“Sorry. Sorry, everyone,” Larry announced as he walked in the room with doughnuts. He was followed closely by Molly, loaded down with a cardboard tray filled with cups of to-go coffee. “We stopped at Jitters to pick these up and got talking. Everyone wants something from me. They think their public officials should be able to solve any problem.” He laughed and gestured for Molly to sit, while the rest of us went after the coffee and doughnuts.
Except for Glad. She was sizing up Molly, and Molly was doing the same in return. Neither woman seemed very impressed with the other.
“You’ve obviously met Glad,” I said to Molly.
“What makes you say that?”
“She’s chairing this committee to create the anniversary celebration. You’re the intern who is helping with it. Or did I misunderstand the mayor?”
“You didn’t misunderstand, Nell,” the mayor answered for Molly.
“You just jumped the gun. I haven’t had a chance to share our good news about having an intern. It’s going to take a load of work off everyone’s shoulders to have someone full-time to help coordinate our little shindig.”
“Always glad of the help.” Glad glanced toward Molly but didn’t smile. If Molly was insulted or intimidated, though, she didn’t show it. Glad turned to the rest of us. “Now that we’re all here, I suggest we each report on the progress of our events. How about you first, Maggie?”
Maggie cleared her throat. “I’m handling the church bazaar. I’ve decided to focus on selling handmade things, such as knitted scarves, artwork, pottery, and the like. The high school art classes are all working on small pieces that can be sold, and I’m putting in several of my quilts. And of course if anyone has pieces they would like to donate for sale, the money raised will be used to make some muchneeded repairs of the oldest headstones in the cemetery.”
“I’m sure everyone at the shop will want to donate something,” I said to Maggie. “And I have some paintings I’ve done. Nothing amazing, but you’re welcome to them.”
Maggie gave me a tense smile. “That would be wonderful, Nell. Thank you. And the big news is that Oliver White has agreed to donate a small painting of the town square he’s working on. If we sell raffle tickets . . .”
Glad jumped in. “We could make thousands on that alone. That is amazing! We must make sure the New York and Boston media know that Oliver White is a resident of Archers Rest.”
“He isn’t actually a resident,” I told her, leaving out the word “yet.”
“He’s practically one,” Glad said. “He’s here all the time. Some sort of acquaintance of your grandmother, isn’t he?”
“He’s her . . .” I stumbled, hating the endless search for a simple answer when I so desperately wanted to say “fiancé.” “He’s her boyfriend.”
Glad rolled her eyes, then, obviously unwilling to discuss the matter further, turned to Ed. “And Ed, how is the parade coming?”
He nodded slightly. “The school marching band, the cheerleaders, and the fire department are all ready to go. I need to order flags and secure the permits from the police chief, but I’m not expecting a problem.”
“And yet problems occur, don’t they? Are you able to handle the carnival as well?” Glad asked. “I’m so worried that could turn out to be a distraction from the important events that day.”
He turned a little red. “I think it will be fun,” he said. “I’ve booked a very reliable vendor for rides, and several prize booths. I’d love to have a dunking booth with some of our more esteemed citizens as the draw. If anyone would like to be dunked . . .”
“I’m in.” The mayor grabbed his second doughnut and laughed.
Ed turned to me. “Do you think Jesse would do it?”
“I can ask him,” I said. “He might be busy with work.”
“He’ll have sorted out the skeleton thing by then,” Ed said confidently. “He’s a smart guy.”
“Hopefully,” I said. “I know he’s trying, but there have been a few things happening around town that have taken his attention.”
“There are a lot of people with parking tickets who might want to see Jesse get all wet, so he’ll just have to make sure he’s available,” the mayor said. “That’s the sort of thing that shows what a nice town we are. What good people we are. I like it, Ed.”
Glad sighed loudly. “I suppose,” she said. “And Mayor, are you ready with the press releases?”
