Threading the Needle

by Marie Bostwick

  I nodded and told myself that what Lee said was undoubtedly true. “Evelyn says she’s very down-to-earth. I’m sure we’ll have fun. We’ve just got one problem—not quite enough room at the inn. There are fifteen women coming, but Madelyn only has five rooms with capacity for twelve guests total, and we can only squeeze in that many by bringing rollaway beds into the larger rooms. I’m not sure where we’re going to put everybody,” I said as I lined up the last tomato plant in the last row and then stacked up the empty trays in the corner.

  Lee got to his feet and then reached down to help me up. “Five rooms? I thought there were six.”

  I groaned as I got up—all that bending over hurts my back. “Nope, just five. Madelyn has plans to create a sixth room up in the attic, actually a suite. There’s plenty of room. But she doesn’t have the money to do it right now. Even if she did, there’s no time to do it before Friday night.”

  Lee narrowed his eyes and sucked on his teeth, the way he did when he was thinking. “What’s she got up there in the attic anyway?”

  “Right now? A bunch of junk.” I stopped myself, grinned. “No, wait a minute. I meant a bunch of treasures. To you and me and anybody else, it’d be junk. But to Madelyn, every rusty bedstead, every broken lamp, every bookend that’s lost its mate is a potential treasure. She’ll figure out a way to put all that stuff to good use—one of these days. But at the moment, it’s just taking up space. Good thing she’s got so much storage. You know . . .”

  Lee nodded quickly as I spoke, the way he does when he’s trying to be polite but is really hoping I’ll cut to the chase. “Yeah, yeah, but is it full as in there’s no room to move? Or full as in there’s just a lot of stuff lying around?”

  “Just a lot of stuff lying around. Why do you ask?” He ignored my question and volleyed off more of his own. I was starting to feel like I was on some sort of quiz show.

  “Is there lighting up there? What about outlets? How low are the ceilings?”

  I closed my eyes, trying to picture the attic. “There’s a light, an overhead bulb in the middle of the room. And there’s some natural light that comes in from the side windows. I don’t know about outlets. The ceilings are low on the sides, but there’s plenty of room to walk around.”

  “Huh. That just might work. Better talk to Jake and see what he thinks.” Without explaining further, Lee opened the door to the greenhouse and strode across the grass toward the house.

  Sensing his absence, Spitz opened her eyes and got to her feet, looking at me for an explanation.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. But I guess we’d better go see what he’s up to.”

  I patted my leg and Spitz fell in beside me, casting a longing glance at the goat pen as we passed the barnyard and went inside.

  Three hours later, I was standing on a ladder, hammering long lengths of muslin, painter’s canvas from Jake’s store, onto the attic beams of the Beecher Cottage Inn so they hung about eight feet from the floor. Madelyn stood at the bottom of the ladder, supporting the weight of the still-unattached canvas with one arm and handing me gold upholstery tacks with the other. Ivy was there, too, with her little girl, Bethany, who was about nine years old and absolutely precious. They were sweeping the floor, Ivy handling the broom while Bethany held the dustpan. Lee and Jake were busy carting off the furniture, boxes, and miscellaneous junk that wouldn’t be needed for our current project and stowing it behind the newly constructed canvas walls, where the ceiling was too low to walk upright.

  “Lee,” Madelyn called out as my darling husband walked past carrying three cardboard boxes, “you’re a genius! The light color of the canvas makes the whole room look brighter.”

  “It does look pretty good,” Lee said in a muffled voice. His mouth was hidden behind the stack of boxes and only his eyes and forehead peeked out over the top. “Anyway, it’ll do in a pinch, until you’ve got time and money to put up real walls.”

  “Well, I like the effect so much I’m thinking that even when we do get real walls, I might hang canvas curtains over all of them. It just creates such a nice, modern background for all these antiques. Very eclectic. I’m telling you, Lee. If you ever decide to give up farming, you could make big money as an interior designer.”

  Lee didn’t say anything to that, just laughed from behind the canvas wall where he was stowing the boxes. Jake came out from an opening between the canvas, holding strings of little white Christmas lights in his hands.

  “Look what I found,” he said. “We could string them down the center beam.”

