A House Divided Page 8

  CHAPTER 9

  Zoie avoided her mother and aunts and spent the morning sifting through the items in the trunk. She looked through the photographs, most of which were too faded to make out. Then she came across one that made her look closer.

  It was a photograph of her grandmother. She must have been in her late thirties. Nana was seated in what looked to be a hospital or clinic waiting room, holding a baby in her arms. The imprinted date on the photo was October 10, 1954.

  Zoie looked closer at the photo. The expression of love on her grandmother’s face was unmistakable. But based on the date, if it was correct, the child could not have been her mother or her aunts. Her mother was about sixteen and her aunts older than that.

  She turned the photo over. There was only one word—Kimberly.

  Zoie’s expression tensed. Even after years of being at the beck and call of the Maitlands, Nana still doted over their children. She tossed the picture aside and picked up one of the journals. The first entry froze her in place.

  Diary,

  They buried Kyle today. I raised that boy from an infant, and I don’t have the words for the pain in my heart for the family and for my Rose. I’m just happy that she’s off in New York and didn’t have to see all this. I know she never got over him, but what we did was the right thing. I’ll always be grateful to Ms. Lou Ellen. Kim will have what is rightly hers, and my baby Rose will, too.

  Zoie could not make sense out of what she was reading. She skimmed some more pages, but they were random notes about recipes and Bible verses, and the rest of the pages were blank.

  She dug in the trunk and picked up another journal. This one was from Nana’s early years with the Maitlands; it recorded her thoughts about the lavish parties they gave and tidbits about Kyle.

  She went through every journal in the trunk, but nothing linked to or explained the entry about Kyle’s death or the cryptic lines about Kimberly and Rose.

  Her eyes stung from hours of reading, and her temples pounded. When she looked out of the small attic window, she realized that it had grown dark. It was only three in the afternoon. A storm was coming.

  Zoie picked up the photograph of her grandmother and baby Kimberly and the journal with the entry about Kyle’s death and took them to her room. She switched on the light.

  A high-profile death such as that of Kyle Maitland would easily make the newspapers. She put the photo and the journal in the top drawer of her nightstand. The library should have clippings, and as soon as the weather cleared, that’s where she was going. She walked over to her window. That trip wouldn’t be anytime soon.

  It was pitch black outside, as if all the lights in the world had been turned off. She pushed the curtain aside. The strength of the wind bent branches, and the fallen leaves swirled in a macabre dance.

  The windows rattled, and the wind suddenly screamed. A chill raced up her spine as childhood memories of hurricanes flashed through her head.

  She shook off the feeling of dread, made sure that her windows were locked and the shutters closed for extra security. Some of the major injuries during these kinds of storms happened because of objects and tree limbs crashing through windows and the flying glass hitting the occupants.

  Her stomach growled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything all day, which would explain her headache, which had intensified. She stuck her cell phone in her back pocket, switched off the light, and went down to the kitchen.

  * * *

  Rose and Sage stood at the kitchen sink, cutting and dicing vegetables and dropping them into a large pot. Hyacinth sat at the table, reading the Bible.

  “Pretty bad storm coming,” Zoie said, stepping into the kitchen.

  “Bad one,” Hyacinth murmured.

  Zoie walked over and patted her aunt on the shoulder. “Can I help with anything?” she asked in the vague hope of getting her mother and aunt to at least acknowledge her presence.

  Rose briefly glanced over her shoulder. “We’re making stew in case we lose power, which is likely. Don’t want too much going to waste.”

  “You can make sure all the shutters are latched tight,” Sage said. “And I guess you need to check your garden—since it’s yours now. Make sure the tarp is tied down tight.”

  “Oh. Okay. Sure.” She went out back first. She’d never tied down tarp and had no idea what she was doing as she tightened the ropes around the stakes while battling the rising wind, which threatened to knock her off her feet. She finished as best as she could, checked that the storage shed was locked, then ran back inside, breathless from the force of the wind.

