The Lover’s Knot

by Clare O’Donohue

  Normally the house was picture-book ready, with flowers crowding the beds in front and immaculately trimmed bushes lining the drive. But this time the view was marred by a scratched and dented red pickup truck and piles of roofing debris on the lawn.

  "What…" I started to ask.

  "Marc Reed," she said, as if I had any clue who he was. I made a face at her to express my confusion.

  She beeped her horn and pointed up. So I looked. On her roof stood a brown-haired, shirtless man in his thirties-a man who looked as though he'd earned every muscle from hard work. He waved.

  "Marc Reed," she said again. "Fixes roofs, builds furniture, does odd jobs. Very handy." She pulled up in front of the house and stopped the car. "Not hard on the eyes either."

  "Grandma!"

  She shrugged. "I'm not recommending him, mind you. Not unless you want more trouble than you already have." I said nothing, but I did look. "I need to see how he's getting on with that patch," she continued. "You go inside."

  She walked off to talk with Marc, who climbed down the ladder, smiling at me as he descended. Up close he looked just as fit and tanned as he had on the roof. His hair was cut short, and seemed dark red in the sun and light brown as he moved into the shadows. He had small lines outlining his deep blue eyes and long eyelashes that curled slightly as he blinked. He was the picture of laid-back good looks, but there was something in his eyes that made me uncomfortable.

  Embarrassed at being so easily rattled by the slightest bit of male attention, I mumbled something about being hungry and headed into the house.

  "I have some cake left over from Nancy's birthday," my grandmother told me as she walked inside, finding me still in the hallway. "You remember Nancy? She's the woman who helps out at the shop."

  "I've met her dozens of times." I smiled. "Are you starting to forget things?"

  "One of the pleasures of old age," she answered with a wink. "Do you want coffee or tea?"

  "Tea, I guess. Where's Barney? Why didn't he come to the door?"

  "Vet says he's going deaf. Getting old like me," she said. "Try the living room. And tell him to come into the kitchen for lunch."

  I turned left into the enormous living room. Eleanor kept the furnishings sparse. There was only a couch, two chairs, and one table to fill the room. As a child it was a perfect place to play tag, and my sister and I often ran circles around the couch, trying frantically to get to the "safe" spot-the marble fireplace with an ornately carved mantle. It was also the place where Eleanor kept some of her more precious quilts. Two made by Grace Roemer,the woman who had taught my grandmother to quilt, and three she made herself. I'd always loved her quilts, but before today I hadn't realized just how much comfort I took in looking at them.

  I ran my fingers along a quilt with brightly colored stars against a black background. (Amish style, Eleanor had once explained to me.) The pieces that made the stars were small, no more than two inches each, and the quilting was an elaborate echo of the pieced pattern, making it seem as if stars were bursting all over the quilt. But because the quilted stars were stitched only in black thread, they stood silent against the background. All that work for something that you couldn't even see unless you were two inches from the quilt. I wondered why anyone would bother, and yet I wanted desperately to have created something that held such quiet surprises.

  "Nell," I heard my grandmother call, in that insistent "stop wasting my time" voice. "The food is ready. And bring Barney."

  I was so caught up in the quilt that I hadn't noticed who lay by the windows at the far end of the room. The afternoon sun was bringing a glow to the entire room, and basking in it was my grandmother's companion, Barney.

  I walked over and knelt beside him, and he turned his head back to see who it was. He was, at first, startled, then embarrassed at being caught unawares, then within seconds unreservedly joyous at seeing me. Nearly twelve years old, gray around the snout, and happily plump, he still had the joy of a pup. Old or not, that dog could wag. We kissed and hugged and played until I heard my grandmother's voice again.

  "Nell," she called.

  I got up and started toward the kitchen. Barney bounded after me. When we reached the kitchen, his excitement began again at the sight of Eleanor. She reached down and patted his head.

  "What's all the fuss, old man?" she asked him. "Did you think I'd left town or something?"

  Barney wagged his tail even harder in response. When he was sufficiently petted, he settled into a large bed stuffed with toys. My grandmother's uncluttered decorating style clearly had not rubbed off on the dog.

