by Cathy Elliot
“And there’s one other group,” Alice said, frowning. “I wish I could remember. The name is on the tip of …”
“Alcoholics Anonymous?” Peggy asked.
Stella turned her glare toward the waitress, her eyes full of rebuke. Peggy suddenly looked stricken and closed her mouth, forcing her lips into a thin line. She began speed-stitching on her quilt.
The room became quiet. Annie noticed most of the women were covertly looking at Kate, who sat on a stool near the counter. Harry, Kate’s ex-husband, was well known for his problems with alcohol.
An uncomfortable silence lingered.
Mary Beth broke it. “Well, anyway, there are sure a lot of diverse groups who count on using the church building, aren’t there?”
Eager nods followed. Soon knitting needles began to click again, and they all resumed their chatter.
“Returning to our previous conversation,” Gwendolyn said, “Annie, might you consider donating your baby afghans to the auction? Obviously we are a very needy community.”
“Let me think about it,” Annie said. “Maybe I could send one to Texas and donate one here in Stony Point.”
The women murmured their approval, and the room hummed with activity. The store’s telephone rang, and Mary Beth jumped up to take it at the counter. But Kate rushed to answer it first, so her boss sat back down. Everyone else carried on.
Gwendolyn spoke over the moving needles. “So … any new mysteries up at Grey Gables? Any unidentified pictures? Skeletons in the closet?”
“Not really,” Annie said, avoiding eye contact.
The clicking of Gwendolyn’s needles stopped. “How exciting! Tell us everything.”
“What do you mean tell you everything? I just said no.”
Gwendolyn laid her knitting down. “Annie, my dear. You most certainly did not. You said, ‘Not really.’ ”
“Which is pretty much the same as saying, there’s more I haven’t told you … yet,” said Peggy, her eyes glittering with interest. “We’re ready to help.”
“Pardon me?” She glanced over at Alice who sat, staring straight ahead, lost in thought, the cross-stitch in her lap.
“Annie, you’ve obviously found something and are dangling a mystery in front of us like a carrot, though I can’t imagine why,” Peggy said, sounding a bit annoyed.
“Oh, do tell us, Annie,” Gwendolyn said with a smile. “Maybe we can help.”
“I … I …” Annie didn’t know what to say.
“Wait! I’ve got it!” Alice said, startling everyone. “The VFW, the Veterans of Foreign Wars.” Her attitude seemed triumphant until she saw Annie’s alarm. Alice clapped her hand over her mouth.
Annie sat up straight. “Alice!”
“Oh-oh. Alice, you weren’t supposed to say that, were you?” Kate had just returned and was watching Annie’s reaction to Alice’s announcement. “So the VFW has something to do with it. This is getting good.”
Alice looked flustered. “No, no! I just meant … ah … that the Veterans of Foreign Wars also meet at the community center. They really do, every Monday,” she said. “Last week, I dropped off a Divine Décor calendar kit at the church and set it up for Reverend Wallace. The VFW meeting is listed every Monday for 10:00 a.m.”
“Fascinating,” Mary Beth said, turning back to Annie. “It’s a war mystery then. A foreign war. How intriguing.”
“I think you are right, Mary Beth. There’s no reason for Annie to be upset unless her secret has just slipped out,” Gwendolyn said with a knowing smile.
Annie stared across at Alice. What did she think she was doing?
“That’s not what I’m saying. You’re jumping to conclusions,” Alice protested. She looked at her friend with a helpless expression. “Annie?”
“No comment.” Annie sank low in her chair and worked some more stitches. The chatter about the new Grey Gables discovery continued.
What could it be? And which war? Because almost everything in the attic was old, Gwendolyn figured it was a World War II item. Most agreed, except for Peggy, who thought it could be related to Vietnam.
But Annie had to admit they were good. They’d figured out the basis of her secret without much information at all. Maybe she should just tell them. These were persistent women. The mystery might be solved by tomorrow.
