“Do you have a warping board?”
“No,” she said, looking up in alarm. “I didn’t even think to ask Sam. I’ve forgotten some things, after all.”
“Never mind. No telling where Hilary’s is, so I’ll loan you one of mine.” She hurried to the back room and reappeared in no time with a square frame dotted with pegs. “You’ll wind the yarn on this for the warp, and transfer it to the loom,” she said. “Wait a minute. I may have another handout.” She rummaged under the counter and came up with a second stack of papers.
“This is great of you, Tessie. I feel as if I ought to pay for lessons, with all the help you’re giving me.”
“Forget it. I’m delighted someone’s using Hilary’s loom again.”
“You sound like Sam. Is everyone in Sumersbury so neighborly?”
Tessie laughed. “Most of us, I guess. Of course, along with the neighborliness comes nosiness.”
“Oh, well,” Anna said, laughing with her. “Can’t have everything.”
“That’s what my husband and I decided, so we chose the friendliness of a small town, and we accept that we have no secrets from anybody.” She cocked her head and gazed at Anna. “Maybe if you’re only here on weekends, you’ll be able to keep a few of your secrets.”
“I doubt it,” Anna said with a smile.
“Anyway, getting back to your warping and threading of the loom, you’ll probably be fine, but if you’d like me to come out and get you started, say so. I’d consider it an honor to help someone set up on Hilary’s loom.”
“Thanks, but I’d like to try it myself first. If I land in real trouble, I’ll let you know.”
“Anytime. My home phone’s on both sheets, as well as the shop number. I don’t go out much. I stay home and weave.”
“Sounds nice.” She glanced around the shop and wondered if weaving and owning a yarn shop like this one would be an alternative to interior design. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to have a shop in Sumersbury. From Tessie’s opening comment about needing the business more than lunch, and the absence of other customers, even one yarn shop in Sumersbury might be one too many.
“What’s the first thing you plan to make?” Tessie asked.
She’d already decided on that. “A tablecloth and napkins.” She remembered her panic when she’d tried to set a pretty table for Sam the night before.
“I’d start on the napkins. They’ll be easier.”
“Good advice.” She soaked up the warm encouragement and camaraderie. Tessie had the right idea about becoming involved with her customers. Anna realized that she did the same thing in her work, or at least she had in the beginning. Lately she’d lost her enthusiasm for doing so. Maybe she was burned out, after all.
Before long she left the shop carrying a paper bag stuffed with lavender, light blue and turquoise yarn and another handout that detailed the threading for various types of weaving patterns. The next time Sam ate at her house, he would use hand-woven table linens.
She caught herself up short. Was she already planning another meal involving Sam? She was using his loom and logically she would want to show off her first project to the owner of the loom. But she knew full well that wasn’t the reason.
As she drove past Sam’s place, she glanced through the rows of baby Christmas trees and noticed that his truck was parked in front of his house. He must have finished helping his friend haul the mower home. She thought about stopping to tell him about her conversation with Tessie Johanson and her success with buying yarn and getting enough information to begin her first project, but she decided against it. Better to leave well enough alone for now.
When she stepped out of the car in her newly cleared driveway, she heard the sound of someone chopping wood behind her house. Her heartbeat sped up. Only one person would be chopping her firewood, yet why was his truck still at home? She carried her bag of yarn and Tessie’s warp board around to the back of the house.
Sure enough, he was there, reminding her of a lumberjack as he swung the sledgehammer in an arc over his head and drove the wedge through a section of thick trunk. The wood split with a sharp crack, and the two halves thudded to either side of the chopping block.
As he reached for one of them to split it in half again, he saw her. “Hi. Thought I’d get this out of the way for you, in case you want a fire soon.”
“That’s very nice of you, but how did you get here? I saw your truck parked in front of your house.” She flushed slightly when she realized that he’d know she’d taken the time to check.
“The back path.” He pointed toward a spot in the nearby woods that she hadn’t noticed before, a place a few feet to the right of an outcropping of granite. “It’s much shorter than going by the road, although it’s grown over a lot recently since nobody’s used it to get between the two houses.”
Her pulse quickened at the thought of a backwoods path between their houses. The path linked them with a shared secret. “How long has it been there?”
“Forever, I guess.” He leaned on the sledgehammer. “The brothers who built these two houses probably cleared it as a shortcut for all the times they went back and forth and the wives visited and the cousins played together.”
She smiled. “It’s fun to think of all the people who walked through these woods, and why.”
“Yeah, it is. When Mrs. Mac died, I wondered if that was the end of using the path. I mean, without your permission, I’d be trespassing to walk over here through your property.”
She smiled. “Well, you certainly have permission to walk along that path.”
“So do you.” He gazed at her steadily.
“Uh, thanks,” she murmured, feeling warm. “It will come in handy, I imagine, while we’re working on your house.”
“I imagine.” He continued to lean on the sledgehammer and gaze at her.
