The Map in the Attic
Page 2
“Annie, is that you?” Mary Beth Brock hollered from the back of the room. “You’re the first one here today.”
“Oh, Mary Beth,” Annie said, holding one of the skeins of yarn against her cheek, “this is heavenly.”
“Don’t I know it!” Mary Beth Brock was suddenly at Annie’s side, smiling broadly at her response to the yarn. As the owner of A Stitch in Time, Mary Beth was always trying new lines and products in the store, and she enjoyed the responses they drew from her friends and customers.
Mary Beth’s sudden appearance startled Annie, and she dropped the yarn, to Mary Beth’s amusement. Still, she couldn’t resist picking up the skeins again and holding them next to one another. The strands in each skein were a delicate combination of two colors—altogether there were four color combinations: sea foam and cream, fire yellow and peach, light pink and cream, and sea foam and fire yellow—with the effect of a gossamer-like “bloom.”
“I was a little nervous about this line,” Mary Beth continued, “but wait till you see Kate’s sample. She created a simple jacket with Two Ewe’s taupe cashmere yarn and then did the neckline with this—Kate! You did bring it in with you to show everyone, right?”
“I didn’t forget.” Kate Stevens appeared around the corner of the display with her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. She was Mary Beth’s only employee and an expert crocheter. “I’m still working on the sleeves, but you can get an idea of what the finished sweater will look like.”
The three women turned as the bell on the door tinkled again, announcing the arrival of Stella Brickson and Gwendolyn Palmer, followed a few minutes later by Peggy Carson and Alice MacFarlane, Annie’s neighbor and closest friend in Stony Point. The new display caught their attention as well, and Mary Beth had to herd the women to their seats.
“We’re stitching on a mission now,” she reminded them, “so why don’t we have an update on our projects? Who would like to start?”
It was Mary Beth who had brought the plight of the Coyne family to the attention of the Hook and Needle Club. Because of the fire that destroyed their home, the Coynes had moved to a temporary apartment out in the Youngstown Arms complex on the far side of town while they sorted out their situation and rebuilt. But Mary Beth, who had been in regular contact with the family, had reported to the group that the Coynes were still very stressed and despondent and just not bouncing back—especially the kids; they were picking up on their parents’ anxiety, and their schoolwork was suffering. When Mary Beth had described their small, dark apartment, with dusty blinds in the windows and mouse-brown rug and furniture, the group had unanimously decided on a “color intervention” to help them settle more comfortably there.
Stella pulled from her knitting bag a stack of mitered squares in three different sizes. “I just have one more large one to do, and then we can start assembling the afghan.” She passed around the squares of jewel-toned colors, which were met with admiration by all the women.
Gwendolyn and Mary Beth were knitting oversized, colorful swatches that they planned to back with felt for use as coasters and place mats, while Peggy was sewing up some cafe curtains. Alice was working on a pair of cross-stitched wall decorations from patterns that Annie’s grandmother Betsy had created. Mary Beth nodded with satisfaction, remarking, “These should really brighten up the place.”
In addition to her tote, Annie had brought another canvas shoulder bag, which sat on the floor by her chair. She now reached down and hoisted it onto her lap. “Speaking of things that are bright,” she said as she pulled out the clown-shaped cookie jar, “I found this in my grandmother’s attic. He’s got a little chip on the back of his hat, but he seemed so cheerful, I wondered if the Coynes might like to have him to brighten up their kitchen.”
She handed the jar to Gwendolyn, who was leaning forward to give it more scrutiny. But for a moment, nobody said anything. Suddenly embarrassed, Annie continued, “I mean, I don’t want it to seem like I’m giving them castoffs …” She suddenly once again felt like the outsider in Stony Point, liable to do something inappropriate or give unintended offense.
“Annie,” Mary Beth exclaimed, “it couldn’t be more perfect!” Annie released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Did I mention that Laura Coyne lost her collection of Fiestaware in the fire?” Mary Beth continued. “She loves those old ceramic dishes; she practically has a Ph.D. in Ohio pottery.” The others quickly agreed that the jar would make an excellent complement to the needlecraft presents.
