The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street

by Karen White

  I paused on the threshold, the white world outside bathing the walls in bright reflected light from the snow, and took a deep breath. It was as if the world was agreeing that it was time for a new start. A commitment to a new way of being. Feeling emboldened, I headed down the hallway to the bedroom I shared with Jack.

  The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open, expecting to find Jack in bed with tissues in a wastebasket next to him. Instead, the bed had been made, and a suitcase was opened on top of it with several of Jack’s sweaters, shirts, socks, and underclothes already packed neatly inside.

  “Jack?” I called again, my voice thready.

  He emerged from the bathroom carrying his dopp kit, limping on his wrapped ankle. He didn’t even glance in my direction as he walked past me toward his suitcase.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m packing.” He moved a few shirts around to make room for the dopp kit, then closed the case, the sound from the zipper horrifyingly final.

  “Packing? But why? You’re sick and you’re hurt. You should be in bed.”

  “I will be. My parents’ rental apartment on State Street is vacant and they’re letting me use it.”

  The breath rushed from my lungs and I had to grab the bedpost to stay upright. “But . . . but you don’t need to leave. I came to apologize. To tell you I know I was wrong, that I shouldn’t have left on my own last night and without telling you what was going on. It was stupid and rash, and I did it anyway.” I looked up at him imploringly. “But I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t ever break your trust again. I’ve changed. I really have. Last night taught me that I have people in my life who love me and who I can rely on. I don’t have to go it alone.”

  As if I hadn’t spoken, he picked up his suitcase and walked out to the hallway and then down the stairs. I rushed after him. “Jack, stop. Please. I said I was sorry.”

  He stopped and looked back at me, his face devoid of all emotion except anger. “It’s too little, too late. I’ll let you know when I’d like to see JJ and Sarah so we can work out a visiting arrangement.”

  “A visiting arrangement? How long are you planning to be gone?”

  He shook his head. “I have no idea. I need time away from you to think.”

  “To think? About what? I love you, and I said I’m sorry. I’ve changed—please give me a chance to show it.”

  “I’ve given you more chances than I can count. I just can’t live this way anymore. I love you, but it’s not enough. Not when I can’t trust you.”

  He took his coat from the closet and put it on. I wanted to throw myself at him, cling to his lapels and force him to stay, regardless of how degrading that would be. I was already hollowed out, scraped clean, with only my empty shell remaining. I had no pride or shame left, just the sickening feeling that I had lost Jack, and I had no one to blame but myself.

  “I’ll be back this week while you’re at work to get the rest of my things.” He frowned. “Nola wants to stay here, although she says she’s not taking sides. She says she’s tired of acting like the only adult around here.” His gaze traveled around the foyer as if seeing it for the last time. “How right she is.”

  He headed to the front door and opened it. I followed him, hoping for one gesture, one look that would tell me there was hope. He stepped over the same threshold he’d carried me over on our wedding day and met my eyes. I held my breath, waiting.

  “Good-bye, Mellie.” The door closed in my face with a gentle snap.

  I stood there without moving, staring at the closed door and listening to the grandfather clock chime every fifteen minutes while the light outside grew dimmer and dimmer as I waited for the worst day of my life to be over.

  CHAPTER 36

  A week later I sat at Jack’s empty desk in his study, attempting to address Christmas cards and trying not to notice that the framed photos of Nola and the twins were gone but the ones of me remained. I wasn’t sure what hurt more—that or Jack’s empty drawers and closet upstairs in the bedroom we’d shared. I stared at the happy photo of all of us that Rich Kobylt had taken at the Pineapple Fountain, the twins in their mismatched outfits and the dogs wearing nothing at all. And there was Jack, the center of all our lives, his arm casually thrown around me as I looked up at him with a wide smile.

  I felt the familiar knot in my throat as I closed a card and shoved it into an envelope. I’d thought about not sending them this year, as if I might be perpetuating a lie. But the little stubbornness I clung to allowed me to believe that Jack would come back. I would give up coffee and doughnuts for life if I could be permitted to hang on to that one bit of stubbornness that made it possible to get out of bed each morning and face a new day.

  My phone buzzed and I felt the thrill of anticipation as I looked at the screen to see if it was Jack. Even the short, terse texts regarding his scheduled visits with the twins gave me a lift, as these notifications were proof that he hadn’t forgotten my existence. It was the best I could hope for right now.

  This text was from Suzy Dorf, reminding me of our chat when she’d asked me to let her interview me about talking with ghosts. She’d offered that in exchange for not telling Rebecca what she’d discovered about the Vanderhorsts and the spy ring. Not that any of that mattered anymore. I wished she’d been in the cemetery the night Marc was dragged into the mausoleum. That might have killed two birds with one stone.

  I slid my thumb across the screen to erase the text and pretended I hadn’t seen it, promising myself that I would do the grown-up thing and call her back. Just not right now. I hadn’t even put the phone back down when something soft struck me in the back of the head. I looked at the floor where the object had fallen and saw Adrienne’s red heart-shaped pillow. It had been in my closet on the back of a shelf the last time I’d seen it.

