fountain and the charms bestowed on his descendants. Will and Gracie didn’t seem to know about the Cassidy magic, though I wasn’t sure how that was possible. It seemed to be the talk of the town.
“Now, if only we could find where Meemaw hid the treasure Butch sent Cressida,” Mama muttered so only I could hear.
I shushed her with a finger to my lips and turned to help Will with the shelf. I held one end of the broken piece of furniture, helping lower it to its side.
It suddenly dawned on me that having Miriam and Will in the same room might not be a good thing, but there was nothing to be done about it now. I sat at my machine, working on the pleating on Josie’s bodice. Sewing the bodice to the skirt would feel like a victory, one I hoped to reach by tonight.
Just as we all settled into a groove, the kitchen door banged against the wall as someone flung it open. “Just me and the chickens!”
Nana, come to join the fun.
Gracie looked up from her hemming, leaning to the right to see beyond the French doors. “The chickens?”
I laughed. “We only have to worry if she says, ‘It’s me and the goats’!”
Nana had ditched her boots at the kitchen door and padded into the workroom in her blindingly white socks. Her ability to keep them looking brand-new was one of her many mysterious talents. “I put some cheese in the fridge. Crackers are out on the table,” she said.
“What’d you bring?” Mama asked. “Not more of that papaya chevre, I hope.”
Nana sniffed indignantly. “That papaya chevre won an award at the Festival of Cheese in Austin last year.”
Mama draped one arm over the back of her chair. “Yes, I’m aware of that, but you know I’d rather eat dirt than that particular cheese.”
Nana blew a raspberry through her lips. “You’re not the only one here, Tessa Cassidy, and not everyone likes the cayenne and nuts in the spicy pecan—”
She noticed Will crouched in front of the sideways shelf and jabbed her finger at him. “You. I helped you with a stubborn doe.” It sounded like an accusation.
I could see him working hard not to laugh. “Yes, ma’am, you did.”
“Good. Right. I never forget a goat. Maggie Sue.”
“Yes, ma’am. She’s my neighbor’s goat.”
“Maggie Sue took a vacation from her life that day. We humans like to go on vacation. A nice trip to Corpus Christi or Padre Island? You bet. For a goat? A little R and R and some nibbling on someone else’s grass is all they need.”
“Wow,” Gracie whispered, gazing at Nana like she was a rock star.
My mother leveled a stare at Nana, still harboring some vexation over the goat cheese selection. “You don’t have to bring spicy pecan. The sesame thyme or the fresh herb is fine. Anything but that papaya chevre,” she said.
Nana wagged her finger. “Tessa Cassidy, if you don’t want the cheese I brought, don’t eat it, girl.”
I swallowed a laugh. For a split second, I could see Mama, fifty years younger, a skinny little girl, being scolded by a twenty-five-year-old Coleta Cassidy. Some things never changed. Bickering was sport to them.
Mama huffed, turning back to her seams. “Don’t you fret. I won’t eat it,” she muttered under her breath.
“What kind did you bring, Nana?” I whispered.
She winked, a wicked little smile playing on her lips. “Spicy pecan,” she said so only I could hear, “but I’m gonna let her stew there for a spell. She wouldn’t know exceptional cheese if she sat on it.”
As she poked around the room, looking at the dresses, a wisp of a warm breeze blew over me. I felt Meemaw’s familiar presence. It rustled the skirt of Josie’s gown, then swirled around me, ruffling my hair, wrapping me up like a blanket. Meemaw, Mama, Nana, and I were all here together in the yellow house off the square. It was comforting to be surrounded by family. There was no place I’d rather be, I realized.
The weight of someone’s stare made me look around the workroom. The Singer purred along as Mama finished the seams, her attention utterly focused. Nana stood at the cutting table flipping through my sketchbook, absently oohing and ahhing. Will had a screwdriver plunged into a hole in the bottom of the shelf, wiggling it around like he was digging something out.
That left Gracie . . . I turned and saw her looking around the room, as if she was searching for something, her needle between her thumb and index finger, frozen in midair.
“Gracie?”
She didn’t budge.
I moved toward her, snapping my fingers. “Gracie.”
This time she blinked, back to reality like she’d come out of a trance.
Instantly, Will was by her side.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, but her body twitched with a slight shiver. She looked at the heating vent in the wall. “Did the heater go on?”
My heart stopped, all the breath leaving my body. Had she felt the warmth of Meemaw’s presence? Slowly, I shook my head. “N-no.”
“Huh. I must have imagined it . . .” she said, trailing off. She turned back to the dress form, lifted the hem of the dress, and slid the needle into the fabric.
I watched Gracie, baffled, wondering exactly what she’d felt—and why.
The bells on the front door jingled. I tucked my bewilderment away to think about later as Miriam Kincaid finally walked in, a teenage girl on her heels.
Chapter 36
“I don’t have much time,” Miriam announced before they’d even closed the front door. “This is my daughter. My mother said you’re making her a dress—”
I gaped at the two of them darkening my doorway, stunned into silence.
Before I found my voice and said exactly what I was thinking, Gracie catapulted off the stool, leaving her needle hanging from the hem of Karen’s dress. “Really?” she exclaimed as she hugged Holly. “You’re in the wedding, too?”
Holly Kincaid didn’t look nearly as excited as Gracie. “My grandmother just decided there needed to be a flower girl. Guess who they chose,” she said glumly, flinging her arms wide.
Gracie’s lower lip slipped out in a pout. “But flower girls are little kids.”
Holly slouched against the front door looking like she wished she could just disappear. “Exactly my point.”
“That’s enough,” Miriam said. “We both just have to hush up and make the best of it.” She tossed her coral cashmere cardigan onto the chaise in the seating area, grabbed her daughter by the wrist, and dragged her forward, stopping short when she noticed Will bent over the shelf.
It felt like a junior high moment, full of angst and emotional despair, only I didn’t know if the feelings were Miriam’s . . . or mine.
“Miriam, good to see you,” Will said, nodding at her, then going straight back to work.
“You, too, Will.” No emotion, which was odd considering the history.
So I guess the feelings were mine.
Gracie whirled around, falling into step beside Holly. “Harlow Cassidy,” she said when they passed the French doors, “this is Holly Kincaid. Holly,
I thought I heard Will mutter something, but he was intent on the bottom of the shelf, still working with the screwdriver. Good thing. I didn’t want to know what he was thinking—probably that I was one step away from