Kate was the first to leave, needing to drop off Vanessa at her dad’s. Even though the couple had divorced, they tried to be cordial for the sake of their daughter. Annie knew this because, on occasion, Kate couldn’t keep her family problems to herself. And Kate’s long-suffering relationship with Harry and his alcohol problem was sometimes thrashed about when she wasn’t present.
But today there were no post-Kate comments. The ladies were otherwise occupied.
Peggy left moments later, hurrying back to work at The Cup & Saucer.
Annie began to pack up her afghan, which hadn’t progressed much because of too many stitches hooked in haste and frustration. She had long been an expert at ripping out rows. Today presented another opportunity to perfect the skill.
Alice, ready to leave, stood by Annie’s chair. “Want to have lunch at The Cup & Saucer? I really need to talk to you.”
“Fine.” Annie narrowed her eyes. “But haven’t you talked enough?”
4
Customers crammed the diner as always at this time of day. Alice staked out a messy table and stood guard until Peggy had cleaned it off. They took their seats and waited quietly until Peggy returned with their orders, two heaping plates of three-cheese macaroni, the cook’s Tuesday special.
“Just wait until everyone hears what you found in Betsy’s attic,” Peggy said in a conspiratorial voice, glancing around at the other diners. “A real World War II mystery. Imagine that!”
“Whoa.” Annie put up her hand. “Can you rein it in a bit? This is still not public news.”
“Oh, now you don’t mean that, Annie. You wouldn’t deny us a new topic of discussion, would you?” Peggy asked. “It’s been pretty dull lately. Back-to-school talk is not all that exciting.” She aimed the coffee pot spout toward Alice’s mug and poured.
“Please don’t talk about this yet, Peggy. Really.”
“Why not?” Peggy stopped pouring coffee in midstream.
Annie took a brief look at Alice.
“Trust me,” Annie said, turning her attention back to Peggy’s question. “I just want a little more time before anyone else learns about it.”
Alice had the grace to look embarrassed. “Hate to say so, Annie, but the news is probably all over town by now.” She stabbed a mound of cheesy noodles. “This is delicious! Try some before it gets cold.”
“I’m afraid Alice is right.” Peggy looked concerned. “I expect the details went out over the telephone as soon as you left the yarn shop. Not that anyone is a gossip.”
“Good heavens, no.” Annie smiled. Actually, everyone in the group was a gossip. But she couldn’t hold it against them. They had become quite dear to her in a short time. And she also had occasionally been guilty of gossip.
“Tell you what,” said Peggy. “I won’t say another word about it until you give the green light. Girl Scout’s honor,” she pledged, giving the three-fingered salute.
“Thanks, Peggy,” Annie said. “That’s good of you.”
“You bet. Anything else I can get you two?” Peggy looked from Annie to Alice and back. “OK, then. Enjoy your lunch, ladies. Save room for fresh cranberry-apple pie--à la mode.”
So that’s what smelled so good.
Peggy dashed off to coffee-up more customers. Annie inspected her restaurant plate while trying to decide how best to broach the issue with Alice. Except for the generous portion of mac and cheese, the meal wasn’t that interesting. She separated a few cheesy noodles, then took a bite. “Oh. This is delicious!”
“It’s great, isn’t it? Doesn’t even need seasoning.” Alice pushed the ceramic cow salt and pepper shakers back behind the napkin holder. Putting her fork down
, she leaned forward. “Annie, now that we have some privacy, I just want to say I’m so sorry about what happened at A Stitch in Time. I never meant to give away your secret.”
Alice’s earnest apology had an immediate effect on Annie, calming the irritation she had felt. “Oh, I know, Alice. You didn’t do it on purpose.” Annie sighed. “I just wasn’t ready for it to come out yet.”
“There had been something in the back of my mind ever since you showed me the medals. Something I should tell you. But I couldn’t think what it was,” Alice said. “When they started talking about the community groups using the church for a meeting place, I knew that had something to do with it. But I just couldn’t quite grasp it.”
“And?” Annie helped her along.
“And I then remembered that the VFW meets there every week. They could be players in solving the puzzle. At the very least, maybe they could identify that one medal,” Alice said. “But my timing was terrible. I blurted it out right as the women were grilling you. When I realized it … well, my panic must have been written all over my face.”
