The Mandie Collection (21 page)

Mandie followed her outside. The height made her dizzy. Trying not to let Josephine know this, she turned around to look at the inside, rather than out into open space.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” Mandie asked. “Just an old tower with a walkway around it?”

“Call it an old tower if you want to, but it's more than that,” Josephine replied. “It's haunted. Years and years ago, before anybody living today was even born, the master of the plantation was an old decrepit snob named Nathaniel Patton, and he had a beautiful young wife named Ophelia. Well, Ophelia was having her portrait done by Alonzo de Bussy. She was posing outside here on the walkway.”

“Way up here? Why?”

“I don't know,” Josephine said impatiently. “But anyway, Nathaniel was a jealous, suspicious old codger, and he spied on them. When he found the artist brushing Ophelia's hair back from her face, and straightening her gown, Nathaniel thought that was just too intimate. In a fit of rage, he drew his sword, and without a word, he stabbed Ophelia.”

“He killed his own wife? Oh, how awful,” Mandie said in disbelief. “Why wouldn't he kill the artist instead?”

“He tried,” Josephine said in a cocky sort of way. “After he killed Ophelia, he turned to Alonzo. But Alonzo was much younger and stronger, and he managed to escape. He left Nathaniel lying unconscious on the walkway there.” Josephine pointed a short distance away. “All that time, Ophelia's maid, who was acting as chaperone, hovered around the corner during the fracas. By the time the old man came to, the maid was long gone. She told the other servants her terrifying story, took a horse, and ran away. She was never heard from again.”

Mandie looked at Josephine skeptically. “Is this really true?”

Josephine nodded. “Of course it's true. Alonzo was nearly finished with the portrait when Nathaniel went after Ophelia with his sword. The painting got splattered with Ophelia's blood. I found the portrait one day. I'll show it to you. It still has bloodstains on it.” Josephine watched for Mandie's reaction.

Mandie's eyes grew wide, and she shivered in spite of herself. “Oh, how horrible!” she exclaimed.

“Well, that's not all,” Josephine continued. “Sometimes the door here is found unlocked and standing wide open.”

“Maybe a servant comes up here,” Mandie suggested.

“Oh, no, there's never been a servant in the house who would come up here after what happened. They're afraid of the place. But sometimes you can hear the outside door banging, like it was being opened and shut real hard,” Josephine said. Then in a spooky voice she added, “I've even heard Ophelia's screams.”

Mandie cleared her throat. “Well, someone has to be doing it.”

“Someone who is dead,” Josephine insisted. “It's the ghost of Ophelia who is trying to come back alive. Ophelia died too young.”

Mandie wrinkled her nose in disbelief. “Whatever happened to Nathaniel? Did they try him for murder?”

“Of course not,” Josephine replied. “He was the lord of the manor and did what he pleased. He reported that when he found his wife and Alonzo alone together, the artist grabbed his sword and in trying to stab him, Alonzo accidentally stabbed Ophelia and ran away. So that was the end of it. The servants all knew better, but they didn't dare speak up.”

“If they didn't speak up, then how did anyone know what happened?” Mandie asked.

“Nathaniel died soon after that and the information became common knowledge,” Josephine explained.

Mandie shook her head sadly. “And just think, the poor woman died for no reason.”

Josephine walked over to the window seat and raised the lid. She pulled out a large portrait and stood it up on the seat. “There she is. See the bloodstains?” Josephine pointed to several dark brown spots on a corner of the portrait.

Mandie looked at the woman in the painting. She was a small-looking blonde with curls piled high on her head and sparkling green eyes. She wore a lacy white gown and was seated on a bench on the walkway outside the tower room. Emeralds circled her slender neck and adorned her ears. She held a red rosebud in her left hand. Mandie moved closer to inspect the picture.

“What is it?” Josephine asked, watching Mandie.

“She was married, but she doesn't have on a wedding band,” Mandie observed.

“I know. She must have removed it for the picture. Maybe Nathaniel noticed that, too.”

“Are you sure this is Ophelia's portrait?” Mandie asked.

