The Weaver

by Heather Kindt

  “Have you ever heard of Rose Stevens?” Richard stood up and walked over to a bush. He ran his fingers through the tendrils, plucking a bayberry and squeezing any remaining juice between his thumb and forefinger.

  The question took Laney by surprise again, but her conversation with Missy and Morgan came rushing back to her. “The romance author who disappeared?”

  “Yes. Her real name is Harriet Gray. She had a pendant just like Hawthorne’s and just like the one around your neck.”

  Laney’s heart stopped. Goosebumps stood up straight on her arms. “I . . . how did . . .?” The words failed to form in her brain in the correct order. “I never take it out. When did you see it?”

  “When you took such interest in the necklace in the case, then asked me about Hawthorne’s necklace, it seemed like a good guess.” He smiled. “Judging from your reaction, I was right.”

  Laney frowned. “I’m beginning to think that my pendant was mass-produced.” Having something that no one else had made her feel special.

  “On the contrary. The sapphire spider is very rare.” He paced in front of the bench. “I know there are a few more out there, but I’ve only seen three. Harriet Gray wore hers at several public appearances. She believed it to be a family heirloom passed down from her mother.”

  “Gray and Hawthorne are writers like me, but my necklace came from the antique store. It’s only a coincidence that we all ended up with one.”

  “Can you be sure?” Richard gazed at the water again. “What if the pendant somehow found you?”

  “It’s an inanimate object, Richard.” Laney shook her head. She didn’t want to let him know that deep down she knew it was true. The first day she saw the necklace when she was ten years old, it drew her in like nothing she had ever seen.

  “Some objects hold onto the passion of their creator.” Richard settled onto the bench next to her. “Why do you think the antiques in your parents’ store are so popular? People know that a handcrafted item holds all the love and care of the artist. They almost take on a life of their own. Why do you think that ghosts usually haunt old houses and buildings? I’ve never heard of a ghost in a suburban housing development.”

  “You think my necklace found me because I’m a writer?” It sounded like the superstitions Laney heard in so many stories from the past.

  “No, I think the necklace found you because story-weaving runs in your family.”

  Shifting in her seat, she tried to clear her head of this absurd discussion. Laney did throw herself into her writing, but it certainly didn’t run in her family.

  Richard shuffled his feet against the gravel. “The others are waiting. Let’s head back to the house.” He stood up to leave.

  William leaned against a tree as she and Richard approached the van. He’d been watching them. When they drew closer, he turned to walk away but didn’t wait for her, as if he wanted her to know he’d been watching.

  Richard stopped mid-step. “Does your grandfather still live at 31 Essex Street?

  “Yeah, but I didn’t tell you the street number.”

  “Oh, Grady and I are old friends. I also knew your grandmother, Rebecca.”

  Richard surprised Laney with every word that came out of his mouth. No wonder he had reacted so strangely when she mentioned her grandfather earlier.

  Laney’s heart warmed inside. This was exactly what Grady needed. “Then you should come in and say hi. I’m sure he’d love to see you. He’s been really lonely since grandma died.”

  “Your grandmother had a way about her that made others feel very welcome. But I need to get your classmates back to school. We’re already running late, and I want to make sure they don’t miss the evening meal. I’ll see him another time.”

  “I know he’d like that.”

  When they reached her grandfather’s house, Laney said goodbye to Richard and her classmates and headed towards Grady’s front door.

  Chapter 7

  Grady tended to his vegetable garden in the backyard of his two-story, gray house. As long as Laney could remember, Grandpa insisted on being called Grady. The same was true with Gram; in her presence, Laney always called her Rebecca.

  When she was a child, she loved hearing Grady’s stories about meeting Rebecca in a field of lupines overlooking the rolling hillside. His descriptions were always so vivid and full of life. To this day, Laney had never come across a better storyteller than Grady. Sitting for hours, never distracted, never bored, she always craved more. His stories were nothing short of fairytales. Rebecca, her face sallow with sickness and her long gray hair pinned up, was as much his lover then as she was in her youth. If anyone heard his stories, they couldn’t imagine anyone more beautiful. Though Gram had a shy and graceful way about her, her wisdom always took center stage in Grady’s stories.

