Return to Tradd Street Page 15

  “Children?”

  I smiled. “Don’t tell anybody—we haven’t officially announced it to our parents yet—but we’re having twins.”

  “Twins?” She smiled broadly. “How wonderful. But . . .” A frown furrowed her brow and she became suddenly serious.

  Jack stepped toward her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Let me show you something.” She began to lead us to the back of the room, past the glass-topped cases that held rare manuscripts and books, to what I’d begun to refer to as “our” table. We’d spent enough time in the archives with Yvonne Craig to warrant ownership.

  She moved to one side of the table and opened up a folder. If we’d been from the same generation, I would have long suspected that she and I were separated at birth. She was so organized that I always felt compelled to study her techniques.

  Yvonne began flipping through several sheets of paper. “You know, if I hadn’t read that article about the Vanderhorsts in Sunday’s paper, I might not have noticed this. And it might even just be a huge coincidence, but I found this very interesting.”

  My gaze met Jack’s and I knew we were both thinking of his oft-repeated phrase, There’s no such thing as coincidences. We moved to stand on either side of Yvonne.

  “You’d asked me to pull the Vanderhorst family tree, which I did. And as far as I could tell, Nevin Vanderhorst was the last in his line.” She slid a legal-size page from the folder and laid it on top before pulling up her reading glasses that hung from a chain around her neck.

  “As you can see, Nevin was born in 1922. His parents were Louisa and Robert. Robert Vanderhorst was an only child, born in 1896. His father, William—Nevin’s grandfather—was born in 1860 and was also an only child.”

  She looked at us over the top of her glasses. “As you can see, having several generations of only children is a great way for your line to die out completely. Since Nevin never married, it made it even easier. But here’s where it gets interesting.”

  Her neatly manicured index finger slid to a line on the chart, two lines higher than Nevin’s. “Great-grandfather John was a twin. There’s no documentation about a brother, because the twin died at age three.”

  “Assumed to be from yellow fever,” I said, disappointed that I already knew about the great-grandfather. “Sophie told me about John, so it’s not really a surprise. But I’m not sure what I’m supposed to get all excited about.”

  Yvonne’s eyes twinkled as her finger moved higher on the chart. “Because as you’ll see here, every generation that we have a record of shows twins—most likely fraternal twins, since that runs in families on the mother’s side.”

  Jack continued. “And since the practice back then was to marry cousins to keep property and wealth contained in a family, that would explain why the trait was passed down along with the Vanderhorst name.”

  “Exactly,” Yvonne said, beaming at Jack as if he were her genius protégé. “But if you’ll notice, twins stopped at William.”

  I stared at the photocopied image of the Vanderhorst family tree, all the lines with names like so many leaves, ending with just a single name at the bottom. It seemed as if the tree had grown in reverse order, diminished to a lone seed.

  “But what does this mean?” I asked. “Besides its being a very odd coincidence that I would be having twins.”

  Jack leaned on the desk, studying the family chart. “Well, it could explain why the Gilberts think they have a claim to the estate. What if one of the twins on the family tree didn’t die young, or did have surviving progeny that aren’t recorded on the family tree?”

  “Or was bricked up in the foundation of a house?” I added quietly.

  Jack touched the small of my back, a gesture of comfort that only made my skin tingle and my blood gallop through my veins. I stepped forward, ostensibly to look more closely at the chart. “But a dead child wouldn’t explain the Gilberts’ claim,” I added.

  “No, it wouldn’t,” Jack agreed. “As soon as you have your lawyer, we’ll need to meet with the Gilberts and find out exactly what’s in that deathbed confession from the maid.”

  “Which reminds me,” Yvonne said as she tugged the folder out from beneath the family tree. “You’d asked me about the name Susan Bivens. I couldn’t find anything in the property records or census—which doesn’t surprise me, considering the hurricanes, floods, and wars this city has seen in the last three hundred years. But I did find this.” She slid a photocopied page out of the folder and placed it in front of Jack and me.