  Madelyn frowned. “And plug them in where? I don’t want to overload our one sad little light fixture.”

  “I found two outlets, one on each wall. They were hidden behind some cartons. I took a good look at the wiring. It’s sound. It’ll easily handle these. It’s not a permanent solution, but it’ll do through the weekend.”

  “I think they’ll look nice,” Bethany piped up. “Pretty. Like Christmas.”

  Madelyn smiled at the little girl. “I think you’re right. Let’s give it a try.”

  The lights did look pretty; so did the rest of the room.

  When we were finished, Ivy stood gazing at the three iron bedsteads (Madelyn had sanded the rust off and spray-painted them white)—a double with a twin on each side, lined up in front of the muslin wall and sitting atop a multicolored braided rug that we’d found rolled up in a corner. The beds were made up with white sheets and blankets, with a quilt lying across the foot. The quilts were torn and worn in spots but when they were folded properly, you couldn’t see that. A trunk sat at the end of each bedstead and there were small tables sitting between the beds, to give the occupants a place to lay a book or a pair of reading glasses.

  “It looks like a dormitory,” Ivy said. “An attic dormitory in a girls’ school. Like in A Little Princess.”

  “Or Jo’s room in Little Women,” Bethany added. “That’s my favorite book.”

  “Have you already read Little Women?” Madelyn asked. “You’re a clever girl.”

  Bethany smiled. “Mommy read it to me. We read together every night.”

  “Ah, I see. Then I guess your mommy is a clever girl too.” Madelyn smiled at Ivy, who blushed.

  “We’ll see about that in a few days, won’t we? I wish I knew if I passed the exam or not. It feels funny, you giving a weekend to celebrate us getting our diplomas when we don’t even know if we passed yet.”

  “We’re not celebrating your exam,” I said. “We’re celebrating you and all those other gals, and the fact that you’re working so hard and being such great examples to your children.”

  “And to all of us.” Madelyn looked down at Bethany. “Aren’t you proud of your mommy?”

  Bethany nodded soberly before asking her mother, “Can’t I come to the party too? You said it was a girls’ weekend. I’m a girl. And I know how to quilt too. I’m a very good quilter.”

  Ivy ruffled her hair. “I know, but this weekend is just for grownup girls. Besides, where would you sleep? All the beds are full.”

  “Not quite,” Madelyn said. “If you slept up here, Tessa and I could take the twin beds and you could have the double—you and Miss Bethany. That is, if you don’t mind sharing.”

  Bethany looked up at her mother, eyes wide with hope, clasping her hands together under her chin like a cherub at prayer.

  Ivy looked at Madelyn doubtfully. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Mind? I’d love it. She must come. I insist.”

  Ivy looked at her daughter and said, “I guess that settles it. You can come.” Bethany whooped with excitement and galloped around from one end of the room to the other like a frisky colt.

  Ivy laughed and called to her, “All right, Bethany. Calm down and get your coat. We’ve got to run by the market before we pick your brother up from soccer. Come on.”

  Bethany found her coat and followed her mother down the stairs, stopping to wave at Madelyn before she left. “See you on Friday!�
��

  “See you on Friday, darling!” After they’d gone, Madelyn turned to the rest of us. “Oh, isn’t she just the sweetest little thing? I’ve heard that Abigail and Franklin are sort of surrogate grandparents to Ivy’s children, but do you think they’d mind sharing the title?”

  “Why not?” Jake said. “But I didn’t know you liked children so much.”

  “Neither did I,” Madelyn replied. “But then, I’ve never spent much time with children. I sure like that one.

  “Thank you, Lee, for coming up with the dorm idea. There’d be no way we could have found room for Bethany otherwise. And thank you too,” she said, looking at me and then Jake, letting her eyes linger on his face in a way that made me wonder if her feelings for Jake were quite as platonic as she claimed. I knew she said she’d never love again and I understood why, but never is a very long time and Jake was a very special, and very patient, man.

  “Everything looks wonderful. I can’t wait until Friday!” She clapped her hands together under her chin, looking almost as excited as little Bethany.

  “Glad it worked out,” Lee said. “It’s the least we can do after you helped get my microgreen business running. That little idea just about saved our skin. Is there anything else we need to do up here? I’ve got to get back to the farm and take care of the stock.”

