“Yes.” Max amended his answer as the skin around his collar darkened a few shades. “I guess we are.”
Izzy smiled again, only this time it was real. “Good.”
“And I’ll ride with you,” Virgil offered. “To keep you company.”
Izzy nodded and they left the church together. It took a good fifteen minutes to get to the parking lot, what with all the folk that stopped Izzy for hugs and handshakes. Max kept his eye on her, looking for any signs that she was overwhelmed, but her spirits seemed to rise the more people she talked to. He finally relaxed when they reached their cars.
He was glad Izzy had someone traveling with her. Not that Virgil could offer more than moral support. He hadn’t had a driver’s license in years, and he just recently learned how to make calls on his in-case-of-emergencies cell phone. But Max drove right behind them, his eyes pinned on Izzy.
Just as they had been all day long.
6
The doors to the emergency room waiting area barely had time to slide open as Izzy ran between them, turning sideways to squeeze through the small opening.
“My mother was just brought in,” she said to the nurse behind the counter. “We were at the cemetery and she twisted her ankle and fell down some stairs.”
The woman looked up from her computer monitor. “What’s your mother’s name?”
“Janice. Janice Fontaine.”
“Just one moment.”
As the nurse’s fingernails clicked on the keyboard, two phrases chased each other in Izzy’s head—the same two phrases that had been circling for the last half hour: Please God, let her be all right and Why did she wear those stupid shoes?
Izzy jumped as a hand squeezed her shoulder. Max stood beside her.
“What’s the word?”
“I don’t know yet. The nurse is checking.” Izzy glanced behind him. “Where’s Virgil?”
“Over there.” He pointed to a bank of vending machines across the room. “I told him to get himself a snack.”
“Here we go.” Izzy and Max turned their attention back to the nurse. “They’re checking her out right now.”
“Can I see her?” Izzy asked.
“Sorry,” she shook her head. “She already has a visitor, and only one’s allowed in the emergency area.”
Of course Brandon and his zippy sports car had made it there first. “OK. Can you at least tell me how she is?”
“All I can tell you is that they’re taking her to X-ray. Have a seat and I’ll let you know as soon as I have more information.”
Izzy moved into the waiting area and settled on a hard, vinyl-upholstered chair against the wall. Max sat beside her. A moment later, Virgil joined them.
“Look what I found in the snack machine. A Mallo Cup.” He sat on the other side of Izzy and unwrapped his candy. “I haven’t seen one of these since 1972.”
“That’s probably how long it’s been in the machine,” Max answered.
As the two of them discussed the longevity of sugar-based products, Izzy stared down at her clasped hands. Worry warred with guilt as she recalled the accident at the cemetery. She’d seen her mother stumble and trip. Seen her arms flailing, seeking but not finding something solid to hold on to. Seen her roll down six steps and thud to a stop at the bottom, momentarily silent until she let loose with a cry of true, genuine pain. Still, Izzy couldn’t keep herself from thinking that on this day when they were all supposed to be focused on Gran, Mom had found a way to put herself back in the spotlight.
It was a terrible thing to think. What kind of a daughter would suspect such a thing? Mom was a master at bringing attention back around to her, but even she wouldn’t purposely take a header down a flight of concrete stairs. Would she?
Izzy sighed, and Virgil immediately patted her knee.
“Your mother is going to be fine,” he said. “You just need to stop worrying.”
“How can I? It’s all I can think about.”
“Then we need to make you think about something else.” He leaned forward and looked across her at his grandson. “Tell her about yourself, Max.”
“Excuse me?” Max frowned at Virgil.
“Well, sure. You’re an interesting young man. You must have some stories to tell.”
“Nothing like yours. Why don’t you tell her one of your stories?”
“Because I’m old. She’ll be more interested in you.”
“Fellas.” Izzy laughed and held up her hands. “No need to fight over who’s not going to tell me a story. I’m fine. Really.” She turned toward Max. “But since we’ve got some time to kill, we might as well talk about the quilt.”
“Really?” His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Here?”
“Why not?”
“OK.” Max looked over at Virgil, then back at Izzy. “I’m not sure where to start.”
Izzy leaned back in the chair. She didn’t know where they should start, either. “You said Gran promised the quilt to you. It might help me to know why you were interested in it in the first place.”
“I’m putting together a new exhibit at the museum and that quilt is the focal point.”
Izzy sighed. For some reason, Max seemed to only want to dole out small bits of information. It could take forever to get to the bottom of this. “OK, so you need a quilt as part of your exhibit. But why Gran’s quilt? What makes it so special?”
“The provenance.”
“Provenance is the backstory of a piece,” Virgil said, gently tapping her shoulder.
Izzy glanced at him and smiled. After years of watching Antiques Roadshow on PBS, she was familiar with provenance, but she was happy to let him think he’d just taught her something new.
“Well, I’m at a disadvantage,” she said, looking back to Max. “Because other than the fact that it’s a Wild Goose Chase pattern, I don’t know anything about the quilt.”
“It’s pretty amazing. According to Isabella, the quilt was started by one of her relatives back in the 1800s. Over the years, it was passed down from one woman to the next until it was completed.”
