Flashback Page 4

  “It sounds like a complex process,” Laura said. “I don’t know if I could ever understand it.”

  “Don’t worry. Charlie will teach you all you need to know,” Roger assured her.

  Laura’s stomach churned. “I see.”

  In truth, she only wanted to understand it as far as she absolutely had to. Even before she’d heard of the Word of Wisdom, she’d considered smoking to be a filthy, terrible habit, and based on what she’d heard, the tobacco industry wasn’t exactly squeaky clean either. In a way, she was surprised places like Buford’s Bluff still existed, and she wondered again why she was even here. Part of it was the money of course—having that kind of money offered protection. But Laura felt guilty that the money came from tobacco, from selling something that caused irreparable harm to others. Sighing to herself, Laura decided she would stay at Buford’s Bluff for the required three years, sell the place, and buy a nice house in the St. Louis suburbs, a place with a security gate. She would also donate a substantial amount of money to help fund research into cancer and heart disease, in memory of her parents and her aunt.

  The other less obvious but even more compelling reason for coming to Virginia was curiosity. She wanted to know why her parents left Virginia, since she knew there had to be more to it than employment. And it was like Megan said: perhaps she could learn something about herself here by learning about her family.

  “There she is,” Roger exclaimed, slowing the car as they came up the hill.

  Looking up, Laura gasped. This couldn’t be her house, yet it was—or would be if she could stick it out long enough. As she studied the beautiful white-columned mansion crowning the hill like a Greek temple, her pulse quickened. The front porch faced the river, and Laura made out the faint outlines of furniture on the porch—she suspected wicker. She could imagine sitting there in the evenings, looking out across the gracious lawns sloping south to the water.

  “Do you like what you see?”

  “Oh, yes,” Laura affirmed. “I can almost see Scarlett O’Hara standing on that porch.”

  Roger laughed. “Well, I’m afraid you won’t find Rhett Butler waiting for you at the house—just Agnes, the housekeeper and cook, and old George, the gardener and handyman. They’re the only staff left. Your aunt used to have an entire team, but she cut back several years ago. By then, I think the servants bothered her more than they helped her. She said that in old age, one only has time for the ultimate simplicities.”

  Laura’s stomach flip-flopped, and perspiration broke out on her forehead. She’d never had anyone work for her, and she had no idea how to act around so-called servants. She wondered why were they still at the mansion, since no one had lived there since her aunt died. Maybe they come with the place, Laura thought with a mental groan. Oh, what will I say to them? I don’t want to order them around!

  As if he could read her thoughts, Roger advised, “Don’t worry, Laurie. Agnes and George are like family, and they’ll treat you with the same respect they did your aunt.”

  Laura didn’t like being called “Laurie” by a perfect stranger; she had only allowed her father to call her that. It seemed oddly informal for Roger to use a nickname for her when they had barely just met. Perhaps he thought it would put her at ease, she thought wryly to herself.

  Low-hanging weeping willows bordered the road to the house. As the car climbed the hill from the river, willow fronds occasionally scraped against the hood. Laura made a mental note to find out if the gardener trimmed these trees or if it was hired out. If the willows kept growing they would eventually be a traffic hazard; besides that, it was a bit too dark under the trees for her liking.

  Closing her eyes, Laura could hear her heart pounding, and she noticed that her palms were wet. Great, she thought. My claustrophobia is kicking in now. As she felt warmth on her face, she opened her eyes and saw that they’d left the shadows behind. They passed a handsome stone building between the driveway and the mansion’s west side, and Laura asked, “What’s that?”

  Roger smiled. “The horse stables—Buford’s Bluff’s pride and joy.”

  “They’re huge,” Laura exclaimed.

  “Yes, they are quite large. There’s a museum inside that houses the medals and trophies your aunt’s horses have won. There’s also a spacious banquet hall for receptions and parties.”

  “In the stables?”

  Roger chuckled. “Like I said, those horses were Buford’s Bluff’s pride and joy.”

