Discernment, p.1
Discernment, page 1
Washington Square Secrets
Book 1
Discernment
By
Carrie Dalby
Copyright ©2023 Carrie Dalby Cox
First edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.
Book designed and published by Olive Kent Publishing
Mobile, Alabama
Cover art by Amanda Herman
carriedalby.com
For L.B. Stimson,
who always wants a ghost story,
and
my readers outside of the USA—I appreciate you
One
The swaying of the southbound train lulled me into a drowsy state against Alvin’s side. I rested my head on his firm shoulder even though the weave of his wool suit irritated my cheek and the September heat continued to rise.
Alvin gently pressed his chin against my forehead. It was the closest he had come yet to kissing me in public. I took advantage of his tenderness and gazed up at him as I straightened. His brown eyes widened a smidgeon as his square jaw fought to remain dignified. He was serious—too serious. Alvin Robert Farley studied patterns in geometry, football plays, and chess matches. Never in his twenty-five years had he behaved rashly. Never, that is, until I had cornered him into a wedding proposal after three weeks of courting this summer of 1910.
Smiling at my husband of almost twenty-four hours, I fingered my wedding present to him: the gold watch that looped over a vest button on his simple black three-piece suit, and I thought back on our night in the hotel. Now that I knew his belly was ticklish, I planned to make him smile more often.
“Deb, don’t be naughty,” he glanced across the aisle to see if our neighbors were watching my antics.
No one watched but the leering man who had startled me when we first took our seats in Montgomery. My first thought was he wanted to steal my bridal money, which was strapped safely to my waist beneath my clothes for the trip. Then I noticed his slit throat.
It had been weeks since I’d seen a ghost. I’d been too wrapped up in my approaching nuptials to notice the souls around me. Not caring if the vile spirit watched, I smoothed a hand over Alvin’s vest and brushed my lips along his freshly shaved jaw.
“This is our honeymoon trip. I won’t be denied a bit of romance when we only have a few hours alone.”
Alvin blushed almost as red as the glow I could see around him. Auras were much more pleasant to deal with than ghosts. He ran a finger between his stiff collar and thick neck. “We’re in a public coach.”
Wanting to make him smile, not squirm, I quickly kissed his cheek. “Don’t be upset that your bride finds you irresistible.”
A grin broke his stoic façade. “I’d never be remiss about that. It’s just…” he dropped his voice even more and put his lips by my ear. “It’s not proper to display our relationship.”
Wedding or not, it would take an act of God and Congress for Alvin to relax his standards. I nestled under his arm, and he caressed down the sleeve of my white blouse to take my hand in his.
“I love you, Deborah.”
“I know you do.”
I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his fingers, promising myself that one day I would assist Alvin’s passion in overruling his sense of decorum. He never mentioned a previous love, but I knew he had to have at least one, if not from his youth, then his college days. He was too accomplished a kisser to not have had experience. He even had to show me how to hold my head so we could easily deepen our connection.
His calming silence allowed me to think back on the day I’d met him last autumn. Father had invited all the teachers from the boys’ school he oversaw to a lawn party, as he did every year. I was raised humbly on the outskirts of the capitol city and taught that all educators were to be respected, not just the administration. As I was graduated from high school and finishing classes, I looked upon the teachers for the first time as possible contemporaries. The old-timers were as dull as ever, but the French instructor who had started the previous year eyed me with interest.
That golden afternoon was punctuated with croquet and spiced cider. Frenchie, as I called the foreign language teacher, was eager to get on my father’s good side by paying me attentions. I did my share of flirting to keep boredom at bay, though I didn’t deceive myself with romantic thoughts.
According to my mother, I was a quick study of people. But study was the wrong word. I knew the instant after meeting someone if they were trustworthy. It was on a spiritual level—nothing that could be observed. I credited unseen forces as my protectors because I had been saved too many times to count.
Frenchie’s Louisiana roots gave him a slightly exotic air, but he was the same as any other dandy when it came down to it. During a round of croquet with Frenchie, Alvin Farley—the newest hire and former college football star—approached me with a confidant air to his athletic gait. I’d given a hearty crack to the yellow ball. It had missed its mark, but the sound of the connection always satisfied me. Smiling, I swung my mallet in triumph.
“Miss Alder,” Alvin’s deep voice had washed over me like a soothing wave, “if you took a moment to stand back and study the field, you would see the angle of your approach is all wrong.”
I listened to several minutes of his polite explanations, fascinated not by his words, but his manners and the warmth coming from him when I had thought he would be a clumsy brute because of his football record.
At the close of his lecture, I smiled. “You’re very thoughtful, Mr. Farley, but I’m afraid I prefer a spontaneous game. It evens the playing field when all parties are working by chance rather than against skill levels.”
Frenchie had laughed, but poor Alvin looked startled. I had to work the whole school year to prove to him I was a sincere person even though my attitude was carefree. It wasn’t until I approached him at the end of April with condolences over the death of his uncle—which a voice from beyond had told me about—that he really looked at me. Then it was mid-July before I was able to swindle him into taking a walk with me in the local park.
