Ivy, normally one of our quieter members, was particularly animated. She’d finished her GED preparation classes at New Beginnings and had just taken her exam on Saturday.
“Do you think you passed?” Evelyn asked.
Ivy snipped some stray threads off the back of a class sample quilt she was making for the shop and shifted her shoulders noncommittally.
“You have to get a certain number of total points in all five subject tests to pass. I feel pretty good about that part. But you can’t get less than four-ten on any individual test. I’m kind of worried about the science test. I missed that one by eighteen points on my practice test, but I’ve been studying hard since then. Hopefully, it paid off.” She squinted and bent her head toward the quilt back, searching for hidden threads. “We’ll see.”
“When will you find out?” I asked as I glopped another dollop of whipped cream onto my shortcake, promising myself it would be my final indulgence of the night.
“Soon. They mail the results.”
Virginia was standing at the ironing board, pressing a binding prior to stitching it in place. “How many students were in your class?”
“Counting me? Six. I hope we all pass. We’ve gotten pretty close over these last months. It’d be awful if some did and some didn’t.” Ivy nibbled nervously at her fingernail for a moment before banishing this possibility. “It’s going to be fine. Bella and Connie did a great job prepping us.”
“Bella and Connie?” I asked between bites. “The sisters I met here in the shop? I thought they taught in the public schools.”
“They do,” Ivy said. “But they also volunteer at New Beginnings. Connie was our math and science teacher and Bella handled language arts and social studies.”
“But,” Margot said, “I thought Bella was a PE teacher at the middle school.”
“She is. She’s also certified to teach senior high humanities. She’s really good. Bella knows American League baseball stats like the back of her hand, but she knows Shakespeare and Emily Dickinson even better.”
Abigail, who was sitting in the corner farthest from the temptations of the refreshment table, ripping a seam, looked up with obvious surprise. “Really?”
Ivy nodded. “Bella loves the classics. And you know what’s even crazier? She’s got me loving them too. Not just reading them but reading them, because I want to. I never thought I’d be able to understand books like that, but I was wrong. It’s like Bella always says, ‘Ignorance isn’t a chronic condition, unless you allow it to become one.’ ”
I choked so hard that I thought whipped cream was going to come out my nose. Margot jumped up from her sewing machine and started pounding me on the back.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I assured her in a raspy voice. “It just went down the wrong way. Ivy, do you know where Bella grew up?”
“Manhattan, I think. She’s got a New York accent. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. I was just wondering if we knew some of the same people.”
New York is a big city. There was no reason to suppose that Bella had picked up that proverb from the redoubtable Millicent Fleeber, but wouldn’t it be something if she had? Clearly, I was going to have to spend more time talking to Bella.
“Connie and Bella are really something. They spend all day working in a classroom and then show up weekends and evenings at New Beginnings and do it some more for free. Until I moved here, I never knew people like that existed.”
Abigail squared her shoulders and said, “New Bern has always been very community minded. In good times and bad, we stick together. That’s what makes this town special.”
Considering her civic involvement and generosity, Abigail’s pride was not undeserved. And it was hard to disagree with her observation. It seemed like everyone I’d met since returning to New Bern did something to help others, and all without expectation of receiving anything in return.
During his lifetime, Sterling gave away lots of money, but there was always an angle. He did it to be noticed, to get his name on a wall, for social prominence, for tax breaks, for all kinds of reasons, none of them charitable. And I had been no different, no better, and had come to believe that everyone was that way. Or rather, I had chosen to forget that everyone wasn’t that way—that there were good people who did good things without stopping to consider what was in it for them.
My father, who had put aside his own aspirations in pursuit of “the right thing,” was one of those people. So was Evelyn, and Virginia, and Margot, and Abigail. And Jake. Definitely Jake. True, that unexpected and unforgettable kiss in the kitchen had complicated our relationship, but I knew that he hadn’t been kind to me because he expected anything in return but because he was who he was: a hardware guy with a genuine desire to help fix what was broken. He was good at that.