  Looking out the back door, Laney saw Grady hunched over his tomatoes. He had aged so much in the past three years. Rebecca’s death really took a toll on him in so many ways. Part of him was gone, and Laney knew it could never be replaced. The pictures on the wall in the front hallway showed a good-looking young man with dark brown hair and blue eyes, and his beautiful bride. They were always together. Laney’s mother, Susan, was their only child and their love for each other overflowed onto her. And until Rebecca’s doctor told her that she had cancer five years ago, their life was picture perfect.

  Grady always made Laney forget her troubles, and she felt Richard’s words melt away as she ran through the grass. Feeling like a six-year-old, she hurtled the small garden fence, knowing she’d be healed in no time. Her grandfather dropped his shovel in alarm, so she slowed her pace to a walk.

  “Laney! I’m so happy you could make it.” He stood up and wrapped his arms around her, hunching over a little bit lower than the last time she saw him.

  “How are the tomatoes coming?” Laney crouched down on the ground next to him. Despite the chill in the air, vegetables and flowers bloomed all around them. The fragrance was intoxicating.

  “They’re doing pretty well, but I think I’ve tended them enough for tonight. My bones can’t take this turn in the weather.” He took off his gloves and placed them in his garden box. “Come on in, I have dinner in the oven.”

  Evening settled over the neighborhood as they walked back to the house. Crickets chirped and several fireflies flickered throughout the flowering bushes that sprinkled Grady’s yard. Rebecca’s love for gardens had rubbed off, giving him a green thumb. Laney knew that several of the vegetables in his garden would be part of whatever delicious concoction brewed in the kitchen.

  Laney finished a second helping of lasagna with homemade sauce from Grady’s tomatoes — much better than the pizza in Madison’s cafeteria — and pushed her plate to the center of the table. “How are you really doing, Grady?”

  “Oh, you know — it’s tough.” Grady always got right down to the real issues. Phony talk about the weather was taboo.

  “I miss Rebecca, too. There’re not many people like her in this world.”

  Grady smiled. “You can say that again.”

  Laney took their plates and began to rinse them off in the sink.

  Grady removed a Tupperware of strawberries from the fridge and stepped to the counter where he selected a knife. “So how’s college? Do you like your classes?”

  “It’s definitely interesting, but much better than high school. I’m glad to be out of Derry.”

  He plucked the green leaves from the berries and laid them out on the cutting board. “I can understand that. Being away from your parents for the first time is a big step in becoming independent.” Grady laughed and raised an eyebrow at her. “Although I’m sure Tim is having a difficult time. Do you think he’s seeing a counselor?”

  Laney smiled while she placed a glass in the dishwasher. “I’m sure if they don’t have a college parent support group in Derry, my dad’s created the flagship chapter.”

  “Are you making friends?” Grady’s voice took on a serious tone. He was
well aware of Laney’s antisocial tendencies in high school. Whenever he came to visit, she was working in the store. Knowing him so well, she could hear that his voice was riddled with curiosity and genuine concern.

  “My roommate, Missy, and I are like Jekyll and Hyde.”

  Grady grimaced.

  “But I think that it’ll be good for me.” She never had a friend like Missy in high school to draw her out of her shell. “She promised to introduce me to some of her friends.”

  “I’m glad she has plans to push you out of your comfort zone. I wish I’d made more friends while your grandmother was alive.” Grady sliced a strawberry in half, laid the pieces flat on the cutting board, and sliced them again into quarters. “Tell me more. Is Missy your only friend?”

  “Jason Harrison is attending Madison, too.” Laney paused to see Grady’s reaction. The surprise she expected was missing from his face. “He’s matured a lot from the last time you saw him. Jason wants to make the world a better place when he becomes a doctor.”