“You mean one woman didn’t sew the entire quilt?”
Max shook his head. “No. Remember, the quilting was done by hand, so it took a while. As a rule, the material was hard to come by. It was a fairly common practice for quilts to be passed down from one generation to the next until they were finished.” Max leaned closer now, his eyes wide, a grin lifting one corner of his mouth. “What’s special about this quilt is that it was started in Vermont and it ended up in California. It was worked on by the very pioneer women who helped settle our nation. If that quilt could talk, imagine the stories it could tell.”
If that quilt could talk, maybe it could tell Izzy why Gran never told her about it. That part still made no sense. But then, neither did so many of the events of the last week.
“That’s great, but surely it’s not the only quilt to be brought across country.”
Max’s brows scrunched together, as if he were trying to process what she’d just said. “No, I’m sure it’s not. But it’s one of the few to have documentation.”
“Documentation?”
Virgil tapped her shoulder again. “That’s—”
“I know what it is,” she said, not feeling the need to indulge him for a second time. “I’m not sure what kind of documentation you’re talking about.”
Now the trace of Max’s grin vanished. “Mrs. Randolph said she had diaries that belonged to the women who made the quilt. Don’t you have them?”
Izzy shook her head slowly. “Not that I know of. It’s possible Gran could have them in the house somewhere, but I don’t know where.”
“It’s very important that you find them.” Max reached out and his fingers closed around her wrist. His grip was firm, not enough to hurt her, but enough that she knew he was serious. “They’re just as valuable as the quilt.”
“What’s valuable?”
Brandon’s voice broke into their conversation and Izzy looked up
to see her brother walking across the room, his suit jacket slung over one arm. She jumped to her feet. “How’s Mom?”
“Pretty beat up.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “She broke her leg and dislocated her shoulder. She’ll be in pain for a while, but she’s going to be all right.”
“When can we take her home?”
“Not until tomorrow. She’s got a bruise on her head, so they’re keeping her overnight for observation. Just to be sure. But when they do release her … uh …” He took a deep breath then blew it out with force. “She’s going to have to move in with you.”
“What?” Izzy took a step back and ran her calf into the chair.
“It’s just temporary,” Brandon rushed on, waving his palm at her. “She can barely walk and she’s got a bum arm. There’s no way she can stay by herself.”
“Can’t she stay with you?”
“My condo’s two stories and the bathroom is on the second floor, remember? Lots of stairs and no elevator. I’m afraid she’s all yours, Sis.”
There was no use fighting it. Brandon was right. His place was totally out of the question. Mom would have to stay with her while she healed up.
Izzy heard a grunt and a snuffle. Behind her, Virgil dozed in his chair. She turned to Max. “You should probably get him home.”
Max stood up. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your support today.”
“I’m sorry,” her brother blurted out. “We haven’t met. I’m Brandon Fontaine. Izzy’s brother.”
“Max Logan.” He held out his hand, making Brandon shift his coat from one arm to the other in order to reciprocate. “This is my grandfather, Virgil. We were friends of Mrs. Randolph. And now, of Izzy.”
“I see.” Brandon pumped his hand, sizing him up. “Well, thanks for staying with my sister. But I’ve got it from here.”
“Good to hear.” Max moved to Virgil and shook him gently. “Gramps. It’s time to go.”
“Huh? What?” Virgil looked around, eyelids half-open. “I didn’t miss dinner, did I? It’s tapioca night.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get you back in time for tapioca.” Max looked at Izzy. “Will I see you on Monday?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. Four o’clock at the museum.”
As the two men walked away, Izzy again took note of how Max cared for his grandfather. In the same way, he’d cared for her today, even though they barely knew each other. If his mother had set out to raise a gentleman, she’d certainly done a fine job of it.
“You have a date on Monday?” Brandon asked.
“It’s not a date. It’s a business meeting.”
“At a museum?”
“Yes.”
Brandon tilted his head, just a bit. “A meeting at a museum about something valuable? Sounds interesting.”
Izzy sighed. Why did her brother always see dollar signs before anything else? “I’ll tell you about it later. Can I go back and see Mom now?”
“Sure. She’s been asking for you.”
“She has?”
“Yeah, she’s already making a list of the things she needs you to get from her house.”
Oh goody. They left the waiting room and headed to a bank of elevators. “Did the doctor say how long it will take her to heal?”
“About eight weeks, give or take.”
Brandon threw it out casually, like it was no time at all. But Izzy immediately did the math. Eight weeks. Two months. If Mom behaved herself, which was a very big if. Which meant Mom would be staying with her through Thanksgiving, Christmas, and into the new year.
Tidings of comfort and joy would be a lot harder to come by this holiday season.
7
It’s just me, Bogie.”
Izzy maneuvered past the dog and into the house, pushing the heavy door closed behind her with her foot. Bogie stopped barking but he pranced around her feet, his nose pointed at the fast-food bag dangling from her hand.
“This isn’t for you.”
The scolding sent him slinking into the corner. He lay down, nose on paws, but kept his eyes trained on her.
