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“That’s just silly—” she starts to object, but Brielle surprises her by speaking up.
“That’s an excellent idea,” Brielle says. “You shouldn’t be alone, Daph. Even with all the protection spells in the world. We’ve learned the hard way that this maniac can manipulate and worm his way in where he’s not wanted. It will make me feel so much better if Jackson sticks close.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Daphne mutters, but she doesn’t argue. “Fine. You can be the muscle of the operation today. Some heavy pieces came in that I want on the showroom floor.”
“It’s always my pleasure to be the brawn to your brains.”
Daphne rolls her eyes, and Lucien laughs.
“It’s settled then,” Millie says.
* * *
“I want that planter over there,” Daphne says, pointing at the far end of the showroom. “By the window.”
The damn thing is made of cement and has to weigh a hundred pounds.
“Don’t you have a dolly?”
“I can help,” she offers, but I wave her away.
“Never mind, I have it.”
I muscle it over to the spot she pointed out and then wipe my brow with my forearm. “Why don’t you have employees?”
“No need.” She shrugs and then taps her lips with a forefinger as if she’s contemplating relocating the planter.
“It stays,” I say. “It looks great.”
“Fine. I don’t have employees because they’d just ask a bunch of questions that I don’t like answering. And from the experiences I’ve had, they’re not reliable.”
“What if you’re sick? Or on vacation?”
“Then I close the shop. But I’m rarely sick, and I don’t take vacations.”
I stare at her as she checks a spreadsheet on her clipboard. “You’re kidding me.”
“About what?”
“No vacations? What kind of fresh hell is that?”
She just laughs. “I like what I do, Jack. I don’t need a vacation from it. Besides, where would I go? And with whom? My sisters don’t travel. And you know I’m more comfortable surrounded by things I know. I’d hate to sit in an airplane and feel the grief of the person who sat there before me because they were on their way to a funeral. It’s best if I stay put.”
“You have shields against those things,” I remind her.
“Most of the time.” She checks something off on her list and then changes the subject. “Okay, now I need to shift these couches. I want to move different ones over here so they can be seen through the front window.”
We spend the next hour moving furniture. Watching her work is fascinating.
“How are you protecting yourself right now?” I ask. “How are you not feeling a flood of emotions? You’ve touched at least a dozen antiques in the past fifteen minutes alone.”
“I’ve learned to reach out with just a thread in my mind. If it’s an unfamiliar piece, I send out a little thread to see if there is any malicious intent in it. Nine times out of ten, there isn’t, and then I touch it and see its history.”
“What about that one time out of ten?”
“I wrap it back up and return it to where it came from.”
“Good girl.”
She opens a crate, and her eyes dilate for a moment. She must be sending that thread inside to examine the items.
She squeals with glee and pulls out a child’s rocking horse.
“Oh, this is just lovely.” She caresses the painted wood of the horse’s muzzle and along the saddle. “What a fun piece. This was gifted to a little girl in 1933 outside of Atlanta. She loved horses, but her parents couldn’t afford a real one, so they gave her this for her birthday. She played on it for years.”
Her expression falls.
“But she died when she was nine. Polio. They put the toy up in an attic and the family forgot about it until they cleaned the house out a few months ago to sell.”
“And now it can bring another child some joy.”
Her smile slips easily back into place, and my heart shifts.
“Oh, I hope so. I sincerely hope so. Let’s put it in the window, shall we?”
“Your wish is my command.”
I carry the horse to the platform in the window and set it next to an old baby carriage.
“Where did this come from?” I ask, testing out the wheels as I roll it back and forth.
“Idaho,” Daphne says. “It’s from 1910. It’s really too old to use for a baby now, but I thought it would make a great photography prop or something for someone. It once held twins.”
“They must have been tiny. This thing isn’t big.”
“They were tiny,” she agrees with a soft smile. “And very loved.”
“How do you do this?”
Her eyes meet mine. “How can I not? Everything I’ve told you is happy.”
“But it’s all about people who’ve died.”
“Death is a part of life, Jackson. You know that better than anyone. Besides, all of these items brought people immense joy. I want to pass that on to someone else.”