  “And we’ve got to clean up and get over to the sushi place,” Jake said, nodding to Madelyn. “I don’t want them giving our table away.”

  Madelyn turned in a circle, looking the room over with an appraising eye. “I think we’re all set . . . except for . . . Oh, never mind. It looks great. I don’t want to keep you.”

  “What is it?” Lee asked. “We’ve got a little time yet.”

  “Well,” Madelyn replied apologetically, “it’s just that there’s no place to hang up clothes. We don’t need a lot of hanger space but . . . maybe I could rig up a dowel on wires and hang it behind the curtain.”

  “Why not just use that armoire that I saw under the back gable, that big mahogany piece? Lee and I can move it over there by the end wall, right under the window.”

  “Are you sure?” Madelyn asked innocently. “It’s so heavy. I wouldn’t want you two to hurt yourselves.”

  Lee and Jake exchanged glances, their expressions half insulted, half disbelieving that she could so doubt their strength. Lee hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Step aside, ladies. My partner and I will have this done in no time.”

  They marched off toward the back gable. Madelyn looked at me and winked.

  “Oh, you are bad,” I whispered out the side of my mouth. “You played them like a couple of cheap violins.”

  She looked at me, eyebrows raised. “Well, I had to. We couldn’t move that thing. It weighs a ton. Besides, look how cute they are together. They’re practically preening, they’re so proud of themselves. Any second now they’ll flap their wings and start to crow.”

  “If they don’t give themselves a hernia first,” I said.

  Judging from the grunting sounds they were making as they tried to move that monster, I started to think it might not be a joke after all. After a couple of attempts that moved the armoire only inches, Madelyn and I joined in, but it was still slow going.

  “Hang on,” Jake said, holding up his hand and panting. “I think there’s something inside there.” He wiped sweat off his forehead.

  “There can’t be,” Madelyn protested. “I’ve gone through everything up here, opened every cabinet, drawer, and box.” She stopped herself, putting a finger against her lips. “Oh, wait a minute. Except this one. The door was stuck.”

  Madelyn shrugged sheepishly. Jake let out a little growl before pulling out a pocketknife and using one of the blades to pry open the door of the armoire.

  Inside, we found a box with a complete tea service for twelve, a long silver barbell and a box of weights to go with it, and a pile of heavy wool blankets that, when pulled back, revealed something I’d never thought I’d see again.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I said, turning to look at Madelyn, who was standing with her hand to her mouth, fingers splayed out over her lips. “Will you look at that?”

  “The dollhouse,” she breathed. “Our dollhouse.”

  48

  Madelyn

  It was Friday, hours before the guests were due to arrive for the weekend. Tessa and I had been cooking all morning making muffins for tomorrow’s breakfast, and two enormous lasagnas for Saturday dinner, and washing and chopping vegetables for salads. Tonight’s dinner, a big pot of chicken noodle soup, was simmering on the stove. Now we were getting ready to fill gift bags with goodies that Evelyn had sent over from the quilt shop—a pink tape measure, a spool of thread, and six-packs of fat quarters in a variety of colors—and all kinds of treats that Tessa had donated from the leftover stock from For the Love of Lavender—citrus shampoo and soap, lavender hand cream and body lotion, and the little quilted drawer sachets we’d made together, one for each guest.

  “This is quite a haul,” Tessa said as she lined the bags with lavender- and sage-colored tissue paper while I cut lengths of raffia for bows. “It’s almost like Christmas.”

  “We’ve got sixteen bags, right? We can’t forget Bethany.”

  Tessa’s eyes circled the table and her lips moved as she mentally counted the empty bags. She shook her head. “Fifteen. We’re short one. That’s okay. Bethany can have mine.”

  “No, she can have mine.” Tessa gave me a look, that stubborn one she has when she’s about to argue with me. “Okay, how about this? We’ll share a bag. You’re already up to your ears in herbal goodies, so I’ll take the soap and lotion and such, and you take the quilting notions. I’m sure not going to use them. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Tessa smiled. “You really like Bethany, don’t you? Did you ever want children of your own?”

