by Tara Randel
“I’m going to be here for a while, so the townspeople will have to get accustomed to seeing me around.”
“I’m just saying …”
“Today wasn’t so awful. The waitress, Peggy, I think? She spoke to me.”
“Peggy’s a sweetie. And believe me, the locals pumped her for information as soon as you walked out of the diner.”
“It’s not like there was anything to tell.”
“The fact that you’re here in town is a big topic of conversation. Small-town gossip and all.”
Annie glanced back at the cross-stitch and pursed her lips. She could be as tenacious as the next person when she set her mind to it. “I’ll figure out a way.”
“Good luck with that.”
Annie chuckled at Alice’s skeptical tone. Her friend’s reluctance to help--she let it go … for now. “So, what brought you over?”
“Oh, right. I ran into Mary Beth, and she asked me to bring you to the Hook and Needle Club on Tuesday. Think you can squeeze us into your busy schedule?”
Annie snorted. “Like I’m so busy. Besides, it sounds like fun.”
“We thought it might help if you came with someone you know. I’m planning on being there anyway, so I thought we’d ride together.”
“I’d love to.”
“You’ll like the others too.”
“Think they’ll be tight-lipped?”
“Count on it.”
Annie laughed again. “Then I take it you don’t suggest I ask any personal questions.”
“Not at your first meeting.”
“Point taken.”
“Are you going to listen to me?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“I remember a few times when we were kids when you didn’t take my advice.”
Annie tried, and failed, to remember. “Really? Like when?”
“Like the time you bought those high-heeled sandals at Bascom’s Department Store and insisted on wearing them to the Fourth of July bash downtown.”
Annie searched her memory. “How old were we? Fifteen?”
“Yep. Right at that confusing age where we wanted to be treated like adults but continued doing childish things.”
“True. Then I wore those heels down to the beach when we met a group of kids. Everyone decided to hike from the sand to the rocks.”
“Exactly. I told you to wear sneakers.” Alice chuckled. “You do recall what happened?”
“I turned my ankle and had to take the sandals off. Then I ended up cutting myself on a sharp stone.”
Alice grinned. “You were laid up for a week.”
“Not one of my smarter moves.”
“We’ve all had those moments.”
“Amen, sister.”
They both laughed.
“Is Bascom’s still open? I didn’t notice this morning when I was in town.”
“No.” Alice sadly shook her head. “The store closed when the mall went up over on Route 1. They couldn’t compete with progress.”
For the next hour, the two chatted, catching up on old times. Alice had a previous engagement, so she left before five, leaving Annie to fix a quick frozen lasagna dinner for herself and feed an ever-exasperating Boots. When the cat was hungry, there was no ignoring her.
“I’ll bet Gram spoiled you like crazy.” Annie leaned down and pointed to the gray feline. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not a soft touch.”
Boots meowed in response, then flounced out of the room. That one was bound to be trouble.
Annie spent the next few hours puttering in the kitchen, finally brewing a pot of black cherry tea. Filling a mug, she wandered out to the front porch and perched on a wicker chair. The light faded in the cobalt sky, and the temperature dropped a few degrees, along with the setting sun. Maine summers were like that, she recalled. Warm and toasty, sometimes even hot during the day, but chilly once evening set in. So different from the relentless heat of a Texas summer.
As much as she thought she’d be homesick, Annie found herself looking forward to spending time in town. She hoped Alice was wrong about the townspeople. She remembered everyone as being so friendly. But she’d been a kid then. Betsy’s tagalong. Now that she wanted to ask questions, people might forget just who she was. Still, it wasn’t going to hold her back. Wayne had always told her she could accomplish whatever she put her mind to.
Annie took a sip of her tea, only to find it had grown cool. As she rose to go back inside for a fresh cup, she noticed headlights on the road. The car slowed at the end of her driveway. Annie stepped from the porch, down the steps, thinking perhaps someone was looking for directions. Suddenly the car accelerated down the street.
Annie stopped, not sure what to make of it. Being so new to the area, she didn’t know if she should be concerned or not. Did tourists usually sightsee at Grey Gables? This late in the evening? Or did the fact that an outsider now resided in the Victorian house give someone from town a reason to check it out? She made a mental note to ask Alice.
A little unsettled, Annie hurried inside, securely locking the door behind her before she went to refill her cup. While in the kitchen, she closed and locked the back door. As a woman living all alone, she wasn’t one to take chances with her safety. Although this was the kind of town where you could leave your doors open, the passing vehicle had unnerved her.
Returning to the living room, she switched on the lamp beside the couch. Her gaze fell to the envelope she’d never gotten a chance to look at.
She dropped onto the couch, covered her legs with the summer-weight afghan draped over the back of the couch, and pulled the piece of stationery from the envelope. A fine-grade paper, it was marred along the bottom half, water stained and crumply. Annie smoothed it, but the permanent wrinkles remained.
The script was scrawled in an elegant, flowing form--very unlike her grandmother’s hard-to-read scrawl. Intrigued, she read:
To the Sister of my heart, this is for you.
