Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Whit was still face down on our bed, sleeping soundly, when I got Henry up early, hoping to avoid running into anyone else at Dawes House as we left that morning.
Henry seemed blissfully unaware of anything that had happened the night before and was humming happily as he ate pancakes at the little diner where I took him for breakfast.
My cell phone rang while we were eating, the vibration traveling through the table and into my hand, drawing my attention.
My eyes lingered for a few seconds on my wedding band, before checking my phone’s screen.
I sent the call to voicemail when I saw it was Whit—no doubt wondering where we were.
He texted a moment later, confirming my suspicions.
Where are you? Please call me. I just need to know you and Henry are okay.
I almost called him then, regretting the panic he must’ve felt waking up to find us gone. But I knew the minute I heard his voice, my resolve would crumble, so I settled for texting him instead.
Needed time to think. Having breakfast. Taking Henry to the park then to see Dottie.
Dots appeared on the screen, telling me he was working on a response. But then they disappeared. Started again. Disappeared. Finally, a message came through.
Love you. I’ll be here when you get back.
I stared at the message, torn. I wanted to tell him I loved him, too.
That my heart ached so badly, I could hardly breathe.
I wanted to see him, feel his arms around me.
I wanted to tell him that we could handle whatever it was he wanted to tell me, that we’d be okay. I wanted to tell him I forgave him.
But I didn’t say any of it. I couldn’t. Not yet. I turned my phone face down on the table, ignoring it when it rang again.
That afternoon, I brought Henry to the bookstore, forcing a smile when Dottie greeted us enthusiastically. She must’ve immediately seen that something was off because she quickly wrapped up with the customer she’d been helping and told her other employee to take the rest of the day off.
“Oh, honey,” Dottie said, taking both my hands as soon as the shop was empty. “You look as sad as a cucumber. What’s wrong?”
Henry tugged the hem of my shirt. “Excuse me, Mama, could I please play with the toys?”
“Yes, baby,” I said, smoothing his curls. “Go ahead. Ms. Dottie and I are going to chat for a while.” I turned back to Dottie, hesitating as I tried to decide how much to tell her. “Mind if we have some tea while we talk? I think this might take a while.”
After Dottie and I were tucked in with sweet tea and snacks she’d prepared, I told her about the most recent encounters with the screaming woman—with Alice—Henry’s drawing, and how Whit hadn’t shared that others had experienced encounters at Dawes House before me.
“Zellie, honey,” Dottie said on a sigh, reaching across the bistro table to take my hand, “I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me—but, more importantly, with yourself.”
She gave me a pointed look as if to make sure I understood the gravity of what she was about to say.
When I nodded, she took a deep breath and heaved another, dramatic sigh. “Do you really want to know the whole truth?”
“Of course. I love Whit, Dottie. I really do.” I paused, taking a few seconds to swallow the tears constricting my throat. “I don’t want there to be any secrets between us. I need him to be honest with me.”
She peered over her glasses. “Let me remind you that you weren’t completely honest with him about all you’d been seeing until recently. Why did you not tell him everything?”
“Well,” I said, drawing my hand back, “I didn’t want him to think I was losing it.”
She leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands. “Do you think perhaps he was worried about the same thing?”
“Why would he be worried about that?” I asked. “Clearly, I already believed in the intruders, in ghosts.”
She pursed her lips, then gave a curt nod. “Very well, then. I’m going to show you something. And I want you to remember this bit of conversation, all right?”
Dottie returned with an enormous, leather-bound tome. She set it on the table in front of me. “This is a Proffitt family heirloom. I was able to acquire it some years ago. Go on, now. Take a look.”
I reached out to touch the book but paused, briefly reconsidering my desire to know the truth. But then I swallowed hard, promising myself that no matter what I found, it wouldn’t change my love for Whit. I opened the cover and frowned. “It’s a photo album.”
Dottie nodded and flipped through the first couple of pages. “Mmm-hmm.” She turned to another page and spun the book toward me so that I could see the photos.
I was stunned speechless as I stared down at the black and white image she tapped with one long hot-pink fingernail.
It was a wedding portrait from what appeared to be the early days of photography.
