Stitched Together

by Carol Dean Jones

  After dinner, Sarah went back to the computer to send an email to Martha to tell her about the computer. “How do I get onto the internet?” she asked.

  “Oh. They’ll be here this afternoon to get us both hooked up.”

  “Both?” she asked.

  “I brought my desktop over, too.”

  “Where will you put it?” she asked, wondering how they could fit one more item into her tiny space.

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” he confessed. “Maybe in the corner in your sewing room?”

  Sarah sighed, picturing how crowded that would be, but realized their time in this house was limited. “We’ll be moving soon, won’t we?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. We’ll be out by the end of the summer, I would say,” he responded.

  “Okay. We can manage here for that long. And I guess you should go ahead and give notice on your apartment. It doesn’t make sense for us to be making double payments for housing.” It wasn’t until she got the words out of her mouth that she regretted saying it, realizing that would mean all of his belongings would be coming, too.

  “I already talked to the management. I’ve signed a month-to-month lease. I think we should keep that apartment for now until we’re ready to move to our permanent home.” Sarah felt her heart swell with love for this very thoughtful man.

  “There’s a small table in the corner of our bedroom,” she called to him. “Get that and set your computer up in the sewing room. There’s plenty of room for the two of us.”

  “What about the stuff that’s on the table?” he called to her a few minutes later.

  “Just put it on the bed. I’ll take care of it later.”

  That evening, Charles sat at his computer and Sarah sat next to him with her new laptop. Together they searched the listings for relatively new houses with three bedrooms and two baths all on one floor. They wanted a garage and a yard small enough to maintain easily. “We shouldn’t be too far from the hospital,” she added. “Also, it would be nice to have a park nearby for Barney … and maybe some sort of senior center.”

  Charles took his hands off the keyboard and looked at her. “You just described our own retirement village,” he said with a playful look on his face. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “Nothing I haven’t said before, Charles. Cunningham Village is the perfect place for us.”

  “But we don’t have enough room here.”

  “And we haven’t checked out the houses they’re building up on the knoll. Once the houses are finished, they’re going to incorporate that whole area into Cunningham Village. We’d have access to everything we have now, including security.”

  “I’m not enough security for you? A retired cop?” he teased.

  She gently punched his arm. “Stop. I’m serious. I think we should at least talk to the builder and see what they have to say.”

  Charles laughed, knowing she was going to get her way, but he wanted to keep the game going just a little longer. “But there’s no chance of having a ghost like Mattie Stockwell has if we build a totally new house.”

  “Stop teasing. I’m serious,” she said, trying to keep a straight face, but her lip trembled as she tried to hold back her laughter. She knew she was going to get her way eventually.

  * * * * *

  The group burst into song as Myrtle entered the room. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday day to you …”

  Sarah came out of the kitchenette carrying a yellow cake with lemon icing and two candles: one shaped as an eight and the other a zero. Anna followed her with a tray of cups and a pot of coffee. “We have sodas in the kitchen and water for tea, if you prefer,” Anna announced.

  Myrtle sat down looking overwhelmed by the attention. “I never expected this …” she was saying as several of the students came over to kiss her cheek.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I put your age on the cake,” Sarah was saying.

  “I’m proud of those numbers!” Myrtle announced, grinning, and the group applauded.

  “You should be!”

  After the little party, the group cleaned up the area and immediately pulled out their strips. Sarah demonstrated how to make a precise quarter-inch seam and showed them the different techniques, including a special quarter-inch foot for the machine.

  “Can’t we just eyeball it?” Brenda Lee asked.

  Sarah chuckled. “No, and let me show you what happens when your seam allowances aren’t right.” She had made a couple of four-patches with inaccurate seams and held them up to show the class the sloppy effect the inaccurate seams had on the finished product.

  “Okay,” Brenda Lee said. “I get it.”

  Sarah had brought a few scraps for the students to use for practice, and once everyone was comfortable, they sewed their strips together, pressed them, and cut them into units. By the end of the class, they had completed all of their four-patches and were ready to square them up, cut their larger squares, and begin putting their rows together at the next meeting.

  Sarah was glad she had redesigned the class from four sessions to six. Her students were learning what she felt was basic to quality piecing: a precise cut, a precise seam allowance, and careful squaring of the finished blocks.

  “How about a ride home?” Sarah asked Myrtle as they were both packing up.

  “I hate to be a bother …” Myrtle replied.

  By the time they headed for the car, Myrtle was excitedly telling Sarah about the party her family had planned on Saturday. “You’d be welcome to come by, Mrs. Parker.”

  “It’s Sarah,” she reminded Myrtle, “and I appreciate the invitation. My husband and I are looking for a house, and we’ll probably be out scouring the neighborhoods this weekend.”

  “Well, feel free to just stop in if you’re in my neighborhood. It looks like it’ll be an all-day thing, and you’ll be able to meet the kids.” Sarah noticed how Myrtles eyes were twinkling at the thought of having a full day with her family.

