by V. M. Burns
“Christmas Eve is less than three weeks away.” Lord William huffed on his pipe. “No way to plan a proper wedding in that amount of time.”
“Proper or improper, I don’t care.” Daphne jutted out her chin even farther. “I intend to be married one way or another by Christmas Eve.”
Lady Elizabeth stared lovingly at her niece. She and Lord William had never been blessed with children of their own, but when Lord William’s younger brother, Peregrine, and his wife, Henrietta, were killed in an automobile accident, Lady Elizabeth and Lord William raised the two girls as their own.
Lady Elizabeth set her knitting aside. “Then we better get busy. We’ve got a wedding to plan and a very short time in which to do it.”
Chapter 4
Sunday was the day I spent time with my mom. That generally meant church, brunch and shopping, movies, or time just spent hanging out. I used to call Sundays my therapy day; not because time spent with my mother was therapeutic, but because it created my need for therapy. Despite being in my mid-thirties, time spent with my mother still left me as confused as it had when I was in my teens. However, when I finished writing last night, I lay in bed and obsessively replayed the scene with Lydia Lighthouse over and over in my head. Despite the replays, every version ended the same way, with my mother in tears.
I got up and dressed without checking my cell phone. Showered and dressed, I grabbed the phone off my nightstand as I woke Snickers and released Oreo from his crate. That was when I noticed I had a missed call. I checked for messages while the poodles stretched as though they’d worked all night. For Oreo, that probably included chasing squirrels and birds in his sleep, but for Snickers, her activity was more cerebral than physical. Based on her success record, I suspected she spent a great deal of time plotting ways to trip me while I carried food so it would end up on the floor, which was her domain. Plotting food mishaps must have been exhausting because she spent a great deal of time stretching. When the morning stretching was completed, we went downstairs to tend to the call of nature.
While the poodles took care of business, I listened to the voice mail message I’d missed earlier this morning. It was from my mom. She didn’t feel up to church today and would talk to me later. I stared at the phone in shock. This couldn’t be happening. I listened to the message twice more before calling my sister.
“Something’s wrong with Mom.”
“What? Did she have a stroke? Is she in the hospital?”
“I don’t know, but she left a strange message.”
“What did the message say?”
I repeated the message verbatim. After listening to it the fourth time, I had it down pat. There was silence on the line. “Jenna, are you still there?”
“You called me at . . . eight in the morning because Mom left a message saying she didn’t feel like going to church today?”
“Exactly. There’s got to be something wrong.”
Silence.
“Jenna, listen. I can count on one hand the number of times Mom has missed church over the past thirty years. This is the same woman who went into labor with me on Sunday morning but refused to go to the hospital until after church finished because she didn’t want to start my life off on the wrong foot.” I paused for breath. “Next, there was simply the message and nothing else. No guilt. No implication I was somehow to blame that she would now spend eternity in hell because she was missing church. Now, you know that’s suspicious.”
“You’ve been reading and writing too many mysteries. Everything isn’t a clue. Sometimes a message is just a message.”
“I can’t believe you’re not worried.”
“Believe it.”
I heard the silence and knew she’d hung up on me. “Jenna?” When she didn’t respond, I called Nana Jo.
“Sam, I love you, but you better have a darned good reason for waking me up at this ungodly hour on a Sunday morning,” Nana Jo whispered in the phone.
“I think something’s wrong with Mom.”
That got her attention. I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was sitting up and wide-awake. “Why? What’s wrong? Did she have a stroke?”
My dad and grandfather both died of strokes, and it must have been in the back of all of our minds since it was the first question both my sister and my grandmother asked when contemplating something was wrong with Mom. “Not that I know of, but she called and left a message that she didn’t feel like going to church.”
Nana Jo was quiet, but I could hear her breathing and knew she hadn’t hung up. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” She hung up.
