by Jaime Berry
I scooted but stared straight ahead. We sat in silence. She didn’t say anything, and I already felt the tightness of a good cry building in my throat.
“You remember when you were little, you’d come up with the wildest outfits? You’d pull my knee-high hose on your hands like evening gloves. Even wore a purse on your head like a hat for a full month. You were always so creative.”
I fixed my eyes on the still surface of the pond.
“Wynn said this place reminds him of Tullahoma. He’s right. That’s where your dad met your mom. Not long after, you came along. They were so young, so we stayed there longer than we’d ever stayed anywhere before. Even bought a piano.”
A piano was not packable. A piano was meant to stay in one place.
“The thing is, with all this moving, I’ve put us in a risky spot. If your Momma involves an attorney… well, a judge might lean to her side. She’s more than hinted at wanting you back. Thinks I’m too irresponsible.”
“She’s one to talk,” I mumbled.
Nan held a hand up to stop me from saying more. “And if I’m honest, she has a point. Surely, we can find a place closer to Dallas that’ll do. That way, she can feel more involved. Or we can go back. Start you up at the same school. Show her I’m serious about changing my ways. I settled down once before for your dad. I’d happily do it again rather than risk losing you.”
Everything I’d kept inside seemed to knot up and work its way into my throat, like I needed to scream to get it out. I figured yelling at Nan might make me feel better for a minute, but I’d feel even worse later on. We were a team, like those kissing squirrel salt and pepper shakers. One without the other, and you’d just have a lonely squirrel reaching out for something that wasn’t there.
I did remember wearing a purse on my head. And Nan went with it, taking me to the grocery store and daycare with my handbag hat, smiling the whole time. I didn’t remember Momma there at all.
Nan set her hand on mine; her veins ran a pale blue like the rivers on one of our maps. She squeezed, and I squeezed back. I wasn’t sure of much anymore, but I was sure I belonged with her.
“I like it here.” I looked out over the pond again and thought of Abby and Colton. “Maybe we could…” One word: stay, and I couldn’t say it. The idea of Arkansas and Mr. Taft and that dingy apartment was twisting my heart like a wet dishrag, but why let her know how much this move would hurt if it was our only option, our only way to stay together? I fought down the knot in my throat to talk. “Maybe we could wait until after Main Street Fest. Since I’ve already worked so hard on it.”
“Sure, honey. School doesn’t start for a few months, so we’ve got a little time to wrap things up,” she said. “What do you say we walk back together? I’m not sure I can make it on my own.”
With Nan’s arm over my shoulder we lumbered along, and I felt like I was leaving a bread crumb trail of my heart the whole way back. When we reached our rental, a Hope Springs Gazette lay on our front step. The headline caught my eye as I helped Nan in and Wynn said, “Made a fresh pot of coffee.”
Coffee was a grown-up peace offering. Nan nodded and patted him on the forearm. I sat at the kitchen table and unfolded the paper. Any doubt that Arletta wasn’t what she pretended to be on TV disappeared as I read the article. Holly was right—pretty dang close to all the way, top-to-bottom right.
SMARTMART AND PAISLEY: HAPPILY EVER AFTER
SmartMart already has an exclusive Arletta Paisley® line of housewares, a deal that reportedly led to Paisley’s recent role as SmartMart’s spokeswoman. But now the two move from partnership to marriage with the announcement that Paisley will have her own department in each Superstore, called Paisley Notions—dedicated primarily to sewing and other crafts.
The new department was revealed at SmartMart’s flagship store in Dallas earlier in the week. Large flat-screen TVs play reruns of Paisley’s Hearth & Home Network show, Queen of Neat. Also available are episode-specific craft packages, a line of print fabrics designed by Paisley, and a weekly class focusing on a craft from the show.
“I couldn’t be more excited. Anyone who watches my shows knows that I believe crafting can change lives. SmartMart is giving me an even bigger opportunity to do just that,” Paisley said.