  She started in the attic and was hit again with what she had uncovered. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. There was nothing she could do with the bits and pieces of information, but at the first opportunity she intended to change that. In the meantime, she needed to make sure that everyone in the house would be safe.

  After securing the windows and the hatch to the roof, she checked all the windows on the second floor and then the main level.

  By the time she returned to the kitchen, the to-die-for aroma of simmering stew and fresh vegetables filled the air, which only reminded her of how hungry she was.

  “This is going to take a while,” Rose said. “You must be hungry. You missed breakfast.”

  “Starving.”

  “There’re cold cuts and a block of cheese in the fridge to make sandwiches,” Sage said. She wiped her hands on her apron and faced Zoie. “Find what you been looking for up in that attic?”

  Zoie flinched. The penetrating look in her aunt’s eyes unnerved her. She shifted her weight. “Just trying to get a handle on how Nana ran her business.” She wasn’t ready to divulge what she’d uncovered.

  Sage folded her hands in front of her. “Maybe you should just ask one of us.” Her lips tightened into a pout.

  Zoie took a breath. “Fine.” She shrugged. “Tell me.” She rested her hip against the counter.

  * * *

  Jackson switched the speed on the wipers as the rain, which had been no more than a drizzle moments ago, fell harder and faster.

  This was turning into a really poor decision on his part. Today was not the day for construction site visits. His intention was to do a quick run-through on the progress of the work being done on the affordable housing complex that his company was in charge of. But the rapidly deteriorating weather nixed that idea.

  He glanced in his rearview mirror. Going back was no longer an option. Thick dark clouds loomed behind him. To go back would mean driving right into the storm. His only choice was to try and outrun it.

  He turned up the volume on the radio. The announcer offered nothing good, but rather a strong warning to seek shelter; the meteorologist talked about the gale-force winds that would within hours be upgraded to a category-one hurricane, with sustained winds of 80 to 90 miles per hour. All cars were ordered off the roads unless they were emergency vehicles, and there were already reports of downed trees falling onto the roadways.

  “Shit.” He leaned forward, squinted at the windshield, and tried to follow the barely visible road. There was a faint glow of taillights up ahead. The next thing he knew, his car was careening nose-first into a ditch. The airbag deployed, knocking the wind out of him.

  He wasn’t certain how long it took him to grasp what had happened. It felt like hours but in fact was only minutes. He did a mental inventory of his body. Nothing seemed to be broken, but his chest felt like he’d been kicked. He punched down the airbag until it deflated enough for him to unfasten his seatbelt. If there was a silver lining in all this, it was that he didn’t drive into the water and the car didn’t flip over. Small mercies.

  Jackson checked for his phone. No signal. He popped the trunk, grabbed his briefcase and car keys, and pushed open the door. He stepped out and sank almost knee deep in mud and was pummeled by wind and rain.

  He’d lived in NOLA all his life and would swear that he knew every inch, but in the pitch blackness, made more ominous
by the rain, he had no real sense of where he was.

  His first challenge, however, was to climb out of the ditch. But he knew he’d never make it in his dress shoes. His boots and an emergency kit were in the trunk. After several failed attempts, he was finally able to get a good grip on the back wheel well and pull himself into a position to get into the trunk.

  The blinding rain made every move an Olympics-level event. He managed to keep the trunk open, even as the now howling wind fought against him.

  His work boots, a rain slicker, flashlight, and flares were in a crate in the trunk. He quickly donned the raincoat, pulled up the hood, and turned on the flashlight. Getting out of his mud-filled shoes was another challenge.

  The wind grew stronger, and the rain slashed with the fierceness of tiny scalpels. It took nearly a half hour for him to crawl out of the ditch. For every inch gained, he slipped back by two. Finally, his head crested the top of the ditch. He dug his hands deep into the mud wall, pushed upward with his last ounce of energy, and dragged himself over onto the side of the road.

