What could Annie say?
Annie held her breath as Miss Dora tapped toward the section of collectibles. If that old hag thought she was going to get a rare book for
The bell pealed at the front door.
For heaven's sake. It was Sunday!
Annie started up the center aisle but stopped at the sight of the speeding wheelchair. Laurel careened toward them, beaming. "I am so glad to be home! Much as I love Charleston. And those dear ghosts! Did I tell you about Mrs. Latham? Not that she was a ghost. Though, of course, the dear woman may be by this time. She's long dead!"
Annie gave Laurel a bewildered glance.
Her mother-in-law beamed at Miss Dora. "You're looking just lovely today, Miss Dora." She then braked beside Annie and Max and squeezed Annie's hand. "This isn't difficult, my sweet. Not even for you."
Some of Annie's bonhomie seeped away.
Max tried not to laugh.
"You see, Mrs. Latham was hired to come to Charleston to be governess to four dear little girls at Old Goose Creek Plantation. She was given a very nice room upstairs. Now, she lovedto read romances. And the next morning was a Sunday but she stayed in her room—that was, after all, her free time—and didn't come downstairs for devotions but cozied herself in her four-poster to read The Turkish Spy." Laurel clapped her hands. "Isn't that a wonderful title, Annie? Can't you just imagine the story? In any event, Mrs. Latham was thoroughly enjoying her story when the door to her room opened and this old lady in a black gown with a muslin neckerchief crossed on her breast and wearing a close-fitting white cap on her head glided into the room and stared, with obvious disapproval, at Mrs. Latham's book. And Mrs. Latham felt a hideously cold draft of air. Then the old woman turned, still frowning, to leave. Mrs. Latham tried to follow, but the woman receded from her and then disappeared into a wall. Well, you can imagine"—Laurel gave a sympathetic head shake—"how this upset Mrs. Latham. Why, it would upset anyone, wouldn't it?"
Annie felt constrained to murmur, "Of course."
"Dear Annie, you have such a high-strung nature. Well, I know Max is very good for you."
Annie contemplated Laurel as she might have a grinning alligator. She almost replied, "And you have so many teeth, my dear," but was afraid Max wouldn't understand. Or, worse, might understand only too well. Instead, she bared her own teeth in what she hoped resembled a good-humored smile.
Max gave her an approving pat.
Annie suddenly had an inkling how Agatha felt about unsolicited attention.
"Mrs. Latham was so upset she rushed downstairs and disrupted the service, pressing everyone to join her in a search for the old woman. But no one was found. Now, the truth of the matter was, those downstairs couldn't have missed seeing an intruder, but they couldn't convince Mrs. Latham that she had imagined the episode. Then, the next Sunday"—Laurel leaned forward portentously—"the mistress's brother-in-law arrived and Mrs. Latham went into shock, crying that he was just the image of the old woman she'd seen. Then everyone understood." She sat back triumphantly.
"They did?" Max encouraged.
Annie would have kicked him had he been close enough.
"Why, yes. It was the mistress's deceased mother-in-law, old Mary Hyrne, and the family understood at once. Mrs. Hyrne was very pious and she must have been upset by Mrs. Latham reading frivolous fiction instead of observing the Sabbath. Do you know what?"
Annie knew it was her turn. "What?" she snapped.
Laurel wasn't daunted. "It had the most profound effect upon Mrs. Latham. Why, she never missed a Sunday service for the rest of her days at Old Goose Creek Plantation. So, you see, ghosts sometimes have a very good effect!"
"Without doubt," Miss Dora seconded.
"But I feel that I've spent enough time with those residents of another plane." Laurel gave each in turn a most beguiling smile.
"Really?" Annie perked up. Perhaps Laurel was contemplating a trip to Addis Ababa.
"Yes. Much as I mourn their inability to be freed from this world of woe and heartbreak, I feel that I have a greater call upon my good offices."
Miss Dora's eyes glittered with amusement.
"A nunnery?" Annie muttered. Preferably one atop Mount Ararat.
A trill of delighted laughter. "Dear Annie. Such a sense of humor. No, it is much more of this world, of the here and now, and actually, very very here!"
Annie's heart sank.
"I have the most exciting news." Laurel clasped her hands to her heart. "Henny, our own dear stalwart, outspoken, progressive Henny is going to run for mayor! Annie, Max!" Laurel flung wide a graceful hand, the pink-enameled fingernails shining. "The rallies! The campaign! The excitement! Oh, it will be a campaign such as has never before been seen on Broward's Rock!"
"Huzzah!" Then Miss Dora broke into an odd, unmusical hum. It took Annie a moment to recognize "Yankee Doodle Dandy"!
Chapter 24.
The strains of a Strauss waltz lilted on the soft summer night air. Annie accepted another glass of champagne and looked through the festive crowd for her husband. Then, she gave a good-humored shrug and drifted down the flagstoned path toward the river. It would be lovely in the moonlight.
It was a wonderful party—and such a dramatic change to see love and youth and happiness at Tarrant House. It helped wipe away the memory of that dreadful spring night. The party was fabulous, of course, as would be any celebration planned by Sybil Chastain Giacomo. And she had spared no effort or expense for her daughter's engagement dance: Japanese lanterns winked cheerfully throughout the grounds, a striped tent housed a superb buffet, a portable dance floor enticed eager couples, and the symphony orchestra from Savannah provided the music.
Annie smiled, recalling Courtney Kimball Tarrant's vivid smile and the pride on Harris Walker's face.
She came to the end of the path and looked out at the river, shining like a silver band in the moonlight.
The bushes rustled nearby and she had the sense of another presence, a happy, cheerful presence.
Had Max . . .
She glimpsed, just for a moment, a breathtaking instant, a swift sweep of white, she smelled lilies of the valley, and she felt a welling up of happiness.
Annie smiled and whispered, "God bless, Amanda," and then she turned to run lightly back toward light and laughter.
I am indebted to the following authors for their wonderful tales of South Carolina ghosts:
Charleston Ghosts by Margaret Rhett Martin, University of South Carolina Press, 1963.
South Carolina Ghosts from the Coast to the Mountains by Nancy Roberts, University of South Carolina Press, 1983.
Southern Ghosts by Nancy Roberts, Sandlapper Publishing Co., 1979.
Ghosts and Specters of the Old South by Nancy Roberts, Sandlapper Publishing Co., 1974.
More Tales of the South Carolina Low Country by Nancy Rhyne, John F. Blair, Publisher, 1984.