  “I’ll be there if possible, Myrtle. Thanks for the invitation.”

  Chapter 10

  “Charles, that agent is on the line—the one who arranged for us to see the Victorian house. She wants to speak with us about what we’re looking for. Do you want to get on the other line?”

  “I got it,” he responded as he picked up the extension.

  “Hello, folks,” the agent said cheerfully. “I’m Charlotte Whitman. We spoke a few weeks ago when you visited the Victorian home over on Cypress. I got your message that evening saying it was more house than you wanted, and I was wondering if I could help you find what you were looking for.”

  The three talked for twenty minutes describing what they had in mind, and the agent said she would take a look and see what was available. When she called back an hour later, she had identified three houses she would like to show them and asked when they would be available.

  “How about tomorrow?” Charles responded as Sarah nodded her agreement. The agent agreed as well and said she would pick them up the next day at 11:00.

  Sarah spent the remainder of the day working on her oriental quilt and making some notes for her next few classes.

  The next morning they had breakfast and took Barney for a walk before the agent arrived.

  “Good morning, Ms. Whitman,” Charles said as he introduced himself and opened the screen door.

  “Call me Charlotte, please,” she responded. Charlotte was a slender blond, wearing white slacks and a navy blazer over a white-and-navy patterned blouse. She carried a clipboard and pulled off the top sheet to show them as they sat down in the living room. “Now this one is a Cape Cod. There’s a second floor, as you can see, but the master bedroom and bath are on the first floor, along with another bedroom you can use as your sewing room or den. You can use one of the upstairs rooms for your quests. That way you won’t need to use the stairs often.”

  “We’re both able to use the steps,” Sarah responded. “We’re just looking ahead; we want someth
ing we can stay in long-term.”

  “I’d like to show it to you because it’s priced to sell fast. It will require some updating, but it has a small fenced yard for that adorable puppy you have there.”

  Barney’s ears perked up. It had been a number of years since he’d been called a puppy, and he probably had never been called adorable—except by his family, who overlooked his straggly coat and wayward whiskers.

  “What else do you have?” Charles asked, not overly impressed with her first suggestion.

  “There’s a rambler over on Second Street that I think you would like. Again, it’s fenced—well, the backyard is fenced, and this one’s all on one floor.”

  “How old are these houses?” Charles asked.

  “The Cape Cod was built in the late fifties, so it’s getting up in years. The rambler is only about twenty-five years old.”

  Only? Charles thought, imagining the amount of work it would take to upgrade.

  “Are there any new homes around? I really don’t want to get involved in lots of renovations.”

  “There are a number of new developments, Mr. Parker, but …”

  “Call me Charles,” he interrupted.

  “Okay, Charles. The new developments are built with families in mind. There aren’t any on the market right now that are one story, and they’re all big, much bigger than you’re looking for.” She went on to describe several of the developments being built on the south side of town.

  “Oh yes,” Sarah spoke up. “We saw those when we were driving out to the restaurant, Charles. Remember the ones on the right side of the road just before the highway? You said they looked so desolate sitting on those big treeless lots.”

  “I remember,” he responded. “That’s not for us.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Charlotte responded. “And that brings us to the third house, which is in no way what you said you were looking for. But I want you to see it anyway.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a farmhouse. It’s only three years old, and it’s built on three wooded acres. Before you object to the lot size, let me tell you: There is a small area around the house that would need to be cared for, but that’s all. The rest of the property is wooded. There’s a small barn. They were going to have horses …”

  “Why is this available? It sounds like someone had plans for it.”

  “It was owned by a young couple. Unfortunately, the husband was killed in an automobile accident last winter. It was a real tragedy.”

  After a brief pause, Charlotte asked if they would like to see all three, and they said they would.

  They only spent a short time in the Cape Cod; it was immediately obvious that there were too many projects required to get it in livable condition. First of all, the appliances would all need to be replaced. “These look like originals,” Charles said somewhat sardonically.

  “Well, the house is sixty-five years old, so I would guess they’ve been replaced a time or two, but I agree they’re out of date,” the agent responded. She attempted to put a positive spin on the house, but she could tell the couple was not interested. She took them upstairs to see the two small bedrooms that had been added in the attic. Both rooms had sloping ceilings and knee walls with a tiny door to the resulting storage space. One room was clearly the daughter’s room with bright pink wallpaper featuring clowns and balloons. The two sons shared the other room, which was papered in minutemen wallpaper and had bunk beds. Sarah marveled that three children could live in such a small space.

  “Now that’s perfect,” Charles announced as they were leaving. The agent was startled by his sudden enthusiasm, but turned to realize he was not talking about the house but an elaborate tree house that had been built in an old oak tree. “Our granddaughter would love that when she gets older.”

