Back on Blossom Street

by Debbie Macomber

  “Goodbye? Aren’t you marrying—” Grandma stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowed.

  “There isn’t going to be a wedding,” Alix told her, refusing to lay blame or offer elaborate explanations. Grandma Turner would hear all about it soon enough.

  The old woman pulled out a kitchen chair, sat down and sighed. “No wedding. Now, that’s a crying shame. I like you, Alix. You’re exactly what this family needs.”

  Alix desperately wished that was true.

  “Talk about a bunch of stuffed shirts.”

  “Grandma!”

  Sarah Turner sipped her iced tea, then patted Alix’s hand.

  “I didn’t…know where else to go.” Even now, Alix wasn’t sure what had drawn her to the old woman. Telling her about the shawl was only an excuse.

  “You came to exactly the right place,” Grandma Turner assured her.

  Alix choked on a sob. “I gotta leave.” The old lady didn’t need her blubbering all over the kitchen. Besides, Alix wasn’t in the mood to sit around and exchange polite chitchat.

  “Did I ever tell you about Jordan’s grandfather and me?” Grandma Turner asked. “Before we got married?”

  “No.”

  Grandma passed her a box of tissues.

  “The Turner family didn’t think I was the girl for him.”

  Alix found that hard to believe.

  “As you know, I worked back in the days when it was rare for a woman to hold a job outside the home. The Turner family was in the ministry and disapproved of that.”

  “But you did marry him,” Alix said, dabbing at her eyes. She hated showing any kind of weakness.

  “Yes, I did—because Lawrence stood up to his family and insisted he loved me. I remember him talking to his parents as firm as could be. He said he was well past the age of consent, well past letting them make his decisions for him. If they couldn’t see the blessings I brought to the family, then they needed to open their eyes.”

  Grandma Turner thought she was helping, but the old woman didn’t realize how badly her words hurt. Jordan would never do that for Alix. In fact, he seemed almost relieved about canceling the wedding. What worried him most was facing his mother and telling her the whole thing was off. Alix loved Jordan, but it had become obvious that she wasn’t the right woman for him—and that he wasn’t the right man for her.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Why do people who love to knit complain about knitting a row with 1200 stitches and not about knitting 20 rows with 60 stitches?”

  —Candace Eisner Strick, author of Sweaters From a New England Village (Down East Books, 1996), Beyond Wool (Martingale Books, 2004) and Knit One, Stripe Too (Martingale Books, 2007)

  Lydia Goetz

  I was now standing guard over Margaret, and that was a real switch. From my teen years onward, I was the coddled one, fragile and sickly, and as a result, I developed the troubling habit of waiting for others to step in and take care of me. That didn’t change until my life finally stopped revolving around my needs, my desires—which happened when I opened the yarn store three years ago.

  I’ve learned such valuable lessons about running a business and coping with people and making decisions. And that included everything going on in our family. I’d become my sister’s protector, and one manifestation of that was shielding her as much as possible from what was going on with Mom. Margaret had enough to deal with in taking care of Julia—and herself.

  Because of this, Margaret was taking a lot of time off work. I let her go as often as she felt necessary, which wasn’t easy for me. Some days I didn’t even get a lunch break. It was one customer after another until the end of the day. Thankfully, I loved what I was doing! I still love it.

  This Wednesday morning in early May was unusual—because Margaret had nothing to say. My sister’s always been quick to share her opinions, wanted or not. She showed up for work and hardly said a word. Questions hovered on the tip of my tongue. I knew Julia had joined a support group for crime victims—which I’d learned from Hailey.

  At first it irritated me that my own sister hadn’t given me this latest update. But vocal as she is, especially about other people’s actions, Margaret can be intensely private about her own life and affairs. I supposed she would eventually have mentioned this counseling group of Julia’s; at least I hoped so.

