by Karen Kelly
“Let’s do it. We don’t have any time to lose.” Annie lowered the flame under the tomatoes. “The green beans need a few more minutes; you have time to confirm the meeting with everyone. Just tell Mary Beth and Peggy to pass it on, and everyone will be there, two thirty sharp.”
After a dinner fit for two hard-working women, Annie and Alice returned to the library. By the end of the evening they had pulled all the appropriate books for the twins from upper shelves, and there was already a nice-size collection in the dedicated section Alice had cleared. Exhausted and pleased with what they had accomplished, Annie walked Alice to the front door.
“I could go home and chug two liters of Mountain Dew and still fall asleep as soon as I crawl into bed,” Alice said as she pulled on her anorak. “Only one Princessa/Divine Décor party after the meeting tomorrow, so I can sleep in late!”
Annie followed Alice out onto the porch. “You earned every extra minute, my friend. Thanks for your help.”
“No sweat. Figuratively speaking, that is.” Alice started down the steps. “See you tomorrow!”
Annie watched Alice as she made her way to the carriage house. She rubbed her bare arms as the crisp evening air chilled her. The moment Alice disappeared behind her door, Annie slipped back inside. Boots was sitting on the bottom step, staring at the door, when Annie entered the foyer.
“Come upstairs, Boots,” said Annie as she stepped past the cat on the way to her bedroom. “I could use a foot warmer tonight.”
****
By the time Peggy bustled through the door of A Stitch in Time at two thirty-five, the other members, except for Mary Beth, were settled in their seats. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay long,” she gasped to her friends. “Lisa has a horrible cold, and we don’t want her sneezing all over the customers.” She dropped into a seat next to Gwendolyn, who patted her on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry to hear Lisa isn’t feeling well. We’ll try to be as efficient as we can,” Gwen reassured her. The other members nodded or murmured agreement.
“I’ll sum up why we called the meeting,” said Alice. “Annie and I were talking about how we aren’t feeling very confident about our patterns, now that we’ve started them. We wondered if anyone else was feeling the same, and after some calls we found out almost everyone was! So what can we do to fix the problem?”
Mary Beth hurried over to the group. “Sorry about that. One of our suppliers is having computer problems and lost our order. What exactly is the source of the doubts? Have you designed your projects to be too hard to execute? With the level of technical skills this group possesses that would surprise me.”
“I’ll share first, if you don’t mind,” said Peggy. “I could get called back to the diner any second.” She glanced around the circle, seeing only encouraging faces. “The pattern I decided to use has a red background with cattails and stars in gold. You probably remember how much I liked those colors on the museum flag. There was a birch-bark picture frame that had cattails, stars, and one of those—what did they call it?—oh yeah, a double geometric shape. Well, I just wanted to use the cattails and stars because I couldn’t make the geometric pattern look good enough. But then I started thinking, what if there’s a particular reason for the three things to be together on the frame? A lot of the pieces at the museum had the geometric shape, so is it OK to leave that out?”
“Peggy, I think your concern about making changes in patterns is natural,” said Kate. “We all want to create pieces that reflect the spirit of the American Indian people, that show what was and is important to them. That’s hard to do when you don’t speak their language, in a sense, or share their history. I know from the museum exhibits how important trees are to the Abenaki culture, but what I don’t know is whether the pattern I’m using to create my tree shawl reflects that importance in a recognizable way. Does that make sense?”
“Kind of like how Chinese food in America isn’t much like Chinese food in China?” Alice suggested.
“I’d say that’s an accurate analogy,” said Gwen. “It captures my concerns about my project, as well. In the same way that we don’t want to give people a false depiction of Stony Point as a community, I don’t want to assume my piece is saying ‘Maine American Indian’ if it’s actually saying ‘cheap knockoff made in Taiwan.’”
“We want to honor the tribes, not insult them,” inserted Annie. Heads nodded around the circle.
“I have a suggestion,” said Stella after silently listening to the ladies’ concerns. “Would each of you be willing to put your designs down on paper, including both the pattern and the colors you plan to use? I would be glad to return to the Abbe Museum with the designs and consult privately with one of the curators.” She glanced down at her watch. “If we call right now, we may be able to schedule something for early next week. The museum is open on Saturday.”
