“Daddy? I have ice cubes for your head.”
Ice cubes for my head? Startled, Brad sat up and glanced toward the door of his study.
Jennie stood there, holding hand towel wrapped around a plastic zipper bag of ice cubes. Just like her mother used to do at one time. His heart clenched at the memory. He and Sarah had once loved and supported each other, and this had been one of the little things she’d done to show it. But he couldn’t remember the last time Sarah had brought him an ice pack. Brad was amazed his daughter even knew what they were.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
He accepted the bag his daughter offered him then pressed it against his forehead. Surprisingly, he felt better – he hadn’t even realized he’d had a headache.
“Who taught you to make such a nice ice bag?” he asked, pulling his daughter into his lap with his free hand.
“Aunt Bonnie. She made one for me when I fell down and skinned my knee. She said she makes them for Uncle Ted when he has a headache,” Jennie answered, laying her head against his chest.
“We’ll have to thank Aunt Bonnie when we talk to her the next time,” he said and gave his daughter an extra hug.
“Does your head hurt you really hard, Daddy?”
“It did, but it’s much better now. The ice helps a lot.” He tweaked one of her curls. “But I know something that would make me feel even better.”
“What?”
“A great big hug from my beautiful princess.”
Her tiny face broke into a gap-toothed smile, and her little arms went around his neck. Brad snuggled her close against his chest and inhaled deeply, taking in her sweet little girl scent.
The last of his tension drained away as he held her and rocked his office chair slowly from side to side. The band and its problems could wait until tomorrow. Holding his precious daughter reminded him of what the most important thing in his life was. Jennie was his treasure, and she gave him purpose.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, Princess,” he replied. Hugging her tightly, he relaxed in his desk chair. She snuggled against his chest with her head nestled just under his chin. He’d held her like this ever since the day she’d been born. He’d never forget the wonder of that day. Tiny fingers and toes. A fuzz of blond hair. Big, curious blue eyes. He’d lost his heart to her the moment he’d seen her.
“Do you feel better now?” Jennie whispered a few minutes later.
“Yes, I do. Thanks to you.”
“You’re welcome.” She wiggled around to sit up. “Is it time for me to go to bed yet, Daddy? I’m getting pretty tired.”
Brad glanced at the clock. “Good grief, Jennie! It’s way past your bedtime. I sure got us way off schedule tonight, didn’t I? Let’s get your bath. Then, we’d both better get some sleep so we have a better day tomorrow.”
“And don’t forget our prayers.”
“Of course not,” he reassured her.
Brad had always loved their bedtime routines. The special time with Jennie put everything else in his life into perspective. After Sarah’s death, he’d tried to make it a special time for Jennie, a time when she could relax and talk about anything on her mind.
“…And a bedtime story… one about a princess.”
He reached out and enfolded his daughter’s small hand in his much larger one. “Definitely a princess.”
Chapter Four
Anne stood on the sidewalk in front of The Stitching Post and regarded the shop’s window with a critical eye. Fat quarter pieces in rich fall hues spilled artfully from a wooden bushel basket. She’d mixed a few colorful gourds from the Farmer’s Market in with the fabric, and they added a nice harvest touch to the display. Satisfied with the result, she went back inside and picked up the clipboard with this week’s To Do list from the register desk. It gave her such an empowering feeling to cross an item off the long list. She checked the next task. Schedule new series of beginner quilting classes.
Hmmm, before she could tackle scheduling the series, she needed to decide what projects to teach then make samples for the shop to entice people to sign up. It was too late to start on holiday projects, but they could make some simple items to brighten the house once the holiday items are taken down and packed away. Maybe spring oven mitts with coordinating hot pads and table runners. Make-and-take items were always a winner, especially with beginners. The items would be small enough to hand-quilt, which might attract some more experienced quilters, too. A real win-win.
Now, all she had to do was decide what fabric to use for the shop sample. When the task was done, she would finally take a few minutes and sit down to dinner.
She certainly hadn’t needed to worry much about meals this week. Ever since she’d nearly passed out the previous Tuesday, someone from the quilt group seemed to pop by every day or so with a casserole, soup, or hot meal for her. It was almost as if someone had set up a private, meals-on-wheels program for her. Of course, none of the women would admit to it. They all pretended they’d simply made too much of the casserole or their family hadn’t cared for the new dish they’d tried. Their concern touched Anne deeply. It made her feel almost like part of a family. A family, whose members truly cared for each other. Not an overindulgent one who acted as if money was the answer to all of life’s problems.
The bell over the front door tinkled, signaling the arrival of a customer. Anne turned to greet the newcomer, a welcoming smile on her lips. “Hello. May I help—”
The words died on her lips as her gaze connected with the pair of warm brown eyes she’d found herself thinking about so often during the last few days. Such wonderful eyes with the most delightful laugh lines crinkling at their corners.
“Oh, hello. It’s Jennie’s dad, right?” she asked, grasping for at least some semblance of professionalism.
Mr. Brown Eyes’ chuckle made his laugh lines even deeper. “Right. Jennie’s dad. Also known as Brad Carmichael.”
