by Jodi Thomas
Jillian tried Sunnie’s cell as soon as school was out. No answer. Connor’s cell and office. No answer.
She watched as Gram withdrew. She moved her hands, as if washing them with invisible soap.
When she began to cry softly, Jillian knelt down in front of her chair. “It’s all right, Gram. They’ll be back soon. Do you want me to try to call Connor again?”
Gram shook her head.
“Do you want to go home?” Maybe she could call the Acres and they’d bring the bus.
“No,” Gram whispered. “I can’t remember.” She spread her hands over the quilt. “I can’t remember.”
Jillian wanted to pull her in her arms and hold Gram tight until the fear passed, but she knew with the broken leg it would only hurt her.
“What can’t you remember?”
Gram shook her head and whispered, “Everything. It’s all leaking out of my head like sand does in an hourglass. All the memories are leaving.”
She was shivering now and Jillian couldn’t leave her side even to call someone. “It’s going to be all right, Gram. You’re fine. Connor will be back soon.”
She wasn’t listening. Tears worked their way past wrinkles down her face as she whispered, “I’ve lost them.”
Jillian started shaking as she tried to think of some way to help this wonderful woman who was the heart of an entire town. Telling her it was going to be fine didn’t seem to help. Gram appeared to be curling into the chair, shrinking before her eyes. She’d had a rich, full life collecting memories, and now they were slipping away.
And Gram knew it. The saddest part of all was that Gram knew.
Jillian felt panic climbing up her spine, but she had to keep calm. She had to help. She had to be there to help.
She glanced around the shop, hoping, praying for something that might help calm Gram’s fears.
The beautiful quilt caught her eye. She picked it up and wrapped it around Gram like a huge tent, covering the chair and Gram from her shoulders down to the floor.
“Here are your memories,” Jillian said as she forced a smile. “They’ve been right here all along. They’ll never go away. They’re all around you.”
Gram stopped shaking as she patted the quilt. In a weak voice, she whispered, “I was born in thirty-six. The same year as my Benjamin.”
“That’s right. You lived on a farm right outside of town. Wild roses grew up to the roof in summer.” Jillian could see Gram coming back. “Connor took me there. It was so quiet. The only sound was of the windmill ticking in the wind, almost like a clock.”
Gram nodded. “I remember. That windmill kept me awake on windy nights.”
As they talked, Gram slowly began to calm. She talked about opening the shop and how she loved it when Connor’s parents worked at the paper just across the street. “They were always busy, so Connor would come over here after school. One day I wasn’t paying attention to him, and he took apart one of my Featherweights. I never did get that machine to sew right after that.”
Jillian laughed in relief.
When Connor and Joe finally came through the door, she and Gram were laughing about the time Stella thought she was in labor during the quilting bee. All the ladies were breathing with her through the contractions because she wanted to finish quilting before she headed to the hospital.
Jillian stood, giving Joe her chair beside Gram.
He took Gram’s hand. “You ready to go, Jeanie? It’s almost suppertime and your friends will be waiting for you.”
“I’m ready, Joe.”
He gave a Christmas morning smile. “I got a surprise for you. Connor and the kids helped me move into Autumn Acres this afternoon. I figure since I’m rich now, I can afford to have folks cook my meals and clean up after me. And the best part is I’ll be able to keep watch over you.”
Gram smiled. “Just like always.”
He nodded. “Just like always.”
Connor lifted Gram and carried her to Joe’s pickup while Jillian folded up the wonderful memory quilt.
“Now don’t you worry about missing your quilting, Jeanie,” Joe said as he followed along. “I bought the apartment between yours and mine. We’re knocking out a few walls and turning it into a crafts room and Reese and me figured out how to build a quilting frame that’ll come down from the ceiling with the push of a button.”
“I think I’d like that,” Gram said as Connor tucked her quilt around her. “Only you don’t have to worry about me, Joe Dunaway. I’ll be watching over you. Now we’re eating meals together—no more bags of donut holes for breakfast.”
“Now, Jeanie. I’m too old to be a-changing.”
Connor closed the door on their argument and turned to Jillian. “I saw the calls I missed. Everything all right?”
They stepped back into the shop as Joe drove away. “I know you have to go with...”
He followed her in. “I don’t have to go anywhere. Sunnie and Reese are waiting for Gram. They’ve been with Joe and me for two hours getting him all settled in.” He seemed to be trying to read what she wasn’t saying. “The old guy didn’t have much to move.”
Connor stopped rambling and asked, “What is it? What’s wrong, Jillian?”
She turned to him. “Would it be too much to ask you to hold me one last time?”
Jillian was in his arms before she could let out a breath.
34
Jillian stayed one last day to help put up the quilts. The curator claimed it was the finest exhibit they’d ever had in the county. Each quilt had its own story printed and framed beside it, and pictures of the shop lined the backdrop like wallpaper.
As people walked into the exhibit, they’d have the feeling they were stepping into the shop on Main.
Jillian stood back in the shadows, watching the opening begin. Everything was perfect and folks came dressed up for the special occasion.
