The Oysterville Sewing Circle

by Susan Wiggs

  Caroline looked from Lindy to Echo. An older woman, calm now, and a younger one, tentative but eager. After what had happened to Angelique, she had been thinking a lot about the things women hid. Everything from the smallest slight or dismissal to outright physical abuse. Yet there was something indomitable about them—a sturdiness. It wasn’t the sewing project that bolstered their spirits, she realized. It was something more. A sense of purpose, perhaps.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you shared with me,” she said. “I wish it hadn’t happened to you.”

  “Thank you, Caroline,” said Lindy. “Echo and I are two of the lucky ones.”

  She looked around the shop, empty now, save for the four of them. The space held the comfort of old memories. She wondered if it had been a refuge for Lindy. “What if there was a safe place to talk and listen?” she suggested.

  “Her wheels never stop turning,” Virginia said.

  “I had this idea. Suppose there was a support group. I mean, it would take a bit of organizing, but . . . what if? I never examined or understood what was going on with Angelique until it was too late. I want to do better. If there’s a way to help other women . . .”

  “It’s a fine idea,” Lindy said. “I can’t imagine how it would work, though.”

  “Watch me,” Caroline said. “I bet I could organize something.”

  “If you do, I’m in,” said Echo. “Lindy?”

  “Of course. Your idea is a kind one. You have a big heart, Caroline.”

  “Do I?” She shook her head. “I feel as if I’ve been oblivious. I’m going to do it,” she said decisively. “My sisters will help.”

  “We will,” Virginia agreed. “I can’t speak for Georgia, but I bet she’d want to be part of it.”

  “You let me know,” Lindy said.

  Caroline checked her watch. “We’d better get the kids.”

  Lindy walked to the door with her and gave her a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re back. You used to be such a ball of energy around here, you and your friends. Have you seen Will Jensen yet? His grandmother was one of my best customers. Such an avid quilter. You and Will used to be inseparable.”

  “I’ve run into him a time or two,” Caroline said, feeling a funny flutter in her stomach.

  “Well, I’m sure he and Sierra are delighted you’re back.”

  Caroline gritted her teeth. I’m sure.

  Chapter 11

  Sierra Jensen pulled up at Star of the Sea, knowing there would be a wait for a table at the popular, buzzy restaurant. But the cranberry scones with brown butter glaze were worth the wait. So were the buckwheat griddle cakes with bourbon-barrel-aged maple syrup. And the fried green tomato Benedict.

  Every once in a while, Sierra allowed herself to splurge on calories, and she usually did so at the Shelby family’s restaurant, which was housed in a weather-beaten clapboard building at the edge of the dunes. Thanks to its reputation for mind-blowing baked goods and the freshest local seafood, the place was now legendary up and down the coast, a favorite of locals as well as a destination for tourists.

  Georgia Shelby Ryerson, the general manager, had come up with creative ways to make the waiting more pleasant. The front porch of the building, which faced Pioneer Park, featured a coffee bar with gathering tables and a strict ban on smoking and electronics. Instead, each of the tall tables was furnished with local and national papers, and patrons were invited to mingle and chat about the news of the day while sipping complimentary coffee from organic beans roasted in small batches on the peninsula.

  As often happened, this week’s photo shoot had run late the night before. Too exhausted for the long drive home, Sierra had stayed over in the city, grabbing a last-minute hotel deal at a place that was nicer than she could afford. Will worried when he knew she was out driving late at night. The coastal byways that veined the lowlands were twisty and deserted, and she preferred a nice room and a few hits of quality weed before bed to help her relax.

  She missed life in the city. In the past, while Will was on deployment, she had lived and worked in Seattle and Portland. She’d gotten used to the bustle and traffic, the shopping and nightlife. After his discharge, they’d moved to Water’s Edge, the remote, beautiful Jensen family property. It was a homecoming for them both—for her as a local girl who had lived on the peninsula from the age of fourteen, the year her father became pastor of Oceanside Congregational, and for Will, who’d spent his boyhood summers at the shore.

