Quilted by Christmas (9781426796142)

by Bailey, Jodie

  “The little two-second exchange between you and a man who looked an awful lot like Justin Callahan all grown up.”

  Nope. It was exactly what Taryn had feared it was about. She yanked open another cabinet and dug out a plastic container of Russian tea. Every year, when the first breath of winter blew along the valley, Taryn mixed instant tea with dried lemonade, orange drink, and spices just like her mother always had. It kept her close, made Taryn feel like she could close her eyes and have her mother reappear whenever she needed her. Boy, did she ever need her tonight. “Want some tea?”

  “It was him, wasn’t it, Taryn?” The voice wasn’t demanding, just gentle, maybe even a little bit concerned.

  Demanding would have been better.

  Taryn turned and leaned against the counter to find Jemma still by the back door, arms crossed over her red-and-green turtleneck sweater. “I asked you to come in for something warm to drink, not to answer questions I don’t have answers to.” She threw her hands out to the sides. “But yes, it was Justin. And why he came over to speak to me, I have no idea.”

  Jemma nodded, one gray curl falling out of place over her temple. “Looked to me like he wanted to talk to you and thought better of it once he looked you in the eye. Can’t say I blame him. You looked scared to death.”

  Yeah. Because she didn’t want him reading her mind and ferreting out all of her secrets. She might have done the right thing for him nearly twelve years ago, but it didn’t mean he ever needed to know about it. “I was surprised.”

  “You always knew he’d come home someday. I’d have never thought it would take him this long. The army’s kept him pretty busy, I’m guessing.”

  “He’s been stationed overseas a lot. Too far to come home often. When he has been home, he’s kept to Dalton on his side of the mountain. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t been to Hollings since we were in high school.” The minute the words left her mouth, Taryn wished she could pull a Superman and make the world spin backward just long enough to stop herself from saying them in the first place.

  Jemma’s eyebrow arched so high it was a wonder it didn’t pop right off her forehead. “You kept track?”

  “I’d run into his mom occasionally. Rarely. Every once in a while.” Awkward encounters for Taryn because Ellen Callahan was always so friendly, so open, as though Taryn and her son hadn’t flamed out in a screaming match in their front yard the night before he left for basic training. While she told Jemma almost everything, she’d kept those brief conversations a secret. The less they talked about Justin, the better, because talking about him kept her from pretending anything ever happened.

  “I’ll have some Russian tea.” Jemma finally answered the long-asked question, then pulled a spoon from the drawer by the sink and passed it to Taryn. “You’re going to have to talk to him sooner or later.”

  Taryn dug the spoon into the fall leaf-colored powder and dumped it into a mug. “I never plan to talk to him. At least not the way you’re implying. And aren’t you the one who told me for years that not talking to him was the better option?”

  A car hummed by on the road in front of the house, loud in the sudden silence of the kitchen. Jemma didn’t move, then she shook her head. “Opinions change. Maybe . . . Maybe I was wrong.”

  “No, you were exactly right. Besides, he’s home for Christmas this year, and then he’ll be back off to parts unknown in the world. If history is any indicator, he won’t be back in Hollings for another dozen years, and by then . . .” She shrugged a no big deal. By then, she’d probably still be Taryn McKenna, schoolteacher, living in the small green house on School Street, except maybe she’d have half a dozen cats for company. It was what she deserved, and it was likely what she’d get.

  With a long-suffering sigh, Jemma pushed herself away from the counter and ran light fingers down the back of Taryn’s dark hair. “It’s your choice, but I’ll be praying.”

  Something in her tone froze Taryn’s fingertip on the button for the microwave. “Why?”

  Jemma let her touch drift from the crown of Taryn’s head to the tips of her shoulder-length hair, just like she had when Taryn was a child, then planted a kiss on her granddaughter’s temple. “Because I had a little chat with Marnie while you were taking down the booth tonight. You know how she knows everything about everybody.”

  “And you’re nothing like her at all, are you, Jemma?” Taryn smiled in spite of the dread. If anyone knew the business of everybody on the mountain, it was her grandmother.

  “Don’t be cheeky, hon. Your mother and I taught you better.”

