Lavender Morning Read online

  “When was this photo taken?” he asked, and there was a touch of fear in his voice. She could almost hear the unasked question of, How many birthdays ago was that?

  “Actually, it was quite a while ago,” she said mischievously. “So, shall I see you at the end of the week?”

  “I’ll be there,” he said, but his voice was no longer so buoyant.

  Jocelyn hung up and mentally began a list that started with “go to the gym every day this week.” The photo of her in the bikini had been taken just last summer, but who knew what had happened under her clothes during the winter?

  So that was Ramsey McDowell, she thought as she got up and began to look through her closet. Tomorrow she’d stop by her professor’s office and resign. She knew he wouldn’t be bothered; there were four applicants for every job on campus.

  She paused with her hand on the clothes. Maybe now she could write her own book. Something nonfiction, historical. Maybe she could write the history of the town of Edilean. She’d start with the Scotsman who stole a man’s gold and his beautiful daughter, then ran off to the wild country of America. What was Edilean like in 1770? For that matter, what was it like now?

  Ten minutes later, she’d Googled the town. The history of the town was much what Miss Edi had written. It had been started by a Scotsman named Angus Harcourt, who’d built a large house for his beautiful wife, then set about putting in acres of crops. But his wife, Edilean, had been lonely, so she’d designed the streets of a tiny town that had eight small areas of parkland in it. Smack in the middle she’d planted an oak tree from an acorn she’d taken from her father’s estate. Over the centuries, the tree had been replaced three times, but each time the transplant had been a scion of the original tree.

  Jocelyn went on to read that in the 1950s, her Edilean Harcourt had led a four-year-long court battle when the state of Virginia tried to evict the residents, as over five thousand acres of the surrounding land was being turned into a nature preserve. “It was because Miss Edi—as she is called by everyone”—Joce read—“won the battle that the tiny town of Edilean survives today. No new houses are allowed to be built, but the ones that are there are preserved so that it’s almost like stepping back into time.

  “The town has several upscale shops that draw tourists from Williamsburg, but the crowning jewel is Edilean Manor, built by Angus Harcourt in 1770, and lived in by the same family since then. Unfortunately, the house and grounds are not open to the public.”

  “I’m glad of that,” Jocelyn said, then moved closer to the screen to see the photos and thought she could see a sign in front of one of the pretty white houses. Was that Ramsey’s office? Did he live in the same building where he worked? He’d asked her if she had a boyfriend, but did he have a girlfriend?

  She clicked on the button that said EDILEAN MANOR, and there it was. Jocelyn stared at it with wide eyes. The façade was perfectly symmetrical: two stories, five windows wide, all brick. On both sides were single-story wings with little porches on them. “I guess that’s where my tenants live,” she said, marveling at the idea that she now owned this wonderful old house.

  Five minutes later, she was tearing through her closet like a leaf blower. She was going to get rid of all the things that she no longer wore, then see what was left. Fifteen minutes later, she looked at her nearly bare closet and said, “I’m going shopping.”

  The next few days had been a blur of activity as she hurried to get ready to leave, to go to her brand-new life.

  And now, she was in Williamsburg, it was 11 A.M. Saturday morning, hotel checkout time, everything she owned was stuffed into her little Mini Cooper, and she was about to see “her house” for the first time. She didn’t know if she was elated or scared to death. New town, new state even, and all new people—one of whom she had a sort of date with tonight.

  “You can do this,” she said again and opened the hotel door.

  2

  SHE CLUTCHED THE MapQuest printout in her hand as she drove. The directions were simple: leave Williamsburg on Highway 5, the one that led to all the plantations, and just a few miles out she’d come to McTern Road. Three miles later, she was to take a right onto Edilean Road, then drive through the town until she ended up at her new/old house.

  McTern Road was easy to find, but she thought there was a mistake because it meandered through forest that seemed to have been there since the earth began. She’d read that Edilean was in the middle of a nature preserve, but she hadn’t expected it to be this close to primordial forest.

  She moved to one side as a couple of men in a big black truck pulling a fishing boat with two motors on the back rushed past her. They waved their thanks for giving them the right of way.

  Edilean Road was clearly marked and she was glad to see that the surface was well maintained. She’d been a little concerned that it would be a gravel road with weeds down the center.

  About a mile before she reached the town, the wild-looking forest gave way to specimen oaks and beeches and big sycamores. She didn’t have to be told that she had entered land that at one time had been part of a rich plantation.

  When she reached the center of Edilean, she paused for a moment to look at it. The Web site had been only partially right. The town was half as big as it seemed in the photos, but it was twice as charming. Big willow trees hung over the street so that all the parking was in the shade. There wasn’t a new building anywhere, and the old structures had been maintained beautifully.

  The church was on her left, and on impulse, she turned right so she’d go through the heart of the place. She wanted to see the “park-like” areas that the original Edilean had designed, and she wanted to see that oak tree.

  Another left took her to the main street, Lairdton. Joce had seen that nearly all the street names were of Scottish origin and the road through the middle was Lairdton. Since “ton” was an old way to shorten “town,” that meant that Angus Harcourt had named the street Laird’s Town. She guessed that back in the eighteenth century, the stable lad, Angus Harcourt, had raised himself to being the laird of a clan and wanted people to know that he owned all of it.

  Jocelyn saw an ice cream parlor that looked like something off a movie set and a store of used books. “Gold mine!” she said aloud. Out-of-print books were some of her favorite things in life.

  She saw a little grocery with produce in a bin in front, and a woman wearing a long skirt with a tasseled belt. There was a bandana tied around her head and her shirt had been tie-dyed. “Wonder if she went to Woodstock?” Jocelyn muttered.

  There was the usual store full of old furniture and some other businesses.

  And in the middle, on a big, grassy circle, was an enormous oak tree. There were half a dozen benches under its shade and two teenagers were kissing, while some younger kids were laughing at them.

  The last two houses before the road disappeared into overhanging trees were the ones in the photos on the Internet. They were big, white, and looked inviting. In front of one a woman was sweeping the porch, and as though she knew who Jocelyn was, she halted her broom and stared.

  Jocelyn was so absorbed in looking back at the woman that she almost missed the turn at the end of Lairdton. One block down was a sign that said TAM WAY. She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw that the woman was no longer on the porch. She probably went inside to start the gossip line. What would they say? That the outsider is here to take over our beloved Miss Edi’s house?

  Jocelyn drove slowly down the country road. There were only three houses along the way, and unless she missed her guess, they’d once been part of the plantation of Edilean Manor. She could see that there were old sections on the houses, but they’d been remodeled and expanded over the years.

  When she came to some stone columns that were nearly hidden by vines, she knew she’d reached it. There was a little marble plaque in one of them and she could see enough letters to know what it said.

  This is it, she thought, and pulled into the drive. There were so