Later, with the tree in place and the pine garland properly situated on the mantel, Pop disappeared into his study, leaving Annie and Ike alone in the parlor. She’d found a book that interested her from the shelf of his mother’s favorites and was curled up, reading.
Ike gathered up the latest copy of the Austin American Statesman and joined her. He was halfway through an article on the first page titled “A Romance: The Way a North Texas Youth Got to the Penitentiary” when he heard a pinging sound on the windows.
“It’s sleeting out there,” he said. “I guess the cook from next door was right.”
Annie looked up. “I’m sorry. I just reached my favorite quote and wasn’t paying attention. What did you say?”
“Miss Hattie told me the cook next door…” He shook his head. “What is your favorite quote?”
“You really want to hear it?” At his nod, she looked down at the book. “All right, then. Here it is: ‘If you feel your value lies in being merely decorative, I fear that someday you might find yourself believing that’s all that you really are. Time erodes all such beauty, but what it cannot diminish is the wonderful workings of your mind: your humor, your kindness, and your moral courage. These are the things I cherish so in you. I so wish I could give my girls a more just world. But I know you’ll make it a better place.’” She looked up at him. Then she smiled. “That is why I do what I do. I want to make the world a better place, Isaiah. Attending balls and palace tea parties does nothing to right what is wrong in this world. And there is so much wrong.” She closed the book but held it in her lap. “We have to catch this killer. He cannot go free after what he’s done.”
“Agreed.” He folded the paper and put it away. “Tell me about these palace tea parties, Annie.”
She’d said too much. Annie stood and carefully placed the novel where she’d found it on the shelf, taking her time in doing so in order to avoid turning to face Isaiah.
He saw too much. Knew her too well.
And not merely because he was a Pinkerton detective. She’d allowed too much of herself to show in his presence. Danced far too close to the dangerous line between her well-constructed life as a Pinkerton detective and the life she left behind in England. A life of attending balls and palace tea parties.
Annie let out a long breath. Had she been able to give herself completely to the idea of falling in love with Isaiah Joplin, she might have explained. Might have told him about Mama and Papa, about her grandparents, and most importantly, about Granny.
She turned and braved a look at him. Tall and handsome, brave and kind. All the things she had hoped one day to find in the man she would marry.
And here they were. Here he was. Watching her. Waiting.
Funny how a decision made in a moment could change a lifetime. Annie smiled. Then she shrugged. “It’s just a saying, Isaiah.”
With those words, she banished the chance to be honest with him. To stand up to a lifetime of learning that she was meant for something that would further the monarchy and nothing else.
That if she found love—or something that passed for it—it would be with “one of us.” Or failing that, with a man so wealthy that the influx of cash into the family bank account would wipe out any concerns that the bloodline was being tainted.
“If you don’t mind, I think I will go up and rest before dinner. It is at seven, right?”
“Right.”
He didn’t stand. Didn’t move. Just looked up at her, seeing through the words she’d tried to put between them. Seeing Alice Anne von Wettin, great-granddaughter of Queen Victoria, Sovereign of the Realm, instead of Annie Walters, Pinkerton detective.
Something kept her rooted in place. That same something then propelled her past Isaiah to run away.
But he caught her. Slipped his fingers around her wrist and gently hauled her back to him.
“I see you in there,” he said, his eyes on hers. “I don’t know who you are yet, but I want to. And I am willing to wait.”
Words froze in her throat. So did her breath. The pling-pling-pling of ice against the windows behind her echoed in the silence.
“I have paperwork that needs to be done. Now seems a good time to tackle that project.”
He said nothing. Nor did she add to her pitiful excuse.
Isaiah finally released her with a curt nod. She hurried upstairs, fleeing her chance to be honest with the man she could never admit she might love.
Arriving in the cozy room at the top of the stairs, Annie threw herself on the bed and vowed not to cry. She knew there would be pitfalls to living a life that did not allow for full disclosure to anyone she might wish to befriend.
But she never expected this.
She sighed and grasped her pillow. Then she laughed.
Beneath it was a wooden spoon.
Chapter 15
Trimming the tree was rowdy business, with Ike being called upon to reach the taller part of the tree and Annie doing her part to wrap the garland around the bottom half. Miss Hattie supervised while Pop, his earlier appearance notwithstanding, was nowhere to be found.
Once the garland was in place, Miss Hattie went up to fetch the box of ornaments from the attic. “I can do that, you know,” Ike called to her retreating back.
“And let you mess up what I’ve got organized up there? No, thank you,” trailed after her as she disappeared up the stairs.
He turned around to catch Annie tossing a piece of popcorn in her mouth. “Wasn’t dinner enough for you, Miss Walters?” he teased as he did the same thing.
“Dinner was wonderful,” she said. “But there is something irresistible about popcorn, don’t you think?”
Ike leaned closer. “Popcorn and you.” Then he gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Before Annie could protest, he nodded toward the stairs. “She’s not going to like it, but I’m going to help her with the boxes. Leave me some popcorn.”
Annie laughed and waved him away. Ike detoured on his trek to the attic to stop at Pop’s office. “We will be putting the decorations on the tree soon. After that comes gifts.”