  Following the circular driveway, Roger drove around to the back of the house. Laura noticed that a small entry porch covered the back door. Just then the door opened, and a tall, stern-looking woman with a long nose came out and stood a few steps above them. She was wearing a black dress and had her black hair pulled back tightly in a bun. In spite of the dark hair, the woman looked about sixty years old. Laura realized this must be the housekeeper, Agnes. As she felt the older woman’s gaze boring through her, she wasn’t so certain she would be able to last three days here, let alone three long years. Then again, as the potential owner of Buford’s Bluff, perhaps she would be allowed to let Agnes go and hire new staff. For now, though, she would leave things as they were. After all, Agnes had probably been at Buford’s Bluff for decades, and she might have just the information Laura needed.

  6

  Roger broke the tension. “Miss Agnes Hayes, this is Laura McClain.”

  Agnes stretched out her hand, and her long, crooked fingers grasped Laura’s tightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet my new mistress,” Agnes stated in a surprisingly soft voice. Laura smiled but thought the title “mistress” seemed a bit old-fashioned.

  “I’ll have George bring your things from the car,” Agnes said, stepping aside.

  “Oh, no,” Laura returned, “I only have a few bags. I can—”

  Roger gently grabbed Laura’s arm. “George will be upset if you start doing his job for him. Let’s have Agnes show us around the place, okay?”

  Embarrassed, Laura felt her face flush. Apparently, she thought, I’ll need to learn a lot more than how to run a tobacco plantation.

  Still holding Laura’s arm, Roger guided her from the rear entryway through a dining room and into a large parlor. Victorian furniture wasn’t Laura’s favorite, but it certainly fit the style of the mansion. Roger released her arm, and Laura moved to the fireplace, her eyes transfixed by the beautiful portrait that hung over the marble mantel. Agnes stepped to Laura’s side and said quietly, “Your aunt, the late Miss Laura Buford.”

  Roger approached them and looked at Laura. “As I mentioned earlier, you do favor her.”

  Laura admired the image. Her aunt’s eyes were green, with full lashes and thick brows that matched her dark hair. She was fair-skinned, but had a rosy blush on her high cheekbones. The red lips were thin but curved upward above a slightly pointed chin. But there was more than mere beauty in Laura Buford’s features. Her countenance exuded charm and confidence, and her niece felt a flood of regret that she had never even met her.

  “Your aunt was tall and slim like you,” Roger pointed out.

  “The resemblance is remarkable,” Agnes added.

  “Such an enormous room,” Laura burst out suddenly. She walked to the glass doors that overlooked the front of the mansion. “Nice view of the river.”

  Relieved that the others had curtailed their remarks on her physical appearance, Laura turned to face the room again. She noticed several large, leather binders on a small table nearby and stepped over to investigate. Lifting the cover of one binder, she saw old black-and-white photographs. Next to this table was a lower table that held an assortment of terrariums, and Laura looked at them admiringly.

  “Your aunt loved to fiddle with those bottle gardens,” Agnes explained.

  Laura squealed involuntarily. “I actually make terrariums myself. Maybe we really are alike—I mean . . .” As her voice trailed off, she squatted and gazed through the glass at the woodland scenes with miniature pinecones, driftwood, empty shel
ls, acorns, and lichen-covered pebbles. One terrarium even featured a tiny reflecting pool made from pebbles and water. In one bottle that contained miniature animal figurines, a Venus flytrap opened its mouth wide; Laura decided her aunt definitely had a sense of humor.

  As they left the parlor and walked into the front foyer, Laura gasped. “Wow!” A colossal mahogany staircase dominated the entry, its stairs covered with an Oriental carpet. Laura bounded up the first several steps before she caught herself and turned back. “May I?”

  Roger smiled. “Why of course, my dear. It’s your house now. Or it will be before too long.”

  Agnes scowled, but Laura made up her mind to pay her no heed, remembering an experience she’d had as a new college graduate back in St. Louis.

  * * *

  Laura had arrived early for a job interview, hoping to make a good impression. But Mrs. Wilson, the principal, seemed perturbed by her appearance.

  Mrs. Wilson had stepped out of her office to speak to Laura, giving her a perfunctory glance up and down. “Miss Whittaker, the assistant principal, is conducting the interviews for the kindergarten job. She’s still at lunch and won’t be back for another fifteen minutes. You’re early.”

