Threading the Needle

by Marie Bostwick

  Mary Dell winked and the exit music started to swell in the background. “Sounds like it’s time for us to say good-bye. Howard, can you take us out?”

  “Sure can, Mama.” He looked into the camera, grinned, and said, “Thank you for joining us today. Hope we’ll see you next time. Until then, remember: Behind every great quilter . . .”

  He turned to his mother, who finished the line, “. . . is a great big pile of fabric. So get to work, y’all!”

  As the music rose in volume and the credits rolled, everyone streamed out of the office and into the shop, chattering about the program and surrounding Madelyn, patting her shoulders and wishing her well. We all knew what this meant; with that one on-air endorsement to cable television’s largest quilting audience, Mary Dell Templeton had put the Beecher Cottage Inn on the map. Quilters from all over the country would want to have retreats at Beecher Cottage. They’d fill Madelyn’s rooms and bring lots of extra trade to Cobbled Court Quilts and, for that matter, to every business in downtown New Bern.

  Except mine. Because it doesn’t exist anymore. It’s not fair. I haven’t done anything wrong. And I’ve worked just as hard as Madelyn, harder even. Why should she get all the breaks? Especially when . . .

  I stopped myself, even in thought, from going any further. I wasn’t going to be jealous of Madelyn; I wasn’t. She is my friend. I was happy that good things were happening for her. She had been through such a lot and known very little of the things that had brought the deepest happiness and meaning to my life, the security of growing up in a happy home, a husband’s love, the joy of motherhood, the peace of God. These were the things I treasured most, the things that I truly did count as priceless.

  And yet . . .

  It wasn’t easy to take wholehearted pleasure in Madelyn’s good fortune, the knowledge that she was standing on the threshold of success, when my own dreams of entrepreneurial achievement had been so recently dashed upon the rocks. I didn’t miss working at the shop day after day, not a bit. When we were working in the greenhouse and I told Lee that I preferred the flexibility of my new work schedule and the variety it offered, I meant that. But I did miss the serenity of working long hours in my herb garden, the pride that came from making a quality product, and the pleasure of seeing people enjoy and appreciate what I had to offer. Not that I couldn’t continue to do that, albeit on a smaller scale, for friends and family, but somehow it wasn’t the same.

  On that last day, when I’d locked the shop door for the last time, Madelyn had said that For the Love of Lavender wasn’t dead, just on hiatus, and a workable business model for my dream, a Plan B, would emerge in good time. I had dismissed her words as wishful thinking. But I wanted them to be true.

  I’d been on the lookout for a Plan B for weeks, but nothing had happened; not even the tiniest glimmer of an idea or opportunity had appeared on the horizon. And it probably never would. I had tried. I had given it my best and failed—end of story. It wasn’t like I was the only one this had ever happened to. Life wasn’t fair, but nobody ever promised it would be. That really would have been wishful thinking.

  It wasn’t Madelyn’s fault that I had failed. I would be happy for her. I was.

  Madelyn pushed her way out from the throng of women and walked toward me, her smile as broad as I’d ever seen it.

  “Can you believe it? I’m so glad I listened to you and took a pass on that Good Morning America spot. I feel so much better about this. You know something else? I think it’ll be fun to cater to the crafty crowd. Not that I wouldn’t be willing to let rooms to people who are non-quilters, but I think this could be a better business model. It’s relatively easy to fill rooms in the summer and fall, when the weather is good, but I can book quilt retreats year-round.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “Most quilters would drive through a blizzard to get to a quilt retreat.”

  Madelyn bobbed her head. “You’re right. And I think they’ll be much more pleasant to work with than the average hotel guest, not that you won’t find a crab apple in the barrel now and then. But from what I’ve seen so far, quilters are some of the kindest, happiest people in the world.