And then there was Tessa. Here she was, beset with financial worries, yet she’d sheltered me, planted lavender in my yard, and restored my quilt, and pursued my friendship even after I’d cut her cold in the café.
What was it about this town? How had it managed to transform itself in the years of my absence? I thought about the evil Edna, and Mrs. Bridges, the teacher who had despised and dismissed me, about the gossiping girls who had made me feel like an outsider, and the sleazy boys I’d dated in high school, whose delinquency I’d contributed to so carelessly, Jake’s included. That was the New Bern I’d known as a child, full of cruel people who’d hurt me and made me feel small. Where were they now? Had they all moved away, been crowded out by a sudden influx of the kind and generous? No, that couldn’t be it. Aaron Fletcher was still here, and Candy Waldgren, and Dwight Sparks, who’d tried to sell me a roof I didn’t need at a price I couldn’t afford. If I went out looking, I was sure I would find some other less-than-lovely souls—philanderers, liars, cheats. They were still here, they had to be.
But it wasn’t as if the New Bern of my childhood was entirely devoid of the generous and well intentioned. What about Mrs. Kover, who doled out hot chocolate and gentle advice? And Mr. Walters, the old janitor who treated every little girl like a princess and every boy like a son? And Mr. Kaminski, Jake’s father, who gave me wallpaper and carpet samples for the dollhouse? And what about the people who’d changed their stripes and ways? Abigail? Jake? And me, I hoped.
Maybe the New Bern of the 1960s wasn’t all that different from the New Bern of today, populated with the good and the not-so-good. In the end, maybe it all comes down to where you choose to look and what team you decide to play for.
Ivy resumed biting her nails. “I just hope I passed. I’d hate to let Bella and Connie down.”
“You passed. I’m sure of it.” I got up from my chair and walked to the refreshment table. “There’s one more shortcake here, Ivy. Do you want it?”
“I shouldn’t,” she said and held out her plate.
Virginia finished ironing her binding and sat down to start stitching it. Though her glasses were a testament to her less-than-perfect eyesight, Virginia’s hand stitches were just as tiny and even as they could be and she could still thread a needle without help, which was more than I could say for myself. Tessa and I were always joking that, pretty soon, we’d need arm extensions just to read the paper, but it wasn’t far from the truth. As soon as I could afford it, I was going to go see Virginia’s eye doctor.
“So how are preparations coming for the wedding?” Virginia asked as she closed one eye, threading her needle on the first try. “It’s coming right up, isn’t it?”
“The guests will check in exactly one week from today and the wedding will take place the next day. It’s been a little crazy, but we’re ready—I think. The flowers have been ordered, the minister and photographer and the musicians are all booked and, with Evelyn’s help,” I said with a nod in her direction, “I’ve booked the best caterer in New Bern for the reception.”
“Charlie loves doing weddings,” Evelyn said. “He’s really a romantic at heart. He’ll knock himself out making
sure everything is perfect.”
“Kerry was thrilled with his menu. She’s so sweet and so excited about everything. I didn’t realize how much fun this wedding was going to be.”
“Hopefully,” Margot said as she moved to take Virginia’s spot at the ironing board, carrying a stack of finished blocks, “this will be the first of many. Destination weddings could be a good business for you.”
“Oh, I’ve thought of that, believe me.”
As I scooped the last of the berries and whipped cream onto Ivy’s plate, I heard footsteps pounding on the wooden staircase up to the workroom and Tessa’s voice calling, “Madelyn? Are you up there?”
She was in the room before I could answer, puffing from the exertion of climbing the stairs. “Good! You’re here. I’ve been calling your cell for the last half hour.”
“The battery must be out. What’s wrong?”
“Kerry called,” she gasped. “In tears. She’s calling off the wedding.”
It felt like somebody had kicked me in the stomach. All my plans, all my work, all the money I didn’t really have but decided to invest, believing that this wedding was the event that would put Beecher Cottage Inn on the map—it was all for nothing.
