She wanted to talk to Tom, but he’d been scarce lately, especially after the night at the waterfront. They’d inched closer to each other, literally and figuratively speaking, and the quick kiss had been an impulse of the moment that had paid her back with a few sleepless nights. But now she wanted nothing more than to talk to him about the odd Mr. Plummer.
The old man even now was making a sweep around the room with his rolling walker, Megan nodding and taking notes in his wake.
“Ah, the parties we would have here. One time, I even rode my horse through the room. There are double doors, or were, that opened onto a patio that overlooks the gardens.” At that comment, Kelly fixed her attention back on Mr. Plummer.
“Which is why I hired someone to get the grounds back in shape. This is a big place that needs lots of nurturing, or TLC as the younger ones would say.”
“Do you want to talk to Ms. Frost about the quilt before we leave the room?”
“Of course I do.” He shuffled back in Kelly’s direction, who braced herself.
“Look at this. Look at what you’ve done.” Mr. Plummer was shaking his head. “I can see it from when I was a youngster. Never could get rid of the smoke smell. When I was little, my mother tried to clean it, but stopped because it started falling apart.”
“It’s quite fragile,” Kelly agreed. “I’ve hesitated to do too much to it because I don’t want to weaken it further. I’ve used vintage fabrics to replace some of the missing or frayed compass pieces. Not an ideal fix, but it works, I think.”
“When the house opens officially, I want this to be on display on one of the beds. Perhaps the guest bed. Or the lady’s bedroom.” Mr. Plummer tapped the table. “Ms. Frost, you have done excellent work, and I will be happy to refer you to anyplace you’d like to go. Except, maybe there are other pieces in this house that could use your touch? Time is of the essence, as they say.”
“I’m . . . I’m sure there are.” Her mind flew back to the woven carpet in the drawing room.
“We can talk another time about future projects. But soon, soon.”
She nodded and watched as the two of them left the ballroom. A chance to stay here, if she wanted? Maybe she could get her own apartment or studio, if Plummer would relax the on-site requirement. The man certainly seemed more approachable than Mr. Chandler.
Kelly went to the nearest window that overlooked the gardens. They flourished, the lawn a striking shade of emerald with Tom’s care. Despite his reluctant gardener status, he was a natural.
She squinted out at the sunlit grounds. Was he there today? Surely he must be, with the reporter visiting. Megan also took her own photos as well. Kelly forced herself to stand naturally instead of freezing up in front of the camera.
Again, Mr. Plummer’s words came back. I know your secret, too.
Free at last! Tom felt the wind rush past him on his motorcycle. MRI—scheduled early—clear. Neurologist gave him the news yesterday, and adjusted his medications. Thank you, God. Thank you.
His bank account was aided by the check that Dave Winthrop had given him after finishing the flooring and tile job at the townhouse. He would take the positive approach and count his blessings, one by one.
This was one of the few times since waking up in a hospital in Kuwait that he’d felt that glimmer of hope. He was on track again, even if he wasn’t exactly sure where the track was taking him. Pop and the whole genealogy records from Winthrop helped too. Sometimes looking back helped nudge you forward, even just a little.
And the other night, jazz at the waterfront with Kelly. Nights like that he’d like to record so he could watch over and over. He and Kelly had both let some of their guard down and realized they’d found common ground between them.
Her project was more than two-thirds complete, and after that, there was nothing to tie her to New Bedford. Part of him wanted to ask her to stay, to see what else happened between them. Whatever it was, it was brand-new, sweet as the simple kiss she’d given him.
But part of him still held back. Self-preservation had taught him to be careful. Maybe it was part of his suspicious nature that he still had to deal with, or maybe there was something to it. Chandler had asked him to keep an eye on Kelly. Tom thought it ludicrous, but still.
What if there was something about Kelly he’d rather not know, that he’d discover? She knew most of his dirty laundry, thanks to his family’s intervention in their friendship that had morphed into . . . well, he wasn’t sure what.
Tom shoved thoughts of Kelly aside for the moment as he zipped along the streets in the direction of County Street and its rows of nineteenth-century homes. Owning something like that was out of his budget, but he did know one day he wanted to own something with history, something he could fix up and customize yet keep some of the original character.
One day this, one day that. He pulled into the rear entrance to the Gray House property after passing a pair of vehicles parked out front at the curb. Visitors?
Then he wanted to slap his forehead after parking his motorcycle. The reporter. Plus someone from Firstborn Holdings. Not Chandler this time, who’d contacted Tom about the interview date. He didn’t sound too happy about the event, but nothing that uptight lawyer could do about it.
This all meant he needed to be prepared to show off the grounds. The automatic sprinklers he’d installed had left sparkling water drops across the lawn. Nice touch. The rosebushes were clipped a tad short, but there had been years of old dead growth left on them. The greenhouse was full of herbs and vegetables, with a few orchids he was coaxing to grow.
He’d signed up for a class at the community college, a local horticulture class, that would start sometime in late August. He wanted to learn more. There was little to risk by taking the non-credit class, but everything to gain.
