Chapter Fourteen
Libby could hardly believe her eyes when Benny stopped the truck in front of the house where she grew up. The sign swinging from two of the porch posts—FIVE OAKS—squeaked when the wind blew it back and forth. A wind chime over at the west end, and two kids making an old porch swing glide back and forth on rusty chains, added even more to the noise. Fancy stuck her head out the top of Libby’s purse and growled.
“I know, baby girl,” Libby whispered. “It’s full of unfriendly ghosts to me, too.”
“What was that?” Benny asked as he held the door open for her.
“Nothing,” Libby answered. “Fancy was telling me that she doesn’t like this place.”
“Could be ...” Benny’s nose wrinkled.
“Lemon oil,” Libby said, finishing the sentence for him. She frowned. So many memories rose to the top, like scum on a swamp, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get rid of all of them.
With paddles hanging out their back pockets, people milled around with notebooks, making lists of what they might be interested in buying. The buzz of conversations filled the air, but Libby’s pulse was jacked up so high that she couldn’t make out a single word. She had not set foot in this house more than half a dozen times since she had left to go to college. Coming back wasn’t bringing closure, but it sure was tightening her chest and making it hard to breathe—especially with that lemon-oil scent filling every breath she took.
“I’ll get my bidding paddle and meet you on the porch when you’re done looking around,” Benny said.
Libby could see his lips moving and nodded when she made out the words paddle and porch. She started up the staircase to her old room and heard the familiar screech of the second step from the top. She smiled at the memory and looked up to see a gray-haired lady at the top of the stairs.
“I bet if there were teenagers in the house, they would avoid that step when they came home after curfew.” She giggled and then stared at Libby for a full five seconds before she spoke again. “Libby, is that really you?”
“June?” Libby whispered.
The woman took one more step and wrapped Libby up in a fierce hug. “I can’t believe it’s been more than ten years since our precious Victoria left us. Are you thinking about buying the house back?”
Libby shook her head. “No, ma’am, but it’s good to see you. How have you been?”
June wiped away a tear that had rolled down her cheek. “Lonely, for the most part. I’m the only one of the three of us that’s left. Jeanie passed two years ago. I go to the casino on their birthdays once a year.” She pulled a tissue from her big black purse and dabbed at her eyes. “Just so they’ll know I haven’t forgotten them. There’s a lot of wonderful memories in this old place.”
One woman’s good memory is another woman’s nightmare, Libby thought.
“That’s sweet. It’s so good to see you,” Libby said and went up a couple more steps.
“Darlin’, it’s just made my day to lay eyes on you. Take care of yourself. I never did agree with some of the ways that Victoria treated you when you were a child, but no one crossed that woman. She was my friend, but ...” June shrugged.
Libby forced a smile. “I understand.”
“Did you ever open the box?” June asked. “When I gave it to you, I had the feeling you might just toss it in the trash.”
“No, ma’am, I did not open it,” Libby answered. “But I do still have it.”
“When your daddy died, Victoria put that box together,” June said, “and then Jeanie and I liked the idea so much that we each made one, too. Then Victoria and Jeanie both gave theirs to me to pass on, and I gave mine to Jeanie. I often wondered if they died first because I had those boxes.”
“Who has yours now?” Libby asked.
“I gave it to my niece, with instructions not to pass it on to my granddaughter until I’m gone,” June answered. “We never discussed what was in the boxes, but Jeanie’s great-granddaughter said that there was a letter addressed to her among a lot of the keepsakes. Maybe Victoria wrote you a letter; I put one in my box. You should go ahead and open yours, honey.”
“Maybe I will pretty soon,” Libby said. “Do you know what’s in it?”
June shook her head. “No, darlin’, I do not. Victoria was great fun and, like I said, a good friend, but she didn’t tell me. I imagine it’s just stuff she thought you would like to hang on to. Strange, how a whole life can be reduced to what goes into an old box, ain’t it? But then, on another note, those things that you don’t know probably kept you from a lot of headache.”
“How’s that?”
June waved a hand around in a motion that encompassed the whole house. “You didn’t have to deal with all this.”
A stream of folks started up the stairs.
“Looks like we’re holding up traffic,” Libby said.
“It’s been good to see you,” June said. “If you are ever in this area again, give me a holler, and we’ll have coffee.”
“Will do,” Libby agreed and headed on up to her old bedroom.
All the doors off the wide upstairs hallway were open. Other than the crowd of people who were interested in buying the antiques, she felt like she had been transported back in time. Nothing—not one blessed thing—had changed. The furniture was still the same, a little more worn than it had been the last time Libby was there, and the aura surrounding her was so eerie that it gave her goose bumps.
