“I will, don’t worry.” Sarah turned on her heel and headed toward the display area in the front of the quilt shop.
As she studied the pegboard that hung above the three-by-three-foot shelf, she determined that the quilts should be hung on the pegboard above the fabric. It would be easier to hang the quilts before she shelved the fabric bolts. Sarah moved the sturdy step stool to the shelf and began to hang the first quilt.
“Excuse me.”
Sarah looked down at an elderly lady.
“Can you help me find this thread?” She held up the end sticker from a spool of thread.
After pushing another pin into the top of the quilt to hold it to the board, Sarah turned to find Mark. He was busy cutting fabric for a lady while another waited her turn. “Sure.” Sarah climbed down from the step stool and took the offered spool information.
“Even with my glasses that print is pretty small. I don’t want to get the wrong color.”
Sarah led the way to the thread display, chitchatting all the way about the lady’s quilt project. Sarah located the brand and color family before perusing the spools for the numeric code. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
As the woman walked away, Sarah went back to the display. During the next two hours, Sarah either assisted customers with simple requests or listened to their suggestions about the display she’d assembled. All the conversations warmed her heart and reminded her of the reason she’d loved her UPS delivery job so much—the varied conversations.
Mark approached the seasonal display just as Sarah was putting on the finishing touches. With his hair neatly combed straight back and his polo shirt now tucked into his sand-colored cargo pants, he’d lost the frazzled look from earlier in the day. Sarah thought Mark’s hair combed this way complemented his eyes, yet she found him very attractive when his hair feathered across his forehead, as it had earlier in the day. Her fingers itched to ruffle his hair back up so it fell across his forehead in a tangled mess.
“I think you missed your calling. That’s a great display.” Mark studied both sides of the shelving and pegboard. He crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “This is an excellent idea.” Mark waved a finger at all the red, white, and blue sewing accessories Sarah had arranged across the top of the flat framework of the shelf.
A thrill of pride bubbled through Sarah at hearing Mark’s praise of her work. “I was going to ask your permission to add all the patriotic-colored thread, yarn, and quilt binding over here, but you were busy with a customer at the time. I figured if you didn’t like it, I’d just put it back where I found it.” Sarah shrugged.
“Whew, we’ve been busy today. Murphy’s Law. I guess I should be shorthanded all the time. It’s pretty quiet now, though, so you go practice your sewing and relax. Help yourself to a soda in the small fridge in my office.”
Sarah glanced around the store. Two customers perused the fabric. She’d had so much fun helping out in the store that she hated for it to end, but she needed to get to work on her Job’s Tears quilt blocks. “I probably should. I’m really behind on assembling my quilt blocks.”
She followed Mark to the register area where he gathered her bag from under the counter. “Can you stick around until dinnertime? I’d like to buy you dinner, that is, if you don’t mind eating in the workroom again.”
“I can and I don’t.” Sarah flashed a broad smile over her shoulder as she walked back to the workroom. She grabbed a soda and Mark’s office chair from the darkened room adjacent to the workroom.
She arranged a folding chair so she could put her right foot up while she sewed. She’d have to try running the foot feed with her left leg.
A slight tingle had started in her leg as she’d finished up the display. She’d visited her MS doctor during the week, and he confirmed her suspicion—her MS now affected her right leg, too, a fact she planned to keep secret. She’d accepted her fate and knew that God was sending all her extra activities as the good to counterbalance the bad. She wished her family members felt the same way. She hated keeping secrets from them, but in a way she was sparing them, and herself, from more disagreements. What others didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
Chapter 9
Late Tuesday afternoon, Mark balanced on his haunches, storing extra thread in a lower cupboard. The door buzzer signal sped Mark’s heart. Could it be Sarah? He glanced at his watch. Five o’clock. His heart rate returned to normal.
“Be with you in a minute!” Mark called, intent on finishing the task at hand. When all the boxes were stacked away in neat rows, his knees groaned with midlife stiffness as he pushed himself up onto his feet. He scanned the store but couldn’t see anyone.
