The Second Sister

by Marie Bostwick

  Alice helped me remember that. Once again, my sister saved my life, gave it back to me.

  That’s a debt I couldn’t ever repay, but I knew Alice wasn’t looking for that. She wanted me to live, just live, happily and with an open heart, to put aside the past and embrace the future. And that’s what I’m going to do.

  “Friends assume the best about each other,” Celia said, looking me right in the eye. “And I didn’t do that. Please forgive me.”

  “Forgiven and forgotten,” I said, and then gave her a big hug. Looking over her shoulder, I could see Daphne smiling. Rinda gave me an approving nod.

  “Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up,” Rinda said.

  “Thanks,” Celia said when I let go of her. “I know it’s just a house and that my memories of Alice will outlast it, but the thought of it being turned into a condo clubhouse and that you were okay with that . . . It was kind of like losing her all over again. And, in a way, it felt like I was losing you too. I completely overreacted. I’m sorry.”

  “Celia, you’re forgiven. Really. You don’t need to apologize again. And I’ve got good news—there will be no condos built on the property and the cottage will not be turned into a clubhouse. I called Mr. Glazier earlier today and told him that the deal is off. I’m not selling the cottage to him.”

  Celia looked at Daphne and Daphne looked at Rinda, who looked at me.

  “Well, then . . . who are you going to sell it to?”

  I grinned, anticipating their reactions when I shared my news. “Nobody. I’m keeping the cottage. I’ve decided to stay in Nilson’s Bay permanently.”

  “What? You’re kidding!”

  “You mean you’re not going to move to Washington?”

  “That’s great! When did all this happen?”

  I laughed. Their response was just what I’d thought it would be—shock and disbelief followed by delight.

  “Just today,” I said. “Matter of fact, a lot has happened today. Actually, in the last couple of days. All of it good! I drove here because I couldn’t wait to share the news. But,” I said, looking from one smiling face to the next, “do you think I could possibly do that sitting down?”

  Two minutes later, we were all seated in Rinda’s living room. Rinda, who seemed a little embarrassed by her earlier lack of hospitality, was fussing and taking coats and making noises about bringing out food, but I told her to forget about that.

  “Food can wait,” I said. “I don’t have a lot of time, and there’s so much to tell you that I’m not even sure where to begin.”

  But begin I did, from the beginning.

  I told them about Peter coming over to tell me about Maeve/Jennifer, and how Alice had made all those quilts and drawn all those pictures for the daughter she’d barely met and yet somehow knew completely. I told them about my fight with Peter, how angry I was, and my sleepless night, and my visit with Father Damon. When I got to that part, Rinda closed her eyes in rapture, clapped her hands to her breast, and murmured, “Thank you, sweet Jesus, for answered prayers!”

  And I told them about meeting Jennifer.

  When I showed off the pictures I’d snapped with my phone camera, they crowded around the screen to ooh and aah and coo as if I’d been showing them pictures of an adorable new baby. And in a way, I guess I was. She was Alice’s baby and she was absolutely adorable.

  “And smart and interesting and well-spoken and happy,” I said. “She’s just an all-around terrific kid! And she wants to come up again and spend some time at the cottage, maybe this summer. And when she’s here, you’ll all get to meet her.”

  “That would be fantastic!” Celia exclaimed, clapping her hands.

  “Does she quilt?” Daphne asked.

  “If she doesn’t, then we’ll teach her,” Rinda said.

  “Absolutely,” I agreed. “You know, meeting Jennifer is what really helped me make up my mind about staying. I think maybe that’s what I wanted all along.”

  Daphne raised her eyebrows at this and I revised my answer.

  “Okay, maybe not all along.” I laughed. “But for at least the last couple of weeks. But I just couldn’t admit it. I mean, for so many years I’ve been feeling this lack, an empty spot in my life, a hunger for something more. I thought that reaching the top of my field would fill the void, that working in the White House would prove to the world that I was worth something, and that when I moved into that West Wing office, I’d finally be happy.”

  I let out a little huff, amazed that I could have been so dense.