  As Laura took a seat near the secretary’s desk, the secretary called into Mrs. Wilson’s office on the intercom. “Mrs. Wilson, Miss Whittaker just called. She’s stuck in traffic and will be late.”

  After several seconds of silence, Mrs. Wilson came out of her office, clearly even more irritated. “That’s okay, Joyce. I think I can take care of this interview. It should only take a few minutes.”

  As a shy, socially awkward individual—at least around adults—Laura had been used to being overlooked and undervalued, but no one, to that point, had ever dismissed her with such blatant rudeness. She sensed a pending disaster as Mrs. Wilson looked at her and sighed.

  “Come into my office, young lady,” Mrs. Wilson ordered with a patronizing smile.

  Said the spider to the fly, Laura thought.

  Mrs. Wilson had been right—it took her only a few minutes to reduce Laura to mere mush. Oddly, she never could remember Mrs. Wilson’s exact words, and she told herself she’d blocked them out because the experience was so traumatic. Nevertheless, Laura did manage to hold back the tears when she walked out, and the secretary had stopped typing and given her a sympathetic glance.

  She walked out to the lobby and sat on a bench by the school’s front door, feeling numb and wondering what to do next. How would she tell her mother? She’d catch the city bus and ride around for hours trying to muster the courage to tell her. Or she could lie and say it was a good interview but that the other applicants all had several years’ experience. Of course, she didn’t want to lie, and besides that, her mother would know the truth as soon as she saw her anyway.

  Suddenly the school’s front door swung open, the rush of air blowing Laura’s hair. “Miss McClain?”

  She glanced up to see a pretty young woman standing there, her blond hair disheveled. It’d been a windy day in St. Louis.

  “Yes?” Laura responded weakly.

  “I’m sorry I’m late—there was an accident on the interstate. I’m Miss Whittaker, the assistant principal, but please just call me Jill.” Jill sat down next to her. “I suppose we could move to my office, but I would rather avoid Mrs. Wilson’s wrath, if you don’t mind.”

  Laura smiled, lacking the will or perhaps the courage to tell Jill that Mrs. Wilson had already interviewed her. She decided she would talk with Jill for a few minutes—let her go through the motions. Then she would leave and never see Jill or Mrs. Wilson again.

  It took Jill Whittaker less than twenty minutes to repair the damage inflicted by Mrs. Wilson. Jill had the rare talent to build people up, to make them feel important and needed. This time Laura remembered almost every word of their conversation. They’d discussed children, especially the struggles of inner-city children and how they needed love and acceptance as much as they needed math and reading. Laura remembered smiling and even laughing as she talked with Jill.

  A week later, when she got the call offering her the job, Laura was astounded. Apparently Miss Whitaker’s interview had won out over Mrs. Wilson’s. Soon Laura and Jill became not only coworkers but friends. Laura knew Jill’s faith was important to her, and it didn’t take Laura long to find out that Jill was LDS. This had intrigued Laura, who had heard of the LDS Church but had never personally known a “Mormon.” Laura asked Jill about the Church, and Jill was more than willing to talk about her faith. Eventually, she invited Laura to attend Sunday meetings with her, and after Laura attended for a few weeks, she decided to meet with the missionaries at Jill’s apartment.

  Laura’s mother had been leery at first, telling Laura that she didn’t trust the Mormons but not forbidding her to learn about the Church. Eventually, Sarah came to admire her daughters persistence at studying about her newfound religion and commented that Laura seemed more determined about the LDS Church than anything else she had put her mind to. Though her cancer was quite advanced at the time, Sarah even attended Laura’s baptism, and at the end of the evening, Sarah had said to Jill, “Well, if it gets Laura out of the house and meeting good people, I suppose it can’t be too bad.”

  * * *

  Laura wouldn’t let Agnes get to her the way Principal Wilson had gotten to her. She turned from Agnes and squared her shoulders as she started up the stairs, the boards creaking faintly under her feet. Agnes and Roger followed, and Laura wished they would let her explore the mansion alone.