She laid a hand on one of the wingback chairs that sat on either side of her bedroom door for support and stared into her old bedroom, feeling like she was being pulled inside and yet dreading the very idea of taking another step forward. Her hands were clammy, and her heart pounded in her chest. She could almost see Victoria coming in late at night from the casino, either singing off-key or cussing a blue streak because she hadn’t won a damned thing.
“‘You gain strength, and courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face ... You must do the thing you think you cannot,’” she whispered. “Eleanor Roosevelt said that.”
The saying came from an old book of famous quotes that had been in the drawer of a dresser her grandmother had bought for the store. Libby had kept the book for herself and read through it too many times to count. It had gone with her to college, and then to the bookcase in her Austin apartment, and was now stored in one of the boxes that Amanda had shipped to her.
Why, she wondered, did it come to her mind today? Then the Miranda Lambert song “The House That Built Me” floated across her thoughts. Did she need to come back to this very house—the one that built her—to this very room in front of her to really find closure? Did she need to grab the fear by the horns like it was a charging Angus bull, look it right in the eyes, and throw it over the barbed wire fence?
“Maybe so,” she muttered.
“Are you all right, honey?” a woman with blue hair asked her. “You look like you could faint at any moment.”
“I’m fine.” Libby’s voice sounded as if it were coming up out of a deep well. “Just a little too warm.”
“Too many folks coming in and out of this place for the AC to keep up,” the woman said and patted her on the shoulder. “You should sit down for a minute. Want me to stay with you until you feel better?”
“No, ma’am, but thank you,” Libby answered. “I’ll just go into this room and sit on the bed for a little while. I’m sure it will pass soon.”
“If it don’t, you go straight to the drugstore and get you one of them pregnancy tests, honey,” she whispered. “It ain’t natural for a young woman like you to be so pale.”
“I’ll do that,” Libby agreed, knowing full well that she could not be pregnant.
Determined to face her fear once and for all, she had every intention of going into the room, but her feet still felt like they were glued to the floor. The step on the stairway creaked when the woman and several other folks left the second floor, and then there was silence. She could see most of her old room from the door. The old bedstead was the same one she had slept on for two years, but from the look of the mattress, it had been replaced. The gooseneck lamp—something she had bought at a garage sale for two dollars—had been replaced with a Martha Washington.
Why didn’t I do this when Victoria died? June and Jeanie offered to come with me, and the people at the bank said I could come get any personal belongings if a representative came with me.
If you really want closure, open the box! her grandmother shot back, her tone edgy.
“What does that stupid box have to do with anything?” Libby asked, then braced herself and entered the room. No ghosts floated above the bed. It was just a room, nothing more.
She set her purse on the floor, and Fancy immediately hopped out and began to explore. Libby plopped down on the edge of the bed and ran her hand over the chenille bedspread—white, with a rose pattern in the middle.
Fancy whined at her feet, and Libby picked the dog up. “Want to see a secret?” she asked, and carried her over to the closet. She squatted down and ran her finger over her initials, EVO, on the doorjamb. She had carved them there with a fingernail file the first time her grandmother had left her to stay alone in the creaky, old house.
“I felt so guilty after I did this that I couldn’t look Victoria in the eye for a week.” Libby grabbed her purse and slipped the dog back down inside it when she heard the creaking step again. “You, darlin’ baby, have to stay cooped up until we get out to the truck,” she whispered. “I’ve seen enough of this place, and I’m ready to get out of here.”
She was at the top of the staircase when her foot slipped, and she thought for a minute she would tumble down the steps headfirst. But she went backward instead of forward and sat down with a heavy thud. Fancy jumped out of her purse and ran into Victoria’s old bedroom. Libby stood up and dusted the seat of her jeans off with her hand. Evidently, fate or the universe or God wasn’t ready for her to leave the house just yet.
When she finally caught her breath and hurried into her grandmother’s old room, Fancy whined and poked her little nose out from under the purple satin bedspread. Poor thing was probably thanking her lucky stars that Libby hadn’t fallen on her and squished her as flat as a skunk on the highway.
Libby sank down onto the floor beside the bed and coaxed the dog out. When Fancy was in her lap, she glanced around. No mysterious aura filled the room. Apparently, Victoria’s spirit had gone back to hovering over a poker table at the casino down south, because she didn’t have a thing to say even though Libby was in her bedroom, and that had been a big no-no when Libby was a child.