  The spoon clinked against the ceramic of the coffee mug as Taryn stirred her grandmother’s tea, the spicy orange scent like a much-needed hug from her mother. The restlessness in her stomach settled. In a couple of weeks or so, Justin would be gone again, and she wouldn’t have to worry about running into him, wouldn’t have to worry about the split-in-half feeling of wanting to see him, yet wanting to hold him at a distance. “What did Marnie say?”

  Jemma pulled Taryn close to her side and pressed her forehead to Taryn’s temple. “Justin’s not home for Christmas. He’s out of the army. He’s moved home to Dalton for good.”

  2

  Taryn’s arms ached. Her back ached. Even her fingers ached. How many boxes of Christmas decorations could Jemma hide in this attic? She blew an errant piece of hair out of her mouth, then reached up and tightened her ponytail. At least physical pain was preferable to thinking. She’d had more than enough time to think last night, since her brain stayed active long enough for her to know how the light in her bedroom shifted during every minute of the night.

  One thing at a time. Focus on the here and now. In this moment, it was all about decorating Jemma’s house for Christ-mas. They were already almost two weeks late, Jemma having decided to up her volunteer hours at the elementary school when she found out cuts in the art program were going to keep those precious children from making their traditional Christmas crafts.

  With a huff, Taryn hefted yet another plastic container and hauled it to the door, feeling carefully for the narrow attic stairs leading to the second floor. “Only one more after this.” She passed the box to Jemma and turned for one last trip.

  “You should have let me help you.”

  “Really?” Taryn turned on the stairs to look down at her grandmother, who stood waiting next to several shoulder-high stacks of boxes in the hallway. “Because you falling down the stairs trying to carry those things last year didn’t give me enough of a heart attack.”

  Jemma brushed the words away. “It was a sprained ankle. You act like I broke every bone in my body and cracked my head to boot.”

  “You’re like a cat, Jem.” Taryn pulled herself up the stairs and called over her shoulder, “How many of those nine lives have you used?”

  “Twelve?”

  Taryn sniffed a short laugh. It was probably true. Her grandmother refused to accept the fact seventy was in the rearview mirror and eighty was coming up fast. The woman was forever young, although she sometimes overestimated her abilities. At the rate she was going, Jemma was going to live forever, sewing and volunteering until Jesus cracked the sky and took everybody home.

  She had to.

  Taryn grabbed the last container and dragged it to the stairs, then stopped to look out the window facing the orchards. For generations, the Brodigans had worked the huge apple trees that rolled away toward the mountains outside of Hollings. After Taryn’s grandfather died from a lightning bolt of an aneurysm in his brain thirteen years ago, Jemma leased the trees out to a national company. Now, Brodigan apples were blended into apple sauce, juice, and pie filling all over the country, and Jemma made a nice little sum from the lease every year, enough to allow her to volunteer and to quilt her hours away without worrying about how the bills would get paid.

  Today, the dark sky over the orchard fired pellets that smashed white against the window, rapidly obscuring the view of the trees. “It’s sleeting.”


  “Is it?”

  “Yep. It’s coming down pretty hard too.” It was a good thing Taryn kept clothes in her old bedroom here. Even though it was only five miles back to her house in town, weather like this could make the mountain roads treacherous. “It’s sticking to the window pretty good.”

  “Sleet doesn’t stick. It bounces.”

  “Well, this sure isn’t snow. It’s too pellety.”

  “Is pellety even a word, Miss High School Teacher?” Jemma’s quiet laugh floated up the stairs. “If it’s little pellets and it’s smushing against the window, it’s not sleet. It’s graupel.”

  What? “Now who’s making up words? Is graupel even a real thing, or did you read it in Alice in Wonderland, because it sounds like something Lewis Carroll would make up.”

  “It’s as real as you and me. I read about it on the Wikipedia.”

  Taryn rolled her eyes up and nodded at the ceiling. Jemma and her laptop. Buying her the machine last year for Christmas was either crazy smart or crazy insane. Jemma had way too much knowledge about the trivial now and even had a favorite online hobby, following the British royal family on Twitter. “You can’t believe everything you read on Wikipedia.”