  Jackson crawled to his knees and staggered to his feet. He swung the flashlight back and forth in the hope of getting a handle on where he was. As best as he could determine, he was well into the outskirts of downtown. His property was at least another three miles away.

  As much as he wanted to simply crawl back into his car and wait it out, he knew that his car had a very good chance of sinking even further into the muck and that he had to get to safety. If the forecast was to be believed, this was not the worst of what was to come.

  Jackson kept the flashlight aimed ahead and started walking.

  * * *

  The lights flickered. Zoie glanced up from eating her sandwich. The kitchen light went out, then came right back on.

  “Gonna lose power,” Hyacinth murmured.

  “We don’t have a generator?” Zoie asked.

  “Mama never wanted one,” Rose said while she stirred the pot.

  “But now that everything in here is yours, I s’pose you can get one,” Sage said.

  “You know what, Aunt Sage, I think I will,” she said, refusing to back down from the passive-aggressive comment. “It makes sense, especially with the kinds of storms we get down here. Then cooking everything in the house so that it won’t spoil wouldn’t need to be the response to a storm.”

  Sage sucked her teeth.

  “Good idea,” Hyacinth said, then went back to reading her Bible.

  “What other changes you plan to make?” Sage challenged.

  “I don’t plan to change anything, Auntie. Why should I?”

  “I would expect that once you get settled and see how things run around here, you’ll find ways to improve things.”

  Zoie pulled in a breath. She pressed her palms down on the table. “Listen, I know that this is difficult for everyone, me included. This wasn’t what I wanted. It’s what Nana wanted. I don’t know what her reasons were. All I know for sure is that I am going to do my best to honor her wishes.”

  “Well, I for one am glad you’re home,” Rose said softly. “Even if the circumstances aren’t the best.” She offered her daughter a tight smile.

  Zoie didn’t know what to make of her mother’s comment. Should she take it at face value or prepare herself for the usual backhand? It was moments and statements like that one that kept Zoie off balance and in a constant state of being on the defensive.

  She cleared her throat. “I, um, want to ask you all something. I ran across some letters and journals that Nana wrote.” The room grew quiet. She looked from one to the other. Sage’s expression had shifted to one of warning; her mother’s was wide-eyed curiosity, and Hyacinth seemed to have tuned them all out. “How long did she actually work for the Maitlands?”

  “Too long,” Sage spat. She slapped a wooden spoon on the counter.

  “Why?” Rose asked. “That was so long ago.”

  “From what I’ve been able to put together, she seemed very attached to the family, even when the three of you were older. What else makes no sense is that it seems that her parents actually sent her to them. Why would they do that?”

  “Same reason all the parents back then did it, and still do,” Sage said. “So the child could have a better life.”

  “I get that part. Sort of. But what I don’t understand is that even after she married Grandpa she still took care of the Maitland children, and the three of you were with a sitter.”

  Sage and Rose wouldn’t look at Zoie, as if suddenly ashamed of their past.

  “How did Kyle Maitland die?” she asked, switching her approach.

  Rose inhaled a sharp breath and visibly paled. Surprisingly, Sage reached out and patted her sister’s arm.

  “Head-on collision. He was on his way to some fund-raising thing. Running for some kind of office or the other.” She slowly shook her head. “Shame.”

  But Zoie was focused on her mother’s reaction, which seemed a bit extreme. She was biting down on her lip, and her fingers had curled into fists.

  “Rose had a crush,” Hyacinth said out of the blue. She laughed.

  Rose pushed up from the table and went to the refrigerator.

  “Oh, hush,” Sage admonished her sister. She turned to Zoie and lowered her voice. “You know your aunt ain’t quite right. Don’t pay that no mind.”

  To Zoie, those were the magic words. The one thing you didn’t tell her was to ignore something. That’s when she latched on. She tucked that bit of information away to investigate more fully when she could get her mother alone.

  “Did any of you ever meet Kimberly, the daughter?”

  “Why?” Sage demanded.

  “Actually . . .” She hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I’m doing an extensive piece on her since she’s running for New York State Senate.”