“Are you looking for Jennie? I’m afraid she’s not here.”
“No. Jennie is at her piano lesson. Her teacher’s house is a couple of blocks from here. Mrs. McGuire always gives Jennie milk and warm cookies after her lesson, so my daughter likes it if I wait a few extra minutes before I pick her up. I thought I’d stop by your shop for some sewing advice.”
“Sewing advice? Have you decided to take up quilting, Mr. Carmichael?” Anne teased just to see his smile again. She liked how it lit up those sexy brown eyes.
He shook his head then set a folded bundle of dirty fabric on the sales counter. “This is a marching band flag – a very bedraggled one. I have eleven more in equally shabby condition. Which is why I need to have twelve new ones made.”
“Just like this one?” Anne asked, fingering the edge of the tattered fabric.
“Well, preferably without the dirt and tears,” he replied, flashing his grin. “And I’d also like to have this design added—”
He paused to pull a rumpled sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and laid it next to the flag.
“Is that the school’s mascot?” Anne asked, pointing to the sketch of a stylized bird with outstretched wings.
He nodded. “Rivertown Sea Hawks.”
“You need to be very careful, though, with images of mascots. I don’t know how particular Rivertown is, but in some places it’s illegal to use anything but the official logo. If that’s the case, you would need to get a copy of the image as well as permission to have it duplicated for these flags.”
Brad frowned. “I hadn’t thought about that. I’m not sure I want to take the time to secure permission at this point – I just need the flags.”
“The school should appreciate the PR, but if not I’m sure you could come up with a design your administrators would approve.”
“Thanks, but that’s not the only reason I came by…” He paused and seemed unsure how to go on.
Anne tilted her head, waiting for him to continue.
“It’s like this,” he said i
n a rush. “We need the flags for a big parade the middle of November, and I don’t have anyone to make the flags for me, and I don’t know where to begin. I don’t even have a clue what kind of fabric this is or how much I need or how much it would cost. As for what would be involved in actually sewing them… I’m at a complete loss.” He sighed. “In other words, can you help?”
Stifling an insane urge to reach out and smooth the worry lines from his forehead, Anne nodded. “I think I can, Mr. Carmichael. Most of what you want to know is pretty simple. This is flag silk, a very inexpensive fabric when you buy it in bulk. It’s available in a rainbow of different colors.”
“I just need this color blue,” he said, pointing to his windbreaker. “Oh, wait, no! I also need white for the design. Can I buy the material here?”
“We don’t get much call for silk at The Stitching Post—most quilts are made of sturdier materials—but we could order it for you from our supplier.” She studied the dingy flag more carefully. It was a simple rectangle with a reinforced casing and grommets along one of the short ends. She pointed to it. “I assume this is to hold the flag pole?”
His nod confirmed her guess.
“Well, the flag itself would be easy enough for a seamstress to make.”
“That’s good news. Now, as for the design on the flags, a seahawk would be nice, but I don’t really have enough time to chase down the right people to get the permission. And, come to think of it, most of the other marching bands in the area don’t have their school mascot or even the school name on their flags – just a design in the school colors. So what do you recommend?”
Anne brought her hand up and rubbed her chin as she thought. She picked up a pencil and drew a rectangle on Brad’s paper. “What about a wavy line like this?” she asked, drawing what looked like a wide cursive W going diagonally across the flag. “It sort of gives the impression of a seahawk flying through the sky. And since it’s more of a stripe than an appliqué, it would be quick to sew.”
“I’m all for quick.” He took the pencil from her and drew a circle around Anne’s drawing. “Let’s go with your design. I have a feeling the girls in my color guard will like this better anyway.”
“Have you advertised for a seamstress yet?”
“No. I wasted most of last week calling all the band students’ mothers for help. The women all said they either can’t sew or they don’t have time. I’d hoped, since you see a lot of people who sew, you might be able to point me in someone’s direction. Or if you’ve got a bulletin board, maybe I could post a notice or something…”
“We do have a board by our coffee pot in the back of the shop. People often post notes there when they have a machine for sale or want to buy a used one. Most of our customers are quilters, but sometimes people post notes offering to do mending or light sewing. I’m not sure about a project like this, but you’re welcome to put up a request there.”
“Thanks. I’ll print something up and bring it by tomorrow. In the meantime, can you tell me about how much something like this might cost? The band boosters agreed to pay for the materials, but the president is badgering me to know how much they will have to budget.”
“Well, I can’t give you an exact figure until I confirm it with the supplier, but I should be able to come up with a fairly close estimate if you have a couple of minutes.”
“Sure. I don’t need to pick up Jennie for a half hour.”
Anne pulled a tape measure and note pad from a drawer in the checkout desk then got to work. She listed the yardage of silk needed for the flag itself and the extra for the contrasting design, as well as any extras such as grommets and the reinforcement tape for the pole casing. Using her calculator, she multiplied the amount by twelve then consulted a supplier catalogue for the costs of the necessary materials.
In less than ten minutes, Anne handed the band director an itemized tally.