  It was a page from the Daily Advertiser dated February 23, 1800. It consisted mostly of advertisements for various medical tinctures, hair pomades, and local business establishments. And tucked in the middle of the page near the bottom was an ad for a shop on Broad Street: Susan Bivens Fine Linens and Embroidery. Best prices for quality work.

  I looked at the date again. “Eighteen hundred. That sounds right for the Vanderhorsts to have acquired a christening gown and bonnet—or two, considering their habit of having twins. The house wasn’t built yet, but the family was most likely already living in the city by then.”

  Jack turned to Yvonne. “Have you found out anything else about the shop—any invoices or receipts? I’d be interested to know exactly what the Vanderhorsts bought from Susan Bivens, and when.”

  “That’s next on my list. I had a whole busload of genealogists from Atlanta last week, so I’m a little behind. I promise to let you know whatever I turn up.”

  I was still studying the chart, my interest piqued by a small detail. “Poor Great-grandfather John. His wife died the year after William was born. In 1861.”

  Jack stood behind me, looking over my shoulder. “Doesn’t look like he grieved for very long. He married his second wife the following year.” He tapped the page. “No children from that marriage—most likely due to John’s being killed in the war in 1863.”

  “Still,” I said. “To lose a wife so young.”

  Yvonne nodded. “It happened a lot back then. Would you like me to see if I can find out more?”

  Jack nodded. “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. I don’t know what the Gilberts have in their arsenal, but it wouldn’t hurt for us to have more information. And see if you can find where John’s twin is buried. I’d hate to think he’s the one walled up in the foundation.”

  Yvonne winked. “I’ll do my best.”

  Jack leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re the best. You have my cell—and Mellie’s. Call when you find anything.”

  I said good-bye to Yvonne, and Jack and I left the old building, blinking at the bright sunshine. I squinted up at him. “Thanks, Jack, for your help. I don’t know what I’d do without it.”

  He stood very close to me, the sun in my eyes so that I couldn’t read his expression. “This could be good material for another book.” He removed his sunglasses from the neck of his shirt, then slid them onto his nose. “Besides, I need another excuse to spend time with you.”

  He began walking down the steps toward the sidewalk. I ran after him. “What do you mean? You don’t need an excuse. . . .”

  He stopped and turned around to face me. “Remember, Mellie. I wasn’t the one who said no.”

  I stared after him for a moment, watching as he walked down the sidewalk toward the van, understanding what he was telling me yet unable to put my rebuttal into words that would make sense to him. Or to me.

  I was distracted as a line of ragged and sweaty men connected by chains on their feet, their hands roped together behind their backs, marched past me heading toward Broad Street in the direction of the Old Exchange and dungeon. They were hazy, like a station on an old television that was set between two channels, letting me know that I was definitely losing my sixth sense. I watched as they flickered, then completely vanished into a line of stopped traffic. Even after they’d disappeared from view, I could still hear their chains clanking together.

  Turning my head, I caught sight of Jack holding my door open, his expression unreadable with his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses. As I walked toward him, I imagined I could still hear the sound of rattling chains, giving me the odd sensation that they belonged to me.

  CHAPTER 14

  The old grandfather clock chimed eleven times, reminding me that I’d been standing beside it for half an hour, my gaze drifting from the rain-soaked street outside to the growth chart etched into the wall almost one hundred years before. MBG. My Best Guy. That was the nickname Louisa Vanderhorst had given to her beloved son, Nevin, as she’d marked his height on the wall of their home. I’d had it covered with a sheet of Plexiglas to preserve it so that it would remain a part of the house for as long as I owned it. Which, I reminded myself, might not be as long as I’d once thought.

