Moonlight in the Morning (16 page)

There were sounds of the phone being exchanged, then Nell’s young voice said, “Easter.”

“What does that mean?” Jecca asked.

“Uncle Tris said you’d ask me what colors I want the playhouse painted, and I want it like Easter eggs in a basket.”

Color images ran through Jecca’s head as she spoke. “Blues, peaches, pale pinks, yellows, trims of golden brown like the straw of the basket. And light green for the grass. We’ll have to add a bit of cinnamon for the eyes of those little yellow marshmallow birds. Does that sound ses eally w good?”

Nell drew in her breath. “Perfect.”

“I’ll color a couple of drawings for you and I’ll show them to you when you get back. We can go over them and you can decide which you like best. Okay?”

“Okay,” Nell said in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

“And Nell? This is just my opinion, but I think we should do the inside at the same time so everything works together. Lucy can help you and me make curtains and slipcovers for the furniture, and we’ll make a quilt for the bed. What do you think?”

“It’s . . . it’s . . . I love it!” she said, then there was the sound of the phone being dropped.

“Hello?” Jecca said.

“It’s me,” Tris said. “What did you do to Nell?” Jecca went over what she’d said, and Tris laughed. “Nell just saw heaven on earth. I’m not sure how the trait got into her, but she has an artistic nature. Addy is very practical, and Jake mostly likes cars.”

“What about you?” Jecca asked.

“Me? I tend toward things that are wounded.”

“Where does that put
me
?” Jecca asked, her voice teasing.

“If I’m Cupid, that means that you’ve wounded
me,
” he said, making her laugh. “I have to go. Addy wants me to get Nell out of the house because she’s talking hard and fast about . . . Is she asking her mother to buy her a sewing machine like Miss Lucy has? What does she need a sewing machine for? Jecca, what have you done?”

“That’s a secret between Nell and me.”

“Yeah? I’d like to hear more, but Addy is waving her arms at me.”

“Sounds like you’re the one afraid of your sister.”

“She tries, but when I look at her, I see a kid with a soggy diaper and a snotty nose. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course,” Jecca said. “And I may need to talk to Nell about colors.”

“I’ve opened floodgates, haven’t I?”

“I think so. Nell and I are going to paint the town—or part of it, anyway. And Tristan?”

“I’m here,” he said in a sexy, suggestive way.

“Don’t take Nell out today and buy her a sewing machine. Wait until after I’ve talked to Lucy.”

Tristan gave a sound that was half laugh, half a groan of pain. “You’re finding out too much about me! Is the mystery gone already?”

“Mystery is written all over your face. I think. Maybe. Good-bye, Cupid.”

Laughing, he said, “Good-bye, Psyche.”

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When Jecca clicked off the phone with Tristan, she was so eager to begin on the colors for the playhouse that she didn’t want to waste time driving somewhere. She knocked on Lucy’s door and asked if she could use her copy machine.

“Of course,” Lucy said, barely looking up from her sewing.

Jecca walked to the big machine in the corner and punched in that she wanted ten copies of the first sketch. While she waited, her eyes were drawn to what she’d called Lucy’s “cave of colors.” The big closet, full of hundreds of yards of fabric folded into neat squares, drew her in. “May I?”

“Certainly. If you’re thinking about taking up quilting, I know where you can get fabric. Cheap.”

Jecca knew Lucy was joking, but buying from her was a good idea. Jecca ran her hand along the fabric, thinking about Easter colors, imagining what patterns and solids would work with the colors she’d thought of using outside.

“Can I help you find something?” Lucy asked. She’d moved from the machine to stand near Jecca.

“Do you know how to upholster things?”

“You mean with a hammer and tacks?”

“No,” Jecca said. “Slipcovers.”

“I’d probably need a pattern, but I think I can do it.”

“Great,” Jecca said as she took the copies and started for the door.

“See you at three?” Lucy called after her.

“Come and get me,” Jecca said as she hurried toward her room.

“Today we’re going to do—”

“Don’t tell me or I’ll panic and run away,” Jecca called over her shoulder as she went to the drawing board she’d set up. She used drafting dots to tape the first copy on her board and began to fill in the colors.

