Devlin was half-risen from his chair, his napkin on the table. Others were following suit, but everyone sat back down at Harper’s words, exchanging glances of anticipation.
Harper rose from her chair as the others returned to theirs. Then she took off down the hall at a fast clip.
Imogene returned to her chair to sit. She and Mamaw exchanged polite smiles.
Mamaw leaned closer to ask her, “Do you know what this is about?”
“Not a clue. I seem to be getting all the news secondhand.”
During the wait, no one ventured to start conversation.
Devlin coughed and reached for the water.
Carson drummed her fingers on the table.
Dora reached for another chocolate.
Taylor looked down the hall for Harper. When he spotted her, her arms loaded with bundled paper, he leaped to his feet and went to her. Taylor lifted the burden from her arms and followed her into the dining room.
“Where do you want them?”
“You can set them right here.” She tapped the table.
Piles of papers were bundled together with red ribbon. Taylor set them in two tall stacks, the focus of everyone’s attention.
“Whatever is this?” Mamaw’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Harper turned to Taylor, the only one who knew what was up. He asked, “Are you ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Harper turned to the family, who were watching her expectantly.
“Don’t keep us waiting.” Dora leaned forward. “It’s already late.”
Harper cleared her throat and clasped her hands tightly. “Someone very wise once told me”—she looked at Taylor—“that sharing one’s writing is to give a gift. Because you’re giving a piece of your soul. Everyone here has given me gifts, none more precious than your love. This”—she placed her hand on a stack of manuscripts—“is my gift to you.”
Harper looked at each face in the room, capturing the moment. “I’ve written a book.”
There was a collective gasp.
“I knew it!” Dora turned to Carson. “I told you so! Didn’t I?”
Carson smiled smugly. “I’ve already read it.”
“What?” Dora said, immediately deflated.
Harper looked at Granny James. Her eyes were alert beneath raised brows. Clearly she had not seen this coming. She cast a questioning glance at Taylor. He met her gaze with an I told you so grin.
Mamaw was shocked. Harper thought she looked as if she’d just seen a ghost.
“Do you want me to pass them out?” Taylor asked in a low voice.
Harper licked her lips, feeling parched, and nodded. She grabbed two off the top of the stack and went directly to Mamaw.
“I told you I’d let you read it someday,” Harper said quietly.
Mamaw slowly took the manuscript in her hands. They were trembling.
Harper moved on to personally deliver a manuscript to Granny James.
“Is this what you’ve been up to? Your newfound passion?” Granny James gently teased.
“Yes.” Harper looked into her eyes without guile.
Granny James accepted the manuscript solemnly, letting her fingers stroke the top. “I’m impressed. Profoundly so.”
“I don’t know how good it is”—Harper backtracked, walking quickly to Taylor’s side—“but it’s finished. Beginning, middle, and end.”
Taylor reached out and slipped his arm around her protectively.
Mamaw held the manuscript in her hands and stared at Harper. She looked as if she’d suddenly aged. Her face was pale and her blue eyes were dull, clouded by memories. Harper knew she was thinking of her son, their father, Parker. Harper looked at Carson and Dora, but they, too, had their gazes set on Mamaw.
Mamaw put the manuscript on the table and with two fingertips delicately untied the red ribbon.
Granny James rose, the manuscript clutched to her chest. “I’m going to say good night. It was a lovely evening. A fine celebration. Thank you all. But”—she gave a quick smile, her eyes on her granddaughter—“I’ve got some reading to do.”
Mamaw looked up, oblivious to Granny James’s departure. Her eyes were round with stunned surprise. “Harper! The title!”
Harper released a short laugh. “What else could I call it?”
Mamaw’s lips trembled as a million memories flitted across her face. “The Summer Girls.”
Later that evening, after the party had disbanded and the attendees had all found their way to their beds, Carson slipped to the kitchen for a cup of tea. The undercabinet lights dimly lit the room and guided her path in the dark hall. Entering, she was surprised to find Mamaw there, standing by the teakettle as it simmered on the flame.
“You’re still up?”
“Of course,” Mamaw said. “I doubt anyone is sleeping. We’re all reading.”
Carson crossed the room to fetch a cup from the cabinet. “Where are you in the book?”
“Not far. I’m savoring every word. I’m at the part where you and Harper are playing pirates, climbing the hill at Fort Moultrie. I never knew you entered those dark dungeons. I’d have forbidden it.”
Carson set her cup on the counter beside Mamaw’s cup. “That’s why we didn’t tell you.”
The water came to a boil, sending the teakettle whistling. Mamaw lifted the kettle from the heat while Carson selected a tea bag from the open box of chamomile tea on the counter. Mamaw filled the cups with steaming water. Instantly the sweet scent of the tea filled the room.
“She’s really exceptional.” Mamaw set the kettle back on the stove.
“Yes, she is.”
“I was terrified to begin. Afraid I wouldn’t like it.”
“Me, too. What a relief, huh?”
Mamaw laughed shortly. “Yes.”
Carson grabbed two spoons from the drawer, then pulled honey out from the lazy Susan. She carefully scooped a teaspoonful of honey from the jar and transferred it to her steaming cup, then passed the honey to Mamaw.
“So, it looks like someone in the family got Daddy’s gene for writing.”
Mamaw’s spoon made soft clinking noises as she stirred. “So it seems.”
“Dear Daddy. I got his gene for alcoholism. Gee, thanks, Dad.”
Mamaw set the teaspoon down on the counter, moving it slightly to set it straight. “Are you all right with all of this fuss over Harper?”