When he announced in August that he had accepted a job in Mobile and would be moving in with his widowed aunt, I knew I would lose him if he went.
“That sounds like a wonderful adventure for us,” I had said.
“For us?” I still remember the surprise in his voice.
“I know you care for me, and I’d never survive without you, Alvin.”
“You would marry me?”
I’d hugged him right there on the sidewalk in front of the soda counter. “I thought you’d never ask! Let’s hurry home and tell my parents.”
So, at the age of nineteen, I married the most admirable of men in a backyard ceremony on the second of September. Some would say he wasn’t worthy of me, but I knew it was he who was superior. His no-nonsense, humble attitude drove me to protect him from my oddness. After all, not all young women have been speaking with ghosts since before they were school-age. Not knowing how he would handle the news confirmed my need to keep it secret.
When the train pulled into Mobile, I looked out the window in awe at the skyline. The city was larger than the capitol and featured a building over ten stories high.
Alvin buttoned his suit jacket and placed his straw boater on his head. “Come on, Deb.”
I pinned my flowered hat through my brunette chignon. “Will I pass inspection with your aunt?”
“You’re as pretty as a fresh magnolia, Deborah.” Alvin wasn’t typically an original when it came to words, but they were always sincere. He grabbed the day bag from the luggage rack. “Your complexion isn’t blotchy, and your clothes aren’t rumpled.”
As soon as our trunks and suitcases were loaded into a hired mule cart, we headed west in an automobile from the same transportation company as the wagon. The heavy air over the city was gray with approaching storm clouds. I tried to find peace beside Alvin, but a level of unease permeated my nerves as much as the humidity caused me to glisten.
When we stopped in front of a two-story home on Rapier Avenue, Alvin escorted me up the flagstone path, my hand on his muscular arm. A charming picket fence separated the yard from its neighbors on either side. The woodwork around the porch was ornate with geometric Craftsman-style details painted a crisp white, and the busy tile on the porch floor was unlike any I’d ever seen, with tulips arranged in octagonal groups in a diamond layout.
Alvin’s gaze followed mine and motioned to the flooring with his free hand. “Now that’s something.”
More patterns for his keen mind to dissect.
His knock on the double front door was soon answered by a woman of about thirty-five with ash blonde hair worn up and a blue lace dress adorning her curvaceous body. She theatrically flung open both narrow doors as her brown eyes took in the two of us with a sweeping glance that flickered from amused to sour before settling into a thin smile.
“Dear Alvin!” Her embrace ripped him from me with a shimmer of emerald light around her clutching form.
“Hello, A unt Catherine.” He managed to awkwardly escape her clutches and straightened his suit.
“None of that, Alvin. You must call me Cathy, the both of you.” She set her eyes on me. “Now introduce me to your girl. She doesn’t look old enough to marry. Are you sure you didn’t steal her from the school you taught at?”
“In a way, I suppose I did. Her father was the principal.” Alvin smiled and gently took my arm. “Aun—Cathy Snodgrass, this is Deborah. Deb, Cathy was married to my mother’s brother, Uncle Jerald.”
“You do have a bit of him in you, Alvin.” Catherine took his chin between her thumb and forefinger. “That devastating jaw and dimpled chin is what first drew me to Jerald though he was a decade my senior.”
Alvin blushed under her attention, and I shifted back a half-step.
“Come inside,” she said.
“Our luggage should be here soon,” I offered. “It might be best to wait on the porch for it.”
“No, they’ll knock.” Catherine took Alvin by the hand and brought us over the threshold. The home was trimmed in oak woodwork with deep greens and cranberry colors on the walls and draperies. Heavy, foreboding. “Have a seat in the parlor, and I’ll collect the tray from the cook.”
We were motioned to the left of the entry hall while she disappeared beyond the staircase. Alvin brought me to the couch across from a fireplace flanked by two built-in bookcases.
I leaned close. “Do we have to live here?”
“She’s been lonely, so you can keep her company while I’m at school.”
I could think of nothing I’d want to do less than be a companion to that woman.
Catherine breezed into the room, set the tray of iced tea and refreshments on the coffee table, and took Alvin’s hand. “It simply isn’t fair for Deborah to monopolize you, Alvin. Come sit with me.”
Too polite to protest, Alvin followed her to the sofa for two set in front of the windows.
“I’m hardly monopolizing my husband.” I glanced at the mantel clock. “We’ve been married twenty-six hours, and he begins work in a few days. I believe I deserve every possible moment with him.”
She laughed and patted Alvin’s knee. “I didn’t expect a two-for-one deal when you first said you were coming, but we’ll make the best of things, I’m sure.”
I suffered through half an hour of false pleasantries from Catherine Snodgrass. Alvin smiled politely, but he wasn’t pleased with the dry cakes served. I hoped to be allowed time in the kitchen to prepare his favorite treats.