  As if she’d been reading my thoughts, Margaret approached me where I was taking inventory. This particular wool was one of my favorite brands and it felted beautifully. I could hardly keep it on the shelves. The key is choosing the right colors and with hundreds of choices from which to select, I’d been experimenting, bringing in new shades.

  “I’m going to need time off this afternoon,” Margaret announced bluntly. “That isn’t a problem, is it?”

  “It’s the shawl class,” I reminded her. I counted on my sister to be there in case customers stopped by.

  “Yes, I know, but this is important.” I heard the defensiveness in her voice.

  I bit off the words asking my sister how much longer she’d be requiring time away from work. “I’ll manage,” I told her, although I didn’t look forward to running the class while waiting on customers.

  Margaret’s reluctance to explain worried me. At one point she’d talked about hiring a private detective, but if she’d done so, I wasn’t aware of it. I hoped—trusted—that Matt had talked her out of it.

  After an interminable pause, Margaret answered my unspoken question. “Julia’s going into police headquarters at three to identify the defendant in a lineup,” she said.

  “The police caught him?” You’d think Margaret would’ve said something!

  “Detective Johnson believes this is the one,” she muttered. “He’s in a lineup so Julia can get a good look at him.”

  My immediate concern was for my niece and how she’d react to seeing her attacker again. “How’s she handling that?”

  Margaret didn’t betray her feelings easily; nevertheless, I could see she was nervous. “Matt and I talked to her this morning. We told her the suspect—” she spat out the word “—can’t hurt her again. I assume he’s already behind bars.”

  I didn’t tell my sister that just because he’d been brought in for a lineup didn’t necessarily mean he was in jail. Of course, everything I knew about police procedure I’d learned on Law & Order. I did realize that a lot depended on Julia’s ability to make a positive identification. Then and only then would the suspect be charged.

  “Julia’s stronger now than at any time since the attack,” Margaret went on. “Matt and I are going with her.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” I asked, grateful that my sister and brother-in-law would be with my niece. I wanted to help Margaret through this crisis, but felt powerless to do anything more than give her the time off she needed.

  She shook her head. “I appreciate your being so understanding about all of this,” she said brusquely.

  I didn’t let on how perturbed I’d been earlier. I certainly would’ve liked more notice but guessed she hadn’t been given much herself. And her acknowledgement, her thanks, meant a great deal to me. “You’ll call and tell me what happened, won’t you?”

  Margaret nodded. “I’ll call you from the police station.”

  By the time the members of my class started to arrive, Margaret was gone for the day. Alix didn’t show up, which surprised me. I’d never known her to miss a class. I was sorry she wouldn’t be joining us; her presence always made our knitting sessions livelier.

  “I haven’t talked to Alix since last week,” Colette told me.

  “Me, neither,” Susannah said. “But last time we met, Alix was almost finished with her shawl.”

  I remembered that, too. In fact, she’d purchased yarn for another project, a felted purse. Still, it wasn’t like Alix to stay away, even if she’d completed a project. My guess was that wedding plans were keeping her extra busy.

  “I read an article about people knitting with wire,” Susannah commented
as she sat down at the table and brought out her knitting. After a slow start, she’d done well with the shawl.

  I’d heard of wire-knitting, too. “I guess some people get desperate to knit,” I said, trying to be funny. “Some poor knitter was probably stuck somewhere without a yarn store and broke into her husband’s tool kit.”

  Colette didn’t laugh the way I’d expected.

  “Seriously, though, I’ve seen some lovely jewelry made with gold wire,” I said.

  “Really?” Colette finally looked up from her knitting. Her own shawl was coming along, though not at any great speed. I’d hoped she’d be nearly finished by now. Next week was our final class and she had more than half the shawl yet to knit.

  “Anyone heard from Alix in the last few days?” Colette asked a moment later.

  She seemed concerned suddenly, although when I’d first mentioned Alix I hadn’t sensed any uneasiness in her.

  “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in a while,” I said slowly. Alix usually dropped in two or three times a week. She’d long been more than a customer; we were friends.

