Harbinger in the Mist (Arms of Serendipity) (2 page)

When she returned 10 minutes later, her mother was in tears and her Gramma was apologizing profusely. The heart monitor was beating rapidly and the red line zigzagging across the screen frantically.

“I am so…. so … sorry, honey.  I can’t – ”  The machine flat-lined before she could finish the sentence. Lindsey dropped the Styrofoam cup, splattering the hot mochiatto across the white linoleum floor.

Aimee, being a nurse, jumped up and hit a button on the wall. Before she finished speaking some very technical terms into the speaker, the room was flooded with men and women in scrubs. Lindsey had backed against the wall and crumpled.

The reverie was interrupted as the small crowd stood and pallbearers lifted Gramma’s casket.  She spared one final glance at the angel in the window. “If there is a God, please ask him to help me understand,” she mumbled to him before she turned and followed the sad progression to the graveyard.

Not wanting to see the interment, Lindsey lagged behind in the church courtyard.  Beyond the black-clad procession, she could see headstones lining the hill to the side of the brick building. Several children, unaware that they were supposed to suppress their happiness, were playing tag at the bottom of the hill, reveling in the warm breeze. Their laughter rolled on the perfumed zephyr; a magic tinkling that epitomized the coming of summer.

Lindsey sat on the hood of her mother’s car and plucked a flower from the dogwood tree overhead. She picked at the petals and watched as another vehicle turned into the parking lot.  A tall, black man stepped from the car and leaned against it until the service was over and Aimee made her way back toward the church.  The man approached her, shook her hand, and handed her a large, manila envelope. They moved to one side, speaking for only a few minutes. When he retreated back to his car, Aimee removed the documents with shaking hands. Her scream of despair echoed across the landscape. As friends ran to her aid, she stuffed the papers back into the envelope.

Lindsey studied her mom closely; the look on her face worried her. Even upset like this, Aimee was still pretty. She certainly didn’t look like she was in her late 30’s. In all honesty, she looked more like Lindsey’s sister than her mother. They were both slender and short – only 5-foot-2, with long hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. They were both attractive, too, but their incredibly shy natures tended to make people think them snobbish. The only noticeable difference between the two was in the color of their hair – her mom’s was naturally blonde, but Lindsey had inherited her dad’s deep chestnut locks.

That’s about all she got from him. 

“Lindsey, I think we’re going to be moving,” Aimee muttered, interrupting her thoughts.  “Fairly soon, too.”

Lindsey’s heart sank. Had Gramma not added them to the lease? Or had they forgotten to pay the rent with the rapid health decline drama over the past few weeks? Had they just been evicted? The look on her mom’s face was unreadable, though, as she scanned the front of the envelope. When Aimee finally looked up, there were tears in her eyes.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“I … we inherited a house. In South Carolina. And if we don’t … want it, we can sell it. Evidentially it’s worth quite a bit of money. We could go anywhere we want. Get out of this hell-hole; go somewhere sunny, somewhere with palm trees. It’s not like we have much tying us here anymore.”

“I don’t understand. Who do we know in South Carolina that would leave us a house? For that matter, who do we know in South Carolina at all?”

Aimee rubbed her face with her hands and took a deep breath.  “My mother.”

“But I thought she was from South Bend.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Tears began streaking down Aimee’s cheeks in earnest.

As they drove away, Lindsey glanced back at the church. The angel in the window was nothing more than a black figure standing ominously in the background.

Two

Charleston, South Carolina

Lindsey was tired and hungry. The flight from Indianapolis hadn't taken very long since it was a rare, direct flight, but they had left their little house at 7 a.m. to make it to the airport on time. The drive from Bremen had taken more than two-hours – two
long
hours down U.S. 31 South, a highway that runs from Northern Michigan to Southern Alabama. The 100 mile stretch between home and Indy was a mostly barren stretch of asphalt that ran through some of the most rural and sometimes speed-trapped areas of the Hoosier state. 

She had begged her mom to stop for breakfast, but the line at Burger King was wrapped around the building. Aimee was stressing over the time and offered Lindsey a protein bar as a substitute for the sausage, egg, and cheese croissant she’d wanted.

If that wasn’t bad enough, they had hit every single red light in Kokomo. Lindsey tried to sleep during the tedious drive, but her mom kept yapping about everything that came to mind. Aimee tended to chatter when she was nervous, so she’d stayed awake and kept her mom company, commenting when appropriate and trying her best to be calming and supportive.

But now it was well after lunchtime and, according to the GPS, they still had another hour-long drive ahead of them. Add in the hot air and humidity that slapped her in the face when they stepped out of the airport, and Lindsey’s ability to fake anything else was growing very thin.

“Can we
please
stop at the first drive through we see, Mom?” Lindsey asked, stifling a yawn and interrupting Aimee’s muttering of comments about the heat. “I’m starving.”

“Sure, hon. But we have to be quick. I’m not sure about where we are going and I don’t want to run the risk of being late.”

Lindsey nodded her head, popped her ear bud in, and cranked up the volume on her MP3 player. Once music was sufficiently blaring in her ears, she opened the AC vents and turned the air conditioning on full blast. Finally, she tucked her purse between the side of her head and the window. The rocking of the car, the rhythm of the music, and the cool air blowing over her face and neck lulled her to sleep.

Half an hour later, she felt her mom pulling at her ear buds. “Linds. Lindsey. We’re at McDonald’s. Do you still want to grab some food?”

Lindsey slowly opened her eyes and focused on her mom. For a moment she was confused about where they were. She blinked several times to moisten the contacts that were stuck to her eye lids and stretched her arms.

