Dark Corner

Chapter 20

In a Jam

A knock on the door brought Mrs. Loblolly crashing onto the hardwood floor. She dusted herself off and rushed to answer it. We heard her greeting Detective Willows and they came into the living room.

“Would you like something to drink, Detective?” Mrs. Loblolly asked as he sat in the flowered, overstuffed chair.

He sank deep into the cushion as he smiled and nodded at Mrs. Twiggs. He took out a little notepad from his shirt pocket and flipped it open. “No, thank you. I’m not interrupting something, am I?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” Mrs. Loblolly said, sitting uncomfortably across from the detective, her leg shaking. I couldn’t help noticing how nervous she was—not her usual calm self.

“I’ve spoken with Mr. Pickering at the Biltmore Estate. He told me you recommended Mrs. Lund to curate the exhibit,” Detective Willows said.

“Well, yes of sorts.” Mrs. Loblolly hesitated. “She actually contacted me.”

“Why was that?”

“She said she had an extensive collection of letters and journals of the Carolina battles and specifically those belonging to my great-great-grandfather, the colonel’s regiment.”

“Did she have those papers?” Detective Willows asked.

“I never really got to meet with her. I was supposed to meet her at the Leaf & Page, and that’s when Beatrice told me she was dead,” Mrs. Loblolly said.

“You hadn’t spoken to her before then?”

“Only the night before to confirm our meeting the next day and a few times when we arranged for her to come here.”

“The night before. What time was that?” Detective Willows scribbled in his little notebook with his stubby fingers.

“I don’t know. Ten o’clock maybe?” Mrs. Loblolly reached for her iPhone on the coffee table. “Do you want me to check for the exact time?”

“Detective, what are you insinuating?” Mrs. Twiggs asked.

“Nothing, just doing my job.” Detective Willows paused. “Tell me about your relative. What was it about him that interested Mrs. Lund?”

“The Colonel Odysseus Loblolly,” Mrs. Loblolly started.

Detective Willows interrupted her, stopped writing, and held his hand up. “You go by your maiden name?”

“Yes, I reverted after my husband passed. Because of my business I use my maiden name as the recipes have been in our family for generations.”

He continued writing.

“The colonel was sent to White Hall to lead a militia against General Foster and the Union troops in December 1862,” Mrs. Loblolly started, her voice soothing with its lilt.

I knew it well. The battle was also known as the battle of White Hall Ferry, held on the banks of the Neuse River. I closed my eyes and heard the clashing of blades, felt the dust stirring and the ground trembling.

“The Federals were trying to hold the Confederates in position while their main column continued toward the railroad; however, that was a decoy. According to the colonel’s journals, the Union was after an ironclad ramming boat that was under construction on the north bank of the river. The boat, the CSS Neuse, was one of several boats being built throughout the south to break the Union naval blockade,” Mrs. Loblolly said.

“And Mrs. Lund was interested in that? The contribution to the history books?” Detective Willows asked.

“She was aware of the stories about the ramming boat, but she told me that wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. She was curious about when the colonel returned to Asheville.” She paused. “You see, when he was wounded at White Hall, he came back to recuperate. He was shot in the leg, never quite healed right. He had a limp and had a hard time getting around. That’s when he was assigned to the home guard. She told me she was researching stories about the Asheville home guard.”

I could tell her some stories. I had encountered members of the Asheville home guard both by the cabin and in town.

Mrs. Twiggs interrupted. “You never mentioned that he was part of the home guard?”

Mrs. Loblolly cleared her throat, sipping her tea. “It’s not something I’m proud of. It’s not something I want Jean to know. She’s proud of her Union relatives, heroes of Gettysburg and Bull Run.”

“I see.” Detective Willows adjusted his weight in the chair, sinking lower.

“The colonel spent the last part of the war hunting down deserters. He was killed by a deserter in South Carolina.”

The detective closed his notebook. “You have no idea of Mrs. Lund’s real name or who she was?”

Mrs. Loblolly shook her head. “No.”

He kept his eye on the bottles of jam stacked on the buffet server until he couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’m a big fan of the jam,” he said.

“Please take some.” She got up and handed him a few jars.

“Thank you.” He placed them in his suit jacket, smiled at Mrs. Twiggs, and left.

When Mrs. Loblolly came back, I asked her, “Where was the colonel killed?”

“Right across the border near Traveler’s Rest.”

Abigail and Charlotte ran into the room with a crash, laughing.

“What’s gotten into you two?”

“We’ve been talking and decided that I’m going to move in with Char at the Tangledwood Estate,” Abigail said.

“What are you talking about?” Mrs. Twiggs asked.

“She wants to stay in Asheville, and it’s a big house.”

“It’d be nice to have someone stay with me,” Charlotte chimed in.

Mrs. Loblolly gave a concerned look to Mrs. Twiggs. “Charlotte, be a dear and help me with these plates,” she said. They picked up the tea service and carried it into the kitchen.

“Abigail, I don’t think this is a good idea. What if Charlotte sees you performing magic? What about your training?” Mrs. Twiggs asked.

“Mrs. Twiggs, I can do that at the cabin. I need to be around people my age and nothing personal I love all you ladies, but I need a life.”

“Abigail, your life is not your own,” I said. She was meant for a greater purpose. “Take a minute to remember who you are and your bloodline. You started your journey to become a witch, and there is no turning back.”

“Can’t I do both? Can’t I be a witch and a girl? Look at you. You’re a witch and a cat.”

I let out a little hiss that I couldn’t hold back. “This was not of my making, Abigail Oakhaven. Your great-grandmother, my Elizabeth, imprisoned me in this body.” And I continued. “You mock my pain and think yourself above your bloodline,” I said with a hiss.

“Terra, that wasn’t my intention. Come stay with us. You can make sure I keep on track, okay? But really? I need a break.” Abigail crossed her arms across her chest.

I glanced at Mrs. Twiggs for an answer, and she had none.

“Anyway it’s not up to any of you.”

“Very well. Pixel and I will go with you.”

Pixel woke up, stretched and muttered, “Go where?”