  Friends. And then it hit me. “You know what we need to do, don’t you?” I said in a rush, wondering why I hadn’t thought of it earlier. “We should hold a wedding shower for Alix.”

  “Great idea,” Colette agreed. “Just us—her knitting friends.”

  “How about next Wednesday, since that’s our last class,” Susannah suggested.

  I nodded. “That would be perfect. We’ll make it a surprise.”

  Everyone agreed enthusiastically. We discussed knitting-related gifts—pattern books, yarn in a color we knew she liked, a gift certificate for the shop.

  “We could order a cake from the French Café,” Susannah said. “Alix might even end up decorating her own cake.”

  We all found that amusing, especially in light of the problems she’d had over her wedding cake. She’d talked about it one afternoon when she’d come by for yarn. She’d sounded depressed about the decision Jacqueline and Susan had made regarding it. I tended to side with Alix, but not wanting to cause any discord, I said nothing to her or to Jacqueline.

  “Has anyone else planned a shower for her?” I asked, certain there must be others.

  “Tammie Lee Donovan,” Colette said. “Alix brought it up the last time we worked out at Go Figure.”

  That made sense. Jacqueline’s daughter-in-law was a good friend of Alix’s. And I recalled that Jacqueline had, in fact, mentioned the shower. Tammie Lee had invited all their friends from the country club, where both couples were prominent members.

  “She didn’t seem that excited about it,” Colette added.

  “I don’t think she knows a lot of the women who frequent the country club,” I said. “She’s probably feeling a bit apprehensive.”

  Colette’s mouth turned down in a sympathetic grimace. “Yeah. She’s afraid she’ll be out of her element.”

  “There’s another shower being held by the ladies at the Free Methodist Church the week before the wedding,” Susannah said.

  “That’s nice,” I murmured.

  “It would be if it were someone other than Alix,” Colette said.

  “Is she uncomfortable about this one, too?” Susannah asked.

  Colette hesitated. “That might be an overstatement. But she seemed kind of shocked people would do that for her. I think she’s afraid she might forget someone’s name.”

  That was a problem I could easily identify with. A lot of people come to my shop, and while I make an effort to remember all their names, I sometimes forget. It’s embarrassing to admit, especially when they’ve been to A Good Yarn a few times.

  “It isn’t like Alix to miss our workout sessions,” Colette said. “But we haven’t gone together since last week. She’s not answering her phone and she wasn’t at work today.”

  I was beginning to feel worried, even a little scared.

  The bell above the door chimed then, and in walked Jacqueline Donovan. She marched purposely toward the back of the store, where the rest of the class had gathered. And she looked…unlike Jacqueline. Her hair was actually disheveled, her mascara smudged and her raincoat badly wrinkled. Appearances are important to Jacqueline, and I’d never seen her like this before.

  She glanced at the table and her shoulders sagged. “Oh, dear.”

  “What is it?” I asked, but I could guess. She was searching for Alix.

  Her next words confirmed it. “When’s the last time any of you saw Alix?” she asked.

  We all looked at one another. “Last week for me,” Colette admitted. “We were talking about her just now, wondering where she is.”

  “Have you heard from her?” Jacqueline demanded, turning to me.

  “No—not recently. Has anything happened?” I was convinced there must be something seriously wrong for Jacqueline to leave her house with less than a full application of cosmetics and several pieces of expensive jewelry, not to mention a perfectly pressed coat.

  Jacqueline seemed indecisive, then shook her head. “I don’t know yet,” was all she’d tell me. She remained stubbornly tight-lipped. If anyone had an opportunity to talk to Alix, it would be Jacqueline, since Alix lived in the Donovans’ guesthouse. Surely Jacqueline needed only to cross the lawn and knock on the door. This told me Alix hadn’t been home. And that meant trouble.

  “If you see her,” Jacqueline said urgently, “promise you’ll get her to phone me.”

  “Of course.” That would be an easy promise to keep. I was truly worried now, without knowing exactly why.

