We must...but Clarissa would have said we may. Before this morning, she’d all but given up hope of living in her beloved Camellia Pointe again. But now she would, because of Reverend Montgomery. She owed him her gratitude, and she’d make sure he got it. “If only Absalom didn’t have to live here too.”
“Indeed.”
“I need to find my grandmother and tell her of the new development in the will.”
“And I need to inform Emma. She’ll be overjoyed to learn this will be her home for a year. She loved Camellia Pointe from the moment she saw it.”
Just a year? “Of course, she will be welcome to stay here until she marries.”
His expression changed quicker than an eighth note. “Not without us here.”
“But we’ll be here. I intend to win the contest and inherit this estate.”
“I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you do, and we’ll keep it as long as we can afford its upkeep and taxes.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But after the year is up, we must move into the manse.”
What was wrong with him? Didn’t he understand how much Clarissa needed to live here, in this house? Then she realized he couldn’t know, because she hadn’t told him. “I couldn’t bear to live in it for a year and then move away. And what of my grandmother?”
“She’s welcome to live in the manse with us.”
Clarissa suppressed a sigh as she realized her new husband also didn’t know about their current living arrangements or why they’d moved from Camellia Pointe. She could hardly expect him to make the right decisions until he did. “We need to have a long talk—”
The front door squeaked open, and then light footsteps and the tapping of a cane sounded. Within moments, Grandmother Euphemia appeared, clutching the handle of her cane as if it would otherwise run away. Samuel stood and seated her next to Clarissa. “Was it good news or bad?”
“The worst.” Clarissa braced herself for Grandmother’s oft-repeated lecture on how charity believeth all things.
To her surprise, it didn’t come. “Whatever it is, tell me, so we can decide what to do next.”
“We have to live here for a year. With Cousin Absalom.”
Grandmother’s hand fluttered to her chest. She hesitated. “Is there no way around it?”
“Joseph thinks not.” Clarissa leaned closer to her grandmother. “Is your heart bothering you again?”
She dropped her hand to the table and scowled for a second. “Not so much that I can’t hold my own with that renegade grandson of mine. He gave your grandfather and me so much heartache that, when he was reported dead, I felt a measure of relief with my grief. And now here he is, resurrected, so to speak, and no doubt ready to cause more trouble than ever.”
Reverend Montgomery opened his mouth but got no chance to speak. Instead, Grandmother shifted her gaze to him, a defiant glare in her hazel eyes. “And don’t you lecture me. You’d feel the same if you’d lived through his backstabbing and treachery as I have. I hardly know whether to call him Absalom, Lazarus or Judas.”
“In light of that parade of biblical troublemakers—well, other than Lazarus—I won’t give you a sermon on love this time. But next time, I will.”
Clarissa sucked in a breath of horror. If there was one thing Grandmother hated more than tardiness—or early arrivals—it was receiving a personal sermon. Or correction of any kind. Even Grandfather Hezekiah hadn’t gotten away with that.
The smirk on Grandmother’s face took Clarissa back. Her grandmother was enjoying being threatened with a sermon? Clarissa glanced over at the reverend, who sat with brows lifted and a hint of a grin on his face—a friendly warning.
And Grandmother let him do it.
Before she could fully grasp this new side of her grandmother, the older woman straightened, eyes snapping. “You’re more like your late grandfather than I like to admit. However, we haven’t time to discuss it. Everyone needs to get settled in.”
“You’re right,” Clarissa said, although her grandmother’s tone told her she simply didn’t want to keep talking about any of this. “I assume you want to keep your old rooms, but where would you like to put Absalom and his wife? And what about his stepson?”
Grandmother was on her feet and halfway to the door before Clarissa could stop her. “Where are you going? I need you to tell me where to put these people.”
“Figure it out yourself. Put them anywhere you like.”
Clarissa scrambled to keep pace with her grandmother, who was now in the hall. The reverend caught up with them at the front entrance.
“I’m not staying. I barely survived the last time he lived here.”
Clarissa clasped her grandmother’s arm. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
“It’s not.” Grandmother snatched her arm away and opened the door. “You were young, and we didn’t tell you everything.”
“Then tell me now.”
“I don’t have time. I have to make arrangements to leave town.”
What was she thinking? “Where will you go?”
“Back home.”
“The Delta?”
“No, I’m going to my home. To live with Cousin Mary Grace.” With the tip of her cane, she pushed open the already-ajar door and stepped onto the front gallery. “As soon as I can get the money together, I’m buying a steamer ticket and moving back to Memphis.”
* * *
“Grandmother, you can’t—”
Missus Adams slammed the door hard enough to make the case clock chime.
Samuel glanced over at his new wife as the surprise on her face quickly gave way to fear. Then she yanked open the door and ran onto the gallery. “Grandmother, come back inside.”
“I’m not leaving yet. I want to think. Alone.”
“Fine.” Clarissa strode inside and toward the back door. There she gestured for Samuel to join her at the six-over-six detached sidelights. “If she truly wants to think, she’ll sit under the pergola. But when she wants to pray, she goes to the sanctuary.”
Samuel peered out at the vine-covered, open pergola in the garden, perhaps a hundred yards from the house. “Then I’m glad I don’t see her in the pergola, because she needs to pray about leaving us. But if she wanted to pray, why didn’t she say so? And where’s the sanctuary?”
“She thinks private prayer should be just that—a private matter, not to be spoken of. And you can’t see the sanctuary from here.” She grasped the double door’s knob, turned and pulled, but this door was stuck too.
“Let me try.” When she’d stepped back, Samuel took the knob and applied his strength to the door. When it finally flung open, he stood back so she could exit first. “I’ll make sure Absalom has these doors fixed first thing, Miss—Missus...” He shook his head. Veronica had insisted he call her Missus Montgomery, and it would be wise to keep an emotional distance in his new marriage as well. However, she should be the one to decide. “What do you want me to call you?”
Her tinkling laugh—guileless, melodic—took him aback. He should have expected her to have a beautiful laugh, since she had such a sweet-sounding speaking voice. Nevertheless, he was unprepared for it. Of a sudden, he couldn’t wait until the next choir rehearsal