  “But as I was sitting there with Jennifer, I realized I already was happy. And satisfied. And when she asked if she could come up and see me again because she wanted to see where Alice had grown up, I knew I couldn’t sell the cottage. I just . . .”

  I had to stop a moment. I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying to keep my emotions under control. Daphne put her arm around me and gave me a squeeze.

  “It’s okay,” I assured her when I was able to speak again. “I’m just so grateful. It’s been an amazing day. Oh! And I almost forgot! I’ve got more good news!”

  I told them what Peter had told me about the market being saved and, hopefully, Rinda’s job as well.

  “That part’s not certain yet, but I think our chances are pretty good. The fact that they want input from the community is a really good sign. We’ve just got to help them find ways to make the investment worth it.”

  “Well, that is good news,” Rinda said with a smile. “But, I’m not sure I’m going to need that job anymore.” I gave her a curious look and she went on to explain.

  “Lloyd and I’ve been talking things over the last few days. This news about his kidneys has kind of gotten our attention, helped us start thinking about what we want to do with what’s left of our lives. I’ll tell you one thing: I don’t want to spend mine standing at a cash register, ringing up cans of beans. Lloyd just can’t keep working the way he has been, and he’s ready for a change too. He’d like to do something more creative. So would I. That’s why we’ve made a decision.” She paused, looking from one face to the next. “We’re going to sell Lloyd’s heating and air-conditioning business and the house, and—”

  “The house!” Daphne cried.

  “You can’t!” Celia protested. “You love this house!”

  Rinda crossed her arms over her chest and glared, waiting impatiently for them to finish.

  “I told you before,” she said, “I like my house. But I love my husband. And I want to spend more time with him. That’s why we’ve decided to sell the house and the business and use the money to buy the Comstock building.”

  “The one where the antiques store used to be?” Daphne asked. “It’s been empty for at least two years.”

  “Which is why we think we can get a good deal on it.”

  “Why would you want to?” Celia asked.

  “Because.” Rinda smiled. “I’m going to open a quilt shop. It’s something I’ve had in the back of my mind for a long, long time. If I don’t do it now, I never will.” I frowned and started to raise some questions, but she cut me off. “I know it’s risky. A couple of shops have opened and closed on the peninsula in the last few years, but I think we can make it. For one thing, I think we can rent out the upper floors as office space, so that will give us some extra income. I’m going to teach classes and hold some special workshops in the summer for projects that can be completely finished in just two or three days. I think that’ll appeal to the tourists. Lloyd is going to help me out in the shop, at least as much as he can, but he’s also going to start a side business, longarming.”

  “Longarming?” I asked, my eyebrows arching. “You mean he’s going to get one of those huge professional quilting machines and finish people’s quilts for them? I thought you said that people who don’t quilt their own quilts aren’t real quilters, just toppers.”

  Rinda sniffed. “I know. But if there are people out there who want to be toppers instead of quilters, who am I to tell the
m they can’t?”

  “You didn’t have any trouble telling me,” I mumbled, but Rinda kept right on talking as if she hadn’t heard.

  “And I think Lloyd would be good at it. He’s always drawing and sketching. Do you see that?” she asked, pointing to the wall and a watercolor of the seascape with a lighthouse in the background. “He painted that himself. He’s very artistic, and, of course, he’d be good at the technical side of it too. He’s always been great with machinery. Anyway, if people insist on having somebody else finish their quilts for them, then why shouldn’t Lloyd be the one to do it?”

  “Makes sense to me,” Celia said. “He can fulfill his creative side and he’d only have to take on as many customers as his health would allow.”

  “Right,” Rinda said, taking a big breath, her face breaking into a smile again. “Anyway, we’ve been praying and talking it over for the last couple of days, and we feel like this is the right thing to do. We’re meeting with the Realtor in the morning and putting an offer in on the building.”

  “Well, I think this calls for a celebration!” Daphne said.

