I thought this might come in handy. Congratulations. I’m so proud of you.
Love always,
Donny
How had he known? Who had told him about the shop? Mary Dell read the card twice, found a tissue so she could blow her nose, and went back to work. She had no time for tears today.
Howard was there too. Knowing how busy the day would be, Graydon and Dutch offered to watch all the kids, but Mary Dell wanted Howard with her, deciding it was high time her boy met the people of Too Much.
Dr. Nystrom came in first thing and insisted on carrying him around on her hip, cooing about how handsome he was and asking him what he thought of this fabric or that, while she chose material for the log cabin quilt she’d always intended to make but had never found time for. Before long, a couple of the Methodist Church ladies, who already knew Howard from the nursery during services, came along and decided they needed a pretty baby to help them pick out their fabric as well, and on and on it went for most of the day, with Howard being passed from customer to customer, friends and strangers alike, some who had questions about Down syndrome that Mary Dell was perfectly happy to answer, and all of whom agreed they’d never seen a baby with prettier eyes or a sweeter disposition. By three o’clock, Howard Hobart Bebee had met and charmed half the women in Too Much, gaining so many admirers that Mary Dell practically had to pry him away so she could put him down for a nap in the second-floor nursery.
Except for a few glitches with the cash register, which Mary Dell and Lydia Dale were still trying to get the hang of, things went remarkably smoothly. Customers were patient even when the line for the cutting table stretched all the way to the door and had nothing but praise for the shop, the quality of the goods offered, and the owners. One woman did grumble a little about the cost of the yardage compared to the prices Mr. Waterson charged, but Lydia Dale noted that this didn’t deter her from purchasing three four-yard cuts of fabric, sixteen fat quarters, three spools of thread, and one of the new rotary cutters Mary Dell was demonstrating at a table in the notions section. As Mary Dell had predicted, people went crazy over those cutters. By day’s end, they’d completely sold out of cutters and mats.
The class sign-ups went well too. The Lone Star class filled up so quickly that Mary Dell added a second session, and by the end of the day the beginners’ class was filled too. Most of the sign-ups came from people who’d come into the shop only out of curiosity and never planned on taking up quilting. But the sight of all those beautiful class sample quilts displayed on the walls, along with reassurances from Pearl, Pauline, and Sweetums that Mary Dell was a wonderful instructor and really would be able to teach them to quilt, changed many minds that day.
Traffic was busiest in the first two hours of the day, ebbing a little at lunchtime, but it picked up at around one fifteen and stayed steady for most of the day, not slowing until four forty, which was when Mary Dell gave Pauline, Pearl, and Sweetums her thanks, as well as bags filled with fabric that Lydia Dale had chosen just for them, and sent them on their way.
“We couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, hugging each of them in turn.
At four forty-five, Marlena Benton showed up, flanked by Lena Brooks, the new treasurer of the Women’s Club, who was also relatively new to Too Much, having married a local man and moved to town from Tulsa only three months previously, and Diamond Pickens, Marlena’s ever-present sycophant, secretary, and kin.
Lena was first through the door. Mary Dell gave her a friendly wave and greeted her by name. Lena waved back and started cooing about how sweet the shop was, but stopped when she noticed that Marlena was staring at her with the intensity and heat of a laser.
Lydia Dale blanched at the sight of her ex-mother-in-law and went to the back of the shop and busied herself reshelving pattern books. Taffy took over Lydia Dale’s spot at the register, saying nothing but keeping her eyes glued to Marlena. Mary Dell, however, walked right up to the trio and, in the pleasantest possible tone, asked if she could help them.
Lena started to answer but was interrupted by Marlena, who sighed deeply, glancing around the shop with a disdainful expression.
“I doubt it. I was hoping to find some fabric that might do to make my gown for the Christmas Ball, but . . .” She rubbed a corner of a fabric from a nearby bolt between her thumb and forefinger, then released it with a look of disgust, as if she were tossing aside a used tissue. “It’s obvious that nothing you carry is even remotely appropriate.”
