Sins of the Fathers (13 page)

She peered through the peephole. The security lights, which came on as soon as someone stepped onto the front walk, illuminated Chase Bayard, glowering and biting his lower lip. Katharine recognized that look. It said
I don’t want to be here. Mother made me come.

Beside him a woman shifted impatiently from foot to foot. She stood a few inches taller than he, and had stormy eyes of honey brown. Her hair, a sleek golden fall to her shoulders, curled on the ends and in tendrils around her face. The color, like Iola’s and Nell’s, had probably come from a bottle, but had been applied so expertly that nobody could be sure.

She pressed the bell again.

As Katharine reached for the knob, she was painfully aware of her own faded shirt, wrinkled shorts, bare feet, and untidy ponytail. Nobody had mentioned that Mona was gorgeous. Her makeup was impeccable, even at that hour of the night, and she wore a green tank top that showed off tanned, muscular arms—tennis arms that got lots of exercise on country club courts. The tank was studded with gold stars around its plunging neckline, and a small gold dolphin hung from a slender chain on her tanned chest.

Yet even if she had been plain and stark naked, Mona Bayard would have radiated the aura of prep schools, entitlement, and money that distinguishes U. S. aristocrats. As a girl, Katharine used to wonder what it was that made certain girls different from her. She could be dressed in the same sort of clothes and wear her hair brushed in the same long ringlets down her back, yet there was an air about them—a confidence, a casual conviction that the world would recognize their worth and automatically bestow on them its best—that she, with parents who firmly believed in public schools, the equality of all people, and simple living, would never achieve. Posey, Wrens, and their children had it. So did Tom and her own children. From birth they had been part of a tribe that instinctively recognizes one another and drifts together in a comfortable herd no matter where they are in the world. Katharine might now have all the privileges of the upper class, but she would never really belong.

Mona knew that.

Katharine saw the woman’s quick assessment as soon as the door opened and the ever-so-slight condescension as she stepped inside. In the next instant she had stuck out one hand and said, in a husky voice with the friendly Texas drawl that is broad and flat like the state, “Hey. I’m Mona Bayard. What a great house!” She strode into the front hall on straw sandals with such thin wedge heels that Katharine marveled she didn’t twist her ankles. She flung back her head and peered with admiration at the soaring ceiling and at the far glass wall with its view over the dunes. “Do you own it?”

“No, it belongs to my sister-in-law, Posey Buiton.”

“Posey Buiton?” The husky voice warmed with delight. “This is the beach house that was featured in
Southern Living
a couple of years ago?” When Katharine nodded, she asked eagerly, “She’s married to your brother?” Katharine saw herself going up a notch in Mona’s esteem.

“No, I married her brother.”

“Oh.” So much for the notch. A brother who could marry Posey would have class. A woman who married Posey’s brother had probably made a good catch.

Mona turned around and around, approving the art on the walls, the bright cushions in the far room, the gallery over the foyer. “Hot damn! I’m in Posey Buiton’s beach cottage. I loved that article.” She turned to Chase. “Remember, honey? I told you and Daddy at supper one night about a woman in Buckhead, up in Atlanta, who owns a lot of antebellum furniture and a gorgeous beach cottage, as well? This is the cottage.” She turned back to Katharine. “I’ve heard she has an antebellum bed up in Buckhead I’d simply die for.”

Katharine didn’t believe for a second that Mona Bayard had driven all the way to Jekyll to gush over furniture. A call to Posey would have sufficed for that. Chase didn’t think his mother was there to discuss furniture, either. He leaned against the front wall picking a scab on his hand, obviously hoping he was invisible.

The cottage, however, gave Mona the handle she thought she needed to turn their conversation from a talk between strangers into a chat between friends. She moved a little closer and spoke softly. “Listen, I really need to talk to you. Alone. Is there someplace where we can be private?” Her eyes darted over Katharine’s shoulder.

The wide staircase hid Dr. Flo from view, but Katharine figured she must still be in the recliner, for she could hear television news. She waved one arm to indicate the open nature of the floor plan. “Not really, as you see. Besides, it’s Dr. Flo you want. It’s her grave—”

“No, it’s you.” Mona still spoke barely above a whisper. “I really need your help.”