“My bedroom is my personal space, and other than cleaning day, you stay out of it,” Victoria had told her when she was barely old enough to remember. She had accented each word by poking her finger right at Libby’s nose.
Libby tried to shake the past from her head, but it didn’t work. Her mind went right back to cleaning day, which had been Sunday back then. The antique store hadn’t opened until after lunch. As soon as Victoria was up and on her second cup of coffee, Libby went into her room and put fresh sheets on the bed. The floor always looked like an explosion at a thrift store, with shoes, clothing, and even magazines strewn everywhere. But within thirty minutes, Libby had it cleaned up and the sheets in the washing machine.
Now the only thing on the floor was one little leaf that someone had tracked in from the pecan tree at the end of the porch. Victoria’s perfume didn’t linger in the room, but Libby could swear she caught a whiff of it when she glanced over at the top of the dresser. Did that mean Victoria’s soul was still lingering around the house?
June had advised Libby to open the box. Was that what Victoria was waiting for? If so, her grandmother was probably pretty angry.
“I’ll open the box and then toss everything in it in the trash. I’m trying to move on, not live in the past,” Libby muttered as she stood up with Fancy in her arms. “But not today.”
Benny had been at far too many antique auctions and sales to remember, but something about this one was different. Nothing excited him—but then, he had just found the mother lode of all mother lodes when he lucked into the garage sale that morning.
“This old place has history,” a woman said at his elbow. “I know it as well as my own house. Anything in particular you are looking for? The previous owner was one of my friends—I’m June.”
“Thanks for the help,” he said. “How long did she run the B and B?”
“She didn’t. She died about ten years ago, and the folks that ran the house as a B and B bought the place at the sale. But they weren’t very business savvy. They didn’t do a bit of remodeling, so it didn’t go over well. Folks insist on having a bathroom for every bedroom these days. They bought it as it was—furniture, dishes, and all—and just set up shop the next week. My friend Victoria owned it before those people bought it.” June heaved a sigh. “I bet she turned over in her grave at the idea of strangers staying in her home.”
“Did you say Victoria?” Benny asked. “Did she own an antique store here in Jefferson?”
“That’s the one.” June sighed again. “She’s been gone for years now, but walking through this house and seeing her granddaughter, Libby, again sure brings back a lot of good memories.”
Benny had only been listening with half an ear, but suddenly he was ready to pay close attention to what the woman was saying. Good Lord! What had he done by bringing Libby to this place? And why hadn’t she told him that this was where she grew up?
“Where was Libby?” he asked.
“Going up the steps when I was coming down. I expect she’ll be going to her old bedroom. Do you know her?”
“Yes, I do,” he answered.
June patted him on the arm. “She’s a good person, though she has had to be independent her whole life. Just like her grandmother. Now, we were talking about this old house, weren’t we?”
Benny was torn between going to make sure Libby was all right and finding out more about the house. His gaze traveled from June’s bright smile to the stairs, where he saw Libby waiting for a horde of people to pass by so that she could make her way down to the foyer. She caught his eye and nodded toward the door leading outside.
“Victoria’s grandparents built the house, and her parents were born here,” June was saying when he tuned back in to her story. “As each generation passed on, they left the place to the next one. Victoria inherited it and the store when her mother died. By then she had lost her husband, and she had a small son, Quinton, to raise alone. Her folks had always loved antiques, so she started her own business in the old grocery store she had inherited.”
“What happened to it when she passed away?” Benny figured he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it anyway, and Libby was now weaving her way toward him through the throng.
“She owed a lot of money, so it and the store were sold to pay off her debts,” June answered. “Has anything caught your eye?”
“Not yet, but my associate is taking a look upstairs,” he replied.
June waved at another group of people coming into the house. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. Nice visitin’ with you.”
“You too.”
She disappeared into the crowd, and he met Libby halfway across the living room.
“I don’t see anything down here worth taking back to Sawmill. Did you see anything up there?” he asked.
“Nope,” she answered. “Are we ready to go home?”
He reached out to pet Fancy. “I am if you are. Why didn’t you tell me this was the house where you grew up?”
“How did you find that out?” she asked.
“A lady named June seemed quite talkative about the history of this place,” he answered and escorted her through the crowd with his hand on the small of her back.
“It’s complicated. I haven’t been here since my grandmother died,” Libby said after a long sigh. “June and Jeanie, her two friends, drove over the border to Louisiana and scattered her ashes—but then, I told you that story.”
Benny heard anxiety in her tone, and the expression on her face said she was fighting tears. “Let’s get out of here and go get some ice cream.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “That sounds good.”