Lost Yesterday Page 5

  Marin absorbed this information and squelched the overwhelming urge to ask why he and his mother had fallen out.

  "In the household you will be second in command. The servants are to take orders from you, and you have the authority to countermand anyone's orders but mine." Marin took that to mean she had seniority over Mom. How interesting.

  "Now." The tapping, which had tapered off, picked up cadence. "I find that I need to have a dinner party for six cotton buyers on Friday."

  Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. She had six days to plan a dinner party, and she didn't even know her way around the house yet, not to mention what foods were available, what she would be expected to wear, what table conversation was appropriate in l876... Would she even be here on Friday? Hunter must have seen the emotion in her eyes and misread it.

  "I'm sorry for such short notice. I planned this only yesterday, and I could hardly tell you while you were bedridden." He leaned back in his chair and slid the letter opener between thumb and forefinger. "I will endeavor to allow more notice in the future."

  A lot of good that did her now. Instead of saying exactly what she thought, Marin said, "That's quite all right. This is exactly what you hired me for, is it not?" She managed to slide off the edge of the chair and push herself into a standing position. If she didn't get out of this corset soon she was going to rip it off right in front of him - if she didn't pass out first from the heat. "If you have nothing further, I'll get started."

  She was about to make her escape when his voice stopped her.

  "As a matter of fact, I think it best I introduce you to the household. I'm sure you are already well known to them, but you will need to meet everyone in order to properly do your job."

  Marin stopped the groan rising in her throat as she led the way to the foyer. She just hoped Lucille steered clear of her. The way this corset made her feel, if the woman tried to bait her right now, she might drop-kick the old bat across the drawing room.

  *******

  Marin's bedroom door didn't even click shut before she nearly dislocated her arms undoing the buttons on the back of her bodice. Calling Mamie to help would take too long.

  The boned bodice stuck to her damp skin, and she peeled it away before tossing it to a nearby chaise. She pulled the straps of her chemise to her waist, yanked at the top of the corset and unhooked the row of tiny fasteners in a frenzy.

  "Ahhhh," exploded from her lips in a long sigh of relief.

  How in the world would she function in this heat wearing these clothes? She flung open the armoire doors with the hope of finding something acceptable yet comfortable. But, unfortunately, the more she looked through the gowns, the more she decided that "acceptably comfortable" was an oxymoron in this day and age.

  Her hands rubbed distractedly at the deep imprints on her bare midriff, then she scratched the tingling flesh back into circulation. Warm, muggy air filled her lungs when she inhaled fully for the first time since dressing.

  What she wouldn't give for one of her cool, flowery skirts and loose cotton tees. At least she'd be able to breathe in those. She'd been forced to wear Mari's clothing for only a few hours, but the prospect of wearing them as permanent attire was already a fashion Hell that loomed before her.

  Her eyes scanned the armoire again. There was no sign of a gown she could tolerate that wouldn't be met with disapproval. But a neatly tied packet of letters sat on the top shelf above the dresses. She reached up to grab the letters and realized it was the first time she'd moved freely since she'd gotten dressed. It was going to be hard to talk herself into hooking up that corset again.

  Marin settled onto the chaise to read the letters when a movement on the far side of the room caught her eye. She looked up laughed out loud.

  Before her in the pier glass sat a refined woman of the 1870's. Her rich, auburn hair was impeccably styled, her gown an understated elegance - except for the chemise hanging below her waist and the corset gaping open to create a huge V of bare flesh, not to mention the discarded bodice on the back of the chaise.

  She had a sense of what one of the "soiled doves” might look like. The world's oldest profession had at least one good point: They were into wearing fewer articles of clothing. Considering that point, and if Hunter was the customer, the profession might not be all that bad. Not bad at all.

  There she went again, with thoughts of Hunter coming out of the blue. She was really paying now for letting her guard down, even with a ghost. She consciously laid a few more stones on the wall around her heart, filling up the hole that had started to crumble her defenses. It was time to forget emotions and warm, fuzzy feelings, and get back to the business of this mysterious charade she was living.

