driven all the way from Highlands to my flat. A dream about Rosalyn had upset her so badly that she’d gotten up, dressed, and driven to Atlanta. She stayed for only a few days that time; after Rosalyn’s funeral she’d been here for several weeks because she couldn’t stand to be alone.
In retrospect, I think that we should have joined forces to keep Emmet from leaving Atlanta so hastily. If only he hadn’t taken that job in Fort Lauderdale! It was a step down for him, if nothing else. He’d had offers from all over, even the big networks in New York. In his younger years, Emmet had been ambitious enough to give consideration to each of them, though we knew he’d turn them down. A born-and-bred Atlanta belle, Rosalyn didn’t want to live anywhere else. And why should she? She and Emmet were the golden couple, the undisputed royalty of an elite social scene that Rosalyn had reigned over since her debut into society. Rosalyn Harmon Justice was everything us lesser beings aspired to be. She came from an old family so well-off that Moonrise was a mere summer home for them. Classically beautiful, with a rare, old-fashioned charm, she also had a rugged, hotshot husband, and an adorable daughter whose trophy case overran with the blue ribbons she’d won with her show horses. For many years, Rosalyn was the envy of every woman in Atlanta.
I’d never tell Noel this, but despite my mean-spirited remarks about Helen, I can’t help but feel sorry for the girl. I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes, even though Emmet Justice is one of the most attractive men I’ve ever known (and that’s saying a lot). I know for a fact that he’s not an easy person to live with. Emmet even admits it himself. He’s hard-nosed and opinionated, with such a sharp tongue he can tear you to shreds before you realize what’s happened. I’m sure he’s fully capable of giving a woman’s heart the same treatment. I adore Emmet; we all do, but he’s not anything like Linc, the dearest man on earth. Or Noel, who might be a maddening pissant, but is also disgustingly nice, as even I have to admit. No, Emmet would be thrilling to bed, but not to wed. I love him, but I wouldn’t want to be in love with him, and I pity the woman who is.
IF MY BED wasn’t so cozy and warm, and my eyelids weren’t so heavy, I’d get up again to see if the lights are still off at Moonrise. Every night since we’ve been here, it’s been the same. The Bride gets up from the bed she shares with her new husband, then slips downstairs in the dark. I know this because she always turns on a small lamp in the room that she’s using as her office, writing that little heart-healthy cookbook of hers ( just as I predicted!). One night recently, I watched her lamp come on, then suddenly the stairwell lit up. I couldn’t really see him, but I knew the figure moving on the stairs was Emmet coming down to check on her. I don’t care what Noel says about my spying; I’m convinced something’s not right between them.
I haven’t mentioned the strange goings-on at Moonrise to anyone else. Not yet, anyway. Kit would be terribly interested, I know, but I can’t bear to do or say anything that might upset her more than she’s been lately. She’s having a harder time with Emmet’s remarriage than the rest of us are, which is understandable considering how close she and Rosalyn were. All of us are close, but Kit and Rosalyn had a deeper bond because they’d been raised together. They were childhood friends, then roommates at Agnes Scott College. Kit is Annie’s godmother, and Annie like the daughter she never had. And no question, she’s loved Emmet like a brother for all these years. To her, this too-sudden marriage is an insult to his daughter and a betrayal of Rosalyn’s memory.
Kit might have accepted Emmet’s new wife more graciously had it not been for what happened soon after the marriage, which she recounted to Noel and me. The marriage hit her hard, but to her credit, Kit called Emmet immediately to wish him well, as soon as he broke the news to us. She’d like to come to Fort Lauderdale to meet Helen, she told Emmet, and could arrange to do so during her upcoming trip to Coral Gables. Emmet had responded enthusiastically (or as enthusiastically as Mr. Cool can), and told Kit that he’d check with Helen. By the time he got around to calling her back with some lame excuse or the other, Kit’s trip had come and gone.
Kit was hurt, and shared her concerns with me. She couldn’t help but wonder if Emmet’s new wife was to blame. What if she was trying to keep Emmet away from us, his nearest and dearest? After all, Annie didn’t even meet Helen until several weeks after the marriage. Both of us knew women like that, Kit reminded me, jealous of their husbands’ affection for others. Even when we heard that the newlyweds were coming to Highlands for the summer, Kit still worried. “I still wonder,” she told me. “First they’d given us a definite no, then Helen finds that photo album of Rosalyn’s. After that, she changed her mind. That bothers me.” Then Kit added, “We don’t know anything about this woman, Tansy! After seeing the pictures of Moonrise, she might be looking for a way to get her hands on Rosalyn’s inheritance.”
We went back and forth a bit about the trust, and how surely it was set up for the inheritance to go to Rosalyn’s heirs, not whomever Emmet might marry should he survive her. Kit wasn’t so sure, and since she’d had plenty of experience with trusts, I didn’t argue. No point in getting her all stirred up over something out of our control, anyway.
One thing I won’t say to Kit: If the Bride has set her sights on Moonrise, no one can blame her. It’s one of the grand summer estates of the Highlands area, which is saying plenty. A lot of landed gentry “summer” in the Highlands-Cashiers area, so there are some spectacular homes here. What makes Moonrise so special is its history as one of the first, and the way Rosalyn preserved its unique character. She became an expert in all things Victorian, then turned the whole place into a museum and showplace. The work she put into those weird old gardens was just plain mind-boggling. I’m a devoted gardener, too, but nothing like she was. A crew of professionals kept up the yards at their Atlanta house, but not at Moonrise. Rosalyn wouldn’t let anyone else touch it.
Actually, the preservation of Moonrise ended up being the driving force of Rosalyn’s life. She insisted that everything stay as it had been for generations, since her great-grandfather built the place, a replica of their home in England. I was the one who talked her into installing a dishwasher, for God’s sake. And Emmet, who indulged her in everything else, refused to spend another night there until the claw-foot tub was replaced with a shower. Eventually he came to resent the place because it was such a financial drain, even with Rosalyn’s considerable family money. In a house like Moonrise, a restoration expert is necessary for every little repair, and old houses require constant work. Since Rosalyn has been gone, the place has gone down drastically. I don’t know how Emmet will ever keep it. But he can’t sell it, either.
I doze off thinking about Moonrise, and Rosalyn’s obsession with it. Funny, the other night when we all went over to Moonrise for drinks and to meet the Bride, I asked her how she liked the place. She became so animated that it took me by surprise, considering what a skittish little thing she is. It was exactly the way Rosalyn had looked when she got on the subject of Moonrise. Helen’s eyes took on that same feverish glow, and her voice grew breathless with excitement. Something about that spooky old place casts a spell on its occupants, evidently.
Maybe the spell is cast by the spirits who dwell there. Moonrise is haunted, I have no doubt. Rosalyn joked about hearing strange noises and seeing shadowy figures, but it’s no joking matter to me. Because everyone thinks I’m crazy, anyway, some things I keep to myself. I’ll never tell any of them what happened to convince me.
Until this summer, I’d only been back to Moonrise once since the week after we buried Rosalyn’s ashes. Kit and I had taken it on ourselves to put Rosalyn’s things away, both at the Atlanta house and at Moonrise. We couldn’t bear the thought of Emmet and Annie seeing her clothes hanging forlornly in the closet, or the personal items she left on her dressing table. As painful as the task was, we did it methodically and thoroughly, with little discussion. Following Emmet’s instructions, we donated a truckload of stuff to charity, kept a few mementos for ourselves, then stored the rest in the attic for Annie
