by Patti Berg
“Does it have any urban chic designs?” Kirstie asked. “If not, I’ll grab a couple of other books.”
Anabelle didn’t want to feel like a dunce, but she asked, “What on earth is urban chic?”
“Cool and modern,” Kirstie said. “Refined elegance.”
Ainslee looked up at her mom. “Geometric forms. Pure colors.”
“Oh,” Anabelle said, not wanting to admit that she still didn’t have a clue. “Where do pastels fit into the mix?” she asked. “What about Winnie the Pooh, Peter Rabbit or Elmo?”
Ainslee spun around, frowning. “They don’t fit in at all, Mother. I’m doing the baby’s nursery in apricot and café au lait, although Doug would like black, camel, cream and deep taupe.”
Anabelle rolled her eyes, but she refused to say anything negative. Maybe early sixties was a lot older than she thought. She certainly didn’t understand the design sensibilities of twenty-something young women.
“What about flowers?” Anabelle asked, hoping she’d hit pay dirt with that designer staple.
“I’ve never been the flowery type, Mother.” Ainslee flipped through a few more pages. “You know that.”
“But this isn’t your room,” Anabelle said. “It’s the baby’s room.”
Both Kirstie and Ainslee laughed. “Oh, Mother.” Ainslee patted Anabelle’s hand, making her feel like a child whose thoughts were unimportant. “You’ll love the room when it’s painted and decorated, and once the baby’s born, you won’t even notice the furnishings or the paint on the walls.”
Anabelle pursed her lips. She didn’t want to be an old-fashioned, conservative fuddy-duddy, but there were some styles that shouldn’t be tampered with, and one of those styles had to do with a baby’s room. But…she’d promised Cameron she wouldn’t butt in to Ainslee’s baby plans, no matter how much she wanted to.
“This book’s got some great ideas that I can mix and match.” Ainslee tucked the book under her arm as she stood, then looped her free arm through Anabelle’s. “Let’s go pay for it, then head to Country Quilters. I’m dying to see what Mother has in mind for the Harvest Festival quilt.”
At last, Anabelle thought. Someone was interested in her design skills. Just wait until she showed them what perfect design looked like.
Anabelle knew Country Quilters like the back of her hand. She frequented other fabric stores when she came to Peoria, but Country Quilters gave her a discount on her fabrics and notions. And if she was having trouble determining just the right pattern or color for a quilt she planned to make, the owner would step in and help—almost always saving the day.
Ainslee quilted also, but some of her finished products didn’t have that homey feel. Obviously she’d been making urban chic projects for years, and Anabelle just hadn’t realized it.
Anabelle headed straight for the current holiday fabrics. There were row upon row of Christmas, Thanksgiving and other autumn and winter patterns. This, Anabelle thought, is heaven on earth!
Although Anabelle had her favorite designers, she sometimes ordered off the Internet, when she couldn’t find exactly what she needed within an hour or two of home. But she didn’t think online shopping would be needed this time, not when she spotted a bolt of fabric with an autumn leaf pattern in variegated reds and purples.
“Wouldn’t this be perfect for the back of the Harvest Festival quilt?” Anabelle asked Kirstie and Ainslee, who were admiring some batiks.
Anabelle pulled the bolt from its slot on the shelf and laid it out on the cutting table behind her, unfolding the fabric a few times and examining it under the light.
“It’s gorgeous,” Kirstie said, running her hand over the fabric. “It’s not exactly a neutral color that would fit into anyone’s room, but it’s bold and beautiful.”
“Worth repainting the walls in your room for?” Anabelle asked, smiling at last.
“Definitely,” Ainslee added. “I can see people paying a fortune for one of your art quilts, especially if you’re starting off with a fabric like this. And if their carpet clashes with it”—Ainslee laughed—“they’ll just have to install new carpeting.”
Together they pulled out bolt after bolt of fabric, patterns and solids in varying shades of red and purple, sage and teal, black, russet and white, laughing and talking as they shopped. They’d spent a lot of hours in fabric stores when the girls were younger, Anabelle remembered. That togetherness was something she missed and she now wanted to enjoy what little time they were able to share.