  “Cute little thing,” Hyacinth said. “She loved her brother, Kyle,” she added with crystal clear clarity. “Followed him everywhere. Rose, too, once upon a time.” She giggled.

  “That’s enough, Hy,” Sage snapped. “Why they give that story to you? Need to leave those rocks right where they are.”

  “Why, Aunt Sage? What is it that you don’t want me to know?”

  “You can know whatever you want. Won’t change nothing.” She got up and went to stir the pot.

  Zoie continued. “Jackson said the family is still here. I plan to interview them.”

  The stirring spoon clattered to the floor.

  “I always liked that Jackson fella,” Hyacinth said.

  Sage pivoted. “Say what?”

  “I plan on interviewing the Maitland family as part of my reporting on Kimberly’s run for office.”

  Sage’s chest heaved. She shot a glance at Rose, whose expression was frozen in alarm.

  “Your aunt is right,” Rose managed in a voice that was barely above a whisper. “Need to leave them people alone.”

  Zoie looked from her aunt back to her mother. “Leaving things alone is not what I do. And when you say to stay away, that gives me more reason to believe—”

  “I don’t give a hot damn what you believe, little girl,” Sage railed, her face flushed with fury. “You turn over them rocks and you will regret it. Nothing good is going to come of it. You hear what I’m saying? Nothing!” She ripped her apron from around her thick waist and tossed it on the table before storming out.

  Zoie’s pulse thundered in her veins. Her hands shook. Never in her life had she heard her aunt speak that way, and neither had she ever seen the look of pure terror in the eyes of the always stoic Sage.

  “Mama . . .”

  Rose held up her hand. “If your work is more important than the wishes of your family . . . well . . . I just don’t know what to say to you.”

  “All ’cause of that boy, that’s all,” Hyacinth mumbled.

  “What did you say, Hy?” Rose asked.

  “When the stew gonna be ready? I’m hungry. Mama probably hungry, too. Where is she anyhow? Ain’t seen her all morning
.” She looked up at Rose and smiled.

  “Auntie, what did you mean when you said it’s all because of that boy?” Zoie pressed.

  Hyacinth looked at her niece with emptiness in her eyes. “You look so familiar. You family?”

  Whatever window Hyacinth had briefly glanced out of was closed and clouded now. Zoie sighed with resignation.

  “Come on. Let’s go sit in the living room while the food cooks.” Rose helped her sister to her feet and ushered her away.

  Zoie sat motionless, trying to process the rapid-fire chain of events. What did her aunt mean? Something had happened between her mother and Kyle Maitland. What? She would have been a teen at the time of his death, and he was much older than her—in his mid to late twenties. A crush? Or something more? Even so, after all these years, the animosity was alive and thriving in the Bennett household. Yet it appeared, from what she’d gathered from her grandmother’s letters and journals, that the Maitlands were wonderful people. The two realities didn’t make sense.

  She was so immersed in the spinning of her thoughts that she mistook the banging on the front door for the wind doing its damnedest to get inside. She cocked her head to the side and listened again. She pushed up from the table and went to the front of the house. There it was again, and it wasn’t the wind. She went to the window next to the door, opened the shutters, and peered out in to the darkness.

  There was someone standing on the front porch.

  “Who is it?” she yelled.

  “Jackson!”

  She jerked back in surprise, then opened the door. The instant she opened it, she was assaulted by a powerful blast of wind and slashing rain, and she found herself drenched in the time it took for Jackson to cross the threshold.

  He was barely recognizable, dripping wet and covered in mud.

  “What the hell are you doing out in this mess?” She helped him out of his raincoat. “Never mind. Don’t move.” She darted off to the laundry room and grabbed some towels and the mop from the kitchen. “Here.” She handed him a towel and put another on the floor for his boots. “You have to get out of those things.” She began to mop up the water. “A man hasn’t lived here in decades, so there isn’t much to offer in the way of a change of clothes.”