  The sound of tires on wet pavement brought my attention back to the window. I watched in surprise as Jack’s red minivan pulled up to the curb, the passenger door shooting open before the vehicle had even stopped. Nola bolted out of the van, her guitar, backpack, and overstuffed duffel banging against her legs as she marched toward my front gate and threw it open.

  General Lee was already waiting by the front door by the time I reached it and pulled it open before Nola had a chance to ring the bell. Without pausing to say hello, Nola marched past the dog and me, dumping everything she’d been holding in the middle of the vestibule.

  “He’s impossible, and if I have to spend another minute in his presence, I’m going to go postal.”

  “Not if I beat you to it. Living with a hormonal teenager isn’t exactly a walk in the park, either, you know,” Jack said from the doorway.

  General Lee and I turned to see Jack, looking as if he’d just been dragged through a swamp backward. His hair stuck up in every direction, and he was wearing only an undershirt, khaki pants without a belt, and his loafers without socks. It appeared as if his departure from his condo had been a quick one.

  I stepped back, opening the door farther. “Please do come in. Welcome to my home.”

  Jack frowned at me as he walked past me to stand in front of his daughter. If I hadn’t understood how delicate a teenage girl’s feelings were, I might have laughed as the two of them faced each other with almost identical profiles—including the indignant jutted-out chins.

  Nola turned toward me, her blue eyes damp, but I could tell she was trying very hard not to cry. Years of parenting her own mother had taught her to be strong. But she was still learning how to let go.

  “I can’t live with him. You have no idea. He’s overbearing and overprotective, and acts like I’m three years old.”

  “No three-year-old would hide in a closet to talk on the phone to a boy.” He emphasized this last word as if he were saying the word Satan.

  “Because whenever I try to speak with Cooper, you stand next to me like you need to censor my conversation.” Her voice rose a notch. “And let’s not forget that time when you actually took the phone away from me and spoke to him yourself!”

  I turned to Jack. “You really did that?”

  He had the good sense to look abashed. “I might have. Just once, though. And it was because I didn’t like the direction their conversation was heading.”

  “We were talking about a movie, Dad. Not our real lives. Like I would throw myself in front of a train. Like I’d even know where to find a train.”

  I thought for a moment. “You were talking to a boy about Anna Karenina? You actually know a boy who’s seen the movie?”

  Nola nodded. “Cooper took Alston and me to see it. She didn’t think it was so great except for all the cool dresses and jewelry, but Cooper and I really liked it. We’ve both read the book, so we had a lot to talk about.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and faced her father. “Really, Jack? I think there are a lot worse things your teenage daughter could be discussing with a boy, but maybe that’s just me. And he’s Alston’s brother. I know her and her mother, so I can only imagine what kind of a Tolstoy-reading badass Cooper must be.”

  “But she took the phone into a closet when she was supposed to be in bed, and they were making plans to see each other. That’s as good as lying, in my book.”

  I took a deep breath, unwilling to put myself in the middle of it when they most likely needed only a bit of a time-out. I eyed Nola’s belongings spilling across my floor, remembering the state of her room when she’d stayed with me before, and the loud music that made the windows rattle. “You’re welcome to stay here for a few days until you’ve both calmed down enough to speak rationally.”

  “I told you she’d say yes,” Nola directed at her father. She turned to me. “We thought you’d be asleep, so I was just going to use my key. I figured you could say yes in the morning.”

  “You know you’re always welcome here.” I looked behind her to where General Lee was already halfway up the stairs, waiting for her. “And I guess I’m losing my sleeping buddy tonight.”

  Jack bent down to pick up her duffel, but Nola yanked it out of his hands. “I’ll do it myself, thanks.” With a grunt, she hoisted it onto her shoulder before grabbing the backpack and guitar, then began her staggering walk toward the stairs.

  Jack moved to go after her, but I held him back. After a moment, he gave in. Under his breath, he said, “Please find us a house as quickly as possible. We really need more space.”