As the jar continued around the circle, their conversation turned to the “Coyne predicament,” as Mary Beth called it. Even before the investigation was completed, town gossip had declared that the origin of the fire was suspicious.
“Who could suspect David Coyne of putting his own family in danger? Ridiculous!” Mary Beth fumed.
“They come in for lunch at The Cup & Saucer,” Peggy said. “Or they used to; I haven’t seen them since the fire.” Peggy was a waitress at The Cup & Saucer, right next door to A Stitch in Time on Main Street. “But they seem very nice. I’m sure no one thinks David Coyne set fire to his own house.”
“Some do think exactly that,” Stella cut in, and in response to Mary Beth’s stunned expression, she added, “I don’t, but people are saying that Coyne was hard up and reckoned he could collect on insurance.”
“Bunk!” Mary Beth nearly barked. “They cherished their old house and their deep roots in the community.”
“They both certainly come from old families,” Alice agreed.
It was Gwendolyn, always a peacemaker, who steered the conversation to the two children, Megan and Martin. “I hear you really have a way with them,” she said to Mary Beth.
Mary Beth took a deep, calming breath and said, “They call me their honorary grandmother.” She then described her plan to bring Megan into the Hook and Needle Club. “She has a natural eye for color, and she loves to knit! She’s done some lovely scarves, but I think she’s ready to advance. I’m hoping I can get her to join us during her summer break. She’s a neat kid but a little shy.”
“What? Afraid of a bunch of women with sharp objects in their hands?” Alice winked at Mary Beth as she passed along the cookie jar.
“Well, even so,” Peggy, a quilter, said, “the family needs help. I’ve been in those Youngstown apartments. They’re as dismal inside as out, dark and damp, and the yard’s been turned into one big, dusty, parking lot.”
“Well,” Stella said, examining the jar critically, “this is certainly a collector’s item, possibly a valuable one. You found it in Betsy’s attic, you say?”
“In a box marked ‘For yard sale,’ with a lot of old, random china cups and saucers. Laura would be welcome to have those, too,” Annie added tentatively, “if she really likes dishes.” She watched Mary Beth’s face carefully for a reaction but couldn’t tell whether she thought this a good idea. Deciding to change the subject, Annie reached for her crochet project saying, “You won’t believe what I found inside the cookie jar!”
“Oh, I don’t want to know!” Peggy said quickly. “I had them in my attic and getting rid of them was a pain in the …”
“No, no,” Annie laughed. “Nothing like that. No, someone had stuffed a beautiful piece of embroidery down inside the jar. I can’t imagine why, but it’s just lovely, sort of an abstract design.” She tried to describe it, though she felt her attempt fell far short.
“Annie Dawson,” Mary Beth interrupted her fumbling description. “You didn’t bring it along to show us? For shame!” The other women laughed and encouraged her to bring the piece in.
Annie laughed with relief. “Well, of course. I should have. And I will next week. Maybe you’ll be able to tell me what I’m looking at!”
3
Annie had stopped off for milk and eggs on her way home from the meeting of the Hook and Needle Club, and back at Grey Gables she made herself a tuna fish sandwich for lunch. No sooner had she washed up her dishes, however, than she hear
d a tapping on the glass pane of the kitchen door. She wasn’t surprised to find her neighbor on the other side, and when Alice entered with a covered plate of something that smelled freshly baked, Annie immediately set a kettle of water to boil.
“This isn’t a bribe, exactly,” Alice said, removing the linen cloth and revealing a plate of muffins, “but these are the ginger-blueberry ones you liked so much, and I thought—”
“Alice MacFarlane! I don’t believe you had time enough to do all that baking.” Annie reached for two small plates and mugs that were still in the dish drainer by the sink and brought them to the table. “Do you have a magic wand or something? And if so, can I borrow it?” She turned toward the refrigerator. “Butter?”
“Umm … I don’t think these need butter. Now about that—”
“Cookie jar? Wasn’t that the cutest?”