When Lucy knocked on the door, Jecca couldn’t believe it was time to go exercise. She hastily changed her clothes and hurried after Lucy. Mrs. Wingate was already waiting downstairs. An hour later, they were sweaty from doing the samba. Or at least Lucy and Jecca were perspiring heavily. Mrs. Wingate’s forehead had a bit of a glow, but that’s all.

They went upstairs to the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea. In the few days that Jecca had been there, the three women had settled into a routine. Jecca got out the sandwiches while Lucy cut up the fruit, and Mrs. Wingate went through an elaborate ritual of making the tea. Within minutes, the tray was loaded and Jecca was carrying it into the conservatory, the other two women behind her.

Jecca was thinking hard about what she wanted to do with the playhouse. What if she used dark blue tiles for the roof? Could she incorporate that with pink porch posts? Or should she use natural cedar shingles for the roof? Were they too dark for Nell’s Easter colors?

“Jecca, dear,” Mrs. Wingate said, bringing her back to the present, “when are you going to tell us about you and Tristan?”

Jecca nearly choked on her tea. “I, uh . . .”

“If it’s supposed to be a secret, we’ll mind our own business,” Lucy said, giving Mrs. Wingate a look of reproach.

“In other circumstances, I would agree, but I haven’t seen Tristan so happy in years,” Mrs. Wingate said, her eyes on Jecca.

“He told you about us?”

“No,” Mrs. Wingate said. “But of course I have talked to him and Nell on the telephone. And Addy.”

“And Tristan quit visiting us,” Lucy said, “and you were outside so late every night. It wasn’t a difficult mystery to solve.”

Jecca couldn’t see any reason to keep her and Tristan a secret. “He tripped over me. The night I arrived, before I met either of you, I fell asleep on the chaise, and Tristan ran into the chair and landed on top of me.”

“Oh my!” Lucy said.

“Nothing happened,” Jecca said. “He was a perfect gentleman, but it was startling.”

“Too bad,” Lucy murmured. “Passion in the moonlight would have been nice.”

“There was no moon that night,” Mrs. Wingate said, looking at Jecca in speculation. “Do you think Tristan is handsome?”

Jecca tried to control it, but she could feel her face turning red. “I haven’t seen him. I saw the pictures of him but that’s all.”

Neither Lucy nor Mrs. Wingate said a word. They just leaned back in their chairs, teacups in hand, and gave Jecca a look that said she
had
to tell the story.

Twenty minutes later, the plates had been cleared of food and Jecca had told them everything. Or most of it, anyway. She left out the kissing parts.

“How interesting,” Mrs. Wingate said.

“How romantic,” Lucy said.

“So now Addy has asked me to oversee the renovation of the playhouse. She said some man is going to call me. I don’t remember his name, but his grandfather built the playhouse.”

“Bill Welsch,” Mrs. Wingate said, and her face seemed to drain of color. She looked like she might faint.

“Did I say something wrong?” Jecca asked.

“No, of course not,” Mrs. Wingate said as she stood up. Her hands were shaking as she began clearing the table.

Jecca looked at Lucy in question, but she merely shrugged. She also had no idea what was going on.

By the time Lucy and Jecca got to the kitchen, Mrs. Wingate seemed to have recovered enough that she was encouraging Jecca to take on the repair of the playhouse. “Tristan has been meaning to get it done, but he’s not had the time.” She looked at her wa {kedon the rtch. “Speaking of which, I need to get back to the shop to relieve my helper.” She hurried out the door.

Jecca looked at Lucy. “Was it my imagination or did she . . .”

“Get upset at the mention of that man?”

The two women looked at each other.

“I’ll ask Tristan,” Jecca said, “then I’ll tell you.”

“Right,” Lucy said. “And I’ll tell you what I find out.” They went up the stairs and back to work.

By dinner, Jecca had four possible paint schemes for the playhouse done, and there were three more in her head. Lucy said she would make the evening meal, so Jecca went back to her drawing board. But then she remembered that she hadn’t talked to her father in days, so she called him. Besides, he was the person she most wanted to tell about being given a job to renovate a building.

