Free The Spirits of Christmas by Sarah Wynde Page B

so I should not have to do dat job, Thomas. But James, you must
take da fate to da dock. It is a Vewy Impohtant deyivey.”
    Akira paused, wondering whether to interrupt him or find the
doorbell.
    The boy looked up at her. He had big, solemn brown eyes
framed with dark lashes, short close-cropped dark hair, and cheeks so round and
chubby they belonged on a chipmunk. She smiled at him. It was impossible not
to. 
    He smiled back, exuberant joy radiating from him. “Mama, da
pwetty yady is back. And she bought a fend,” he called out, scrambling to his
feet. “Mean yady, mean yady, ya fend is heah.” He dashed away.
    Akira’s brows raised in surprise. She glanced at Rose. Rose
shrugged and stepped through the screen door. “Hannah?” she called out as she
followed the boy into the house. “I brought Akira to meet you.”
    Akira tucked her hands under her arms nervously. The boy
could see ghosts. Would that be a problem? Oh dear, she wished she was at home,
enjoying her Saturday and planning her wedding. Or getting ready for Christmas.
She and Zane had bought a tree and decorated it the previous weekend, but she
wanted to bake Christmas cookies and the holiday was only a couple short weeks
away.
    “Toby, please stop that. How many times have I had to say
it? There is no mean lady living here. It’s just us, sweetheart.” The female voice
that answered him from the back of the house sounded tired, but kind. And not
at all southern.
    Akira’s unease deepened. Although some Tassamara natives had
strong southern accents, plenty of people in central Florida didn’t and she’d
never felt like her own Californian tones stood out. But this woman clipped the
‘t’ on ‘it’ and pronounced the ‘r’ in ‘here’ in a decidedly northern, maybe
even British style. What could she be doing in Tassamara?
    She looked for the button to ring the bell. The porch paint
was fresh and glossy, but the button was old-fashioned, set deep in the door
frame and lower than Akira expected it to be. She pushed it firmly, hearing a
rattle and buzz echo through the house.
    “Yes?” The woman was a shadowed figure in the back of the
hallway, but sounded wary, edging toward hostile.
    Akira forced a smile, trying to make it bright and friendly
and inwardly cursing Rose. “Hi. I’m not selling anything. Or looking for a
donation.”
    The woman came no closer.
    “Or, you know, trying to convert you. I’m not religious. Not
that religious is bad. No offense, I hope. I actually think it’s sort of nice
of the Jehovah’s Witnesses to care enough about other people’s souls to spend their
free time getting doors slammed in their faces.” Akira paused and swallowed and
took a deep breath. This was ridiculous.
    “Quit dithering,” Rose said from behind the woman. “Good
heavens, you’d think you’d never introduced yourself to a neighbor before.”
    Akira tried to think if she ever had introduced herself to a
neighbor. She was more the keep-to-herself type, really.
    The woman took a few steps toward the door. She was wiping
her hands on a dishtowel, which she slung over her shoulder with casual ease,
but Akira barely noticed. The woman was tall, probably six feet or maybe even a
little more, mostly thin, with long slender arms and legs, and gorgeous, with
an exotic look that matched that of her son, minus the chipmunk cheeks.
    “Oh,” Akira said with relief. “When are you due?”
    The woman put a hand on her great mound of belly. She could
have swallowed a basketball. Or maybe even a beach ball. The big kind.
    “In a few weeks,” she said briefly. “May I help you with
something?”
    “I’m not due until June.” Akira patted her own stomach. Her
bump was barely noticeable, she knew. She wasn’t even wearing maternity clothes
yet. “Still, if you stay in Tassamara our kids will start school together.”
    “Really?” The woman’s stiff expression melted into delight.
“How nice. Please, come in.” She unlatched the screen