“You!” Alice laughed. “You know I’m eager to see this piece of embroidery.”
“Yes, I suspected as much.” Annie smiled. “Here, get the tea and water when it boils, and I’ll bring it in.”
Despite the alluring aroma of the muffins, they were almost forgotten when Annie spread the embroidered muslin on the kitchen table.
Alice gasped as she smoothed out the fabric, running her fingers lightly over the undulating lines of color. “Oh my” was all she could muster for a few moments. “It looks to be, sort of, in the Arts and Crafts style, doesn’t it? It reminds me of some of the Tiffany lamps I’ve seen and things from that era. I think it’s something about the colors.”
“It does,” Annie agreed, “and yet it doesn’t.”
“Right. And these Xs are odd. They don’t seem to go with the rest. I wonder if they were added later by someone who wasn’t a needlecrafter? Hmmm.” Alice’s reaction mirrored Annie’s when she first saw the embroidery. Alice was scanning the intricate patterns and finding more details in the craftsmanship and design. Alice carefully turned the muslin over and pointed to the odd numbering. “What do you think this means?”
“Not a clue. I was hoping you might have an idea … I can’t say for certain, but this doesn’t strike me as something Gram did.”
Alice folded the canvas gently in half, nodding in agreement. “No, it’s not her style. Tell me again, where exactly did you find it?”
Annie described the box of dishes and the cookie jar. “This was just wadded up inside.”
“Which makes me wonder if Betsy even knew it was in there. Annie, let’s go look at the box; we may be able to tell by the newspaper wrappings when it was packed.”
Annie scooped up the piece and returned it to the dining room, where she’d been keeping it in a pillowcase on the sideboard. Then she turned to the corner where she’d set the box and lifted it onto the table. Each wrapped item came out again, and they noted that the pieces had all been protected with sheets of the Maine Sunday Telegram for May 16, 1982. Annie had been in high school at the time.
“It seems odd that she would have packed this stuff up for sale without even looking in the jar,” Annie said. “That just doesn’t seem like Gram.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Alice agreed, “but neither can I imagine her leaving that in there if she knew about it.” Alice frowned at the little bundle of tarnished teaspoons. After a moment, she continued, “The thing is, Annie, do you recognize any of this stuff?” Annie gave her a questioning look. “Like the cookie jar; do you ever remember seeing it out on the kitchen counter?”
Now it was Annie’s turn to frown. “No, I don’t.” And then illumination flooded her face. “I see what you’re getting at. Gram wasn’t taking this stuff to a yard sale. She brought it back from one.” She considered this for a moment. “But why would she just put the whole box away in the attic, then?”
Alice shrugged. “I can think of any number of reasons. Maybe she bought the box just for the sake of one piece, so she removed that and put the rest away. Or maybe it was late in the day, and they threw this in with some other box that she was buying. Or maybe life just got in the way—by the time she got home, it was time to cook dinner or she had to go out, and she just never got around to looking through this.” She gave a rueful smile. “To tell you the truth, Annie, any of those sound more like the Betsy I knew. It has to be admitted: She brought in a lot more stuff than she took out.”
Annie laughed. “That’s why I have all these treasures to sort through!” She turned her attention back to the dishware and newspapers spread out on the table. “OK, so this stuff all belonged to somebody else, and Gram picked it up in a yard sale. Clearly, she didn’t know the embroidery was inside the jar, but I still think whoever packed it up must not have known either, or they wouldn’t have left it in there. But it’s such a beautiful piece, how could that be?”
“Well, if someone was packing up after a parent or grandparent had passed away …” Alice raised her eyebrows and made a gesture encompassing Grey Gables. “Not everyone invests the kind of time and care you are, Annie. Some don’t want to; many can’t afford to.”
Annie felt humbled, realizing once again that this chance to connect with her grandmother’s heritage was a gift, even if at times it felt like a chore. “I guess there’s no chance of finding out more about how Gram came to have it. Even if we ask around, who’s going to remember whether they had a yard sale in May of 1982?”
