One
Many wild flowers which we have transplanted to our gardens are full of magic and charm, while others are full of mystery. In childhood I absolutely abhorred Bloodroot; it seemed to me a fearsome thing. I remember well my dismay, it was so pure, so sleek, so innocent of face, yet bleeding at a touch, like a murdered man in the Blood Ordeal.
--Alice Morse Earle
Old Time Gardens, 1901
For a long time, it has seemed to me that every chapter in my life's story has held a meaning I'm meant to understand, a lesson I'm meant to learn-and this one is no different. Before I went to Jordan's Crossing, I believed it was possible to cut myself off from a past I had rejected, to disinherit myself from my family and renounce its unhappy legacy. But the past, as someone has said, is always present, no matter how completely you reject its mysteries or pretend that they don't exist. I think now that everything that happened during those difficult days at Jordan's Crossing was meant to make me come to terms with what is in my blood, to force me (if you'll pardon the metaphor) to dig out my roots. But perhaps the lesson was even more specific than that: I was meant to rediscover the legacy I inherited from the women who bore me-as my friend Ruby Wilcox would say, from the motherline.
Whatever the reasons, I had a lot to learn during the days I spent with my mother at the place where she grew up, at Jordan's Crossing. Now, it seems to me that we were able to resolve only a very few of the mysteries. Yes, we found out who killed Wiley Beauchamp, and why. We discovered an unsuspected branch of the family tree. And we learned far more than it is comfortable to know of the ugly truths wrapped in the bloody history of the Mississippi plantation where as a child I spent the hot, still summers, rich in the resinous scent of pine trees and the moist green smells of the swamp. But the deeper shadows in that house, the darker enigmas, the most puzzling mysteries-these ghosts haunted my childhood, and haunt me still.
I think they always will.
* "Hello, Mother," I said into the phone, as lightly as I could. "What's up?"
"I need you, China." Her voice was taut and urgent, and low, as if she were afraid of being overheard. "I want you to come right away. Come today."
I cleared my throat. "How's Aunt Tullie? Is she-"
"Some days are better than others. But that's not why."
"Well, then, what is it? I told you last night: Unless it's really important, I can't just drop everything and-"
"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," she said, and I thought that the longer she stayed at Jordan's Crossing, the more Southern she sounded: I wudn't ask if it wa'n't impawt'nt. "There's trouble here, China, and there's nobody to talk to. Nobody I can trust, anyway. And you're a lawyer. You can help."
Uh-oh. That kind of trouble. "Mother," I said carefully, "you know I don't practice now. And I've never done wills and estates, if that's what this is about." I used to be a criminal defense lawyer before I cashed in my retirement fund, moved from Houston to Pecan Springs, and bought Thyme and Seasons. I keep my bar membership current, just in case, but the old life has no appeal for me, and I hate it when people ask legal questions. "If you and Aunt Tullie need property advice or help with her will or whatever," I added, "you should find somebody local. Anyway, you must have a family lawyer. Can't he-"
"China," Leatha snapped, "this has nothin' whatsoever to do with your great-aunt's will, and the fam'ly lawyer is part of the problem. And if you keep on ditherin' back and forth and draggin' your feet, Aunt Tullie could be in jail by the time you get here. Is that important enough for you?"
I sucked in my breath. "In jail?"
"It's a distinct possibility," Leatha replied darkly. "The police haven't been here yet, but," her pause was pregnant with significance. "Well? Can you leave today?"
"I suppose, if Mother McQuaid is available to stay with Brian. McQuaid is going to a conference." I scowled. "What do the police have to do with anything? What the hell is going on there?"
"I can't go into it on the phone," she said evasively. "What time can I look for you?" I glanced at my watch. It was just after nine. "If I leave in a couple of hours, I suppose I could be there by ten or eleven-midnight at the latest."
"Good," Leatha said, and I could hear the relief in her voice. "I'll wait up. Do you remember how to get here? Take Route 61 north from Vicksburg. When you get to Middle Fork, go east to Chicory."
Middle Fork. Chicory. The names brought back images of dusty towns, unpaved streets arched with green trees shimmering in the summer sun, barefoot kids in straw hats, cane fishing poles over their shoulders, heading for the river.
"If I get lost, I'll call," I said.
"Drive safe, dear." The urgency came back. "But please hurry."
I turned off the phone and went into the tearoom. "You were right," I said with a sigh to Ruby, who was checking the menu. Thyme for Tea doesn't open until eleven-thirty, but Janet, our cook, was already in the kitchen, getting things ready for the day.
Ruby glanced at my face. "When are you leaving?"
"As soon as I can arrange it, if it's okay with you. McQuaid will be out of town too, so I've got to call his mother and see if she can come and stay with Brian. I'm sure Laurel can manage the shop by herself, though, now that things have slowed down a little." I looked around at the tearoom, with its original limestone walls and hunter-green wainscoting, green-painted tables cheerful with floral chintz napkins and terra-cotta teapot centerpieces, pots of lush ivy and philodendron hanging from the ceiling. Janet was humming happily in the kitchen, the tables were laid for lunch, and I knew that Ruby could handle anything that came up.
"Of course it's okay," Ruby said. "You don't have to worry about this place. Just be sure to leave a phone number where I can get in touch with you." She gave me an intent look. "Has Aunt Tullie taken a turn for the worse?"
"I don't think that's it," I said. "This is different." Jail? I turned on the phone and punched in the McQuaids' number.
"Well," Ruby said, "if it turns out that Uncle Jed is causing trouble, you can always give me a call. I'm sure I can come up with something that will help, even long distance."
"Thanks," I told her, tapping my fingers impatiently. "But I'm sure I'll be able to manage."
Yeah, right. If I'd have known how the trip was going to turn out, I would have insisted that Ruby get in the car and go with me. She's the only one I know who's qualified to handle the weird things that happened in Mississippi.
--From Bloodroot by Susan Wittig Albert, (c) October 2001, Prime Crime, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc., used by permission.
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
