The Tapestry in the Attic

by Mary O'Donnell

  “What is it, Annie?” asked Mary Beth.

  “I know this … I mean, I’ve seen this.”

  “You’ve seen what?” asked Alice.

  Annie pointed to the corner. “The letters—there, under the reading woman.” Then she made her way over to stand next to the niche near the front window where the little “Home Song” tapestry had hung for at least forty years within her memory, and probably longer. All eyes were on Annie as she pointed to the bottom panel where there was an almost identical set of letters to the ones on the large tapestry.

  5

  The discovery of the tapestry almost completely derailed the Hook and Needle Club members’ good intentions to look for props. Kate and Vanessa had come downstairs, bringing with them clothing and some costume jewelry that they had found for the play, but then they, too, were drawn into the mystery of the tapestry with the others.

  Annie had removed the small tapestry from its place and laid it next to the scene of the reading woman. The small tapestry was the same size as one of the panels on the larger tapestry, and there was no doubt in her mind that both had been fashioned by the same hands. While the small tapestry had the Roman numerals for 1946, the large one had numerals that added up to 1966—a twenty-year gap between the two. Now Annie truly regretted not having asked her grandmother about the maker of the small tapestry.

  It was Alice who immediately saw its possibility as a backdrop for the stage setting of the great hall of the king’s castle in the play. “Don’t you see?” she asked. “This is perfect! It goes with the theme of the play, which Stella already told us was the Proverbs 31 woman, and it goes with the time period we’re supposed to be looking for. Tapestries were hung in castles in the Middle Ages, not just for art’s sake, but to help reduce drafts and provide some warmth in an environment that was constructed out of cold stones. It just couldn’t be any more authentic.”

  Annie hesitated. Here was another mystery that her grandmother had left for her to work out. The tapestry was such a beautiful thing. Why was it hidden away? This wasn’t the first time she had asked herself the same question about other articles she had found in the attic. It had always turned out before that there was some good reason for it, but she couldn’t imagine what this one could be. The tapestry was a work of art; it should’ve been displayed in a museum all these years instead of waiting for someone to find it. Waiting for me to find it, thought Annie. It seemed to be in very good condition, and she was thankful for that, but she wondered if using it in the play was a good idea. What if it were to get torn or stained or something awful like that?

  “Let me think about it, Alice,” said Annie.

  “Of course,” replied Alice. “It just seems a shame that something so beautiful has been hidden away in this old rug. Wouldn’t it be great for it to literally be in the spotlight?”

  “That’s another thing to worry about,” said Annie. “What effect would stage lighting have on a tapestry like this? It would be just awful if it faded from the wrong kind of exposure to light.” She looked again at the small tapestry, comparing its colors with that of the large one. It had been protected by its position away from the sun and by the jutting sides of the niche, yet fading had occurred.

  “I’m sure there’s a way to get around that. Perhaps we could set it up so it’s only onstage during the actual performances—that would only be a few hours.” Alice’s expression was hopeful, and Annie hated to say no.

  “We’ll see. I just want to be sure that nothing happens to it,” said Annie.

  ****

  The following Saturday, just before closing time, all of the ladies of the Hook and Needle Club, bundled up in their winter garbs, gathered at A Stitch in Time. Mary Beth was there too, even though she had had her biopsy the day before. Gwen had gone with her to provide moral support, driving Mary Beth to Portland, where her oncologist’s office was located. The doctor had told Mary Beth that he would be sending her tissue samples to a lab for testing.

  “The doctor told me that the results wouldn’t be available for at least two or three weeks,” said Mary Beth. “So I’ll have to wait and see if the lump is malignant, or not.”

  “Are you sure you feel well enough to come to the meeting with Jacob and Professor Howell?” asked Stella.

  “Yes, I’m sure; I’m only a little sore. I actually had a nap this afternoon since Kate and Vanessa ran the store today.” Mary Beth looked at Kate and Vanessa with a smile. “Thanks for that, girls. I probably could have worked if I had to, but it was nice to have a bit of time to just relax.”