  “A doctor? Well . . . that is ambitious.” Grady put the knife down and placed his hand on her arm. “I expect regular updates.”

  After dessert, Grady settled into his tattered maroon recliner in the living room. Being an avid reader, he always had at least two books checked out from the library. Laney took her backpack out of the front hall and sat down on the floral couch, pulling out her journal. Finding time to write during the school week was nearly impossible — her professors loaded her down with homework. She wanted to spend time with William and Anne, so Laney opened to the spot where she had left off. She took several minutes reading over Anne’s last entry.

  Grady set his book down. More wrinkles creased his forehead and his eyes bore down on her. “Have some homework you need to get done this weekend?” He squinted at her, sliding his glasses higher on his nose.

  “Not really. I’m actually working on a story.” Laney held up her journal, knowing that if she shared it with Jason, she shouldn’t hold anything back from Grady.

  Her grandfather leaned toward her with his hands gripping his knees. “I didn’t know that you took up writing.”

  “It’s just for fun. It helps me relax, and I enjoy the characters.” Laney flipped through the handwritten pages of the book. “But I’ve also decided to major in English.”

  “I thought your major was history.” Grady’s voice took on a sharp edge that was very out of character.

  Laney wondered what old men had against her writing.

  She shifted in her seat and picked up her pen, trying to get comfortable with her writing again. Grady muttered quietly to himself. When he finally started reading again, she held her pen to the paper to write, only to discover it was out of ink.

  Laney pouted. She didn’t want to disturb her grandfather’s reading again. “Grady, I need to go up to your desk to get a pen.”

  “Sure, sure.” He kept reading.

  She took the stairs two at a time and walked down the hall to her grandfather’s room. Rebecca had always loved antiques, and she’d picked out every piece of furniture in their modest bedroom. Whenever Laney visited as a child, the room was always tidy and had a welcoming smell. Today, when she opened the door, the unmade bed and Grady’s clothes strewn throughout the room surprised her. Grady’s loss affected him each and every day, and that depression hung throughout the room. Rebecca’s picture stood on the bedside table next to his pills and a glass of water. She really was beautiful, a princess from a fairytale.

  In front of the windows, Grady’s desk provided a view of the side street below. Laney found several pens to try when she rummaged through one of the drawers. Beneath the mess of pens was a stack of papers in a plastic sleeve. She only hesitated because the papers were so old. Carefully, she removed the sleeve from the drawer and immediately recognized the cryptic papers as a manuscript. The typed, center spaced title read The Diner by Grady Martin.

  Laney froze. Grady? A writer? So, Richard had known her grandfather wrote a book. Laney wasn’t even sure if her mother knew that. Worried Grady might come looking for her, she took the manuscript into the guest room and slid it under the mattress. Still reeling from her discovery, she hopped down the stairs and acted like nothing happened. There must be a reason why Grady kept his writing a secret.

  Laney skimmed through the pages of her own book. The first pen she picked up worked.

  April 3, 1775

  The tension in Lexington continued to rise as more and more English laws were placed on the colonists. William seemed to have a secret meeting every night, and my worry for him and the imminent war occupied my every thought. I knew that if the Massachusetts Bay Colony went to war, so would William. The thought of losing him is unbearable. I also knew that Jonas Webb’s murderous hatred for William and his family continued to grow.

  One evening, William and I crossed the village square on the way home from a church meeting. The cool, spring air swept across my face and William drew me closer to him. The revelry in the village tavern spilled out into the night as we passed. Seeing Jonas inside made William quicken his pace. Unfortunately, it was too late.

  “William Clarke?” Jonas’ intoxication slurred his speech as he called out across the square, but his steps were sure. His long, black hair hung loosely, out of its usual neat bindings.

  “Hello, Jonas. Enjoying an evening spirit?”

  “I enjoyed it until I saw you. Coming home from another secret meeting?” A sneer crossed his face and he slowed, only yards away.

  “Actually, Anne and I were at church. It is the Sabbath.” William tugged on my sleeve, moving me away from the older boy.