  “Hey! I was just thinking, what if we turned the garage into a quilting workshop? Not right away, of course. I can’t afford it yet, but it could be a great space. We could add some big picture windows that look out onto the garden, really good lighting overhead, built-in ironing stations, design walls, and cutting boards along the back wall, floor outlets so we wouldn’t need all those extension cords.... I bet we could fit ten tables with two people each and there’d still be plenty of room. I was also thinking, maybe I’ll even change the name of the inn. Instead of Beecher Cottage Inn, what do you think about the Patchwork Place Inn?”

  I laughed and shook my head. It was nice to see her so excited. I was happy for her, truly happy. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” I said. “Not that I blame you, but maybe you’d better take a deep breath and calm down before you go digging foundations and hiring electricians. First things first, right? And at the moment, I think the first order of business is to get back to the inn and check your messages. I’ll bet your voice-mail box is full up.”

  “You’re right!” she gasped. She grabbed the shopping bag that held her fabric and thread from the counter where she’d left it, started for the door, and then spun around to face me. “I know you were headed home, but can you come over for a little while and help me update the computer reservations? You’re better with that program than I am.”

  I spread out my hands with exasperation. “It’s not that hard. I keep telling you, just remember to do a save after you enter each new record. . . .”

  Madelyn looked at me with pitiful eyes, her lower lip pushed out in a pretended pout.

  I laughed. “Oh, all right. Let me buy my batting and then I’ll come over and show you how it works. Again!”

  “Thanks, Tessa. You’re the best.” She was out the door like a flash, pausing only to say a quick hello and good-bye to Evelyn, who was entering the shop just as Madelyn was going out.

  “Somebody looks happy,” Evelyn commented as she looked out the front window, watching Madelyn scurry across the courtyard and down the alley. “I guess she saw the show.”

  “You knew?” Evelyn nodded. “So it was your idea?”

  “Nope, it was Mary Dell’s. But she told me about it beforehand. No matter how much she likes someone, Mary Dell would never recommend a product or service on the show unless she truly believed it was something her viewers would enjoy and benefit from. Madelyn really has done a wonderful job remodeling the place and she was a wonderful hostess, made everyone feel right at home. Plus, she’s got a good setup for quilt retreats. And if I know Madelyn, it probably won’t be too long before she’ll turn it into a great one.”

  “Before she left, she was already talking about turning the garage into a sewing studio.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’m glad she’s excited. This is great news for Madelyn, but it’s good news for the town too. It will definitely help our business. Those quilters won’t be able to resist coming in and adding a few more yards to their fabric stash.” Evelyn bit her lower lip and fiddled with her necklace absently, thinking.

  “You know, I should talk to her about putting together some workshops and special classes, retreats people could come to by themselves or with just a friend or two. Of course, she could still cater to groups, but not every quilter belongs to a guild or circle. This would be a nice way for people who don’t have time or opportunity to join a quilt group to pick up some new skills and meet some new friends. Plus, it’d be a way for Madelyn to keep her rooms filled during the week. Between Mary Dell and myself, I’m sure we could help her find some first-rate guest teachers,” she mused, nodding to herself a few times and then looking up, giving a little start, almost as if she was surprised to see me.

  “Sorry,” she said with a laugh. “I’m getting ahead of myself but, like I said, this could be r
eally good for business, and not just my business. When they’re not stitching, those quilters will walk into town to shop, eat, buy souvenirs for themselves and gifts for the family and friends who couldn’t join them. In a town this small, in times like these, an extra couple hundred dollars in sales a week can mean the difference between staying afloat and locking your doors.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said.

  Evelyn made a sympathetic face and patted my shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry. You had a lovely shop, Tessa, and you made fabulous products—Mary Dell just raved about your soap and shampoo—but your timing was off. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I suppose not. I wish it had worked out but . . . anyway, I’m luckier than most. At least I’ve got a job. And the way things are shaping up, it looks like I’m going to be able to get all the hours I need or want. Madelyn can’t run the inn by herself.”

  “So, you’re going to stay on and help her?”

