Chapter 18
Scoot’s office was lit dramatically by a variety of lamps, most notably by one that sat on the edge of a burled, inlaid wood desk. It was small and bronze and sprouted four lily-shaped lights. Ingrid smiled at the sight of it. There was one just like it in her house.
The girls sat as Scoot settled herself behind the desk, glasses perched on her nose, and examined her calendar.
“I’ve blocked out next month for you, Ingrid.
I’ve also set out wallpaper books and paint samples on the tables in the showroom.
We’ll have a look at those later. I just wanted to get an idea of your color scheme. ”
“My …” Ingrid was starting to feel a rising panic, a sort of whirlwind in her chest.
“Color scheme.” Scoot enunciated the words slowly like Ingrid’s ears weren’t working properly.
Sailor leaned forward. “Mother, I wonder if Ingrid might like to stick with the palette her grandmother already had for the house.” She sent Ingrid a sympathetic smile. “I know how important it is to you to remain connected to Edie. To feel her presence.”
Ingrid gulped, nodding. “I don’t mind if you change the colors, though.” She glanced at the lily lamp. “I like the colors in that lamp. We actually have one like it in our sitting room.”
Scoot laughed gaily. “Oh my dear. No, you don’t.”
Ingrid eyed her. “We do.”
Scoot lifted her eyebrows. She spoke slowly and deliberately. “That’s a Louis Comfort Tiffany. It’s made with Favrile glass that’s over a hundred years old.”
The room seemed to suddenly drop in temperature. Beside her, Sailor stilled.
Scoot sucked in her already perfectly hollowed cheeks. “This lamp is a collector’s item, an extremely rare example of the early-twentieth century work, worth at least twenty thousand—”
“Mother,” Sailor said quickly. “Maybe it’s a place to start.” She turned to Ingrid. “Is your lamp green, too?”
Ingrid nodded.
Sailor fixed her mother with a hard, purposeful look. “Well, then, there we are. We’ll start with that green. Let’s go look at those books.”
Two hours later, Ingrid was limp with exhaustion and her head throbbed. She had never felt so completely out of her element. Making decisions about things she’d never had the luxury to consider her opinions about was overwhelming.
Thank goodness for Sailor, who noticed how lost she was and jumped in, assuring Ingrid they’d only tackle the main floor and save the bedrooms for later.
She proceeded to pick out wallpapers, paint colors, fabric for curtains, and a select few pieces of furniture as well as a whole new collection of kitchen appliances.
When Ingrid and Sailor finally left, Scoot promised that when everything arrived, she would personally supervise the installation.
On the way back to Ingrid’s house, her stomach pitched like a ship at sea. She tried not to think about having Scoot Loeffler in her home. Or the cost of all the new items.
“All that stuff,” Ingrid said to Sailor. “It’s so pretty, but I’m worried it’s too expensive.”
“It’s not.”
“Come on, Sailor. I couldn’t afford anything out of that shop.”
Sailor’s jaw clenched. “It’s my money, my trust. And I can do whatever I want to with it. I don’t care what Mom thinks. If Dad thinks I don’t have any business sense …” Sailor pointed a finger at her. “You, Ingrid White, are good business. That much I know.”
Sailor stared ahead with an expression Ingrid couldn’t decipher. Ingrid was afraid, suddenly, that Sailor was angry with her.
“Do you know,” Sailor said abruptly in a soft voice, “before the party the other night, I gave my bridesmaids their gifts. These really great Olivia von Halle crêpe de chine robes …”
Another brand name Ingrid had never heard of.
“The robes were monogrammed and came with these little room sprays I had created especially for each of them. You know, Poppy likes rosemary, Madeline likes citrus, and Calla likes vetiver …” She was getting a faraway look in her blue eyes, that Ingrid had come to recognize as a self-protective measure.
“Sailor?”
Sailor dabbed under her eyes. “It’s silly, I know. I was scrolling Instagram and there was Poppy’s younger sister, Freya, in a reel she’d made. She was dancing around, doing a makeup tutorial or something, and she was wearing the robe. Poppy’s robe.”
