by Jan Fields
6
Annie drove up the long driveway to Ian’s house, enjoying the soft green of the newly budded leaves on the trees and the occasional burst of color from a flowering tree. The breeze shook the thinner branches and made petals rain down along the road like pink and white snow.
Though Ian’s house was over one hundred years old, it had aged beautifully. Ian’s natural attention to detail showed in his house and yard. Annie was proud of the work she’d put into Grey Gables since she’d moved to Stony Point, but if she used Ian’s place as the standard of a well-kept house, she knew Grey Gables still had a ways to go.
She parked her beloved Malibu and patted the car on the dash and then laughed at herself, remembering her conversation about inanimate pets that she’d had with Alice. She shook her head sheepishly; her affection for her car was similar to her affection for Grey Gables. Both had been given to her by someone she loved dearly and missed badly. Grey Gables was packed with memories of her grandparents and the love they’d poured out for her during the summers she stayed with them. And her old Malibu, given to her by her dear Wayne when they ran a Chevrolet dealership in Texas, reminded her of him each time she drove it.
Annie still had to blink away a few tears at times—like now—but she was able to think of Wayne with a bittersweet joy. The first couple of years after his death had been tough. She’d felt so alone with Wayne gone and then Gram passed away as well. Annie gave herself a little mental shake and got out of the car. Being part of the tightly knit community of Stony Point was an amazing blessing, and her years in Maine had been cathartic and healing. Annie focused on that as she trotted to Ian’s front door, and she smiled brightly as he greeted her.
The Stony Point mayor looked good in his worn jeans, faded T-shirt, and the flannel shirt he wore over the T-shirt like a jacket.
“You look comfortable,” Annie said. She had a passing thought about how unfair it was that he looked so good in jeans and faded clothes. When she put on clothes like that, she felt like a washerwoman. When Ian put them on, he looked rugged and capable.
Ian looked down at his outfit. “I’m a little scruffy today. I thought I might give Tartan a bath so you don’t have to deal with a dirty dog.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tartan looking dirty,” Annie said. “I always imagined he moved too fast for the dirt to settle.”
Ian smiled. “He does love to run. His day is usually spent in explosions of energy followed by naps. You should see him race through the house when he’s on a rip. It’s the doggy version of the Indy 500. He’s in nap mode at the moment, I believe. Let me show you where I keep all his things.”
Ian led her down the long hall from the foyer. Annie glanced through the French doors that led to his study. She loved the cozy look of the study with its dark overstuffed furniture and soft brown carpet. Not for the first time, she wondered if Ian had remodeled after his wife, Arianna, died, or if the study had always looked so masculine since it was Ian’s domain.
The hall eventually opened into the kitchen, but Ian continued past and into the mudroom. The room was mostly empty. The floor was covered in dark tile, and one wall had built-in cubbyholes for coats and boots. The rest of the room was bare except for a large dog cage with a thick foam pad inside. “This is Tartan’s kennel,” he said. “Again, you don’t have to shut him in it. I normally do at night. He seems to like that, but I don’t want him shut up as many hours as he’ll need to be while I’m gone. The room offers him more area to move around and access to food and water.”
“I assume this is a sudden trip?” Annie asked.
Ian’s expression clouded. “Yes, my mother-in-law is in a hospice in Upstate New York. I visit when I can. Today, I got a call from Benjamin, her nephew. He said she’s nearing the end, and she’s asking for me.” Ian sighed. “She’s asking for Arianna as well. Benjamin says that every time they tell her about Arianna, she cries like it just happened. So now they’ve stopped telling her and are making excuses for Arianna not being there.”
“That is so sad,” Annie said. She reached out and gently touched his arm. Ian had become very dear to her—much more than she cared to admit. Her eyes clouded with tears again; she looked down so Ian wouldn’t notice.
Ian nodded and then cleared his throat and showed Annie where he stored Tartan’s dog food. As Annie was making notes, she heard the rapid click of claws on the kitchen floor just before Tartan burst into the mudroom. He caught sight of Annie and gave a happy bark before nearly bowling her over.