“Oh, no. Poor Kerry. How is she?”
“Pretty torn up,” Tessa said. “She didn’t say for sure, but I think her fiancé got cold feet. Another girl? Anyway, she was definite. The wedding is canceled.”
“Poor Kerry,” I repeated. We’d never met, but I must have talked to her twenty times in the last month. She sounded so excited and so young. Too young to have her heart broken, but isn’t everybody? And if that’s the kind of man her fiancé was, it was better she found out before the wedding than after. I’d call her tomorrow. And after that, I’d have to call the florist and musicians and everybody else who’d been involved in the ceremony. Damn.
“So much for my instincts.” I put Ivy’s plate down on the table and sank into a chair. “And my first sold-out weekend.”
“But isn’t that the same weekend as the Dylan Tyler concert?” Abigail asked. “I’m sure there are all kinds of people who need rooms then.”
“Of course!” I exclaimed, wondering why I hadn’t thought of that myself. “I’ll call Barbara Jansen at the Goshen Chamber and see who she has on the waiting list.”
Tessa shook her head. “No go. I phoned Barbara at home first thing after I hung up with Kerry. They put out a call for local people who would be willing to rent rooms that weekend. The response was so big that they were able to accommodate everybody on the wait list. I tried to talk her into moving people to the inn, but she can’t do it. The deposits are already in.”
Frustrated, I smacked my fist against the table and cursed. Margot frowned with concern but didn’t say anything.
“It’s not all bad news,” Tessa reminded me. “You’ve got deposits too. At least you won’t lose money on the rooms.”
“No. Not on that,” I grumbled, thinking about my new brick sidewalks, the garden arbor, and the other improvements I’d made in anticipation of the wedding.
I closed my eyes and let my head flop back. It was my own stupid fault. I shouldn’t have counted my chickens before they were hatched. And I shouldn’t have let myself get so emotionally wrapped up in this wedding. In my mind, I’d begun to think of it as the grand opening we never had, a good omen, the first of many celebrations to be held in the Beecher Cottage Inn. I hated the idea of canceling the weekend.
Then don’t.
The words came into my mind out of the blue, without any thought on my part, as if someone else had spoken them into being.
My head popped up like it was on a spring. My eyes flew open and moved around the ring of faces, starting with Tessa and ending with Ivy.
“Ladies? What are you doing next weekend?”
47
Tessa
The greenhouse Lee built this winter is nothing fancy—just thick opaque plastic sheeting stretched over a wooden frame—but it has served its purpose, giving us a small crop of early strawberries that brought premium prices, and now letting us get a jump on tomato season as well. We moved the berries out of the greenhouse and planted them in the garden a couple of days ago, and today we’re moving the tomato seedlings out from under the grow lamps in the cellar to the unheated greenhouse to harden off before planting.
“Why so many?” I asked as I ducked my head to make it in through the greenhouse’s low door and then set a tray of seedlings down next to Spitz, who was curled up on the floor. She opened one eye to see what was going on and then went back to her nap. “You must have three hundred tomato plants here.”
Lee was on his knees, scooting the plastic pots together into more or less orderly rows. “Three fifty,” he said. “I’m going to sell a hundred and fifty plants at the farmers’ market, three dollars each, then plant the rest.”
I knelt down on the opposite end of the greenhouse and started organizing the plants like Lee was, being careful to keep each variety in its own group and leaving a walkway in the center. It really is amazing how many tomato plants you can fit into a ten- by twelve-foot space.
“How many pounds of tomatoes will you get from each plant?”
“Depends,” Lee said. “Could be five, could be twenty-five. I wish I’d done more. Next year I’m going to expand the greenhouse. The restaurant business has come on so strong, I bet I could have used five hundred plants this year.”
“Or more,” I said as I unloaded another tray of seedlings.
Lee shook his head. “No, that’s about as many as I’d want to do. Best to keep things small. I’m looking to do three things: support us decently, provide quality products to our customers, and enjoy doing it. That’s all. I didn’t escape the corporate rat race just to enter an agricultural rat race.”