“Kezi was wonderfully helpful,” said Annie. “She knew so much about the way designs have changed through the years and American Indian art as it relates to their history. If she’s available, I’d recommend her.”
“Stella, I’d be glad to go with you,” Gwen volunteered. “My schedule for Monday is very flexible, if that’s not too soon for the curators.”
Mary Beth gestured toward the door to the shop’s office. “Stella, why don’t you use the office phone and call right now.” Stella stepped into the office, closing the door behind her. The women talked among themselves for only a few minutes before Stella reappeared.
“Kezi was pleased to hear about our request and will meet with Gwen and me at two thirty on Monday,” reported Stella. “If everyone brings their designs to Mary Beth by ten o’clock on Monday morning, Gwen and I will show them all to Kezi and write down any comments or suggestions she has.”
“Stella—and Gwen, too, of course—thank you for being our ambassadors,” said Mary Beth. “Alice and Annie, thank you for bringing up your concerns. I truly do think this will end up being our most interesting Harvest on the Harbor sale yet. I think we can call this meeting adjourned.”
“And I call myself gone,” said Peggy. “Back to the diner for me. Bye, everyone!” She waved her manicured fingers at her friends and swept out the door.
“I’m off to party,” said Alice. “Divine Décor party, that is.” She lifted a plastic bag to show Annie. “Have heels, will party.”
“Better you than me.” Annie laughed. “You’ve obviously recuperated from last night.”
“I’m not even going to tell you what time I rolled out of bed this morning.”
“I should have sent Boots home with you. She woke me up at sunrise, the stinker.” Annie waited for Alice as she exchanged her comfortable flats for heels and then walked with her toward the door. The two friends parted on the sidewalk, one to work in someone else’s home and one to work in her own.
Before Annie reached her Malibu she heard her name being called. Turning around, she saw Ian across the street waiting for a car to pass. His schnauzer Tartan stood leashed beside him. “Hi, Ian! Hi, Tartan!” The street clear again, the two trotted over to her.
“Are you enjoying your Saturday, Annie?” Ian asked.
“Yes, I am.” Annie gave Tartan a soft scratch around the top of his head and under his chin. Standard size for his breed, Tartan was no shorty. He stepped closer to Annie and nudged her for more attention, almost knocking her off balance.
“Hey, watch it, buddy.” Ian tightened the slack of the leash a bit. “I’m sorry; it’s clear he hasn’t been getting enough attention with all the evening budget meetings this week. We’re going to have a nice long romp on the beach this afternoon.”
“It sounds like both of you will enjoy stretching your legs.” Annie smiled. “Even public servants need a romp once in a while, I think. Maybe even more than most folks.”
“You could be right. We should put it on the official agenda. Don’t be surprised if you see the whole budget committee strolling along the beach some day.” Ian smiled down into Annie�
�s eyes. “Hey, how did your visit with Cecil go?”
“It was wonderful. When you suggested I talk with Cecil, did you know he was friends with my grandparents?”
Ian thought for a moment, running his hand over Tartan’s wiry coat. “The day I suggested you visit Cecil, I was just thinking about Cecil’s heritage, and how easy it always is to talk with him. But now that you mention it, I do remember taking our family dog to Dr. Holden when I was a teenager, and Cecil was assisting in the office that day. I’d totally forgotten about that.”
“Well, it was a few years ago.” Annie grinned. “And you’re right, Cecil is very easy to talk with. Though he didn’t recognize the things from the attic, he confirmed what I learned at the Abbe Museum and gave me a suggestion that I’m hoping will bring us closer to solving this mystery. We’re going to visit again, and I’m looking forward to hearing more about his friendship with Grandpa and Gram.”
“That’s the kind of results we public servants like to hear.” Ian reined Tartan in as the dog started to wander too close to the street. “And friends like it even more. I’m thankful Todd reacquainted me with Cecil several years ago, or I would not have remembered to suggest him to you. And I would have lost out on many excellent conversations as well.” He took a quick step forward, off balance, as Tartan suddenly lunged at a bird that lighted on the back of a bench. “Whoa, boy!”
