Looking for Me (29 page)

By the end of July, the interior was complete and the exterior had been taken down to the original boards and repaired. I had it painted a pale gray with white trim and black shutters. I custom-mixed the color for the front door and painted it myself—a soft goldfinch yellow.

I officially moved into my home on the first Friday in August.

After the movers had gone, I climbed the stairs and got to work in my bedroom. After hanging the draperies and steaming them to perfection, I put up all the artwork. While I was making my bed with fresh linens, the doorbell chimed. Eddie barked and ran down the stairs. I opened the door to see Olivia with a grin on her face and a wrapped gift in her arms. “Congratulations, Teddi.” She looked down and added, “And to you, too, Eddie boy.”

“Hi. C’mon in.”

She carried the box into the kitchen and set it on the counter. “This house is amazing. What a transformation. I’ve got to be honest, Teddi. When you first showed it to me, I had to bite my tongue. I couldn’t imagine why you’d bought such a disaster.”

“Disaster to you, beauty in decay to me.”

Just then Olivia noticed the stove and gasped. “What! Where in the world did you get
that
?”

“That’s the old stove that came with the house. I had it totally refurbished and reenameled. They delivered it yesterday.”

“Oh, my God. I can’t believe it. It’s the most fantastic stove I’ve ever seen.” Olivia ran her fingertips over the glossy black finish. “It’s a chunkster, but a beautiful one.”

With a sigh of satisfaction, I put my hands on my hips and smiled. “Isn’t it wonderful? I have fantasies of learning to bake bread.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” She nodded to the box and said, “Hey, open your gift.”

I untied the bow, ripped off the paper, and opened the box. Inside was a book on southern-style gardens and a caddy filled with pink garden gloves, a raffia sun hat, and a shiny set of new hand tools. There was also a bag of dog toys for Eddie.

“You’re a wonderful friend. Thanks, Olivia. I hope I can be half the gardener my grandmother was.”

“You’re welcome. Are you sure I can’t help you unpack?”

“Actually I’m enjoying the work, but I could use your help hanging a mirror.”

We managed to put screws into the wall without breaking the plaster, both of us red-faced as we strained to hang the heavy Baroque mirror in the upstairs hallway. Though I would have liked her help arranging the kitchen cabinets, I knew she had a restoration project with a tight deadline.

“All right, you need to get back to work, and so do I.” I gave Olivia a hug and shooed her out the door.

With the radio playing softly in the background, I tackled one room at a time. By six forty-five my bedroom was in perfect order, as were the kitchen and pantry. Though I knew I should unpack a few more boxes, I was beat and decided to call it quits for the remainder of the evening. After taking a shower, I pulled my wet hair into a ponytail and slipped into clean jeans and a white cotton blouse. Eddie and I played fetch in the garden, and then I wandered around my home in a state of wonder, admiring its architectural details and touching every surface.

That it was mine seemed a miracle.

I stood in my bedroom doorway, feeling pleased with the buttercream moiré wallpaper, the pristine white woodwork, and the lounge chair I’d upholstered in tea-stained linen damask. My bed, a hefty four-poster that Olivia and I had hauled home from a house sale in Savannah, was layered with lace-edged bedding and a white trapunto quilt. Sitting proudly beside my bed was the old walnut chest that Albert had restored.

Everything was just as I had dreamed, except for one minor detail—the lamp on the bedside chest was too short. Though I was bone tired, I knew I’d never rest until I came up with a solution. Slipping into my shoes, I grabbed my handbag and set off for my shop.

After checking to see if Inez had made any sales in my absence and being delighted that she had, I walked to the front of the shop and began hunting for the perfect lamp, eventually deciding on one made of bronze with a pleated linen shade. While I wrapped it up, my stomach growled, and though I was eager to cook something on my ancient stove, I knew that tonight wasn’t the night. So I put the lamp inside the trunk of my car and walked to Marty’s Café.