  “I verified it with a Web search, just like you taught me. And that graupel won’t be too much of a problem. Usually doesn’t accumulate to an inch.”

  Taryn nodded again, unable to argue against the combined knowledge of Jemma and Google. “Well, there you have it. Good to know.” She cast one more glance around the large attic to make sure the box by the stairs was the last one. As she turned to leave, the sun broke through the snow-heavy clouds and streamed onto the unfinished wood floor, catching the reflection of something shiny behind where the Christmas boxes had been stacked. As curious as a cat in her own right, Taryn couldn’t resist. She crossed the attic and knelt down to knee walk into the eaves, near where the rafters met the frame of the house. A small square steamer trunk was wedged as far back as it could get in the space. She pulled it out, dragging it along the floor and scraping her knuckles against the exposed rafters.

  “What are you doing up there?” Jemma’s voice came again, laced with impatience this time. “I’m ready to get this decorating party started.”

  “Shiny things, Jemma. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Don’t get lost up there. I’m going to go warm up some soup for lunch, then we can decide which tree goes where.” It would be a chore in itself, since Jemma owned enough trees to put one in every room of the house.

  “Okay.” Taryn hardly paid her grandmother any attention. She’d explored this attic from top to bottom as a child and later as a teenager. This box was one she’d never seen before. It didn’t look as old as half of the trunks up here, the ones dating back to when her great-great-great-grandfather built the house, and that made it doubly intriguing.

  The latches popped easily, and the trunk swung open without a squeak, releasing the sweet scent of fabric and thread, evoking immediate images of Taryn’s long afternoons curled up in the glider rocker reading, while Jemma pieced quilts in the sewing room downstairs. Taryn closed her eyes and relished the warm memory for a moment before peeking into the trunk.

  A quilt. Well, to be more exact, the beginnings of a quilt. Cut and pieced for the most part, only a few squares were unfinished. A nine-patch, green and cream. And something about it looked familiar. On a hunch, Taryn laid out the mixed green-and-cream squares, alternating them with solid cream squares until a small nine-by-nine block formed. An Irish chain. She looked closer. Hand-stitched. Jemma never made Irish chains because they were the traditional wedding quilt for the McKennas, Taryn’s father’s side of the family. The quilt Grandma McKenna had pieced for Taryn’s mother hung on the wall in Taryn’s office at home, the symbol of what an unwanted child could do to a marriage, a silent reminder she’d done the right thing.

  Taryn lifted a quilt piece and rubbed it against her cheek, willing herself not to cry at the sneak attack tears. Focus on the here and now.

  Taryn rocked back on her heels. The fabric was pristine, slightly rough in her hands and relatively new. Jemma only knew two McKennas of marriageable age, herself and Rachel. The only one of the two of them who had ever even come close to needing a quilt was Rachel, and hers was partially stitched and patiently waiting in Jemma’s sewing room. It was certain Taryn had no prospects.

  Interesting. The only McKenna Irish chain Jemma had ever pieced was Rachel’s, and she’d only started it recently. This one had no one to claim it.

  “Taryn?” Jemma’s step sounded on the stairs.

  Feeling inexplicably guilty, like she’d peeked into Jemma’s private journal, Taryn crammed the pieces back into the trunk, latched it, and shoved it out of the way just as her grandmother appeared at the top of the stairs. “Did you find anything interesting?”

  “No.” Taryn stood, swiping dust from her jeans, and brushed past her grandmother, pulling the last remaining Christmas box up to chest height and heading down the stairs. Whatever it was, now didn’t feel like the right time to ask questions. “Nothing that can’t wait until another time.”

  * * *

  “And then, the stinking dog took off with his steak anyway.”

  Jemma had told the story to Taryn a dozen different times, every single time they put up the Christmas decorations in the old house. And every time, both of them laughed just as hard.

  “I’d love to have seen the look on Grampa’s face.” Taryn hung a purple ball on the tree in the sewing room and stepped back to make sure it had filled the small hole in the decorations. Fact was, Taryn didn’t need to see the look on her grandfather’s face. She could picture it just fine. Sometimes, it felt like he’d been gone only a few days instead of nearly half of her life.