“Tartan!” Ian scolded as he caught the dog’s collar and pulled him gently off Annie. “Sorry about that. You’re one of his favorite people.”
Annie leaned over and scratched Tartan’s clipped ears, enjoying the velvety soft fur that covered each ear. “And he’s my very favorite dog.”
Ian took a leash from one of the coat hooks and clipped it to Tartan’s collar, which took a couple tries because the dog was dancing with joy. “Let’s go outside, and I’ll show you his new run.”
Tartan dashed to the end of the leash as if he intended to haul Ian out the back door by force. Annie stepped ahead and opened the door, and the dog surged through. Once they were outside, Tartan ran to Annie, then to Ian, then to the end of the leash and then gave a little jump in the air before repeating the whole routine again and again.
“Tartan makes me tired just looking at him,” Annie said, which distracted Tartan from his circuit since he seemed to feel he needed to make an extra rush to Annie’s side as she spoke.
“He has that affect on me now and then,” Ian said chuckling. “Now you know my secret to eating at the diner every day without gaining weight. Tartan is my personal trainer.”
“Ah, then I’m especially happy to look after him,” Annie said. “After a long winter of eating, I can use a personal trainer.”
Ian glanced at her with a slow grin. “You look great to me.”
Annie felt a blush warm her face. “You definitely scored a mayoral reelection vote there, Mr. Mayor.”
They crossed the well-tended backyard to a long rectangular fenced-in area. At one end, a maple overhung the fence a bit, providing some shade over an igloo-shaped doghouse. The rest of the long run was packed dirt. Beyond the run, the lawn stretched a short way before a small patch of woods began.
“I put the run way back here so Tartan could bark at squirrels and rabbits in the woods,” Ian said. “Sometimes I’m amazed he doesn’t go hoarse. As I said, he hasn’t spent a lot of time out here as I like having him with me, but sometimes—well … let’s just say changing out the storm windows was much easier than usual. And I’m looking forward to getting through leaf raking in half the time this autumn.”
“Oh, do you let Tartan jump in the piles?” Annie asked.
“A few,” Ian admitted. “Actually most of them. He loves it so much. But this fall, I’m only going to rake leaves twice, which is about five times less than usual.”
Annie grinned. “That’s certainly planning ahead. I bet you were a great Boy Scout.”
Ian gave the Scout salute. “Just let me know if you need help across the street.”
Annie raised her eyebrows. “So you’re calling me a little old lady?”
Ian shook his head. “Nope. Just saying I like being with you.”
“Nice save.”
Tartan dashed over to the outside fence of the run and put his paws up on it, peering through. “Not today, boy,” Ian said. “Today you stay with me.”
Tartan looked back at his master, his tongue lolling in a doggie grin. Then he dropped down and dashed over to Ian for a pat.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” Ian said. “I have gotten so used to taking Tartan to the kennel where they just fuss over him endlessly. I was worried about leaving him alone with a neighbor checking in on him. I only intend to be gone a couple days.”
“Oh?” Annie said. “Do you know what day you’ll be back?”
“Not precisely. I re
ally won’t know how long I’m staying until I’m there,” he said. “Since I have you to watch Tartan, I’m leaving tomorrow evening. I’d like to make most of the drive at night to avoid some of the stop-and-go traffic. So you don’t need to come check on Tartan until Sunday morning.”
“Well, don’t worry a bit about Tartan,” Annie said, patting his arm. “I’ll be happy to look after him as long as you want. Do you want me to bring in your mail too?”
“Oh, I completely forgot.” Ian smacked himself lightly in the forehead. “If you don’t mind, it’ll save me having to get the mail stopped.”
“I’ll be happy to help,” Annie said. “And if you think of anything else after you’re gone, just give me a call. I’ll do whatever you need.”
Ian put his arm around her and gave her a hug, holding her close a bit longer than usual. “I appreciate that more than you know.”