  I picked it up and was fingering the ruffled edge when the doorbell rang. My heart skittered, and I almost heard Jack’s words in my head about there being no such thing as coincidence. I ran across the foyer to throw open the door, then stood staring at my visitors, forgetting to hide my disappointment that it wasn’t Jack bringing back the twins himself instead of using Jayne as our go-between.

  Instead Jayne, Veronica, and Rebecca stood on the piazza with bright smiles and what looked like a large doughnut box from Glazed, the sugary smell wafting toward me. When I didn’t say anything, Veronica said, “We thought we’d stop by to cheer you up.”

  I tried to smile, to thank them for their kindness, but I failed miserably as my lips would only tremble. “Unless Jack is in that box, I don’t think there’s anything you can do to cheer me up right now.” I blinked rapidly, embarrassed to find myself on the verge of tears. Again. I thought I’d reached the point of having none left, wishing I could stop so I wouldn’t have to keep telling my work associates and clients that I had winter allergies.

  “Oh, Melanie,” Jayne said, stepping forward and enveloping me in a hug as the others moved past us into the foyer. “We—and the doughnuts—are here to get you through this. And you will get through this.”

  I sniffled into her shoulder. “But I don’t want to get through this. I just want him back.”

  “Come with us,” Veronica said, steering us all into the parlor.

  Mrs. Houlihan appeared and greeted everyone, then returned shortly with a tray carrying coffee, cups, and a plate of her Christmas cookies, and placed it in front of me. She patted my shoulder as she left, either in commiseration or as an apology for depriving me all season of her baking confections. I smiled my thanks, although I knew I couldn’t eat anything. She’d been tempting me with all my favorite foods, but I could barely find the energy or enthusiasm to do much more than rearrange the food on my plate to make it look like I’d eaten more than a bite or two.

  Jayne poured my coffee, heaping in all the sugar and cream that she knew I liked, then filled a plate with a tiramisu doughnu
t and three of Mrs. Houlihan’s cookies.

  “Thank you,” I said, then took a sip of the coffee and barely tasted it.

  Veronica looked at the red pillow I’d placed on the coffee table. “Is that Adrienne’s?”

  I nodded. “It hit me in the head right before the doorbell rang.”

  The three of them exchanged glances. “Perfect,” Rebecca said. I almost did a double take. She wasn’t wearing pink, but a subtle shade of mauve. She caught me looking and said, “I felt the bright pink next to Marc’s new white hair was too startling, so I’ve toned it down a notch. Plus, I think I’ll save the brighter shades of pink for after our daughter is born.”

  “A daughter?” I took another sip of my coffee.

  “I had a dream,” she said, looking around at the other two women. “Before I was pregnant and got blocked.” A small V appeared between her brows. “Around the same time, I had another dream.” She paused.

  “Go on,” Jayne said gently.

  Rebecca nodded. “I dreamed that the three of us were at Veronica’s house.” She swallowed. “Adrienne was there, too, pointing at something around her neck. And there was someone else—someone in the attic. And the house . . .”

  “The house was on fire,” Veronica finished.

  “So we thought . . .” Jayne started.

  Rebecca continued. “That it meant we’re all supposed to pool our resources and help Veronica find out what happened to Adrienne. To stop the fire, even. You did promise to help her, Melanie.” Rebecca gave me the same look I usually reserved for the twins when they didn’t eat their vegetables.

  “How is this supposed to help me get Jack back?” I sounded as pathetic as I felt.

  “Melanie,” Jayne said softly. “Helping others is the best way to take our own worries away. And while you’re thinking about something else is usually when the solution to your own problems starts untangling in your head. It’s a win-win.” She smiled at me, and I was ashamed of all the times I’d felt envious of, well, everything about her.

  I looked up at the ceiling to stem the new flood of tears before turning back to her. “I’m glad you’re my sister, Jayne. I can’t tell you how much. And you have my permission to slap me if I ever forget that.”

  She laughed. “Well, if you could have seen the bruise on Anthony’s face, you might change your mind. And, no, I haven’t seen him—I have no interest in seeing him ever again—but Rebecca sent me a picture from her phone. I might have missed my calling. Be a prizefighter instead of a nanny.”

  “Although,” Rebecca said, “I think you can call it even now. He hired security for the cemetery until he could find someone to dig up the peacocks’ graves. He didn’t even try to keep the rubies for himself.”

  Jayne sniffed. “Because that was the right thing to do. But I still never want to see him again as long as I live.”

  Veronica pinched a bite from a doughnut, leaving the rest on her plate. “I hope you have those rubies in a secure place, Melanie. Especially after all you’ve been through to get them.”

  “They’re in a safe-deposit box at our bank until Jack and I decide what we’re going to do with them.” I’d refused to make any decisions regarding our windfall. I’d wait as long as it took to get Jack back, and then we’d decide together.