“How did you find me?”

Mona looked toward Chase.

He might be mad at his mother, but he wasn’t above boasting to strangers. He shrugged. “I just looked on the Internet for the address to match the phone number you gave Mr. Curtis.”

Katharine gave Mona a rueful look that meant
How did our kids get to know so much more than we do?
Mona wasn’t paying attention. She was peering around with an anxious expression. She asked, so softly that Katharine could scarcely hear her. “Where is your—ah—”

“Friend?” Katharine finished for her. “In the living room watching television. We were having a glass of wine before bed. Would you care to join us?”

She knew her invitation would not be accepted. Mona’s toes pulsed in her straw sandals. Katharine appreciated the determination that kept her feet planted on Posey’s tiles.

Mona lowered her voice even further. Katharine had to strain and move close to hear. “No, I won’t be long. I just came to ask you to please convince her to forget all this nonsense.” On the last three words, she swept out her right hand as if she were executing a backhand. Katharine wondered if that was her favorite stroke.

“You know—” Mona added when Katharine said nothing, “—about the cemetery and all.”

When Katharine still said nothing, she said in a rush, “Hayden did some checking after you all left, and there were some Guilberts from France who came over and visited this area.” Her prep school must have taught French. She pronounced the name correctly. “They probably died from yellow fever or malaria while visiting Bayard Island and had to be buried there, because it was too hot to ship the bodies back.”

Burch must have repeated Chase’s theory to his wife. “When did they come?” Katharine kept her voice pleasant and merely curious.

“What?” For the first time Mona was off her stride.

“When did they come to Bayard Island?”

Mona gave another backhand wave. Did it really keep her troubles away? Katharine felt her own hand itching to try it. She clasped it with the other behind her, to make it behave.

“I don’t know.” Mona frowned as if trying to remember. “What does it matter? What does matter is that they were not your friend’s people, so she doesn’t have to worry about those graves.”

“But one of them died in 1878, one in 1889, and one in 1903. Don’t you think it odd that the same family would send three members across the ocean so many years apart and all of them would die on Bayard Island? Surely after the second death, the family would have avoided that island like, well, like the plague.” Katharine smiled at her own joke. Even Chase’s lips twitched.

Mona fiddled with the dolphin on her chest. “That’s not your problem.”

“None of it is my problem. Let me call Dr. Flo.”

Mona dropped the chain and grabbed Katharine’s arm. “No! Listen to me!” The dolphin swung wildly as she leaned so close that Katharine could smell the spicy scent of her hair. “You need to convince her to go home and forget all this. If that story gets around—”

Katharine furrowed her forehead. “What story?”

Mona gave an impatient huff. “You know—about that man being her relative. Bayard Island has been in Burch’s family for over two hundred and fifty years. There have never been any blacks buried on it. But if people think there were, they’ll think one of his ancestors—you know how people are. And the Atlanta papers are always looking for a new scandal. If it gets printed in Atlanta, it will get right back down here in a gnat’s minute.”

Katharine would have pointed out that Atlanta had enough scandals of its own to fill the paper each day, but Mona surged on.

“Burch doesn’t need a scandal when he’s trying to develop the island. We have a big developer planning to come in once we get a couple of places sold—” she didn’t so much as hint at her own connection to that developer “—but if it looks like there’s a scandal, if lies get plastered all over the papers…” She stopped and completed the sentence with a pleading look. One hand reached for the dolphin again. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to pull him off that chain one day.

Katharine took a step back, not bothering to hide her disgust. “Dr. Flo isn’t going to go home and call reporters.”

“You don’t know that. Look at what happened to poor Thomas Jefferson. One person started a rumor and now all sorts of people are claiming to be related to him.”

Her audacity in comparing the Bayard family history to Thomas Jefferson’s stilled Katharine’s tongue long enough for Mona to hurry on.

“Not that there’s any truth in it where Burch’s family is concerned. His people would never have fooled around that way. But if the media starts to hint that they did, it could ruin all Burch’s plans. You do see that, don’t you?”