“We don’t even know that it was local,” Alice said. “The Telegram circulates all over. Betsy might have gone out for a drive some nice day.” Annie hung her head, feeling defeated.
“You should have it framed,” Alice suggested after a moment. “It would look great over the sideboard here, and that wall doesn’t get much sunlight so the material would be protected.” When Annie didn’t respond, she continued, “Come on; let’s get back to our muffins.”
The two women returned to the kitchen and settled down at the table. They ate in silence for a while, until finally Annie said, “You’re right, these don’t need butter. Alice, I wish I knew your secret.”
“Magic wand.”
Annie smiled. She reached for a bag hanging on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “I stayed behind and bought some yarn this morning.”
“Is it the Two Ewe yarn?”
She nodded. “I got enough for a shawl for LeeAnn. I think I can finish it in time for her birthday, or if not, then by Christmas.” Annie emptied the bag of skeins of sea foam and cream silk mohair and a one-page pattern. “I thought I would do a lacy, broad shawl. Here’s the pattern Mary Beth suggested.”
Alice looked at the sketch on the front of the pattern. “Very elegant. She’s good with matching people to yarns and patterns, isn’t she?”
Annie imagined her daughter stepping out on the town in such a shawl. She only wished she could be there to babysit the twins when LeeAnn went out.
“You know,” said Alice thoughtfully. “When I spoke of framing the embroidery, it made me think how much it looks like a painting, at least to me.” Annie looked at her with interest. “Who knows? Maybe it’s based on a painting. Or maybe it was made by someone who worked in more than one medium. It’s a long shot, but it might be a way to find out something about it. I bet Betsy had some books around here about local artists. She wasn’t a stranger to the galleries and museums. Have you noticed any pamphlets or catalogs on her shelves?”
“You’re right, it’s a long shot,” Annie said with a broad smile. “But it’s a start. That will be my homework for tonight.”
****
Over the next several evenings, Annie searched the library of Grey Gables and rounded up a fair number of art books, including catalogs of special exhibits at the Farnsworth Museum and brochures from some of the larger galleries in the area. Paging through them, she was able to form a general overview of Maine artists and area decorative arts, but she found no paintings that resembled the style of the embroidery piece, or anything that related to embroidery styles or historical textiles.
She went to bed each night with the names of artists and im
ages of rocky coastline buzzing in her head, but she felt frustrated and more curious than ever. The embroidery’s craftsmanship suggested that it was more than a schoolgirl’s primer piece, while the design and use of color possibly spoke of someone with artistic training. Annie was disappointed to find nothing in any of her grandmother’s books that gave her the slightest hint about its origins.
At breakfast on Friday, she resolved to go to the public library for a more exhaustive perusal of regional art catalogs. She called Alice to see if she was free for an afternoon search. Would she be willing to help Annie out if they threw in lunch at The Cup & Saucer?
“I would love a distraction, Annie,” Alice told her. “I’ve been making paper Barbie doll hats all morning for a party centerpiece.” She laughed ruefully. “Well, it seemed like a good idea when I was drifting off to sleep last night. But now my hands hurt, and the little hats are more tacky than fun. I need a new idea, and a little fresh air will do me good.” Alice was constantly designing fun centerpieces for the home parties at which she sold Princessa jewelry and Divine Décor products. When Annie had unearthed some old Barbie dolls in the attic recently, Alice had seen their potential immediately and begged Annie to sell them to her. Annie wouldn’t take her money, but she accepted Alice’s donation to the Volunteer Firemen’s Fund in exchange.
Over lunch, Annie described for Alice what she had learned from the catalogs. “Unfortunately, Gram’s stash isn’t exhaustive, and it’s mostly focused on fine art. My sense is that what we have would fall more comfortably under folk or decorative art.”
Leaving The Cup & Saucer, the pair walked to the Stony Point Library, which was housed in a stark white building with black shutters. It was a graceful Greek-revival building, but for Annie the spare detailing characterized Old New England.