  Annie was glad to see that since they had spoken that evening at Grey Gables, Mary Beth seemed to be less introverted and was more like her old self.

  When it was nearly time for the meeting at the Cultural Center to begin, they went outside the store, waiting for Kate as she locked the door. Then she gave her daughter a quick hug, arranging to meet her at the library after the meeting.

  En masse the Hook and Needle Club members crossed Main Street and walked to the Cultural Center. The building that housed the museum and new theater, at four stories, was one of the tallest buildings in Stony Point. It had once been a successful dry-goods store known as “Walker’s.”

  The glass entry doors weren’t locked since the museum was still open. There were a few people milling around, looking over an exhibit of pottery which included some work of local artisans. Stella stopped for a moment to speak to Bill Witherell, one of the volunteers on duty, and then the ladies made their way to the elevator to take them to the fourth floor where the conference room was located.

  The Hook and Needle Club ladies bunched into the elevator. Just as the doors were closing, Ian Butler, the mayor of Stony Point, shouted, “Hold the door, ladies!” as he dashed toward the elevator.

  Ian Butler was tall and ruggedly handsome with short-cropped hair that was graying at the temples. The corners of his chocolate brown eyes crinkled when he smiled, which was often. He and Annie had been out on friendly dates a few times, but Annie wasn’t ready for anything romantic—at least not yet—so they had kept their outings low key, though it was obvious to everyone that Ian would be happy with something more serious.

  Like Annie’s husband, Ian’s wife, Arianna, had died unexpectedly, leaving him grief-stricken. But Ian was at a different stage of grief than Annie, having had much more time to work through his emotions. Though he would never forget Arianna, he knew he had to put those memories of their life together in their proper place to be able to move on. He still struggled with it at times, but he didn’t want to live the rest of his days on earth alone.

  Now, he had managed to stand next to Annie in the elevator, but he addressed them all. “How is everyone today?”

  Stella answered for the group. “We’re fine, Mayor Butler. I’m glad you could make it.” Stella hadn’t mentioned to the others that she had invited Ian; Annie wondered who else might be sitting in on the meeting.

  As the others chatted, Ian leaned over toward Annie and said in a low voice, “Are you ready for this? I met Professor Howell last week. He’s quite a character.”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” replied Annie. “I’m excited about this play, though. I’m sure it will take me outside my comfort zone—like when you and I were extras in the movie that was filmed in Stony Point a while back. It’s good to do things that are out of the ordinary now and then.”

  “Arianna was an actress, even before we were married, you know.” Ian’s eyes became distant as he remembered his wife. “It was a sacrifice for her to move from the big city to Stony Point. She loved the theater, but thankfully, I guess she loved me more.” He smiled, and Annie’s heart skipped a beat. “She continued to be part of the theater scene though, often in the summer months at the Ogunquit and the Hackmatack Playhouses. She especially enjoyed working with the children who came to the summer drama camps. She would have been thrilled that Stony Point has its own theater.”

  “I wish I could have known her, Ian,�
� said Annie. “Everyone always says what a wonderful woman she was.”

  “She was that,” said Ian. “I guess we were both lucky to have had happy marriages and to have those good memories to carry with us. Not everyone is so fortunate.”

  The elevator doors opened to a small vestibule with a hallway strutting out from each side. There was plush, deep red carpeting over wood flooring, with gorgeous inlaid wood visible along the edges. Annie had never been on this level of the building before, and as she and the others followed Stella down the left-hand hallway, she was surprised at how sumptuous the surroundings seemed. The walls were finished with what Annie recognized as expensive Venetian plaster and bordered by beautifully carved woodwork. The rooms were mostly empty, but someone had been keeping the place clean. She could see no dust anywhere.