“Of course I'm sure. The family has talked about it for years. Besides”—Josephine pointed—“there is blood on it.”

“How do you know that's blood?” Mandie asked, looking closer at the brown spots on the portrait. “It could be paint, or mold, or something else.”

“Don't you understand? The family knows all about this portrait,” Josephine said, exasperated. “I know this is Ophelia.”

“But you said you found it. Didn't anyone else know where it was?”

“Not until I found it in the window seat there. No one living had ever seen the portrait until I found it. But the story has been in the family for generations,” Josephine said. “Ophelia does haunt this room up here. I've heard her scream, and I've also seen the door to the outside walk slam shut with no one near it.”

“You saw the door close with no one around?”

“Yes, look!” Josephine moved the creaking door back and forth. “See? The door drags a little on the bottom. It could never swing by itself, and it could never be blown shut either.”

Josephine was right. Could her story really be true? Did the dead woman's ghost really haunt the tower?

“Now that I've told you about Ophelia, let's go downstairs and I'll show you her room,” Josephine said, locking the outside door. “I'll wait till you get down the stairs before I shut this door, so you'll have light to see. But for goodness sakes, please hurry.”

Mandie quickly ran down the curving stairs. When she was about halfway down she thought she saw something white moving below. Then as she got nearer the bottom, the door to the hallway slammed shut with a loud bang. Her heart thumped wildly. Her legs felt as if they wouldn't hold her up. She bit her lip, tightened her grip on the bannister, and kept going.

“What was that?” Josephine called from above. “Is someone else down there?”

“No, the door just blew shut, that's all,” Mandie replied, trying to keep her voice from quavering.

“I'm closing the door up here. Hurry and open that one down there,” Josephine called.

Mandie quickly felt her way down and pushed the hallway door open.

Josephine ran down the stairs. “Come on. We'll go this way,” she said, reaching the bottom.

“Where is this room you want me to see?” Mandie asked without moving.

“It's on this floor,” Josephine told her. “But if you don't come on, I'll leave you standing there all by yourself.”

At that threat Mandie quickly followed Josephine down the hallway and through a door into a much larger hallway.

“This is the wing that Ophelia and Nathaniel used when they lived here. It's all closed up now,” Josephine said.

As Mandie silently walked behind Josephine, she noticed the fine old draperies on the windows in the hallway and the antique chairs, chests, and tables along the way. It looked like a museum.

Josephine stopped in front of a door at the corner of the hallway. “Prepare yourself! This is it!” she exclaimed dramatically. She flung open the heavy, ornate door.

Mandie stood still, not knowing what to expect. Josephine stepped ahead of her inside the room, blocking her view and waiting for her.

Mandie hesitantly followed. She caught her breath. The room was beautifully decorated in green and white. In the center stood a high four-poster bed, complete with canopy and curtains, and a small green-upholstered footstool for climbing into bed.

Over a huge fireplace, which took up half of one wall, hung a portrait. Was the woman in the painting the same woman in the tower-room portrait? Mandie wondered. In this picture the blonde woman wore an emerald green gown with diamond jewelry around her neck and on her ears, fingers, and wrists. She also had a wedding band on her left hand.

“You see, Ophelia did wear a wedding band,” Josephine said, noticing Mandie's attention to this.

“But how do you know this is Ophelia?” Mandie asked.

“Can't you see that's the same woman in the portrait upstairs?” Josephine tapped her foot impatiently.

“It could be two different women, like the two Melissas at your home in town,” Mandie suggested.

“Oh, no, it can't.” Josephine walked over to the portrait. “You see that little mole right there on her left cheek? Well, the portrait upstairs shows the same thing in the exact same spot.”

“Is that how you figured this must be her room?” Mandie asked.

“In a way,” Josephine said. “But the servants still tell tales about Ophelia, and none of them will come up to this part of the house. So one day I did some exploring, trying to figure out what it was that frightened them. The other rooms are used for storage, but this room is special.”

Mandie looked around at the well-kept furnishings. “If the servants won't come up here, who keeps this room clean?”