The red neon sign flickered and buzzed from the window, and when I opened the door, the clang of silverware and the aroma of grilled onions filled the air. The café was crowded, and I was lucky to find a small table in the corner, luckier still that the waitress took my order right away.

It wasn’t until I’d finished my bowl of chili and stood to leave that I noticed Sam Poteet sitting on the opposite side of the room. When he waved hello, I smiled. After paying my bill, I plucked a peppermint candy from the basket on the counter and left.

While walking down the sidewalk, crunching my mint and thinking about my new home, I pulled keys from my handbag. I was about to get into my car when someone called, “Teddi?”

I turned to see Sam a half block behind me and waited as he approached. When he reached me, the look on his face was pensive.

“I’m . . . I’m not very good at this.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Not very good at what, Counselor?”

“At trying to talk to you.”

“But you haven’t said anything.”

I couldn’t tell if it was sincerity or mischief that sparked in his eyes when he shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head. “See—that’s precisely my point. So I was wondering . . . would you have dinner with me sometime?”

That question caught me totally off guard. “Umm, sure. Sometime. But I just moved into a new house. Well, an
old
house, but it’s new to me. I’m not quite settled, and business at the shop is—”

Realizing how ridiculous I sounded, I clamped my mouth shut.

“Help me out here, Teddi. Does that mean yes?”

Lord, I was uncomfortable. But I smiled, said yes, and climbed into my car. Just as I closed the door, Sam leaned forward and peered into the window. “I’ll call you.”

Down the street I drove, and when I came to the intersection and rolled to a stop, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Sam was still standing on the sidewalk watching me.

S
am called me at the shop the following week, and we fumbled through a conversation that resulted in scheduling a date for Saturday evening. A
casual
dinner, he’d said, saying he’d pick me up at seven.

When Saturday came, I was in no mood to spend the evening with anyone, much less the son of the infamous Tula Jane Poteet. It was an effort to shower and dress. I would have preferred to stay home and unwind with a good book. Lord, how I despised first dates.

I stood back and examined myself in the mirror—a simple yellow-and-white-checked dress with a scooped neckline and a white cardigan draped over my shoulders. Was I
too
casual? What the heck did people who lived south of Broad deem casual dinner attire anyway? While I was slipping into a pair of sandals, the doorbell chimed and Eddie barked. After one more look in the mirror, I descended the stairs and opened the door.

There stood Sam in a pair of khakis and a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled back, looking as awkward as I’m sure I did.

“Hi, Teddi. I like your house. And who’s this?”

“Eddie, say hi to Sam.” Though a little shy with strangers, Eddie dutifully offered Sam his paw. Sam smiled as he shook it and then gave Eddie a gentle pat.

“See you later, be good,” I said, grabbing my handbag.

As we stepped to the sidewalk, an old woman was crossing the street at a slow, wobbly pace. I recognized her immediately and hoped she’d continue on her way, but Sam stopped and said, “Good evening, Miz Zelda.”

Oh, how she smiled when she saw him. “A fine evening it is, General.”

“Do the clouds have any news to share?”

Zelda looked into the sky. “Yes, yes they do. There’s a surprise coming your way, and it’s a big one. So keep your eyes open, General.” She waited as Sam pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and pressed it into her hand.

Clearly done with her
reading, Zelda grinned and continued on her way, her heavy tote bag bumping against her leg with each step she took.

“You
know
her?” I whispered as we walked in the opposite direction.

“I’ve known Miz Zelda for most of my life. She’s as much a part of Charleston’s culture as the bells of St. Michael’s.”

“Why does she call you ‘General’?”

Sam laughed and took a light hold of my arm. “Teddi, I have
no
idea.”

He guided me to a car parked at the curb, a very old car. With its dull black finish, wide wheel wells, and long vertical grille, it reminded me of the cars in the movie
The Untouchables.
When he started the engine, it made a
tat-tat-tat
sound before letting out a low growl.

“Sam, I love this car. What kind is it?”

“A 1932 Ford Roadster. Since you like antiques, I thought you might like to ride in one. It doesn’t look like much now, but it will when I’m done working on it. Just wait, you’ll see.”

