The Spirits of Christmas Read Free

boy.
    Rose shook her head. “He can’t hear us,” she said quietly. “Seeing
us will pass, probably soon.”
    “Yike da fyower?” he asked.
    Akira nodded.
    “She’s pwettier dan dem,” he said. “She should be a daisy.”
    Rose laughed and patted her blonde hair. “Tell him roses
smell better,” she suggested to Akira, before blowing a kiss to the boy.
    Akira passed along the message as the boy’s mother came back
into the room, a teapot in one hand, and the handles of two mugs looped around
her other index finger.
    Hannah snorted. “Not even a tray. And she’ll chip the dishes
carrying them like that.”
    “Do you take milk or lemon?” The woman asked.
    “Black is fine,” Akira responded as the woman set the pot on
the table. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
    “No.” The woman put the mugs down with a slight clatter. “Is
it that obvious?”
    “Southerners think tea is a cold drink with lots of ice and
lots of sweetener,” Akira answered her. Drat. She’d guessed as much already,
but if the woman had been a local, telling her the truth—that her house was haunted
by an unfriendly ghost—might have worked.
    “Is that what you wanted?” About to sit down, the woman
paused, looking dismayed. “I can get some ice.”
    “No, no.” Akira shook her head. “I’m not from here, either.
I like my tea hot.”
    “Oh, where are you from?” Within seconds, they’d introduced
themselves and were chatting, about the south, about Tassamara, about babies. The
woman, Nora, was friendly but reticent. She seemed eager to talk about the town,
reluctant to reveal anything about herself.
    “So how did you know I was pregnant?” Nora finally asked.
    Akira blinked, not sure what to say.
    “Oh, she thinks you came by to meet her because you’re both
having babies. That would have been right nice of you,” Rose said, nodding approval.
    “Meredith mentioned it.” Akira felt her cheeks turning pink
at the lie. She leaned forward, setting her half-empty mug on the table.
    “Meredith?” Nora questioned, taking a sip of her tea, long
brown fingers wrapped around her mug.
    “Your realtor?”
    Nora shook her head.
    “Did you work with someone else from her office?” Akira’s
voice didn’t squeak. In fact, she was pleased with herself for the calmness of
her response.  
    “I didn’t work with anyone,” Nora said, frowning.
    “How did you rent the house?” Oh, dear. Akira felt like she
was digging a hole, deeper and deeper. Lying was always such a bad idea.
Avoiding tricky questions worked so much better.
    “I . . . know the owner.” Nora’s words were careful, but
Akira noticed how her fingers had tightened on the mug.
    Akira lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I guess I just
assumed,” she said quickly. “It’s such a small town. Everyone knows everything.
Have you had a chance to try the bistro yet?”
    Nora’s eyes were wary. “No, we haven’t gotten out much.”
    Toby had been leaning against her leg, listening to the
conversation and watching Akira with a curiosity that she had been trying to
ignore. Nora put a gentle hand on his head, stroking the dark fuzz as if it
soothed her.
    “Maggie’s a wonderful cook. She makes incredible eggplant
parmesan.”
    Nora’s answering murmur was noncommittal. She lifted her mug
to her lips.
    “Good waffles, too,” Akira added with a smile directed at
Toby.
    “She know da mean yady. And da pwetty yady. Da pwetty yady’s
named aftah a fwower.” Toby suddenly volunteered.
    Nora’s mug jerked convulsively. “Is that what you were
talking about?” she asked with pretended ease.
    “Uh-huh.” Toby looked up at his mother. “Da mean yady hit
heah and it hurt,” he said in a whisper so loud that Akira was sure it could be
heard down the street.
    “Okay.” Nora smiled down at him. But her eyes, when she
raised them to Akira, shot daggers. “Why don’t you go find your trains,
darling? I think Edward might have been in that last box I