The 1840s, maybe? Because staring back at me from the page were faces I recognized, including that of Susanna, the forced bride of Josef Proffitt.
He stood next to her, calm and stoic. The resemblance to the other men in the Proffitt family I’d known as uncanny as it had been in my dream. And Susanna looked trapped, defeated.
But they weren’t the only faces I recognized.
There were others. The drowned woman, Eliza, who would be Josef’s next bride.
And a scowling man in the background that could’ve been Whit’s twin.
My fingertips lightly grazed the man’s image, marveling at how even his aloof posture was familiar, before taking in the other individuals.
Standing to one side of Josef was a woman with blond hair pulled back tightly in a severe bun who looked exactly like Iris.
And there were Earl and June, glamourous and stately.
And was that Chase? He wore a mustache and sideburns fashionable for the day, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that was unmistakable.
There were others in the group, people I didn’t recognize.
But they were all clearly wealthy, smirking with some secret shared between them.
“What the hell?” I murmured, turning to another page.
Josef again, this time a wedding portrait with Eliza.
She appeared far happier than her sister had, but I knew her fate, had seen her death, so something certainly changed after she married her mysterious suitor.
A sudden image of her lying in the water flashed in my thoughts, but I shook my head, banishing it.
I paged through several more photos, many of them featuring the others I’d seen in the first: June and Earl, Chase, Iris, the man who resembled Whit so closely it was unnerving.
The locations varied, from countryside to bustling cities.
The fashions evolved, representing the trends of different decades—everything from the wide hoop skirts and ridiculously tight corsets to the slimmer skirts and enormous puffed sleeves.
And any wedding photos among them featured only the brides, women I didn’t recognize.
The next set of photos taken in Savannah appeared to be from the 1910s and once again featured a wedding, this time the images including both bride and groom.
At first glance, I thought the groom was the same man from earlier photos who looked like Whit.
But then I realized the brow was too heavy, the expression too entitled to be him.
It was Josef Proffitt again.
My sense of relief at it not being the man I loved was so powerful, I almost laughed at how ridiculous it had been for me to even suspect it was Whit in the first place. Of course it wasn’t him! These pictures were from over a century ago. The whole thing was absurd.
But it was no less ridiculous to assume the groom was Josef Proffitt. The photos were clearly taken—what? Fifty, sixty years apart? If that was Josef Proffitt, he looked like he hadn’t aged a day. Which was impossible! The resemblance was just a coincidence. All of this was just a coincidence.
It had to be.
Then I saw the label beneath the photograph, scrawled in ink that had faded and nearly vanished over time. It wasn’t Josef Proffitt after all. It looked like him. Exactly like him from all the photos before. But that was not the name I read.
“What?” I breathed. “No…that’s not…”
Dottie tilted her head, regarding me with a sad smile. “What does it say, honey?”
I shook my head, trying to clear my vision, but the words remained the same. “Montgomery Proffitt.”
“Indeed,” Dottie sighed.
I frowned. “And Mary Alice Shay.”
Alice. The screaming woman.
“Shay?” I mused, lifting my eyes to Dottie. “A relative of yours?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes.”
I hurriedly flipped to the next page. “Montgomery, Mary Alice, and David Proffitt.”
I tentatively touched the face of the small boy in the photo. It was the same boy who had peeked out from behind Henry’s bed, who had led me to the body of the woman in the wall.
“David,” I whispered. Then I pointed to the man in the photo. “This man looks just like Josef. But this has to be Mr. Monty’s grandfather. He was probably named after him. Right?”
Dottie didn’t respond. But I wasn’t sure I really wanted her to, too afraid of what she might say.
The next page featured Montgomery Proffitt again, perhaps only a couple of years later, maybe the 1920’s, but with another bride.
And another group photo with the familiar faces of Dawes House, including a very stately looking Pearlie and Junior this time.
And I recognized the young woman from my dream—Netty, but older now.
Netty had to be a family name, passed down to a daughter or niece.
Because this Netty couldn’t possibly be the Ms. Netty I knew, even though I could see a resemblance.
The Netty in my dream had already been a teenager, maybe even in her twenties, old enough to talk to Alice as a friend and not as her elder.