Mark walked toward the front of the store and saw a stocky, white-haired gentleman beside the patriotic display, leaning on a cane. “Uncle Walter?”
Mark held out his hand as he approached his father’s brother.
“Mark.”
Walter’s hand met Mark’s, his uncle’s handshake firm, his uncle’s eye contact deliberate, a holdover from his army days. Then Walter pulled Mark into a loose hug. Arm’s length affection. It ran in the family.
“Nice setup you have here.” Walter nodded toward Sarah’s hard work. “Looks like something Gert would have put together. You must have inherited her artistic talents as well as her sewing skills.”
Mark held his palms up. “I only sew enough to demonstrate the machines in the store. A friend of mine assembled the display, but I have to agree, it reminded me of Mom’s work, too.”
Walter met his eyes. “She was a good woman, your mom. Deserved better.”
Mark’s heart twisted, and instant moisture misted his eyes. He knew Walter wasn’t referring to her MS. He swallowed hard but ended up answering his uncle with a nod. Walter patted Mark’s shoulder then looked back at the display.
“I’m glad to see America being proud of her soldiers again. Greeting them at airports, holding celebrations.”
Walter’s wistful face held regret. Mark knew some of the returning Vietnam vets weren’t showered with glory. He placed a hand on Walt’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Well, I came here to ask you a favor. Is this a good time to talk?” Walter adjusted his glasses.
“Sure, if you don’t mind talking on the sales floor. My sales help is at her dinner break.” Mark crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels.
“Here’s fine.” Walter waved his hand in the air. “It’s nothing that private.” He lifted his quad cane. “Hip replacement surgery. I’m going to get rid of this.”
“That’s great. When?” Mark didn’t remember his uncle without a limp. During active duty, shrapnel had injured Walter’s hip.
“I’m shooting for October, after the busy season at the hotel. I know it’s early, but I wondered if you’d take me to the VA hospital and wait while I had surgery.”
“You know I will.” That was the downside of being a Sanders man—no woman to help them during the hard times. But then again, it was of their own doing. Probably in a few months, Sarah would just be a pleasant memory. The thought clenched Mark’s insides. The truth hurt.
“Thank you. Now I’ll get the date scheduled with a surgeon and let you know.” Walter smiled.
“Excuse me a second.” Mark saw Sarah through the plate glass window and walked over to open the door.
“Thank you. I brought dinner.” Sarah held up a bag from a grocery store deli.
“Smells great. Sarah, I’d like you to meet my uncle Walter.” Mark guided Sarah by the elbow to where his uncle stood.
“Uncle Walter, I’d like you to meet Sarah Buckley.” Mark relieved Sarah of her bags. “She’s the one who arranged this display. Sarah, this is Walter Sanders.”
Sarah met Walter’s firm handshake and direct eye contact with a smile. “Do you like the patriotic arrangement?”
“Very much. You did a good job.”
“Thank you. It was my first try. Would you like to stay a
nd have dinner with us? There’s plenty of food.”
“Thank you for asking, but no. I want to get home before dark. You two go on and eat your dinner.” Walter’s cane rattled as he lifted it then thunked it against the tile floor as he took a step toward the door. “Good to know you.” Walter nodded to Sarah.
Sarah reclaimed her bags. “It was nice to meet you, too.” She wiggled her fingers at the men before turning and heading back to the workroom.
“Let me walk you out, Uncle Walter.” Mark took short steps to keep the same stride as Walter. As they neared the front of the store, the door opened.
Mark and Walter paused as Caroline came into the quilt shop.
“Walter! How are you?” Caroline dropped the bags she carried and wrapped the man in a hug.
“Good.” Walter patted her back. “How are you?”
“She’s better than good—she’s in love.” Mark regretted the words as soon as he’d spoke them. Love and Sanders men just weren’t a good mix.
Walter chuckled. “Congratulations, Caroline.”
Caroline laughed.
“I can’t believe you still hang around this guy after all the trouble he gave you growing up.” Walter wagged his finger at Mark.
