Boxed In

by Karen Kelly

  Annie read enough to increase her appreciation for Grandpa’s knowledge, skill, and his giving heart. She also was reassured she had been wise to pursue a different career path. Her teacup was long empty. Careful to keep the journals in the correct order, Annie began to put them back in their place. While the journals had been off the shelf, the books around them had shifted. Annie pushed the books to the left to make room again, holding them back with her left hand. She was reaching for the journals when she noticed a slip of white winking between the dark wood shelf and a book. Raising the book, Annie gently pulled the paper free. Her breath caught as she realized it was the same kind of delicate writing paper she had found in the birch-bark box. And it was torn.

  Annie turned it over. The first line was the last line of the second verse she had read so many times:

  How would you thrive?

  Sister Rabbit, thicket thriving

  Rain nurtures the chokeberries you eat.

  If love took you to ocean deep,

  How would you thrive?

  There was a third stanza:

  Sister White Deer, forest leaping

  Come, bring your power to aid me now.

  For love took me from all I know.

  I cannot leap.

  And there, below the third verse was a name, Clara Stewart, followed by the year the poem was written—1904—and two words, “mikwid hamid.” Those words seemed strangely familiar to Annie, but she couldn’t remember why. Had she seen it at the museum? No, it was during her visit with Cecil! Those were the Passamaquoddy words Tomah Joseph sometimes etched into his carvings. Annie strained to recollect the translation. Remember me, she thought. Wasn’t that it?

  The name, however, did not sound familiar. Running through the different Stony Point families she had met over the many months, Annie could make no connection.

  A glance at the clock told her how quickly the time had fled while she worked; Alice was likely to be home from her sales meeting. Annie grabbed the telephone and called her neighbor.

  “Hello?” Annie felt a surge of relief when Alice’s cheerful voice spoke in her ear.

  “I’m so glad you’re home!” Annie blurted.

  “So am I.” Alice chuckled. “But I suspect we have different reasons. What’s yours?”

  “I made two discoveries while organizing in the library today. I found the rest of the poem—with a signature and date, no less.”

  “Seriously? In that library, you’ve accomplished the equivalent of finding the needle in a haystack! Who signed it?”

  “I don’t recognize the name. The date on the poem is 1904. It’s in the same handwriting and the ink looks identical, so I don’t think a different person added it at a later time. Have you heard of a Clara Stewart?”

  “Clara Stewart. Stewart.” Alice paused to think. “There’s a Starrett family out at the end of Elm who have been here for ages, but that’s as close to Stewart as I can come up with. We need to ask Stella, Gwen, and Ian. Their families have been in Stony Point much longer than most.”

  “The club meeting tomorrow will be an exciting one, for sure,” said Annie. “Maybe by the end of it we will know who the collar first belonged to and will be a step closer to finding out how it ended up in the attic of Grey Gables!”

  “Make sure you bring the last part of the poem with you tomorrow,” Alice said. “You mentioned two discoveries. What was the other one?”

  “Thanks to Boots, I found Gram’s rose-hip jelly recipe! She knocked the mahogany box off the desk, and there it was.”

  “Sounds like Boots has earned her treats for the week, instead of a scolding. And just in time for the first crop of hips. If I help you pick them, will that earn me a couple jars of jelly?”

  “You realize you will be running the risk of getting a mediocre reward for your work, don’t you? I’ve never made jelly without Gram being right there with me,” Annie reminded her friend.

  “I’m banking on the probability that the jelly-making gene has skipped a generation,” declared Alice. “And besides, with Betsy’s recipe, how can it go wrong?”

  “Well, it is true Mom wasn’t one to bother with making jelly. I guess we’ll know soon enough,” Annie reasoned. “The hips should be ready any day, possibly even tomorrow. They were close when I checked them last.”

  “Give me a heads-up when you know it’s picking day. I’ll use my comp time from working so hard on Saturday and give myself some time off. It’s one of the perks of being self-employed.”