Depositing her armload of stuff on the table, Izzy let out a sigh. “What a day.” She kicked off her shoes and stretched out her poor, tired feet. As a rule, Izzy avoided heels. Even the sensible ones she’d chosen today threw her body out of whack if she wore them too long. And everything about today had gone on too long.
A few minutes later, dressed in her most comfortable pair of sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt, Izzy curled up on the couch with her fast-food dinner. As she was about to take a bite of her burger, Bogie whimpered.
Izzy shook her head. How could that one little sound communicate so much? “OK. You can join me.” The dog shot up as if on springs, scampered over, and jumped onto the couch. Izzy held up her palm, giving him the signal to sit and stay. “You know the rules, buddy. You have your side; I have mine.”
Bogie sat, head up, giving her his full attention. Either that or he was thinking of a way to abscond with her bag of fries.
Izzy took a bite of her burger. She chewed slowly, savoring not just the food but the silence around her. One of the things she loved most about this house was its sense of calm and peace. She used to think it came from Gran, but even after Gran moved into Vibrant Vistas the serene atmosphere remained. How long would it last once Janice Fontaine moved in?
Izzy swallowed and the once delicious mouthful hit the bottom of her stomach like a rock. She forced herself to finish half the burger and nibble on a few fries but her appetite had been mostly chased away by the thought of how her life was about to change.
She tossed a fry to Bogie, who seemed to catch, chew, and swallow it all in one motion. Then she crumpled the bag around the remaining food, took it in the kitchen, and tossed it in the trash. What would Mom say when she got here? She hadn’t been to the house since last Thanksgiving. Walking back to the living room, Izzy took in the curio cabinet of knickknacks, the pictures on the walls, and the furniture that had been in the family for generations. All of it would be a daily reminder to her mother that Gran had chosen to hand down the house to Izzy.
This was not a good situation.
Flopping down on the couch, Izzy looked at the dog. “Brace yourself. My mother is moving in with us for a few months.”
If they were living in a sitcom, Bogie would have jumped from the couch and dashed from the room. At the very least, he would have stuck his head under a cushion. But since it was real life, he yawned and lay down, completely uninterested in anything she had to say now that the food had disappeared.
“I wish I could be so relaxed.”
What she really wished, more than anything, was that Gran was still with her. But Gran was gone, and she’d left a bunch of questions and cryptic gifts in her place.
Gifts.
Izzy got to her feet, teetered for a moment, and then headed for the bedroom. There it was on her nightstand, the box Pastor Quaid had given her.
“What other surprises have you got for me, Gran?”
Sitting cross-legged on her mattress, Izzy undid the twine bow and lifted the top off the box. There was a note inside. She put the box on her pillow, unfolded the paper, and began to read.
My sweet Isabella,
If you’re reading this now, that means I’m gone.
Izzy couldn’t help but laugh. It was the same line she’d started the other note with. Gran must have stolen it from a movie or book in which a dying woman left gifts behind for her loved ones. Admonishing herself to be serious, she kept reading.
Very soon, you’ll be contacted by Virgil, a dear friend of mine. He has a very special gift for you. I trust Virgil implicitly, and you can too.
Obviously, Gran underestimated how seriously Virgil took his position as guardian of the quilt and expected Pastor Quaid to get to Izzy first.
Your mother and brother will want to see my will, but there isn’t one. I did that
on purpose. Initially, this will cause contention, but my hope is that, in the long run, it will bring our family back together. But it can only happen if you are the peacemaker. Isabella, you are stronger than you know, and God’s love abides in you. No matter how difficult things get, you are never alone.
You may wonder why I’m being so mysterious. Let me just say that some things are better learned than told. Some truths mean more when they are lived than explained. Live the truth, Isabella, and it will lead you to a treasure greater than anything you could imagine.
She signed it, All my love, Gran.
Izzy sniffed and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the cuff of her sweatshirt. Where were Max and his handkerchiefs when she needed them?
The clicking of toenails announced that Bogie was coming into the room. He stood at her feet, head cocked to one side, eyes gazing up at her. The four-poster bed was too high for him to jump onto by himself, so she reached down and scooped him up with her free hand.
“You’re a sweetie. Even if you only love me because I give you treats.” As she hugged him to her side, she set down the note and picked up the box from her pillow. Several layers of light pink tissue paper were carefully folded, covering something. She looked at Bogie. “I’m almost afraid to see what’s under there.”
The dog lifted his nose as if trying to see what she was holding, and kneaded her thigh with his paws.
“OK, OK. I’ll look.”
Carefully, as though the tissue might fall to pieces in her hands, she peeled back each sheet of paper until she revealed another bit of wrapping.
A piece of white seersucker with bold stripes of pink, yellow, and green was wrapped around something small and hard. Unfolding the fabric, she found it was cut in the shape of a triangle. She had barely noticed that it was the same shape as the pieces of the Wild Goose Chase quilt when the actual gift fell from it and plopped in her lap.
“Oh my.”
It was Gran’s favorite necklace. She lifted it up by the delicate chain, sending the pendant of three interlocked rings—one of clear stones, one of red, and another of green—swaying and sparkling.
A Wild Goose Chase Christmas: Quilts of Love Series Page 5
