Stitched Together

by Carol Dean Jones

  Publisher: Amy Marson

  Creative Director: Gailen Runge

  Acquisitions Editor: Roxane Cerda

  Managing Editor: Liz Aneloski

  Project Writer: Teresa Stroin

  Technical Editor / Illustrator: Linda Johnson

  Cover/Book Designer: April Mostek

  Production Coordinator: Zinnia Heinzmann

  Production Editor: Jennifer Warren

  Photo Assistant: Mai Yong Vang

  Cover photography by Lucy Glover and Mai Yong Vang of C&T Publishing, Inc.

  Cover quilt: Stitched Together, 2014, by the author

  Published by C&T Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 1456, Lafayette, CA 94549

  A Quilting Cozy Series

  by Carol Dean Jones

  Left Holding the Bag (book 10)

  Tattered & Torn (book 9)

  Missing Memories (book 8)

  The Rescue Quilt (book 7)

  Moon Over the Mountain (book 6)

  Stitched Together (book 5)

  Patchwork Connections (book 4)

  Sea Bound (book 3)

  Running Stitches (book 2)

  Tie Died (book 1)

  Acknowledgments

  My sincere appreciation goes out to my special friends: Phyllis Inscoe, Janice Packard, Sharon Rose, and Barbara Small.

  I thank each of you for the many hours you have spent reading these chapters, for bringing plot inconsistencies and errors to my attention, and for your endless encouragement.

  I also want to thank Curtis West and Michael Johnson for sharing their expertise in the construction field.

  Thank you, dear friends.

  Chapter 1

  It was drizzling the day they arrived in Paris. Charles held the umbrella, and Sarah gripped his arm, snuggling against him as they walked. “I’m glad we waited until now,” she said, looking up at her husband of four months with a twinkle in her eye.

  Charles wrapped his arm around her and pulled her even closer. “I’m just glad we’re finally here.” They’d been planning their honeymoon for several months but had decided to wait for warm weather. They were married during one of the worst snowstorms the Midwest had seen for years and decided it was no time to be at the mercy of the airlines.

  It was early spring and, despite the light rain, Sarah found Paris to be breathtaking.

  Earlier that day, they had taken a cab from the airport to their hotel in Montmartre. The driver offered to give them a quick sightseeing tour through the downtown area and past the Louvre; along the way, he pointed out popular shops, the museums, and bridges crossing the Seine to the Left Bank.

  Their hotel was situated above the city, halfway up the hill leading to the Sacré-Coeur. From their fifth-floor window, Sarah could look out over the rooftops of the city. “What an awesome view,” she exclaimed when Charles joined her at the window. Their room was spacious and comfortably decorated, although they knew they probably wouldn’t spend much time there considering all the sightseeing they had planned.

  Sarah picked up a brochure that described several nearby restaurants and cafés, along with a list of things to do in Paris and a street map. But after scanning the brochure, she realized that ten days might not be enough time to see all the things they hoped to see.

  After getting settled and freshened up, they left the hotel on foot. Glancing down at the map she was carrying, Sarah commented, “Paris is much smaller than I realized. I think we can walk to most things.”

  “It’s not quite that small, but we can use the metro and cabs,” he responded. “How about grabbing some lunch?” Charles asked cheerfully as he picked up the pace.

  “Hey! I’m taking three steps for every one of yours,” she teased. “Slow down!”

  “Sorry,” he responded, pulling her close and attempting to adapt to her pace.

  “And,” she added, “I don’t think one grabs lunch in Paris. I believe the French have developed the art of savoring their meals.”

  They stopped at a café up the street from their hotel and were led to a small round table near the window. Charles reached across the table and took her hand. “Are you happy?”

  “Ecstatic!” Sarah giggled with the excitement of a child at a theme park. “But I’m trying to act my age,” she added, attempting to present a demeanor more in keeping with her years. Seventy years old and a blushing bride, she thought. Her face became flushed at the thought.

