In Your Dreams

One night after such an attack, Jack grabbed the cat by the scruff and tossed her into the basement. “Jack!” Hadley yelped, clutching her bleeding hand. “She’s just an innocent animal!”

However, Hadley had no such sympathy for Lazarus.

“Can’t Prudence take him?” she asked one night. Her own cat was draped across her lap like roadkill, peaceful (until she decided to turn homicidal).

“He’s not the problem cat here, babe,” he said.

“I just think Princess Anastasia would be happier if that thing wasn’t around, spooking her. Wouldn’t you, Princess? You want that ugly ole thing to go live with Prudence?”

“Hadley. He’s not going anywhere.”

She stared at Lazarus, who was crouched under the coffee table, making his weird gacking sound. “He’s disgusting, Jack.”

“Hey,” Jack said, grinning as he poured more wine for his bride. “I love that disgusting cat. He’s got character. And, yes, he’s ugly. But so am I, and you love me.”

“Jack,” she said. “You’re gorgeous and you know it.”

She kissed him then. But she didn’t warm up to Lazarus.

One night about a month after they’d returned from their honeymoon, Hadley invited the whole clan for “a genuine Southern dinner.” Honor, Pru, Carl, Ned and Abby, Dad, Mrs. Johnson, Goggy and Pops all arrived at once. Even Faith was home from San Francisco, and Jack was pouring the Half-Moon pinot gris they’d bottled four months ago.

“The house looks gorgeous,” Faith said, and Hadley beamed.

She’d spent the whole day getting ready, setting the table with their wedding china, making place cards with her calligraphy pen, arranging flowers. Hadley had sworn she didn’t want him to do anything for the dinner, and he’d been busy with some early harvesting, so he didn’t know what she’d cooked. She fluttered around like a tiny bird, seeming even smaller standing by Jack’s sturdy sisters.

They drank wine and chatted and all was fine and good until they sat down to eat. Hadley set down a crock and took off the lid.

“Southern chicken and dumplings!” she announced with pride.

Mrs. Johnson and Goggy both recoiled in unison. What was in the pot looked like lumpy glue.

“I’m starving, dear,” Pops said. “Let’s get eating! It’s already six o’clock. I have to go to bed soon.”

Hadley ladled out the dinner, which seemed to be a gelatinous goo with the occasional chunk of white meat thrown in. The dumplings were slimy, dense and slippery, and the chicken was chewy and tough, a far cry from what Jack remembered from when Mrs. Boudreau had made the same dish.

The Hollands didn’t complain. They were Yankees; food was meant to nourish, not to enjoy, though their standards had risen during the Mrs. Johnson era (Mrs. J. was Jamaican and therefore believed in flavor).

“It’s delicious, dear,” Pops said. “Thank you for having us.”

“You’re always welcome here, Mr. Holland,” she said, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes.

“Did you just bat your eyelashes?” Pru asked. “I’ve always wondered if that actually happened. I mean, you come across the phrase from time to time, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it live and in person. Carl, stop staring at her.”

“You, too, old man,” Goggy said, smacking Pops on the back of the head.

“Why can’t I stare? She’s beautiful. You’re beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Mr. Holland, you’re the sweetest thing,” she said. This got a snort from everyone related to Pops. Hadley did have a way with men, and Jack had a soft spot for his grandfather. After all, the Holland men had to stick together, as Pops was fond of saying.

“So I’m thinking about redoing the house,” she said sweetly, “and I’d love y’all’s opinion.”

“What do you mean, redo?” Mrs. Johnson asked sternly. “This house is perfect.” Jack winked at her; he’d always been Mrs. J.’s favorite.

“I’m thinking it could do with a Southern woman’s touch,” she said. Pru laughed, then, realizing Hadley was dead serious, coughed to cover.

“Hadley, I forget. Are you an interior designer or an interior decorator?” Honor asked, taking a bite of slimy dumpling.

“What’s the difference?” Abby asked.

Hadley didn’t answer. She shot Jack a look he couldn’t read and remained silent.

“An interior designer deals with how the space is used,” Faith said when Hadley remained quiet. “Decorators deal with how it looks. Am I right, Hadley?”

“Um, yes. More or less. Excuse me, I have to check on something in the kitchen,” Hadley said. She rose stiffly.

“Need help?” Jack asked.

“No, darlin’. You stay put.”

She left the table. A second later, Jack heard their bedroom door close.

“Why is this gravy white, Jack?” Goggy asked. “Not that I’m criticizing, dear, but I’d be happy to teach her to cook.”

“And I would also be happy to help her, Jackie dear,” said Mrs. J., not to be outdone. “Jamaican cuisine is quite delicious.”

“Is there any cheese?” Pops asked.

Jack got his grandfather cheese, then went down the hall to their room. “Babe? Everything okay?” he asked.

“Just fine,” she said. She didn’t spare him a glance, just returned to the table.

Shit. Fine equaled doom.

“How do you like life up north so far?” his father asked Hadley. “Hope you’re not too homesick, sweetheart.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” she said. “I just love y’all.”

“Well, now. The feeling’s mutual,” he said. Good old Dad.

It was, in a lot of respects, a typical family dinner for the Hollands. Lots of talking, lots of wine, lots of laughter, a fair amount of bickering. They ate the meal, which, though bland and sticky, wasn’t horrible. If Faith had made it, the teasing would’ve been merciless, but as Hadley was new to the family, no one said a word that wasn’t complimentary.

