Secret Hollows Read Online Free Page A

noise and whipped cream went flying across the room. Tom and Art stood next to the table, their faces covered in thick white cream.
    “Well, that was certainly a surprise,” Sean said, wiping a bit of cream from his cheek. “Just think, if the twins hadn’t volunteered that would have been all over Mary and Bradley. Oh, wait, the twins didn’t volunteer.”
    Bradley moved forward and picked up the remains of the deflated balloon sitting in the middle of the plate. “Well, that was actually quite ingenious,” he admitted.
    Tom smiled, the whipped cream parting for his mouth. “Thanks. We worked on it all morning,” he said.
    “Well, and now you can work on cleaning the mess from my kitchen,” Margaret said sternly. “I’m taking Mary upstairs for a few minutes and I’d like to see it spic and span by the time I get back down.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” the twins replied obediently.
    “Are we not going to have cake then?” Timothy O’Reilly asked.
    “Why don’t you, Bradley and I drive down to the bakery,” Sean suggested. “I’m sure we can pick up something that will do.”
    “That’s a grand idea,” Timothy said. “You were always the good son.”
    “We heard that,” Art said.
    “And you were meant to,” Timothy said with a chuckle.
    Mary and her mother listened to the conversation from the kitchen as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.
    “Nothing but hooligans,” Margaret muttered. “I’ve raised nothing but hooligans.”
    She paused. “Present company excluded, of course.”
    “Why thank you, Ma,” Mary said with a smile. “I have to admit, though, I thought it was hysterical to see the twins covered in whipped cream.”
    Margaret tried to bite back a grin. “It was an interesting sight, I’ll admit,” she agreed. “I’m thinking I’ll do it in chocolate for their birthday.”
    Mary laughed out loud. “You’re a devious woman, Margaret O’Reilly.”
    They walked down the hall to Mary’s former bedroom. Margaret put her hand on the door knob and turned to Mary. “It’s the only way I’ve stayed sane all these years,” she replied with a grin.
    She opened the door and led Mary inside. “I’ve something to show you,” she said. “And if you are happy with it, fine. But, if it’s not what you want, you won’t hurt my feelings turning it down.”
    Pulling a large garment bag from the closet, she walked over and laid it on the bed. Carefully unzipping the bag, she removed several layers of tissue paper until Mary could see some of the fabric.
    “Oh, Ma, your wedding dress,” Mary whispered in awe. “I remember seeing it in your wedding pictures. I always thought you looked like a princess.”
    “I felt like a princess in it,” her mother admitted, slipping the dress out of the bag and onto the bed.
    The dress was antique white with an overlay of hand-crocheted Irish lace. It had a scalloped lace v-neckline and three-quarter length sleeves. The back of the dress had a series of tiny silk-covered buttons that started high on the neck and ended below her hips where the train began.
    “Would you like to try it on?” Margaret asked.
    Mary caressed the delicate lace. “Oh, yes, I would,” she whispered.
    Mary quickly removed her shirt and jeans and her mother helped her climb into the voluminous dress. She loved the way the silk felt against her skin as she slid her arms into the sleeves.
    “Your grandmother also wore this dress when she was married,” Margaret explained, as she fastened the buttons up the back, “and her mother before her. It’s not what you’d call a sexy dress…”
    “It’s perfect,” Mary interrupted, gazing at the dress in the mirror, “I feel like a princess.”
    The A-line cut hugged her figure until the dropped waist where the gathered skirt spread out and formed a full train behind her. She turned to the side, admiring the intricacy of the lace pattern and the soft drape of the fabric. “It fits like it was made for me,” she