“Are you still hungry? Or would you rather sleep while I keep driving?”

“Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

They parked the car and went into the large fast food restaurant seated at the corner of a major intersection. Aimee went to the bathroom while Lindsey stood in line behind several people who, based on how they kept checking their watches, were their lunch breaks. When it was her turn, she ordered for the two of them and took the tray to a booth near the door.

Aimee sat down, shaking her hands vigorously to dry them. “They don’t have a single paper towel in that bathroom!” She patted them on her pants and grabbed a French fry. She dipped it in one of the little paper cups of ketchup on their tray and raised an eyebrow at the red box with the yellow handles sitting in front of Lindsey. “A Happy Meal? Really? How old are you again?”

“Yes, really.” Lindsey pulled the plastic bag containing the toy out of her box and stuck it in her purse. Aimee grinned at her, but at least she didn’t laugh. “Quit making fun of my lunch. It’s the perfect size for me. Now, how much longer until we're there?”

“Oh, about another 40 minutes or so.” Aimee pulled the road maps she’d printed last night from her bag and plopped them on the table. She pointed out the road in front of the restaurant, “We follow this road for like 25 miles before turning onto, oh where is it? Here, Highway 64, for another 15 miles or so. Then we look for St. Peter's Road. It's just outside of the town of Walterboro. It looks like another pretty barren stretch of roads, too. So if you got to pee, I'd do it while we're here.”

“Nah. I went at the airport. I think I'll be OK.”

“Well, OK, suit yourself. But don’t blame me if we have to stop on the side of the road and you end up with poison ivy on your butt. I don’t care if I’m your mother or a nurse; I am so
not
rubbing cream on that for you.”

Not liking the idea of actually having to bare her bottom on the side of the road, Lindsey went to the bathroom when they’d finished eating.  In the car, Aimee started sifting through a handful of brochures that she’d plucked from the little wooden case by the door of the restaurant.

“Look at these. I was already thinking that we could check out the beach this evening; maybe get some fresh seafood before we have to go back to Green Acres on Sunday. Look at all this stuff. There will definitely be lots to do if we really move down here. Look, they have an aquarium. And, ooh, a serpentarium.” She tucked two of the pamphlets in the sun visor. “Oh, and doesn’t this look spooky?”

Lindsey looked at the flyer her mom handed over. A zombie-like woman stared back at her with white, vacant eyes. She read the details out loud. “It says, ‘
Come join Colonial Walking Tours and take Charleston’s original ghost hunt walking tour by candle light. Adults only, reservations required. Murder, suicide, hanged pirates, voodoo curses, alleyway duels, dungeons and jails, graveyards. This unique tour takes you through historic Charleston’s most infamous haunted locations. In the tranquility of the night your guide explains the unearthly details of haunted Charleston! Will you see a roaming spirit, poltergeist, or ghost? Join us for an adventure into the unknown!
’ Wow mom, that’s crazy neat. I don’t believe the dead walk the earth but I love a good scary story.  It’s $13 a person and runs from seven until nine in the evening.”

“Me, neither, but we should
definitely
do that. You never know, though. This area had some amazing history and if we’re going to find a genuinely haunted place, it’d be down here.”

Aimee took the brochure back and tucked it in the visor with the other two. She turned the ignition and handed the rest of the pile to Lindsey as she turned onto the highway. Lindsey flipped through the stack silently. There was an exhibit for the Hunley (“
the World’s First successful Combat Submarine
”) and a lot of historic gardens, homes, and landmarks – Boone Hall Plantation & Gardens (“
America’s most photographed plantation!
”), Charles Towne Landing State Historic site, Fort Sumter, Cypress Gardens, and Magnolia Plantation & Gardens. Gardens, gardens, gardens… they were all lovely and calming, but Lindsey certainly didn’t come here to see more greenery.

As she stuffed the pamphlets in the glove box, the maps her mother had printed fell out into the car floor. As she picked them up, Lindsey noticed the paper work on the house. One of which showed an image of the house with list of details about it; this was clearly workup meant to help a realtor sell the property. Her eyes scanned back to the grainy black-and-white picture. The peaceful face of the antique house stared back at her from below the law firm’s letterhead. A large set of steps, wider at the bottom than at the top, was flanked on each side by flowering bushes and plants. It led up to a porch that spanned the entire front of the house. Six large columns, three on each side of the stairs, stretch from the porch up to the awning two stories above. The balusters in the railing appeared to be intricately carved with vines and flowers. The house really was beautiful – it looked like a prop from
Gone with the Wind
. Although it was much smaller than Tara, it still held certain regalness about it. Or, as the locals were sure to call it, pure Southern charm.

MARLA RAE RETREAT HOUSE

Specifications:

•         Appraised at $750,000 (February 2008)

•         Listed on National Register of Historic Places

•         True Antebellum structure; built 1851

•         Complete interior structural renovation in 1972 (approved through State Historic Preservation Office) including new wiring, plumbing, and the addition of three bathrooms.

•         Appliances and fixtures updated in 1999

•         5 bedrooms (twin master suites) / 4 baths

•         Hardwood floors throughout

•         12-foot ceilings

•         2,500 total square feet

•         Historic servant housing on property; Can be used for storage. (Will need to be brought to code if used for guest accommodations.)

•         5 acres of land on ACE Basin

“Mom, I’m going along with this without any protest, but I need to know what’s going on. What did Gramma say to you before she died? Why did she leave us this house? Why didn’t she ever mention that she was from down there or that she owned a place like this? What is it that you’re not telling me?”

Aimee sighed. “I can’t – not now. But I will … I just have to ask you to trust me.”

They rode silently for a several long minutes, both lost in thought.