“Sounds like a smart plan.” I sat back on my knees and breathed in the scent of rich, loamy earth, taking a moment to enjoy the sea of green surrounding me and the feathery leaves of the tomato vines, most already flowering, many already sporting tiny green globes.
“You know, I don’t miss the shop as much as I thought I would. It wasn’t that different from being tied to my desk back in Massachusetts. I like having control over my own schedule and more variety in my work. Working at the inn is fun, but I wouldn’t want to do it full-time, and helping you is fun, too, but I wouldn’t want to spend forty hours a week planting tomatoes,” I said, grimacing as I circled my shoulders to work the kinks out of my back.
Lee got to his feet and, after dusting his hands off on his jeans, came up behind me and started to massage my neck. “Well, I appreciate your help. It was lonely around here before. Nice to have some company.” He bent down and kissed the top of my head. “Better?”
I nodded. “Thanks, babe.”
“My pleasure.” Lee got on his knees next to me and helped me finish the job.
“Hey, are you sure you’ll be okay on your own this weekend? There’s such a lot to do right now. If you need me here, I can bow out. Madelyn would understand.”
“And have you miss the greatest girls’ weekend ever? Complete with luxury accommodations at New Bern’s most elegant inn and quilting instruction from a real live television star? Uh-uh,” Lee said with a grin. “Nothing doing. That’s the kind of sacrifice a guy can spend the next ten years paying back.”
I elbowed him good-naturedly. “Very funny. Seriously. If you need help . . .”
“I’ll be fine. It’s just for two nights. Besides, I’ve got it covered. Since Madelyn is going to be busy, too, Jake and I decided to retaliate and have our own weekend here. Of course, we’ll be picking strawberries and milking cows instead of making quilts, but I imagine there will be a little cigar smoking going on too. . . .”
“Not inside my house, there better not be.”
Lee rolled his eyes. “No, not in the house. That’s why I put those chairs out on the porch. Charlie is coming over, too, on Saturday night, and he’s bringing Abigail’s husban
d.”
“Franklin Spaulding?”
“Yeah, and Evelyn’s son, Garrett. We’re going to make chili and play poker.”
“Oh, good. That sounds like fun.” I smiled as I bent over my work. It was nice to hear that, like me, Lee was finally making friends. Knowing he’d be occupied over the weekend made me feel less guilty about leaving him on his own.
“So, how are the plans coming for the big quilt retreat?” he asked.
“Good. Does it sound silly if I say I’m kind of proud of Madelyn? I mean, here she’s faced with this big disappointment with the wedding being canceled, and instead of feeling sorry for herself, she decides to turn the situation on its head and use it to do something nice for others. I don’t think she’d have thought of that six months ago, do you? She’s invited Ivy and all the women in her GED prep class, plus Connie and Bella, the teachers, and everyone in the quilt circle. Wasn’t that generous of her? An all-expense-paid weekend of quilting, complete with food and . . .”
“A bag of luxurious herbal goodies from you,” Lee added.
“Oh, but that’s nothing.” I sat up to wipe my brow with the back of my hand. “I had stock left over from the store. I might as well put it to good use.”
“It was still nice of you.”
I shrugged. “Anyway, everybody is very excited about the quilt retreat. Of course, Evelyn’s friend from Texas, Mary Dell, has something to do with that. A couple of the women from the shelter were on the fence at first. Some of them have little kids and were worried about finding sitters, but once they heard that Mary Dell was going to be the teacher for the weekend, they all said they’d figure out something.”
“I’ll bet.” Lee laughed. “It’s not every day you get to go on a quilt weekend with a celebrity. I bet they’re all starstruck.”
“I am, too, a little. I hope I don’t say something stupid when I meet her.”
“You won’t,” Lee assured me. “She’s just a person. Puts her pants on one leg at a time and has to rip out seams now and then, just like everybody else.”
Threading the Needle Page 30
