I understand.
Im not sure you do. He looked at her closely, wondering how much to tell a stranger. Were working against a ticking clock and its in Grams head. The cataloging, the inventory, may not always be her priority. You may have to gently guide her back to the task.
Her intelligent eyes looked straight at him, and he guessed she was one of those rare people who listened, really listened.
I can put in overtime and will work Saturdays, but I cant promise you Ill stay in town more than three months. If you think I can complete the job by then, Ill give it my best shot.
I understand, he said, even though he didnt. Why couldnt she stay longer? Who moves to a town for three months? Someone just killing time, he reasoned.
A mix of conversation and laughter came from the back of the shop where the ceiling lowered to eight feet, allowing room for a storage room above and a meeting room below.
Connor took the lead. Unlike the stranger, he knew exactly what he was walking into. The twice-a-week quilting bee. An old frame hung from the beams, allowing just enough room for chairs to circle the quilt being hand-stitched together. It might be a lost art in most places, but here, the women seemed to love not only the project, but the company.
The moment the ladies saw him their voices rose in greeting. All eight of them seemed to be talking to him at once. As soon as he greeted each one, he introduced Jillian James to them. Ive hired Jillian to help catalog my grandmothers collection. Grams got a great treasure here in her shop.
The ladies agreed with his plan, but two reminded him that it would be a long time before his gram retired.
His grandmother, Eugenia Ann Freeman Larady, slowly stood and offered her hand to Jillian. Where Connor had been told his eyes were Mississippi River brown, his grams had faded to the pale blue of shallow water. Every year shed aged hed grown more protective of her, but today he needed to take a step backward and see how she got along with a stranger brought in to work with her.
Gram winked at Jillian as if she already counted her as a friend. Call me Gram if you like. All Connors friends do.
Gram, Jillian said with a genuine smile.
Ive decided. The willowy old dear cleared her throat before continuing. Ill probably be working on a quilt when the good Lord calls me home and Ill have to say, Just give me time to finish the binding, then Ill come dancing through the Pearly Gates.
Hed heard her say those words a thousand times over the years. Now, most of what she said were old sayings like that. New ideas, new thoughts, were rare.
Gram, he said gently. Jillian wants to help you get these quilts all in order so someday theyll be on display in the county museum.
His grandmother nodded as she looked around the shop, every inch of its wall space covered in quilts. Gram smiled. Id like that. Ill even get out my pioneer quilts. The ones brought here in covered wagons. Some are worn. They were used, you know, but then, thats what quilts are made for, too. Plain or fancy, they wrap us in our families warmth.
Shell write down the details and take pictures so you can show them all off at once to your friends, Connor pressed, hoping Gram understood.
Eugenia had lost interest in talking to him. She took Jillians hand and tugged her to the only empty chair around the six-foot square of material pulled so tightly on the quilting frame it could almost have served as a table. Before we start, we have to work on this quilt. Dixie pieced it for her niece, and the wedding is in two weeks. Hand quilting takes time.
Connor moved away as the ladies folded Jillian into the group. She glanced over at him, looking as if she hoped hed toss her a life preserver.
He shook his head. Well go over the details later, he said, low enough for only Jillian to hear. As of right now, youre on the clock. Ill return at a little after five.
At the door he looked back, wondering if the tall woman would still be there at closing time.
Once on the street, Connor walked left toward the natural park entrance near the bridge. He dodged traffic, three cars and a pickup, then headed down a trail to the creek. A stream meandered through Laurel Springs as wild as it had been when his people settled here. The tall grass, dry now, appeared bunched in thick clumps over the uneven land. Huge old cypress trees huddled by the water, hauntingly gray in their dusty winter coats. February. The one month hed always thought of as void of color.
Connor could breathe here by the stream. He could think. He could relax.
The rambling acres running untamed through town were more swamp than park now, but next spring the city would have the money to clean it up. Theyd fight back nature to make running trails and small meadows spotted with picnic tables.
But Connor craved the wildness of this spot in winter. The cold. The loneliness of it. As he strolled near the water, the sounds of the town almost disappeared, and he could believe for a few minutes that he was totally by himself. That he was free. No responsibilities. No worries.
