17. Deck the Walls
Chapter 17
Deck the Walls
I s it weird that I’m nervous about Maddock coming home? If I were a normal person, no, not at all. Having butterflies about a guy is perfectly acceptable.
But I’m me. Honey Hamilton. Pancake Queen and Independent Girl Boss.
But that’s just it.
All this time, I’ve been thinking like a girl and not a woman. A mature adult would realize that it’s okay to sometimes ask for help and receive it. I can be strong but don’t need to seize and hold on to my so-called independence with a death grip at the cost of relationships with people who truly want to help. Meanwhile, I’ve been pushing everyone away or making them feel bad about their generosity.
I’m not generally one to make New Year’s resolutions, but I have a list already and it includes being a better recipient of people’s kindness. As soon as the restaurant gets out of the red, I plan on hosting a big ’ole crawfish foodie fry like the Guidrys used to do before George and Lucille started playing cards with my mother.
But first, Christmas.
Before the storm that moved Leonie and me into this house, Maddock had done a decent job ridding the chateau of dust and grime. Aside from me rescuing those boxes he was going to donate, anything moldering or covered in mildew was brought to the landfill.
However, a couple of weeks ago, I heard a suspicious sound from downstairs. With a frying pan in hand in case I needed to defend myself, I uncovered Minou clawing at the wall. Chances are we have a rodent problem rather than an intruder, but I’ll let Maddock deal with that when he gets here.
The next morning, she was still at it and had left scratch marks all over the wood baseboard. When I tried to rub them out, a strip of beveled baseboard indented like a piano key. I uncovered another secret built into this house.
After fiddling with it, pulling, pushing, and twisting, I realized it was a latch and opened a little hatch in the wall. Inside was barely a crawlspace, but reaching inside like the scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, instead of bugs and creepy crawlies, I discovered a cache of Christmas decorations.
However, I still can’t figure out how to get to it because it’s so small—big enough for a cat or a bunny to crawl through. I don’t know if someone plastered over a larger opening or how they got in there, but I’ve been trying to puzzle out how to get them out without using a sledgehammer.
In Louisiana, it’s rare for houses, even chateaus, to have a basement so I can’t go under. Given my experience in the secret passages of this house, none of them lead to the Christmas treasure in that particular spot.
With Maddock on his way, I’m desperate to dig them out because the good news I was going to share with him was that I got a Christmas tree—but my decorations were destroyed in the storm. I wanted to surprise him by having the chateau decorated for the holidays, but with the clock ticking and my bank account barely covering the restaurant expenses this month, I can’t head over to the This & That for holiday décor, not even at a rock bottom bargain.
Especially not when I know there is a huge vintage collection buried in the wall. It’s been bothering me and short of demolition, I’m at a loss for what to do.
Yes, I’m obsessed because the clock is ticking.
During Leonie’s bath, I make up a silly song about how she’s going to see Maddock the next day. My rhymes are terrible, but I almost refer to him as Daddy twice because it kind of rhymes with happy.
I abruptly go quiet, startled by the notion while she kicks her feet and smiles. Her face turns serious in my silence. I change the word to crawdaddy , which is even less of a rhyme.
“What is wrong with me?” I ask in nearly a whisper.
The truth settles on the surface like the bubbles in the baby tub. Part of me wishes that Maddock was Leonie’s father—that we were a family.
“Who am I and what happened to Honey?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Leonie roars with joy and claps her hands together.
“I’m your mommy, that’s who,” I say, continuing her bath and my silly song.
After bedtime, I decide to make one last attempt at getting to the Christmas decorations. I imagine Eloise put them there, but how? If I were a well-to-do housewife in the early twentieth century with a penchant for pie and porcelain pigs, why would I hide my Christmas decorations in the wall? I learned about the pie from her cookbook and the pigs when I found some from her collection back in the day when I’d sneak around at my mother’s behest.
The answer escapes me ... unless she didn’t hide the decorations. Maybe it was Hogan.
Questions circle my mind like the sugarplums dancing in Leonie’s dreams.
There is a chance that Hogan stashed them after his wife’s passing. Maybe the decorations were a difficult reminder of losing Eloise. To a lesser degree, I know the feeling.
I keep most thoughts about Cory under lock and key. Even though we weren’t married, up until he left for military service, I thought he was the one. Maddock and I met in much the same way. Only, we didn’t damage each other’s cars. Maybe this bodes well for us ... for me to have a second chance at true love.
