Breaking the Chain (2 page)

             
           
             
             
             
             
             
2
             

             
Jack jerked to an upright position in the bed, his heart pounding. Sweat poured from every
orifice body, and his nightshirt was soaked.
             
"Jack, what's wrong?" Mary struggled to a sitting position, switched on the bedside lamp. "Are you sick? You're as pale as a ghost." She reached across and rested the palm of her hand against his forehead. "You don't feel like you have a fever..."
             
"It's nothing; just a bad dream." He shrugged free and slipped off the bed. "Go back to sleep. I'm going downstairs to get a drink of water."
             
Perplexed by his attitude, she remained in bed. This was the third night in a row he'd woken from a sound sleep, drenched in sweat. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear he was having nightmares.
             
Memories of forgotten terrors surfaced from her subconscious. Jack knew about the terrible dreams she'd had prior to their marriage. Had her disclosure of the gory details triggered similar dreams for him? Icy fingers of panic tightened around her heart, sending blood rushing through her veins. Please, God, no. Please don't let that be happening. Hadn't she suffered enough? Shuddering, she swung her feet over the side of the bed, grabbed her robe, and bounded down the stairs.
             
Jack stood in the drawing room, sipping a glass of whiskey. She placed a hand on his arm. "Jack, something's bothering you. I can tell. Won't you please tell me what's going on? Whatever it is, we can work it out together."
             
"It's nothing, Mary. Just pre-opening jitters. We've sunk a lot of money into this place, and I'm just a little nervous about the grand opening. That's all."
             
Disappointed with his answer, she swallowed the lump in her throat and decided to press the issue. He couldn't go on like this. "Jack, you're not having nightmares about this house, are you? Like...like I used to have?"
             
He draped an arm around her shoulders, squeezed her close. "I'm not having nightmares about this house. That's the truth." Releasing her, he walked over to the doorway. "I'm ready to go back to bed. Are you coming?"
             
Uncertain, she hovered in the middle of the room. He sounded sincere enough, but...
             
"Well?" He glanced at the grandfather clock on the wall. "It's almost three and we have a delivery van coming at eight. That doesn't leave much time for sleep."
             
She pasted a smile on her face and joined him in the hallway. It was obvious he wasn't ready to talk about whatever was bothering him, and she knew better than to force the issue further. "Okay. Will you get the light?"
             
He nodded and waited until she reached the top of the stairs before switching off the light. He hated lying to her, but the truth was bound to make her a nervous wreck. Besides, he hadn't been lying when he said his nightmares weren't about the house. A sigh escaped his lips. If only they had been.

* * * * *
 

             
Some things never change, Mary thought as she watched her aunt deplane from the private jet. Elizavon was still as thin as a rail, and her gray hair framed a face devoid of makeup. Dressed in a purple silk traveling suit, she reminded Mary of a dried up old prune that had been left out in the sun too long. Had the old woman ever resembled a plump, juicy plum, full of promise?
             
"What on earth were you doing, waiting for a gilded invitation to come and pick me up?" Elizavon complained.
             
"Hello, Aunt Elizavon. It's good to see you. How was your flight?"
             
The old woman sniffed and adjusted her glasses. "Terrible, thanks to that useless pilot of mine. Worst flight I've ever been on." She shook a slender finger at the baggage man. "Make sure you don't damage any of those bags when you take them out. That's expensive luggage, made from the finest leather money can buy. If anything gets damaged, you're going to pay for it. You understand me, boy?"
             
How could Elizavon be so rude? Mary mouthed the words "I'm sorry" to the porter as he placed the bags into the trunk, and he patted her shoulder in sympathy. When he finished, she handed him a ten-dollar tip. At least that would make up for the awful things Elizavon had said.
             
"You didn't give him a tip, did you?" Elizavon asked as Mary closed the driver's door. "Because if you did, it's coming out of your money, not mine."
             
"There's no problem, Aunt Elizavon. I didn't mind giving him a tip. He was very careful with your luggage."
             
The old woman grunted and adjusted her seatbelt. "Where's that man--what's his name?"
             
"Jack's back at the plantation, taking care of some last minute jobs."
             
"You going to marry him?"
             
"We were married eight months ago. Didn't you get my letter?"
             