  In the upstairs hall, Laura made her way past closed doors. Darkness engulfed the passageway, but dim light seeped from a half-moon-shaped window at the other end. It was almost like being in a cave. The wallpaper—a brown background with a nondescript lighter brown floral design—added to the somberness.

  She turned to Agnes. “Did my aunt choose this wallpaper?”

  Agnes seemed perplexed. “Why, of course she did. It is her house.”

  Roger cleared his throat. “Well, it’s your house now, Laura. If you don’t like it, you can change it to whatever you like.”

  Looking back at Agnes, Laura noted her intense frown.

  Laura hesitated. “It’s not that I don’t like it—it’s just that it seems so dark in this hall. I think a light color, a pastel, would be better.” She turned and studied the walls. “A light yellow with a floral design or something.”

  Agnes increased her pace and passed Laura, then paused at a door on the right. “This is the room we thought you would find most comfortable.” Agnes opened the door.

  Mahogany furniture filled the room, the canopy bed covered in an avocado-green bedspread with a white leaf motif. The bedspread’s fringe touched the floor, as did the fringe of the matching drapes. A dark mustard paint covered the walls. Laura didn’t like the room, but she smiled and nodded at Agnes then continued down the corridor, passing several closed doors, but abruptly stopping at the next-to-last door. “What’s in here?”

  “That is a child’s room,” Agnes said, then cleared her throat, her face suddenly red.

  Laura opened the door. The room was filled with delightful antique toys, including a dollhouse that resembled the mansion itself. Laura walked over and sat on the double bed, which was soft and covered with a chenille bedspread with pink lambs and blue trim. A simple light blue plaid wallpaper brightened the room, and it felt pleasant and comfortable.

  “Whose room was this?” Laura inquired.

  “Many children over the years,” Agnes answered with a sigh. “I believe it was your mother’s room when she was a young girl.”

  Laura gaped at Agnes, having momentarily forgotten that her mother had lived here. Of course Sarah Buford was born and raised here. Since Laura had walked into the house, she had felt her aunt’s influence. But now she could almost feel her mother’s presence.

  “I would like to stay in this room,” Laura declared.

  Agnes seemed startled. “But Laura, it’s not s
uitable.”

  It was the first time Agnes had spoken her name, and Laura could tell she did so awkwardly. Laura said nothing, and Roger looked from Laura to Agnes.

  Agnes sighed. “I’ll tell George to bring your bags to this room.”

  “Thank you,” Laura said with a smile.

  Back in the hall, Laura pointed to the last door across the hall. “What’s in there?”

  “Stairs to the attic,” Agnes replied. Laura decided to explore the attic later, when Agnes wasn’t around.

  Laura wandered to the hall’s end and glanced out the half-moon window to see a grove of trees covering the landscape in the distance. Suddenly Laura felt again like she was in a cave, but this time claustrophobia and panic gripped her. She turned and looked down the hall, then back at the half-moon window. She was having a full-blown anxiety attack, and the only way out of this place was all the way back downstairs.

  She turned toward Roger, gasping. “I have to get outside.”

  They rushed down the hall, Agnes and Roger hurrying in front with Laura scurrying behind. As they started down the stairs, terror swept over Laura, and she felt a sickening sensation in her stomach. She held to the rail, her body swaying.

  Roger glanced behind. “Are you okay, Laura? You’re a little pale.”

  “This house isn’t haunted, is it?” she asked rhetorically.

  A few steps below, Agnes glared up at her, obviously offended. “Certainly not. I’ve been here for more than thirty years, and no one has ever suggested such a thing.”

  Laura descended the stairs, pushed passed Agnes, and stopped at the heavy front door. Her hand closed on the ornate crystal knob, and she twisted it. Locked. She fumbled with the lock until it clicked, then twisted the knob and pushed the door open. Standing at the threshold for a moment, she gazed across the lawn and down to the river, then glanced over her shoulder at the staircase. A sense of foreboding came over her, a strange feeling of dread that reached deep inside her. She rushed out onto the front porch, rapidly sucking in the fresh air, and felt her panic subsiding as quickly as it had come. Unsure what had come over her, Laura told herself there was nothing to fear.