As soon as she heard his voice, she knew he was down in the dumps—and she knew the cause: the Sheila War. “She’s driving me crazy,” Joe Layton said. “Sheila wants to start selling curtains. In
my
store! She has an aunt that makes them in her basement, and they know where to order more of the things.”

He made it sound as though Sheila wanted to sell narcotics along with the screwdrivers. Truthfully, Jecca thought that diversifying the inventory sounded like a great idea, but she wasn’t about to tell her father so. He’d only listen to new ideas when he was relaxed and in a good mood—which wasn’t now. Sheila was a “confronter.” If someone said something she didn’t like, she confronted them. Jecca had seen Sheila stand up to men twice her size without any fear. Jecca liked that characteristic in her sister-in-law except when the man was her father. “So maybe—” Jecca began with caution.

“So help me, if you say I should sell curtains in my
hardware
store, I’ll put your cell number on your high school’s Web site. You’ll get calls from that Lawrence kid that used to follow you around.”

“Dad, you can be really cruel,” she said, but she was glad he was coming down from his anger. “Want to hear about what I’ve been doing?”

“Sure. Anything to take my mind off your brother’s wife. If she weren’t the mother of my grandkids I’d tell Joey to get rid of her.”

“It wouldn’t work. Joey’s mad about her,” Jecca said.

“You’re probably right. So tell me how many paintings you’ve done. You get those ads completed for Kim?”

“Actually,” Jecca began, “I haven’t painted any of them.”

“Why not? You decide to become one of those kids that don’t finish projects?”

“Dad, I’m not a kid and right now I’m thinking about what to do. I have a lot of choices. Are you going to quit taking your Sheila anger out on me and listen or not?”

“Okay, I’ll quit. What are you doing?”

Jecca paused for drama, then spoke slowly. “I have been given the job of renovating a playhouse built in the 1920s.” As she’d hoped, her father was speechless for a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, then told him about the little building and how it was next door to Mrs. Wingate’s house, and that the owner had asked her to oversee the project, especially the painting.

“How much will they pay you?”

“Nothing! Is money all you can think about? I’m doing this for a friend.”

“I thought your only friend in that little nowhere town was Kim. Is it her playhouse?”

“No, but it belongs to her cousin.”

“So charge her money. Don’t give your talent away.”

“Him. A him owns the playhouse.”

“Oh,” Joe said. “So now we’re getting to the bottom of this. It’s a him. And he’s got kids?”

Jecca put her head back and closed her eyes for a moment. She didn’t know how he’d done it, but her father had yet again found out what she didn’t want him to know. “Dad . . .” she said, then shook her head.

“What? A father can’t ask questions? Who is this man? He’s married with kids and he’s asking you to run around in a pair of shorts in the woods and paint his playhouse? Sounds fishy to me.”

Once again her father was making her defend her actions. “He’s the town doctor, he’s thirty-four years old, never been married, and the child is his niece. Happy now?”

“Better,” Joe said. “So what’s he doing giving a job like that to a girl?”

“Because I’m
qualified
!” she said in exasperation. “That’s why. Dad, you’re making me crazy.”

“Just taking care of you, that’s all. You’re turning down a paying job for Kim to work for free on some guy’s playhouse, so I worry, that’s all.”

Jecca silently shook her head. It was better to change the subject. “Want to hear about my roommates? They’re teaching me to pole dance.”

“What?! Do they know you’re working for some guy that’s never been married?”

Jecca threw up her hand. How could her father make never having been married sound bad? “Dad, so help me . . .”

“Okay, so tell me how you’re going to start a new career of stripping for men who own playhouses.”

It was a while before she could get off the phone to him and she promised to send him photos and copies of her sketches. “Get Sheila to show you how to retrieve an e-mail,” Jecca said.

“I know all about e-mails,” he said. “I guess this playhouse means you won’t be coming home any time soon.”

“Not for a while, but Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too,” she said, smiling.

“Yeah,” he said in a gruff voice, then hung up.

As she clicked off, she frowned. He really did sound miserable. She heard Lucy calling from downstairs, and she went down to dinner.