  Jacqueline left and as soon as the door closed, the three of us exchanged anxious looks.

  “Now I’m really wondering what’s wrong,” Susannah muttered, stopping long enough to count the stitches on her needle.

  “Maybe holding a wedding shower isn’t such a good idea, after all,” Colette began.

  Before I could respond, the phone rang. I hurried over to the counter, hoping the caller would be either Margaret or Alix. It was Margaret.

  “How’d it go?” I asked.

  “His name is Danny Chesterfield,” my sister said.

  It sounded like a nice name, the name of someone pleasant, an upstanding citizen, not a hardened criminal.

  “Danny Chesterfield,” I repeated slowly. “Did Julia recognize him?”

  “Right away,” Margaret told me with a hint of pride. “As soon as they marched the men into the room, Julia grabbed my hand.”

  I wish I could’ve been there to reassure Julia, too.

  “She called out Danny’s number even before all the men turned to face us.” Margaret snickered derisively. “And guess what—first thing he did was get a lawyer.”

  Of course he would.

  “Detective Johnson says he belongs to a gang of car thieves that target certain cars. Apparently, Danny’s been in enough trouble through the years that there’s no chance he’ll get off lightly.”

  “Good.” Like my sister, I wanted this criminal behind bars, the sooner, the better.

  “I can already see a difference in Julia,” my sister told me. Margaret sounded more carefree than she had in weeks.

  “Where is she now?” I asked, hoping to talk to her, if only for a minute. It couldn’t have been easy to confront this felon. Even though he couldn’t see her behind the glass, Julia saw him and with his face in full view, she would’ve felt the terror and helplessness all over again. I was proud of what she’d done and wanted her to know it.

  “She went over to a friend’s house,” Margaret announced triumphantly.

  I wondered why my sister’s tone held such a note of pride—and then it came to me. Since the carjacking, Julia had refused to get behind the wheel of a car.

  “Julia drove?” I asked breathlessly.

  Margaret, who so rarely laughs, did. “Yes. By herself.”

  “Oh, Margaret, that’s fabulous!”

  “It’s over,” she said soberly. “At last this nightmare is over.”

>   I prayed my sister was right.

  CHAPTER 26

  Colette Blake

  Susannah had a doctor’s appointment, so Colette was opening the flower shop on her own Friday morning. As she approached the alley doorway, she noticed someone squatting there, puffing away on a cigarette. A plume of smoke rose from the hunched figure.

  “Alix?” Colette couldn’t keep the relief out of her voice. “Is that you?”

  Slowly Alix Townsend rose to a standing position, then dropped the cigarette and ground it out. Colette was filled with questions. Everyone had been talking about Alix and no one seemed to know where she’d been for the past four days.

  “What are you doing here in the alley?” Colette asked, unlocking the door.

  “I need to talk to you,” Alix said gruffly and followed Colette into the back of the shop.

  “It’s so good to see you,” Colette told her, ignoring her rudeness. She flipped on the lights and punched in the code to shut off the alarm. Walking to the front of the shop, she turned over the Closed sign. Susannah liked to prop open the door, which she saw as an invitation for customers to come in and browse. Her “open-door policy” had been successful, too; equally enticing were the buckets of fresh flowers she arranged along the sidewalk.

  Colette left the door open; she would set everything up when she’d finished talking to Alix. This was going to be a busy day for her. After work, she’d be joining Christian and his aunt for dinner. Although she was reluctant to admit it, Colette was looking forward to the evening. It’d been more than a month since she’d seen Christian and despite everything, she craved the sight of him.

  “What’s up? Is there anything I can do for you?” Colette asked, but what she really wanted to know was where Alix had been and why. Her friend looked as if she hadn’t slept in a week. The smudges under her eyes spoke of misery and exhaustion.

  “I came to cancel the wedding flowers,” Alix said abruptly.

  This was a shock, but Colette tried not to show it. “Are you changing the order?” she asked. “Or canceling it altogether?”