Duty would pull him back soon. It always did. But for a while he could allow his mind to drift, to dream. There were days in his organized, packed routine that all Connor wanted to do was run away.
Only he never would.
Some people are meant to grow where theyre planted.
Jillians words echoed in his thoughts. I cant promise you Ill be here in three months, shed said, as if it were a possibility for everyone. Didnt she know that the people in this town of Laurel Springs were like the residents of the mythical Brigadoon: they lived here forever, and she was simply a visitor for a day?
A story danced in his head as he walked through the dried buffalo grass of winter. The stiff stalks made a swishing sound, like a brush lightly moving over a drum. His imagination was all the escape he needed most days.
He was leaving his world, his reality, his home, if only for an hour. If only in his mind.
3
Jillian closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She loved the smells of the quilt shop. Lavender soap left on the womens skin as they routinely washed their hands so no perspiration stained the quilt. Lemon wax on the eighty-year-old counter that had been left behind when a mercantile became the quilt shop. The smell of cotton, fresh and new, blended with the hint of dyes pressed into material. She even liked the scent of the oil on the hundred-year-old Singer Featherweight machines lining the back wall. Soldiers waiting to do their duty.
Eugenia served orange blossom tea and gingersnap cookies when the ladies took a break. Her hands were worn, with twisted bones covered over in paper-thin skin so fine not even fingerprints would show.
Jillian was surprised that theyd accepted her into their group without many questions. Shed never spent much time with women more than double her age and found it fascinating that they talked in stories, flowing from one to another. No hurry, no debates, no lectures. Just a gentle current that moved as easily as the sharp needles through the padded layers of material.
Paulina, with her funny tales of living in Dallas in the sixties.
The three Sanderson sisters, who finished each others sentences and laughed at their own jokes.
Paulina, with her funny tales of living in Dallas in the sixties.
The three Sanderson sisters, who finished each others sentences and laughed at their own jokes.
The classy lady, dressed in a silk pantsuit, who didnt seem to mind a bit that everyone called her Toad.
Dixie didnt say much; she worked with her head down. Neither did a pixie of a woman named Stella, but she laughed at everyones jokes as if shed never heard them before.
Stories theyd all probably heard a hundred times circled around them like classical music, comforting and welcoming to their ears.
Eugenia Larady sat on Jillians left, showing her how to make the stitches. Jillian tried her best but didnt miss the fact that Paulina, on her right, pulled each of her lines and redid them.
The afternoon passed with Eugenia and Jillian getting up each time a customer came in. The old woman Connor had lovingly called Gram treated each stranger as a special guest. Some only wanted to look, so she followed them about the shop offering them cotton gloves so they could examine the quilts. Some customers wanted to buy squares of fabric called fat quarters, or tools of the quilting trade.
The third time Eugenia stood in front of the cash register, Jillian noticed she seemed to have trouble remembering the order of making a sale.
Let me, Gram, Jillian suggested. Ill try not to mess up.
Eugenia moved to the side. All right, dear, but Ill be watching you.
Jillian had worked a dozen jobs that had this standard cash register, but she glanced over to Eugenia for approval with each step. Shed rarely been around anyone in their eighties, but she assumed memory slips might be common.
The woman smiled and nodded each time.
Jillian almost wished she had a grandmother. Her father had told her from the beginning that she had no living relatives except him. Not one. Shed known it so young she hadnt thought to be sad. No sense missing someone youve never had around.
As the day ended, she took Grams arm. They walked back to the now-silent quilting corner. No constant stream of voices echoing off the walls. No ting of the cash register drawer after each sale of the day.
Jillian thanked her for teaching her so much, and Gram patted her hand as if pleased she could be of help.
The shop was empty now, but the place still seemed alive in the late-afternoon light. Shadows slow dancing beneath the multicolored sky of quilts above.
Youre a fast learner. A great help. Eugenia patted her hand again. Youd best be going. It will be dark soon.
