“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she cried, pulling her covers up to her neck.
He still had on his deep tan corduroys and black turtleneck and he lifted his book to show her as he went around the room, turning off all the lights but the floor lamp in the turret.
She watched as he settled in one of the chairs there, rested his feet on the ottoman, opened his book and, eyes on the pages, he murmured, “Go to sleep, Julia.”
She stared at him dumbfounded because he knew she was frightened and, in knowing, did something about it.
Julia felt her stomach clench, again not unpleasantly, as she watched Douglas read.
Then, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she set aside her own book, cuddled into the pillows and, for once, did exactly as he commanded.
Chapter Twelve
Thanksgiving
Douglas felt the smart, strategic thing to do was leave her room before she woke.
What he wanted to do was take off his clothes and join her in bed.
He didn’t often ignore his instincts when it came to strategy thus, as hard as it was, sometime after he heard her breath even, he turned out the light and sought his own bed.
He didn’t, however, do this before he silently approached her and watched her sleep. Pulling her heavy, soft hair away from her face to bear witness to the fact that Julia was just as beautiful unconscious as she was when she was conscious. Then he turned out the light and went to his rooms.
Breakfast, they had been told in advance, was the beginning of the festival of food that Thanksgiving Thursday would be. Julia was up and in the kitchens by the time he finished his morning run and arrived at the breakfast table, Oliver, Sam, Monique and Ruby already there. Just as he was taking his seat at the head of the table, Charlie wandered in from the kitchen, looking harassed, wearing an apron and sporting a smudge of flour on her face as she announced, “The girl is a lunatic. The entire Black Watch couldn’t eat all that food.”
Just then, Veronika shooed in a tired Lizzie and Will while Mrs. Kilpatrick and Julia brought in stacks of pancakes, platters of scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, hash browns, jugs of syrup and, in the middle of the table, Julia set down an enormous coffee cake.
“Dig in, folks,” Julia announced, taking what had naturally, over the weeks, become her place at Douglas’s left side while Monique sat across from her on his right (the table was far too long for Douglas to take the head and Monique to take the foot).
Douglas saw his mother stare at all the food in disgust but everyone tore into it like they’d been starved for months, especially the children.
“Tell us the story of Thanksgiving, Auntie Jewel.”
This, Douglas heard with surprise, came from Lizzie.
He’d taken special care with Lizzie, not because he wanted to, but because Julia wished it. It wasn’t the easiest task he’d undertaken, facing the grieving twelve year old image of his sister, the sister who, at that age (especially at that age) was the only one who fought his losing corner.
But Lizzie had responded to him immediately and he found she was not at all like his cheerful, bright-eyed, romantic sister.
The depth of pain and feeling in her eyes matched what he saw in her aunt’s and that he found, albeit contradictorily, was far easier to handle.
Furthermore, he came to the uneasy realisation that he enjoyed her response and, watching the despair that clung to her like an aura slowly disappear, further was pleased to know he had a hand in it.
“The true Thanksgiving story is hogwash,” Julia told the stunned table. “Something about pilgrims and Indians and bounty. I don’t know. It’s all perverse considering the pilgrims most likely murdered the Indians after supper.”
Monique gasped in outraged horror (something she seemed to be doing a lot lately and, Douglas thought cynically, had nearly perfected). Ruby, however, giggled excitedly. Will muttered, “Wicked,” not at his aunt’s words but that she was so blunt at telling the truth and, more than likely, outraging his grandmother for whom, Douglas had grown to understand, none of the children cared much (and he didn’t blame them).
“Thanksgiving is just a day to be thankful, for your family, your friends, who…” Julia went on, turning to Charlotte, “are the family you choose for yourself.” Julia took in the table at large and continued. “The food is just celebration. This afternoon, when we get dinner,” she told the children, “you’ll all need to think of something you’re thankful for and if you feel like it, you can tell the whole table.”
“I know what I’m thankful for!” Ruby shouted.
“I know I’d be thankful if you’d quit shouting,” Lizzie pit in and at that, Julia turned her startled, pleased eyes to Douglas.
When she did, he felt his chest tightening at her bright-eyed look and he had to stop himself from touching her flushed cheek. The scene which would ensue from a gesture such as that as witnessed by Monique would kill the moment and, Douglas found, he very much liked the moment.
Further, he didn’t want the children aware of his plans until Julia had firmly agreed to them. He’d promised Julia that.
Tearing his gaze away from Julia, Douglas saw Ruby poke her tongue out and Lizzie.