  As a restless teenager, Sierra had yearned for a different life somewhere far from the humble string of beach towns. Settling down at Water’s Edge, restoring the old place, and starting a family had been Will’s dream. When they were first married, dizzy in love and full of plans, she’d shared that dream. Ten years later, she wasn’t so certain.

  Her frequent trips to the city should have been a happy compromise. But sometimes, maybe too often, she wasn’t happy. She just felt . . . compromised.

  And now her career was on shaky ground. Back when she was in her early twenties, she’d booked fashion shoots for luxury stores and high-end labels, loving the excitement and attention from stylists and photographers. As the years passed, she became a fanatic about staying thin, taking care of her skin and hair, but there were some things that couldn’t be protected from the relentless march of time. She could no longer get away with telling people she was nineteen in order to book more jobs. Gradually she was being supplanted by the never-ending influx of young, willowy, fresh-faced teenagers. Never mind that they were often emaciated, coked-up minors clinging to their much older boyfriends. Never mind that they could barely find their way to the end of a runway without directions. All the experience and knowledge in the world didn’t trump a size 2, five-ten teenager.

  Even though Sierra could almost single-handedly style and set up a shoot in record time, she lacked the one asset the industry valued most: youthful innocence. These days, she found herself doing catalog shoots for discount stores or circulars that ended up in the recycle bin. Though the work was steady, the bookings through her agency lacked the prestige she’d enjoyed early in her career.

  Have a baby, her well-meaning parents advised her, as if this might be the magic solution to her career frustration. They believed heart and soul in the importance of family. Her father preached it to his congregation every Sunday morning.

  Fuck it, she thought, wishing she could sneak off somewhere to smoke a cigarette. But this was a small town and she was a preacher’s daughter, married to the high school football coach, so it would be bad form to be seen smoking in public.

  Besides, Will hated it. They were supposed to be trying for a baby. They were trying.

  One of them was, anyway.

  “Sierra? Oh my gosh. Hi!”

  Sierra turned to see Caroline Shelby approaching her. She was so startled that for a moment she couldn’t move. Caroline looked amazing, years younger than her actual age. Her dark hair was a tousled mop tipped in lavender, her jeans perfectly slouchy under a crisp, fitted white blouse. She wore purple-framed glasses and chunky jewelry, wedge ankle boots and a vintage bag. She was with two adorable mixed-race kids.

  With a sudden rush of emotion, Sierra opened her arms. “Get over here, stranger. Holy shit. It’s been forever.”

  “Forever and a day.” Caroline hugged her.

  Sierra sensed something tentative about the embrace, as if she were hugging a stranger. After all this time, they were strangers. But their coming-of-age years together had created a solid foundation. As young teenagers, they had been best friends, as close as sisters. Closer, Caroline used to joke. Sisters without the fighting. There had been a time when they’d known each other so well they could finish each other’s sentences. The inside jokes, the nicknames, the secrets and shared heartbreaks of high school created a bond that felt different from the ones with friends Sierra had made since those days.

  After high school, the two of them had drifted apart, a slow and natural seismic progression that
sent Caroline to New York and the Fashion Institute of Technology and Sierra into the arms of the man she would eventually marry.

  Now here they were again, back in the place they had both longed to leave.

  “Join us at our table,” Caroline said. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  They crossed the bustling dining room, managed under the eagle eye of Caroline’s sister, Georgia, and settled at a table by the window, which framed a view of the dunes, the distant cliffs, and the wild forested headlands to the south.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re a mom,” Sierra said, feeling shell-shocked as she regarded the boy and girl.

  “Flick and Addie,” Caroline said, helping the little girl clamber into a booster seat. “Kids, this is my friend, Sierra.”

  The two of them offered timid waves. Flick, a boy with perfect café au lait skin and enormous dark eyes, said, “She’s not our mom.”

  “Oh?” Sierra was tongue-tied. Then what the hell . . . ?

  “Our mom died,” the boy added.