“Looks like Tartan really needs that romp.” Annie chuckled. “Thanks again for your help, Ian.”
“It’s my pleasure, Annie,” said Ian. “Let me know if Cecil’s suggestion brings anything interesting into the mix.”
“I will.” Annie reached over to give Tartan a quick pat before parting. “Enjoy your romp!”
She watched the two as they moved along the sidewalk toward the beach. They almost made her want to add a dog to her household. Wouldn’t Boots just love that! Annie thought as she opened the door of her car to head home and put her sea urchin design down on paper.
13
The members of the Hook and Needle Club all met at A Stitch in Time to deliver their designs before ten o’clock, except for Peggy who was busy with the late breakfast crowd at The Cup & Saucer. She had given her design to Mary Beth much earlier when she had served up Mary Beth’s omelet, telling her, “I wish I was as good at designing quilts as Wally is at making those toy boats.”
“I think you—like your husband—are underestimating your skills, Peggy,” Mary Beth reassured her. “If there is anything that needs tweaking, you’ll know tomorrow.” Peggy had given a quick nod and hurried off to another table.
Annie and Alice drove into town separately since Alice had to leave immediately after the meeting for a Divine Décor regional sales meeting in Portland. Annie had firmly reminded herself not to linger long. She hoped she would find Gram’s jelly recipe among the rest of the piles and shelves awaiting her at home in the library. And it needed to be found soon; rose hips wait for no woman. As they chatted with Mary Beth and Kate, Gwen breezed through the door with a cheerful smile for them all and with a leather portfolio in which to transport the designs to the museum in style.
Mary Beth added Peggy’s design to those of Kate, Annie, and Alice, and handed them to Gwen, who neatly inserted them into the portfolio. After glancing at her watch, Alice said, “If Jason doesn’t drive up in the next minute or two, I think the tide is going to reverse itself.” The chuckles amped up a notch when a long shadow moved in front of the door and stopped. Stella had arrived. They watched out of the corner of their eyes as Jason walked around from the driver’s side of the old Lincoln to open the passenger door for their friend. Stella spoke to her longtime chauffer and friend, but the women could not make out her words. She paused to straighten the collar of Jason’s jacket before leaving him behind on the sidewalk to enter the store.
“I apologize for my lateness,” Stella said as soon as the door had closed behind her. Though she was technically not late at all, Stella held to the axiom: “To be on time is to be late; to be early is to be on time.” Her friends knew better than to argue the point with her. “Jason had not yet checked the Lincoln’s tires this week, and that just wouldn’t do with us driving to Bar Harbor today. Therefore, we needed to first stop at the GasNGo.”
“Your foresight is very much appreciated, Stella,” said Gwen. She lifted the portfolio to show her longtime friend. “I have all the designs, so I’m ready to leave when you are.”
“Please send Kezi my regards,” said Annie. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She showed the ladies a canvas tote with a zipped cover. “Kezi asked me to bring in the box and collar. Would you mind showing them to her when you meet with her?” Annie knew the fragile items would be in capable hands.
Stella held out a hand to take the tote. “Of course.”
“Thank you both,” said Annie. “I’m so excited to hear the comments tomorrow at the meeting!” Mary Beth, Kate and Alice chimed in with their thanks as Gwen and Stella made their way to the door. They watched Jason open the door for Stella again—a rear door this time—and then Gwen. With his passengers settled, Jason turned to smile and wave to the ladies in the store before sliding in behind the wheel.
When the Lincoln had driven out of sight down Main Street, the other members of the club shook themselves out of their thoughts and hurried along to their individual commitments. Annie returned to Grey Gables, where she opened windows to invite the gentle breeze in to play. Boots darted into the library ahead of Annie, staking her claim to the cozy reading chair by kneading the cushion with her front paws, and then settling down to watch the work. Annie surveyed the progress she and Alice had made, relieved the step stool would not be needed for the rest of the task. Only the lowest three shelves remained to be sorted, a substantial portion of them stuffed with Charles Holden’s veterinary journals. Many of the navy blue covers were frayed along the edges from years of wear. Annie turned to the remaining reading material, saving the journals for last.
