca said. “They look just like Jack, don’t they? Lucky for them.”

  I pretended it was meant as a compliment and just smiled. “Well, it was good seeing you, but I only have a small window before JJ wants to be fed. . . .”

  “We haven’t received your RSVP for the big party yet. I hope it didn’t get lost in the mail.”

  The invitation remained on the kitchen counter as the subject of much conversation—mostly by Mrs. Houlihan, who needed her counter space. I’d told Jack I didn’t want to go but would go if it was important to him. He’d have to be the one to pick up the phone and call, however. Which was why it had remained untouched on the counter.

  I forced a smile. “Yes, well, we’ve got such full calendars. We’re trying to juggle a few things to create an opening, but we’ll let you know.”

  “Marc’s publisher is going all out. There’s going to be a live band playing twenties music, and a full bar and great food.” She leaned toward me conspiratorially. “We’re going to make a big announcement and we’re really hoping that you and Jack will be there to share the good news with us. Because we’re family.”

  JJ chose that moment to fill his diaper in a loud and malodorous way, making me more proud of him than if he’d graduated from Harvard Law as a baby. Rebecca stepped back, waving her hand in front of her face. Even Pucci g
ave a little bark of protest.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I really need to get home. . . .”

  Holding her finger under her nose, Rebecca said, “I met your new nanny—Jayne, is it?”

  I sighed, knowing she would have left already if she didn’t have more on her agenda. “Yes. Jayne Smith. She’s really wonderful. The children love her and she seems to be fitting in quite well.”

  “I’d say so. I saw her and Jack with the children at Waterfront Park last week. They appeared to be having lunch at the fountain and having a grand old time. They looked very cozy,” she said, watching me closely.

  I smiled my biggest smile. “Yes, like I said, we all love her. She’s a great fit.”

  She didn’t take her eyes from me. “I hear she’s inherited the old Pinckney mansion on South Battery. I wonder how your mother feels about that.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, moving closer to Sarah because JJ’s diaper was making my eyes burn. “Because Button Pinckney and my mother were such good friends?”

  “Well, that. And the fact that she was madly in love with Sumter Pinckney. My mother said that Ginette expected to marry him and was brokenhearted when he chose Anna Hasell instead.”

  I waved my hand at her dismissively. “It was more like a schoolgirl crush. Your mother must be remembering incorrectly.” Before she could say anything else, I tossed the unopenable plastic produce bag on top of the heirloom tomatoes and began moving my buggy away. “I really need to go now. Please give your mother my best.”

  “Don’t forget to RSVP,” she called out after me, but I pretended I hadn’t heard.

  I left the buggy half-filled with groceries and carried the children out to the car, deciding it wasn’t too cold to open the windows in the car for the short drive home. Several times I reached for the Bluetooth button on my steering wheel to call my mother and ask her about Sumter Pinckney, but each time I let my hand drop, not sure if I really wanted to know the answer.