Between Zelda and Sam’s car, the awkwardness of those first few minutes melted away, and we chatted about how much we both loved restoration as Sam maneuvered through the streets. In just a few minutes, he came to a stop in front of a house.

His house.

Before I could ask him what was going on, he was already out of the car and opening my door. “What are we doing, Sam?”

“Come see,” he said, ushering me along the sidewalk and around the side of the house. Opening a heavy iron gate, Sam gestured for me to enter ahead of him, and when I did, I was at a loss for words.

I had just stepped into a place of magic.

The walled garden was lush and cool. Giant ferns flanked a stone walkway that led to a patio where glazed pots overflowed with flowers. Sitting beneath a pergola was a wrought-iron table that had been set for two with china, crystal, and sterling.

“I wanted to cook for you, Teddi.”

“Sam, this garden is gorgeous.”

“Thank you. Next to working on old cars, it’s my favorite pastime.”

I whipped around to look at him. “This is
your
garden? I mean, of course it’s your garden, you live here—but
you
do all the work to maintain it?”

He seemed pleased by my stunned admiration. “I used to have a town house over on Beaufain, but I sold it and moved back here so I could help take care of my mother. She had let the gardens get out of hand, so one day I started digging and planting, and this is the end result,” he said, stepping to an iron tea cart. “So . . . what would you like to drink, Teddi?”

“Iced tea if you have it.”

“I do.”

With slightly tarnished sterling tongs, he dropped ice cubes into a glass and poured tea for me, then filled a goblet with wine for himself.

“Will you show me around?”

“I’d be happy to.”

Side by side we strolled through the garden as Sam told me about the many species of plantings—sago palms, daphne, spiderwort. Along the left side of the garden and nearly hidden by a row of tea olives was a set of sandstone steps. “Where do those go?” I asked.

“C’mon, I’ll show you.”

He led me up five steps to a small private oasis where slabs of stone formed the floor. In the center was a chipped marble pedestal, on top of which sat a small brass telescope.

“This is my poor man’s observatory. When I can’t sleep, I come out here and watch the stars.”

I looked from Sam to the telescope.

It couldn’t be.

My heart drummed as I stepped to the pedestal and slowly ran my fingers over the telescope’s cylinder, feeling for the indentation that I remembered so well. And sure enough, it was there. Leaning over, I tilted my head. The words
J. VAN DER BILDT, FRANEKER
were inscribed on the circular backplate.

From behind me Sam said, “My mother gave it to me for my fortieth birthday.”

It would have been cruel to tell him where the telescope had come from, so I gathered my composure and slowly straightened. “It’s a beauty. What a wonderful gift. So you’re an attorney, a gardener, a car mechanic, and a stargazer. And by the looks of things to come, you’re also a cook?”

“Well, I’m certainly no master chef, which I’m about to prove,” he said with a slight laugh.

As we walked down the steps, I glanced over my shoulder and gave the telescope one last look.

“Please have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a chair. “Talk to me while I cook.”

After lighting the grill and refilling my glass with iced tea, Sam opened a cooler and removed a bowl filled with prawns. “Is Teddi a nickname?”

“My given name is Theodora.”

“Theodora,” he said slowly, as if testing the way my name rolled off his tongue.

And there I was, watching a man prepare dinner in the most splendid garden I’d ever seen while my stolen telescope sat on a pedestal a short distance away. Everything felt so strange and unexpected that I could hardly think of anything to say. But Sam filled in the lulls with chatter about his plans for the next phase of his garden. Finally I tamed the butterflies in my belly, found my voice, and asked him questions about his work—business law—and then inquired about his fascination with old cars—something he claimed to have been born with.

Sam grilled the prawns and served them over a Caesar salad that came close to being divine. Though I tried to be discreet, I couldn’t stop myself from examining the sterling flatware, which had to be pre–Civil War. When I realized that Sam was watching me, my cheeks grew warm. But he just smiled and took a sip of wine.

