Page 72 of The Attic on Queen Street
“Yes, sir. As well as agriculture.” He gave Sarah another pat on her back before returning her to the swing and giving her a little push. “I’ve got to get back to work. Otherwise I’ll be here until Sarah and JJ graduate from college.”
“That’s okay,” I said. Nola kicked me. “It takes as long as it takes, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Beau paused a moment. “By the way, how many dogs do you have?”
“Three,” I said. “Why?”
He started to say something, then shook his head. “That’s what I thought. I guess there’s a stray that keeps coming around. Seems sweet, so nothing to worry about.” He said good-bye, then walked away, turning back once while the three of us watched.
When he was out of earshot, Jack asked, “How tall do you think Beau is?”
Nola shrugged. “He’s a little taller than you. Maybe six three or six four?”
My eyes shifted to Jack, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing.
“Why?” Nola asked, her gaze now focused on Beau.
“His dad was a tall guy, too. I was just wondering.”
I silently high-fived Jack for successfully sidestepping the truth.
“Nola...” Jack began, then stopped.
“What?”
“I want you to stay away from Beau, all right? All men, actually. Especially if they’re tall. And tell your friends, too.”
She squinted in confusion. “No problem with Beau—trust me. It’s bad enough that I have to work with him. And it’s not like I’m going to any parties where I might actually meet any other guys, so I think we’re safe there.” With an exaggerated sigh, she stood. “Since I’m not allowed to go anywhere fun, I guess I’d better get started scrubbing the floors on my hands and knees.” She started walking toward the back door, her voice carrying back to us. “Then I’ll milk the cows, feed the horses, muck the stables....”
“Where does she get her sarcastic sense of humor, do you think?” Jack mused as he watched the tall form of his daughter disappear into the house.
I remained silent, not sure if he was serious.
We sat quietly for a few moments, gently pushing the twins, enjoying the peacefulness of the garden, the sun shifting through the limbs of the ancient oaks and magnolias, the dormant remains of my father’s garden waiting to burst into bloom at the first signal from spring.
“I’ve been thinking,” Jack said.
My heart squeezed, and I did my best to disguise the hope his words had sparked. “Yes?”
“I remembered something you told me Yvonne had mentioned—about a portrait of Captain John Vanderhorst being in storage at the Charleston Museum.”
I managed to hold on to my smile. “Right. The Charleston Museum.”
“Since we can’t find any information about whoever that headstone might have belonged to, I called a friend of mine at the museum to see if they might have other Vanderhorst portraits or paintings that we might be given access to study.”
“Did he tell you it would take a while? I can’t imagine they’re easily accessible.”
Jack leaned forward to push JJ, who was banging on the swing with his whisk and shouting, “More! More!” Sarah sat with her head back, contentedly contemplating the world around her.
“Actually, Mandy made an appointment to show me what they have this Wednesday afternoon at two.”
“ ‘Mandy’?”
Jack coughed, focusing on pushing the swings. “We may have dated once or twice.”
“Of course you did.”
“You’re welcome to come, too, you know.”