“It was, indeed.” Annie smiled in sympathy. “In front of anyone else, it wouldn’t have been noticed. But not these women. They’re like pit bulls with a meaty bone.”
Alice laughed. “Pit bulls who make doilies and blankets. Anyway, can you forgive me, Annie?”
“All is forgiven,” Annie said, meaning it. “We’ll just go forward from here and see what happens. In fact, we ought to stop by that VFW meeting on Monday morning.”
“Really?” Alice’s expression looked as if someone had just given her a winning lottery ticket.
“Absolutely. It’s a great idea. Who knows what those old heroes can tell us?” Annie grinned and slid aside her plate.
“Now, how about some of that pie à la mode?”
Annie returned to Grey Gables with one keen objective in mind. To search the library for information about Grandpa’s military service. On the ride home, curiosity about the medals bubbled in her brain. After Alice dropped her off, she rushed inside, eager to get started.
Boots met her at the front door and leaned hard on Annie’s tan twill trousers, a not-so-subtle greeting.
“Did you miss me, Miss Boots?” Annie picked her up for a little cat cuddle, enjoying the purr against her chest. Why hadn’t she thought to get a kitty back in Texas? Maybe then she wouldn’t have felt quite so alone.
She moved into the living room and arranged an afghan into a little nest, depositing the cat in the center. “How’s that? Cozy as can be? Now you take a nice, long catnap. I have work to do.”
Annie gave Boots one more gentle pat and headed down the hallway toward the library. The sound of paws pouncing on the floor told Annie the short-lived nap had ended. That animal, more like a dog than a cat, always followed her around. Uncanny.
This time, Boots trotted ahead and disappeared into the kitchen. Annie peeked around the corner and saw the cat sitting by her bowl.
“You want food? Again?” Annie pulled the bag of cat food off the shelf and tossed a handful into the empty container. “I don’t get how you can eat. I’m stuffed.”
The giant slice of cranberry-apple pie had been so sweet, so tart, the crust so flaky, it could have been a contender with Gram’s famous peach cobbler. She had eaten every bite. Perhaps she’d better fast through next week.
Annie ambled through the back door and onto the flagstone patio. The soft sea breeze blew a welcome and the azalea bushes swayed like hula dancers. Even the wildflowers, beaten down yesterday by the storm, waved hello in Technicolor pink, purple, and white. Annie’s heart swelled. She loved this old place for its peaceful beauty. And because it guarded parts of her past within its winsome walls.
She left the serenity of the lovely landscape behind, went back inside and entered the library. Annie brushed off the back of Gram’s favorite chair and sat in her place, remembering. In this room Gram had taught her to crochet while Annie was still a young girl. In this room she often curled up on the window seat and read the classics while Gram created another work of art and Grandpa wrote up James Herriot-type notes from his veterinary practice. Maybe Annie would happen onto them while she was sorting through papers. She smiled. It should be some really good reading. In their family, Grandpa’s dog and pony stories were legendary.
The room was lined with rows and rows of shelved books. Along one wall, a handsome oak desk broke the pattern. Annie eyed the desk. On either side were deep file drawers. Maybe that would be a good place to begin her detecting.
Vacating Gram’s chair, she crossed to the desk and opened a deep drawer on the right side. Tabbed files, but not in alphabetical order. No problem. Annie liked a challenge. Hadn’t she traveled halfway across the country all by herself? She’d unleashed her inner explorer and she liked it. As she peered into the first file, her pulse raced and a familiar excitement overcame her. A feeling similar to that of walking into a new yarn shop, shelves loaded with undiscovered skeins and never-before-seen patterns. What would she find when she started searching?
Taking a seat in Grandpa’s desk chair, Annie had a ridiculous urge to push, toes against floor, and roll across the hardwood until the rug brought her ride to an abrupt halt. Like old times.
What would Gram say?
She would laugh, lift a fist, and exclaim, “Ride ’em, cowgirl!”