  Perhaps realizing what was on Annie’s mind as well as the others, Stella said, “This floor was used for offices in Gerald Walker’s day; he was the son of the founder of the original Walker’s dry-goods store here in Stony Point. When they had this building constructed in the 1920s, the store was in its heyday, and no expense was spared. When the store closed in the seventies, this floor was leased to Gordon Proctor’s father and uncle, who were both lawyers too.”

  Annie knew Gordon Proctor fairly well—he had been Betsy Holden’s attorney, and it was he who called her in Texas after the death of her grandmother to tell her she was to inherit Grey Gables.

  Stella continued, “The condition of the offices had declined along with the fortunes of the store, but when the law office of Proctor & Proctor moved in, they refurbished everything. When the owner of the Walker Building decided to sell it, Gordon bought that house on Elm Street and moved the practice over there.”

  Stella stopped speaking since they had reached the conference room. Annie admired the high ceiling and the tall windows and the elaborate woodwork; they reflected the popular art deco style of the 1920s. One wall, at the end of the room opposite the door, was given over to a magnificent built-in bookcase that stood empty at present.

  An extra-long rectangular table sat in the center of the room and cloth-covered office chairs surrounded it; a few additional chairs were lined up along the walls. Annie realized that these didn’t seem to fit in with the twenties era—they must have been new purchases, bought by the Cultural Center committee as workhorse furniture, rather than investing in expensive pieces. It made sense to Annie that there were other more public places where the money they had raised was more wisely spent.

  “You may put your coats on the side chairs and then take a seat anywhere around the table,” said Stella, “but let’s leave this one at the far end open for Professor Howell.” After she had taken off her coat, Stella proceeded to seat herself next to Professor Howell’s chair at the end of the table while the rest of the group found other seats.

  Stella’s action caused Annie to once again take note of the change in Stella’s appearance, as she had at the Hook and Needle Club meeting earlier that week. It wasn’t just the softer hairdo and the additional makeup; no-nonsense Stella was wearing a colorful new dress that wasn’t quite her normal style. It was much more feminine—a solid-color satiny under-dress with a crinkly, mottled chiffon overlay that seemed to float about Stella. “Can a woman her age still get a crush? Maybe … ” thought Annie.

  Her thought was interrupted by the entrance of a person who could only be Professor Howell. And “entrance” was the right word. Every eye turned to focus on the professor as he entered the room, and he said cheerfully, “Greetings, ladies and gentleman! I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. I was a little lost, but your volunteer Mr. Witherell was kind enough to show Felix and me the way.”

  It was only then that Annie even noticed the young man behind Professor Howell. He was laden down with a cardboard box in his arms and an expensive leather briefcase dangling precariously from his fingers. His dark brown–rimmed glasses, that matched the color of his hair, had begun to slip uncomfortably down his nose.

  “Here, let me help you with that.” Ian got up and took the box from Felix’s arms as Professor Howell continued across the room to Stella. Felix reached up to push his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and said a quiet “Thanks” to Ian. Indicating the chairs along the wall with a nod of his head, he said, “Could you just put the box on one of the chairs over there?” Ian complied, and Felix proceeded to take the briefcase to the seat at the far end of the table. He carefully sat the briefcase on the table to open it and remove a few papers which he laid neatly in front of the professor’s seat. Then Felix closed the case, taking it with him, and went to sit next to the cardboard box.

  While this was happening, the professor had taken Stella’s hand. At first Annie thought he was actually going to kiss it, but instead, he only did a curt bow over it. Stella, who appeared to be blushing slightly, was visibly pleased by this behavior, though it was normally the sort of thing Annie thought Stella would have disdained in other circumstances. Annie was seeing Stella in a whole new light—instead of stern matron, she was transformed into Auntie Mame. Who would have thought it? Annie glanced across the table at Alice and caught her eye. She was watching the same scene unfold, and Annie knew by the way she slightly raised her eyebrows that she was equally amazed at Stella’s change of demeanor in the presence of Professor Howell.