  There was more than cake on the table. There was a spread of ham and turkey, bread still warm from my grandmother's oven, a green salad and a homemade potato salad, as well as the cake, two eclairs, and piping hot tea.

  Without a word, I piled my plate with a bit of everything and devoured as much as I could. Suddenly I was starving.

  "It's a good sign that you're hungry." Eleanor winked at me.

  "It's good food," I said between bites.

  She watched me eat for a few minutes. "I'm going to head to the shop. I can't expect Nancy to hold down the fort for too long. Poor girl. She's very sweet, but no head for business."

  "I'm going to take a nap, then," I said.

  "It will do you a world of good." She nodded. "And if you want, when you get up you can walk over to the shop."

  "I won't be up for several hours."

  "Doesn't matter. It's Friday night. Sometimes we're there until midnight."

  She got up and Barney got up with her. "I'll leave him with you for company." She motioned for him to stay. "But bring him with you if you come."

  "Is he one of the regulars?" I smiled.

  She rolled her eyes. "Those girls have made more quilts for Barney than they've made for their own grandchildren." She pointed to Barney's bed. Now that the dog was up again I was able to see at least five small quilts lining the bed, each with dog fabrics or appliqued bones. Above the bed was a quilt with a likeness of Barney sleeping on the bed, with a dream bubble of a Russell terrier with a pink bow.

  "Who's she?" I asked.

  "Nancy's dog, and his girlfriend." She rolled her eyes. "Get your sleep and I'll see you later."

  CHAPTER 4

  After Eleanor left, I helped myself to a second slice of cake and two more cups of tea until even I couldn't eat anymore. I spent twenty minutes debating with Barney whether I should call my cell phone to check for messages. I could tell by the way he rested his head on my lap that he was against it. So I got up and headed upstairs.

  The house had once belonged to a pretty wealthy New York family who used it on weekends. I'm sure most people thought it was too large for a single elderly woman, but somehow Eleanor filled the space. Her bedroom was a sparsely furnished one at the top of the stairs, with photos of my grandfather Joe and their children and grandchildren on the walls, and a large blue and white check quilt on the bed.

  With Barney by my side, I walked to the other end of the hall, to the massive sewing room that had once been a master bedroom. It was the only place in the house that could be called cluttered. There were at least a half dozen unfinished quilt tops, three sewing machines, including a black Singer Featherweight, and probably more fabric than Eleanor had at the shop. It looked a bit chaotic, but I knew it all made sense to my grandmother.

  On either side of the hallway next to the sewing room were two small rooms. One had been my uncle's, and was now an office with a desk and sleeper sofa. The other had once been my mother's and still held some of her dolls and other toys. But more important, it had a comfy queen-size bed in the middle of it and two quilts piled on top. It was the perfect guest room, and I looked forward to it every time I came to visit.

  Suddenly my body felt heavy and tired, so I pulled the thick velvet drapes closed, shutting out the light and the world at the same time. I climbed into bed, got under the covers, and closed my eyes.

  The last sound I heard as
I fell into a deep, hard sleep was Barney circling and collapsing on the floor.

  Four hours later when I finally returned to consciousness, the room was completely dark. Aside from the sound of Barney's breathing, everything was quiet. For someone used to city noise, with honking cars and people talking and laughing in the street below, the house had become almost spooky. And very, very dark.

  I felt around for a light and turned on a small Tiffany-style lamp on the nightstand. That much was easy, but getting out of the warm bed was proving to be more difficult. According to my watch it was almost nine o'clock. I knew there wasn't much to do in this house, or in the town for that matter. By nine o'clock every business would be shut down for the night. Except Someday Quilts. And that I couldn't face. Inside the shop were my grandmother's friends. Women who didn't even know me but had labored over a wedding quilt for me. And now I would never use it.

  Rather than lay there and feel sorry for myself, I got out of bed and headed down the hallway. In my apartment I kept the television on for company almost constantly. But the only television in Eleanor's house was in the kitchen, so my grandmother could watch the news in the morning while she made breakfast. Other than that, she didn't see the point in, as she saw it, wasting valuable time. The kitchen was as good a place as any for me, though. I could have another snack.