Ned and Abby were ordered to clear the table, and Mrs. J. cut the grape pie she’d brought while she and Goggy argued over crust-making techniques. Three minutes later, when dessert had been decimated, Goggy announced that it was time for everyone to leave, and the family trooped out with thanks and kisses and hugs.

“See you tomorrow, guys,” Jack said, closing the door. He smiled and turned to his wife. “So that went well.”

Hadley jammed her fists onto her hips. “Are you crazy? Your family hates me! Your sisters are so mean! And your grandmother is so judgmental!”

Jack’s mouth fell open. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about? No one hates you.”

“That Faith, showing off like that! Spouting about how designers are better than decorators! And Prudence didn’t even take off her work boots!”

“Was she supposed to?”

“What about your father, just sitting there, not saying boo! He hates me!”

“Calm down, sweetheart. Dad never talks much. He loves you.”

“Mrs. Johnson is horrible!”

Okay, that was going too far. Mrs. J. was tireless and fierce and pretty damn wonderful. “Be careful,” he said. “She’s my first love.”

“They hate me because I’m Southern.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “We won the Civil War. We’re totally over it.” She was not amused, shooting him a glare. “Come on, baby. Don’t be upset. Everyone wants you to feel welcome here. They were just trying to get to know you.”

He drew her a bath. Lit candles. Poured her wine. Apologized if his family came on a little strong (which they did, but that was just how it was...which he’d assumed Hadley knew by now).

She took a sip of wine and sighed. “You know what? I’m just gonna lose myself in my work—that’s what I’ll do.”

“That’s great. Do you have a client?”

“Yes, silly. His name is Jack Holland. Now get in this here tub.”

And just like that, her mood was better.

* * *

HADLEY WENT CRAZY with the redecorating.

Jack’s house was at the very top of the ridge, a good quarter mile up from the Old House, where his grandparents lived, and the New House, where Dad, Honor and Mrs. J. all resided. He’d been given the land when he turned thirty; Dad had similar parcels for the girls, but so far, none had done anything with them. Pru and Carl lived in a nice neighborhood on the other side of Manningsport, Honor lived with Dad and Faith was a Californian for the time being, though Jack suspected she’d move home soon enough.

But Jack had built his house two years before, after living in an Airstream trailer for six months to get the feel of the land, where the light hit at various times a day. He studied house plans from Frank Lloyd Wright and the Arts and Crafts era, then hired an architect to draw up plans.

The end result was an airy and open floor plan based around a huge stone fireplace with an exposed chimney. The floors were wide-planked cherry, the kitchen counters black soapstone. Two bedrooms upstairs for future kids, one down, as well as a home office. The basement contained a pool table and wine cellar. The house wasn’t huge, but it had breathing space.

Most importantly, it blended seamlessly into the landscape, the most important thing to a Holland. The outside of the house was planked with cedar, with huge windows that overlooked the vineyard and Crooked Lake. On three sides, it was surrounded by a forest of maples, oaks and pine, so it was almost camouflaged. Faith had drawn him up a landscaping plan for a Christmas present, and he’d followed it.

The result was that Jack’s house looked as if it had been there forever. It was modern yet traditional, too, and everyone who saw it was rather dazzled.

Except his wife. Oh, she’d cooed over it when she’d first seen it, but now that she’d lived there for a month, it was suddenly in sore need of “Southern charm.” Which would’ve been fine if it had been the type of charm Jack had seen at her own childhood home, carefully chosen antiques and family photos, clean lines and high-end furnishings.

But no.

Throw pillows seemed to be her trademark. The couch was covered in them; it looked nice, but it was impossible to sit without moving at least three. Their bed had the two pillows they used for their heads, four additional pillows covered in something called shams and a dozen more pillows in various sizes and colors. There was a painstaking order to these pillows, one Jack could never quite figure out. Lazarus liked to hide in the sea of shapes and then leap out, scattering them, which irritated Hadley to no end.

She rearranged the furniture. Ordered a new couch, one that cost eight thousand dollars, without asking his opinion. Bought a rather hideous fan shaped like a peacock for the fireplace, which Jack had stacked with white birch logs until it got colder. She bought velvet curtains that blocked out the light. Little signs appeared everywhere, ordering him to “Live Fully, Love Deeply, Laugh Often” and reminding him that “We Are So Blessed!” In the kitchen, there now hung a chalkboard in the shape of a dancing reindeer that said “Only __ Days Till Christmas!” The sign that bothered him the most hung in the foyer—“Life isn’t about waiting for the storms to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.” He always felt as though he should apologize for that one. After all, his people were Dutch Yankee Lutheran farmers. There would be no dancing in the rain.

But it was Hadley’s house, too, now, so he moved aside the pillows and hoped her efforts would make her happy.

Then she asked if she could do some work for Blue Heron. When Jack said he’d ask Honor, Hadley sulked and said Honor was bossy and mean. And yeah, Honor was bossy, but not in a rude way. Just in the way that she had to be, because she was indeed the boss of the business end, and a damn good one. She certainly wasn’t mean. She was maybe misunderstood, but when Jack tried to explain that, Hadley claimed he was taking his sister’s side.