“Ready to be printed whenever we have all the details worked out. I’ve contacted papers in a fifty-mile radius to let them know about the celebration,” he said. “I’ve also booked the fireworks display for nine p.m. on the Fourth. Right over the Hudson River, same as last year, but bigger. Much bigger.”
“But tasteful,” Glad said. “I hope.”
The mayor gave Glad a small, almost unnoticeable look of disdain, then quickly smiled. “I’ve been taking care of the fireworks for years, Gladys. Nothing to worry about. I’ve also had these made.”
He dropped a half-dozen campaign-style buttons on the table. Each was a photo of the gazebo in the town park and read: ARCHERS REST: 350 YEARS OF AMERICAN LIFE.
“They’re nice,” I said.
“Do we need these?” Ed asked. “It’s another expense. Shouldn’t we have voted on it?”
Larry chuckled. “Honestly, Ed, you can’t nickel-and-dime everything in life. You have to spend money to make money.” I could see Ed grit his teeth. “Besides,” Larry continued, “I only had these few made, at my own personal expense. I’m bringing them here to see if we want to get them made for the celebration. Everyone take one and look at it up close. It’s a really nice little piece. Same guy who does my reelection buttons.”
We each took one and examined it. They were nice. I didn’t know what it cost to make them, nor did I really care. I had a skeleton with a possible ID and I needed to talk to Jesse. As we started to hand them back, Larry put up his hand.
“Keep ’em. If we decide to get these made, we’ll have plenty more.”
“They’re lovely,” Glad said as she pinned one to her blouse. “I vote yes. Let’s move on.” Without waiting for the rest of us to vote, Glad turned to me and said, “Nell and I spoke yesterday. She has assured me the quilt show is coming along quite nicely.”
“Except for a location,” I admitted, as I dropped the button into my purse. “The parade is using the high school to set up and the church is having the bazaar, so I’m going to chat with Dru about using the library . . .”
“That’s fine,” Glad cut me off. “And I have some news.”
She sat back in her chair as we all waited, but Glad just sat there, relishing the anticipation.
“Well, what is it, Glad?” the mayor finally asked.
She smiled. “I’ve convinced my husband that we should donate a statue of John Archer to be placed in the park near the gazebo. It will be unveiled after the parade.”
“Does anyone know what he looked like?” Ed asked.
“He was obviously a strong-looking man.” Glad’s jaw clenched as she spoke. “Tall, a full head of gray hair, strong jaw. Masculine. Dutch extract. I think we can assume these things.”
“Why can we assume that?” I asked.
She looked through me. “Because we know what he did. The sacrifices he made. Only a certain kind of man would do what he did.”
“A man with a full head of gray hair?” I could see it was annoying Glad, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Maybe we could draw a pentagram on the ground around the statue and give him a broom and a big pointy hat,” Larry said. “Salem has made quite the tourist trade out of that kind of thing.”
“He was not a Satan-worshipping witch,” Glad spat out.
“I don’t think witches are Satan worshippers,” Ed said, chuckling. “I think that’s something different altogether, though I can see how people mix them up, since they both wear black a lot and do things in the forest.” He turned to the mayor. “We really need to find out exactly what John
Archer was up to so we can be historically accurate. Maybe he left a spell book . . .”
“This is absurd.” Glad’s face was getting redder.
“That’s enough.” Larry glanced at Glad and blushed. “John Archer, whatever his personal views, was the founding father of our town. As mayor, I will not have him mocked.” Given that he had just been doing some of the mocking, his sudden sternness was more comic than serious. At least to everyone but Glad.
“Thank you, Larry.” Glad put her hand over her heart. “It’s so important to preserve the image of this good man.”
“But,” Larry continued, “if you don’t mind my saying so, Glad, the man you’re describing sounds a lot like your late father.”