“The tables have turned. Now I give him trouble.” Caroline continued to laugh as she picked her bags back up.
“It was nice to see you, Caroline. Mark, I’ll be in touch.”
Mark grabbed the door and held it open for his uncle. “Good-bye. Call me anytime.”
“He looks good,” Caroline said as she and Mark walked toward the back of the store.
“He’s getting a hip replacement in October. He came to ask me if I’d sit at the hospital during his surgery.” Mark sighed.
Caroline stopped walking. “Don’t you want to?”
“Of course I do. It’s just Uncle Walter’s another reminder that Sanders men aren’t good with relationships. They either leave or drive away women.” Mark looked down at the toe of his scuffed loafers, not proud of the fact the same blood ran through his veins.
“Mark! You can’t even compare Walter’s situation with your father’s desertion. Walter is a fine man.”
What Caroline said was true, but what Caroline didn’t say was true, too. His dad was a horrible example of a man, and that was whose blood coursed through Mark. His heart no longer pattered with happiness at seeing Sarah. This relationship was doomed to be short lived by genetics alone.
Until Caroline’s soft fingers lifted his chin, he’d been so far into self-pity he didn’t hear her bags rustle as she set them on the floor.
“Mark”—Caroline’s tone now soft, soothing—“you and Walter are both Sanders men cut from the same cloth, fine cloth, good cloth, sturdy cloth. He is nothing like your father any more than you are. Don’t ever forget that.”
He searched her eyes and gave her a weak smile.
Caroline patted his cheek then picked up her bags and headed into the workroom.
Mark’s gaze traveled to the plate glass window, searching for another glimpse of Walter, who was probably long gone by now. Was Caroline right? Walter hadn’t shirked his duty to his country, having intended to keep his promise of marriage to his fiancée. He’d stayed solid in times of trouble, unlike Mark’s father. Walter’s qualities reminded him of denim—tough, strong, enduring—whereas his dad’s character was as thin as cheesecloth.
Caroline’s words supplied the sunshine Mark’s heart needed to let hope grow. He favored Walter’s character. Why had he never seen that before? Mark had helped his mother through difficulties with her MS, he rode out tough business times, and, because he loved Sarah, for the past week he’d changed his plans to ensure that she took care of herself by getting plenty of rest.
It took Mark’s mind a second to catch up with his heart. He smiled. He loved Sarah, and knowing that she had MS didn’t change that fact one bit.
Sarah’s stomach grumble insisted that it was past lunchtime. In fact, it was thirty minutes past her lunchtime. Interruptions drew Sarah away from compiling and printing out the rent bills, normally a two-hour job. She’d started that task first thing that morning and was now just finishing. As she folded the last rent billing and stuffed it into the envelope, the door to her office swooshed open. Her shoulders sagged—not another construction problem on the third floor. If so, it’d be three for three today. She tentatively raised her eyes.
“Hi, Sarah.” Karla crossed the short space to the cherrywood desk.
Not a construction problem but an issue just the same. Sarah felt her shoulders sag further but forced lightness into her voice. “Hi, Karla, what brings you here?”
“Well, I was hoping that you had a minute to talk.” Karla started to sit down in the reception chair.
“Wait.” Sarah held up her hand to stop Karla. “Can we talk in the break room while I eat my lunch?” That way Sarah could confine the unpleasantness, which she was sure was coming, into a room where a client might not overhear.
“Sure.” Karla smiled as she adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder.
Sarah slipped the phone earpiece from her ear and led the way to the adjacent room. “Have a seat.” She pointed to the folding chairs beside the imitation-wood-grain table.
Once Sarah retrieved her sandwich, orange, and soda, she sat beside Karla. “How have you been?”
“Good.” Karla smiled. “How about you? I haven’t seen you in, well, forever.”
More like three weeks, but who was counting? “I’m good but tired most days.” Sarah saw Karla’s instant frown. “I landed a big lease—the entire third floor. It requires a major renovation, so I’ve been putting in long hours here.”