She swallowed and looked away. He had a powerful pull in those blue eyes. “You know, I feel guilty having you split this wood today. You already spent time helping your friend with his mower, and I’m sure that you—”
“Wanted an excuse to come over and find out how you made out at the yarn shop with Tessie,” he finished.
She was disconcerted by his honesty. “I made out fine,” she said.
“Looks like you came home with a bag full of yarn and a warp board. I forgot about that part, and I don’t know where my grandmother’s is.”
“That’s okay. Tessie loaned me this one.” She was relieved that they were now discussing weaving and not a secret path between their houses. “She was a wonderful help, and she had some nice things to say about your grandmother, too.”
“Yeah, they were good buddies. Was she surprised that you’ve got the loom?”
“A little.”
“Did you tell her about our deal?”
“Yes, I did. I hope you don’t mind, but some explanation seemed necessary.”
He laughed. “Some explanation usually is in Sumersbury. You’ve managed to keep clear of the local residents all summer, but they’ve been dying to know about the new owner of the McCormick place. I’m afraid your privacy is jeopardized now that you’ve made contact.”
“The television special would have done that eventually, anyway.” Her private country retreat would never be the same, but maybe that was okay. Maybe she was ready to gradually enter the community of Sumersbury. Knowing Tessie Johanson would be a definite plus. And then there was Sam.
“Probably. I’m sorry, Anna. Things got out of hand.”
“I’m not sorry. Not anymore.”
He absorbed her statement and smiled. “Good.” Then he picked up the sledgehammer. “Now, if you’re anything like my grandmother, you’re impatient to thread that loom with your new yarn. Don’t let me keep you from doing that. What’re you making first?”
“A tablecloth and napkins. I can’t be using sheets and paper napkins forever.”
He arched one eyebrow. “Sounds like you might be settling into this house a little.”
“I—maybe.”
“That’s good, too.”
She stood there, suddenly undecided about how to proceed. He was working so hard to help her, and it seemed only fair that she return the favor. But if she invited him to stay for dinner, she was afraid her plan to keep her distance would be in jeopardy. She cleared her throat. “I really appreciate your chopping the wood, Sam, and ordinarily I’d invite you to dinner, but—”
“Hey, stop right there. You don’t have to make excuses, Anna.” He smiled gently. “And besides, I have plans for tonight already. Does that help?”
Five
Sam had plans for the evening. Some of the brightness drained from her day. “Yes, that helps,” she said. “Thank you for splitting the wood.”
“You’re welcome. Now get in there and bring that loom alive. I know you can.”
“All right.” She turned and walked around the house again. Behind her she heard the crack of another log splitting. As she unpacked the yarn, figured her yardages and began winding the warp thread around the pegs on the square board, she listened to the steady thwack of Sam’s sledgehammer. When the sound ended, she knew that he was gone.
She worked all afternoon, and by suppertime, she’d threaded the loom and woven a few inches of her first napkin. She was excited about the results and longed to run down the tangled path and get Sam to come and see it. But he had plans tonight, she reminded herself. And she had no idea who was included in those plans.
She leaned in the doorway of the screened-in back porch and watched the light fade and the tiny indentation that was the beginning of the path disappear. The oak trees near the woodpile rustled in an evening breeze, and a few yellow leaves floated down onto the freshly chopped wood that Sam had stacked so neatly.
She should be relieved that he had other plans tonight, which left her free to enjoy her country sanctuary without the temptation that was Sam Garrison. Yet she felt restless instead. She leaned her forehead against the waffle pattern of the screen and smelled the rusty, metallic scent of the wire. The night was quiet, and although she waited and listened, there was no harmonica music.
With a small sigh, she turned and headed into the kitchen to fix her dinner.
* * *
As Sam drove home from the local tavern where he’d met up with some of his buddies for dinner, he wondered if Anna might still be awake. He pictured her seated at his grandmother’s loom, and the image brought a tender smile. After he arrived home, he sat on his front steps with his harmonica and, deliberately facing in the direction of her house, began playing.
He visualized her working the shuttle back and forth in a steady rhythm, creating a work of art with the brightly colored yarn. When she heard the first notes, perhaps she’d pause, and then grabbing a jacket, go out to the back porch to listen.
With that thought firmly in his mind, he played every song he knew, pouring all his feelings into the music, playing just for her. He could almost hear her sigh of pleasure as she gazed over towards his house, just as he was gazing towards hers.
When the last note faded into the darkness, he stood. Wishing her a silent good night, he turned and walked back into the house.
* * *
Anna spent Sunday morning weaving. A pleasant ache in her back and shoulders reminded her of the unaccustomed hours she’d spent at the loom, but the twinge in her muscles also reminded her of accomplishment.
All morning she’d waited for the sound of Sam’s truck or his knock at the door if he’d walked over on the path. When noon arrived with still no sign of him, she understood that he was giving her the time and space she’d asked for, and if she was the least bit disappointed not to see him again this weekend, she had only herself to blame.