  I hadn't even found the remote for the television before Barney woke and came after me, nudging me and whimpering. I've never owned a dog, but even I understood the meaning. Barney wanted out.

  "Give me a second," I told him. I was about to grab his leash when I thought about what my grandmother had said about my looking like hell. "I'll wash my face and we'll go for a walk."

  Barney whimpered in response. He looked at me, his happy face showing stress and anxiety. Either he really had to go or there was something in the darkness outside that demanded his attention.

  Barney was already at the front door by the time I'd found my shoes. It had been warm in New York in the morning, and among the many things I'd neglected to bring was a jacket. I reached inside the coat closet in the entryway and found one of my grandmother's wool cardigans, gray and intricately knitted. There were patches on the elbows, to cover spots worn from years of use. It smelled of my grandmother and it comforted me. At that moment if I could have borrowed her unwavering ability to face life, good and bad, I would have, but I settled for the sweater.

  Barney did his business quickly but made it clear he was not going back to the house. Instead he trotted ahead of me, sniffing happily and turning occasionally to make sure I could keep up. I'd forgotten to take his leash, so I had no choice but to follow him and hope he knew where he was going. But as we got farther and farther from the house I realized he knew exactly where he was going, and I didn't like it one bit.

  "Come back, Barney," I called out. "We have to go home now."

  Instead, he kept walking. I wasn't sure if this time he ignored me because of his hearing problem or because he had his own plans. I walked a little faster, but I couldn't quite keep up. Barney seemed to be making a game of it, staying just a little out of my reach, going up the road leading into town.

  When we arrived on Main Street, Barney took one last look at me and slowed his pace a little. He looked as if he might stop at the diner next to my grandmother's shop. If I could catch him while he was in front of the diner, then I might be able to drag him away before anyone saw us. In all the times I had visited my grandmother I'd managed to avoid her Friday Night Quilt Club. It wasn't that I had any objection to the club or to the women who made up the group; I just didn't want to sit around being polite to a bunch of my grandmother's friends. I tried to explain this to Barney. He must have understood because he teased me by sitting right outside the diner, directly in front of a huge FOR LEASE sign in the window. Three more steps and the light from the quilt shop would ruin my plan. I moved slowly. Barney watched me, the corners of his mouth turned up into a slight grin. I inched toward him. And just when I was about to grab his collar, he barked, jumped up, and bounded for the door of Someday Quilts. I didn't move. I clung to the hope that I might be able to escape.

  "Are you okay, miss?"

  I looked up to see a man walking toward me. As he passed the shop, he stopped for a moment to pet Barney, who wagged delightedly and jumped all over him. They were clearly old friends. The man's suit looked as though it had just come from the cleaners, but he didn't seem to mind getting it messed up. He looked about thirty, with dark hair and small, intellectual-looking glasses. I would have guessed history teacher or accountant, but when he leaned over I saw a metal object underneath his jacket. As I looked at it, I realized it was a gun.

  "Yes, I'm fine," I said. I didn't know whether to be scared. Barneyclearly wasn't. But then I was becoming alarmed about something else. His presence was attracting attention from inside the quilt shop. The man waved at someone in the shop, then looked back at me.

  "I'm Jesse Dewalt," he said to me as he stretched out his hand. "You're Eleanor's granddaughter, I guess."

  "How did you know that?" I asked as I shook his hand.

  "It's a small place."

  "And who might you be?" My eyes were on the gun peeking out from under his suit coat. He adjusted his coat to hide the gun.

  "Sorry, I should have introduced myself," he answered in a quiet, serious tone. "Chief of Police here in town. I'm out making my nightly rounds."

  "You don't look like a cop," I said stupidly. "I mean, you're not in uniform or anything."

  "No, not tonight." He didn't crack a smile.

