I had begun to identify what Meemaw’s different haunting methods meant beneath the surface, kind of like how new mothers could recognize the different cries of their newborn babies. When Meemaw tapped into the pipes, it was a general announcement to me that she was present. When warm air encircled me, it was her way of giving me a hug or comforting me, like a toasty blanket on a cold night. If she was agitated or was trying to catch my attention, she blew like a violent gust of wind through the room. She still didn’t seem to have mastered the ability to materialize at will, but when she really wanted to communicate something in particular, she used books, water, or any other actual manipulation of an object to get her message across.
“I hear you,” I said under my breath as Madelyn told Gracie, “Last one.”
A visible shiver went through Gracie. Like someone had scraped their fingernails down a chalkboard. She suddenly backed up, throwing up her hands like she was trying to block something.
“Gracie?” Will was by her side in a flash.
The color had drained from her cheeks and she shivered. “It’s c-cold.”
“No, it’s not,” he said, but he lay the back of his hand on her forehead. “You don’t feel feverish. It’s late. I’m sure you’re just tired, and dressed like that, with your hair all done up, your imagination’s taking over is all.”
Madelyn and I looked at each other, another silent message floating between us. I hadn’t told her what I’d learned, but I could tell she didn’t need all the details to believe that something magical was floating around the old farmhouse—literally.
“Your dad’s probably right,” I said. “Honey, why don’t you get out of that dress and get some sleep. The rehearsal starts first thing in the morning, then the pageant. It’s gonna be a long day.”
I unbuttoned her dress for her, my fingers moving slowly. The history of the dress worked its way through me, drifting into my mind, mixing with the current image of Gracie in the gown, her hair done up, the highlights in her hair shimmering almost effervescently.
One thing became crystal clear. The secrets Nana and her friends had worked to keep under wraps for so long were bursting forth at the seams.
Chapter 28
It was only ten o’clock, too early to go to bed, but I was exhausted. I slipped into my blue-and-white-striped cotton pajama pants and a navy cami, brushed my teeth and the tangles out of my hair, and climbed into bed, but apparently sleep was the last thing my body actually wanted to do.
I was antsy. My toes tingled, my arms itched, and a million thoughts raced through my mind. They were like fireflies, zipping between Gracie and Libby, and all the details of the pageant that I still had to take care of. I’d tried to get an update on Mrs. James, but I hadn’t heard a thing from her.
Finally, after thirty minutes of tossing and turning, I put my glasses back on and got out of bed. If I couldn’t sleep, I might as well be productive.
I spent two hours finishing Mrs. James’s dress. I’d already pieced the sections together. By the time I got to the zipper, the last thing I had to finish, exhaustion had made me loopy. The room grew soft around the edges, like a photographer had blurred the lines. If you discounted the scattered thread, fabric scraps, and pieces of pattern paper, my workroom had a dreamy quality to it.
Sleepiness was finally settling in, but it hadn’t taken hold yet. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Three a.m. At this rate, I was going to be holding my eyelids open with toothpicks at the dress rehearsal. I finished the zipper and took Mrs. James’s dress into the dining room, slipping it onto a dress form I’d moved into the far corner, then headed to the front room to lie down on the settee. I might as well not have bothered. Soon I was tossing and turning. Meemaw’s decision to cover it in velvet was great on a blustery cold day, but not when it was still close to ninety degrees and the humidity had crept up to ninety percent.
I heaved a frustrated sigh before I decided to direct my attention to my new dressmaking project. Planning a design for Anna Hughes’s Wow! dress. I shuffled back to the dining room and sat at the little antique table tucked into the corner. I turned on the computer and waited while it booted up. Even dress designers used the Web for research.
I’d pictured Anna in a black taffeta dress with flowers on one strap, but before I got too far in my sketches, I wanted to get some intel on her sister’s wedding. If it was going to be a luau, for example, then the fun but sophisticated number I had in mind wouldn’t work.
My fingers curled above the home row, hovering, antsy to type something… anything… and to hit the ENTER key. One problem. I didn’t know Anna Hughes’s sister’s first name, maiden name, or either of her two previous married surnames. Which meant I couldn’t just search her online.
What to do? What to do? Finally, my sleep-deprived brain figured it out and my fingers jarred into motion. I typed Anna and Buckley Hughes into the search bar and hit ENTER. This would bring up something about them or their wedding, which in turn should mention some of the family and guests. Anna may not have been in her sister’s wedding, but maybe her sister had been in hers.
While Google did its thing, I closed my eyes. Working into the wee hours of the morning had given me too much time to think. The different complications from the past few days began melding together in my mind. Bliss, Texas, it seemed, was coming apart with deception.
Dark circles spiraled behind my eyes and my limbs grew heavy. After Josie’s wedding fiasco, I’d realized that everyone had secrets. Some people pretended they didn’t exist—like Mrs. James. Some people fought over them—like Nana, Mrs. James, and Eleanor had fought the night of their Margaret pageant. And some people killed over them—like whoever had gone after Macon Vance.
One of my biggest questions was whether or not the Cassidy magic had passed through Senator Jeb James into his daughter, Sandra, and granddaughter Libby. Or was the power of the magical wish diluted through the male descendants? My brother, Red, didn’t have even a smidgeon of magic in him, and neither, it seemed, did his boys, Cullen and Clay. But if he had a daughter, would she be charmed?
Too many questions stemming from the past, and no way to answer them.
I sank deeper in my chair. For the first time that night, sleep didn’t seem so far off. A warmth settled over me and my head lolled to the side. My thoughts grew dreamy, shifting to Libby. She had the burden of two secrets on her, and she knew nothing about either of them. Poor girl. She was like the common denominator between the two mysteries going on in Bliss.
The common denominator.
The words repeated in my head like a mantra until… “Oh my.” What if Macon Vance knew more than just the lineage of Butch Cassidy’s descendants? What if he somehow knew about his wish and that the James women were charmed?
I closed my eyes for a quick second, and when I opened them again, it was morning. The sun was throwing dappled light through the window, and the crick in my neck radiated pain down my spine. I pushed myself up, wrangled my crooked glasses from my face, straightened them on my nose, and looked at the clock.
Slowly, it came into focus. Eight thirty. I shot out of the chair. The dress rehearsal!
Chapter 29
Eighteen girls milled around the stage, hair and makeup done, shifting their weight from foot to foot and glancing around nervously when they stopped pacing. Only four of them—Amanda Blankenship, Julie Plankerton, Libby Allen, and Gracie Flores—had their gowns on. The rest milled around aimlessly, a rising hysteria in their voices. They stared at the racks of nineteenth-century style gowns, but none of them went near the dresses.