“Probably not. We can sell you fabric to make a quilt or, if you don’t know how already, we can teach you to make a quilt, but we don’t sell dress goods. For that you’ll need to go to Waco.”
Mary Dell’s lips bowed into a smile, and in a voice that sounded like saccharin tastes, sweet but bitter and just as artificial, said, “Would you like me to draw you a map, Marlena?”
Diamond stepped back nervously. Lena frowned, a little crease of confusion appearing between her brows, as if she wasn’t entirely sure what was going on.
The corner of Marlena’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly, as if she’d just received a pinch, but she recovered quickly.
“That’s all right. I’ll probably make a run up to Dallas and get something at Neiman’s anyway. Homemade fashions are always so . . . quaint, aren’t they?”
She covered her mouth with her hand, feigning surprise. “Bless your heart. I’m so sorry, Mary Dell. I forgot. You make all your own clothes, don’t you?”
Marlena’s eyes moved slowly over Mary Dell’s frame, taking in every inch of the zebra-print wrap dress she’d made especially for the grand opening and paired with a red alligator belt and purple suede platform shoes.
“Yes, I can see you do. Well, considering how you spend your time, you know, shoveling sheep pens and such, I suppose homemade is fine. Of course, if you were going to the Christmas Ball,” she said, launching a pointed and gleeful glance in Taffy’s direction, “it’d be different. But since you’re not . . .”
“Oh, I’m going to the Christmas Ball,” Mary Dell said casually. “The whole family is going: me, Lydia Dale, Momma, Granny, Aunt Velvet, and the menfolk too. The Patchwork Palace is a sponsor. Didn’t you know?”
Taffy let out a little gasp of delight. Mary Dell looked back at her and winked before turning back to Marlena, whose eyes were so wide with shock that it looked like somebody had goosed her with a cattle prod.
“What!” she shouted to Mary Dell, then spun around to face Lena. “What!”
The crease that had formed between Lena’s brows deepened to a crevasse, her confusion complete.
“That’s right. Patchwork Palace is a gold-level sponsor. They’ll get a table by the bandstand and a full-page ad in the program.”
“You can’t be serious! You sold them a sponsorship to the Christmas Ball? Why didn’t you check with me first?”
“You didn’t tell me to check with you,” Lena said, sounding a little annoyed. “You said to go out and sell a bronze sponsorship and a gold sponsorship or we wouldn’t have enough money to pay the printer or the deposit for the caterer, so I did. Hazel Dawn over at the Primp ’n’ Perm bought the bronze, and Mary Dell took the gold.”
“Well, you can just turn around and un-sell that gold sponsorship right now!” Marlena barked.
“I can’t do that,” Lena said. “It wouldn’t be right, and I’m not even sure it would be legal. The ball is open to the public; anybody can buy a ticket. On top of that, the program proofs are already at the printer. Patchwork Palace is all over it.”
Marlena’s nostrils flared.
“I don’t care,” she hissed. “The Christmas Ball is Too Much’s most important and exclusive event. We are not going to lower our standards just because some low-class climber thinks she can buy her way up the social ladder.”
Lydia Dale’s voice rang out from the back of the shop. “Take that back!”
She threw a pattern book down on the table and advanced quickly toward Marlena.
Taffy ran out from behind the register, putting herself between Marlena and Lydia Dale.
“Now, honey. Calm down. I won’t let my girl sink to catfighting.”
“Momma’s right,” Mary Dell said, yawning to indicate her complete disregard and walking back toward the register. “She’s not worth it. Calm down.”
“I will,” Lydia Dale said in a low and dangerous tone, “when she takes it back.”
“I’m not taking back anything,” Marlena snipped. “You’re low class and always have been, the whole pack of you. Your aunt is a crazy old spinster who dresses like she’s going to a funeral. Your mother was a circus freak . . .”
“Momma was the star of a Wild West show,” Taffy said evenly.