She thought she saw a white-haired woman reach out to touch Helen Harmon’s quilt. Maybe, just maybe, the old lady’s hair had once been red and she’d made the quilt as a wedding present that was never given.
A man about the same age as the lady brushed her arm and they smiled at each other as if the worst day of Helen’s life had turned out to be a blessing.
Two middle-aged women hugged in front of the cheerleader quilt, and Jillian wondered if they’d once been part of the squad. No one would probably know why the names disappeared.
Jillian guessed one of the cheerleaders did it. Or maybe each wandered into the shop over the years and simply pulled the thread that marked their name.
An entire family laughed and pointed at the going to Florida quilt, which showed a childhood memory of traveling across country every summer.
Sometimes five generations posed in front of one of the pioneer quilts and a little girl stood before the butterfly quilt in a dress made of material that looked just like one of the flour bag prints.
The quilts were blankets, heirlooms, memory keepers, and works of art. Connor had been right. They were also the story of the town.
Jillian circled the displays again and again as if saying farewell to the quilts. She saw Connor and Gram and Joe and Sunnie, but they were always surrounded by people.
All but Connor hugged her and said they wished her well on her journey. Several of the quilting ladies were being treated like stars, and gave impromptu lectures during the show on the art of quilting.
Reese finally found her in a corner and stood next to her. “Quite a show.”
“It is.” Jillian fought down a grin. The kid was tall, almost a man. In a few years he’d be a heartbreaker if Sunnie wasn’t careful. “How are you and Sunnie getting on?”
“Fine. Trying to hold on to her is like grabbing a stripped live wire. I know I’m going to get burned, but it’s a hell of a jolt.”
Jillian laughed.
“You thinking of backing away?”
“No. I’m full into this. I’d rather die shaking than live without feeling like I do when she’s around.”
Jillian envied the boy. She watched it all, knowing that she couldn’t leave her memories behind this time. There were too many.
Connor treated her politely, almost like a stranger, but the memory of him holding her that last night in the shop would be with her forever. He hadn’t said a word, but she’d read his heart with every beat.
He’d held to their agreement. He hadn’t asked her to stay again. When she left the museum, he walked her to her car, opened her door as always, and said good-night as if it were just an ordinary night.
Not the last night she’d see him. Not her last night in town.
Jillian couldn’t sleep when she got back to the bed-and-breakfast. For a while she simply stood at her window and looked out over the sleeping town. When she went back to bed, she didn’t even bother closing her eyes.
She’d finally gotten up and packed at dawn. Her car was loaded by the time she sat down to her last breakfast with Mrs. Kelly.
The sweet owner must have been dreading this day, too. She had to have been up cooking since five. She made all her recipes.
They sat before the feast and both tried to make small talk, but it was choppy.
Finally, Jillian hugged the dear lady whose apron read I’ll fry if I want to. “I’ll miss you.”
Mrs. K patted a tear away with the corner of her apron. “You’ll stop by when you pass near here?”
“I will,” Jillian lied.
They walked to the door, arm in arm. Jillian kissed the innkeeper’s rosy cheek and stepped out of the house for the last time.
To her surprise two cars were blocking her in. Reese’s old pickup and Connor’s Audi.
She walked to the end of the porch. “What’s going on?”
Connor climbed out of his car and walked toward her wearing hiking boots and a fishing jacket that had at least a dozen pockets. He looked like he’d ordered one of everything from the travel catalog. A compass even hung off his belt and a huge hunting knife was on his side.
Sunnie and Reese sat in the old pickup, windows down, looking like they thought they were at a drive-in movie.
Connor stopped in front of her and looked up at her three feet above him on the porch. “I figured if you won’t stay with me, I’m going with you. I bought all these clothes and another bag full so I’ll be ready for any climate.”
“No, you’re not going with me,” she said calmly.
“Then I’ll follow you. It’s a free country. I can drive behind you.”
“You can’t do that. It’s called stalking.” Before her words were out, the only police car in town pulled up on the grass of the bed-and-breakfast’s front yard. A few other cars parked at the curb.
Connor didn’t seem to notice anyone but her. “I asked the sheriff. He didn’t seem to think there was a problem. Even offered to lock us both up in the horse trailer so we could talk out our problem.”
“He can’t do that. It’s illegal.”
Connor said, “You could call the judge and a lawyer. I talked to them, as well. The lawyer said the sheriff’s got a right to hold us for a short time, and the judge said he’d marry us so we wouldn’t be living in a horse trailer in sin.”
She smiled. “You can’t make me stay, Connor.”
“You’re right. I’m packed and going with you, because I’ve figured out something. I don’t want to go through this life without you, Jillian James. I want you by my side. One way or the other, here in Laurel Springs or on the road, I’m with you.”
“What about Sunnie?”
“I told Reese he could finish raising her. Kid’s got a lot of sense. They’ll be fine.”
Jillian laughed. “You’re crazy, Connor.” This kind, even-tempered, logical man had lost his mind, and she knew she was the cause.