He parked the motorcycle and removed his helmet. The back door opened and an unfamiliar woman emerged first. She turned to help an elderly man across the covered porch, then down the wide steps. Kelly followed, carrying a rolling walker.
Weak in body, the man rolled his way across to the motorcycle. “Jonas Plummer. You must be Thomas Pereira.”
“I am.” He shot Kelly a questioning look, and she nodded.
“I’m CEO of Firstborn Holdings, and I’m taking these pretty ladies on a tour of my home.”
“Your home. I thought . . .”
“You thought a company owned it. Of course it does. My company. It’s too impractical to live here.” Jonas Plummer took a slow glance over his shoulder at the house. “But recent developments in my personal circumstances have made me see that I should tend to this, for my family’s sake.”
“I can understand that.” Tom shook hands with the man. His fingers felt soft, but there was a wiry strength inside them. “How about I show you the gardens, then?”
“I’m up for it.” But Jonas wheezed. “So long as I take my time, of course.”
“You’ll see I’ve reseeded and fertilized. Chandler, I mean Mr. Chandler, gave me strict instructions to make sure the lawn is mowed once a week.”
Jonas said nothing, but kept rolling his walker, its wheels clicking on the cobbled pathway. He grunted when one wheel stuck in a crack where some of the filler between the cobbles had crumbled away.
“Need to fix these pathways. Find yourself a stone worker. Send me the estimate.”
“All right.” He glanced toward the women, who still stood by the steps, talking.
“Never mind them. A pretty lady can be a distraction, you know.”
How well he knew. “You’ve got that right.”
“It looks good, Son. Really good.”
The other woman, not Kelly as he’d hoped, joined them on the path. “Tom, I’m Megan Hughes with the New Bedford Star. I’m writing an article on the comeback of Gray House.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“If you could tell me what you’ve worked on since coming here and share about your future plans for the property.” She licked her l
ips and paused, the tip of her pen in the air.
“I first started with snow removal, then was hired for lawn maintenance and gardening,” said Tom.
“What was your background before working here?”
“I was in the United States Army, went through three tours in Southwest Asia before getting injured and medically discharged.” The words sounded practiced. It seemed as if that entire segment of his life had been lived out by someone else. His old self, maybe, with his new self still growing accustomed to his new reality.
“Thank you for serving our country, Mr. Pereira.” Jonas extended his hand once again, which Tom shook. “I was once First Lieutenant Jonas Plummer, United States Air Force, 1941 through 1948. The worst days of my life and the best days.”
“I wanted to stay, Mr. Plummer.” They reached the greenhouse.
But it was Megan who answered. “So you’re working here now. Did you know you’re not alone? A lot of veterans have found themselves out of work after entering the civilian world once again.”
“I’m not surprised.” Tom pushed open the greenhouse door. “Anyway, we have some herbs started here and some vegetables. I’m not sure what we can do with them all. Maybe there’s a food pantry or shelter that could use them?”
“That’s a good idea,” Jonas said. “It’s about time Gray House starts doing something good for someone.”
Megan scribbled wildly on her notepad. Tom nodded.
“You two are so very young. I’ve got a heap of regrets that only now I’ve started making restitution for. God knows it will never be enough, but selfishness tends to run in my family, it seems. We only see what we want and can’t imagine the rest of the world not bowing to our wishes.” He turned himself around and plopped onto the seat of his rolling walker. “Get Tara for me. The interview’s done.”
“Who’s Tara?” Tom asked.
“She drove him here,” Megan explained. “She’s in the house. I’ll let her know that Mr. Plummer is ready to leave.” She scurried back across the expanse of lawn to the house.
Tom almost chuckled at Jonas’s actions. Definitely in charge and making sure everyone did as he told, but still seeing the need to make up for any selfishness on his part. He wished all along that Mr. Plummer had come to see them instead of having to deal with someone like Chandler.
“Mr. Plummer, can I get you some ice water or something? It’s a humid day today.”
“No, I’m fine. Glad I got that pretty little hovering thing away from us, though.” Jonas sighed. “Maybe my lawyer was right. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”
“What do you mean, the article?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Jonas frowned. “But it’s important. It’s important I set things right for everyone while I have the chance, especially her.”
“Especially who?” Tom had no idea what the man was getting at.
“Never mind.” Jonas looked at him with sad eyes. “Thank you for helping take good care of my house.”
15
October 1852
Hiram is home. Esteban has gone, taking Peter with him. I ache inside, but it must be this way until I can tell Hiram once and for all how things will be between us. I am going to leave him. Hiram suspects nothing, but demands everything upon his return. He comes to me his first night home, and he repulses me. I know without asking him that he has satisfied himself with another woman’s embrace, despite his pious manner. Yet I am the one who is a scarlet woman, and he the great ship’s captain. I try to comfort myself by tending to little Hiram, but he pulls away from me and instead runs to his papa.
I try to tell Hiram that I do not love him, that I will leave him as soon as arrangements can be made. He laughs at me. I try to explain that there is someone else.
“You have admitted your sinful ways to me, yet you expect me to let you go?”
His response was to lock me in my rooms for two weeks, with only bread and water.
