Annie assumed the clothes belonged to Rose Whitcomb, the late heiress to Lloyd Whitcomb, whose fortune could be traced all the way back to Rutherford Whitcomb. Rose had been a spinster, and Jon inherited the house upon her death. Even though he wasn’t a relative, and served only as a caretaker of the house while Rose still lived, she thought so highly of Jon she wanted him to have it.

Annie pushed aside the funeral dress and found a purse draped from a hanger. She removed the purse from the hanger and looked inside, curious as to what a young, genteel woman carried with her back in the day. But all she found in the purse was a book. She flipped the book open and discovered it was actually a journal—Rose’s journal.

Annie skimmed through an entry. The subject matter captivated her from the first few words. She marked her place in the journal with her finger and made her way over to a nearby side chair. She sat down and began to read, and it didn’t take long before she felt drawn into another timeframe.

Chapter 10

Copeland, Louisiana—April 1942

As the song ended, Rose Whitcomb hugged her dance partner, resting her head on Bobby Hoxley’s shoulder. “I’m so tired, Bobby. I don’t think I can dance anymore,” Rose panted.

“Ah, Rose, we’re just getting started.”

“We’ve been waltzing and fox-trotting for two hours now. I’m beat.”

The party started at seven pm. But guests started showing up at six. And by six-thirty gleaming Dodges and Chevys, Buicks and Fords lined the long driveway. No one wanted to miss a gala put on by Lloyd Whitcomb. Anyone who was anyone came from all over Iberville Parish to sample expensive food, drink vintage wines, and dance to a talented swing band playing Tommy Dorsey and Glen Miller songs.

“But the band is just getting warmed up. They’ll be playing Cab Calloway and Duke Ellington songs before long.”

Rose kissed Bobby’s neck. “Let’s go somewhere quiet, where we can be alone.”

Bobby looked all around. “Okay, but finding a quiet place will be hard with all these people here,” he said. Dancing couples filled the front lawn as well as both the upper and lower galleries of the house. Men with slicked back hair and attired in victory and zoot suits, and women with elaborately curled hair and wearing sleeveless evening dresses and gowns danced the night away.

“Maybe it will be less packed inside the house,” Rose suggested.

Bobby shook his head incredulously. “How does your father do it?”

“Do what?”

“Afford to put on these extravagant parties.”

Rose looked at her boyfriend and frowned. “He inherited quite a bit. Besides the parties are a tradition handed down from my great-great grandfather Rutherford Whitcomb. He started them back in the mid 1800s. Someday the parties will be my responsibility.”

“But doesn’t the money ever run out? The Great Depression has swallowed up everyone’s money. No one I know has two dimes to rub together. Only your father still has money.”

“What are you trying to say, Bobby?”

Bobby shrugged. “I won’t kid you, Rose, people are starting to talk. Some are even saying your father is in cahoots with the New Orleans mafia.”

“That’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“I’m not saying I believe it. I’m just saying what I’m hearing. I mean, what exactly does your father do?”

Rose rolled her jade-colored eyes. “Well, if you must know, he hangs out at the country club most days playing golf or tennis. And when he’s not at the country club he’s here flirting with mother and chasing her around the house.”

Bobby smiled. “That sounds like fun. Someday we’ll be married and I’ll chase you around this grand old house. You are going to inherit it aren’t you?”

Rose nodded. “I’m the only child left to pass it down to. The house is supposed to stay in the family.”

Bobby cleared his throat nervously. “There’s something I need to tell you, Rose.”

Rose squinted. “You have my attention.”

“I’m enlisting, Rose. I’m joining the USAAF—United States Army Air Force.”

Rose drew her breath in sharply. “Why are you doing this? You’re only seventeen. You don’t need to enlist. What about our marriage plans?”

Bobby drew Rose into his arms. He looked into her worried eyes. “This war is going to stretch on for who knows how long. I’ll eventually get drafted anyway. And I want to have a choice where I’ll go. I want to fly, Rose. I want to fight for America in the sky,” he said. Bobby stroked her walnut-colored hair. “We’ll still get married as soon as the war is over. And we’ll have lots of kids. We’ll live happily ever after in this big plantation house.”

Her hopes dashed and her dreams in flux, Rose buried her head in Bobby’s chest. His heart thumped against her forehead. “You’re going to get yourself shot down and killed. I just know it. Please don’t go through with this, Bobby.”

“I have to. After Japan attacked Pearl Harbor everything has changed. The world is watching us to see what we’ll do. America has to fight now whether she wants to or not,” Bobby said. “Will you wait for me, Rose? I promise I’ll come back.”

Rose lifted her head from Bobby’s chest. She looked him in the eyes. “You don’t have to ask me that. You know I’ll wait for you as long as it takes.”

“Hearing you say that makes me feel like the luckiest man alive, Rose.”

They walked up the front steps and onto the gallery, shouldered their way past other couples and entered the house. More couples packed the home’s interior and danced to Glen Miller playing on a Victor Talking Machine phonograph.

“Maybe we should try the carriage house instead,” Bobby suggested.

Rose shook her head. “It’s a mess. Daddy is converting it into a garage.”

“Well, then maybe we should go upstairs to your bedroom,” Bobby teased.

Rose blushed. “If Daddy finds out you’re upstairs with me he’ll never let you set foot on this property again.”

“Then where do we go?”

Rose took his hand. “Come on, I have an idea,” she said, leading Bobby into the kitchen. Inside the kitchen, Betty Landry—a caterer from Baton Rouge and her two daughters, along with Mary Sheffield, the maid for the Whitcombs—busily prepared hors d’oeuvres for the guests.

Mary looked up and saw them. Rose lifted an index finger to her lips. Mary smiled knowingly and winked at her. Rose led Bobby through the kitchen and opened the pantry door.

“Are we going in there?” Bobby asked.

Rose nodded and entered the large walk-in pantry. Bobby followed her inside. At the far end of the pantry was another door. Rose opened this door, revealing a servant’s staircase. She smiled coyly at Bobby. “We’ll be alone up there, I promise.”

“It’s a really dark staircase, Rose. How are we going to see?”

“Oh, yeah, wait just a second.” She rummaged around on a pantry shelf and found a candle and a candle holder.

“Those just happened to be sitting there, huh? I think you might have planned this all along.”

“I used to explore this staircase when I was younger,” Rose explained. “Now if I can only find some matches we’ll be all set.”

“I can contribute to the cause,” Bobby said and reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out a book of matches.

“Why, Bobby Hoxley, have you taken up smoking?”

“Every now and then I light one up. It’s no big deal.” Bobby struck a match and lit Rose’s candle.

Rose shut the pantry door and then led the way up the narrow staircase. The staircase was invisible from the rest of the house and led to the attic, which is where the servants used to live long ago.

The candle dimly lit their way. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and dangled along the walls. If ever there were a haunted section of the house, it would be here in this forgotten staircase, Rose thought. “It’s kinda spooky in here. But we’ll be okay,” she said.