That Hemingway Guy
It’s top-of-the-line. Computerized. Can sew denim, leather, probably Sheetrock too. Self-threading, with a top-loading bobbin, and a free swing arm for more creativity. It’s the Swiss Army knife of sewing machines.” Holly switched to a whisper. “And I love it almost as much as I love Rayburn.” Holly Paine’s new sewing machine was gleaming white and covered with buttons.
“It’s nice.” I went back to sorting through old bolts of fabric. I was cutting and bundling quilting squares into a dozen fat quarters, a mix-and-matched stack of fabrics all measured and ready to sew. I’d decided to make a window display called “A Quilter’s Dozen.” With the deadline for the contest closing in, Holly was selling more quilting supplies than anything else.
“Nice?” Holly asked. “That’s all you’ve got?” She sidled up to me. “I might even let you use it.” She bumped me with her hip. “I’m going to win that contest for sure now that I’ve got this puppy to do the finishing touches. Entries are due in two days. So, there’s not much time to get the border finished and whip the whole thing together. Come on, Rayburn, let’s go set up.”
She danced over to a sewing table. Rayburn didn’t move from his dog bed—not even a wrinkle wiggled.
The newspaper was folded by the register with the Arletta article face up. Holly whistled while she plugged in the machine.
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Why are you so happy? Did you read the article? She’s basically putting a Fabric Barn in the SmartMart.”
“Nothing like winning a fight when it seems like you’re in for a real licking. Something for your lollipops.” Holly laughed. I didn’t.
“How can you not be worried? It feels like there’s nothing we can do to beat her.”
“Listen, honey. I’m not sure it’s about beating her. If people around here want me to stay open, they’ll keep shopping here. If they don’t, well then, I’ll figure something out. But don’t give up hope. Business is better than it’s been in years.” Holly walked back over to me and made a point of looking me in the eye. “You and your friends have been such busy beavers. A single beaver can take down a whole tree. A few working together can change the flow of water. That’s not nothing. What’s got you so defeated all of a sudden?”
“We’re thinking about moving again,” I said.
“So soon?” she asked.
I nodded and focused on the fabric. Measure, cut, count, stack, tie. If I kept counting and tying, maybe I could push Momma and Wynn and Nan and losing most everything I cared about out of my mind and make it through the day without crying in front of Holly.
“Do you want to move, Jubilee?”
I shook my head.
“Have you told her that you want to stay?”
“Not exactly, but it’s not that simple.” Holly meant I should talk to Nan. She was right, but the person I really needed to have a talk with was Momma. All my life, I’d been angry at her for not taking an interest, not acting like a real momma. Now that she was doing what I’d wished for, I couldn’t tell her living with her made as much sense to me as high-heeled sneakers.
“There’s your problem, honey. Same thing happened to Claire Von Montclair and the General—she couldn’t be honest about her feelings, so he left never knowing how deeply she loved him. And her lapse of courage cost her the love of a lifetime.” Holly paused to stare off into the distance for a second. “If Nan’s guessing about how you feel, she’s got a fifty percent chance of guessing wrong. I don’t know Nan well, but seems like she loves you and she’d listen. At least that part is simple.” She put her hand on one of the bundles I’d tied. “Besides, you can’t leave. You’re the brains behind this operation.”
Before I rode ho
me, I took a walk over to the well in front of city hall and read the plaque again.
THIS WELL IS DEDICATED TO THE COURAGEOUS PIONEERS WHO SETTLED THIS TOWN IN THE YEAR 1836. DESPITE SEEMINGLY INSURMOUNTABLE HARDSHIP, INCLUDING THE DEVASTATING DROUGHT OF 1840, THESE BRAVE INDIVIDUALS RISKED THEIR LIVES TO LAY THE FOUNDATION FOR THE COMMUNITY THAT EXISTS TODAY. THEIR TIRELESS EFFORTS IN THE FACE OF ADVERSITY HAVE GIVEN US ALL A TREASURE WORTH MORE THAN GOLD—A HOME. WHILE THE SPRING IS NO MORE, LET THIS WELL BE A REMINDER THAT HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL.