When our luggage arrived, Alvin’s aunt waved us toward the staircase that had a stained glass window on the landing, another Craftsman design, bold and practically looming over us from the main floor. “Your rooms, Alvin, are the first two at the top of the stairs, where you and your parents stayed during Easter. I figured you would want a study for grading papers in the evenings, but I suppose now you’ll have to take Deborah’s wants into consideration.”
Alvin and the delivery man carried our trunks, and then my husband followed me up with the final suitcase while I carried the round box that held my bridal hat. I set it on one of the pieces of luggage in the bedroom and took Alvin’s hand.
“Let’s stay here for a while,” I whispered, unsure of the acoustics in the stairwell through the open doors. “We could settle in a bit.”
“And a while ago you were asking not to stay.” He kissed the tip of my turned up nose. “You’re a strange creature, Deb.”
“If we’re going to be here, we might as well try to make it as much our home as possible.” I motioned to the decidedly sparse bedroom set, which I did prefer to the extra fluff in the parlor. Fortunately, the mattress was a double, though I wouldn’t have minded snuggling extra close to Alvin each night in a single. The blue curtains were opened, facing the towering side of the house to the south. “Everything looks functional. Did you peek in the front room?”
“Only for a moment when we set down the case of books. She’s changed things since I was here when Uncle Jerald was alive, but I think you’ll like the space.”
He brought me through the doorway of the connecting rooms. Two windows overlooked the street above the front porch, but the heavy skies offered little sunlight that day. A lone leather wingback chair was near one of the front windows with a spindly side table beside it on the left, and a fern stand stood opposite with a lush display of greenery trailing from the basket. An empty bookcase was on the far wall, the desk situated beside it.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” he asked.
I nodded. “But we’ll need another chair—possibly a small chaise or sofa—so we can both relax without you having to sit at your desk. It’s wonderful to have a place we can be together without being in your aunt’s rooms all the time.”
Alvin took my hand into both of his. “It’s our home too, Deb.”
“I’ll never be comfortable downstairs, but I’ll do my best to feel at home within our rooms.” I pulled out my hatpin and set it and my second-best hat on the dresser in the bedroom before closing the hall door against the atmosphere of the house. “Your aunt doesn’t like me.”
“She’s been nothing but inviting. You overthink things.”
I hurried back to the sitting room and closed that hall door before responding from the threshold between the two rooms. “I sense things, and that woman is decidedly disgruntled in her so-called ‘two-for-one’ situation. I’m extra baggage. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to get rid of me at the earliest opportunity.”
“Let’s have none of your fancies.” He took me in his arms and kissed my forehead. “You wanted to be part of my Mobile adventure, and I’ll not have you despairing now that we’re here. We have each other, Deb. You swore to me that was enough.”
“And it is, Alvin. I’m just excitable from the train ride and lack of sleep. I’ll settle down in no time.” My arms went over his shoulders, and I drew his head down so I could kiss his lips. I would play the part of his dutiful wife but would forever be watching my back where Aunt Catherine was concerned.
Two
That evening, Alvin and I washed and dressed for supper, returning to the parlor a few minutes before seven. Catherine looked me over from my high lace collar to the modest heeled shoes on my feet as she fingered the scooped neckline of her own rose-colored evening gown.
“Really, Alvin, you should see that Deborah dresses with a bit more care. Gray never flatters a young woman.”
“Deborah dresses herself according to her own wishes, Aunt Catherine.”
“No, no, Alvin. I’m Cathy, remember?” She approached where he stood beside my chair and fingered the round Alabama Polytechnic Institute seal pin he always wore on the lapel of his suit. “A man like you deserves a woman in top form beside him.”
His cheeks colored. “There’s nothing wrong with Deborah’s form. She always looks beautiful, but we aren’t accustomed to fancy suppers.”
“But tonight is a celebration! A party to mark your arrival.” Her eyes flashed condescendingly toward me.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Alvin shuffled sideways until he had more breathing space between him and his aunt. “We weren’t informed you planned anything extra. Should we change into our wedding clothes?”
“It’s too late for that. Besides, I’m festive enough for all of us, aren’t I?” She swung her hips and angled her bosom toward him saucily.
“Of course, Cathy.” He looked at me, taking my hand in his warm one. “You’re wonderful too.”
A moment later, the pocket doors opened between the parlor and the dining room.
“Supper, ma’am.” The cook, a freckled young woman, glanced at us with light blue eyes, curtsied to the lady of the house, and made a hasty exit as though afraid to stay.
“That’s a different helper than the one you had at Easter,” Alvin remarked.
“Yes, that’s Tessa. She’s here for dinner and supper daily. We see to our own breakfast. The old cook turned useless after Jerald’s death. I tend to think she felt it was her cooking that did him in, though I don’t see how that’s possible since I always ate the same thing he did—just in smaller amounts.” Catherine attached herself to Alvin’s arm. “I couldn’t tolerate her weepy eyes and the memories they evoked. You understand, don’t you?”