Though time has separated us, my memories have not. There are so many things I would have liked to share with you. So many things I would have changed, words I would never have spoken. Life passes so quickly. As I grow older, I wish for a way to move back the hands of time. Instead, we move on. We carry the hurts and disappointments with us, until one day the burden becomes too heavy to bear. We should not have to carry them alone.
Which brings me to
The ink smeared, and she couldn’t read the remaining words.
“Brings you to what?” Annie asked the empty room. “I can’t believe this.” She turned the paper over. No writing on the back. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Annie studied the writing again. It didn’t look like Gram’s penmanship, but she couldn’t be sure. Near the end of her life, Gram’s writing had grown more loopy and even harder to read. This looked familiar, but … still, there was a nagging doubt. And with all the stuff stored up in the attic--maybe even things Gram stored for other people--did she really know who wrote this? And did it even go with thecross-stitch? She thought it fell from the frame when she picked it up, but had it belonged with some other box or treasure?
Still, a thought nagged at her. The cross-stitch featured the young woman so prominently, especially since her grandmother stitched scenes, not people. Had her grandmother changed her trademark style along the way and never revealed it to anyone? Why would she do that? And what would that mean in regard to this cross-stitch? Had it been meant for someone special?
“Not only did you leave me this house,” Annie whispered, “you left me a mystery.”
Her gaze strayed back to the frame. “What did you have in store for me, Gram?” Had Gram purposely left the cross-stitch for her to find?
With more questions than answers at this point, she glanced down at the letter. This was a part of Gram’s life Annie knew nothing about. And she thought she knew the older woman so well. Obviously not. What other secrets had Betsy Holden kept all these years?
Whic
h begged the next question: Identify the woman or leave well enough alone?
And then it hit her. She needed to do this. Needed to finish what she’d started.
When LeeAnn had married and moved away from home, it had taken Annie a long time to stop missing her. Then, when the twins arrived, Annie had been there to help, but LeeAnn had handled everything so well. She had insisted on taking care of her new family on her own, so Annie hadn’t felt needed. Then, when Wayne had died, she’d totally lost her purpose in life. She’d grown inward. Hadn’t socialized like she used to. Her world had unraveled, and she hadn’t been able to find the right stitch to make it whole again.
Until, that is, she traveled cross-country to Stony Point, Maine, and Grey Gables.
Finding the identity of the girl in the cross-stitch would give her a purpose again. It may not be as important as battling for world peace, but it gave her a task she could carry out. Gave her the resolve that had been lost in her life.
Mind made up, determination stirring in her heart, Annie latched onto this new chapter of her life like a lifeline. “Okay, now think like a mystery-book detective,” she muttered. “Clues. I need clues.”
She went down the hall to the library and grabbed a legal pad and pen from the small secretary desk. Returning to the sofa, she jotted down thoughts as they came.
Who would her grandmother feature in the cross-stitch?
What did the little scenes mean? Where were they located?
The list went on. By the time she finished putting all her questions on paper, she’d filled up the entire page, making the task seem daunting. “Good job, Annie. Now what?”
She needed to enlist someone’s help with this, and the first person to come to mind was Alice. They’d gotten into plenty of mischief when they were younger. Annie decided she’d spring this new adventure on her unsuspecting friend the next time she had a chance to sit down and explain her plan. Just like old times.
4
By Tuesday morning, Annie alternated betweenexcited and nervous about attending her first Hook and Needle Club meeting. She’d just come downstairs when the doorbell rang. She hurried to open the door to a beaming Alice.
“Ready to meet the group?”
Annie chuckled. “Let me get my tote.” She grabbed her things from the hall table but stopped to check her reflection in the large, oval mirror mounted by the front door. “Do I look okay?” She’d fussed for an hour before Alice arrived, over her choice of yellow tank top with an embroidered neckline, casual tan linen crop pants, and flat sandals.
Alice grinned. “You’re just meeting a bunch of ladies.”
“Oh, c’mon, you know we women dress to impress other women. Women are a tougher audience than men.”
“True.” Alice glanced down at her own outfit: a white eyelet blouse, denim skirt, and mules. “Now you’ve got me paranoid, and I don’t have anyone to impress.”
“You look wonderful. They know you. I’m the one trying to fit in.”
“You’ll fit in too. Mary Beth already likes you, so you’re good.”
They stepped onto the porch and Annie locked up. “This is really important to me.”
“Trust me. They’ll love you.” Alice placed a comforting hand on her arm. “And it’s relaxing sitting around with the girls. A little conversation. A lot of needlecrafting. What every woman needs in the middle of the week.”
Soon they were headed downtown in Alice’s flashy Mustang convertible. “Now this is the way to make an entrance,” she said as she stepped on the gas. Their hair blew in the wind.
“Showoff.”
“At least I have something to show from the divorce.”
As Alice pulled into a parking space across from the shop, a shiny, white Lincoln Continental pulled up to the sidewalk. The driver-side door swung wide, and a tall man wearing a baseball cap got out and rounded the front of the car to open the back door. As an elderly woman stepped out, the man took her elbow to help her stand steadily. She patted his arm, said a few words, and walked away. The man closed the door, watched the woman as she disappeared from Annie’s view, then got back in the car and eased his way into tourist traffic.