She snorted. “Well, if none of you think it’s a good idea, far be it from me to overrule the committee. But I do want to point out that I was planning to pay for the statue with my own personal funds and the donations of some leading citizens.” Glad stood up. “But obviously a tasteful statue that honors our founding father doesn’t fit into the mayor’s plan, which is to turn the town into an amusement park.”
At that she grabbed her Louis Vuitton handbag and left the room.
“So what do we do now?” Molly asked the mayor.
Larry frowned. “We keep doing what we’re doing. The thing that’s going to get people up here is the events—the carnival, the parade, the quilt show. People are going to want to shop, eat lunch, and see a nice fireworks display. That’s how we hook ’em. Not a single person will drive three hours from New York to see a statue.”
“Maybe I should talk to her,” I suggested. “I was a little rude with the comment about the hair.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Larry said. “My fault, actually, with the crack about her father. But I swear she was describing him perfectly.”
Maggie smiled. “She really was. I remember him. Bit of a spineless fellow, I thought, despite the strong jaw. Though with Glad, her mother, and her sister always picking at him, it’s a wonder he functioned at all.”
Larry grabbed the last doughnut. “Well, since Glad isn’t here to do it, I officially adjourn this meeting. Great job, everybody.”
We exited the conference room as a group. I wanted to talk to Maggie and Ed, but now was not the time. Instead I went looking for Dru to ask about using the library for the quilt show. But I was too late. Dru was deeply engrossed in a conversation with Molly, and they both were looking in the direction of the broken glass case. Molly handed Dru the anniversary button the mayor had given us and Dru pinned it to her sweater. They looked very chummy. They, like everyone else in the library, were gossiping about the break-in. Even Maggie and Ed were looking over the damage. Only Glad left the building without even glancing at the mess.
CHAPTER 19
“Wash the lettuce, will you, Nell?” Eleanor directed me around the kitchen as we prepared for Oliver and Jesse to arrive.
“How’s the salmon looking?” I asked.
“Wonderful. And the rice is coming along nicely,” she answered. “When you finish with the salad, check the asparagus.”
“No problem.”
It had been like this all afternoon. We talked constantly but said nothing of substance to each other. I was dying to speak to Jesse about Winston Roemer but had only gotten a short text in reply to mine: “Thanks. Checking into it. Love you.” Carrie had sent her own text: “Natalie and I are on it. Good luck with dinner.” But that was all I’d heard since leaving the library.
The dinner had been planned as a gentle push to get information from Eleanor about the summer of 1975, when the body had likely been placed in the garden. But now that we might be able to put a name to the skeleton, it was all I could do not to mention it while Eleanor and I were alone in the kitchen. The only reason I didn’t was because there was a chance—maybe a good chance—that Glad had been wrong.
Whatever thought I had to bring it up ended when Oliver arrived. He brought a large bouquet of flowers for Eleanor and—smart man that he was—a brand-new bone for Barney. Jesse was only a few minutes behind him, with a bottle of wine and an excited look on his face.
“I was thinking we could take a walk before dinner,” he said.
“No way,” Eleanor called out. “Dinner will be ready in less than ten minutes. Open the wine and put the plates on the dining room table. That will keep you occupied until I’m ready.”
With Oliver and Eleanor wandering in and out of the room, Jesse and I were forced to keep our conversation to non-skeleton-related topics, such as my meeting at the library and Glad’s strange offer to build a statue that would, apparently, be more a tribute to her father than to the town’s founder.
“He was an awfully nice man,” Eleanor said once we’d sat down to eat.
“I thought you said he was a soft touch who spoiled his daughters,” I told her.
“He did. But he was also a nice man,” Eleanor said. “He gave me a loan to open the shop, and I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”
Jesse speared an asparagus with his fork and lifted it but put it down again. He’d been doing that since he’d arrived, making one choice and then backing away from it. The result was that he’d been unusually quiet most of the evening and his dinner was still on his plate. Finally he looked up.
“When did you open the shop, Eleanor?” he asked.