  As Stella and the professor exchanged chitchat, Annie reflected that he wasn’t precisely what she had pictured when Alice first told her about him. She had to admit to herself that her original rendering of the man in her imagination was cartoonish. No, he wasn’t so simplistic as that, she told herself, but he was undoubtedly a theatrical figure.

  Professor Howell was, as Alice had said she imagined him, a portly older gentleman, but with his closely trimmed snow-white hair and matching mustache and beard, in Annie’s opinion, he would not have been mistaken for Santa Claus, or Colonel Sanders for that matter. He was somewhat younger than Stella; Annie guessed he was approaching retirement age. He spoke with an accent that Annie couldn’t quite place. It seemed to be a cross between an English accent and a Franklin D. Roosevelt–type accent. His voice was deep, and his diction was clear; confidence exuded from him—in every word he said and in every gesture he made—and he was very fond of making gestures when he spoke. He wasn’t really all that large a person, but it seemed as if he took up more space in the room than everyone else.

  After the professor removed his camel-color cashmere overcoat, Annie took note of his attire. He was wearing a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows and a multicolored, paisley-patterned pocket square tucked into the breast pocket, along with dark brown wool slacks and dark brown suede wingtip shoes. Underneath the jacket he wore a knitted, maroon color waistcoat with leather-covered shank buttons, a crisp white shirt, and a tie made from the same fabric as the pocket square. If there would have been a role in a movie that called for an eccentric professor, she would have said that Professor Howell fit the bill perfectly.

  Just then, another man was ushered into the room by Mr. Witherell. This must be Jacob Martin, thought Annie. He seemed the very opposite of Professor Howell. Annie would have guessed that Jacob was about Kate’s age, even if Kate hadn’t mentioned that she went to high school with him. His hair was longish and a nondescript brown color, but his clear blue eyes were kind, and though he wasn’t smiling, there was a soothing pleasantness about his expression. He was in jeans and lumberjack-type, tie-up leather boots. His navy blue wool pea coat was unbuttoned, revealing a cable-patterned Aran-type pullover beneath.

  “Ah, there you are, my boy,” said Professor Howell, gesturing for Jacob to join them at the table. “Take a seat, and let’s get started, shall we?”

  As Jacob took his place at the end of the table opposite the professor, Annie tried to assess the two men—one responsible for the words and ideas of the play, and the other responsible for how those words and ideas would be presented to the public. The two men couldn’t have been more different,
and yet, she thought, they seemed to complement one another, at least in their respective roles. It was hard to imagine them having much in common otherwise.

  6

  Still standing, Professor Howell moved from Stella’s side to stand in front of his chair at the end of the conference table. He took charge of the meeting. “I’ll start the meeting by introducing myself.” As he spoke he lightly placed one hand over his chest, his fingers splayed out, and he punctuated his words with the motion of his opposite hand. “I am Professor Rudyard G. Howell—you may call me Professor Howell. I will be the director of King Lemuel’s Treasure. I do trust that all of you have read the play?” It was a statement and a question all in one. Everyone around the table, except Jacob, nodded to indicate that they had done so.

  “Excellent. Now, as I understand from Mrs. Brickson, you are nearly all novices in the theater, but we won’t let that detain us from producing a fabulous show for our audience. I want you all to remember that my job here is not that of a parent. I’m not here to see that you get your homework done on time or that you don’t stay up too late. I expect self-discipline on your part to meet deadlines and to fulfill your functions as part of this company.

  “My job is comparable to that of an obstetrician. Jacob has written a marvelous play. That is our fetus; our actions will determine whether it is brought into the world as a thriving baby, or if it will suffer and die. We do not want that to happen!” The professor punctuated his last sentence by slapping the table with the palms of both of his hands. Annie jumped slightly even though she was watching him the entire time. She almost wondered what she had gotten herself into. It was hard to take her eyes off the professor, but she stole a glance around the room. Were the others thinking the same thing? Her eyes landed on Stella. She gazed at Professor Howell with a look that bordered on adoration. Good grief, thought Annie.