7
When Annie finally left Ian’s house with a notebook full of instructions for Tartan’s care, she was reminded again of her last days with Wayne. She’d always looked forward to growing old with her husband, and she imagined Ian had felt the same about Arianna. Wayne’s heart attack and his last days hooked up to machines in intensive care had been terrifying for her. At the time, she’d barely believed she could survive the loss of him.
Annie wondered if the trip to the hospice would take Ian back to the tough days of his wife’s passing. She suspected it would, and her heart hurt to think of Ian’s pain. She was happy to watch Tartan for him, but she wished she could do more.
As she drove, Annie remembered that she needed a trip to the grocery to pick up something for supper. She really didn’t feel up to bumping into anyone she knew, especially since she suspected her eyes might be a little red from the tears she’d shed at Ian’s. She drove to the tiny fish market not far from the Shirt Shack and picked up some haddock fillets for supper and some cusk to make into a chowder for the weekend.
When Annie got home, she scooped up Boots at the door and gave the cat a hug. Boots tolerated the display of affection for a few minutes and then began squirming. When Annie put Boots down, the cat marched off to the kitchen, turning to look back at Annie and meow.
“Right,” Annie said. “Food before snuggles.”
After tending to Boots, Annie fixed herself a lovely supper of baked fish and rice pilaf. She loved living in an area where the words “fresh fish” meant the fish was straight off the boat. Boots managed to beg a nibble or two of the haddock, though Annie tried hard to be firm.
After supper, Annie and Boots settled down on the sofa while Annie finished Joanna’s cap. She felt very proud as she held it up to admire it and check for any flaws. “One down, one to go,” she told a sleepy Boots before she scooped up the cat and headed off to bed.
On Saturday, Annie made several more toys for the church bazaar before giving in to the inviting spring sunshine. She spent the next few hours working on preparing her flower beds for the annuals she intended to buy. She stood with her hands on her hips and looked up hopefully at the warm spring sun. Could she dare trust the unseasonably warm days and begin planting? She longed to see cheerful little flower faces in all her beds.
Annie finally decided to get a few flats of pansies. They were so resilient and not terribly expensive if the weather decided to turn wintry again. She hopped in her Malibu and headed into town.
After loading a few flats of pansies in a kaleidoscope of colors into the backseat, she walked up the sidewalk to A Stitch in Time. She wanted to tell Kate she had completed Joanna’s cap and see when her friend could spare some time to help with the monkey cap for John.
Kate and Mary Beth waved her over to the counter as soon as she opened the door. “Come and see what we found,” Mary Beth said.
Kate stepped slightly to the right to make room so Annie could see the needle-felted sculpture on the counter. A fluffy calico kitten sat on a cream-color knitted pillow trimmed with dainty crocheted lace. The kitten seemed to look wistfully at Annie with wide blue eyes. “Oh, it’s darling,” Annie said softly. “And so real. I’ve seen that very look on Boots’s face so many times—halfway between disgruntled and hopeful.”
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Mary Beth said. “Kate found it just a few minutes ago in one of the yarn cubbies.”
“I was straightening up the yarn, getting all the colors into the right cubbies and checking to see what yarn we needed to order. The kitten was tucked way in the back of the brown cubby.”
“Do you have any idea who left it?” Annie asked. “It must have been someone this morning—right?”
Mary Beth shook her head. “Not necessarily. With the kitten tucked toward the back and the cubby holding mostly autumn shades of yarn, it’s not one that anyone is really buying right now.”
“Even if it were someone today,” Kate said, “we’ve been crazy busy. I guess lots of people are working on spring crafts or rushing to finish last-minute bazaar donations. It could have been nearly anyone in town.”
“Did you know a needle-felted cat was found at the library?” Annie asked.
Mary Beth nodded. “I’ve seen it in the case in the children’s section. Grace is practically ordering every patron to look at it. It’s adorable, but I like ours better.”
“Because it’s ours,” Kate added.
“That does help,” Mary Beth admitted.
“The one at the library had a note,” Annie said. “Did you find a note with this kitten?”