"Wasn't that kind of sudden? Didn't his wife die not too long ago? Are you sure he didn't speed her trip to the grave?"
             
Enough already! Mary gritted her teeth, pulled the car over to the side of the road, and turned to face her aunt. "Look, Aunt Elizavon. Let's get something straight right now. I don't give a damn what you say about me, but you are not going to make snide remarks about either Jack or his late wife, Audrey. We didn't get married until ten months after she died, which is more than a decent interval. Besides, if she hadn't gotten sick, Audrey told me she and Jack would have gotten a divorce. The fact that he stayed with her once she got sick, instead of leaving her to cope with a terminal illness alone, makes him pretty special in my book. I don't want you saying anything mean or hateful to or about him. Is that clear? Because if you have a problem with that, you can just go back to Boston right now. I love Jack with all my heart, and I won't tolerate you or anybody else making snide remarks about him."
             
Elizavon's face was a study in shocked surprise. When she remained quiet, Mary pressed for an answer. "It's up to you, Aunt Elizavon. Do we go on to the plantation, or do I drive you back to the airport?"
             
Elizavon's eyes widened for a moment, then her glance shifted to the window. "You watch your tongue, young lady. Don't get uppity with me. You just remember that if it hadn't been for me, you'd never have had your chance to run that plantation as a bed and breakfast."
             
Mary figured that was about the closest thing to an apology she was going to get, so she patted the old woman's bony hand and pulled the car back onto the road. As they neared the house, her excitement grew. "I can't wait for you to see the house. It's gorgeous. The workers did a fabulous restoration job."
             
"Humph. I'll make my own decision about the workmanship after I've seen the house, thank you. How much over budget did the restoration go? Seems to me that you must've forgotten to send some of the bills to the accountant. What were you planning to do, spring them on me when I got here and say you got them late?"
             
Ahhhhhh, now we come to the real point of her aunt's visit. Mary felt her lips curve into a smirk and tried to school them back into a frown. She'd been waiting for Elizavon to bring up the subject of money. "The restoration didn't cost as much as we thought. We were able to salvage a lot of the original wood, including the banister and a lot of the interior pieces, so it wasn't as expensive as it could have been. I even managed to convince some of the vendors to give us a big discount on the stuff we bought locally. This job was finished on time and under budget. What do you think about that?"
             
A ghost of a smile hovered around the old woman's reed-thin lips, then disappeared. "We'll see how much of a bargain you got, young lady, once I inspect everything."
             
The image of the plantation loomed in the distance and Mary's heart raced in anticipation. "Close your eyes, Aunt Elizavon. Please. I don't want you to see the house until we get there. That way it'll be a wonderful surprise."
             
"I'll keep my eyes open, thank you."
             
"Very well, have it your own way. But wait until you see how beautiful it is. I still can't believe it's the same house!" She heard Elizavon's swift intake of breath as they turned onto the drive and the front of the house came into view. The car slowed to a crawl as they entered the circular driveway and stopped in front of the entry doors.
             
The look on Elizavon's face was all the reward Mary needed. The old woman's mouth hung slightly open and her eyes remained fixed on the front of the house. Moments later she blinked, and her customary frown slipped back into place.
             
"Well, are you going to unlatch the seatbelt for me, or do I have to sit here all day, waiting to be let out of this car?"
             
Mary grinned, then reached over and pressed the release button. "There you go, Aunt Elizavon. You're free at last."
             
Jack stepped onto the porch, arms extended in a wide welcome. "Welcome to the Blue Moon Inn, Ms. Phelps. How was your trip?"
             
"Fine," Elizavon answered, eyeing the front of the house. She shook her arm free of his grasp. "I want to see the rest of the house. Now."
             
"Well, it certainly looks different from the last time you were here." Behind her back he gave Mary the 'thumbs up' sign and tucked Elizavon's gnarled fingers around his forearm. "I'll be honored to give you the grand tour."
             
Mary expelled the breath she'd been holding. At least he'd gotten off to a good start with her aunt. Maybe the success of the restoration job would keep Elizavon in a better temperament than usual. Jack and her aunt were like oil and water--they just didn't mix. If she was lucky, he'd remember not to rise to any of the old woman's barbs and they could co-exist for a couple of days without killing each other. He'd better, because she had more than enough to keep her occupied without having to referee a war of words between her husband and her aunt.
             