Annie pushed off. Gliding over the wood, wheels spinning, she lifted her feet and shouted, “Weeeeeee!” until she came to a sudden stop.
It had seemed a much longer ride when she was ten. But the chair fit her better than before, and she found the brown leather back very comfortable. No wonder Grandpa spent long hours writing at his desk.
Using her feet to walk the chair back, Annie withdrew the first file labeled “bills/statements.” She examined the first one, a utility bill. Not too thrilling. Next came telephone, lawn care, life insurance, Malone’s Hardware receipts, which reminded Annie that she needed to stop by Malone’s and pick out a paint color for the kitchen, plus pay for the charges made by her handyman. She wanted to keep the account current. Gram would expect no less, and for Annie it was a matter of honor.
Beyond the bills were some bank statements dating almost up until Gram’s passing. Looking at the official documents, Annie felt a stab to the heart. Like someone stamped “account closed” across her grandmother’s life without regard to those who would be left behind.
She sighed. That’s the way life is. Even a life lived long seemed too brief.
Putting that file back, Annie chose one labeled “correspondence.” Annie knew she should be searching for papers relating to Grandpa Holden’s military service, but she wanted to linger in her grandmother’s world a bit longer. Opening the file, Annie found dozens of hand-written letters and cards dated over a span of years, each extolling the merit of Betsy Holden’s cross-stitch wizardry.
So these were fan letters to Gram. Selecting one, Annie read:
Dear Mrs. Holden:
I have just finished my third Betsy Original pattern and am so pleased with the outcome! The design is elegant, yet the instructions simple enough that even a beginner …
She smiled as she read to the end and chose another, a more recent thank you card with a personal note inside:
Hi Betsy:
Thank you for the cool, cross-stitch class offered through the New England Stitch Club. Though you are a master needlecrafter, you were so helpful and kind. I didn’t feel intimidated at all.
I’m totally hooked on cross-stitch, thanks to you …
The letters were heartwarming. So many responses to Gram’s technique and teaching abilities, as well as her gentle, unassuming nature. Knowing her, every one of these writers received a response. A Betsy Holden original letter to file away and keep for always.
Other files held information about investments, car records, taxes, warranties. Annie opened one marked “birth certificates.” Inside were three certificates: Gram’s, Grandpa’s, and one for Judy E
laine Holden, Annie’s mother. Dated 1947 and filled in with her grandparents’ names, the baby’s place of birth, and other precious details. Gram often said that having Judy was their biggest blessing of all.
“She was a blessing to me too, Gram. And so were you and Grandpa,” Annie said in a prayer-like voice. How thankful she was to claim such a heritage. Would her grandchildren feel the same? She put the file back with reverence.
Maybe she would find something helpful in the “mementos” file. Annie opened it, discovering a collection of clippings from the Brookfield Star, her own newspaper back in Texas. She sorted through them, finding her mom’s and dad’s obituaries. Lives ended too soon on the mission field--her mom’s from tuberculosis and her dad’s from a stroke. She had seen the articles many times and put them back, not wanting to revisit such painful memories.
Surprised, she also found pieces about her own school exploits. Singing in the glee club, tumbling in gymnastic trials, playing flute with the band in the Brookfield Christmas Lights Parade, her senior portrait with her classmates under the heading “class salutatorian.” Graduation from Texas A & M, her engagement photo, marriage announcement, the opening of their dealership and more. Another section filled with keepsakes from LeeAnn’s life. Gram had saved them all.
Boots hopped up on Annie’s lap, startling her. “You aren’t hungry again, are you?” She stroked the cat’s velvet coat and checked the desk clock. The files had distracted her for more than an hour. Time to get back to her goal and find some information about Grandpa’s military history. She shut the drawer she’d been searching and, leaning over Boots, opened the other side.
There, at the beginning of numerous hanging files, stood a tab marked “Charles Holden--U.S. Navy Records.”
5
Annie carefully removed the narrow folder for further study. She carried Boots and the file into the living room, setting the cat back in the afghan nest. With Annie nearby, Boots closed her eyes and let her head fall against a soft spot. All was well with the feline world.