“I love you, Jillian. I think I have since the day you walked into my office. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. If I didn’t know you loved me, too, I’d walk away, but you do love me.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because I’m the one memory you packed with you. I’m the one you’ll never forget. I’m the one you run to when you’re afraid or you need a hug. I’m the one and only man you’ve ever loved and you know it.”
She stood her ground. “I don’t want you loving me just because I need loving.”
Connor smiled. “I don’t. I love you because I need loving and you’re the only one who can do the job.”
Several more cars had pulled up by the time he finished his speech. A dozen cars and pickups were blocking her in both directions.
“You’re right. I do love you.” She wanted to add that he was the only one who ever needed her so badly he couldn’t, wouldn’t let her go. Why had she wasted time looking for the people who’d thrown her away when a man was standing right in front of her, ready to give up everything to keep her?
“But, Connor, you’re not going with me. I’m staying right here. There are too many things I have to do here. The district’s just getting started and we’ve got to rent Gram’s shop, and you haven’t put out a paper in weeks, and...” She stopped and smiled, knowing the list could go on the rest of their lives. “We don’t have time to go traveling around the country.”
He ran up the steps and folded her into his arms. “All right, I’ll stay with you, but you’ve got to promise we take a month of vacation every year. I want to see the world before we check into the Acres and no matter what country we’re in, I want you sleeping beside me every night.”
She smiled. “You drive a hard bargain.”
He kissed her while fifty onlookers cheered. One long kiss that promised a lifetime of loving.
As he pulled away to look at her, Jillian swore she could see her forever in his eyes.
Then, Mrs. Kelly invited everyone in for breakfast, just as she’d planned to do all along.
* * * * *
MORNINGS
ON MAIN
JODI THOMAS
Reader’s Guide
Questions for Discussion
Jillian finds the life of a nomad comforting. Why do you think this is? Is there anything that appeals to you about this lifestyle? Why or why not?
Why do you think Jillian’s father takes her photo from the lockbox in the library?
Connor was never close with his first wife, Sunnie’s mother. Do you think he regrets that?
Alzheimer’s disease affects our memories. Eugenia Larady—Gram—lived a good life and was loved in Laurel Springs. How would you deal with someone who had treated you poorly, but couldn’t remember doing so?
How does Jillian’s arrival in Laurel Springs affect Connor’s personality?
How do you decide what becomes part of your story? Which memories are important to the fabric of your life, and why?
How do you think people—specifically, women—can benefit from intergenerational friendship, like the one that Jillian forges with Eugenia?
Does Sunnie grow and change as a character throughout the story? If so, how?
What if Jillian had decided to leave Laurel Springs after all? How would her decision have affected the Larady family?
How does quilting form a source of community for the older women of Laurel Springs?
Jillian’s project is to log and archive A Stitch in Time’s quilt collection for a local museum. Is quilting itself a form of archiving, of preserving collective history in tangible form? How?
A Conversation with Jodi Thomas
What inspired you to write a story about quilting? Are you a quilter, or was one of your family members a quilter? How has the tradition been passed down through generations?
My mother quilted all
her life, as did her mother and her mother. I have a room in my house we call the quilt room where colorful quilts cover the walls. But I don’t quilt. I remember being small and lying under the frame watching shadows above quilting around a square. But it wasn’t the quilting that fascinated me—it was the stories the women told. Every quilt carries a story for me.
In my books I love putting together pieces of peoples’ stories and showing how we all affect the lives of those around us. Due to the onset of Alzheimer’s, my mother was only able to read my first few books. Even as her mind was slipping, she’d often quilt on a little round frame while I typed away on my books. One day she looked up from her work and said simply, “Jodi, I think you quilt with words.”
Eugenia and her circle are kind of like Laurel Springs’s unofficial historians. Do you think it’s significant that quilting—traditionally considered “women’s work”—forms a sort of alternative historical account?
Quilts, even those we don’t know much about, tell a story. Tom, my husband, and I took a few family quilts to an historian speaking at the college one night. She told me things I didn’t know about quilts that had been in my family for a hundred years—one was made with the pattern popular in the Civil War. One old family quilt, well-worn, was a flour-sack quilt and the stitches were different in places, telling us it had been a group project.
She looked at one quilt and commented that it was an example of how not all people had a sense of color. But all quilts tell a story. Pretty or worn, they show a history or love, and talent, and sometimes survival when times were hard.
Texas history is a big part of your work, and southwest Texas Hill Country, specifically, is the backdrop for Mornings on Main. What should the reader know about this part of Texas? What makes it unique?
Like many Texans, for my family the Hill Country of Texas is a favorite spot to get away. It’s a beautiful drive with small towns like Fredericksburg and New Braunfels. Wineries, flowers, honey and peaches. And, of course, rich in Texas history.
When I was writing Mornings on Main, I used Fredericksburg’s wide street ‘big enough to turn a wagon pulled by oxen around in.’ In late spring we walked the back path to town along a stream, and the scenes in my story came alive.