She opened the trunk and removed Elizavon's bags, taking care not to snag them on any sharp edges. The caramel-colored leather gleamed in the late afternoon sunshine, and she marveled at the soft feel of the handles beneath her fingers. Well, Elizavon had been right about one thing. She sure knew how to pick a good leather suitcase.

3
             
 

             
The tap, tap, tap of Sadie's ebony cane as it made contact with the cement sidewalk broke the stillness of the early morning.
             
"Watch out for the cracks," Justine cautioned as she locked the door behind her. "If you wait a minute I'll help you to the car, but first I have to carry our bags out so the driver can put them in the trunk."
             
A gnarled, misshapen hand waved through the air. "I can make it," Sadie called out in a raspy voice as she continued her peculiar shuffle toward the waiting taxi.
             
Justine checked the deadbolt one last time, grabbed a suitcase with each hand, and hurried to the curb. As she passed her elderly friend, she called out, "Are you sure you have everything?"
             
"I brung everything I need," Sadie said, clutching her tattered black shawl closer to her non-existent bosom. "I done told you that three times. Don't ask me again."
             
Justine watched as the frail, gray-headed black woman adjusted the lumpy gray sack she carried under one arm, then started forward. Poor Sadie. A wheelchair would have made her life so much easier, but she was too stubborn to admit the need for one.
             
The taxi door groaned and creaked as it closed. "Well, that's everything. I guess we're ready to leave," she said.
             
"Sorry about the door," the driver said. "I keep meaning to grease the hinges, but I always forget. Where to, ladies?"
             
Sadie's eyes narrowed to two black slits. "Bus station."
             
Justine tapped him on the shoulder. "Could you please take us to the station as quickly as possible? Our bus leaves in forty-five minutes, and we don't want to miss it. If we do, we'll have to wait four hours for the next one."
             
He nodded and the taxi shot forward.
             
Justine watched his eyes dart to the rear view mirror, then slide away. Her polite smile turned into a disapproving scowl when she realized he was making a comparison. So what if she was white and Sadie black? What difference did that make--not that it was any of his business.
She sighed, wishing for the thousandth time that Sadie would've at least let her iron the rumpled skirt and shirt she wore. Stained and ripped in several places, her clothes looked like she'd wrestled a dog for them and lost. She glanced down at her own immaculate travelling suit and smoothed away an imaginary wrinkle. Well, the driver could stare all he wanted. It wasn't any of his business and she wasn't about to offer any explanations.
             
When they reached the station, he carried their luggage to the check-in counter. "Well, ladies, looks like you made in just in time." He gestured to a bus some fifty feet away. "That's your ride over there. Unless I'm mistaken, they're starting to load the baggage."
             
Justine breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for getting us here on time. How much do I owe you?"
             
"Ten dollars even." His fat, hairy fingers tapped her arm. "I'm sorry, but I gotta ask why on earth an attractive woman like you is travelling with that awful old hag," he whispered, pointing at Sadie. "She looks like she just got out of a dumpster," he commented in a disgusted voice. He glanced at the small gray sack Sadie still clutched in one hand. "I don't know what she's got in that bag, but it smells like something crawled up in there and died." His lips parted to reveal gapped, yellow-brown teeth. "You want me to grab that and throw it in the trash?"
             
Justine favored the man with an ice-cold stare and shook her hand free. "I'll have you know, sir, that that woman happens to be my closest friend, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't make rude comments about her."
             
His mouth fell open as she stuck a ten-dollar bill into his hand and turned away. He didn't say anything else, but she could feel his eyes boring a hole in the center of her back. When they were allowed to board the bus, she made sure they selected seats on the aisle away from the ticket counter.
             
The bus creaked and groaned as they pulled onto the freeway. Echoes of dismay rippled among the passengers when the driver's rough shifting nearly jarred them out of their seats. Justine prayed that he'd find a steady speed before she threw up from the constant shaking. She tried to find a more comfortable position, then gave up. It was a
toss-up
between broken springs poking her in the hip or the bulge in the back of her seat causing a cramp across one shoulder. She chose the cramp and forced herself to relax.
             
