Page 92 of The Attic on Queen Street
“I don’t think that’s possible, do you? I mean, we know a cook at the house on Tradd Street had a daughter named Evangeline who was born in 1847. That sampler was found in the rubble of what used to be our backyard and kitchen house, which is where Evangeline’s motherworked. We know the kitchen burned from that photo and because it doesn’t exist anymore, and we know that Evangeline had a brown dog.”
“We’re just guessing that the girl with the dog is Evangeline. We can’t be positive.”
“Come on, Melanie. It’s not a coincidence.” She held up her hand and began counting off, using her thumb first, just like Jack did. “One, the gravestone found in our garden had the letter E on it. Two, the sampler shows fire damage, and three, the dog face in the sampler looks a lot like Otis.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen his face—just his rear end. But even if it is the cook’s daughter, Evangeline, why is she coming to see you and warn you?”
“I wish I knew. I’m always a little freaked out to open my eyes when I wake up at night.”
“I know the feeling.” I looked at my watch. “We need to get home so you can start your homework.”
We started walking toward the parked car, Nola’s long dark ponytail swinging. She no longer had the purple streak weaving through it, but she hadn’t lost the California spunkiness she’d brought with her when she’d first shown up on my doorstep. I loved this about Nola, her ability to blend into new surroundings and morph into someone different, creating a new version of herself that was still unique and awesomely her.
Looking down at the sidewalk, she said, “Can you ask Dad something for me?”
“Why can’t you ask him yourself?”
“Because he never tells you no.” She gave me her most charming smile.
I didn’t correct her by mentioning the one glaring omission. “I’m not promising anything, but what is it?”
“Lindsey wants to have Alston and me over for a slumber party for her birthday.”
“That sounds reasonable. When is it?”
“March third—it’s the Saturday we take our SATs, so we can hang out together and celebrate being done, too.”
“That’s the night of Rebecca’s baby shower.”
Nola wrinkled her nose. “I thought it was changed to a lingerie shower.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a long story, but it will officially be a baby shower. And it’s probably a good idea that you not be there. Both the Farrells and the Ravenels will be at the party, but if it’s okay with Lindsey’s mother, I don’t have a problem with it.”
She beamed. “Great. So I don’t need to ask Dad, right?”
“I doubt he’ll have any issues, but I’ll check with him just in case.”
“Thanks.” She pulled out her phone and I watched with envy as she walked on the sidewalk while avoiding other pedestrians, her fingers flying on her screen. “Done,” she said. “Just needed to let Lindsey and Alston know I’m in.”
I slid her a glance. “Why couldn’t you ask your dad yourself? There won’t be boys at Alston’s, right?”
She screwed up her nose again. “Of course not. It’s just that Dad’s so... prickly lately. I didn’t want to take the chance of him saying no because I caught him at a bad time.”
I couldn’t argue with her. More often than not lately, the light shone under Jack’s door through the night, the ceaseless sound of his typing making me feel guilty for sleeping. I knew this only because I’d begun checking on Nola each night during my frequent trips to the bathroom. Dark circles sat beneath his eyes, and he’d begun to have that faraway look that I recognized from when he was deep into his work. Except this seemed different somehow. Beyond his insistence on not talking to me about it, he appeared almost furtive. He’d been locking his door when he left the room, and he never took any of his calls inside the house. It made sense that he was trying to hide his project from Marc. But I couldn’t help but wonder why he was also hiding it from me.
As I pulled out of the parking spot, Nola said, “Did you notice how all of the other samplers we saw in different cases had the stitchers’ first and last names? Or at least their three initials. Why would Evangeline just stitch her first name?”
I considered her question for a moment. “Good point. I hadn’tthought about that. Maybe your dad will have an idea. The only thing I know for sure is that it would be a whole lot easier to find her if we did have a last name.”
Nola nodded, then bent her head to her phone, leaving me for the short trip home to wonder again about Jack’s silence and why a girl who’d died more than one hundred and fifty years before had left relics of her life behind, but not a last name.
CHAPTER 25
Two days later, I was surprised to find Jack waiting for me in the kitchen when I came down for breakfast. He was freshly shaven and wearing a clean shirt, his hair still damp on the ends from a recent shower. My heart did its usual thump upon my seeing him, then settled quickly when I thought about what his reason for being there might be. Either someone had ratted on me about the hidden doughnuts, or there was something else he needed to discuss.
“Good morning, Mellie,” he said, raising an eyebrow Rhett Butler–like as he sipped from hisBest Daddy in the Worldmug decorated with tiny thumbprints.
“Good morning.” I went to open the cabinet, but Jack held up my steaming mug.