“That I can't tell you, but I don't know of a servant on this plantation who will come here. They all know Ophelia's story,” Josephine said.

I'd never come here either after all the tales Josephine tells
, Mandie thought.

Josephine stepped over in front of a large, ornately carved dresser with an oval-shaped mirror. “Look, even her jewelry box still plays,” she said, picking up a small gold box with a metal rose on top. She turned the key and opened the box to reveal a beautiful strand of pearls. As the music began to play, Mandie recognized the tune—The Blue Danube waltz.

Mandie stepped closer to look. “Are those her pearls in there?”

“I suppose so,” Josephine said, picking up the strand and then dropping it back inside. Closing the music box, she stepped over to a huge matching wardrobe and opened the doors. “Even her clothes are still in here,” she said.

Mandie walked slowly toward the wardrobe in awe. It was filled with expensive-looking gowns, every one of which was either green or white. “Didn't she ever wear anything besides green and white?”

“Evidently not,” Josephine replied, running her hand across the hanging gowns. She took a green dress from its hanger and held it out for Mandie to see. “This is the one she had on in that picture, see?”

Mandie looked at the dress and then at the portrait. Impossible, she thought. How could a dress survive all these years and be in such good shape? Yet it did seem to be exactly like the green dress in the portrait. It was all a mystery.

Suddenly, Mandie became nervous. “Don't you think we'd better go back downstairs? Everyone will be wondering where we are.”

“I suppose so,” Josephine said, hanging the dress back in the wardrobe. “I'll show you the rest of the house later. Come on. I know a different way to get back downstairs.”

Josephine closed the door behind them, then led Mandie to a wide, curving staircase.

At the first landing, which was the second story, Josephine paused. “You'll be using a room right down that hallway.” She pointed to the right.

Mandie looked where she pointed, wondering if that part of the house were deserted, too.

Josephine must have guessed what she was thinking. She laughed. “Don't worry. My room is right next to yours. Your parents are nearby, and Tommy's room is down at the end of the hall.”

Just then Tommy appeared at the foot of the stairs in the first-floor hallway. “I've been looking everywhere for you two,” he called. “Mandie, I want to show you around outside.”

“Oh, thank you, Tommy,” Mandie said, hurrying down to join him.

What a relief to be rescued from Josephine and her ghosts! Maybe the story Josephine told was true and maybe not. Or maybe part of it was true, and the girl added to it. Anyway, Mandie didn't want anything more to do with ghosts. One ghost at the beach house was enough to have to investigate!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

RICE FIELDS

Tommy led the way outside into the backyard. “I want you to see the field hands reaping the rice,” he said as they walked by the toolshed. “It's something you'll never forget.”

“I've never seen rice growing,” Mandie said excitedly.

Tommy paused by the stables. “It's a long way. Should we ride?” “Let's walk. I love to walk,” Mandie told him.

It was a long trek along a well-worn path. Before they got to the rice fields, Mandie heard someone singing. “Where is that coming from?” she asked.

“The field hands. They always sing while they reap the rice—an old custom passed down through generations,” Tommy explained. “They also know we'll be giving them a party when they finish, so I guess they're happy about it.”

The trees began to thin out, and suddenly Mandie stopped to stare. There before her lay a golden sea of rice plants as far as she could see.

Dozens of Negro field hands sang as they clipped the top ends of the plants, making indentations in the fields as they waded through.

Tommy and Mandie walked on, stopping at the edge of the field.

“That is rice?” Mandie exclaimed. “How beautiful!”

Tommy smiled at her. “They are clipping off the heads because that's where the rice is. But you'll notice they are leaving the heads lying on the stalks. That's so it will dry out. Tomorrow another group will follow this one's path and collect the rice heads.”

“Then what happens?” Mandie couldn't take her eyes off the fields.

“Each sheaf, or handful, is wrapped with a wisp of the plant and stored in cocks. Cocks are cone-shaped piles of straw,” Tommy explained. “Then it's ready for shipment.”