“Your daughters are loose women with no morals who couldn’t hold on to their men. Ha! And you’re no better, Taffeta Templeton. The only reason you’ve kept hold of your husband is because Dutch is dumb as a watermelon. No wonder your grandchild was born a retard. Blood will tell, I always say . . .”
There is a noise that a wooden bat makes when it smacks a leather baseball right in the sweet spot, a whoosh-crack that some athletes have described as the most satisfying sound in the world. The sound of Taffy Templeton’s right fist making contact with the lower left portion of Marlena Benton’s jaw was very similar to that sweet smack of wood against leather, and more satisfying to witness than a home run.
“Momma!” Mary Dell and Lydia Dale cried in unison, their voices a mixture of shock and delight, as Marlena toppled backward, landing in a pile on the wooden floor and losing a shoe in the process.
“Marlena!” Diamond cried at the same moment, scuttling to her president’s side.
Diamond crouched on the floor with the thought of helping Marlena to her feet, but changed her mind when she saw Taffy plowing toward them. Abandoning Marlena to her fate, Diamond leapt to her feet, ran out the door and into the street, quaking with fear and wringing her hands. Lena, not knowing what else to do, followed her and stood in the street, not sure if she should go home or wait for Marlena.
She didn’t have to wait long.
Before her daughters could restrain her, though, in truth, they didn’t try all that hard to do so, Taffy grabbed Marlena by her dress collar, yanked her to her feet, dragged her out the front door of the shop, and gave her such a shove that she flew backward once again and landed on her behind in the street.
Taffy stood with her hands on her hips, the look on her face so murderous that Marlena was afraid to rise and sat on the ground with only one shoe, propped up on her elbows with her legs askew.
“Now, you listen to me, Marlena Benton, because I’m only going to say this once. I don’t care what you say about me, and I don’t give a rattlesnake’s rear end if you have me blackballed from polite society for the rest of my days, but I’m warning you, if I hear you ever, I mean ever, use that word to refer to my grandson, or anyone, ever again . . . I will kick your skinny behind so hard you’ll land on the Mexico side of the Rio Grande. Am I making myself clear?”
Marlena was too stunned to do more than give her head a quick bob, and Taffy was too consumed by anger to hear the sound of her daughters’ convulsive laughter. Taffy turned on her heel and stomped back into the quilt shop, only to return a moment later with Marlena’s pink pump, which she flung onto the street next to its owner before going back inside and slamming the door.
The immediate danger having passed, Diamond came running, helped Marlena to her feet, and tried frantically to brush the dirt from the back of her dress, whacking at her backside like she was beating a rug.
“Stop that!” Marlena spat. “Hand me my shoe.”
Marlena grabbed Diamond’s shoulder to steady herself while she replaced her pink pump, the heel of which had come loose during the fracas, then pushed her cousin away. She straightened her shoulders and limped off with Diamond in her wake, fussing and fretting. Lena followed her too, but turned around and walked backward for a few steps, giving the Templeton twins an apologetic shrug before going on her way.
Lydia Dale was laughing so hard she could hardly breathe, let alone speak, but Mary Dell recovered herself enough to walk into the middle of the street, holding her hands to her mouth like a megaphone.
“Marlena, are you sure you don’t want to learn to quilt? We’ve still got a few spots in the beginners’ class!”
CHAPTER 59
Mary Dell chewed nervously on her thumbnail as Lydia Dale shuffled through the last stack of bills quick as a gambler dealing a hand of poker, counting under her breath, an expression of complete concentration on her face. When she finished, she licked the end of the pencil, wrote a number at the end of a column, and added them up twice on their new electronic calculator and then again with her pencil.
“Well? How’d we do?”
Lydia Dale put down the pencil.
“Great,” she said, sounding almost dazed. “Actually . . . it’s better than great. We made as much today as I’d projected we’d make in a week and a half. It’s unbelievable!” She paused to chew on the pencil eraser. “Maybe I better add it up again.”
