"What do you mean by that, Jess?"

"Oh, you know-wearing long skirts, little white lace gloves, a big hat and ribbon sash under your chin-like we used to play dress-up when we were little girls, remember?"

She laughed. "I remember. You always wanted to be Rhett Butler."

Jessica grinned. "Why, with your wicked green eyes and blonde hair, you'd have given Scarlett O'Hara a run for her money with Rhett. You even remind me of your aunt Hannah a little bit."

"An eccentric old maid?"

"Oh, you're not an old maid. You've been married. No, I meant… romantic. That's it. You're the romantic type, all dreamy eyes, soft smiles, and long blonde hair. You were just born a hundred years too late. I always thought you fit in here." Jessica shrugged. "I never have understood about that ridiculous family feud between the Scotts and the Brandons," she said frankly. "Not that it matters. Nothing can save the house now. Unless you can change history."

"I only wish I could," Amanda murmured. "But I know that's impossible."

Wandering into the parlor, Jessica wiped a hand over the elegantly carved edge of the heartpine mantel gracing the fireplace, then grimaced at the dust on her fingers. "It's probably just as well. Heartpine is worth a fortune nowadays. Can hardly find it anywhere, and collectors and builders pay a pretty price for it. This house will be worth much more piece by piece."

Amanda winced, and glancing up, Jessica added hurriedly, "You did everything you could, Manda. But once Hannah died and the ghouls demanded their portion of the inheritance in cash, there was nothing you could do but sell."

"I know." Amanda wandered restlessly from the front parlor to the curved staircase leading to the second-floor bedrooms. The handrail was worn smooth and satiny by generations of Brandon hands sliding along its elegant length. Golden wood had darkened with time and use. "You'd think," she murmured, caressing the smooth finish, "that the Scotts would want to keep it intact. After all, it's their inheritance as well as mine."

"Obviously they don't. I hear developers plan to put a mall here." Jessica's keys clattered like a metallic rattlesnake as she lifted her hand to pat a stray strand of hair back into place. "You know how large corporations pay top dollar for prime locations, so I imagine the lure of money would fast overcome any kind of sentiment they might feel. And it's not as if any of them even care about the old house. At least you came back here as often as you could for a while."

Amanda shrugged. "After all, I did spend most of my childhood here before my parents were killed. Lord, what was I-fifteen?-when I went to Memphis to live with Grandma Weaver? I would have been a junior in high school the next year. Everything happened so fast, it seemed; my world turned upside down in the blink of an eye… I could hardly bear to think about this house for a long time. It held so many memories for me, and I was too young to be able to separate the good from the bad. Poor Aunt Hannah. I know she wondered why I didn't come visit her for so long."

"Somehow," Jessica murmured, "I think she understood. She always spoke of you when we chanced to meet, and always said how you would be back soon."

"It was five years before I could make myself return, though, and that wasn't until Aunt Hannah got sick the first time." Amanda sighed. "She was so glad to see me that I felt guilty it had taken me so long. But she just gave me a pat on the cheek and told me that she understood, and it was as if I'd never left. Then I met and married Alan-and things got so bad so quick, it seemed."

Jessica shifted uneasily. “I really was sorry to hear about Alan, Manda. This has been a rough few years for you, hasn't it?"

"Pretty rough. Grandma Weaver died, then Alan's cancer, and now Aunt Hannah's gone-for the first time in eleven years, I'm completely alone. I've no family left."

“Except the Scotts, and all of Holly Springs knows they haven't spoken to the Brandons in years." Jessica reached out and put a hand on Amanda's arm. "Hey, I'm always here for you. Just like when we were little. Remember our secret place?"

Amanda laughed. "Not as secret as we thought-a tree house only twenty yards from the house had to be as obvious as you can get."

"But we thought it was well hidden, and that's what really mattered then. Maybe our tree house is gone, but the tree's still there. And there's always my kitchen. You can always come back to Holly Springs to live, you know."

Shrugging, Amanda said vaguely, "I've still got a job in Memphis, and an apartment in a nice area, and-"

"And ghosts. Alan's dead, Manda. There's nothing in Memphis to keep you anymore. He was sick for so long, and you plumb wore yourself out taking care of him. It's over. You can go anywhere."

Amanda managed to shake her head. "I can't even think of anything like that right now, Jess. Everything's so overwhelming that I just feel tired."

"I understand. Well, I should go. I'll be back in the morning to help you itemize everything for the auction. Sure you'll be all right here by yourself?"

Amanda forced a confident smile. "I'll be fine. You did stock the pantry with a few necessities for me, didn't you?"

"Of course. Tea and sandwich fixin's." Jessica leaned toward her and kissed the air by Amanda's cheek. "See you early, sugar. Get a good night's rest."

Following her as far as the wide front porch, Amanda gazed across the front lawn which was dotted with red and white clover. She drew in a deep breath, relishing the fragrances of honeysuckle and the lemony-sweet tang of magnolia blossoms. Only three of the once numerous magnolia trees were left, the others having fallen to time and weather over the years since they'd first been planted. Somewhere there were old family photographs of smiling people in front of the house in its early days, when the towering oaks that now lined the long driveway were still saplings.

Shadows stretched across the lawn; lightning bugs blinking in the waxy green leaves of the magnolias reminded her of earlier, happier times at Oakleigh. Sitting on the top porch step, Amanda keenly felt the losses in her life: her parents, grandparents, husband, and most recently her last close relative, Great-aunt Hannah. All gone. And now even Oakleigh would be taken from her.

