Page 10 of Carnal Magic
Her eyebrows rose. “Oh.” She studied me a moment and then patted my arm, nodding to herself. “Silly me. I forgot about all the trouble that comes with being a Redwine.”
I fought to contain my eagerness for some information. Even if it was just gossip. “Trouble?”
She narrowed her eyes and gave me a hard look. “Don’t tell me that nobody thought to warn you about the Redwine curse.”
7
I’d been expecting gossip about the sinfully delicious bedroom. Or whispers about the hidden hot spring that I’d dreamed about. Or the magical food that seemed to disappear out of nowhere.
Not a curse.
“What curse?” I asked.
“Oh dear, oh year.” Corrine shook her head and looked around, as if only just now remembering that we were in a very busy grocery store. “Everybody knows but it’s not something we talk about, you know? Are you busy? You could come to my house for some refreshment, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
“Turn left at Woodward’s Law. I’m the third house down on the left. I’m headed home now.”
I barely looked at the cheese selection, just grabbing a few things and throwing them in the basket. I hurried to the checkout and fought the urge to tap my toe with impatience while I waited for the gentleman in front of me to stop talking about the weather. Then he insisted on paying with exact change. He must have paid with at least ten dollars in nickels and dimes that all had to be counted.
Finally I threw my bags into the passenger seat and hurried back up the street, turning as she directed. Third house on the left.
My eyes widened as I pulled into a circle driveway. Miss Corrine must be a wealthy woman for the area. Her house was a three-story Victorian painted an unfortunate Pepto-Bismol pink. Despite the awful color, it was the grandest house I’d seen in Sweetbriar so far. At least the porch was cheerful with several planters of purple petunias and two large rocking chairs. She sat in one, waiting for me, with a pitcher of lemonade ready to pour.
I smiled and nodded politely while she poured two glasses of lemonade and chatted about the house and neighborhood. Her husband, Roger, was still at work, she explained, but he’d be thrilled to meet me too. Every time a car went by, she waved and called out to them, asking about children or grandchildren or so-and-so’s illness.
Roger. The name nagged at me. Where had I heard that before?
“Where does your husband work?” I finally asked.
“Oh, the bank. You haven’t met him yet?”
Of course. The banker, Roger Eddings. “No, not yet. Mr. Woodward gave me some paperwork, but I haven’t had the chance to look at it yet.”
“Well, if you need anything at all, dear, you just stop by and ask for Roger. He’ll see you straightaway.”
I wondered now if she was only being nice to me because she knew how much money was in the Redwine bank account. If I’d been broke, would she have acted more like the awful church lady?
“I suppose I shouldn’t have said curse earlier,” she mused, rocking back and forth. “Given your heritage, you might have thought I meant something mystical. Though with how much tragedy there is in your family, perhaps there is some magical curse that hangs over the Redwine name.”
“I don’t know anything at all about my family,” I admitted. “Mama passed away a little over a year ago, and she never talked about her relatives. I never knew her mother. In fact, I don’t think I’d ever heard her name until I came here.”
Corrine nodded. “Miss Martha was the same way. She didn’t talk about family matters. But it’s a small town. It’s impossible to keep things under wraps for long. Do you want the whole sordid tale? At least what I know?”
“Yes, please. No matter how sordid.”
“You may infer part of the curse, or legends about Redwine women, just by your surname. Miss Martha never married. I was in contact with Rebekah after she left, and though she was engaged, he died in a car accident. She called me, sobbing. People say things when they’re grieving that don’t always make sense, or don’t seem right. I know she loved Bill, and was devastated by his loss, but the first thing she said to me was how furious she was that she wasn’t going to get rid of her hated Redwine name after all.”
“Mama was married—to another woman.”
Corrine waved to another car. “I’d wager my favorite teapot that she never married your father, though.”
I sighed. “No. Not to my knowledge. There’s no name on my birth certificate, either. I asked about him a lot, but she always told me it was an accident. She was at an LSU party and had a little too much to drink. Only when I was older did she admit that she blacked out. She didn’t remember a thing, let alone who my father might be.”
“Rebekah’s child wasn’t by Bill, though he swore to love and raise her baby girl as his own before he died. When she left here, she was only sixteen years old. She didn’t even tell me that she was leaving. She was too scared.”
“Of what?” I asked softly. “Martha? Was she pregnant when she left?”