Pop looked up. “Yes, all right.”
“You’ll be there for that?”
“I will.” He returned to his writing, dismissing Ike.
“Hey, Pop.”
His father looked up, irritation impossible to miss on his face. “Yes?”
“I don’t know if you care, but there’s a gift under the tree from Mr. Slanton. He delivered it this afternoon when he brought the things Annie and I purchased.” Ike paused to be sure he had his father’s attention. “I think he might be sweet on Miss Hattie. She may feel the same. I haven’t asked.”
Pop’s face went blank. A moment later, he offered an almost imperceptible nod and went back to his work.
“Pop?” Ike said. “You heard me, right?”
“I did,” he said without looking up.
“All right, then.” Ike stepped back into the hall and closed the door behind him. He’d done his good deed. If Pop was too hardheaded to do anything about having a competitor for the affections of Miss Hattie, then that was his own fault.
After wrangling the heavy boxes out of the housekeeper’s hands, Ike came down the stairs with her on his heels. They found Annie seated in the place where she’d been this afternoon, the book back in her hands.
“Your father just went out on an errand,” she told them. “He said he wouldn’t be long and he would prefer we waited to decorate the tree until he returned.”
Miss Hattie’s brows rose. “Has that man lost his mind? It’s sleeting out there and about to turn to snow. He will catch his death of cold, and on Christmas Eve too. Has he any sense?”
“Oh,” Ike said slowly, “I think he finally does.”
He glanced over at the woodpile and saw it was low. “I’ll go get more logs for the fire.”
Ike gathered up his gloves and coat and walked through the kitchen to the back door where he spied Alfie happily snoozing against the do
or of the still-warm room. “You’re going to have to give up your spot, mutt.”
The dog stared then closed his eyes again. Finally, Ike inched the dog away and stepped out into the cold.
Grumbling against the weather that ought never have come this far south, he traced a path to the woodshed by the light of the lantern. Setting the lantern on an outside table, he gathered up as many logs as he could carry, then placed them out of the weather on the porch. On his next trip, he thought he heard a crunching sound like someone walking in heavy boots on ice in the alley behind the house.
“Someone out there?” he called.
The crunching sound ceased. Then silence.
“Speak up if you’re there,” Ike said as he gathered up the lantern and moved around the woodshed toward the back fence.
Icy sleet and a few flakes of snow peppered his face. The landscape around him could barely be seen in the yellow circle of light as he navigated his way to the back of the property more from memory than from sight.
Just before the fence line, he spied the tracks of a man’s boots and followed them until they ended at the fence. Whoever was there had jumped over into the alley and was likely gone, but he wouldn’t take that on assumption.
Hanging the lantern on the fence post, Ike scaled the fence and landed in a puddle of icy slush in the alley. He looked both directions but saw only darkness.
Lifting the lantern, he could just make out the same boot prints he had spied in the yard. Ike followed the prints all the way to the corner where the alley emptied out onto Pecan Street nearly a half mile away.
There the tracks blended in with dozens more until there was no way to know which direction the trespasser had gone. The lights were doused in the shops, and there wasn’t a soul on the usually busy street.
The light of the nearly full moon was dimmed by the clouds sweeping past, but he could still make out the Christmas garlands strung across the road and the icy puddles decorating Pecan Street.
Ike turned back toward home. Whatever the man had wanted, he had obviously been interrupted before he found it at the Joplin home. The thought occurred that the intruder may have just been looking for a few pieces of wood to keep a fire going in his home.
When he reached the Joplin property, Ike went over to the woodshed, grabbed three logs, and placed them in the alley where the man’s footsteps had led. If the fellow wanted warmth, it was there for the taking. If he wanted something else, he’d have to go through Ike to get it.
After making sure the woodshed and other outbuildings were secured, Ike returned to the porch and stamped off what he could of the ice and mud he’d just slogged through.
His first attempt at opening the back door met with a dull thud. “Alfie,” he shouted. “Move your lazy self and let me in.”
He tried again with the same result. Then Miss Hattie’s face appeared in the window. A moment later, she opened the door.
“Where on earth have you been, Ikey?” she demanded. “Annie and I were wondering if you’d lost your mind too. It’s not enough to have your father out wandering around like a fool on Christmas Eve, but now you’ve got to follow his example? You Joplin men will be the death of me, I do declare it!”
Her complaining, now thick with the Irish brogue that seemed to come and go, quickly ceased when she saw his face. “What is it? You’ve seen something?”
“Maybe nothing.” He looked past her to Annie, who was standing in the kitchen door. “I heard footsteps. Followed the tracks through the yard and over the fence to the alley. I lost them on Pecan.”
“Was it a thief or a beggar?” Miss Hattie asked. “The cook next door says she’s seen a bit of both lately. Men asking for things for their families, and if the answer is no, then they take. It might be a jar of preserves from the shed or logs for their fire, but it’s been something nearly every day. At least that’s what she said. I haven’t seen it here.”
“Maybe they’re getting what they want from next door,” Ike said. “In any case, I put a few logs out in the alley where the tracks began. If he wants to put up a fire in his home, he can. I didn’t think to add preserves, but I am not going back out in that weather to remedy the situation.”