“Are you sure you figured out enough for all twelve flags on here? This price is about a tenth of the quote I got from the specialty flag companies I called.”
“I’m sure. Those companies probably charge a lot more, because it’s a specialized item, and schools don’t want to fuss with making their own.” She considered the flag spread on the countertop. “Now, if you’d like something really durable, I can calculate the cost for either rip-stop nylon or parachute cloth — those fabrics are a bit pricier — but this flag is just inexpensive flag silk. Besides, you also have to add the cost of having them sewn. That will add another couple hundred dollars.”
“It’s still only a fraction of what it would cost to buy them,” he said. “I was expecting a lot more. You’ve been a big help… Anne, isn’t it?”
She nodded not quite able to ignore the little flip her tummy did over the fact he’d remembered her name from their conversation the previous week.
“I appreciate your help, Anne. And, if it’s okay with you, can I come back tomorrow with a sign to post on your bulletin board?”
“Of course you may, Mr. Carmichael.”
“It’s Brad,” he said then turned toward the door. “See you tomorrow, Anne.”
“I’ll be here. Have a nice evening… Brad.”
Anne stood near the register where she could watch through the window as he got into his car then drove off. What a nice man, she thought. He has a good job, a beautiful daughter, and he’s pretty cute himself. She dismissed the last thought, almost as soon as it came. She had no business even thinking such things! Men had no place in her life anymore. None!
She picked up her To Do list again. Where was I? Oh yes, schedule the next set of beginner quilting classes. Grabbing the shop calendar and a cup of coffee from the sewing area, she sat down at the work table and got busy. A few customers came in for fabric and supplies, but Anne was able to get the classes scheduled as well as write a quick ad to put in the local Advance newspaper.
A glance at the clock showed it was time to close up for the day. She locked the door then lowered the blinds on it and on the display windows. Once everything was secured, she made a quick pass through the shop, straightening bolts of fabric, tidying the trim rack, and making note of the items she’d need to order in the morning. The last task was to balance out her cash drawer. Anne printed a register tape, showing the day’s sales report. The store copies of their debit and credit transactions were clipped to the tape. Next, she filled out a two-part deposit slip for the checks they’d taken and any cash over the amount they routinely kept on hand. The original slip and the cash and checks went into a zippered bank bag similar to the pencil cases she’d carried during her grade school days. She attached the duplicate copy to the transaction tape then locked it in a desk drawer. Myra planned to balance the books when she returned later in the month. When the day’s deposit was ready, she got her heavy fleece jacket and purse and bundled up for the two-block trip to the bank.
This was the only part of the job Anne disliked. She hated having to take the money to the bank each night, especially now when the days had grown shorter. Grandville was a small community, and Anne felt safe living there even though it was right on the outskirts of the booming Grand Rapids metropolitan area. However, crime happened in even the best of places, and you never knew if some crook might decide to target the peaceful town, thinking it was easy picking. She tucked the pouch more firmly inside her jacket as she exited the shop. Thanks to the increase in debit card use, the amount of cash she carried each night was far less than it had been when The Stitching Post first opened. But criminals might not know it, so her nightly walk to the bank still made her nervous.
She could have driven Myra’s sedan. Her boss had parked it at Anne’s apartment before she and Ed went on their Florida vacation. However, Anne felt silly wasting gas on a round trip of four blocks just because she was skittish being out alone after dark.
As she passed Freeze!, a tapping sound made her glance that way. George Connors, owner of the ice cream shop, knocked on the window then waved at her, beckoning for
her to come inside. Anne shook her head, reached into her jacket and showed him the corner of her bank bag. She wanted to get her deposit made before it got any darker. He nodded but gestured for her to wait. A moment later, he rushed outside, shoving his arms in his leather jacket as he walked.
“Anne, I know you want to get to the bank, so I’ll only keep you a moment. I promise,” he said as he hurried toward her. “I’ve been meaning to come over and talk to you all afternoon. Was that the high school band director I saw leaving your shop earlier?”
“Yes, it was. Why?”
George frowned. “He came to my shop last week and told me about his little girl. I was horrified to hear a child had been treated like that. If someone had done it to one of my kids, I’d have been spitting nails. The high school kid I had working here—Ryan—he closed for me. Apparently, he wanted to go see his girlfriend or something, so he sent the little girl outside to wait. I had no idea it happened until Carmichael came by. You better believe I had words with the boy. Ryan will have plenty of time to see his girlfriend now, because I fired him. I won’t have anyone so irresponsible working for me. Not when there are plenty of good kids who need jobs.
“Anyway, I want to thank you for taking care of the child. And I wanted to assure you I would never do something like that nor would I condone such behavior from any employee of mine.”
“I thought it seemed odd when Jennie told me what happened,” Anne commented. “I’ve seen you with your kids and knew you’d never leave a little girl all alone – rain or sunshine. You’re a Grandville policeman, for goodness sake, and you’re one of the good guys. But I did wonder why the mother who threw the birthday party for Jenny’s classmate didn’t notice one of the guests hadn’t been picked up before she left to go home.”
The Friendship Star Quilt Page 3