  Hunter's letters shed no new light on the past of Mari Sander. One letter asked for references. One Ok'd the references and informed her that she was being considered. The third letter informed her that the position was hers, when he expected her, and where to obtain a bank draft for her traveling expenses.

  She studied the bold handwriting and no nonsense wording. He'd said as much as he needed to with the fewest possible words. She knew instinctively that it fit his personality.

  A gentle knock at the door brought her out of her musings.

  She slapped the open letter against her chest to cover all that bare skin. Now what was she going to do? Here she sat, nearly nude from the waist up, and someone wanted to see her.

  The doorknob turned ever so slowly, and the door began to inch open. Marin searched the room for somewhere to hide, but unless she dove under the bed she was going to be caught nearly topless.

  The top of a wooly, salt and pepper head appeared, and Marin heaved a silent sigh of relief.

  Mamie's wide eyes blinked several times when she took in the sight before her.

  Marin, on the other hand, forced herself to sit there, totally nonchalant, as if she were in the habit of sitting around in the middle of the day, half dressed.

  "Mamie, I was just going to ring for you to help me." The servant stopped blinking. "I always like to loosen my corset about this time of day. It helps...with the digestion."

  Mamie just nodded in silent agreement, like one would nod at a glassy-eyed person with a rifle in his hand. Nevertheless, she inched her way into the room.

  Marin stood and shook out her skirts, then tried to pull together the front of her corset to hook it. Just what she was afraid of - the top of the torture chamber was a good inch and a half between hook and eye. Nothing short of a sophisticated pulley system would make those two edges meet. The lacings would have to be loosened and the whole agonizing process repeated.

  The hooks were refastened with Mamie busily yanking on the strings when, between explosive wheezes, Marin broached the subject that had been bothering her.

  "How long have Hunter - OOF - and his mother been at - OOF - odds with each other?" She was sure this ill will was not the result of a temporary family tiff.

  Mamie paused in her exertions, allowing Marin to catch her breath. "Oh, they's been like that ever since Miss Lucille come back."

  "Came back? From where? When?"

  Mamie shot her an uncertain look and shook her head.

  "It not my place to be talking 'bout Mistah Hunter, Miss. You best ask him."

  "I would, but he doesn't seem all that open where his mother is concerned. He hired me to be her companion, and maybe if I know the history behind their animosity I'll be able to do my job better."

  Mamie considered this for a moment while she tied the strings and settled the chemise back into place.

  "Well." She picked up the bodice and held it while Marin slipped her arms in. "I guess it ain't no secret. Any somebody on the street could tell you the story if they had a mind to."

  Mamie still looked uncertain, so Marin sat on the chaise and patted the seat beside her. She had to take the dark woman's hand and pull her down, and still Mamie sat as if she were on a bed of nails.

  "Well, Miss-"

  "Ca
ll me Marin."

  "Miss Marin-"

  "No. Not 'Miss.' Just Marin. After all, we both work here."

  Mamie smiled a brilliant, white smile and ducked her head. She tried the name out on her tongue.

  "Marin." It must have felt good, because she continued. "Miss Lucille come back here a couple years ago, and things ain't been good since."

  "Where did she come back from? Why did she leave?"

  Mamie kept her eyes averted and began making tiny pleats in the skirt of her apron.

  "Mistah Hunter, he bring his daddy, Mastah Nathanial, back here not long after the fightin' started in the war. Mastah Nate got hisself all shot up. Lost his arm to gangrene. Well, Mistah Hunter cared for his daddy as long as he could, but he have to get back to the war.

  "Mastah Nate, he be in pretty good shape by then, so he tell Hunter to go on back to his company." The center of Mamie's apron began to look like a miniature accordion. "Miss Lucille, she couldn't hardly look at the mastah. She ain't never been one to make over a body too much, but she don't even want to be in the same room with him."