  I smiled, if for no other reason than to show him how it was done. But he didn't return the gesture, just waved at Barney, nodded toward me, and kept walking. He hadn't exactly been friendly, but Barney liked him and that was as good a reference as a person can get. I found myself watching Officer Jesse walk off into the darkness.

  And that was a mistake. It was just the opening Barney was looking for. He scratched at the entrance to the shop and barked a friendly hello. There was really no way to leave Barney there and sneak home. My grandmother would be upset if she thought I'd let the dog go off on his own. And it was clear now, thanks to my momentary interest in Officer Jesse, that Barney was outside. I was left with no choice. So I made the best of it. I opened the door.

  Inside the shop my grandmother was laughing with the women sitting in a circle around her. For a half second I wondered if they were laughing at my broken engagement, but I knew that was only my bruised ego talking.

  "Look who's here," my grandmother said as she waved me to come in. "How was your nap? It was a long one."

  "Just what I needed."

  I moved in a little but still stayed close to the door. Barney, on the other hand, bounded into the middle of the circle to greet each of his ladies in turn. I don't think any of them noticed me until they were done greeting him. When they did they each smiled enthusiastically.

  "The granddaughter," the oldest one said. I remembered her from my childhood visits. Maggie Sweeney, one of Eleanor's dearest friends and a stern presence to a ten-year-old, and to me now. She looked the way old women used to look before they were running corporations and skydiving at eighty years old. She had gray hair pulled back in a bun and wore one of those Laura Ashley-style dresses, with a black floral print and a white lace collar. She had a warm face, though, and the greenest eyes I'd ever seen.

  "She is," my grandmother said, and looked around the room with a warning. "And nobody give her a hard time."

  The women nodded and smiled at me again.

  "Sit down," said another, and someone took some fabric off a chair in the corner and moved the chair to the circle. The whole group inched closer to leave enough space for me to join them.

  I sat and tried to meet their smiles with my own. It was all very uncomfortable.

  "These are the girls," Eleanor said with a sweep of her hand. "Except Nancy. She couldn't come tonight."

  "She's missed a lot of meetings lately
," said one woman.

  "Well, I suppose she spends enough time at the shop as it is."

  "Enough about who isn't here. Let's talk about who is," Maggie said.

  "Hi, Mrs. Sweeney," I said, "it's nice to see you again." Then I turned to the others. "I'm Nell."

  "Everyone knows that, dear," said a blonde with deep blue eyes and heavy makeup, who looked to be in her fifties. "Eleanor filled us in on all the details."

  I shot an angry look toward my grandmother, who smiled at me innocently. The rest of the women seemed to be studying me, waiting for me to launch into a story or burst into tears or otherwise entertain them. Instead I sat with an idiotic smile on my face and an embarrassed look in my eyes, trying to feel less strange in a room full of strangers.

  "Leave her alone, Mom," came a voice from the back. Finally, someone on my side. I turned to see a woman about my age coming up from the basement. "I'm Natalie. Don't worry. They're just excited to have a new recruit," Natalie assured me. She was the picture of her mother, blond and blue-eyed, but Natalie wore no makeup at all, and she didn't need to. "They won't rest until every man, woman, and child knows how to quilt."

  "Are you interested in quilting?" Maggie turned to me, suddenly excited.

  "She's got talent but no discipline," my grandmother offered. "I've tried to teach her."

  "I was twelve," I said in my own defense, then regretted it because I knew what was coming.

  "Well, if she has talent, then there's hope," said another woman who had been quiet up until then.

  "I don't have a lot of time," I said. A weak excuse, but something.

  The heavily made-up blonde answered with a dismissive wave. "You're in," she laughed. "And once you're in, there's no getting out. Unless you die."

  They all laughed. I laughed a little too, but it was a nervous laugh.

  CHAPTER 5

  For the next dizzying hour I was introduced and reintroduced and then quizzed by each member of the club. It didn't surprise me that Maggie was the leader, even with Eleanor in the room. A former librarian, she had raised eleven children and now had twenty-five grandchildren. Every one of them had at least one quilt, hand sewn by Maggie, who didn't believe any machine, even a sewing machine, could do as good a job as a person.