It only took five minutes to get the dogs inside and upstairs with treats before I headed out. One of the cool features on my new-to-me Ford Escape was the remote start, which I loved during the winter months. I could lift the garage door and turn on the remote start to let the car warm up so, by the time the poodles finished their business, I had heat. I almost wished I didn’t have a garage so I could allow the defrost to take care of the snow and ice on the windshields. Scraping snow off the windshield each morning was one of the things I hated about life in Michigan during the winter. Now that I had a garage, scraping was a thing of the past, at least for overnight snows.
Dawson came downstairs from his studio over the garage just as I was backing out. He had a large bag of laundry and a book bag strapped to his back, along with the bowl he often used for bread under his arm. Like a running back protecting a football, he held onto the bowl as though his life depended on it. Considering he was wearing flip-flops and a sweat suit in, I glanced at the outside temperature on the dashboard, five-degree weather, his life very well could be in jeopardy. At least his extremities were in danger of frostbite. I knew he didn’t have far to travel, but the motherly part of me wanted to send him back upstairs for a coat and boots. The fact that I wasn’t his mother was irrelevant. However, by the time I got the window down, he was already inside the building and heading upstairs. Next time, I’d remind him, again, that you lose over 70 percent of your body heat through your head. He needed to wear shoes and a hat when he went outside, even if it was only for a few seconds.
I drove the short distance to Shady Acres Retirement Village, where my grandmother owned a villa. I slowed down and picked up Nana Jo, who was waiting for me. If Dawson was underdressed for the cold weather, Nana Jo was the polar opposite. She had a heavy full-length down coat that swished whenever she made the slightest movement, a faux fur cap that covered her ears, boots, leather gloves, and a scarf her friend Ruby Mae knitted for her. Her eyes were the only part of her body left uncovered as she pulled the scarf up to cover her mouth and her nose.
“Turn that tushy warmer up to full blast,” Nana Jo ordered.
If the remote start was my favorite accessory on my car, heated seats had to be Nana Jo’s favorite. Heated seats or tushy warmers, as Nana Jo called them, enabled her to remove a couple of layers of outerwear almost instantly, something she rarely did in my old Honda CRV. I still missed the CRV. It had been a great vehicle with few problems, but it was old and didn’t have the latest gadgets. The newer models all had so many features. It was a wonder the cars still needed humans to drive them. However, I’d found my used red Ford Escape a month ago and fallen instantly in love.
“Coffee.” Nana Jo pointed at the Java Joe’s drive-thru and I happily obliged.
Caffeinated and warm, I sped to my mom’s South Harbor villa. I replayed the voice mail message Mom had left on my cell this morning and Nana Jo agreed it sounded fishy. By the time I arrived at my mom’s house, I noticed my brother-in-law Tony’s car already parked in front. I smiled. My sister wasn’t as heartless as she sometimes wanted people to believe. Obviously, she’d sent Tony to make sure Mom was okay.
Nana Jo and I got out and rang the bell. Tony answered.
“How is she?” I hurried inside.
I didn’t wait for a response as I pushed past my brother-in-law and entered the foyer. Despite my internal conflict and concern for my mom’
s well-being, years of training forced me to stop and remove my wet boots before I tracked snow and water onto the carpet. Although, I’d rarely actually stepped foot on the carpet in my mom’s house. There were plastic runners that extended from the front door to the kitchen and down the hall. However, I could say from personal experience, I’d stepped on quite a large amount of water puddled on the plastic.
Tony provided a hand for Nana Jo as she removed her boots, and I followed the plastic to the kitchen. I found my mom sitting at the kitchen table. She was wearing a pink bathrobe and sipping a cup of tea.
“Mom, are you okay?”
She sipped her tea. “Of course, dear. Would you like a cup of tea?” She rose as if to get a cup, but I waved her back.
“I had coffee.”
She sat back down but said nothing. Another sure sign something was wrong.
“What’s the matter? Are you feeling okay?” I asked.
Nana Jo came in and stood over her daughter. “You okay?” She put the back of her hand on Mom’s forehead and checked her temperature. “You don’t feel feverish.”