  “I had to butter up my boss for time,” Annie said with a smile. “It wasn’t too difficult; I had a pretty good relationship with the boss. I’ll let you go recuperate from your meeting. I want to get more done on my pillow tonight. Maybe it will help me figure out what other options I might have, if Kezi thinks there is a problem with my design.”

  “I just hope there are no big issues with mine. I have no idea what to do if I have to start with something new! OK, time to go distract myself until bedtime, or I won’t get to bed early enough and will be late for the meeting.”

  “We can’t have that!” Annie feigned horror. “A hot cup of chamomile might help too. See you tomorrow.”

  “I already put the water on. But just in case, you might want to call me around nine.

  14

  Annie hummed as she rounded the corner onto Main Street, the mid-morning sun glinting off the windows of A Stitch in Time and The Cup & Saucer. The glass doors of the movie theater were recessed too far back for the rays to reach, but the brick entry looked burnished. She squeezed the Malibu into a space in front of the hardware store. Getting out, she waved to Mike Malone, out performing his daily ritual of sweeping the sidewalk.

  “Good morning, Annie,” he called. “How are those storage containers working for you?” He drew his broom toward the small pile of debris one last time, and then turned to grab a long-handled dustpan.

  “They’re working great, Mike,” Annie answered. “But they filled up too fast! I’m going to need a passel of them before I get Grey Gables anywhere near organized.”

  Mike swept the pile into the dustpan with economic strokes. “I can round up plenty more for you.” He glanced at his watch. “You might want to hurry, or Stella will start without you.”

  “She just might at that. Thanks, Mike!” Annie grabbed her tote, glanced both ways along Main Street and jogged across to the shop. Jason smiled and tipped his hat in answer to her quick wave as she hurried past where he leaned against the Lincoln. Breezing through the door of the shop, she was surprised to see she was not the last one to arrive. Gwen’s usual chair sat empty.

  Alice patted the seat beside her. “How come you’re late? You called me right at nine like I asked.”

  “Let’s just say that sometimes having a cat isn’t any different from having a toddler and leave it at that,” said Annie. “Isn’t Gwen coming?”

  Everyone looked to Stella. “Gwen had certainly committed to being here,” Stella answered. “She has the portfolio with the designs and comments from the curator. This is quite uncharacteristic.”

  “It sure is,” said Peggy. “I hope Lisa didn’t give Gwen her cold. Lisa was pretty miserable for several days.”

  Alice shook her head. “I’d think Gwen would be the last one to catch it. The rest of us—except maybe Stella—are at the diner much more often than Gwen is.”

  “Gwen might forgo a meeting due to illness or some other household snafu, but she would definitely inform someone first. She hasn’t called here on any of our cell phones,” said Mary Beth.

  “I hope there’s no emergency,” said Annie. “Should we give her a quick call?”

  Alice took her cell phone out of her purse. “I will.” The members kept quiet as she dialed and waited for an answer. When there wasn’t one, she left a message. “Gwen, it’s Alice. We’re all here at the meeting, hoping you’re just running a little late. If there’s anything we can do to help, please let us know. Bye.”

  “We should start
the meeting, so Peggy can get back to work,” said Mary Beth once Alice had ended the call. “Stella, can you share with us everything you remember?” All the club members knew Stella’s mind was likely to be more detailed than the notes in the portfolio that was still in Gwen’s possession, wherever she was.

  “Of course,” said Stella. “Our time with the curator was very profitable. Kezi asked me to send her best wishes to all the members for undertaking this project. The designs pleased her very much.”

  “Oh, I’m so relieved!” Peggy wiped imaginary sweat off her forehead with a flourish. “Does this mean leaving out the geometric thing was OK?”

  “Kezi gave us an overview of the use of the double-geometric shape in American Indian tribes of Maine and the northeastern United States. Quite interesting. Peggy, the shape has not been linked to any precise symbolism that makes its use necessary, especially in combination with the stars and cattails you want to use.” Stella paused as Peggy danced in her seat with joy. “Kezi also appreciated your color choices. Red and yellow are prominent in the color palette of Abenaki art.”