There’d been too many years after Kirstie’s accident, after she lost her leg and had to learn to walk with an artificial limb, when Anabelle’s time was consumed with caring for Kirstie. If Ainslee had wanted time with her mother, she had to help out.
It might not have been fair, but Ainslee didn’t regret a moment. If she did, she’d never said a word. That was Ainslee in a nutshell. The perfect daughter. Kirstie, as well.
Anabelle had been blessed.
If only they didn’t have such odd tastes in baby rooms.
Chapter Ten
IT WAS WELL AFTER THREE O’CLOCK ON MONDAY afternoon, long past the end of Elena’s shift, when she was finally able to get away from the ICU. Jessica Jones, one of the RNs who worked the night shift, had been late—again. She had boyfriend troubles—again. She was stressed—again. She couldn’t find her car keys. She’d forgotten to feed the cat. And on and on and on.
Elena had a tough time listening to the same excuses she’d listened to for the past six months, ever since Jessica came to Hope Haven from a hospital in Chicago, which had given her a glowing recommendation. She was a good nurse, and once she was at work she could be trusted with anything. It was just getting her to work on time that was a problem.
Oh well, Elena didn’t want to dwell on Jessica Jones. Marge knew there was a problem, and Marge, their RN supervisor, was dealing with it. And Jessica was only twenty minutes late today. Usually she arrived thirty to forty minutes after her shift began. Today was a big improvement.
“I’ve been looking in on Mrs. Julian in room 2 every five minutes or so,” Elena told Jessica. “She’s having hallucinations and I was just getting ready to ask one of the aides or a volunteer to come sit with her in case she starts calling out for her husband and children again.”
“I’ll take care of that, Elena. Not to worry.”
“And,” Elena continued, “as soon as a bed is ready in Med/Surg, we can move Mr. Alcarez out of ICU.”
“Sounds like a piece of cake.” Jessica twisted her long blonde hair into a bun on the back of her head. “What about Caleb? How’s he doing?”
“Stable. Still in a coma.”
“I’ll say a little prayer when I pop into his room.”
“His dad’s with him tonight,” Elena said, slinging her coat over her arm. “His mom finally decided she needed to be home with her other children, and hopefully she’ll get some rest while she’s there.”
“I’ll send good thoughts her way too.”
How could someone so nice and so totally sweet be so irresponsible away from the job? It made no sense at all. She was a creature of habit. She followed the saying that there’s a place for everything, and everything in its place. Her mother had taught her that a lady was never late—for anything—and she’d never break her mother’s rules.
Slinging her tote over her shoulder, Elena dashed out of the ICU, nearly colliding with an elderly male patient pushing a rolling IV stand down the hallway.
“I’m so sorry,” Elena said, apologizing profusely. Her meeting with the pastors of Holy Trinity, Church of the Good Shepherd and Riverview Chapel wasn’t for another hour, and she really shouldn’t have been rushing. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, young lady.” The wrinkled man with a shock of uncombed white hair shook a finger in Elena’s face, quite like one of the schoolteachers she had in fifth grade. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you there’s no running in the halls?”
“At least a thousand times,” Elena offered with a smile, a
nd even though she wanted to get going, she asked, “Can I help you get back to your room?”
“I’m ninety-seven. I’m not dead. I’m not lost, either. And I can very well walk back to my room all by myself.”
“Well then”—Elena saluted the man; most definitely a teacher at one point in time—“enjoy the rest of your day.”
As she walked away, Elena saw Frederick Innisk sitting in the visitors’ lounge. Unfortunately he wasn’t reading a magazine like everyone else. Sadly, Scrooge’s glare was directed straight at her, clearly showing he’d observed her exchange with the elderly patient.
Not good.
The man was driving her—and everyone else—nuts, and Elena had the sneaking suspicion that he enjoyed watching the staff of Hope Haven Hospital squirm. Straightening her shoulders and holding her head high, not giving in to Mr. Innisk’s intimidation tactics, Elena strolled toward the stairs, until she rounded the corner and found James, Candace and Anabelle huddled in quiet conversation in the second-floor nurses’ station.