“I’m fine. I just didn’t feel . . . up to going to church today, that’s all.” She sipped her tea. “I don’t understand what all of the fuss is about.”
I stole a glance at Nana Jo, whose eyes were narrowed. She placed a hand on her hip. “Grace Ellen, you tell me what’s wrong this minute, or, so help me, I’ll put you over my knee and give you the spanking you deserve.”
Tony hurried out of the room, but not before I saw he looked as though he would burst into laughter.
Mom sat for several seconds as though she didn’t know what on earth Nana Jo meant. However, one look at her mother must have been enough to assure her Nana Jo would have no qualms about spanking her sixty-year-old daughter. She sighed. “It’s just this wedding.”
“What about it?” Nana Jo asked impatiently.
“Being around Harold’s family and Lydia Lighthouse, well, it’s made me wonder if . . .”
“Made you wonder what?” She tapped her foot.
Mom flushed slightly. “It’s made me wonder if I’m the right person for him. I mean, he’s such a wonderful man. He’s kind and sensitive and just . . . so thoughtful; but, well . . .”
Nana Jo stared. “Spit it out. He’s kind and thoughtful, that’s great, but do you love him?”
“Oh, yes. I do.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Nana Jo sat down.
“Well, Lydia Lighthouse and his sister-in-law, Margaret, have made me feel like I’m not the right person for him. I’m not rich. I’m not smart and someone with his background has expectations.”
“Pshaw.” Nana Jo rolled her eyes. “What kind of expectations? At your age you certainly know about sex. He doesn’t want you to do anything too kinky, does he?”
I nearly laughed out loud but caught myself and coughed instead. However, I heard laughter from the hall and knew Tony hadn’t gone far.
“No, there’s nothing like that.”
“Well, darn it. Maybe you can teach him some things.” Nana Jo slapped her hand on the table and laughed.
“Mother, I’m serious.”
“Okay, okay. What kind of expectations?”
Mom stared into her coffee cup. “He’s wealthy and comes from a very prominent family. People in his social class have responsibilities. I thought a simple but elegant wedding in South Harbor would be enough. I’ve always wanted a real wedding. I never got to plan one. Robert and I got married at the base military chapel.” She looked at me. “Your father had to leave for basic training and we wanted to be married before he left.” She smiled at the memory, but the smile quickly evaporated. She sighed. “I was only thinking about myself, not about Harold’s family and his responsibilities.”
“Mom, I don’t think I fully understand what responsibilities you’re referring to. Harold is a retired engineer from NASA.”
“Yes, but his family is very prominent. They owned Robertson’s Department Store and were pillars of society. People will expect him to have a grand wedding. Important people like the mayor and maybe even the governor will expect to be invited.”
She said the governor in such a hushed, reverential tone in the same way peopled talked about the pope.
“Well, if Harold wants to invite the mayor or the governor, what’s stopping him?” Nana Jo leaned forward. “Grace, I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
Mom stared into her cup. “Can’t you see? I don’t want to embarrass Harold with tacky, low-class dresses and floral arrangements. He deserves someone who will be an asset to him. I would never be able to forgive myself if people . . . laughed at him because of me.”
We had been so intent on listening to Mom, we hadn’t heard Harold enter the room. He stepped into the room and walked to my mom’s chair. “Grace.”
She looked up surprised. “Harold, I didn’t hear you come in.”
He took her hands. “My dearest darling, I don’t know who’s been filling your head with this nonsense, but you could never embarrass me. I love you with my entire heart.” He clutched her hands to his heart and stared lovingly into her eyes. “I’m the one who is honored someone like you would consider marriage. Nothing you could ever do would be considered tacky or low class. You are the finest woman I have ever known.”
“Oh, Harold.” Mom stood and the two kissed.
I wiped away a tear.
Nana Jo’s voice cracked. “All right, now that’s settled, I want to know who’s been filling your head with this nonsense.”
Mom and Harold embraced and then he helped her back down into her seat. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes and then sat down in a chair near my mom, where he could continue to hold her hand.