I took out a penny, made a wish, and tossed it. I didn’t wish to change the past. Why waste a perfectly good penny? Besides, I’d decided with a large dose of the whole truth, a little courage, and some creativity, I might be able to change my present and maybe even my future. But a wish sure couldn’t hurt.
That night after dinner, I asked Wynn to excuse us. Nan raised her eyebrows at me as Wynn left, announcing it was a nice night for a solo walk.
Nan sat at our small kitchen table. “Just a sec. I’ve got to get something,” I said. She smiled. I left and brought out my box of Momma’s letters. Nan’s smile disappeared—she’d been expecting the maps.
I handed Nan the first letter I’d opened.
Her eyes scanned the page. When she’d finished, I said, “I don’t want to move.” I slid the whole box of letters across the table to her. “I’ve been carrying these around with me, unopened, for years, ignoring how Momma felt and what she had to say because I was scared of how that’d make me feel. But since we’ve been here, I’ve realized something. ‘You can’t get away from yourself by moving from one place to another.’ Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises.” Prepping for this moment, it hadn’t hurt to research famous author quotes; I knew I’d picked the right one.
Nan’s brow wrinkled, her eyes filled, and the corners of her mouth dipped. Seeing her face crumple like that reminded me I wasn’t the only one who’d been left behind. When Daddy died, he’d left Nan too. Starting on our first day in town I’d been letting go of our way of life bit by bit, and here I was asking Nan to let go all at once.
I pointed to the letter she still held. “I think I need to remind Momma of what she wrote in that letter. I’m different here, but not because I escaped being me, like Momma says. It’s because I figured out more of who I am. I’m more me here, and I want to stay. If you gave Hope Springs a chance and we make this place our home, maybe you could be more you too.”
Nan stood and wrapped me up in a hug even though I could tell it hurt. “I’ll call your mom tonight and make another try at smoothing things out. A heart-to-heart between me and your momma is long overdue. And then I think we should all sit down and talk when she’s here for the concert.” All the nerves and guilt and fear that’d been building and sitting heavy as a boulder fell away. She wiped at a tear I’d let escape, pulled me in for another hug, and said, “We’ll sort it out. Together this time.”
A Perfect Match
The next morning, Nan and Wynn were up and eating breakfast while I dashed around getting ready. I’d overslept and was eager to rush to the Fabric Barn to finish my quilting window display. In the middle of the night, I’d had a vision of the window framed in poster board stitched with super-bulky yarn like the edge of a quilting square.
I was nearly out the door when Wynn said, “Hold up, Jubilee. I’d like to talk to you and Nan for a minute.” Nan and I exchanged a look. We settled around the kitchen table, and Wynn cleared his throat. “Your mother’s career is taking off, and she’s letting Brent’s people manage it now. Things have been changing for a while, and there’ve been some… developments. Anyway, I spoke to her, told her what I thought.” He took his eyes off his boots long enough to look at us. “I wondered if I could stay here a few more weeks while I figure out what’s next for me. If the two of you could stand me for a bit longer, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course, Wynn,” Nan said. “Besides, you’ve got to finish this kitchen. If we’re here for a while, I’d sure like to eat without looking at those dag-blasted pink cabinets.”
I nodded. Here for a while. Me and Nan and Wynn too. I looked up at our popcorn ceiling, closed my eyes, and took in a quivery breath. Could it be that everything would work out? Momma’s dream was coming true. Maybe mine would too.
If Momma thought what was missing from her life was me, then I was open to the idea of giving her a second chance. But I’d rather give out my second chances from the place that taught me how to give them—Hope Springs.
Now, all that was left was to persuade her that staying with Nan and Wynn was what was best for me, despite what she wanted. Admitting my feelings to Nan was a bit different from telling Momma. For one, deep down, I figured Nan would put what I wanted first or at least consider it important. But Momma? For most of my life, I’d believed she only put herself first. But recently, it seemed the truths I’d clung to the hardest were the ones I needed to let go of the most.
Wynn forced a smile and a slice of toast on me before I could leave for the Fabric Barn. I was up and on my way out when he added, “Abby phoned while you were getting ready to ask if you’d stop by on your way.”