  “Oh my God.” Sierra was mortified by the statement, its devastating simplicity and the blunt delivery by the little boy. She’d never been good at talking to kids. It just didn’t come naturally to her. “Oh, shit. You guys. I’m so sorry.”

  “She said ‘shit,’” Addie said. “That’s a swear.”

  “You’re right,” Sierra admitted. “It was rude of me to swear.” She sent a desperate look at Caroline.

  “It’s a long story,” Caroline said. “Maybe another time . . .”

  “Of course. Sure.” Sierra didn’t bother to mask her relief when a server with a name tag reading nadine came with coffee and hot chocolate. The kids devoured their breakfast while Sierra could only pick at her scone, her appetite lost in a surge of nostalgia and a sense of things unfinished.

  Nadine’s hand wobbled as she poured, splashing coffee onto the table in front of Caroline. “Yikes,” she said, blushing furiously. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Caroline said, using a napkin to sop up the spill before it dripped over the table edge.

  Nadine went and got a rag. “I’m really, really sorry.”

  Sierra couldn’t help but notice the waitress’s arms. They were marked with an unfortunate constellation of garish tattoos. But the ink didn’t quite mask the bruises. She traded a look with Caroline, and just for that split second, the two of them connected the way they used to in high school.

  “Please, don’t give it a thought,” Caroline murmured as Nadine finished.

  “Thanks,” said the waitress. “Having an off day, I guess.”

  Sierra’s mobile phone pinged, signaling a message. Shoot, she’d forgotten about an appointment to pick out coverings for the downstairs windows. “I have to go,” she said. “Come up to the house one day soon, okay? Bring these two cuties and we’ll catch up.”

  “Um, sure. The kids have a lot on their plates right now.” Caroline glanced down at their nearly empty breakfast plates. “Figuratively speaking. Starting school and getting settled in.”

  A brush-off? Or the truth? Sierra couldn’t quite tell. “Okay, I get it. And I have a better idea. How about you meet up with Will and me for drinks? There’s a new place down by the docks called Salt. We haven’t tried it yet, but I’ve heard good things.”

  There was a beat of hesitation. Sierra couldn’t decipher the beat. She couldn’t decipher the friend she used to know so well. Then Caroline smiled. “I’d love to.”

  “That’s great. Let’s make sure we have each other’s digits.” Sierra took out her phone.

  “Is this yours?” Caroline turned her phone screen toward Sierra. “Because if it is, I already have it in my contacts.”

  “Holy crap,” Sierra said. “I can’t believe you kept me on the list for so long.”

  “You were the first kid in town to get her own cell phone. I was so jealous.”

  “I got the cell phone, you got the siblings.”

  “I would have traded all four of them for my own phone.”

  She sighed. “I never liked being an only child. And the preacher’s daughter to boot. God, if you hadn’t rescued me when I first moved to the peninsula, I would have shriveled up and blown away.”

  “Rescued you? I think it was more like I commandeered you to be the model for my sewing projects.” Caroline smiled. “So many memories, huh?”

  “Well, regardless. They say the friends you make when you’re fourteen are the friends you’ll keep forever.”

  Caroline’s gaze cut away. “I’m sorry I’ve been so absent.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re back. It’ll be like old times, you’ll see. Damn, I forgot how much I like hanging out with you.”

  “I never forgot,” murmured Caroline.

  “Aw, Caroline. I want to hear everything. All your adventures in New York.”

  She swirled her spoon in her coffee cup. “It’s a lot.” She glanced at the kids. “Soon, okay?”

  Sierra grabbed her bag. “It was nice to meet you guys,” she said to the kids. As she left the restaurant, she saw Caroline gazing out the window, her face stiff with tension.

  Chapter 12

  Caroline stared at the message on her phone. The week after their icebreaker meeting, Sierra had invited her to bring the kids over for a visit. It was a simple invitation from a friend she hadn’t seen in years. Should she go?

  If she didn’t, it would be awkward because it would seem as if she were avoiding them. If she went, it would seem weird because of their long and complicated history together.