  “You’re right!” Rinda slapped her hands against her thighs, stood up, and started issuing instructions. “Celia, baby, come on into the kitchen and help me slice that chocolate cake I made. There’s a bottle of sparkling cider in the refrigerator too. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. Daphne and Lucy, you two go set up the sewing machines. I know Lucy forgot to bring hers, but we can manage with three. I’ve got a binding I need to stitch.”

  Daphne touched four fingers to her forehead in a mock salute and said, “Aye-aye, Captain.” Celia jumped to her feet and started to follow our hostess. I got up, too, and grabbed my leather jacket from where I’d left it on the back of the sofa.

  “Listen, I hate to miss the party, but I can’t stay. I promised Peter I’d meet him for dinner at The Library.”

  Rinda, who was already halfway to the kitchen, spun around to look at me. “You’re having dinner with Peter? Why? Did you forget that it’s quilt night?”

  “Well, no . . . I mean, yes . . . It’s just that . . .”

  Rinda scowled and put a hand on her hip. “It’s just that what? Spit it out!”

  I opened my mouth to explain and, inexplicably, started to laugh. Hard. And for a long time. It was crazy! I couldn’t stop myself. I tried, but I couldn’t. I just stood there laughing, giggling like a thirteen-year-old girl and feeling twice as giddy.

  Celia giggled, too, but nervously, as if she didn’t quite know how to respond. Rinda just kept scowling at me, irritated and completely confused. Daphne’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and she ran over and threw her arms around me.

  “No way! Really?” she cried.

  Still giggling and now to the point of tears, I bobbed my head in mute confirmation.

  “Oh, Lucy! That’s fantastic!” she exclaimed and squeezed me even tighter.

  Celia, who by this time had figured out what was going on, squealed and threw her arms around us both. “I’m so happy for you!”

  “What?” Rinda barked and threw out her hands.

  “Don’t you get it?” Daphne said. “Lucy’s in love!”

  “I am,” I said, suspending my laughter just long enough to confirm it.

  Rinda rolled her eyes and groaned, “Oh, no. Not you too! It was bad enough when it was just Daphne. Now we have to put up with two grown women getting all giddy and going on and on about their—”

  “Rinda,” Celia said sweetly, “why don’t you shut up and get that bottle of cider? I think it’s time for a toast, don’t you?”

  Rinda narrowed her eyes, giving Celia a momentary glare. Then she smiled. “You’re probably right,” she said, and went off to the kitchen.

  By the time she returned carrying a tray with four orange juice glasses and a bottle of chilled sparkling cider, explaining that they didn’t have wine goblets, I had regained my composure. Celia took over from there, pouring the cider and passing out the glasses. When everyone had one, we got to our feet and stood in a circle.

  “So does this mean I’m an official member of the FOA?” I asked.

  “The Friends of Alice?” Rinda cocked her head and gave me a curious look. “Honey, you always were.”

  “And now you’re our friend too,” Celia said, her face beaming.

  “I know. I’m glad,” I said. “So who’s making the toast? Daphne? Does Mr. Shakespeare have anything appropriate for the occasion?”

  “Mr. Shakespeare has something appropriate for every occasion. Tonight it’s from Richard the Second.”

  Daphne lifted her glass and the rest of us followed. “ ‘I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good friends.’ ”

  “Amen,” Rinda said.

  Chapter 45

  Three days until Christmas and I’d run out of wrapping paper. Again.

  But my miscalculation was understandable. After all, I’d never had so many presents to wrap before. In years past, my gift list had been limited to Alice, Joe Feeney, Jenna, and Mr. and Mrs. Ryland. I’d always sent a present to Barney, too, but that I’d had shipped directly from the catalog company, a box of apples and cheese. To a guy who grew apples for a living. What had I been thinking?

  The answer was: I wasn’t. I’d seen Christmas as just another task to check off my to-do list.

  This year it was different. I had a lot more people in my life than ever before, which meant I had a lot more gifts to buy for them. I wanted every single one of them to be special.