Ingrid frowned.
“Poppy regifted my bridesmaid’s gift, like only hours after I gave it to her. I mean, maybe she didn’t like the color or the fit. I get that—”
“Sailor,” Ingrid said vehemently, “you shouldn’t excuse her behavior. It was rude. Inconsiderate.”
Sailor looked on the verge of tears. “I shouldn’t care so much.”
“She’s your best friend. Your maid of honor. Of course you care.”
That faraway look again. “They’re all just so … different with me now.” She ducked her chin. “Since I met Jude, since we got serious, it’s like … they’re angry with me. Distant. Cold, I don’t know.”
“Jealous is the word you’re looking for, I think.”
“No. Why would they be jealous?”
Ingrid started to laugh, then realized, with a jolt, that Sailor was being entirely sincere. Her lovely face held an expression of true confoundment.
“Sailor,” Ingrid said carefully. “A lot of people wish they had what you have … or that you didn’t have what you have. People can be really uncharitable that way.”
Now Sailor did laugh, but it was a rueful one. “I know I seem oblivious, but I know who I am, Ingrid. I know what I was born with: money, status, my mother’s bone structure.”
Ingrid grinned.
“But I can’t apologize for who I am, can I?”
“No. You should never apologize.”
“And I try to do the right thing. I do try to help people when I can.” At this she looked at Ingrid.
Ingrid felt her face redden.
“That came out wrong,” Sailor said quickly. “I don’t mean to imply that you need my help.”
“But I do need your help, don’t I?” Ingrid said. “I mean, let’s not pretend. I was about to lose my house. Lose everything my grandmother left me, including my business. Then you came along.”
Sailor’s eyes lit up. “No, Ingrid. You came along for me. I can’t explain it, but from the moment I came into your house … into that room … from the moment you took my hand, I felt like I finally had someone who believed in me.”
Ingrid thought of the night of the party in Rill’s study.
What he had told her about Edie. First person who ever believed in me.
Almost identical words to what Sailor had just said.
Was it just fate that the past was repeating itself this way?
Or had Edie somehow made it happen, made the threads of the two families intersect again?
They crossed Drayton, almost back to Ingrid’s house.
“I really appreciate you, Ingrid,” Sailor said. “I hope you don’t mind me saying that.”
“I appreciate you, too,” Ingrid replied, meaning it with her whole heart and feeling more hope than she’d felt in years. “There’s just one thing …” She stopped at her front steps.
Sailor raised her eyebrows.
“There is something I want to do for you.”
“You’ve done plenty.”
“Okay, but just tell me—what was the name of the designer you wanted? For your third dress?”
Sailor threw back her head and laughed. “Oh my gosh, Ingrid. My mother is not going to believe this. I love you, you know that?”
When Sailor had gone, Ingrid dug up Edie’s wedding veil and went down to her altar room. She smudged the room, cast her circle, called the corners, then laid the veil, brittle and yellow with age, on her altar.
She summoned Edie, summoned the light and the Goddess, ignoring the shame.
Maybe she was going too far, sacrificing Edie’s veil, but it felt like a worthy gift to offer in exchange for all Sailor had done for her.
She’d actually said she loved Ingrid. Loved her.
Even if she’d only meant it in a joking way, it meant something.
She lit a match and set fire to the edge of the veil. For maybe the first time in her life, Ingrid felt no doubt in the power that was coursing through her. She closed her eyes, letting one name take over her consciousness.
Marcella.
But something was off. Another name, unfamiliar to her, kept overshadowing the first. She opened her eyes, searching for something more. The meaning behind the other name. Who in the world was Louise?
She shut her eyes again, the smell of burnt tulle filling her nose. It didn’t matter. Her job was to go with whatever the Goddess put before her. To dive in, just like she’d done at Sailor’s reading. Like she’d done when she called in the jade flowers and the harpist.
All she had to do was trust what she’d been taught by her grandmother, what she’d known and believed in the core of her soul since she was six years old. What could be simpler than that?
The magic was just waiting to be harnessed.
“Louise,” she whispered. “I gather you, I gather you, I gather you …”