Page 92 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
I stopped. Jack’s eyes were closed, the muscles in his face relaxed, his breathing even. “Never mind,” I said. “I’ll tell you later.” I stood, then leaned over the bed to kiss his forehead. “I love you,” I whispered, watching him sleeping for a moment before quietly letting myself out of the room.
CHAPTER 31
On Saturday morning, the day of the progressive dinner, I was up early so I could steer the final preparations. The night before, Nola had helped me pack up the twins and move them and all their equipment to Jack’s parents’. I’d argued at first that they wouldn’t be in the way, until Nola reminded me of how much JJ loved to throw all round objects he could get his little hands on as if they were baseballs, and how Sarah had taken to climbing into the Christmas trees in search of the shiniest ornament. I’d quickly acquiesced.
Mrs. Houlihan, Nola, and Jayne would be on hand to help. Jack was still too sick to be out of bed, but Cooper said he’d be available if we needed extra help setting up the rented tables to accommodate the twelve couples who couldn’t fit around the table in the dining room.
I’d printed out spreadsheets with a time schedule and tasks to be accomplished and by whom in the appropriate rows and columns. I labeled each one with the person’s name and then printed extra copies just in case anyone lost theirs, which seemed to happen a lot. The main dining room table was already set with my grandmother’s antique Belgian lace tablecloth and matching napkins and the Vanderhorsts’ stunning Imariplace settings, the brilliant gold, red, and dark blue standing out like jewels against the white tablecloth.
I hated to admit it, but the homemade centerpieces of oranges, pineapples, and pinecones that Sophie had forced me to make were a festive and gorgeous touch. As were Greco’s hurricane lanterns on the piazza, which he had returned to festoon with evergreen sprigs of pine, sapphire cedar, and boxwood. He’d even prepared enough to include in the centerpieces of the smaller tables, so they were as elegant as the main table.
My phone beeped and I saw a text from Greco, and I was relieved that he texted like a real person and used full sentences and punctuation.
I heard back from Uncle Oliver with a bit of information for you. Lawrence V. and his father were basically estranged although living under the same roof. It was rumored in some circles that one of them supported the patriot cause while the other remained loyalist. Not clear which one was which as historical information is conflicting. Whatever the truth, he believes it’s the reason Lawrence was killed.
While I was still attempting to text the wordthanks, another text popped up on my screen.
You might also be interested to know that St. Gallen was the patron saint of birds. Uncle O. finds it interesting that the name change happened around the time of the Revolution and Eliza’s purchase of the first peacocks.
He added a smile emoji to the end of that sentence and then a fist-bump GIF.
Jayne was emerging from the dining room when I came down the stairs. I showed her the text from Greco. Her eyes widened. “The plot thickens,” she said. “And the whole Gallen thing—right under our noses.”
“Apparently we weren’t the only ones, since nobody seems to have made the connection between Gallen Hall and peacocks.”
I read the text again, remembering what I’d read in Nola’s borrowed textbook, about the only footprints leading to Lawrence’s body coming from the house.
“So who killed Lawrence?” Jayne asked, giving voice to my own thoughts.
“Someone close to him. Someone in the house. The only thing we know for sure is that it wasn’t Eliza or Alexander, because they were already dead.” I frowned. “But I know Eliza is connected somehow. She brought the peacocks to Gallen Hall, and then the name of the plantation was changed.”
“Definitely not a coincidence,” Jayne said.
I nodded. “All we know for sure is that she was engaged to Lawrence. But when Mother held the signet ring, she said the owner had been female.”
“Then...” Jayne began but stopped as Mrs. Houlihan bustled past us clutching a feather duster on her way to the front parlor.
“Let’s talk about this later—we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Jayne nodded, then held up what looked like an orange in her hand. “I found a bunch of these under the table and behind the draperies in the dining room. Are they part of the decoration?”
I remembered a few of them flying around the table when I’d been in there with Michael, but I thought I’d removed them all. “No, not exactly. I think Veronica’s sister sent them to remind me that she’s still here and waiting to move on. Or JJ was let loose with a bowl of oranges.” I marched into the dining room and began to pick up the errant oranges.
“And?”
“And, what?” I lifted the long silk drapes and rescued two more oranges.
“And are you going to help her?”
I moved to the other window and checked under the drapes, finding one more piece of fruit. “I guess I’m going to have to. I told Veronica Iwould but that I couldn’t it do it right now. Michael wants to put their house on the market now so they can move, but Veronica feels that if they move out of the house, they’ll lose some vital clue to Adrienne’s disappearance.”
“So you agreed to help her?”
“Against my better judgment, I did—but not until after Christmas. I’m so insanely busy right now I just couldn’t add one more restless spirit to my plate. I think I’ve thrown in enough brakes on the house sale so that we have until after the first of the year before I have to actually do anything.”
“Maybe I can help you.”
I didn’t meet her gaze. “Maybe. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