When the bus ceased its spasmodic lurches, she sneaked a glance at her companion. Sadie sat motionless, eyes shut. Unwilling to disturb her friend, she leaned back and closed her eyes. This was a trip she'd been both anxious and afraid to make. After fifteen long months, they were going back to St. Francisville.
             
She wondered who'd bought the old plantation they'd lived in for so long, and if it had been torn down or restored. Maybe she and Sadie would have time to drive by and see what had happened to their old home. Tears glistened in her eyes and she wiped them away. The small house her son had purchased for her didn't seem like home and probably never would. It was as if she'd left a big part of herself behind at the plantation, having lived there for so long as Mr. Ventereux's housekeeper. She longed to walk through the house, to feel its comforting presence, if only for one last time.
             
Her heart skipped a beat when cold fingers wrapped themselves around her wrist.
             
"Don't you fret none, Justine. You gonna be all right. I done seen it," Sadie announced, patting her hand. "I done seen the signs."
             
More disturbed than ever, Justine wondered, not for the first time, if going back was such a good idea after all. Sadie had been restless for several weeks, and had begun to have 'visions' once more. That, more than anything, had prompted their trip. Usually Sadie shared bits and pieces of her visions, but this time all she would say was that she needed to go back home to St. Francisville.
             
Twenty minutes after they arrived, Justine unlocked the door to their hotel room and motioned for the porter to bring in their bags. Sadie perched on the edge of the bed nearest the window, withdrew the gray sack from under her arm, and positioned it in the palm of her outstretched hand. Cocking her head to one side, she swayed back and forth.
             
Justine's concern increased with every minute that passed. Was Sadie having another vision?
             
Sadie jerked upright, eyes
wide-open
, mouth ajar. Violent spasms racked her body, then all motion stopped. She blinked a few times, stood up, and turned to Justine. "I'm ready," she announced. "I gotta get to the graveyard soon, afore something bad happens. Spirits done summoned me." She started for the door. "I'm going now."
             
Justine glanced out the window. "It'll be dark soon. Can't this wait until morning? Aren't you tired after that long ride?"
             
"Can't wait none, Justine. I gotta get to the graveyard today," Sadie demanded, slapping her hand against the dresser. In defiance of Justine's suggestion, she jutted her chin forward and reached for the doorknob.
             
Justine knew better than to argue with the old woman when she was in this kind of a mood. If she didn't go with her, Sadie was apt to go by herself and get into God knows what kind of trouble. She might as well give in and get it over with. She arranged for a taxi to meet them downstairs. When the cab rolled to a halt in front of the cemetery's wrought-iron gates, she asked the driver to please wait for their return and tucked a twenty-dollar bill into his hand to ensure that he stayed put.
             
"You aren't gonna be long, are you?" he asked, fingering the money. "It's gonna get dark soon, and I don't want to be nowhere around here after dark."
             
She shook her head. "This won't take long. Please, wait for us."
             
He studied her face for a few moments, then glanced at his watch. "Tell you what. It's six thirty now; I'll wait until seven. If you ain't back by then, I'll honk my horn a couple a times, and wait a few more minutes. If you don't come out right away, I'm gonna leave."
             
"We'll be back before then," she promised.
             
Sadie had already disappeared and she hurried to find her. Together the two elderly women made their way through the weeds and brambles to the older section of the graveyard. Sadie paused in front of a row of cracked, paint-smeared gravesites. Whispering, she opened the gray sack she'd brought with her and emptied the contents onto the narrow ledge of the
aboveground
tomb. The sound of her chants filled the air as she stretched her arms upwards and swayed to her own rhythm for several minutes, then collapsed to the ground, shaking uncontrollably.
             
Justine watched and waited in silence until her friend finally stood up. The vision was over, but Sadie'd seen it. No doubt about that. In silence, they started back. She was curious about Sadie's vision, but knew better than invoke the voodoo priestess' wrath by asking questions.
             
Sadie said nothing as they entered their hotel room. While Justine unpacked, she hobbled over to the window and stared into the dark night.
             
Justine could stand the silence no longer. "Well," she prompted. "What did you see?"
             
Sadie's dark face paled and her hands shook. "Death," she announced in a hoarse whisper. "I seen my death."
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
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