As dusk faded into the deep shrouds of night, Amanda rose from the porch and went into the large, empty house. It seemed to close around her, enfold her with memories and wishes.

Chapter Two

Morning brought humid temperatures along with bright, hazy sunlight. Dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, Amanda went downstairs to eat breakfast. Jessica arrived a short time later, letting herself in the front door with the key in the mailbox. Even from the kitchen at the back of the house, Amanda could hear the muted echoes of the front door closing behind Jess.

"Mercy," Jessica complained as she came through the pantry into the kitchen, "it's as hot as blazes out there already, and it's only June." She slung her purse and keys to the kitchen table. Wearing a thin organdy blouse and white linen shorts, she looked more like a model than a woman about to help sort through the accumulated dust and belongings of generations. She eyed Amanda with a lifted brow. "Aren't you hot, sugar?"

"Yes. I don't know why they never wired this house for air conditioning." Chair legs scraped loudly against the linoleum floor as Amanda got up from the table and put her empty cereal bowl in the huge white porcelain kitchen sink. She said over her shoulder, "Let's start at the top of the house while it's still fairly cool. We're liable to be baked if we don't."

"A great idea. I'll bring a fan up to the attic. Far as I know, no one's even opened that door for years, so it's bound to be pretty stuffy."

Amanda climbed the steep back stairs to the attic, tucking her hair up into a knot atop her head as she went. It took several moments of fumbling with the glass knob of the attic door before she successfully wrenched it open. The door creaked loudly and a rush of hot, stale air filled the narrow staircase. It smelled like musty old papers and years of dust, and she blinked as she felt for the light switch. A single bare bulb swayed overhead, casting patches of light and shadow over furniture, stacks of crates, and old trunks.

Electricity had been added to the house only about forty years before, and wires could be seen dangling from old eaves and tracing down the outside of walls. Trapped heat made it difficult to breathe.

Stepping gingerly around a precariously leaning stack of wooden crates, Amanda made her way across the crowded floor to the small window that looked out over the front lawn. It took several moments of trying and a broken fingernail to pry the window open. Finally, it slid upward with a screech and rattle of the wooden frame. A breeze filtered into the attic, smelling of fresh-cut grass and honeysuckle.

Amanda leaned her palms on the wide wooden sill and gazed at the magnolia trees. Heavy branches rose above the rooftop of the house and all but obscured a view of the driveway. Memories of happier times returned in a rush. God, she would miss this old house…

"Manda?"

She turned to see Jessica in the doorway, blinking in the dim light and gingerly holding an ancient fan. Once it was plugged into the single outlet in the attic, the old black wire fan stirred the stuffy air and dust, its blades whirring loudly. Amanda sneezed several times.

"I think it was better without it," she muttered as she readjusted the fan to blow in another direction.

"Probably." Jessica stood in the center of the attic, hands on her hips as she gazed at the clutter. "It will take a week to go through all this. You should have hired a professional."

"I can't imagine allowing a stranger to go through these mementos and decide what's valuable and what's not," Amanda murmured as she peered into a wooden crate. "Oh, look-an old album." She blew a layer of dust from the leather cover before opening it. Several metal squares tumbled from between the thick pages, and she barely caught them. "I remember seeing this," she exclaimed. "Aunt Hannah used to show me this album when I was a child. See this man?" She held up one of the tintypes as Jessica peered over her shoulder. "I used to dream about him."

"Which one?" Jessica asked as she lightly brushed away a film of dust from the metal photograph.

"The tall, dark-haired man in the background. I'm not certain why, but he caught my imagination when I was a child. I guess because no one in the family knew who he was, or could remember why he was in a family portrait." Gazing at the lean man with the crooked smile, Amanda felt as if she were seeing the face of an old friend again. There was character in the firm set of his jaw and in his clear gaze, implied strength in his wide shoulders. She wished she had a name to apply to the image, something besides forgotten dreams.

Tapping a finger on another old tin photograph, Jessica said, "Who is that?"

"Let me see…" Amanda peered closely at the photograph, but it wasn't until she turned it over that she saw someone had written on the paper back. The ink was faded, but she could make out the name. "James Brandon-oh, yes. This is my great-great-grandfather. The feud started with him, I think."

“The feud between the Scotts and Brandons?''

Amanda nodded. “I think so. Lord, I was told all this so long ago, and it's hard to remember all the details. I do remember that it was back during the Civil War-or as Aunt Hannah used to say, "The War of Northern Aggression.' James Brandon's half brother-they had the same mother-married a woman who had been promised to James. Apparently this caused a big uproar, but it wasn't the final cause of the feud, according to Aunt Hannah."

"Sounds like a good enough reason to me," Jessica muttered with a lifted brow.

“To me, too. Michael Scott and Grandfather James lived here in the house together for a while after the wedding. The feud started later, if I remember correctly. If you ask me, I'd guess that it had its roots in the fact that Michael wed the woman his brother wanted. Aunt Hannah never did give the real reason. Said it was over and done, and the family scattered to the four winds. Half of them ran off to South America."

"South America? What on earth for?"

"After the war, a lot of the men in our family who'd fought for the Confederacy migrated farther south to escape Reconstruction. I imagine that the dark-haired man I used to dream about was one of them."