As I pad through the quiet house, filled with old memories and antiques and mixed with our newer belongings, I realize that I’ve been living in the past and telling myself I wasn’t hurt while fighting against the present because I’ve carried all that pain and loss with me.
Time to let go, no?
Maybe Hogan had a similar thought and the only way for him to do so was to hide it out of sight. He must’ve known every inch, secret space, and passage in this place. I catalog what I know about him and repeatedly return to gambling. But that can’t have anything to do with Christmas decorations, can it?
Given the notes in the cookbook, he had a big appetite and enjoyed Eloise’s chicken pot pie, corn fritters, and apple tart. But he liked gambling more.
I repeatedly return to this and question whether it’s stuck in my craw because of my mother or for some other reason. But what?
Awash in thought, I pad from the parlor to the dining room with the rotating shelf before arriving in the hall off the gathering room.
It’s a cool night and the chateau is drafty. Maddock’s improvements were mainly cosmetic, but if he—er, we?—plan to live here, we’ll need some insulation and new windows. The curtains move, making me think of ghosts.
I whisper, “This place isn’t haunted.”
As if in response, the wind blows a long oooooooh outside.
Spooked, my goosebumps turn into ghoul-bumps. At this rate, I won’t be able to fall asleep. I could be restless in bed, wondering or I could check one last thing ...
Preparing myself with a deep breath, once in the secret passage, I shine my cell phone’s light up, down, and all around. Then I look up again. The ceiling is low, lower than the floor above would be. I poke at it, thinking maybe it’s false like the drop ceiling in the kitchen, but all I hear is squeaking and skittering as if I just interrupted someone’s slumber.
Yep, rodents.
I retrace the steps Maddock and I took when I showed him the passageway. Half expecting to see our footprints, the wooden floor is streaked with dust.
“Minou, where are you?” I whisper.
Hopefully, I’m not dealing with anything larger than a mouse.
I try to picture the layout of the chateau and where I am in relation to the hidden stashing place containing the Christmas decorations. I’ve been back here once already but can’t find a way to get to them.
From above comes a creaking sound. I go still. The hairs on the back of my neck and arms lift. I listen. I don’t hear Leonie on the baby monitor and the alarm system is armed. Must be the cat.
“Just keep telling yourself that,” I mutter.
Then I look up at the shadows I’m making with my light. I swallow thickly then tilt my head to the side. Huh.
Coated in cobwebs, I spot something I’ve never before noticed gleaming from the flashlight.
It’s the handle attached to a sliding drop ladder.
I tug at it, hoping to pull it down, but it’s rusted in place. Propping up my phone so I can see, I reach for the highest rung I can and then using the wall, walk myself up so I’m perched at the bottom. From my weight, the thing abruptly drops a few feet and my stomach whooshes. I let out a stifled shriek, not wanting to wake the baby.
“Sorry, sweetie. Mommy is in the wall. Don’t mind me. Nothing to see here,” I mutter the last part, having sworn off creeping around like this years ago, well, until Maddock came along.
It was easier to show him my old life than to tell him.
I climb the rest of the ladder and reach the rafters ... to one side is a crude plaster ramp that’s the reverse of the staircase. Shining the light, I follow its glow and see that it leads to the Christmas decorations. Excitement rushes through me.
It’s arduous, but I start to haul the boxes out one by one. Why on earth Eloise or Hogan did this, I may never know, but I feel like I struck gold, er, treasure. However, some of the boxes are incredibly heavy and I have to push them up the ramp.
With the last one remaining, I’m nearly done when I hear another strange sound. It’s a splitting noise, kind of like ice cracking or paper ripping.
Then, with a crash, I slide down the ramp to the bottom. It broke, taking my phone with it in the debris. My backside and pride are already sore. But now it’s official. I need help.
And fast because I can’t have Leonie wake up and for me not to be there.
Without a ladder or something to hold on to, I can’t climb out of here. I start to stack the pieces of the ramp on top of the last box, hoping I can jump up into the rafters when another sound stops me in my tracks.
The goosebumps return because there’s nothing else for me to fall through ... and I’m not alone. But I don’t think it’s Minou or a mouse. A tingle runs up my spine.
Someone is outside.