I waited until the front door closed behind him. “Do you know what’s up there?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No.” She looked at me closely, as if determining whether she could tell me something. She seemed to find what she was looking for and continued. “When I was a girl, whenever I passed by the house at night I’d glance up and see a light on in the attic, and sometimes I’d see Miss Edith looking out the window. A few times I waved, but she never seemed to see me.”
Laughter came from the kitchen, reminding me that we needed to join the others. But I was reluctant to move forward. There was something in Deborah’s voice that made me hesitate.
“Do you know what she was doing?”
She paused. “She made her sea-glass chimes up there, among other projects. As I grew older she and I became friends, but she never showed me what she did up there, and only mentioned a big project she was working on. She was very secretive about it and always kept the door locked. Just about everybody in town seemed to have a few thoughts on what she was doing in that hot attic. But one thing we did know for sure.” She pressed her lips together in a tight line. “She wasn’t mourning her husband.”
The door to the kitchen opened, and Owen ran past us up the stairs with a quick hello and a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. I heard his door shut hard right before the kitchen door opened again and Maris stuck her head out, looked around, and then, apparently not finding what she was looking for, slowly withdrew her head again.
I barely noticed, Deborah’s last words still hanging in the air. “What do you mean?” I asked.
The locksmith reentered the house and headed toward the stairs. Deborah’s eyes followed him before she turned to face me again. “I’m not one to gossip, but my mama played bridge with Miss Edith when I was a little girl, and she’d bring me along sometimes. She was a nice lady, really lovely, and with beautiful manners. I watched her little boy, C.J., sometimes when I got a bit older. I guess he would have been your father-in-law. Anyway, I remember she always wore long sleeves, even in the summertime.” She paused. “We had a secret that not even my mother knew about. Actually, until now I don’t believe I’ve ever told anybody.” With a soft smile she said, “When she found out we had a beach house on Sullivan’s Island, she asked me to be on the lookout for sea glass and she’d pay me a penny for every piece I could find. I’d pile them in the corner of the porch when I was out riding my bike, and then she’d slip pennies in my pocket when Mother brought me again. I didn’t know why she wanted them—there weren’t any wind chimes back then, only the one hanging from the attic window. I suppose she was working on them up in the attic. All I know is that she didn’t want Mr. Heyward to know what she was doing.”
“Why?” I asked, my voice suddenly tight.
Her eyes settled on me, but whatever else she was going to say was interrupted by the kitchen door swinging open again as Loralee, Cynthia, and the little girl, Maris, came toward us. I noticed that Loralee had gone heavy on the blush so it looked like she was trying to hide her skin—something I had yet to see without makeup. My mother had had beautiful skin, creamy in the winter and freckled in the summer, and she’d never worn makeup except for parties and special occasions. That was what mothers were supposed to look like, not Barbie-doll wannabes who wore animal prints and high heels.
Deborah placed a hand on my arm, the fingers worn with calluses, her touch like rough burlap. I looked again at her floral blouse and saw the sunspots on her cheeks and nose and thought she was probably in a gardening club, too. Maybe she could help Loralee with the garden.
I stopped my thoughts, seeing them lead in a dangerous direction. My mama always said that to plant a garden meant that you believed in tomorrow. I wasn’t sure I believed enough in the future to even resurrect the garden, and I especially didn’t imagine Loralee there for the long term to see it through.
Leaning toward me, Deborah spoke softly. “Stop by the Heritage Society offices next Wednesday—they’re on Carteret Street. I work from eleven to four. I have something to show you that you might be interested in.”