  With an amused sigh, Jemma swiped at the corner of her eye. “He was something else, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, he was. Just like you.”

  Jemma waved a dismissive hand and reached up to tweak the silver bow she’d tied to the top of the tree. “There. Now this one’s done, and we can move to the one in my bedroom.”

  The old glider rocker creaked as Taryn dropped into it, the exertion of the day already exhausting her. “You’re going to put a tree in every room?”

  “Sweetie, we are just getting started. Wait ’til you see what I’ve got for the outside of the house this year. It’ll look like a fairyland when we’re done.”

  Nobody did Christmas like Jemma did Christmas. She could open up the house and sell tickets to tourists the same way she sold her quilts.

  Quilts. With all of the flurry of decorating, Taryn had nearly forgotten the hand-sewn green-and-white Irish chain in the attic. It had to be special. Although tourist quilts were sewn by machine, personal quilts were a whole other thing entirely. Jemma stitched quilts for family by hand, and the tight stitches told the story. Even at seventy-three, Taryn’s grandmother had steady hands and keen eyesight. Her current project was the blue-and-white Irish chain quilt for Rachel’s wedding, one she’d been steadily sewing by hand for several weeks. The quilt took most of her free time.

  And a ton of patience. It would drive Taryn positively batty to sit still as long as it took to stitch a quilt. She’d helped several times, but to do one all by herself? Jemma knew better than to even suggest it.

  “Jemma?”

  “Hm?” Her grandmother reached up to fluff the bow again, turning it to catch the light in a different way. “Does this look better?”

  “Yes.” Drawing her feet underneath her, Taryn rocked the chair gently back and forth. She could come out and ask what the quilt was for, but something stopped her. If Jemma went to the trouble of hiding it, there was a reason. Asking outright would slam Jemma shut tighter than an apple blossom bud in cold weather. “Tell me about the McKenna quilts.”

  Jemma’s hand hesitated, then she smoothed the ribbons of the bow down the tree, fluffing them at strategic points. “What’s got you asking about them now?”


  “Because you’re sewing one for Rachel, and she’s not even your granddaughter.”

  “Jealous?” A teasing lilt took the sting from the question.

  “Not at all.” Long ago, Taryn had chosen the single life, deciding it was best for her. She’d never looked back.

  Taking a step away from the tree, Jemma set her hands on her hips. “Think it’s done?”

  “I think it’s beautiful.” As always. Jemma fussed and fidgeted until everything was exactly the way she wanted it. As a result, everything she did was exact and perfect in a way Taryn envied. With a satisfied nod, Jemma settled herself into the chair in front of her sewing machine. “Rachel reminds me so much of you.”

  “I know.” Taryn was fourteen when her mother, Jemma’s daughter, died of liver cancer that crept up and stole her almost before anyone knew what was happening. The next winter, a patch of ice between Hollings and Asheville robbed Rachel of her mother. The dual loss had bonded the girls, though Taryn’s father grew even more hostile in the grief of losing his sister.

  The difference was, Rachel was marrying her lifelong sweetheart while Taryn had pushed hers away. Rachel and Mark had danced the relationship dance since he moved to Hollings with his dad in the fourth grade. Everyone in town knew they’d get married someday, even though the two of them got together and broke up dozens of times . . . until it stuck for good right out of college. Heavy rains had pushed back the completion date of their house on the other side of the mountain, forcing a two-month delay in the wedding as well, but after five years of dating, the big event was scheduled for New Year’s Eve, just a handful of weeks away.

  And they had already adopted a child. Well, Rachel had. Mark’s part would be formal as soon as they were married. Something like this could happen only to Rachel. When Ethan’s addict mother came to Rachel, who worked as a crisis counselor in nearby Asheville, God had led Mark and her to a quick decision, almost before they started praying. Ethan was theirs. Somehow, they’d known it from the first instant they saw him. He just became available a couple of months before they were officially ready. For now, he lived with Rachel at her parents’ house, one set of grandparents about to be doubly lonely when their daughter set up her own house in a few weeks.