The majority of the books that would catch a child’s eye already sat on the lower shelves, but they had been scattered from one side of the room to the other. Removing more books that bordered the area Alice had cleared, Annie made room for the new arrivals. The stacks beside the reading chair, now occupied by Boots, were growing as high as the armrests. The cat raised her head and pierced Annie with a disgruntled look as another six inches were added to the book wall.
Annie chucked Boots under the chin. “Boots, are you worried I’m going to turn you into a feline Rapunzel, hidden away in a tower of books? I promise to rescue you before the situation gets that bad.” Boots, apparently not taken with the idea of being rescued, sprung lightly off the chair to reposition herself on top of the large cluttered desk. She stretched her hind legs, one after the other, before curling up again, setting off a domino effect among the clutter on the surface. A mug from the University of Maine, where Annie’s grandfather had sometimes lectured, stuffed with pens, pencils, and a letter opener was the first to topple. Before Annie could clamber over the stacks of books, the letter opener had pushed against and collapsed a frame encasing a crayon drawing of Grandpa in his white lab coat, holding a hedgehog. In its turn the frame shoved against a box carved from dark wood, pushing it to the tipping point over the edge of the desk. Annie’s hand stretched out to catch it, a couple seconds too late. It tumbled to the floor, the impact throwing off its lid.
“Boots!” Annie scolded as she bent to retrieve the box and lid, and gather the spilt contents. “What is it with us and boxes?” Grandpa had brought the box home from his travels during World War II. It was intricately carved from mahogany and was accented with genuine ivory, the inside padded with rich red velvet. Annie had always wondered if the beauty of that box had been what sparked Grandpa’s hobby of carving. She scooped up the bits of paper scattered on the floor, glancing at them one by one. Most were notes of appreciation from relieved animal owners, a few receipts from local stores, and a few index cards filled with Gram’s handwriting. Annie
flipped through the cards, delighted to see they were some of her grandmother’s most beloved recipes. The last one excited Annie the most. “Boots, you’re forgiven. I found Gram’s rose-hip jelly recipe!”
Boots trotted through the library door and down the hall, having had enough of the booby-trapped library. Annie followed her into the kitchen to restore the recipes to their original place on the baker’s rack, the jelly recipe lying on top. If the rose hips had not needed a couple more days before reaching their peak, she would have abandoned the library to make jelly. But Gram had taught her well; rushing never made the best jelly. So she brewed a new cup of tea and carried on with her chore. After returning the desktop to its pre-Boots condition, Annie finished adding the rest of the books for the children to the area she had cleared. One of those books was The Jungle Book. Annie positioned it at the end of a shelf where it would be easy to find on the day she felt John and Joanna were ready to enjoy the stories.
Satisfied with the new children’s section, Annie dug into shelving the books stacked around the reading chair. The variety of titles she read on the spines reminded her of how far flung her grandparents’ interests had been. No wonder there had never been a moment of boredom during her summers at Stony Point. Once the reading chair had been liberated from the surrounding wall of books, Annie decided to give her back and knees a little break. She allowed herself some time to leaf through some of her grandfather’s journals. In spite of the aura of cozy clutter in the library, his journals were meticulous, organized chronologically. Annie thought back to her conversation with Cecil and calculated in which years the journals were most likely to mention her new acquaintance. Pulling those journals off the shelf and stacking them on the side table, Annie settled into the reading chair.
For the next hour Annie was engrossed in her grandfather’s adventures as a small-town veterinarian. With an economy of words, the journals told of filling out rabies certificates for disgruntled dog owners in December before they expired on New Year’s Eve, detecting stomach ulcers in an alpaca, setting a leg of a Persian-mix cat that had not quite made it to the other side of the road. Then, Annie’s eyes rested on the first mention of Cecil. “Cecil Lewey came along to assist on call to Hanover Farm. Ram. Calm and strong. Cecil, that is. Did not flinch when Percy tried to butt down the posts. Will offer him more work.” Annie did not understand enough of the technical terms her grandfather had used well enough to know what had been ailing Percy.