“So, you’re finally around people more?” Karla searched her face. “Because you’re such a people person, I don’t understand why you’d want to work such a solitary job.”
Karla’s comment struck a chord inside of Sarah. Since she helped Mark that day in the fabric store, she’d really missed the variety of people she saw in her old job. Here, Ashley was the only person she really talked to. Other than saying good morning to other tenants, Sarah’s encounters were brief and sporadic.
“Well, it’s an adjustment, but then again, there’s no heavy lifting and it’s climate controlled, which helps my MS symptoms. I guess it’s the bad that I have to take with the good.” Hopefully, that should convince Karla, although today Sarah had trouble swallowing Job’s lesson.
Karla shrugged. “There are lots of jobs that are climate controlled where you’d interact with people all day. But if you like it, I guess…” Karla’s voice trailed off as she looked around the bleak break room.
“I came here to give you this.” Karla lifted her purse and unzipped the side pocket. She pulled out a check and handed it to Sarah. “My sponsorship for your MS walk.”
“Thank you.” The unexpected gesture cracked the wall Sarah had built around her heart where Karla was concerned. She gasped when she saw the amount. “This is very generous of you.”
Karla shrugged. “It’s the money I was saving for my trip to Europe. That isn’t important anymore. I want them to find a cure for MS.” Her gaze lowered, and her voice cracked. “I can’t imagine life without you.”
The defensive wall around Sarah’s heart disintegrated. Had that been the real issue all along with Karla?
Sarah wiped the crumbs of lunch from her hands with her napkin then placed her hands over Karla’s and squeezed. Karla finally lifted her gaze.
Sarah smiled. “Thank you very much. I’m sure it will help with research so all people who suffer with MS can lead fuller lives.”
Karla nodded. “Now tell me what you’ve been up to besides working too much.” Karla lifted her eyebrow to emphasize her last two words.
Today, the simple gesture warmed Sarah’s heart instead of igniting her anger. “I volunteered to head the early bird Bible study through the summer, and in addition to my quilt class, I’m working on a committee to review church curriculum m
aterial.”
Even as Karla’s frown deepened the creases of her brow, Sarah’s defenses stayed in check.
“Sarah, you’re doing more now than you did before your diagnosis. Are you sure that you aren’t overdoing it?” Karla pursed her lips. “Do you allow yourself any time to rest?”
Sarah drew a deep breath. Mark worried about that, too. Couldn’t any of them see how much happier she was now versus six weeks ago? When she had too much free time, it turned into a pity party about having MS and she’d have to push herself to leave her house to visit the quilt shop. Now, unless her symptoms flared up, she was so busy she seldom gave her MS a second thought.
“I’m fine, really,” Sarah said, certain that reassurance was all Karla really needed.
The skeptical look Karla shot her made Sarah flinch, and defensiveness began to niggle her insides.
“At least the quilt class ends in a couple more weeks. That should relieve some of your stress. How is it going, anyway?”
“Just a second and I’ll show you.” Sarah left the room to get her tote bag from her desk drawer. She pulled the completed blocks out as she returned to the room. “I planned to make a wall quilt, but I’m behind on sewing my blocks together.” She placed six blocks in front of Karla. “I may be changing to the table runner.”
Sarah sighed. When she did find the time to work on the Job’s Tears blocks, she struggled with the lack of control from the MS in her arm, making the sewing even slower.
“I see improvement.” Karla arranged the blocks side by side on the table.
“Thanks. I’ve found hand stitching the blocks works best for me.” She paused, hoping Karla wouldn’t say “I told you so” with her next admission. “And I’m also finding that I have to sew in spurts because of the MS in my arm, so it’s taking longer than it should.”
“Maybe I should have enrolled, and we could have made the quilt together since it seems so important to you.” Karla started laughing. “Although my sewing wouldn’t look any better than yours, and I don’t have MS.”
Sarah chuckled. “Remember those aprons we made in that home economics class we both hated?”
Dakota Love Page 26