  “Mary Beth, look for me during my break tomorrow,” said Peggy. “I’ll be picking out my red and yellow fabrics. Thank you, Kezi!” She blew a kiss toward Bar Harbor.

  “You know, I think your trip yesterday was well worth it, Stella, if only to see Peggy so excited about her quilt!” said Kate, who had been quiet until that moment. She had placed herself as close to the front room as possible to listen for the shop phone, should it ring, or any customer who might arrive. She knew Mary Beth needed to hear the feedback about the projects.

  “I agree with Kate,” Mary Beth said. “You and Gwen have done us all a great favor.”

  Stella inclined her head, a small movement to acknowledge the gratitude. “Kate, I’ll give the comments about your design next, so you can be free to help customers whenever it’s needed.”

  “Thank you, Stella,” answered Kate.

  “The curator thought your pattern speaks eloquently to the importance of indigenous trees in the lives of the American Indian people of Maine.”

  Kate let out a deep breath. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it. “Peggy, I’m as relieved as you are.”

  “Kezi only cautioned—if you decide to add any beading—that you make sure you don’t give the pattern a Christmas-tree look.”

  “Personally, I think the pattern is stunning enough without any embellishment,” said Alice. “And you know I love your beadwork.

  “My thought has been to not use any beading or ribbon or anything else,” Kate said. “These comments have cemented that plan.” The bell over the door of the shop chimed. Like spectators at a tennis match all the heads in the club circle turned toward it, wondering if Gwen had at last arrived. But instead, a woman and a teenage girl who shared the same color of light brown hair entered the shop. Everyone smiled to hear the first reaction.

  “What a cozy, homey place!” The mother exclaimed, as she looked around at the displays Kate and Mary Beth spent hours each week updating and refreshing. “And the colors! Gorgeous!”

  “It’s almost as bright as my room, Mom.” The daughter nudged her mother’s arm, and pointed at the crochet section. “They have tons of crochet stuff.”

  “That’s my cue,” whispered Kate. She hurried to the front to speak to the newcomers. “Hello! Welcome to A Stitch In Time.”

  “We were so happy to see your shop,” said the mother. “We’re on a cross-country trip, and my daughter has been working on a crochet project she started at camp. I know nothing about crochet, I’m afraid.”

  The daughter carried on from there. “I’m done, but I don’t know how to finish it. Can you show me what to do next?” She lifted a canvas bag up to show Kate.

  “And maybe we can pick up another project for the trip home too,” added the mother. Alice and Annie smiled at each other when they noticed the woman’s hand reach out to feel the skeins of yarn sitting on a display near her. They could never resist the beckoning of the fiber either.

  Stella turned her eyes back within the circle, signaling for the continuance of the meeting. “Shall we resume? Alice, your pattern looks great, according to Kezi. She simply said to keep in mind while you’re creating the pattern on cloth that symmetry is important. Be meticulous in your stitch counting.”

  “If that’s all the curator had to say, I’m thrilled!” Alice responded. “I’m no Betsy, but counting I can do.”

  Before anything else could be said, the door set off the chime again. It wasn’t customers this time; instead Jason entered with something tucked under his right arm. He strode toward Stella, immune to the look of irritation she shot in his direction. “Now Jason,” she started her scolding.

  “Hold your fire,” Jason said. “Mr. Palmer just asked me to deliver this to you. He said you’d need it for the meeting.” He held out Gwen’s leather portfolio to her.

  “Did John say anything about Gwen? Is she ill?” asked Annie.

  “He didn’t say much,” answered Jason, “only that I needed to bring the portfolio to the meeting right away.”

  “I’m glad to have my design back,” said Alice. “But I’d also like to know if Gwen is all right.”

  “I think I’ll pop in on John at the bank after the meeting and ask him about Gwen,” said Annie. “One mystery at a time for the group is quite enough.”