Back in New York that evening, she gazed at the unadorned walls of her apartment. When Eric had lived with her, the walls had been insufficient to hold the outpouring of his talent. She’d kept the furnishings spare and plain, buying only pieces that wouldn’t take attention away from Eric’s paintings. Now the paintings were gone, and furniture that had looked spare and plain against the riot of color on his canvases now looked depressingly stark.
The absence of his powerful creativity had been a relief at first. Then, after deciding on the Connecticut farmhouse, she’d had no money for buying new furniture. She could have bought inexpensive prints for the bare walls, yet she hadn’t done that, either. Under the pressure of Eric’s overwhelming taste, she’d slowly lost track of her own. She could easily take clients’ ideas and mold them into a design scheme, but she had avoided choosing a framed print for her own apartment.
She still didn’t want to buy art for her walls, she decided, taking furniture catalogs from a bookshelf and settling on the couch with a cup of decaf. She’d rather plan the transformation of Sam’s farmhouse. Yet in the next hour, as she leafed through the catalogs and made notes, she kept glancing up at the walls. For the first time since Eric moved out, she was bothered by their nakedness.
On Monday, she spent her first break of the day talking to Vivian, payroll clerk for the department store, and her best friend. Straightforward and assertive, Vivian loved bright nail polish, chunky wooden jewelry from South America, and her husband, Jimmy, not necessarily in that order. She also loved making people laugh.
“How are things?” Vivian asked when Anna approached her desk with a cup of coffee in one hand.
“Hectic.” She sat on a chair in front of the desk. “Harrison, the guy who won the lottery, wants his whole house redone in early garish, and it kills me to spend lots of money on stuff he could pick up at a discount store. In the meantime, sweet Mrs. Evans wants imported Oriental carpets and Italian marble on a budget that wouldn’t be enough to refinish this desk.”
“I think you should introduce them and talk them into switching budgets,” Vivian said.
“Now there’s an idea.”
Vivian’s telephone rang. “Excuse me—somebody probably thinks they ought to get paid around here.”
Anna sipped her coffee and waited for Vivian to finish with her caller. Then she put the mug down and leaned forward. “I had a specific reason for coming by.” She lowered her voice. “I’m having a bit of a romantic crisis.”
Vivian’s eyes widened and then she began to laugh.
“Don’t do that. Vivian, stop.”
“The devil must be freezing his fanny,” Vivian said, still grinning. “I believe you said hell would freeze over before you got involved with anyone after Eric.”
“So you’re going to rub it in, are you? Some friend.”
“Do you blame me? You should have heard yourself a couple of months ago. But I thought you’d come around. I am curious, though, as to what brought about the transformation.”
“I, um, met this guy over the weekend.”
“In your little town of Sumersbury?”
“In my own little neighborhood,” she said with a smile. “He’s my next door neighbor, and I think I like him a lot.”
“I don’t get it.” Vivian stared at her. “What’s the crisis? Is he gay?”
Anna chuckled. “No.”
“Married?”
“Of course not!”
“Well, then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I don’t know if the way I reacted to Sam is the way I’d react to any good-looking, intelligent, charming man. If deep down, I’m just lonely and on the rebound.” She peered at Vivian.
“So you want to figure out if you’re attracted to good-looking, intelligent, charming men in general these days, or this Sam person in particular?”
“Exactly.”
Vivian rested her chin on her hands. “I could set you up with one of Jimmy’s good-looking, intelligent, charming friends. Find out if the sparks fly.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“No, I’m not. Do you think going out on a date with someone else would be a fair test against your Sam?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Anna, I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill, but on the other hand, spending the evening with another man would probably give you a good answer as to whether you’re on the rebound. If you are, then you’ll find Jimmy’s friend equally appealing as your Sam. If you don’t, then you can go back to Sumersbury and enjoy Sam without all the baggage.”
Anna sighed. “Okay. If you can arrange it, I’ll go on a date with one of Jimmy’s friends.” She got up to leave.
“Friday night?”
She stopped. “Well, actually, Thursday would be better.”
“Dear one, no man will be complimented if you insist on a Thursday night date. They’ll think you’re saving your weekend for others, which you probably are. Friday or Saturday should be the night, unless you want to forget this charade and go spend Friday night with Sam.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. It would mean she couldn’t go to Connecticut until Saturday morning, and she wouldn’t see Sam until Saturday at the earliest, either. But then, that was the point of all this, wasn’t it? To find out if her reaction to Sam was genuine? “Friday, then.”
“I’ll let you know when I have something set up.” Vivian reached for her phone.
“Thanks, Viv.” She smiled her appreciation and left the accounting department. By that afternoon, Vivian had found her a date for Friday night.
Anna spent Monday and Tuesday evenings drawing up recommendations for Sam’s house. The combination of planning the rooms in the farmhouse and glancing up to confront her own stark surroundings finally prompted her on Wednesday to buy a print from the store to hang over the couch.
She didn’t debate the choice much, and it wasn’t until she got the print home that she recognized any significance in what she’d bought. The print was rural, but then she’d always been drawn to farmhouses and barns, and remembered having bought similar scenes before she’d met Eric. Yet none of them had been quite like this one. This picture included children.
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