liar? A man must never sully a woman's name, must never speak of a woman without respect. Francis was trapped. He went to see Ruth's father and the marriage was agreed upon. And now, he had given his word. But his heart was shattered because Sabina was lost to him, promised, as Ruth had told him, to wed another.
'Imagine his despair, his fury, his anguish, when he paid a visit to Sabina to offer congratulations upon her engagement, to wish her every happiness, though his heart was breaking, and to learn from her own lips that no, she was not promised to another, that she never—now—intended to marry. Theunhappy couple stared at each other, stricken, and the truth came out. Francis embraced his true love this one time only, then, bound by his word, he departed, betrothed to the schem ing, meretricious Ruth Lowndes.
'Is it any wonder that he came to his own wedding looking like a man who had come for his execution? Francis participated in the vows, but never once looked at the bride. He remained aloof and grim through the reception. When it fi nally ended, he helped his bride into a yellow gilt coach that carried them to the home her father had given to them at one- thirty-one Tradd Street. Francis saw his bride to the door of her new house, formally bid her good-night, then departed in the coach to his own home on St. John's Island. He would return to the house on Tradd Street to preside at dinners and at parties, but he never once spent the night under that roof. Five years later, he built his own grand house in Charleston, perhaps to underscore his separation from Ruth. So it contin ued throughout their lives. Ruth never publicly gave notice to his anger; she was always cheerful and bright and smiling. So who in this bitter battle triumphed? No one, I'm afraid. One summer Sabina died of a fever, and then Francis was left with only memories until his own demise a few years later.
'Ruth Simmons's house on Tradd Street no longer stands, Annie dear, but sometimes late at night there is a clatter of coach wheels and old-time Charlestonians lift their heads, listen for a moment, then say, ‘Oh, that must be Ruth Simmons's yellow gilt coach, driving her to her empty marriage bed.' ' A sigh. 'My dear, what a tragedy!'
Annie had this immediate (she knew it was unworthy) notion that Laurel, of all people, would surely be appalled by an empty marriage bed. Having, in fact, been married five times . . . Annie forced her mind into other channels.
'Damn shame,' Annie said heartily.
Her mother-in-law's silence was a good indicator that Annie's response had—somehow—not been up to par. What was expected?
Annie tried again. 'Oh, certainly, I can see that honesty is the best policy.' She felt like a walking bromide. Perhaps a
dash of cynicism. 'Well, I doubt that Francis spent all of his nights alone.'
'Annie, Annie. Perhaps I should put aside my work here and join you and Max.' Laurel's husky voice indicated a definite eagerness to put duty before pleasure. 'The nuances of conduct, my dear, the subterranean rocks of existence which influence conscious action, these must be your concern. And I am certainly prepared to—'
'Laurel, Max and I know you would be very happy to join us'—she took a gleeful pleasure in Max's obvious discomfiture as he lunged to his feet and began to wave his arms wildly up and down—'but you must hew to your own course. The loss to our culture would be irreparable.' At Laurel's sudden si lence, Annie worried that she had overdone it. After all, she didn't want to hurt the old spirit-chaser's feelings. 'Really, Laurel, we're managing just fine. In fact, we're very close to a solution. The case will probably be over before you could journey here . . . considering your present disabilities.'
'Oh, in that event . . . well, I do have so many avenues to explore. I shall continue my vigilant pursuit of truth here and you shall continue your vigilant pursuit there. We shall, of course, keep in close touch. Ta, my dears.'
Annie replaced the receiver. Before she could suggest to Max that, after all, this was his mother and next time it was his turn to embark upon spirited quests, the fax phone rang and the machine began to clatter.
Annie had poured fresh coffee for them both when Max returned, bearing a single sheet and looking absolutely mystified. He handed the sheet to Annie.
Annie turned it upside down. No, there were words scrawled on the sheet, so it must go the other way. She righted it and squinted.
A new kind of avant-garde art perhaps?
Made up of varying shaped splotches of black and gray?
She read the inscription. It, at least, she could identify without fail. She was exceedingly familiar with Laurel's surprisingly elegant script:
Isn't this the most remarkable photograph you've ever seen? It shall certainly be regarded with the utmost excitement by the American Psychical Society!!!!
L.
Max peered over her shoulder. 'Mushrooms bouncing down dungeon steps?'
But revelation came to Annie in a flash. 'Ruth Simmons's coach careening down Tradd Street!' she exclaimed.