  I hesitated. With anyone else, I’d have been embarrassed to admit the truth—it sounded so selfish, so unnatural—but this was Tessa. I knew she didn’t judge me.

  “Not really. I just never wanted the responsibility. Does that make me sound awful? And Sterling had very definite opinions on the subject. It’s probably just as well; we’d have made terrible parents. But Bethany is a sweetheart. Ivy brought her over yesterday afternoon. She was in rapture over the dollhouse,” I said, tilting my head in the direction of the living room, where we’d set the dollhouse up on a table in back of the sofa.

  Tessa smiled. “Well, why not? We were when we were her age. It’s a shame all the furniture was missing.”

  “I know, but I still have that sofa I bought at the church fair. Now I have someplace to put it—”

  The phone rang, interrupting my thought. Angela was on the line.

  “I’m so sorry about the wedding being canceled after you went to so much trouble.”

  “Don’t worry about that. How is Kerry doing?”

  “She’s pretty broken up. I gave her some time off. She went out to see her parents for a few days.”

  “That’s good. Poor thing, but better she found out now than later.”

  “That’s what I told her. But I do feel badly about canceling on you. You can keep my deposits,” she said in a tone I supposed was meant to sound magnanimous. “So you shouldn’t be out too much. I wish I could afford to just pay you for everything, but now that I’m on my own and with the baby coming . . .”

  And only twenty-five million to your name . . .

  The words almost bubbled up from my mind to my lips, but I stopped myself. I was the last person who could afford to throw stones. In Angela’s world, that world and mind-set that I had inhabited myself not so long ago, twenty-five million wasn’t enough. In that world, there was no such thing as enough.

  “I’ve got to preserve my capital. You understand, don’t you, Madelyn?”

  “I understand, Angela. Don’t worry about it. Anyway, we’re putting our unexpectedly vacant rooms to good use.”

  I told her all about our plans for the quilt retreat, abou
t Ivy and all her friends from New Beginnings who were trying to get their high school diplomas, about Bella and Connie and how they’d volunteered their time to teach them, about Evelyn and Mary Dell, who were volunteering their goods and time to make the weekend a success.

  “Madelyn! What a wonderful story. Have you called anyone about it?”

  “Called anyone?”

  “Magazines, television stations. This is a great human interest story—very heartwarming. And since you’re a celebrity . . .”

  “Angela, I’m hardly a celebrity. Just someone who married a very rich man and lived to regret it.”

  “A rich and famous man,” she corrected me. “And whether you like it or not, that fame spills over to you. Madelyn, I’ve started seeing someone. He’s a senior producer at Good Morning America. I think he’d jump all over this. Let me call him.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Angela. . . .”

  “What’s to know? Just the other night Steve was telling me how hard it’s been for them to come up with upbeat stories these days. GMA is all about happy endings, but these days, it’s hard to find many.”

  “But I wasn’t looking to generate publicity here, just do a little bit of good for a town that’s been good to me.”

  “Think, Madelyn. One good story on GMA, seen by millions and millions of people, and you’d not only rehabilitate your damaged reputation, you’d get more free advertising for your inn than you could buy in a lifetime. You’d be booked solid for the next year. You’re trying to do something to benefit mankind, fine. Very generous. But why shouldn’t you benefit from your generosity too? That’s the way things work, Madelyn. What could it hurt?”

  She had a point. A story about my altruism on Good Morning America would show the world that I wasn’t the heartless witch that the tabloids had made me out to be. That would be nice, but I was more intrigued by the positive publicity a warm, fuzzy television report would generate. Maybe my hunch had been right after all! Forget the wedding; maybe this was the reason I’d felt such an urge, spent money I didn’t have, to make sure the inn looked its best. A picture is worth a thousand words. Millions of people would see Beecher Cottage Inn and think, “That looks like a great spot to celebrate our anniversary, birthday, wedding, honeymoon.” My financial worries would finally be behind me! And it wouldn’t just be me who would benefit, of course. I’d be sure to tell the television people about Cobbled Court Quilts, too. And they’d undoubtedly want background shots of New Bern and that would bring in more tourists, more business, more money. Everyone would win. I had to take advantage of this opportunity not just for myself, but for the town. It’d be selfish not to.