“April 23rd, 1976.” She smiled. “It was a beautiful spring day. Not that I noticed it much. I was so scared. I thought that I was going to sit with all that fabric and no one to buy it. But Maggie came. She was my first customer. And then, of course, other women came. Nearly all the quilters in those days were women. It was tough going at first, but little by little the quality of fabric got better and we went from cutting our own templates to plastic rulers and rotary cutters. The books and patterns came out, and before you knew it there were quilt shows and magazines and, well, here we are.”
Oliver took her hand. “It’s given you many wonderful years.”
“I’m not retiring, if that’s what this is about. I have no intention of giving up that shop.”
“No one is asking you to,” Oliver said. “Though you might want to take a week off now and then.”
She looked at him for a moment, then laughed under her breath. “I knew there was some hidden agenda to this dinner.” Eleanor raised an eyebrow at me. “Nell’s been fidgeting all afternoon.”
“Actually, I was fidgeting because I’ve been wondering . . .” I started, but when I looked at Jesse I could see he was subtly shaking his head. I took a deep breath and started again. “I’ve been wondering if you would take a vacation, Grandma. Seeing as you trusted me enough to run the quilt show, I figured you might trust me enough to run the shop for a week or so.”
Eleanor looked at me suspiciously, then at Oliver and Jesse the same way. “I feel outnumbered. I don’t need a vacation. I enjoy going into the shop every day.” She paused. “But if it will make you all happy for me to take a week off, I’ll be happy to. Maybe in July. The shop tends to slow to a dead stop in the summer anyway. Some people have a hard time making a quilt when it’s ninety degrees outside.”
I looked over at Jesse and he nodded slightly. What was he waiting for? If he had some grand plan, he wasn’t letting me in on it. He just speared another asparagus, let it sit on his fork for a moment, then dropped it on his plate.
“Why did you open the shop?” he asked Eleanor.
She looked at him. “Why all the curiosity about Someday Quilts?” “I’ve always wondered. I just never asked.”
“Well, I guess since you are practically family, you have a right to know a little more about us.”
Jesse nodded as if his being family were already decided. I just sat quietly and bit my lip.
“I needed to make a living,” Eleanor said. “Grace had passed away in early August, so that job was over. It was harder than I thought to lose Grace. I’d been her aide, and her friend, for nearly ten years by that point. She had been so kind t
o me. And to the children. I felt like she’d given me a chance to reimagine my life and I didn’t want to waste it. Plus, I had the kids to support and this big house to run. I know I could have gotten a job somewhere, but I . . .” She paused. “Well, I guess Grace talked me into opening the store.”
“I thought you said she was dead?”
“She was. But in the months before she died, she and I talked about our lives. What we had done, what we’d failed to do. She taught me to quilt and I’d come to love it, and I said to her that someday I’d like to open a shop that had all the supplies in it a quilter would need,” she said. “In those days, quilt shops were a rare thing.”
Oliver nodded. “You were seeing the future, Eleanor.”
“I suppose I was.” She smiled at the compliment. “Anyway, Grace said that when you say, ‘Someday, I’d like to,’ you’re making a promise to yourself. She told me it’s just as important to keep the promises you make to yourself as it is to keep the ones you make to other people. So when she died, I decided that the best way to honor her was to keep that promise and open the shop.”
“Is that why you named it Someday Quilts?” I asked.
She laughed. “I thought I’d told you that.”
“No,” I said. “I always thought it was a reference to how all the fabric would someday be a quilt.”
“I suppose it does mean that now,” she said. “Or at least someday all this fabric will end up in a quilter’s stash, to be lovingly cared for and dreamed over but never actually used.”
Both Eleanor and I laughed. We knew that quilters fall in love with fabric, love having it, folding it, and looking at it. It’s calming just to be around fabric, strange as it might sound. While the goal is to turn all the fabric you own into quilts, a beautiful piece of fabric, even if it’s never used, is still worth having.
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