After we’d finished dinner, Sam stood and slowly unfolded to his full height. “Shall we get more comfortable?” he asked, guiding me toward a pair of cushioned lounges. “Would you like coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“And how do you take it, Miss Theodora?”

“Lots of cream and four sugars, please.”

Sam gave me the oddest look. “Any woman who admits that she takes
four
sugars in her coffee is definitely worth getting to know.” He turned and set off for the house with a slight grin on his face.

Within a few minutes, he appeared with a tray in his hands and set it down on the table between the lounges. His eyes held a glimmer of amusement when he said, “Heavy cream and
four
sugars, as the lady wishes.”

A light breeze moved through the palmettos, and a few wispy clouds hung low in the indigo sky. After lighting several candles, Sam moved his lounge closer to mine and sat. “You have the slightest accent, but I can’t quite place it.”

“I’m originally from Kentucky.”

“Really? I was born in Clarksville, Tennessee. It’s just over the border from Kentucky. Have you ever been there?”

“Yes. I drove through there years ago. But, Sam, I thought you came from a long line of Charlestonians.”

He took a sip of coffee and shook his head. “My birth mother packed me up when I was just a baby and moved us to Charleston. She worked as a seamstress during the week, and on weekends she cooked for Tula Jane and Everett in exchange for living quarters.”

He pointed to the two-story garage at the back of the property. “There’s a small apartment up there—that’s where we lived. I still remember waking up early in the morning to the sound of Everett starting his car. It was a 1950 Hudson—a dark green Super Six with big whitewall tires. Who knows? Maybe that’s one of the reasons I love old cars so much.”

Sam paused for a moment and looked at the apartment above the garage. “When I was six, my mother had a brain aneurysm while she was hemming a dress. She died before she hit the floor, or at least that’s what I was told. It was Tula Jane who came and got me at school. She took me to the park, sat me down on a bench, and told me that God needed my mother to repair a hole in the sky. Like most young kids, I had no concept of death, so I asked Tula when my mother would be back. She said I’d see her every night in my dreams. Anyway, it’s a long story, but Tula Jane and Everett ended up adopting me. It’s amazing when you think about it. They never had children and were practically old enough to be my grandparents.”

The moment I asked about his biological father, Sam’s face darkened. “I have no idea who he is—or was. And I’m not interested in finding out. He and my mother never married. The only thing she ever said about him was that he went away.”

I stirred my coffee, and the teaspoon made a light chime when I set it on the china saucer. “Do you mind if I ask—what was your mother’s name?”

“Madeline. Madeline Marshall.”

“So you began your life as Sam Marshall. When the Poteets adopted you, how did you feel about taking their last name?”

Sam smiled. “That was my idea. You know how kids get things in their heads that they believe to be absolutely true? Well, I wanted to make sure Everett and Tula Jane would never leave me. I thought if I had their last name, I’d always be safe. Everett was a terrific guy. You’d have liked him, and he would have been crazy about you. He passed away when I was in law school.” Sam took in a breath and let it out slowly. “So . . . this dissertation on family history brings me to Tula Jane.”

Resting his elbows on his knees, Sam clasped his hands beneath his chin. “She’s developed some serious problems over the past few years, not the least of which is Alzheimer’s.”

His eyes saddened as he glanced over his shoulder to a lighted window on the second floor of the house. “I was in denial for a long time, which I’m sure you probably figured out. But after the recent episode, I had to face the facts. I’ve hired round-the-clock care and will keep her here as long as I can.”

I reached out and smoothed my hand over Sam’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

Visibly brightening at being touched, he scooted closer. “All right, now it’s your turn. Tell me about yourself, Teddi. Tell me everything.”

“Okay,” I said, resting back against the cushion. “I was born on a farm by Red River Gorge . . .”

And what began as an awkward dinner date with a man I had thought peculiar transitioned into a wonderful, relaxed evening of great food and conversation that lasted well past midnight, all within the walls of a magical garden. I even forgot about my stolen telescope.

Well, almost.