  "Finally one day she just packed up and left. Said she can't be a wife to no cripple. That be back in late '61. Mistah Hunter never heard about his mama leavin' until he come home for a visit in '63 and find her gone. Mastah Nate never told him. Even if'n he tried, Mistah Hunter probably didn't get no mail.

  "Anyways, the mastah make Hunter promise he take her in if she ever come back. Poor man loved that woman. He be blind to her true nature." Mamie stared at something only she could see, then clucked her tongue. "Lordy, I ain't never seed that boy so hoppin' mad as when he find out about his mama leavin'. Unless it be the day, thirteen years later, when she showed up on that doorstep out front, uppity as you please, like she just been gone for a Sunday visit."

  The entire apron now resembled a huge, ornamental fan. Marin wanted to calm Mamie's nervous fingers, but she hesitated to break the spell. She spoke in a soft, coaxing voice.

  "What happened then?"

  Mamie took a deep breath and looked Marin in the eye.

  "This house ain't never heard the likes of the row Mistah Hunter had with his mama. He almost throwed her out, but in the end he remembered his promise to his daddy and let her stay. I thought many a time since he be about to toss her out, but somethin' always stop him." Marin had the distinct feeling that Mamie wished fervently Hunter would forget his promise long enough to rid the house of his mother.

  "That woman ain't never had a kind word to say to nobody. She weren't here when Mistah Hunter come home from the war. She weren't here for Miss Blake's wedding. And she ain't never seen her grandchildren."

  The last statements pricked Marin's attention.

  "Miss Blake? Who's that?"

  "That Mistah Hunter's baby sister. She marry a man from Virginia right after the war, and now she gots two sweet little babies."

  Well, this was news. Her research, what little she'd been able to do, hadn't uncovered a sister, and Hunter certainly never mentioned one. But then, he hadn't mentioned much of anything since he'd turned into flesh and blood.

  Mamie stood and fidgeted with her skirts. Clearly, she was uncomfortable with all she'd told.

  "Luncheon will be on the veranda when you is ready, Miss...I mean Marin. The others should be there soon."

  Marin wasn't anxious to share space with Lucille again, but Hunter would be a nice consolation prize. Now that she knew his story, she felt more empathy than irritation. Abandonment, death - they both boiled down to a sense of loss and loneliness, no matter what the age.

  *******

  Hunter had just started on his dessert when he remembered the list. He pulled it from his coat pocket and handed it to Marin, then he broke the unwritten rule of not speaking during a meal.

  "These are the guests for the dinner party. As you can see, there will be no wives, but I will expect you to act as hostess."

  Lucille snatched the slip from Marin's fingers and scanned the list with pursed lips. He wasn't sure if her expression was from the names or from the fact that he'd spoken.

  "Heathen Yankees," she said with a hiss. That answered his question. "Why, they are the scum of -"

  Marin deftly retrieved the purloined slip of paper and moved it out of reach.

  "Pretty strong words for someone who spent the war years up Nawth." She drew out the last word in a parody of an accent.

  Hunter's head snapped around in surprise, and he nailed Marin with his gaze. It seemed his mother had finally met a woman she couldn't cow. The first building block of respect lodged firmly onto its foundation.

  "How dare you take that from me and speak to me thus? You presume too much as a guest in this house!"

  Marin looked at Lucille as if she were a simpleton. Hunter found himself looking forward to her rebuttal.

  "Mrs. Pierce, I'm not a guest. I'm an employee. Hunter handed me the list so I could do my job. If he'd wanted you to have it, he would have given it to you.

  "As for my comment, I was merely making an observation. After all, you did spend the war years in the North. Or were you trying to make the point that you spent time with the scum of the earth? With heathens?"

  Lucille narrowed her eyes into slits and glared with hate at her companion. When her deadly stare elicited nothing more than a sweet smile, she threw her napkin onto her plate and stormed into the house.