I have missed my agreed-upon meeting time with Esteban. My heart aches to be with him and with our little Peter.
Not a good way to start the morning. Kelly’s heart ached for Mary. In Mary’s mind, it seemed that she would get her way. She probably hadn’t counted on Hiram Gray’s pride that made him keep his wife in submission at any costs. And poor Peter, without his mother. Surely the Delgados were good people, but then, she didn’t know much about Esteban, other than he was a carpenter and didn’t respect Mary’s marital status. Kelly tried not to sigh. These people were long gone, their stories told and ended, and all that remained was a house, a journal, and a quilt.
Jonas Plummer’s warning rang in Kelly’s ears as she set the journal down, that no good could come of reading it. She’d wanted to ask him that day he toured Gray House if he’d read it as well, and what he knew of Mary Gray.
That never happened. She’d tried calling his office at Firstborn Holdings, but never received a response. Likely he didn’t go to the office, given his health. Or maybe somehow Mr. Chandler had soured him against her.
She took a sip of her morning coffee. It was her day to call Lottie before she got too busy, so she started dialing before the day’s work carried her away.
“How’s my girl?” Lottie asked on answering the phone.
“Terrific, I think.”
“Terrific? You just think, though.”
“Things are going well. I met the real owner of Gray House, and he’s happy with my work. I have a feeling he might hire me to do more.”
“Oh, praise the Lord! I’ve been praying for you, dear, that you’d find something else after this.” But her voice sounded a little sad.
“What is it, Lottie?”
“I wish you’d come visit me, even for a few days. I know you’re working there, but surely you can take some time off.”
“You know, that sounds like a good idea. But actually, I’ll be through with the quilt before too long. Maybe I can take a week or so and visit then, instead of a few days.” Then Kelly had another thought. “Or, you could come here. We could do the tourist thing and see the museums.”
“That does sound fun.”
“You can see the quilt firsthand, too. I would even let you copy the pattern to use yourself, if you wanted.”
“Ah, now I am tempted for sure to close the store and drive down. Did you know, I’ve never seen your work? Not counting pieces you’ve created from scratch, of course.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I would love to see your work. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, Lottie. That means a lot.” She thought for a moment. “Oh, when you come for a visit, you can meet Tom.”
“Tom, huh? You’ve mentioned him quite a few times.”
Kelly’s cheeks flushed. “Yes, he’s . . . he’s different from anyone I’ve ever known. And, well, he gets me, too. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that with anyone else.”
“Is he a believer?”
“Oh, yes, definitely. He’s had some hard times, but he’s coming through the other side.”
“I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Good.” Kelly crossed the kitchen and stopped at the back door. “The paper should be here now, too. Remember the article I told you about, how the reporter came and saw the quilt and toured the house? Well, that’s come out today.”
“Get me a copy, if you can.”
“I will.”
“Ah, I hear the busy tone coming into your voice. I’ll let you go. Don’t forget to call.”
“I won’t.”
Kelly ran outside for the paper, then back in. She paged through to the “Living” section and found the story. Three photos, one of the house, another of Tom talking to Mr. Plummer at the garden, and the third of her with the quilt. She was saying something, gesturing down at the fabric. She thought she was probably explaining the difficult choices she’d had to make to keep the quilt from disintegrating.
She read the article. Megan Hughes had done well, even giving Kelly some free advertisin
g.
While Frost isn’t sure what’s next on her professional schedule, she looks forward to doing what she’s done for nearly a decade—bringing textiles back from the edge of ruin.
Megan had made Tom sound brave and strong after his ordeals, and it was as if being at Gray House had brought both Kelly and Tom second chances at their crossroads in life.
Even with learning Mary Gray’s sad tale, Kelly felt hope. If God was her heavenly father, surely He was charting her course on the open seas of life, guiding her on her voyage. The nautical analogy seemed to fit, especially after being buffeted by the storms of life.
She headed to the quilt again, as she had for many mornings. Her training taught her certain things—that she could never restore a piece without losing some of the original, for one thing. But this quilt was special. The old had mingled with the new.
Her phone warbled again, just as she’d pulled on her gloves to begin work.
Jonna. Someone must have been reading the paper.
“Hello, Jonna.”
“I see you’ve worked your new little angle to your advantage.”
“Nice to talk to you, too. I never asked to be interviewed. I’ve been busy here.”
“So have I.”
“You’re calling me because . . . ?” Kelly tried to think of why. “The dirt’s already been slung, you know. You’ve won. You got the higher-paying job. You’ve probably got work lined up for a year or two out. FYI, I only have work for the next two weeks or so, maybe three.”
“Uh, um . . .”
“People already know about Peyton and me. Why do you think my work in Boston has fizzled?” Amazing, now that the truth was out. She’d beaten herself up over it, but now that she had nothing to hide, Jonna had no ammo.
“It just looks to me like you’re trying anything for publicity.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure something out. I think if you were in my position, you’d welcome the free exposure.”
“True, but . . .”
“I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other, then. I wish you the best on your project.” With that, Kelly hung up. But her hands were shaking.
Tempest's Course: Quilts of Love Series Page 13