“What does that symbol mean?”
“Love everlasting.”
I thought about Robert and Mariama’s history. They’d been together as teenagers. He’d both loved and hated her, and then he’d moved to Charleston and discovered there was a world beyond her. And yet, he’d allowed her back into his life.
“When was the last time you saw them here?” I asked.
“The day he got himself shot. I stood right over there behind that tree and listened to every word they said.”
I knew I should stop her, but I was spellbound and morbidly fascinated. “What did you hear?”
Her eyes rounded, and she waved her arms theatrically. It was almost as powerful as having been there. “She kept grabbing his shirt, like this.” Tamira demonstrated with her own T-shirt. “She clung with both fists, begging him to run off with her. She said he was the only man she’d ever loved and she didn’t want to live without him. He just laughed at her, and said she’d never really loved anyone but herself, and the only reason she’d come back to him was to taunt her husband. It had been a mistake to start things up with her again and even if he had been in love with her, his job was too dangerous to take on a family. He had no room in his life for a wife, much less one with a kid.” She finished with a dramatic flourish, shivering a bit as if overcome by the memory of all those emotions.
“You remember all that?” I asked in awe.
“I never forget a thing. Just ask Timberly.”
“I believe you.”
“You want to know the scary part?” She leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “I think Mariama comes to me in my sleep sometimes and tries to mess with me. I’m the only one that knows the truth about her and she don’t like it.”
“What truth?”
Tamira made a production of glancing over her shoulder. “She told Robert he would be sorry if he left her and the very next day I saw his body right here in the exact same spot where they’d stood talking. It was like she put a root on him or something.”
“You found him?” I asked in surprise.
She nodded proudly.
“But Robert was shot. Mariama couldn’t have done it because she was already dead.”
“If she came back as bakulu, she could have made somebody do it for her. That’s what they do. They make slaves of the living.”
“Tamira, listen to me. Were you in the cemetery the night Robert was murdered? Did you see what happened?”
Her eyes bulged suddenly, and her hands flew to her throat. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. I thought at first this was just more of her theatrics, but then I followed her gaze.
Rhapsody Goodwine stood between two graves, the resemblance to her father, Darius, so uncanny in that eerie setting as to raise goose bumps on my arms. She lifted her hand and pointed to Tamira.
“Tie your mouth, Tay-Tay!”
Beside me, the girl began to choke.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tamira fell back against the tree in a fit of gagging and coughing. I stared at her in alarm. “Are you okay?”
As quickly as the spell came on, the choking subsided. Gasping for breath, she looked beyond me to Rhapsody. “Stay away! You hear? Stay away from me!”
I shot a glance at Rhapsody. She stood there between those two graves looking almost angelic in a pale yellow dress and lace-up boots, her wild mane of hair framing her lovely face.
Tamira backed away, hands still clutching her throat. Once she’d cleared the trees, she whirled and took off running through the cemetery, sandals flapping.
Rhapsody laughed. “Look at her go!”
“What did you do to her?” I hadn’t meant to sound so accusing, but I couldn’t help it. I was a little freaked out.
“Nothing.” Her shrug was completely innocent. “She did it to herself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were here. I never laid a hand on her, did I?”
Power of suggestion, Temple had said.
I remembered how intimidated Tamira had seemed that day on her front porch as Essie, Rhapsody and I had walked past. Whether it was mind over matter or something else, the poor girl was obviously scared to death of Rhapsody.
“Do you remember me?” I asked.
“You’re Amelia,” she answered promptly. “Granny’s been waiting for you.”
“How did she know I was here?”
“She sent for you,” Rhapsody said.
“Sent for me? How?”
She didn’t answer but instead took my hand, and we walked back through the graveyard together. Her skin was warm and smooth, and she smelled of line-dried linens and rosemary. She’d inherited her father’s bone structure and numinous smile, but her eyes were green rather than topaz. She was striking, nonetheless, with those flowing dark curls and a kind of airy grace that almost made one wonder if she floated rather than walked. She clutched my hand as if to keep herself grounded, and I found myself unaccountably troubled by the contact. Was I keeping her grounded or was she holding me prisoner?
A silly thought. She was just a charming girl with a fair dash of drama and mischief.
She’d blossomed since I’d seen her last, and already she’d had a coquettish quality that, along with her beauty, did not bode well for her great-grandmother’s future peace of mind.
As we strolled along, she chatted nonstop, the episode with Tamira already a memory. But I hadn’t forgotten. Whether or not the coughing spell had been of the girl’s own doing, it had effectively stopped her from talking about the night Robert Fremont was murdered.
Out on the road, we passed by the elder Fremont’s house, and I noticed that the hole had already been patched, blocking the old man’s spirit. Rhapsody paused to watch the hearse pull away from the curb.
“Did you know Mr. Fremont?” I asked carefully.
“He used to sit out on his front porch smoking a pipe,” she said. “Sometimes I came over and sat with him. I liked the smell of his tobacco. It reminded me of High John the Conqueror.”
“I’ve heard of that before. It’s a root, isn’t it?”
She reached in her pocket and pulled out a dark, woody tuber, which she placed in my hand. Tentatively, I lifted it to my nose. It did smell a little like cherry-scented pipe tobacco with a touch of nutmeg and cinnamon. “What’s it for?”
“It’s very powerful,” she said. “Put it in your pocket and it’ll bring you luck and give you mastery over tricksters.”
“Thank you. That should come in handy.”
Speaking of tricksters…
“The last time I was here, you told me that your father was in Africa,” I said. “Has he come back?”
She gave me a sidelong look through her thick lashes. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m just curious. You told me how much you missed your home in Atlanta and all your friends.”
“I have friends here now,” she said. “And I have Granny.”
I wondered if the girl even had a clue her father was in Charleston.
The breeze picked up as we neared the cottage. I could hear the flap of sheets on the clothesline and the tinkle of garden bells at the side of the house. Just like before, Essie sat on the front porch hunched over her quilt blocks, a crocheted shawl tossed over her shoulders. She’d propped her feet on a little wooden bench and I could see the toes of her sneakers peeking from beneath the hem of her long skirt.
“Here she is, Granny,” Rhapsody announced as we moved up the steps. “I brought her to you just like you asked.”
Essie looked me up and down, her mouth a thin line of disapproval. “Sit, gal, ’fo dat wind snatch you right off dis porch. Lawd, if you ain’t nuthin’ but skin and bones.”
I dropped down on the top step, remembering my previous visit. I’d fainted on this very porch, my last conscious thought of the haint blue ceiling that had seemed to press down on me. Later when I’d come to, Essie had told me that Devlin would someday have to make a choice between the living and the dead and that Shani wouldn’t be able to rest until he found the strength to let her go.