“You do know that Frederick Innisk is sitting just around the corner in the visitors’ lounge, don’t you?” Elena said, resting her arms on the counter.
“I wish I’d never heard that man’s name,” Anabelle said. “He’s caused me nothing but misery, and now I’m having to find another way to get help in the CCU.”
“He was hovering around Med/Surg off and on all afternoon, playing vulture, looking for fresh meat to devour.” James looked up from the desk where he was sitting, pen in hand, doodling on a piece of paper with two columns headed Pros and Cons.
“I’d be paranoid,” Candace said, “if I thought it was just the four of us he’s been harassing, but he’s been skulking around every department in the hospital. No one seems to be safe. Heath told me he’s seen Innisk stalking the halls of Radiology too.”
Elena and Anabelle exchanged a knowing glance at the mention of Heath Carlson, one of the hospital’s radiologists. Blond and good-looking, Heath was a great guy, and as they had quietly discussed more than once, he and Candace would make a nice couple.
Unfortunately, a relationship between Heath and Candace wasn’t uppermost on anyone’s mind right now.
“Innisk’s doing exactly what he wants to do—making us overly anxious—afraid of our own shadows.” Anabelle, almost always the voice of reason, laughed. “I suggest we pretend he’s invisible and do what we’ve always done, which is to provide the best nursing care anyone could ever want.”
“Well, I, for one, am getting awfully tired of the intrigue around this place,” James said.
“You aren’t thinking of quitting, are you?” Elena asked, staring over the counter at the paper in front of James.
“I like my job too much to quit. I even like the three of you.” James attempted a fairly lame wink.
Curious as ever, Elena asked, “Then what’s the pros and cons list for?”
“Should I or shouldn’t I take on the job of scoutmaster for Nelson’s troop. I was hoping the cons would rule the day, but they’re both pretty much equal. Con number one…” James fingered the numbers on the paper. “I don’t have the time. Pro number one…I’d like to spend more time with Nelson, and this would be a good way to do it. But”—James drew in a deep breath—“I don’t know if I can commit the time it’ll take, and if I take on the job and blow it, Nelson will be crushed.”
“How soon do you have to make the decision?” Anabelle asked, pulling her glasses out of her pocket to study James’s list.
“There’s a meeting tonight to discuss the whole thing,” James said, pushing out of the swivel chair and tossing his backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll see how that goes and decide afterward.”
After a quick, “See you tomorrow,” James disappeared down the stairwell.
“He’ll cave,” Anabelle said, looking at her friends over the top of her glasses. “He’s too good a guy to let Nelson’s troop fumble without a leader.”
“I think we’d all cave. It’s just who we are,” Candace added, slipping on her coat. “I’ve got to dash also.”
Once Candace had left, Anabelle turned to Elena. “If you have a minute, I need your opinion on something.” She grabbed her purse and set it on top of the desk. “I have fabric swatches for the Harvest Festival quilt.”
Elena glanced at the clock in the nurses’ station.
“I have a meeting at Holy Trinity in less than an hour, but—” Elena’s face brightened. “You know I can’t ignore fabric swatches.”
Anabelle flexed the fingers of her right hand as she dug into her bag.
“Arthritis acting up today?” Elena asked, wishing there was a sure cure for the affliction, which could make a nurse’s work a trial.
“Something awful,” Anabelle said, “and the medication’s not doing much good right now, not with the weather turning cold. Of course, I’ve been doing a lot more quilting than usual, which doesn’t help.”
“We can get along without the quilt if making it is causing you pain.”
“This is my contribution—the quilting guild’s contribution, I should say—to raise money for Habitat for Humanity. What I can’t do, my friends will. The wall hanging is already planned out. I bought fabric over the weekend, and we’ll start putting the pieces together in the next couple of days. It’s going to be beautiful. Look.”
Anabelle pulled out a stack of fabric swatches, gingham patterns, florals, solids, and swirls in a multitude of colors like antique rose, dark olive, leaf green, mint, gold, cornflower blue and several shades of wine.
