'I take it you are also interested in the house?' one of them asked.
'Very much so,' Cree admitted.
The old women shared covert looks of dismay. For an instant Ron looked uncomfortable, but another expression quickly replaced the concern – an opportunistic glint followed by renewed confidence.
'Well. I was just talking about some of the portraits,' Ron said, 'but I know Mrs. Mitchell and Mrs. Crawford are particularly interested in the restorations my father did. Please follow me, ladies. Ms. Black, do join us, won't you?'
Cree did. Ron led them through the house, pausing to describe features of interest. He discussed several innovations the original architect had incorporated and then explained how careful his father had been to install central forced-air heating and air-conditioning so as to have minimal impact on the historical appearance of the house. When he unlocked the doors along the east wing hallway, Cree saw the interiors of the rooms for the first time. Ron explained that one had been the original kitchen and the other the larder; though now they were mostly empty, the Beaufortes had stored their most valuable antiques in them during the Chases' occupancy.
They finished with the former slave quarters. In the room where she'd drowsed, the sun squares were gone now, the three old women crowded the room and filled it with chatter. To Cree's dismay the sense of the past faded. She clung to the images and scents, missing it, longing for that shimmering summer air. But it sifted away and left her feeling oddly empty.
When they were done there, the three ladies conferred as Ronald took a moment to shut the doors along the balcony. Then, as he led the way to the narrow stairway, one of them turned back to Cree. It was Mrs. Crawford, a thin woman with a mesh of blue veins visible through the nearly transparent pale skin of her face, white hair spun fine as cotton candy, an expensive-looking, perfectly tailored suit. A woman of porcelain delicacy with a brittle, disapproving expression.
'I take it your interest is private, Ms. Black?' she asked. She looked Cree up and down and apparently found her unsatisfactory.
'Well, yes – '
'We are somewhat disappointed. We weren't aware Mr. Beauforte was entertaining other interest at this point. I do hope this doesn't mean we'll be competitors in a bidding war. That would be so unfortunate for both parties, don't you think?'
'Wait a minute – ' Cree began, getting the drift now.
But before she could continue, Ronald Beauforte appeared again, looking up at them from the bend in the stairs. 'Oh, there you are. We missed you. If you have any questions, I'm happy to try to be of assistance -?' He smiled insincerely as he continued up, and Cree got the sense he was deliberately interrupting them.
Mrs. Crawford didn't take her eyes off Cree. 'We were just discussing how important it is to keep houses of great historical significance accessible to the public. To preserve our cultural heritage for posterity.'
'So very true,' Ronald agreed. He took Mrs. Crawford's arm and steered her toward the stairs. 'But I did so want to show you the carriage house – again my father was well ahead of his time and took pains with the restoration, bless his soul – ' And he shepherded her into the stairwell before Cree could say anything.
'I supposed you're wondering what that was all about,' Ronald said. He shut the front door and dusted his hands together. Outside, the three ladies of the Historical Preservation Society were making their way down the front walk.
'Yeah – I'm wondering why you're showing the house to prospective buyers even though your sister still hopes to live here.'
Ronald crossed his arms and stood flat-footed, looking down at her and smiling. 'What the hell were you doin' up there when we came in? Not to beat a cliche to death, but you looked like you'd seen a – '
'And why you intentionally let them think of me as another possible buyer. I assume having another buyer in the picture would help drive up the price?'
'Ms. Black, your presence was, to put it mildly, unexpected. What would you have me do, explain the whole sorry business to them? 'Ladies, this here is a ghost buster we've hired because my sister is going crazy and we're so afraid for her mental health we'll do any damned thing'? But no, I didn't mind them assuming that's what you're here for, and no, it probably won't hurt the price.' He didn't seem at all disconcerted by Cree's scorn.
'What about Lila?'
'Oh, what about Lila?' Ronald's good mood vanished. He turned away, frustrated, striding into the front parlor and then wheeling back to face Cree. 'First the woman takes it into her head that she's perishing to live in the old family home – last kid leaves the nest, and suddenly she comes up with the notion that there's going to be some great Southern dynasty reborn here? Hell, she'll be lucky if her kids'll even come visit after college. You see what she's doing? It's not just the empty nest thing, she's got some kind of a… a hole in her life, and decides living in this place is going to fill it. She's suddenly feeling her age, feeling alone, and so she's clinging to some kind of a dream or… fantasy that isn't real, never was. Just how seriously am I supposed to take it? And Jack! Well, we all know^ what Jack – '
'Doesn't she deserve a chance to see if that's what she really wants? Don't dreams deserve a chance to become real?'
Ronald stopped his tirade to drop his chin on his chest as if martyred by Cree's idealism. But when he raised his face, his huff had vanished and his expression was appreciative. 'You sure get in deep, quick, don't you? We've only been talking five minutes and look how very philosophical we're getting!' He clicked his tongue, looking at her admiringly, then sobered again. 'No, Ms. Black, I am not immune to the idea that dreams deserve a chance. But let's look at what's really happened. Just as my dear sister is giving her dream that chance, all of a sudden she comes up with this big reason not to, doesn't she? See, what you don't know is, there's some history here. We've been having to deal with Lila's fits and starts, grand plans and self-sabotage – have I got the psychobabble right? – since she was fifteen! This time it's ghosts, terrors, I don't know what all, none of you'll tell me. And next time it'll be something else. Who knows where this thing'll end up? You see what shape Lila's in. Can you guarantee you're going to 'cure' her? That you're going to exorcize the… evil spirits she thinks this old place is stuffed with? That when the all dust settles, and you've come and gone, she's still going to want to move in here? You can guarantee that?'
'No.'
'Fine. So what's the harm of having backup plans? You know, these old places cost money even when they're sitting empty. You got half a million dollars in antiques gathering dust and getting eaten by moths and mice. You got an acre of roof to keep from leaking. You're paying for security service, pest control, insurance, taxes, yard work, you name it, and all for what? To have something to worry about! Why not see it preserved for posterity, just like little ol' Miz Crawfish said?'
'How much does Lila know about your 'backup plans'?'
Ronald turned away to stride into the front parlor. 'Are we done here? You want to help me pull these? Sunlight – they say it'll wreck up these rugs and whatnot.' He unhooked the ties and tugged the front drapes together. The room dimmed, taking on one small shade of its former melancholy.
Ronald went to the next window but stopped before yanking the drapes there. Instead he turned back to Cree. 'There's another thing. You're a psychologist – tell me how healthy it would be, living where you're afraid to sit down because you might wear out the genuine Louis Quinze upholstery? She going to keep the drapes drawn all the time? Put plastic runners over the rugs, or just never walk on 'em? You gonna tell me that's any way to live?'
'I hear you lost a bundle in the stock market last year. That liquid assets would be nice for you just now.'
That stopped him cold, and for a moment anger flared in his eyes. But he got it under control quickly, shaking his head ruefully. 'Momma. My dear, loving mother. Why's she telling you this stuff? What on God's green earth does it have to do with what we got you down here for? You want to see my stock portfolio, too? My tax forms?'
Cree shrugged, letting him hang for a moment.
Ron waited, too, and then made a dismissive gesture. He pulled the next drapes shut, bringing back yet another shade of gloom. He walked past Cree, then turned again with an expression she had never seen on his face: a discomfort, an urgency, as if something really did, after all, matter to him. His irritation was only the surface of a deeper disturbance, she sensed, a frustration and confusion. She felt a pang of sympathy for him.