Katharine shook her head. “All I see is that this is Dr. Flo’s concern, not mine. If you’ll let me call her—”

“Just think about it, okay?” Mona grabbed Chase’s arm so hard he protested, “Ow!” but she dragged him toward the door, still pleading. “You could do everybody a big favor. Burch will take care of those graves and put them in a real good place. She won’t have to be bothered at all. Please.” On the front stoop she stepped back and wobbled a little on the thin wedge heels. “Tell her we’ve found proof that these Guilberts came from France and died in a yellow fever epidemic.”

“What kind of proof do you have?” Dr. Flo spoke from behind Katharine, then moved to stand in the front door. Her voice was level and cultured, her poise undisturbed. Katharine wondered how much she had heard. She gave no sign of anger except for a faint flaring of her nostrils.

Mona’s eyes flickered with surprise, recognizing Dr. Flo as a sister aristocrat.

“Hey,” she said in that friendly drawl, “I ought to have talked to you in the first place, but I thought Katharine might be able to explain it to you better than a stranger could.” She seemed to have forgotten that Katharine had been a stranger to her fifteen minutes before.

“I don’t know what proof Hayden has,” she admitted, “but he did find information about Guilberts who came over from France and stayed on the island. We think they died and were buried there because it was too hot to transport them.”

Dr. Flo raised one eyebrow. “Do you plan to advertise in France for their descendants?”

That confused her. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Burch will sign the papers.”

“Burch cannot sign the papers unless he can prove he is a direct descendent. That’s the law. Besides, we found Claude in the 1880 census, living in McIntosh County with Marie. Both names were spelled with a
u
at that time.”

“So he’s not your grandfather.” Mona practically gushed with relief.

“Oh, yes, he’s my grandfather. I am positive of that. Agnes Morrison called a few minutes ago. She’s found letters that may help prove it.”

“Oh, Agnes.” Mona dismissed her with a gesture. “The older she gets, the crazier she gets. I wouldn’t believe anything she said, if I were you.”

“I still want to look at those letters. There’s a possibility that Claude and Marie once lived in the house Agnes now inhabits.”

Mona stared for a good three seconds, trying to absorb all that in. “Were they white?”

She immediately pressed a hand to her lips, as appalled as Katharine that she had voiced that aloud, but Dr. Flo did not seem bothered. “No, both Claude and Marie were black.”

“Well, I don’t want to be rude or anything…”

Dr. Flo interrupted, as unruffled as ever. “All this can be checked, it will just take a little time. Has your husband told you Agnes claims to own the land where the cemetery is?”

“Agnes is three bananas short of a bunch. The fact is, Burch’s grandmother or somebody felt sorry for Agnes’s granddaddy—who was also a tad peculiar, from what I’ve heard. She gave him permission to live in the house and let him serve as priest for a pathetic little church that used to stand on the island. To give him something to do, you know? But there is no reason whatsoever for Agnes to still be living there except the goodness of my father-in-law’s heart. That church has been gone for years.”

Chase spoke hoarsely, startling Katharine into remembering he was there. “Papa Dalt took down the walls and roof and used the wood to fix the barn.”

“That’s just a story he tells.” Over her shoulder Mona sent him a clear mother-look that meant
Don’t tell these people family secrets.

Chase got interested in rubbing out a spot on the front walk with one toe.

Mona continued talking as if he had never interrupted. “Burch hasn’t gotten around to telling Agnes she has to move, but it’s nonsense for her to claim she owns any of the island. The Bayards would never give away land.”

They gave part of it to Iola,
Katharine thought. Dr. Flo made a restive move beside her. She could be thinking the same thing.

Dr. Flo tilted her chin. “Be that as it may, until I can determine positively that I am or am not related to the Guilberts, I cannot give permission to move those graves.”

“You have to!” In the light streaming from the house, Mona’s eyes glowed like amber. “Burch needs to build those houses. He’s poured everything we have into that development. We need the money for Chase’s school fees.” She pulled the boy forward as Exhibit A of their desperate need. He’d have been more convincing if Katharine hadn’t known the price of his sneakers could have bought groceries for a week. “Don’t hold Burch up. Please!”