Mom fluttered the hand Harold wasn’t holding. “Well, I don’t know anyone specifically said those exact words, but I couldn’t help but feel my choices weren’t exactly classy enough.” She looked down. “Given your family’s position, people will expect haute couture and fine cuisine.”
Harold slapped the table, rattling Mom’s tea. I jumped.
“I knew it. It’s that Lydia Lighthouse who’s put those crazy ideas in your head.” Harold stood. “I’ll strangle that woman if it’s the last thing I do.” He turned and marched out of the house.
We sat in silence for several seconds, but eventually Mom got up and went to the kitchen, opened a drawer, and pulled out a large box. She dumped the contents of the box onto the table.
“What’s all this?” Nana Jo fingered the items.
“Well, this is actually something I’ve thought about doing for some time.” She looked down but lifted her head and pushed out her chin. “I’ve wanted to do a family genealogy for a long time. I actually sent away for these kits months ago.” She blushed. “I wanted to do one of those DNA searches. I hear you can learn all about where your family originated.” She looked from me to Nana Jo. “So, I was hoping you would all agree to a DNA sample.”
I stared from the test tubes to my mother and then my grandmother and waited for the explosion that never happened.
Nana Jo shrugged. “I’ve seen those same commercials and, to be completely honest, I’ve been curious myself.” She picked up one of the test tubes. “I’m curious, but gosh darned if I want to legitimize anything that crazy Lydia Lighthouse says. However, I’m not going to keep from doing it simply because of her either.” She picked up the instructions. “What do I have to do?”
Mom smiled. “All you have to do is spit in the test tube. They all have barcodes. You go online and register the barcode so they know the saliva in the tube belongs to you and mail it back.” She handed each of us a test tube and an envelope. “I bought four kits so we could all do it.”
The entire process took less than two minutes. I couldn’t help looking at my mom with a certain level of respect and awe. She always seemed so fragile and helpless, yet here she was researching her family tree. “I’m pretty amazed you’ve been working on a fam
ily genealogy.”
“It’s pretty fascinating. They had a speaker come to the senior center a month or two ago and she showed how to go to different websites and find information. I’ve had Zaq and Christopher helping me, and we’ve already found some interesting things.” She looked at Nana Jo. “I didn’t know Dad’s grandmother was full-blooded Cherokee Indian.”
Nana Jo nodded. “She died not long after your father and I got married. Boy was she a hard egg.” She shook her head. “Used to scare the living daylights out of your father.”
“How?” I asked.
“Apparently, she claimed to be some kind of medicine woman and used to go out in the middle of the night looking for herbs and brewing up all kinds of crazy concoctions.” She laughed. “Your dad told me about how one year there was a real bad drought and most of the farmers’ crops were destroyed. Well, his grandmother stripped down butt naked and went outside and danced around in the moonlight.” She laughed. “A few days later it rained.”
“I never heard that story before.” I smiled.
“I’d completely forgotten about it until your mom mentioned her.” She smiled.
Since we were all assembled, we decided brunch was in order.
“Can we go to Tippecanoe Place?” Mom asked.
I wasn’t thrilled about driving to River Bend, Indiana, on a cold, snowy December morning, but it had put a spark in my mom’s eyes. That was worth the drive. I nodded.
Tony declined on the pretext of having work to do. So, Mom, Nana Jo, and I headed out. Nana Jo pulled out her phone and made reservations so, by the time I pulled up to the semicircular driveway of the former Studebaker Mansion, our table was ready.
I parked and hurried inside. We were seated in the former library, which still had the family’s books on the bookshelf. One wall of the room had three floor-to-ceiling windows. The walls were a rich mahogany with a coffered ceiling and built-in bookshelves on the opposite wall surrounding a doorway. There was a corner fireplace with a large mirror overhead. The mantle was decorated for the Christmas season with ribbons, pine sprays, candles, and a wreath. The décor was lovely, but my attention was captured by the books. Something about sitting in a room filled with books caused my pulse to race, and I kept staring over at the leather-bound spines and squinting to read the titles.