  Just go, she told herself. Get it over with.

  We’re not kids anymore, she reasoned. The past is the past. They could start fresh. Clean slate. A new dynamic, different from the inseparable trio they had been in their youth.

  It was a brilliant spring day, the sun blazing deep into the shoreline and meadows, perfect weather for a visit to Water’s Edge, a place where she’d found magic and joy and trouble, years ago.

  “Come on, you yahoos,” she said to Flick and Addie now that she’d made up her mind and accepted the invitation via text. “We’re going to see some friends.” She addressed the kids with a casual air she hoped didn’t sound too forced. “On a nice day like this, you’re going to want to play outside, so bring a jacket.”

  “Do we have to?” asked Flick.

  “No. You could stay here and contemplate your navel if you want.”

  “What friends?” Addie asked.

  “Sierra—you met her at the restaurant. And Will.”

  “Coach Jensen,” said Flick. He lifted his shirt and stared at his belly button.

  “Let’s go. You haven’t seen the Jensen place,” she said. “I think you’re going to love it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I used to go there when I was a kid and I loved it. There’s a dock and an old barn and a really good climbing tree that’s probably still there. Have you ever climbed a tree?”

  “We’re city kids,” Flick said. “What do we know about trees?”

  “I want to climb a tree!” Addie headed for the door. Flick followed more slowly.

  She bundled the kids into the car. “It’s a nice drive. They live up the road a ways.”

  “Why’s it called Oysterville?” asked Addie.

  “Because that’s where the best oysters in the world come from.”

  “What’s an oyster?” Addie frowned.

  “It’s a thing that grows at the bottom of the bay, in a shell. Most of the shells you see around here are oyster shells.”

  “You can find a pearl in an oyster shell,” Flick said. “That’s what Miss Liza told us.”

  “Your new teacher knows her stuff. Pearls are hard to find, though.” She flashed on a memory of the seed pearls she’d used in her Chrysalis collection. Her stolen collection.

  They were quiet as they drove up the peninsula. The morning mist lay softly in the dense thickets that lined the road. Springtime rose up out of t
he marshes, alive now with blue heron and wild irises and budding trees. She pointed out a porcupine rooting in the bracken. Chittering birds flitted through the forests of stunted pine. In a distant meadow, a herd of elk grazed.

  Yet despite the beauty all around, she clamped her hands too tightly on the steering wheel. She couldn’t stop thinking about the things she’d left behind. While living in New York, she believed she’d escaped the old feelings. But coming back brought everything to the surface.

  With a nervous flick of her wrist, she switched on the radio and found a local music station.

  “That’s Lorde,” Addie said, recognizing the song. “Mama liked Lorde.”

  Caroline glanced in the rearview mirror. Addie was holding Wonder Woman up to see out the window. “She did, didn’t she? What else did your mama like?” She wanted the children to know Angelique, to hold the memories sweetly. They were so damned little. Would they remember her?

  “Adele,” Flick said. “And Bruno Mars.”

  “One of these days we should make a playlist of songs your mom liked, okay?”

  Neither of them spoke. As the plaintive song drifted from the speakers, Caroline tried not to feel overwhelmed by sadness. “Hey, guess what? I’m going to be making superhero T-shirts for your school to sell. Isn’t that cool?”

  “You mean everybody’s going to get one?” asked Flick.

  “Everybody who wants one, yes.” She paused. “Would that be all right with you?”

  Silence.

  “Are you shrugging your shoulders? I can’t hear you shrug your shoulders.”

  “If everyone has a hero shirt, then we’re all the same.”

  Oh, boy. “You and Addie had the very first ones. You’re my inspiration. Is it cool that everybody wants to be like you?”

  “I guess.”

  Caroline had been busy all week with dual projects—ordering the printed shirts and sourcing the cape fabric, thread, and snaps. She’d gone to the fabricator in Astoria and negotiated a deal to buy a serger and bar tack machine, a cutting machine, and a heat press. They’d thrown in tag piercers and some other gear she’d need to set up shop.