“The individual pieces don’t look like anything special and won’t until we start the appliqué and piecing everything together,” Anabelle said, “but just wait until it’s finished. We’re calling it ‘Over the river and through the woods,’ which should give you a good idea what it’ll look like.”
“I’ve got half a dozen ideas already running through my mind,” Elena said, “but give me a hint at what you’re envisioning.”
“A country cottage at twilight, autumn leaves scattered over the ground, smoke curling from the chimney—”
“And a sleigh anxiously waiting the first deep snowfall?”
Anabelle smiled. “You’ve been talking to someone in the guild?”
Elena shook her head. “More like the instincts of a consummate seamstress.”
“I want you to see this too,” Anabelle said, drawing swatches of pastel pinks, yellows and greens from her bag. “These aren’t the colors Ainslee’s planning for the baby’s room, but I’ve had these at home, just waiting for my first grandchild. What do you think?”
Elena touched the soft fabrics, tracing the delicate patterns with an index finger. “I love them, but if Ainslee has other colors in mind—”
“She’ll change her mind once she sees this quilt made up.” Anabelle shook her head, clearly frustrated. “I don’t know what it is about the younger generation, needing to be so different.”
Elena frowned. “How different?”
“Urban chic. She’s been home all day today sketching a layout. The nursery walls will be apricot and café au lait stripes. There won’t be a duck or teddy bear anywhere in sight—and, I’m sorry, that just isn’t right.”
Elena came close to laughing, but she could see that Ainslee’s choices for the baby’s room had clearly upset Anabelle, whose idea of a nursery would come straight from the pages of Winnie the Pooh or Beatrix Potter.
“I’m sure the room will be beautiful, once Ainslee’s decorated it,” Elena said, hoping to make Anabelle feel better. “Just wait and see.”
“Or she’ll hate it and wish she’d listened to me when I told her that those colors wouldn’t be the least bit soothing to her baby.”
“You didn’t say that to her, did you?”
Anabelle shook her head. “I thought it though. And Cameron’s asked me not to present her with a pastel pink or baby blue quilt at any time in the future, but I just can’t wrap my head around her color choices.”
“She did a great job picking Doug for a husband, and you didn’t have a hand in that.”
“You’re starting to sound a bit like Cameron now.” Anabelle shook her head as she stuffed the pastel fabrics back into her purse. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Good. Now, I need to get a candy bar before heading to my meeting, or I’ll be starving before it’s over. Then I’m having dinner out with Cesar. Just the two of us.”
After saying good-bye to Anabelle, Elena ducked into Hope Haven’s gift shop for a candy bar, something in deep, dark chocolate with a creamy center and lots of sugar to keep her going strong until dinnertime.
Quintessa was joining her for the meeting with the pastors. They were going to discuss finances and logistics, and Elena was at the point where she could pretty much relate details about the Harvest Festival in her sleep.
She grabbed a small package of oatmeal raisin cookies and a dark-chocolate Milky Way. While waiting in line at the cash register, she picked up a beautiful dark brown teddy bear dressed in a purple leotard, fluffy pale lavender tutu and satin ballet slippers that laced halfway up its pudgy little legs.
Isabel would love it. Even now Elena could imagine it under the tree on Christmas morning, a little something left by Santa Claus during the night.
“This is adorable,” Elena said to Ruth Lieberman, the clerk with dark gray hair worn in a heavy bun on the back of her head. “Could you hold on to it for me until shortly before Christmas?”
“Ah, a gift for our little Izzy?”
“You know me too well.”
“I like knowing all of my customers,” Ruth said. “Makes the day much brighter.”
Elena and Ruth had shared many a story and many a recipe here in the gift shop. Ruth was as devoutly Jewish as Elena was Christian. She faithfully observed Shabbat, not working from Friday at sundown or at all on Saturdays, and had invited Elena to her home to learn how to make sweet, eggy challah bread, which was absolutely delicious. It was Ruth who suggested Elena make French toast from challah for Cesar, and it had become one of his favorite breakfast meals.