  Hunter didn't bother wondering where Marin got the background history on his mother. Mamie knew everything and had obviously shared her wealth of knowledge. He would have to speak to her about her gossiping.

  But all in all, it might prove to be highly entertaining, watching the women in this house - at least until one of them killed the other.

  "That was well done!" He tipped his fork in salute to Marin. "I fear you may need to deal with Mother in such a fashion on a somewhat regular basis. Are you up to the challenge?"

  Marin waved her hand in dismissal, as if shooing a pesky fly. She stabbed another bite of lemon tart.

  "At my last job I used to eat women like her for breakfast." She seemed to freeze when the last word left her lips. He watched her swallow hard before glancing up at him. How interesting. This was a bit of history he hadn't heard. And what an odd way to phrase it.

  "At your last job?" he prompted. He speared a bite of the lemony tart and waited for her answer. She stared at him with a somewhat surprised expression. Only after he raised an eyebrow to indicate he was still waiting for an answer did she attempt to speak.

  "Oh...ahem...taking care of Mother, of course." She stopped and looked at him. He nodded for her to continue. "Well, you know how little old ladies can be. Mom's friends would come to visit, then spend all their time either making suggestions for her care or bullying me about it outright. I got adept at speaking my mind."

  She ducked her head and finished dissecting the dessert with the concentration of a surgeon.

  Why did he have the feeling her account wasn't quite complete?

  *******

  It seemed every time Marin managed to immerse herself in plans for the dinner party, another business associate, neighbor, or general busybody dropped in to meet the oddity she had become as a - gasp! - female secretary. How she would love to inform them that the tables would turn, and male secretaries would be viewed with equal skepticism some day.

  But now her job was to sit across from the latest curiosity-seekers, neighbors who had dropped by after church, and try to keep an irascible Lucille from embarrassing Hunter. Fortunately the lemon-sucker seemed to be having a civil conversation with the ladies.

  Joseph and Pearline Franklin lived down the road in the eyesore they called Rosewood, which was actually a Federal style house that had Italian Renaissance updates stuck to it like ears on a Mr. Potatohead. Lyford and Ardis Hawks lived next to the Franklins in a tasteful Greek Revival which still held all the elegance of the old South. Marin listened to the conversation about Lyford's new hobby with half an ear while she tried to figure out
why the two couples looked so familiar.

  "Yes, I must say I have found it entertaining as well as highly enjoyable. In fact, I have it in the carriage. We wanted to capture Reverend Balsamer for posterity. Would you care to see it?"

  Marin blinked at the question. What did he want to show her? Had he even mentioned what "it" was? She looked over at Hunter, who also waited for her reply. When she raised her eyebrows in question at him, he rolled his eyes and turned to Lyford.

  "We would be most interested to see your camera." He slightly exaggerated the last word and darted a glance at Marin. "I have always been fascinated by photography."

  "Well then, why don't we just snap a picture of our little group here. Won't take but a minute."

  That was it! That was why these people looked so familiar. They were the two couples in the picture Marin had found that afternoon after seeing Hunter's ghost.

  She followed the group, including a scowling Lucille, onto the porch. While Lyford busied himself setting up his shiny new camera and giving Hunter an impromptu lesson in photography, Marin fought dizziness and tried to quell the prickling tingles that popped out all over her shoulders and neck. How strange she felt, to know what this picture would look like before it was ever taken.

  Lyford gathered everyone on the steps of the porch and placed the tripod just so. He adjusted the camera to his satisfaction, held up a hand, then yelled, "Everyone look at the camera!"

  Marin's stomach did a somersault. Lyford had to be in the picture!

  "Wait!"

  Lyford straightened, his face indulgent, as he waited for her to explain.

  "You should be in the picture, too!" She cast about looking for a way to make it possible for all of them to be photographed. Ambrose's wooly head passed by a window at that moment, and she hustled to the door to call him outside.

  "Could Ambrose open the shutter so you can be in the picture with us?"