Page 28 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
I had a sudden recollection of the smells that had pervaded the room when we’d discovered the wordBetrayedsmeared on the walls, as wellas the scent of horse and leather, along with the lingering odor of gunpowder. Recalled now where I’d smelled it before. It had been at Gallen Hall when Jayne and I had seen the British soldier pointing a musket at us. Right before the cold, dead voice had erupted from my father’s mouth.
I leaned against the bed, feeling suddenly weak. “Oh, it definitely does,” I said, sinking down into the mattress and wondering if the cold breath across my cheek was only my imagination.
CHAPTER 11
Our mother stood between Jayne and me in the nursery, wearing a red-and-green silk sheath dress instead of the black-and-white referee’s shirt she should have donned for a war of wills.
I held a contented Sarah wearing a red velvet dress with a white lace Peter Pan collar and intricate smocking on the chest. White stockings with tiny candy canes covered her chubby legs, and very small black patent leather Mary Janes were neatly buckled on her plump feet. Every so often, she’d stroke the soft velvet of her dress and smile, even twisting around to see the enormous bow I’d spent a good half hour tying to perfection.
A very unhappy JJ was in the midst of a tantrum, complete with head thrown back and all four limbs rigid, as if he couldn’t bear the feel of his red velvet pantaloons or matching vest with lace cravat. His beloved whisk was clutched tightly in a small fist like a defective light saber.
Our mother was speaking in a very calm voice, making it hard to hear her over JJ’s screaming. “They don’t have to match, Mellie. They’re twins but very separate individuals. Let him wear what he wants.”
“But it’s for the Christmas card photo,” I protested. “They’re supposed to match.”
Jayne looked at me with what appeared to be her last thread of patience. “No, not really. And as long as it’s not a matter of the child’s safety or completely inappropriate—which doesnotinclude wearing colors besides red and green—he should be allowed to choose what he wants to wear.”
I looked in horror at the outfit JJ had chosen and Jayne had placed on the blue glider. “Jeans? And sneakers? For our Christmas photo?” I didn’t mention the ridiculous price I’d paid for the pantaloons and vest. If I did, I was afraid we’d all be throwing our heads back and screaming.
Jayne’s smile was more like a grimace as she placed JJ on the floor before she might drop him because of his squirming. He immediately lay facedown on the rug and began beating the floor with his hands and feet and whisk. Jayne raised her voice slightly to be heard. “The bulldozer on the sweater is red, all right? So he’ll fit right in. And we can borrow Sarah’s red shoelaces for his sneakers. That way, we’ll all have a cohesive look.”
Sarah reached for my mother, no doubt wanting to touch the opera-length pearls that GiGi—what Sarah and JJ called their grandmother—wore around her neck. They had belonged to my grandmother, also named Sarah, and when my daughter played with the necklace, she’d gibber in a language I couldn’t understand but definitely had the cadences of conversation. She’d pause at the appropriate times as if another person was speaking to her and would grin and laugh at intervals. I’d accepted this about Sarah, and so had Jack. But that didn’t mean I was happy about it.
My mother looked over the large bow barrette on Sarah’s head. “It’s a Christmas card photo, Mellie. Not an audition forSouthern Charm—not that I’d allow it, but you know what I mean. This is supposed to be fun, not torture. The twins couldn’t look bad if we dressed them in potato sacks. I have to agree with Jayne that we should allow JJ to wear what he wants or we’re all going to lose our hearing.”
“Fine,” I said, looking at my pitiful son thrashing about on the floor like a fish on a hook. “Maybe you can find a hay bale to bring into thefoyer in front of the Christmas tree, too, so that blue jeans won’t appear out of place.”
My disappointment dissipated as I knelt on the floor next to JJ and placed my hand on the back of his head, feeling the heat of his exertion beneath his dark hair. “Sweetheart? Would you like to wear your doh-doh sweater?” He’d been calling bulldozers “doh-dohs” ever since he’d learned to speak, and the word had somehow inundated the vocabulary of the entire family.
He stilled at my touch, his sobs turning to hiccups, before flipping over onto his back, his appendages and whisk spread out so he looked like a beached starfish who liked to bake. His blue eyes—Jack’s eyes—stared back at me with hurt and righteous indignation as tears dripped down his round cheeks. “And boo jeans?”
“Absolutely,” I said, scooping up my son and feeling his arms wind around my neck, pressing his sodden cheek into my neck and making my heart melt. “I’m sorry you didn’t like the outfit I picked out. Maybe next time I’ll bring you with me and we can decide together.”
“Daddy pick!” JJ said, pulling back with a wide grin, as if five seconds before he hadn’t been tearing at his clothes like a penitent in sackcloth. It reminded me a little of Jack’s abrupt transformation the day before from crazed writer on the verge of drinking to seductive man with a mission. Maybe there was more to DNA than eye color and face shape. Or maybe the Trenholm men knew how to manipulate women to simply distract or to get what they wanted. I shook my head, trying to erase the thought.
“We can talk about that later.” I looked over at where my mother and Jayne were already pulling out the red shoelaces from Sarah’s sneakers and replacing the white ones in JJ’s. Behind them, I could see into the twins’ closet to the shelf where I kept their accessories—hair bows and headbands on the right for Sarah, and bow ties and suspenders on the left for JJ. All neatly labeled by me, for which I’d yet to hear a word of appreciation from anyone. “What about a red bow tie...?” I began.
“No,” Jayne and my mother shouted in unison.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “At least General Lee and the puppies don’t mind dressing up.”
As if on cue, the door opened slightly as the three dogs came into the room, walking slowly instead of their usual jackrabbit bounding and general high spirits, followed by Jack.
“Daddy!” both children squealed, reaching out their arms to him.
Jack scooped up both children as I remained on the floor, patting my lap for the dogs to approach. They stared at me with an unfamiliar look in their eyes, their plumed tails, which normally draped proudly over their backs, now touching the ground by their hind legs, their heads held low. They didn’t move, no matter how much I slapped at my lap or told them to come.
“I think they’re boycotting their outfits,” Jayne said.
“What do you mean? They look adorable!”
General Lee wore a knit Santa Claus outfit complete with pom-pom hood and shiny black belt. Porgy and Bess had matching reindeer outfits in green, but their hoods had antlers with Christmas lights draped around them.
“Oh, wait. I know the problem.” I reached over to each puppy and found the switch on the battery pack to light up the antlers. “There!” I said. “Isn’t that better?”
With a sharp yelp, General Lee bolted out of the door, quickly followed by Porgy and Bess.
“I think you have your answer,” Jack said, the hint of a smile in his voice.