Mary Beth and Kate both looked at one another. “I completely forgot that the library cat had a note,” Mary Beth said. “You didn’t find a note with this one—right, Kate?”
“I didn’t see one,” Kate said, “but I didn’t take out all the yarn in the cubby. Once I found the little cat, I haven’t done much of anything except admire it. There could be a note still hiding in the cubby, I suppose.”
The three women hurried over for a brief treasure hunt and quickly unearthed a card with the same lovely hand lettering as the library note. “Handmade Is Love Made. Thank you.”
“That’s beautiful,” Mary Beth said quietly. “A sentiment like that certainly sounds like it’s one of our usual customers, don’t you think?”
“Do you know of anyone who does needle felting?” Annie asked. “That is amazing work. I know I couldn’t do it.”
Kate looked closely at the kitten. “Stella did some simple needle-felted flowers to go on a knitted jacket once. She inspired me, and I’ve done some really easy stuff for my designs. Needle felting is easier than it looks, but something like this takes real talent. About the best I can manage is a cute strawberry or ladybug.”
“I’ve tried a little bit of everything,” Mary Beth said, “so that I can talk about anything with customers. But I’m with Kate. About the most ambitious needle felting I could do would be a heart. I carry a few simple supplies, but they haven’t been big sellers.”
“So far, there have been two cat sculptures,” Annie said. “So apparently we’re looking for an artist who loves cats and reading and crafts.” She reached out and touched the tiny kitten’s soft tail. “It’s amazing to think there could be such an amazing artist hiding in Stony Point and no one knows who it is.”
“Well …” Mary Beth said, glancing in Kate’s direction, “we know some artists can be too shy to share their talents if someone doesn’t make them.”
Annie laughed. “So we’re back to looking for Kate?”
Kate held up her hands. “I definitely could not make anything like that. I promise that I am not the mystery artist!” Then she smiled a little sheepishly. “In fact, my first efforts at needle felting looked more like something a cat coughed up. I’ve gotten a little better, but like I said, I’m at the ladybug and strawberry level—I definitely couldn’t make a little cat that looks like it’s about to get up and prance around.”
“You know what we have here,” Mary Beth said. “A mystery! Someone has dropped a mystery right here at A Stitch in Time. I thin
k we should make this mystery a Hook and Needle Club project.”
“Everyone will certainly enjoy a new mystery,” Kate agreed.
“Well, if we find who is making these little treasures, we’ll probably have to swear everyone to secrecy,” Annie said. “It looks like this artist wants to keep it a secret, or maybe a surprise. I wouldn’t want to spoil that.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Mary Beth said cheerfully. “We can keep it secret.”
Annie looked at her friend a little doubtfully. Between Mary Beth and Peggy, secret sharing was a much bigger gift than secret keeping. Still, she knew her friends wouldn’t want to hurt anyone, so she decided not to voice her concerns any further—for now.
When Annie got home, she set out all the pansies, singing quietly to herself as she worked. She loved pansies. They added so many different colors to the garden, and each plant seemed to smile up at her. Then she cleaned up and started her chowder. The delicious smell of the soup acted like a siren call for Boots, and the cat hung around the kitchen in case something delicious should fall to the floor. Annie turned on the oven to heat up a crusty loaf of French bread she’d picked up at Magruder’s Groceries earlier in the week. She loved crusty bread with chowder.
The soup was as wonderful as Annie had hoped, with the tender fish in contrast to the slightly firm potatoes, all bathed in a smooth creamy soup and complemented by the crunch of the sliced French bread. She was happy to have leftovers to freeze since she knew the soup would only get better with time.
As she was washing the dishes, the phone rang. Assuming it was Ian with last-minute Tartan instructions, Annie wiped her hands quickly on a towel as she hurried into the living room and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Oh, Mom!” her daughter, LeeAnn, cried, her voice thick. “We’ve had the most horrible day.”
Annie felt a jolt of sick worry rush through her. “Are the twins OK?”