Jillian didnt want to leave her alone. I thought Id help clean up. After all, I ate most of your cookies.
Oh, no, you didnt. Paulina always eats a dozen. Eugenia covered her mouth as if she might hold back the words.
They both giggled as the front door chimed, and Connor walked in.
She found herself thinking more of this man now that shed met his gram. A man who cared so dearly for his grandmother couldnt be as clueless as he appeared. She laughed suddenly as she noticed a pencil sticking out of his shaggy head of hair. Or maybe it was a small tree branch. She didnt plan to get close enough to see.
Did you have a good day, Gram? Connor passed Jillian as if he hadnt noticed her.
A grand one, as always. I taught your friend many things about the shop today. Gram grinned. Now, what did you say her name was again?
Jillian, he said, smiling over Grams head at her. Shes Jillian James.
Gram nodded. Shes a keeper.
Connor looked away. Good. Im glad everything went well.
Jillian saw a shyness in the mayor she hadnt noticed before. He might be comfortable around the quilting circle ladies and Gram, but he was nervous around her.
Two short beeps sounded from the street.
Connor lifted Grams sweater from behind the counter. Time to go, Gram.
But I dont want to go home. I dont like it there. Benjamin wont be there. Hes gone and the boys went off to college and never came back. They grew up, I know. But Benjamin just doesnt come home anymore.
Jillian felt anger rise. She didnt care if Connor was Eugenias grandson; he shouldnt try to make her go home to an empty house.
Connor put his arm around Gram and walked her to the door. Youre not going home. The girls have supper waiting for you. Dont you remember? Tonight youre having dinner with your friends at Autumn Acres. Then all of you are going to watch a movie. He stuffed a bag of popcorn into her knitting bag. I got you caramel corn tonight, but you have to share it.
Gram smiled. Oh, yes. I remember. Its my turn to bring a snack. Tell Benjamin I might even sleep over.
Jillian watched Connor walk his grandmother out to a little bus that had steps that lowered almost to the street. He helped her all the way to her seat, then stood on the curb waving as she waved back.
The side of the bus read Autumn Acres: Senior Living in Style.
When the bus was gone, he turned back to the quilt shop. His face was cold now, sad, tired. I need to lock up.
Ill get my bag. They bumped shoulders as they neared the door. She tried not to notice and asked, Whats Autumn Acres?
Its a new living center being built for the aging. Theyve got the independent apartments finished and one wing of the added care where they check on residents, give them their meds, etcetera, but the final wing, the nursing care, isnt finished.
Gram just visits?
His gaze met hers. No, he said in almost a whisper. Shes lived there for a while, but she thinks shes just visiting.
Connor vanished into the back room to turn off the last of the lights.
When she collected her things and stepped back outside, he was waiting. All the little stores on Main were closing, and the suns glow seemed to be pulling any warmth with it. Now the smell of coffee drifted from the bakery as low clouds hugged the horizon and the few people left on the street seemed to be in a hurry.
He fell into step with her as she turned toward the bed-and-breakfast. Her long strides seemed to match his in an easy gait. Howd it go today? he asked without looking at her.
Fine. She thinks you and I are friends.
Thats all right. Just log your hours. Give me the report at the end of the week, and Ill write you a check. She can think youre just helping out, if it doesnt bother you and it makes her happy.
I will. They walked in silence for a few minutes before she added, You dont have to walk me home.
Im not. This is my way home. Without any hint of a smile, he added, I thought you were trying to walk me home. I was starting to get a bit freaked out about it. Thought you might be after the other bag of popcorn. He patted the stuffed pocket of his raincoat.
Jillian smiled. He was as hard to read as his grandmother. Shy one minute, funny the next. In an odd way she found it cute. She usually had to fend off at least a few advances from men she worked with. Even the married, do-it-by-the-book bosses sometimes took casual flirting too far.
Somehow, this good-looking man who carried a book under one arm didnt frighten her.
Trying to kid him into smiling, she said, I dont like caramel, but if it had been cheesy flavored, you might have needed to worry. I could easily mug you for nacho-cheesy popcorn.