Mary Dell reached out and snatched the pencil away. “You don’t need to check the math. Look around you! There’s not a rotary cutter or mat in sight, ten percent of the pattern racks are empty, and there are so many fabric bolts stacked behind the cutting counter that we’re going to have to come in an hour early tomorrow to reshelve them. We did it, sis. Eight days of business in one. Believe it!”
She let loose a whoop of joy and threw out her arms. The sisters hugged, dancing in a lumbering circle. When they were finished, Taffy came and put one arm around each of her daughters, her face beaming.
“I am so proud of you!” she said, planting a kiss on each of their cheeks. “So proud! You know, I was thinking . . . after the barn is done, maybe we ought to think about putting in a pool.”
Mary Dell smiled. Taffy was still Taffy. But after today, Mary Dell had a feeling she’d find her mother’s character quirks a lot less irritating.
“One good day doesn’t make a good month or a good year, Momma. Things will drop off now that people have had their curiosity satisfied, and we spent a lot more than we figured on the remodeling, but we’re off to a good start. Not a put-in-a-pool-and-fly-first-class-to-Europe start, but a good one.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Taffy said philosophically. “And if we’re going to make any improvements to the ranch, I guess we’d better start by building on an extra bedroom. I don’t guess Graydon will want to keep sleeping in the tack room after the wedding.”
“Good thinking, Momma.”
A faint cry came from upstairs, quickly increasing in volume and intensity.
Mary Dell cast her eyes toward the ceiling. “Howard’s up. Sounds like he’s hungry too. Why don’t you two head home? I’ll feed the baby and lock up.”
“Are you sure?” Lydia Dale asked. “I can stay for a while.”
Mary Dell shook her head. “No, you go on home. The kids are waiting for you. Rob Lee’s probably hungry too. I won’t be long.”
Taffy and Lydia Dale gathered up their things. Taffy paused at the door and looked back at her daughter. “Do you want to come for supper?”
“Thanks, Momma, but I’m so tired I just want to go home and go to bed. Maybe tomorrow.”
Taffy nodded, got halfway through the door, and changed her mind. She walked back to Mary Dell and gave her a squeeze. “I want you to know that I meant what I said; I’m proud of you. Always have been. And I love you. Always did.”
Mary Dell squeezed her back. “I love you too, Momma.”
Mary Dell fed and changed Howard, then carried him downstairs and laid him down on a quilt with some toys while she took a quick inventory of the notions and made notes about what to reorder. She thought about reshelving th
e fabric, but it was a big job and she just didn’t have the energy to tackle it right then. Now that the grand opening adrenaline rush was subsiding, she realized that her feet were killing her and she felt about as tired as she could ever remember feeling. Still, she didn’t want to go home. Not just yet.
It felt so good to be alone in the shop, her shop, hers and Lydia Dale’s, this special spot suspended somewhere between heaven and Texas, to look around and see so many of the display shelves missing fabric, and that many of the bolts that were on display were decidedly thinner than they’d been that morning, to walk to the checkout counter and see a stack of completely empty bolts lying on the floor, to open a three-ring binder and see so many names of future students, pages where every line was filled with names, with an asterisk at the bottom of one page and two more names beside it, the start of a waiting list.
They were making money, at least for the moment, and that felt good. She had a son to provide for, a family to support. But there was more to what she was feeling than that, though it took her a moment to put her finger on it. It was the names. All those names, names of people she knew, names of strangers, names that weren’t even written in the book yet, names of people who had not yet come through the door, but they would . . .
Oh, yes, they would.
And they would fall in love with this sweet little shop, even if they’d never sewn a stitch, especially if they’d never sewn a stitch, and look up to the wall at a beautiful quilt she had made from beautiful fabrics her sister had chosen, with a mixture of longing and anxiety, wondering if they could make one themselves, afraid the answer was no. But she would come alongside them as they stood there, tell them a joke or a story, put an arm around their shoulder, put them at their ease, convince them to write their name in the book, and then she would help them, encourage them, teach them, and when their quilt was finished they would be amazed at what they’d learned, amazed at what they could accomplish. Amazed. Just like she felt right at that moment.
Between Heaven and Texas Page 32