  I neglected to mention Nola’s request of soft bushes beneath her window or a first-floor bedroom for the new house, thinking this wouldn’t be the appropriate time. Instead I said, “You know, the kind of space Nola needs isn’t going to be fixed by square footage.”

  He looked at me as if I’d begun speaking in a language he wasn’t familiar with.

  With a sigh, I said, “I’ll find you a home. Your list is a little long, so it will take a bit of time, but we’ll find it.”

  “Thanks, Mellie.” His dimple made an appearance. Glancing down at my abdomen, he said, “If one of those is a girl, maybe we can consider boarding schools for high school.”

  “And if one of these is a boy, I’m sure there will be lots of fathers just like you forbidding their daughters to speak with him on the phone.”

  He was thoughtful for a moment. “There’s really no easy way to parent, is there?”

  “Nope. Not that I’m an expert by any means, but it seems to me that we just have to muddle through as best we can. Luckily we both have terrific mothers who can guide us.”

  “Do you think they’ll agree to raise them until they’re twenty-one?” Jack asked hopefully.

  “We could ask.”

  He smiled, but a filter of doubt marred its effect. I touched his arm. “It’ll be okay. She’s a good kid, Jack. It’s just part of growing up.”

  He surprised me by taking my hand and holding it in his. “I bet you had a lot of growing pains, didn’t you?”

  I wanted to snatch back my hand, but it felt too good where it was. “I might have,” I admitted. “Not that anybody would have noticed.”

  He took a step closer while I held my ground. “My poor Mellie. I guess that explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

  I frowned. “What do you mean, it expl—”

  He put his finger on my lips, silencing me. “Don’t frown. It’ll give you wrinkles. You don’t want people to think you’re the children’s grandmother instead of their mother, right?”

  I tried to say something, but his finger was still pressed against my lips, and he was standing so close that I forgot how to form words. He slid his finger from my mouth and then to my chin, gently tracing the curve of my throat. I tilted my head back, my eyes closing as my lips parted, waiting for his kiss.

  “Mellie?”

  I jerked my eyes open.

  “I think you have toothpaste in your hair.”

  I stared at him, trying to think of what he was really saying, and why he was talking instead of kissing me.

  He ran his finger and thumb through my hair by my temples, coming away with a chunk of dried blue paste. “I just thought you’d want to know.”

  I felt like a tire that had hit a pothole, and my body sagged as the air slowly leaked out. I managed to force my knees to work and turned abruptly toward the door. “Thanks, Jack. I usually like to leave a chunk of toothpaste in my hair in case General Lee wakes up hungry in the middle of the night.”

  Jack sauntered past me, standing between me and the door in the darkened vestibule, where the chain from the broken light still hung. “Thanks for letting Nola stay for a few days. It means a lot to both of us knowing that she can always come here.”

  “Good,” I said. “And I want her to feel free to come and go as much as she wants. But I think . . .” I stopped and looked at the floor, noticing I had a hole in the toe of one of my fuzzy socks.

  “But what?” he asked softly.

  I couldn’t meet his eyes, so I focused on his chin instead. “I think it’s best that you try to keep your visits to times when I’m not here. It’ll be easier in the long run. For both of us.”

  He didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned around and opened the door, allowing in a burst of humid, heavy air. He paused on the piazza, and when he spoke his voice was cool and detached. “Are the Gilberts still in town?”

  I tried to match his tone, and tried not to remember that just a minute before I’d wanted him to kiss me. “For a couple more days. They’re waiting to see if they can get the exhumation order taken care of before they leave.”

  “Did you hire a lawyer yet?”

  I nodded. “Sterling Zerbe. He’s an old army buddy of my dad’s. He’s trying to stall the process as much as he can. To give us time to figure things out.”

  “Good. I was thinking that maybe you should invite the Gilberts to the barbecue tomorrow.”

  “Why would I do that?” I frowned, wondering at Jack’s lack of judgment. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it was huge. Like his little fling with Rebecca.