BUT I DIDN’T HEAR FROM THE SHERIFF THE NEXT DAY, AND HE WAS nowhere to be found. Only more hordes of relatives bent on congratulating me. Rumor had it that the missing millions had been found with Samantha, and everyone who’d lost money was going to get it back. My popularity was reaching new heights.
“I’m really tired of being hailed as Yorktown’s answer to Nancy Drew,” I told Michael when he dropped by during his morning walk with Spike.
“Well, you did have her pegged as one of the prime suspects,” he said.
“Yes, but I didn’t find any evidence of anything. I was just mouthing off when I suggested searching her room. And I’m beginning to have serious doubts about whether—”
“Michael!” Dad exclaimed, popping round the corner of the house. “Just the man I was looking for! My wedding present for Margaret should arrive tonight, and I was wondering if you could help me with it?”
“Sure,” Michael said. “How?”
“Well, could we park the truck behind your house so she won’t see it?”
“I don’t see why not,” Michael said, shrugging.
“What kind of truck?” I asked, suspiciously.
“One of your cousin Leon’s trucks,” Dad said.
“We’re talking an eighteen wheeler, then,” I said, looking at Michael.
“As long as it doesn’t block the driveway, I guess it’s fine.”
“And if you’d like to help us put it up tomorrow, you’re welcome,” Dad said. “Mrs. Fenniman is going to go with Margaret to the beauty parlor and then take her to lunch, so as soon as they leave, everyone we can find will be coming over to put it up so it will be there when she comes back.”
“Sure,” Michael said. “Just what will we be putting up?”
“You know how I’ve been trying to get the yard in shape so it will look really nice for the wedding?” Dad said. “Well, I thought of one thing Margaret likes that would make it just perfect, so I called some cousins in South Carolina—”
“Oh, no,” I said.
“And they agreed to help, so I sent our cousin Leon down there with the truck—”
“Dad, do you have any idea how much you can fit into one of those trucks?”
“That’s why I’m getting as many people as possible to put it up, Meg,” Dad said.
“Put what up?” Michael asked.
“Spanish moss.” Dad beamed.
“Spanish moss?” Michael said, incredulous.
“It’s that gray, trailing stuff you see hanging from all the trees in the Deep South,” Dad explained.
“Yes, I know what it is,” Michael said. “You’re having a truckload of Spanish moss brought in as a wedding present?”
“Yes,” Dad said. “Margaret loves it; she says it always makes
her feel she’s living at Tara. Whenever anyone in the family comes up here from further south, or if anyone goes down there to visit, they bring back a little of it.”
“I don’t recall seeing any,” Michael said.
“It doesn’t survive,” I said. “What the cold doesn’t kill in the winter the birds drag away in the spring to make nests.”
“But she thinks it’s so pretty while it lasts,” Dad said. “So I decided just once to drape every tree in the whole yard with the stuff. She’ll love it. I’ll give you a call when the coast is clear. Refreshments for everyone who helps out of course, and you’re already coming to the party Friday, I assume? Oh, and if you have a ladder we could use, that would be splendid. We need all the ladders we can get.”
Dad trotted off happily.
“Unusual sort of wedding present,” Michael remarked.
“It’s damned peculiar to be giving your ex-wife a wedding present to begin with,” I said.
“Do you think she’ll like it?”
“Oh, she’ll adore it. I hope it doesn’t cause trouble with Jake. That is who she’s supposed to be marrying, last time I heard.”
“Just one question,” Michael said. “Why the hell is she marrying Jake?”
When Cousin Leon and the truck finally arrived, Dad came by and dragged me down to Michael’s to inspect the Spanish moss.
“Isn’t it wonderful!” he said. “Now tomorrow, as soon as your mother takes off, we’ll drive the truck over—”
“Er, I can’t stay that long,” Cousin Leon said. “I have to start back tonight. Can’t we just go over and unload it now?”
“No, that would spoil the whole surprise,” Dad protested.
“No way round it,” Leon said, shrugging. “You want us to put it somewhere else?”
Dad thought for a minute.
“Michael,” he began.
“Dad,” I warned.
“It’s no problem,” Michael said. “What can it hurt to have a few piles of Spanish moss in the yard for a few days?”
We all got pitchforks and began unloading the truck. It took three hours, working at top speed. Michael’s mother’s house was painted a cheerful pink and blue—perhaps with leftover paint from the shop? Anyway, by the time we’d finished, Michael’s mother’s house looked like an Easter egg in a bed of excelsior.
“That truck holds a lot more than you’d think,” Dad said, as we waved good-bye to Cousin Leon and stood surveying Mrs. Waterston’s backyard.
“I’ll say,” Michael replied, no doubt wondering whether we’d ever succeed in hauling all of it down to our house and getting it hung up.
“I’ll go call the volunteers,” Dad said. “We’ll all meet at Pam’s house and come down here as soon as Meg calls us to let us know that her mother has gone to the beauty parlor.”
“It’s going to take quite a while,” I said. “Maybe I should arrange with Jake to keep her out all afternoon, too.”
I waited until Mother had settled in for a nice long after-dinner gossip with Mrs. Fenniman and several of the visiting aunts and then snuck down to Jake’s.
I knocked on his door. He opened the door a crack and peered out.
“Yes?”
“It’s Meg.”
“Yes, I see.” He didn’t open the door any wider. I could have told him that he didn’t have to worry, I’d already seen his depleted possessions and his shoddy bachelor housekeeping.
“I was wondering if you could keep Mother away from the house tomorrow afternoon while we hang some Spanish moss in the backyard.”
It took quite a while to explain it to him, and at the end, I still
wasn’t sure he believed me. What if Dad’s idea of a wedding present made him think we were too crazy to cope with? What if he called off the wedding?
Well, I could always hope.