  “We will conclude in good time and allow everyone to get along to their commitments,” Stella insisted. Jason took that as his dismissal, and he nodded his farewell to the ladies and left to return to his post near the Lincoln. Stella continued, “Annie, Kezi was pleased with your design and how your color choices reflected the more contemporary urchin baskets in the museum. She agrees the round pillows would highlight the urchin pattern better than a flat piece. She also thanks you for your willingness to send your artifacts for her to examine. The impressions she shared with you last week were confirmed with the closer look.” Stella bent down to reach underneath her chair, retrieving Annie’s zippered tote bag.

  Annie took the tote bag from Stella’s hand. “This is so exciting! Now we know the dates of the box and collar could coincide with the date on the bottom of the poem. Now we have to figure out if they were family heirlooms for Clara, or if she found them somewhere.”

  Peggy blurted, “Who’s Clara? What date?”

  “That’s what you get for being late, Annie,” said Alice. “You didn’t have a chance to share your news.”

  “Peggy, I don’t want to make you late to work, so here’s the short version,” said Annie. “While I was cleaning in the library yesterday, I found the bottom part of the poem. Besides having the last line of the second stanza, there was a third stanza, and it was signed and dated! ‘Clara Stewart, 1904.’ There was also a Passamaquoddy phrase below the signature that means ‘Remember me.’”

  “Clara Stewart, eh?” Peggy glanced at the clock on the wall across the room and stood, obvious reluctance on her face. “1904. Drat, I have to get back or Jeff will give me grief. But I’ll ask around about Clara. Some of the lobstermen’s families have been around way before 1900, and they know the other families up and down the coast.”

  “Peggy Carson, P.I. is on the case!” Alice cheered. “But before you dash out, Peggy, we should check with Stella first. Stella, do you recognize the name?”

  “I know some Stewarts in New York,” answered Stella, “but I don’t know of any here in Stony Point. It would be a long shot; however, I’ll check with my friends.”

  “OK, Peggy, you have free rein to ask about,” said Annie. “I’m thankful for all the help I can get!”

  “You betcha! Bye, everyone.” Peggy bustled out the door before Stella could call her back to give her the design for her quilt from the portfolio.

  “Has there ever been a hurricane named Peggy?” Annie asked. Even Stella could not keep the hint of a smile from her face.

  “I don’t know, but if there has been, it couldn’t outdo our P
eggy,” said Mary Beth. “Stella, I’ll take Peggy’s design. I’ll drop it off to her before I head home.” Stella opened the portfolio, located Peggy’s, and handed it to Mary Beth.

  When Stella had given out all of the designs, Annie offered to return the portfolio to John, as she still planned to pay him a quick visit to ask about Gwen. Alice realized the discussion of one pattern had been missed. “Stella, we haven’t heard anything about your piece. What are you using for your inspiration?”

  The older woman answered with a tone as close to nonchalant as she ever attained. “I chose water as my inspiration, for obvious reasons, and I’m knitting a scarf.”

  “After seeing that flame pattern you stitched, I can imagine how lovely a water scarf will be,” said Mary Beth. “The yarn you chose is perfect. We’ll adjourn our meeting now so we can all get to work!”

  Alice reached into her purse for her keys. “With Kezi’s help—and Stella and Gwen’s too, of course—we can all work on our projects at next week’s meeting. Watching them grow will be exciting. And Annie, try not to be late.” The friends shared a laugh as they walked to the front of the store, where Kate was ringing up the purchases for the mother and daughter. Outside, Alice and Annie went in opposite directions, Annie toward the Stony Point Savings Bank and Alice to her car, which she had parked on Maple Street. Annie walked past The Cup & Saucer and had just crossed Oak Lane when she saw Gwen emerge from the bank.

  “Gwen! We missed you at the meeting! I … ” Annie’s voice trailed off in surprise as her friend put her head down and hurried to her car without answering. Gwen yanked open the car door, ducked inside, and pulled away from the curb as though Annie was a mugger, not a friend. Annie paused in front of the library, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The only thought she had was that some family emergency had occurred and decided to follow her original plan to see John. It must be something critical to have had such an effect on Gwen, she thought.