  It had been twenty years since her husband, Jonathan, had died, and she had become accustomed to her life as a widow. A few years ago, she had retired and moved to a retirement community, Cunningham Village, where she made friends, learned to quilt, and was enjoying her independence. And then she met Charles.

  Charles was a detective, retired from the local police department. A serious stroke brought him to Cunningham Village, where he spent many months in their rehab center before settling into one of their apartments that offered assisted living. He no longer needed special services and was totally independent when he met Sarah, but he had decided to continue living in the community. He fell in love with Sarah the day they met.

  In fact, Charles would tell you he fell in love with her long before that. He was the police officer who notified Sarah that her husband had suffered a fatal accident on the job. Charles never forgot this lovely, gentle woman, but she had been too grief-stricken to be aware of him back then.

  “Look!” Sarah exclaimed, pointing toward the sky. “It’s stopped raining, and I think the sun’s coming out.”

  “What would you like to do today?” Charles asked as the waitress was serving their drinks.

  “I’d like to walk. I want to get to know Paris, and there’s no better way! Let’s start with the Sacré-Coeur.” Handing him the map she added, “It’s only a short walk from here, and it overlooks the city.”

  “It’s a short walk, all uphill,” Charles responded with a chuckle.

  “But then it’s downhill coming back,” she replied with a reassuring twinkle in her eye.

  The young waitress arrived with their lunches and refilled their wine glasses from the decanter of chardonnay that had been placed between them. Charles had ordered Provençal slow-roasted pork and pommes frites, which he later learned was a very fancy way of saying french fries. Sarah, wanting to experience something new, ordered a goat cheese salad served with raspberry honey dressing and a French baguette. “No escargot?” Charles asked teasingly.

  “Not yet, but I’ll get there before the week is over.” The couple enjoyed a relaxed meal, savoring the food and enjoying the atmosphere.

  “Are you ready to climb the hill?” she asked as they left the café.

  “Ready and able,” he responded, pulling the map out of his breast pocket. “I think we should head up past that cemetery and pick up Rue de la Bonne. It looks like that street goes right up to the Basilica.” As they walked along the cobblestone sidewalk, signs confirmed that they had chosen well. Suddenly the narrow cobblestone road took a left turn and opened up at the foot of the Sacré-Coeur Basilica, which loomed high above them.

  “Magnificent!” Sarah gasped, not prepared for the splendor of the architecture. As they climbed the multitude of steps up to the portico, they both became very quiet, respecting the sacredness of their surroundings. Once inside, they sat in the opulent sanctuary and held hands without speaking. Sarah had tears in her eyes as they walked to the marble steps leading up to the dome.

  Looking out over Paris, Sarah revised her earlier statement. “I guess it’s not as small as I thought it was,” she said, gazing over the mass of rooftops spreading out in all directions. “Is that the Seine I see over there, just beyond the Eiffel Tower?” she asked, pointing toward what appeared to be water snaking through the city
.

  “Yes, and I want to spend our last night in Paris drifting down the Seine on a romantic dinner cruise,” Charles said, pulling her close to him.

  Sarah nodded enthusiastically adding, “And I want to walk across the bridges in the rain like they do in the movies!”

  Charles laughed. “And I’ll sing and dance with a cane and a top hat!”

  By the time they returned to their hotel room, neither was interested in walking over a bridge or anywhere else. Their feet hurt from their new shoes, and Charles’ arthritis in his right hip was causing him discomfort. They had dinner sent up to their room, and they stretched out on the bed watching The Expendables, with Arnold Schwarzenegger speaking French. Charles seemed to be enjoying it. As Sarah turned over and closed her eyes, she muttered, “You owe me one chick flick.”

  Before they knew it, they were on the plane flying home, leaving Paris and their many adventures far behind them. They couldn’t believe how fast the days flew by. They were sad to see their honeymoon end, but they were both eager to return to their new life as Mr. and Mrs. Parker.

  Had they known what was in store for them, they wouldn’t have been so eager.

  Chapter 2

  “Ihave a question.” Sophie was sitting on her front porch, shelling walnuts for a baklava recipe she was determined to try.