  The next house was the rambler built in the 1990s. “These folks just put the house on the market, and they need to sell fast. They’re moving into a retirement community near their children in Kentucky, and their new place is ready. If you’re interested in this house, you can probably get it way below asking price.” With a conspiratorial look, she whispered, “I’m not supposed to tell you that, but you seem like nice folks.”

  Charles frowned. It was statements like this that led him to mistrust salespeople.

  When they pulled up in front of the brick rambler, they were both pleasantly surprised. The small front yard was landscaped with bushes, pebbles, and mulch. “Very little maintenance here,” Charles remarked.

  When they stepped past the front door, they were again impressed. The house had been meticulously maintained. The carpets looked like new, and as they entered the small kitchen, Sarah noted the new appliances. “This is a nice house,” she said, turning to Charles.

  “I agree.”

  They opened the back door and stepped out on the deck. The small fenced yard was about half concrete patio and half mulch and azalea plants, which were in full bloom. “I would put a couple of benches out there by those plants,” Sarah said, and the agent became hopeful.

  The shock came when they entered the master room. It was tiny. There was one small closet, no master bath … and a mirrored ceiling.

  “Gracious,” Sarah said, looking up at herself in awe.

  “I know,” the agent laughed. “The owner told me it was here when they moved in. They always intended to have it removed but never got around to it. The husband said he liked waking up in the morning and seeing that he was still alive.” All three laughed nervously and continued to the second bedroom, which was also very small. They left after a cursory look at the basement.

  As they were driving to the third property, Sarah asked Charles, “Could you get that mirror down? I wouldn’t want Jason and Martha to see that in our bedroom,” she added with a slight blush.

  “I could get it down, but the real issue, I think, is the size of the bedrooms. That second room isn’t big enough for your sewing projects and my desk, not to mention getting a futon in there for guests. Actually, that house isn’t any bigger than the one we’re in now.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right … and we do want three bedrooms.”

  “I have a second concern,” he added.

  Sarah, who was riding in the front seat with the agent, turned to look at Charles.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “That part of town was a high-crime area when I was with the department.”

  “What department is that?” the agent asked.

  Charles went on to explain he had been retired from the police department for some years, but in his day, there were many drug-related arrests in the area. “We also had a number of domestic violence calls.”

  “I don’t think that’s true any longer,” the agent assured him.

  “I’ll check it out,” he said.

  It took a half hour to reach the third house, which was on the other side of town and a few miles out beyond the city limits. As they approached the property, Sarah was impressed by the beauty of the area. It was wooded acreage, as the agent had described, with a gravel road winding up to the somewhat isolated house. “I would miss neighbors,” Sarah commented, “but just look at that adorable house.”

  Once inside, they found that everything was clean and new. The appliances were modern; the refrigerator had an ice and water dispenser on the door. The floors were hardwood throughout the house, and the walls appeared to be freshly painted.

  Walking through the house, they could see that the three bedrooms were of ample size. “This could be my sewing room, and you could have the one next door as your den. Both rooms are big enough for a guest bed, as well.”

  Taking her hand and moving in close to her ear, Charles said softly, “How about we share the sewing den and we put both the guest beds in the other room?”

  “A sewing den?” she repeated playfully.

  “Togetherness,” he responded. “That’s the name of the game.”

  Sarah giggled, again remi
nding herself that Charles brought out the youngster in her.

  “Let’s take a look at the barn,” Charles said as the agent joined them in the hallway.

  As they walked back through the spacious kitchen, Sarah said, “I can see a large oak table in here and our family getting together for Walton-style country dinners.” The agent again smiled hopefully.

  “Barney would love running around on this property,” Sarah commented as they headed for the barn. Once inside, Charles commented that he could make a workshop out of one side, but he wasn’t sure what they would do with the rest of it.

  “Perhaps we could park the cars in here?” Sarah remarked.

  As they were leaving the barn, Sarah noted a wall of cages. “What were these for?” she asked.

  “The owners were planning to raise rabbits,” the agent responded.

  So many plans, Sarah thought sadly. She wondered what had happened to the young widow but decided not to ask.

  Sarah got into the back seat with Charles and took his hand. As they drove away, she looked back at the house with melancholy. She loved the property and the house, and for a moment she wished they were young and just beginning their lives together. It was a perfect place to start a family. But it really wasn’t right for a couple in their seventies. It was somewhat isolated and far from medical care. And what if we reach a time when we can’t drive? she wondered. Wouldn’t that mean another move?

  Charles was also thinking about the disadvantages of living so far from other people. He felt a sadness as he thought about the workshop and all the projects he would like to start. But then I’m getting old, and my aching joints and stiff hands would never allow me to do the things I’d like to do.

  Separately they reflected on the things in life that were no longer possible—the dreams they had to give up as they grew older. But as they looked at one another, they both realized that there were still possibilities ahead, and they had already chosen one of those possibilities: They had chosen to begin a new life together.

  “Let’s take a look at those new houses they’re building in Cunningham Village,” Charles whispered to his wife as he was helping her out of the car.