  Peter helped me pick out presents for his dad, his sister, her husband, and their two kids, as well as Uncle Hugh and Aunt Eileen. But I’d picked out Mrs. Swenson’s gift, a bottle of perfume, on my own. I got a set of studio-grade drawing pencils for Celia, a bust of Shakespeare for Daphne, beautiful soft knitted berets and matching gloves for her girls, in each of their favorite colors, and a new Bible with a pink leather cover for Rinda. Father Damon and Mrs. Lieshout would be getting gift certificates to Dinah’s Pie Shop.

  For Barney, I’d chosen a new barn coat and matching hat, both with sheepskin lining, to replace the old ones he’d just about worn threadbare. A little pricey, but I figured I ought to make it up to him after all those years of fruit boxes.

  Peter would be getting a new ice-fishing rod and a pair of beautiful, hand-stitched, leather gloves, very soft and warm. They’d come in handy when we went to Washington for the inauguration.

  That was my present from the president-elect. The tickets had just arrived in the mail, along with tickets to one of the balls. I wouldn’t want to live there, but Washington was a nice place to visit, and that’s what I intended to do: see every single monument and museum, just like the rest of the tourists, marveling at our history and taking pride in the miracle of our democracy, just like the rest of my countrymen. I couldn’t wait.

  But, before I got to do any of that, I had to buy some more paper and finish wrapping the rest of the gifts. And make a couple as well.

  I was stitching up some catnip toys for Dave and Freckles. I thought about new cat beds, but realized they’d still insist on sleeping with me—and waking me up in the wee hours so I could feed them. Well, it was really just Freckles who did that. Dave sleeps right through the night. And right on my pillow.

  I was making a little scrapbook with photos of Alice and the rest of the family for Jennifer. I wouldn’t be able to finish it in time for Christmas, but I didn’t think she’d mind.

  I was making something else for her, too, another quilt. But that’s for later, for her birthday, when she comes up to visit in July. She called me the day after she left and asked if that date would work. Of course I said yes.

  And then, as soon as I hung up I went into the sewing room and started picking out fabrics for her quilt, purples and white, the school colors for Kenyon College. I picked out a pattern, too, called New Year’s Star. It leaves a lot of white in the background that Celia says will be a good place to show off some fa
ncier quilting and these skinny, V-block stars that remind me of exploding purple firecrackers.

  I was worried that it would be too hard for me, but Rinda and Daphne have been helping talk me through it, and so far, so good. I think Jennifer will love it. It’s turning out beautifully so far. Everything is.

  Dear Reading Friend,

  Early in our marriage, my husband and I were fortunate to spend a couple of years living in Wisconsin. In fact, our first son was born there and proudly roots for the Packers to this day. During those years, my family and I had many opportunities to make day and weekend trips to Door County, walking along the shore, picking apples, enjoying fish boils at the White Gull Inn, and taking pictures of the goats grazing on the roof of Al Johnson’s restaurant.

  When I was thinking about where I might want to set my novel about two sisters, one who can’t wait to get away from home and one who can’t bear to leave, the Door County peninsula came immediately to mind. Thirty years had passed since my last visit to “The Door,” but when I returned there to spend a few days researching the area, I found it just as beautiful and enchanting as I did when I was a new bride and young mom. If you’ve ever been there, I’m sure you know just what I mean.

  And if you’ve never been to Door County, do take the opportunity if it ever comes your way. You’ll have a wonderful time. But until then, I hope you enjoyed taking this little armchair visit to one of the most delightful spots on earth, home to some of the kindest and warmest people you could ever hope to meet.

  Though Door County is a real place, the town of Nilson’s Bay is a product of my imagination, an amalgam of so many charming little towns on the peninsula, with a few flights of my own fancy thrown in, just because I could. One of my greatest pleasures in writing comes when I am creating a new little town, deciding how the streets are laid out, where people like to gather most, what the shops sell, what the residents are like, and, of course, what unique stories they have to tell. When I’m writing about a place like Nilson’s Bay, I can see every street corner and building, hear the call of the gulls flying overhead and the waves lapping against the pier, breathe in the scent of butter and baking apples coming from Dinah’s Pie Shop. I can see the characters walking down the sidewalks, hear their conversations as well as if we were dear friends, which, of course, we are.