  Jayne’s eyes were warm as she took my hand. “But in the meantime, I want you to think about using your gift. There is so much good we can do. Even after we help Veronica and Adrienne. Thomas has files and files of unsolved cases. And let’s not forget that flapper at the Francis Marion Hotel.”

  Rebecca leaned forward in her chair. “Since my gift is on hiatus for the next six months, I can put all my skills of attracting men to help you win Jack back.”

  “But . . .” I stopped, thinking about her own marital issues but not wanting to sound rude.

  “I know. Marc and I have had our problems. But ever since the . . . incident . . . in the cemetery, he’s been quite attentive. He barely leaves my side. I don’t know if it’s because he’s decided he really wants to be with me and embrace impending fatherhood, or if he’s just scared witless and doesn’t want to be alone. Regardless, I do know a few tricks to keep a man interested and I’m willing to share everything I know with you.”

  I frowned at her. “What I’d really like you to do is talk Marc out of filming in my house. Then I’ll believe he’s changed.”

  Rebecca’s large blue eyes watered as she regarded me. “It’s not him, Melanie—it’s that Harvey person. He won’t be talked out of it. And because you and Jack signed the contract, you can’t back out. I’m sorry.”

  I had to blink, feeling my eyes begin to water again.

  Veronica turned to me. “You and Jack are the most perfect couple, Melanie. Anybody can see the love you have for each other and your children. This is a rough patch, but all good marriages have them, and they’re stronger on the other side because of it. You will work this out—I’m sure of it. And you’ve got friends and family to help and support you. You know that, right?”

  I nodded, unable to speak, as I’d started to cry again. We all ended up in a group hug, sobbing and laughing together, none of us really surprised when the red pillow flew up in the air and landed in Veronica’s lap.

  EPILOGUE

  POST AND COURIER

  December 21

  by SUZY DORF

  Dear Readers,

  Many of you have written to thank me for my recent series on hidden treasures in Charleston and the Lowcountry, urging me to continue. I must confess that your enthusiasm alone would encourage me to write more, even if it weren’t one of my favorite topics. And while we’re talking of topics, please continue to send in your requests for future columns. One never knows what might be discovered by shining a light in a long-darkened corner.

  Speaking of long-darkened corners, several of you have asked me about the hullabaloo at the Gallen Hall cemetery the night of the Big Snow. Apparently, much news coverage was dedicated to the five inches of white stuff that covered our city, so that other news was overlooked in the excitement. Some of you inquired as to whether the apparent owner of the land upon which the cemetery sits, and who has been mentioned in this column more than once, might have been involved. Let’s just say that this story deserves its own column, with enough room for all the salacious details, of which, I assure you, there are many.

  Please keep your eyes trained on this column each Sunday for new revelations and stories centered around our fair city and its citizens, both living and dead. And those in between. I am confident that there will be much material to be discussed in the near future, as a source close to most of the strange goings-on in the Holy City has recently experienced a change of heart that this writer is much excited about.

  As for unfinished business related to my previous series on the historic homes in Charleston, please know that the cistern excavation at the former Vanderhorst residence on Tradd Street is still in progress, but an unnamed source has told me that there are more secrets hidden there, and there are bets going on in certain parts of our society on whether the owners of the house will be residing together in the home by the time the last treasure is revealed.

  Until next time,

  Happy reading

  The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street

  Karen White

  Questions for Discussion

  1. We have seen Melanie grow up in so many ways throughout the series and in this book. Why do you think she allows her insecurity to get the best of her and her relationship with Jack?

  2. Family can be wonderful but can also be tricky to deal with. In the case of Marc and Anthony, how do you think two brothers who were raised in the same home can grow up to be such different people?

  3. Speaking of family, how would you describe the dynamic between Rebecca and Melanie? What caused their relationship to dissolve and wh
at causes it to grow closer again? Is blood truly thicker than water?

  4. Jack loves Melanie for who she is and accepts her faults. Why do you think Jack couldn’t tell Melanie the truth about what happened to him, his editor, and his book? Do you think he was bound by the sense that he needed to support his family or to show the same level of independence that Melanie exhibits?

  5. Melanie has the ability to see and interact with ghosts. Would you want that ability and would you do what Melanie does to help enable the ghosts to rest in peace? Or would you ignore your ability?

  6. Marriage plays a prominent role in the book, and we see many different aspects of it—the good and the rough parts. Did you like seeing both Melanie and Jack’s tender moments and their moments of frustration? Could you relate to the ups and downs?

  7. Why do you think Melanie feels she has to be the one to solve everyone’s problems? Why is she unable to allow herself to accept help from others, including from her parents and Jack?

  8. In the next (and final) book in the series, where do you expect to find the characters—especially Melanie and Jack?

  About the Author

  Karen White is the New York Times bestselling author of more than twenty previous books, including Dreams of Falling, The Night the Lights Went Out, Flight Patterns, The Sound of Glass, A Long Time Gone, and The Time Between, and a coauthor, with Beatriz Williams and Lauren Willig, of The Forgotten Room and The Glass Ocean.

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