Alice poked Annie. “What are you staring at?”
“Just watching that driver help an old woman out of a Lincoln.”
“That’s Jason, and his passenger is Stella Brickson.”
“And you know this, how?”
“Everyone in town knows that Jason drives Stella around.” Alice shrugged before opening the car door to exit. “She never got her license, and Jason was employed by the Brickson family, so he chauffeured her around town when she lived in New York City. When Stella moved to Stony Point, Jason came with her.”
“Did she know Gram?” Annie asked as the two walked to the shop.
“Everyone knew your grandmother. Why?”
“Maybe Stella knows something about the cross-stitch.”
“I don’t know. You can ask her yourself. She’s a member of the club. But I have to warn you.”
Annie didn’t like Alice’s warning tone. “About what?”
“Stella’s not a real ‘people’ person. Not real chatty either. She doesn’t like to talk about her life, especially since she moved back here about five years ago.”
“So she grew up here?”
Alice nodded. “She came back after her husband died.”
“Maybe she’s still in mourning? That could explain her demeanor.”
“After five years? I suppose.”
“What else could it be?” Annie pressed.
“You tell me after you meet her.”
Annie tried to quell her nervous stomach as they entered the store. Female chatter sounded, along with the ring of the cash register. Mary Beth stood behind the counter, talking with a customer. She waved when Annie and Alice walked in. As they moved into the interior of the shop, Annie noticed two more mannequins with different crocheted outfits. After the introductions, she planned on checking them out.
“Buck up,” Alice teased as they moved toward the grouping of chairs. “Heads up, ladies. I brought the newbie.”
Four faces looked up from various lap projects to catch Annie in their laser gaze. She was right on time for the meeting, so how early had these women arrived?
“Let me introduce everyone. From right to left, Kate Stevens. She works here.”
“I’ve seen your work and I’m impressed,” Annie said. “I’ve never crocheted anything more than blankets and simple baby items. I would love to do something challenging, like your beautiful jacket I saw on the mannequin.”
Several years younger than Annie, Kate smiled shyly, tucking a strand of shoulder-length dark hair behind her ear. “I’d be happy to show you how.”
Alice nodded to the woman seated next to Kate. “Gwendolyn Palmer, your neighbor up the hill.”
With sparkling blue eyes and a pleasantly lined face surrounded by severely styled soft blond hair and dressed in exquisite clothing, Gwendolyn said hello.
“You know Peggy from the diner.”
The youngest of the group, Peggy finger waved.
“And this is Stella Brickson.”
Stella’s gray hair, beautifully styled in a short, layered cut, framed a lined, impassive face. A small woman, she sat straight-backed in the chair, very regal, making it impossible to miss that she held court with these women. She merely blinked as she maneuvered her knitting needles and tugged the yarn from a ball stored in the large tote she’d carried into the shop.
“There are a few others who come from time to time, but this is the regular gang,” Alice finished. “Gang, Annie Dawson. New to town, but granddaughter of our very own Betsy Holden.”
“And we are more than happy to have you,” Mary Beth added as she joined the women after her customer left. “I’ve been looking forward to your joining us.”
“Thanks. I feel the same.”
“Sit, sit.” Mary Beth ushered Annie to an empty chair. “Tell us what you’re wo
rking on.”
“A baby blanket. For one of the young mothers at my church back home.”
“Texas, right?” Gwendolyn asked.
“Yes. Near Dallas.”
“I always wanted to go there.” Gwendolyn lowered her needles and stared across the shop. “John doesn’t like the heat. But I would love to see the Alamo. Or a real live cowboy.”
The other women chuckled.
“I’ve known a cowboy or two in my day,” Annie told her. “When they get done up right in a Stetson and spurs. I expect your men wear lots of wool once the weather changes.”
“Oh, yes.” Peggy rolled her eyes.
Annie turned her attention back to Gwendolyn. “What are you working on?”
“I knit scarves or lap blankets and donate them to Elderly Services. They hand them out to nursing homes, assisted living facilities, and the Senior Center.” Gwendolyn crossed the yarn over a needle. “My parents have passed, but I was close to them, so I understand the need for donations to these services. I get real enjoyment by helping elderly folks.” Gwendolyn tugged yarn from the ball on her lap. “Especially my mother-in-law. She lives in Bangor. Since my children are all grown and off living in different cities, we visit her pretty often. I bring the scarves and blankets to a group over there. I love visiting her, but it sure isn’t a vacation.”
“I’d give anything for a real vacation,” Peggy grumbled. “But instead I get Tuesday mornings off to work on my quilting. Between working at the diner and keeping up with my six-year-old, Emily, this is about all the time I have to concentrate on this patchwork bedspread. By the time I finish, Emily will be a teenager.” She sighed. “I hope we go on a vacation before then.”
“The teen years come soon enough. Don’t rush it.” Kate rummaged through a box of merchandise at her feet. “Vanessa, my daughter in high school,” she clarified for Annie, “would pitch a fit if we went anywhere. She’s got the entire summer planned out.”
“Besides, Harry will be busy scalloping, so you’re stuck here too,” Peggy added.
Kate’s lips grew tight, but she didn’t comment.