  “Sure,” I said with a shrug of resignation. “What else have I got to do? I mean, besides help Lee on the farm.”

  Evelyn tilted her head to the side, her lips bowing into a knowing smile. “Well, that all depends.” She reached into the pocket of her skirt, pulled out a folded slip of paper, and held it out.

  “What’s that?”

  “That is the direct phone number for Mr. Hubble James Hollander, Hub-Jay to his more intimate friends, like Mary Dell. After she tried, and loved, your lavender products, she asked if she could have mine too. She didn’t keep them for herself, she gave them to Hub-Jay, who loved them just as much as Mary Dell did.

  “She didn’t have your cell phone number, so Mary Dell tracked me down at the restaurant after she finished the show and asked if I could find you and give you a message. Hub-Jay would like to place a trial order for enough lavender bath amenities to supply one of his hotels for two weeks. During that time, they’ll conduct a special survey of their guests to see if they like the products. If they do, Hub-Jay may want to supply all his hotels with For the Love of Lavender bath amenities all the time.”

  Evelyn’s small smile broadened into a grin as she placed the slip of paper in my hand. “He’s in his office and would like you to call him before the close of business today. What do you think about that?”

  I unfolded the paper and stared at the ten numbers written on it, gripping that piece of paper on either edge, pinching it so tightly between my thumbs and forefingers that it would have taken a crowbar to pry it from my digits.

  A slip of paper, a line of numbers, the barest of possibilities—it wasn’t much to go on, but in my heart I knew this was more than wishful thinking. It was Plan B.

  51

  Madelyn

  August

  “That’s a lot of zeros, Madelyn.” I pulled off my reading glasses, perched them on top of my head, and looked up at Jake. “You’re telling me. Why so much? It cost me less than that to remodel the whole house.”

  Jake was bending over me as I sat at the kitchen table, going over the initial construction sketches. He straightened up and stretched his back.

  “It’s a big job,” he said and began ticking the evidence of this off on his fingers. “Not only are you remodeling the garage into a quilt studio, which is going to require a complete electrical job, you’re also turning the attic into a dormitory for six and adding a full bath with two toilets, and a sprinkler system. That’ll require a lot of wiring and a lot of plumbing work. It adds up. Remember, most of the work on the first go-round was cosmetic and a lot cheaper because you were the one sanding the floors, installing the tiles, painting the walls. . . .”

  “Well? What if I—”

  “Uh-uh,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. “No way, Maddie. You’ve got an inn to run. You don’t have time to be a do-it-yourselfer anymore. This is the first day you’ve been one hundred percent vacant in weeks.”

  “I know. I almost don’t know what to do with myself. The next bunch doesn’t check in for two whole days.”

  “How many?”

  “Seven. Four sisters, plus the mother, the aunt, and a granddaughter—three generations of quilters. The two oldest sisters made the arrangements; very nice ladies.”

  I turned my attention back to the sketches, tapping my pen on the table. “Yeah . . . I guess you’re right.”

  Jake’s eyes flew open in surprise and he cupped his hand to his ear. “Excuse me, would you mind repeating that? I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

  I made a face and pretended to kick him in the shin. “Very funny,” I said and pushed the sketches aside. “It pains me to admit it, but I guess I’m just going to have to shell out the money and hire a real contractor.”

  “If you want it done in time for a big retreat in the spring,” he said, “I don’t see as you have any choice. It’ll be worth it. Myron will do a good job and he’ll give you a fair price on it. Hey, how’s the application for your SBA loan coming along?”

  “I won’t know for sure until next month, but things are looking good so far,” I replied, crossing my fingers. “It helped that we’ve had such a strong summer and are already booking into next year. I don’t have a single empty weekend until the middle of November.”

  “Good for you.” He leaned down to give me a quick peck on the cheek. He’s started doing that lately and . . . well . . . I don’t mind. Jake’s a good friend. And friends can kiss, right? It doesn’t mean anything.