  Jonas spat, staggering slightly, and then set his eyes upon me, seeming to notice me for the first time. “Ah . . . the lovely Anne. It is so good to see you.” He moved closer, reaching out his hand in an awkward bow. “I have been wanting to talk to you. Would you like to join me on Saturday for the village dance?”

  I turned to William, horrified.

  “I believe she is accompanying me to the dance.”

  “I do not believe that I asked you.” Jonas glared at William and then turned back to me. He inched closer.

  “Yes. William has already asked me to join him.” I reached down and took William’s hand. “Maybe you could ask Mary?”

  I spun away, but Jonas grabbed my arm.

  With one quick movement, William removed Jonas from me and had him on the ground. “Do not touch her.”

  Laney stopped writing as Grady pushed himself up from his recliner. “I’m off to bed. Turn off the light before coming up.”

  She snapped her manuscript shut. “I think I’ll head up, too. It’s been a long day.” Grady’s book called to her from under the mattress.

  “Okay, I’ll make sure I save you some coffee in the morning. I need to head over to the grocery store, but I won’t be long.” Grady climbed the stairs and Laney started up when she heard his bedroom door close.

  In the spare bedroom, she changed into her pajamas and then removed the book from under the mattress. Laney climbed into bed and flipped on the reading light. The pages looked even more delicate to her now that she knew she was about to turn them. The fragile typing paper was cracked and faded. On the first page she read the dedication.

  To my dearest Eleanor, my love, my heart.

  Who was Eleanor? Maybe an old girlfriend from before he met Rebecca? The first chapter was not titled and only had the number one above it. She scrunched down on her pillow and began to read.

  The main character, George, tormented himself over a childhood memory of his brother’s death. He imprisoned himself in misery and solitude. Laney began to despise him for his self-inflicted pain. The book was turning out to be a real bummer, but she continued to read out of respect for Grady.

  The mood of the book suddenly changed when Laney reached chapter five. George stopped at a local restaurant each day before work. He passed by the newspaper stand to pick up the paper and then read it with his c
up of coffee. A young waitress with long auburn hair waited on him every morning. Rebecca kept George returning to the diner.

  Laney reread the line, trying to comprehend the words in front of her. If Grady knew Gram when he wrote the book, why didn’t he dedicate it to her? Who was Eleanor and why would he give her his love and his heart? Maybe it was a coincidence. She read on, and each description that Grady provided mirrored her grandmother.

  Tears brimmed in Laney’s eyes, so she reached over and grabbed a tissue. Was he having an affair? Did Rebecca know about Grady’s book and his dedication? She read through the night, fascinated by the woman in the book who captured George’s heart and turned his world around. There was no question that she was her Rebecca, her grandmother.

  When the first daylight illuminated the window, Laney lifted the page to chapter twenty-three, only to realize she had read to the end of what was written. Grady never finished the book, or at least it wasn’t contained in this manuscript. Placing the papers back in the plastic sleeve, she slipped them under the mattress and rolled over in the bed and drifted off.

  In what seemed like no time at all, a knock on the door woke Laney from her sleep. Grady poked his head in and smiled.

  “Are you going to sleep all day? It’s already after lunchtime.” Grady placed his hand on the doorframe. “I saved you some tomato soup. I couldn’t save the coffee.”

  She never slept that late, but she guessed that happened when you were up most of the night. “I’m sorry.” Laney stretched her arms out. “It’s been a long week at school and I never get to sleep in.” She pushed her covers off and gathered her things for the bathroom.

  Grady had her soup warmed up and a glass of ice water on the table when she got downstairs. Laney contemplated bringing up anything related to his book. She felt terrible for invading his privacy, but curiosity got the better of her. It took her most of the afternoon to muster up anything closely related to courage. They were weeding out in his garden trying to keep the invaders away from his green beans. He always saw it as therapy and now that the sun was out, it was a pleasant fall day. Laney didn’t enjoy the gardening as much, but she knew that she had a captive audience.