“Okay.” I paused. “Wynn, I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you wanted with Momma, but I’m glad you’re staying.”
“I’ve never been good at picking what was best for me. But maybe this time, what was best for me happened without my having much to do with it.” He gave me his first real smile of the morning. “Go on. Don’t want to make you late.”
On the ride to Abby’s, I stopped on the side of the road just to listen and take a deep breath. There might not be perfect places, but Hope Springs was close. I resisted the urge to throw my arms out and spin in a wide circle, Sound of Music style.
As I pulled into Abby’s driveway, she burst out the door, jumped down the steps of her porch, and ran to meet me. I could tell from her face she was in no mood for spinning.
“Arletta’s people called Mom’s office this morning. They’d like to show their support for Hope Springs and make what Mom called a ‘significant donation’ to the Downtown Revitalization Fund. But get this—on the condition that Arletta is given time to make a statement and introduce Brent Chisholm at the concert.” She stepped from the drive into her yard, plopped right down on the grass, and held up her hands. “Mom’s got to give them an answer soon. I don’t think she can afford to turn down that much money. And once Arletta’s up there, she could say anything.”
I helped her up and gave her a quick hug. Then I held her out from me and spun her around until we toppled over into the grass.
Abby laughed. “I think all those marshmallows are finally having an impact.”
“Maybe so.” I looked up at the new blue sky, bumped her sneaker with mine, and said, “Let her talk. Nothing Arletta Paisley can say could ruin anything.”
I hopped on my bike, waving to Abby before I took off toward the Fabric Barn. This place was my perfect match, and I’d had enough of running the other way when life got messy.
Holly sat at the desk deep-reading another romance novel, My General Returns. In front of the cutting table sat three five-gallon buckets full of scraps.
“Got some more remnants for you to sort,” she said without looking up, pointing to the buckets.
It was going to be a long day.
“Make piles of similar colors. Doesn’t have to be perfect.” She still didn’t lift her eyes from the page but gasped, pressed a hand to her chest, and said, “I’ll be right with you.” She turned a page and whispered, “Well, me, oh my.”
I made piles of light, dark, and bright fabrics and one pile I thought was too ugly for keeping. After a while, Holly came over.
“What’s this?” she asked, pointing to my throwaway pile.
“I thought those were too bleh.”
“Bleh?” she mumbled and pulled a sour face as she turned and headed to the back of the store. It took a couple of trips, but she ended up bringing out the sewing machine, mo
st of the tools from her first class, a square template, and an iron.
“I’m about to teach you something, Miss Toss-out-perfectly-fine-fabric.” I watched as she used the rotary cutter to cut a pentagon shape, sewed different scraps together around the pentagon’s edges, and ironed after each seam. She made a point of using the ugly scraps until she had a large piece. Then she laid the square template on top and cut the whole thing into a perfect square.
She held the square out and looked it over approvingly. It was a jumble of mismatched florals, prints, and plaids. Nothing matched, yet somehow, it made a muddled kind of beautiful. All the ugly pieces blended in just fine, like a few bad memories tucked into an otherwise happy life.
She slid the template toward me. “Now, you give it a try.”
First, I pulled a striped green seersucker for my center pentagon, put a piece of strawberry-print cotton on the longest side, and kept going until I had my own perfectly mixed-up square. Holly ran her hand over it.
“After my husband passed, I made a whole quilt out of his clothes. Even made a square using a pair of his boxers. I washed them, of course.” Holly winked, but her face turned serious. “How about you make more of these squares, and I figure out a way to work them into the border of my quilt for the contest? Deadline’s tomorrow morning. If we want a shot at the prize money, we’ll have to use the General.” Holly patted the new sewing machine. “That’s what I decided to name him.” I laughed, and she handed me more scraps. My quilting display would have to wait.
Hook, Line, and Stinker
The Friday before Main Street Fest was loaded thick with worry. I’d spent the last few nights mulling over what I’d say to Momma and then praying the right words would be enough.