  “We’re on for sushi tonight, right?”

  “Right,” I said. “I’ll see you at six. If you get there first, could you order me a—”

  “Spicy tuna roll with extra ginger and extra wasabi.” He opened the back door with a grin. “I know, Maddie. See you tonight.”

  After Jake left, I poured myself another cup of coffee and went back to take another look at the sketches. This project was going to cost a pretty penny, no doubt about it. But the increase in capacity would be worth it. I’d already lost out on a few quilt circle bookings because I didn’t have enough rooms. Not counting my room, I really only had space for ten guests, two doubles and two triples. The new dormitory would give me beds for six additional people who didn’t mind sharing and wanted more modestly priced accommodations. I liked the idea of having rooms for people on a budget. And if everything went like I hoped it would, in a couple of years, I’d be able to add two more guest rooms, deluxe doubles, over the garage. That would give me capacity for twenty guests, which was about all I thought I could handle and as many as the new quilting studio would be able to hold.

  I couldn’t wait until spring! I was sick and tired of setting up and taking down sewing tables every weekend. Though, for today at least, having a sewing room in the house suited my purposes.

  I picked up the sketches from the table, carried them into the office, and then headed toward the living room, coffee in hand. Just as I sat down to work, I heard the back door open and Tessa’s voice calling, “Madelyn?”

  “In here! There’s fresh coffee in the pot if you want a cup!”

  Tessa rattled around in the kitchen while I centered a scrap of purple onto the wrong side of a paper pattern, lined an inch-wide strip of black on the purple edge, and pinned both pieces of fabric to the paper. When I was finished, I heard footsteps coming down the hall and looked up to see Tessa with a cup of coffee in her hand and a quilted project bag looped over her shoulder, beaming like a ray of sunshine.

  “Looks like somebody woke up on the right side of the bed today. Did your lottery number come up or something?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, something even better. Three something betters, come to think of it.” She pulled up a chair and sat down across from me. “Lee went to church with me yesterday morning.”

  I lifted the presser foot of my sewing machine and positioned my black-purple-paper sandwich underneath, pattern side up, before lowering it again. “Yeah? Well, that’s great. I know that’s something you’ve wanted for a long time. Did he like it?”

  “Very much.
In fact, he’s planning on going again next Sunday. Do you want to come too?”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said, stepping on the foot pedal of the machine as I stitched carefully along the first line of the pattern. “While I’m willing to concede the existence of God, which, as you know, is a major shift for me, I don’t believe in organized religion. I told you before, Tessa, I’m never going to go to church.”

  Tessa mumbled something under her breath.

  “What was that?”

  “I said, ‘never is a long time.’ ” She took a sip from her coffee mug.

  “So you keep reminding me.” I lifted the presser foot, pulled out my stitched piece, cut the bobbin threads, flipped to the wrong side of the pattern, and pressed open the seam with my fingers. Perfect. “So, moving on. What’s the rest of your good news?”

  “Josh called,” she said, her smile returning. “He’s finishing his internship this week and flying home for a visit. He’ll have ten whole days before he has to go back to school!”

  “Oh, Tessa, that’s wonderful,” I said sincerely. “I can’t wait to meet Josh. If you need to take some time off while he’s here, you can. Lauren is still learning the ropes, but I think she can fill in for you. I’m sure she’d be happy to have the extra hours.”

  The increase in business had absolutely necessitated my hiring additional staff. Lauren, who was among Ivy’s classmates and had attended the quilt retreat, had just started working for me on weekends. She was no Tessa, but she was working out well so far.

  “Well,” Tessa said slowly, “I’m glad to hear that because my third piece of good news might mean a little bit of bad news for you.”

  I frowned, wondering what she meant. Tessa took in a big breath, held it, and then, as if she couldn’t hold it one moment longer, blew it back out and exclaimed, “Hub-Jay called! The trials at the Austin hotel went great. He wants me to supply all the amenities for his hotels! Ahhhh!”