“No, of course not.” She surveyed him from head to toe and shook her head. “You’ll be going upstairs to put on dry clothes, and you’ll not grumble about it. I won’t have you catching your death of cold because you were out in this awful night and didn’t think to get proper warm again.”
Annie grinned at him, and he returned the gesture. “Yes, ma’am.” He slipped past Miss Hattie before she stopped him.
“Take those boots off, Ikey. I’ll not have you tracking mud from all the way to Pecan Street and back all over my clean floors. Not on a regular day, and certainly not on Christmas Eve.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said again as he stopped where he was and slipped out of his boots to hold them in his hand. “I’ll put them by the stove to dry and clean them up when I can. Does that meet with your approval?”
“It does,” she said with a smile. “Now scoot. I’m an old lady. I cannot stay up all night waiting for Seth to come back so we can open gifts. If he’s not home soon, I will be taking matters into my own hands. Just watch and see if I don’t.”
Ike chuckled. “I believe you. I will hurry.”
He paused at the door to offer Annie another kiss on the cheek, then hurried off to do as he was told. By the time he’d tossed off his wet clothes and found dry ones, he could hear music wafting up from downstairs.
Padding to the top of the stairs, he paused. Someone was playing the piano, probably Miss Hattie. But who was singing “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen”?
It had to be Annie.
He sat down to put on his clean boots and listened until that song ended and another began. Her tone was clear and bright, a soprano that sounded more like someone with vocal training than a lady Pinkerton detective singing to the accompaniment of an Irish housekeeper.
The front door opened and Pop stepped inside. Immediately he frowned at Ike. “What are you doing?”
“Coming downstairs,” Ike said as he climbed to his feet. “I ought to warn you that Miss Hattie is particular about muddy boots, so you might want to…” He looked at his father’s face and spied what appeared to be the beginnings of a black eye. “Pop? What happened to you?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the coatrack, then reached into the pocket to retrieve what appeared to be a small wrapped gift.
The music had ceased, but neither Annie nor Miss Hattie spoke. Ike made his way down the stairs in time to see Pop walk over to the piano.
“Seth, what in the world? You’ve been hurt.” She pushed the piano bench back and stood. “I’ll just go get something to put on that eye.”
“My eye is fine,” he said evenly. “Everything is fine. It is Christmas Eve. Let’s go finish trimming the tree and then open our gifts.”
Miss Hattie looked past Pop to Ike. At his shrug, she nodded. “All right.”
“But first I’ll leave my muddy boots right here.” Pop stepped out of his boots, and before he’d finished, Miss Hattie was back with his slippers. A smile passed between them as she handed them to Pop.
As quickly as the moment happened, it was gone. “All right, the lot of you,” Miss Hattie said. “We’re wasting Christmas Eve standing here when we could be trimming that tree. Who’s going to help me?”
And off she went. Annie followed. Ike remained behind with his father.
“What really happened, Pop?”
He looked toward the tree where the gifts from Slanton’s Department Store plus a few others had been laid out. “The gift that was delivered today, which one is it?”
“The one that Mr. Slanton brought?” At Pop’s nod, Ike continued. “There with the red stripe and green bow.”
Pop nodded again, then marched across the room to retrieve the package. “I spoke to Slanton tonight,” he said to Miss Hattie. “He a
dmitted he sent this in error and he’d like to have it back. I told him it would be waiting out front for him.”
With that, he marched across the parlor, into the hall, and out onto the front porch where he gave the package a mighty toss. Where it landed was anyone’s guess, because Pop closed the door immediately.
He turned around with a smile. “Now, where were we?”
Chapter 16
We were about to stop waiting for the menfolk to return and take the trimming of the tree into our own hands,” Miss Hattie said. “The popcorn garland is a start, but there are two boxes of ornaments to be hung and candles to be placed on the branches.”
“Talking about it won’t get it done,” Pop exclaimed, leading the way. “Come on, let’s get busy.”
Ike watched the stranger who looked very much like his pop orchestrating the decorating of the Christmas tree with a glee he hadn’t seen in a very long time. No, he decided. He’d never seen his father that happy.
Which made the black eye and the tossing of Slanton’s Christmas gift to Miss Hattie all the more interesting. And understandable.
After the tree was completely decorated, Pop insisted they move to the piano and sing carols. “I doubt we’ll get any carolers tonight, so we’ll have to make do,” he joked.
Miss Hattie took her place at the piano bench. “What would you like to hear?”
“You know my favorite,” Pop said. “Can we start with that one?”
She grinned and plinked out the first bars of “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Annie’s beautiful voice was more subdued but still better than any professional he’d heard. “Joy to the World” came next, followed by “Jingle Bells.”
Then it was Ike’s turn to choose a song. “Annie, would you sing ‘O Holy Night’?”
Annie tried to protest, but Pop and Miss Hattie managed to cajole her into agreeing. As the words rose up in her clear and lovely soprano voice, Annie closed her eyes. Ike did too, allowing the woman he loved to fill the air with his favorite Christmas song.
The Black Midnight Page 12