The lawyer wore a pleased expression, as if he’d finally found a reason for me to smile. “This part of Beaufort is called the Bluff for obvious reasons. Most of the houses are about the same age as this one, between one hundred and fifty to two hundred years old, and a few even older than that.”
I listened with only half an ear, too mesmerized by the flicker of sunlight off the water, and the graceful shape of the land as it gently knelt toward the river, and the grand house that sat in proud desolation and watched over it all. It had been Cal’s home, where he’d been born and spent his childhood. He’d lived inside the old house’s walls, had seen what lay behind the crumbling garden wall, and probably saw the view of the river every day of his life. Yet he had left it all behind two decades before and never looked back. Had never thought to tell me about it, or to bring me there to share the beauty of it. I shivered again, as the thought I didn’t want to voice pricked at my conscience. What happened to Cal here to make him want to forget?
The heat seemed to roll at me in waves, bringing with it a scent I didn’t recognize. “What’s that smell?” I asked, tilting my face to capture the scent that wasn’t pleasant or unpleasant, but had an earthiness to it that made it oddly alluring.
“That’s pluff mud. Basically rotting vegetation that gets left behind at low tide in the marsh. People from here call it the scent of home.”
I nodded as we turned back toward the house, wondering whether Cal had ever missed the scent of the pluff mud or the exotic vegetation that seemed to explode all over the yard. Our house in Farmington had been small, with a tiny yard. It had been one of the things he’d specified to the Realtor when we’d been house hunting, claiming he had no time or patience for a yard or garden.
As we climbed the steps Mr. Williams offered his arm, and I took it after a brief pause. Looking down to avoid a large crack bisecting the bottom step, I realized that the steps weren’t made of cement as I had originally thought. There were small rocks and shells embedded in the material, coarser than cement, with a sandier hue.
“That’s tabby,” explained the lawyer. “Old sea-island building substance made of lime, water, sand, oyster shells, and ash. In the old days it was the most economical building material because of its ready availability and durability. You’ll notice that your chimneys are also made of tabby.”
I smiled at his use of the word your, as if I were the rightful owner and not just the unknown wife of a favorite son who’d disappeared from this place twenty-one years before. Maybe it was the way of the South to welcome home wayward family members who had no claim to such a piece of history except for a willingness to adopt it as their own and a shared last name.
A strong breeze blew up from the river, cooling the sweat that had begun to drip down my neck, and I could see the shimmying of the leaves and moss of the oak tree reflected in the dull sidelight windows. A melodic tinkling sang above me, and I looked up in surprise. Lining the peeling blue porch ceiling were about a dozen wind chimes made of what looked like blue and green stones.
“Edith made those. They’re on the upstairs balcony, too. She liked to collect sea glass and figured this was a good way to display her favorite pieces.”
I looked closer, frowning. “They look like stones.”
“They do. That’s because they’ve been tumbled about the ocean for many years, which gives them that cloudy look. That’s what she liked about them. Edith said that any glass that could withstand such a beating without crumbling was something to be celebrated.” He smiled to himself as if recalling an old conversation. “She always said that only fools thought all glass was fragile.”
Another breeze chased us up the steps, bringing a respite from the heat and making the glass dance and sing. I frowned, contemplating the wind chimes, and tried not to think of the old woman who’d made them. “They’re charming, but I wonder if the noise will keep me up at night.”
Mr. Williams slid a large brass key from his pocket. “Oh, maybe the first few nights, but I expect you’ll get used to it after a while, to the point that you’ll find it hard to sleep without them.”
I took one last look at the long row of wind chimes, wondering whether I’d need to go buy a stepladder so I could remove them, then stepped past Mr. Williams holding open the large door and into the foyer of my new home.