  “What’s your question?” Sarah asked, looking up from the colorful little quilt she was hemming for her granddaughter, Alaina.

  Sophie avoided her eyes and seemed to be hesitant to ask her question.

  “Well …?” Sarah said with raised eyebrows. “What do you want to ask me?”

  “Okay. Here goes. What’s going on across the street? I see you and Charles there for a week or so; then you’re both gone. Then one day I see you there, and I don’t see Charles for several days. Are you two living there or at his apartment? I thought the plan was for Charles to move in with you once you were married. Is there a problem of some kind?”

  “No, Sophie, there really isn’t a problem. Well, at least nothing we can’t resolve.” Sarah hesitantly added, “It’s just that …”

  Sophie held her hand up to stop Sarah mid-sentence. “Stop. This is none of my business, Sarah. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t need to answer.”

  Sarah laid her sewing aside and moved her chair closer to Sophie. “I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you about this before. I’ve been trying to figure it out myself. I guess I just didn’t know where to start.”

  Looking worried, Sophie said, “This sounds serious.”

  “It’s not really that, Sophie. It’s just … how can I explain it? It’s just that Charles and I have both lived alone for so many years, and we’ve developed our own ways of doing things. They’re little things, but we’re getting on each other’s nerves. If we were young, there would be nothing to it. We’d just compromise and change. But you know how it is with older folks …”

  “Set in our ways!” Sophie exclaimed, nodding. “But you two can work this out, can’t you?” she asked, still looking worried about her friends. “Maybe these houses are just too small for a couple.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought the problem was until we went to Paris. But while we were there, we lived in one room and did just fine. We finally realized what it was. Everything there was ours. Not his. Not mine. But ours. We weren’t on my turf or his turf. We were in a place we shared.”

  “So that’s the answer! Move to a place that belongs to both of you. Simple,” Sophie said, with a hand gesture that indicated the problem was solved.

  “We thought that was the answer, but that’s when we ran into the bigger problem. Where is that shared place going to be? I want to stay right here in Cunningham Village. This has become my home, and a retirement community is perfect for us for the rest of our lives. And besides that, I have family and friends here, and you’re like a sister to me.”

  Sophie smiled, unable to admit she felt the same way about Sarah but very touched to hear Sarah say it. “You’re my buddy!” she responded and turned away to avoid eye contact. Expressing feelings was not Sophie’s forte.

  “So what’s the problem?” Sophie asked. “He’s happy here, too, isn’t he? Just buy one of those lots up on the knoll and build a house that’s just right for both of you. That’s going to be part of Cunningham Village when it’s finished, and you’ll have the benefit of everything the Village has to offer.”

  “We’ve talked about that, but he has another idea. He’d like for us to move to Colorado to be near his sons. They’ve had a tumultuous relationship over the years. Charles was a good cop, but I wonder if he was able to make time for the family. His boys seem to be very bitter.”

  “Didn’t his wife die while the boys were still at home?”

  “Yes. She was sick for a number of years and died when the boys were in their early teens. He admits he threw himself into his job and was home even less after that. I guess they blamed him—or resented him. You know how kids can be. Anyway, he seems to think he can make it up to them by being around now.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Sophie responded emphatically.

  “I know, but he wants to try.”

  “So he wants the two of you to move to Colorado?”

  “Yes.”

  “But your kids …?”

  “I know.”

  “I see the problem.”

  The two women sat quietly for a while, each lost in her own thoughts. Finally, Sophie shrugged and resumed cracking walnut shells. Sarah picked up her needle but didn’t begin sewing right away. “We’ll make it through this, Sophie. I know we will. We care very deeply for one another, and I’m sure we can find common ground. It’ll just take time.” She picked up her granddaughter’s little quilt and resumed attaching the binding with tiny hem stitches. I can’t leave my family and live several thousand miles away, she told herself silently.

  * * * * *

  “We’re going to drive up to the waterfall today for our first picnic of the spring,” Jason announced when Sarah answered the phone.

