Page 73 of The Lost Hours
There was a soft knock on the door and Odella entered. Lillian closed her eyes again, relief and exhaustion washing over her.So tired.“You’re jumping ahead again, Piper. Just like Annabelle . . .” She kept her eyes closed, waiting until Piper turned away.
“Wait.” Lillian held up a finger. “The frame. I want it next to me. On the table.”
After a short hesitation, Piper did as she’d been asked. “You’re wrong, you know,” Piper said quietly as she settled the frame on the bedstand.
Lillian smiled, letting the approaching sleep begin to numb her limbs and her mind. “Then prove it.”
Piper stiffened and moved back, her presence by the bed replaced by a bustling Odella.
“Do you hear them, Piper?” Lillian tilted her head, listening to the voices who spoke with words she couldn’t understand.
“The trees?” A line formed on Piper’s forehead as she turned her head to listen. “I don’t hear anything. Maybe it’s just the wind. Or maybe your hearing is going.”
Lillian smiled at Piper’s back as the younger woman retreated, watching as she moved to the door and closed it behind her, unaware of all the ghosts now crowding the room or their silent nods of approval.
CHAPTER 21
I ran down the stairs, ignoring the protest in my knees. I’d been dutifully doing Emily’s exercises and my joints did bend more easily and with less pain. I knew now that I would probably never walk normally again, but the realization came with some relief. Now that I knew the worst of it, I could focus on making it better. Like an alcoholic continuing to drink so he doesn’t have to face the real problem, I’d relied on my limp to show the world physical proof of why I couldn’t ride anymore. And I couldn’t help but think how disappointed my grandmother would be that I had chosen to live that way.
I heard Tucker and Helen talking in the parlor, but I slipped past the doorway, unwilling to speak to anybody after my conversation with Lillian. I was unsettled, suddenly feeling the earth’s gravitational pull, wary that it might stop at any moment.
Because if you were different, you’d still be jumping fences.Lillian’s words taunted me, and I walked faster as if physical exertion might distract my thoughts. I left a note on the kitchen table telling Odella that I would return the golf cart first thing in the morning, then left out the back door.
It was full dark now, the house illuminated with spotlights, the alley of oaks towering in front of me. I paused by the sundial, feeling silly at my reluctance to continue forward. An owl hooted from a high branch of the nearest oak as I studied the sundial again, recalling the English translation.Time flies, but not memories. I wondered if my grandmother had ever paused at this exact spot and contemplated the words on the sundial as I did now, and understood how very true they were.
The cloudless night lay still over the oaks and old house and as I moved forward under the canopy of trees, I pushed on the pedal as far as it would go. I couldn’t shake the feeling of expectation, as if the trees were watching me, and waiting to see what Lillian’s words would make me do.
When I returned to the cottage I put on a pot of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, prepared to make a long night of it. I had one more page to read from my grandmother’s scrapbook, and then I was going to reread everything, making more notes and checking dates. I was determined to discover Lillian’s secrets before she had the chance to make me doubt my reasons why.
I set the coffeepot and my mug next to me and began to read.
July 7, 1939
So much has happened, and yet it feels as if no time has passed at all. I’m surrounded by people in my house, yet I’m all alone. If it weren’t for Paul Morton’s frequent visits, I’m certain that I would have lost all hope long ago.
Freddie comes sporadically, if at all, and always in the middle of the night. He’s afraid for his life, but he tries to hide it from us. He wants us all to leave, to hide until after the next election, when new laws can be enforced, and not used against those they are meant to protect. But he forgets that memories run deep in these parts, and I’m afraid neither he nor his family will ever be safe, regardless of how far they run.
He did convince Justine to go to Virginia for an extended stay with her sister. I made it seem as if my father is getting better and will be able to protect us, but I knew she wasn’t convinced. But Freddie can bargain with the sun to make it shine, and she left. I feel relieved, knowing there’s one less person I’m responsible for.
A farmhouse over in Effingham County burned two weeks ago, killing a black man, his wife, and three of their children. The official report was that a cow knocked over a lantern in the barn but Freddie knew the man, and knew he kept no cows. I rail against the injustice, and feel impotent with my situation. Freddie assures us that after we weather this storm, we’ll find peace.
Paul Morton brings us food as I hesitate to leave the house now and don’t want to draw attention to the amount of food I’m buying. He’s been up to the attic room and bided his time there with conversation and magazines, and his company was greatly appreciated. He’s written to several medical schools for their brochures and entrance applications and is having them sent to his house. For when I’m ready, he says.And I’m thankful not just for his kindness, but because he believes it’s something I can accomplish.
It won’t be long now. I’ve been knitting quite a bit because it keeps my mind off of things. Josie jokes that I’ve made enough sweaters and blankets to fill an orphanage and we decided that whatever color we don’t need will be donated.
So we’ve been biding our time, keeping ourselves busy by worrying about Freddie, doing housework and recalling the happiest parts of our childhoods. It’s sad because we’re still young, but I feel as if we’ve been here forever, just waiting for our lives to finally begin.
I asked Paul to take a picture of the three of us in my garden—my favorite place in the world. My flowering azaleas and purple wisteria were photo-worthy, so I posed us in front of them, with Lillian standing behind us as Josie and I squatted in front.The flowers have done well despite the heat, and Lillian wore her new coat, ignoring the temperature.We all wore our angel charms and smiled for the camera, and I know it’s a photo we’ll look at when we’re older,if only to remind ourselves how far we’ve come.
For Lola, I’ve borrowed an idea from Lillian and chosen two charms.The first is a rocking chair, because it reminds me of this waiting time. And a baby carriage, of course, for obvious reasons.
I jerked my head up, staring at my grandmother’s handwriting as if it weren’t finished and the script should continue down the page. My fingers traveled downward toward the black-and-white photo of the women in the backyard, Lillian wrapped in a bulky wool coat and scarf. Pulled over each collar was a chain with an angel charm, the dim sun glinting off of each one like a conspiratorial wink.
I stared at the photo for a long time, trying to see beyond the thick coat, and drawing more than one conclusion. Despite the lateness of the hour, I stood, intending to call Tucker and Helen and tell them what I’d read.
As I reached for my cell phone, it rang. I grabbed it and flipped it open before I realized that I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