  “It’s a perfect day for it,” Sarah responded with a smile.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” she asked.

  “Well, what’s your answer? Will you and Charles go with us?”

  Sarah laughed, recognizing that Jason always started in the middle of the conversation as if she had been there for the thoughts he had before he spoke. Jason was her forty-one-year-old son and the father of her only grandchild. Little Alaina was six months old and adorable. She was an easygoing child who giggled easily and seemed to love everyone she met.

  “We’d love to go. Did you invite Martha?”

  “I called her, but she wasn’t home. I left a message, and I hope she’ll be able to go. I haven’t seen much of my sister lately.”

  “She’s probably at the lab.”

  “It’s Saturday!” he exploded. “Doesn’t that woman know how to relax?”

  “She’s learning, now that you mention it. You know, she had a few dates with Sophie’s son when he was in town. Actually, more than a few,” she corrected herself, “and she told me last week that she’s considering a trip to Alaska to see him!”

  “Wow! That doesn’t sound like my work-obsessed sister.”

  “I think she’s smitten,” Sarah responded, smiling. “So what time are you going on this picnic, and what can I bring?”

  “I’m bringing a box of hamburgers and the makings for a fire. I was hoping Charles would cook for us. He’s great with the grill. And I’ll put Jenny on the phone to talk to you about the other details. Jenny …” he yelled. “Come talk to Mom.”

  “Hi, Mom,” Jenny said as she picked up the phone. Sarah could hear Alaina in the background making those endearing noises that babies make. “Are you going to join us?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. Charles went out for a haircut, but I know he’ll be excited about it. So what can I bring?”

  “I think we have it covered. I made a bowl
of potato salad. We have rolls and the fixings for the burgers. I have lots of chips and dip stuff, and I might bring some fruit. Maybe Charles could pick up some beer? We have sodas in the cooler already. Oh, I know! Do you have paper plates?”

  “A whole shelf full. I’ll bring all the paper goods and plastic cups. Also, I made a chocolate cake with raspberry filling yesterday. We still have most of it. I’ll bring that, too.”

  “Sounds perfect. It’s been a cold winter, and it’ll be great to get out in the spring sunshine. It’s going to be in the low eighties today!” she said enthusiastically. “A perfect day for a picnic!” Sarah loved Jennifer’s ability to appreciate the small things in life. “Shall we pick you up?” Jenny added.

  “No. We’ll meet you there.” They agreed to meet in the early afternoon at the bottom of the waterfall. Sarah decided to ask Charles about going a little early so they could grab a prime location and start the fire.

  After she hung up, Sarah dialed Martha’s cell phone and, sure enough, she was at work. She told her about the picnic and could hear her daughter’s hesitation. “I really should finish …”

  “Martha! It’s Saturday. Do you have a deadline?”

  “No, not really. I just wanted to get a head start on this project,” she said, but then she laughed and added, “but a picnic sounds much better. Do I have time to run home and change?”

  “Absolutely. Charles and I will pick you up around noon, okay?”

  As she opened the pantry and began pulling out the paper goods left from the previous summer, she realized she was humming. “Life is good,” she said aloud to herself.

  “What about the kids?” Charles asked as they were packing up the car later that morning. He was referring to their dog, Barney, and Barney’s kitten, Boots. They had called her Bootsy when Barney found her. She was tiny, helpless, and nearly frozen when Barney heard her crying from inside a snow-covered bush at the dog park. But now, five months later, she was a beautiful young cat who pranced around proudly in her snow-white fur boots.

  Barney could tell something was up, and his tail wagged happily as he ran around in circles. “Barney can go,” Sarah called from the backyard, “but, of course, Boots will be staying home.” Barney was getting used to the idea of leaving his kitten home. She slept in her grown-up bed now but still snuck into Barney’s basket occasionally and curled up against his safe, warm body. She had been much too young to be away from her mother when they found her, and she occasionally required some nurturing, which Barney was happy to provide.