Grandma's Wedding Quilts_Prequel

by Kate Cambridge

  “No, you traced my parents’ history, Callum.”

  “Sorry, you lost me, Hannah. I’m not following…”

  She studied him for a moment. She didn't tell very many people the truth about her history for two reasons. One, she was a very private person, and two, she never wanted her parents to think that she didn't consider them her real family.

  Callum set his sandwich down and wiped his hands. “What is it, Hannah? You can tell me.”

  “I'm adopted.” She smiled. “So, yes, I have a family history, through my parents—but it's not a biological history.”

  “Oh, wow! You never told me.” He grinned. “How exciting.”

  “Exciting?” She laughed. “I didn't expect that reaction.”

  “You have a true mystery in your past. If it's something you're interested in, that is. It would be a lot of fun to trace it. Do you know anything about your birth parents?”

  “Nothing. No one does, actually.”

  “Surely there are some records somewhere. Adoption papers, birth records?”

  “No, not at all. I was found at five, abandoned. I was never reported missing, and there was no match to my DNA in the system. The only thing I knew, according to my mother, was my first name, Hannah.”

  “How interesting. It's good that they didn't try to change your name. You have some of your identity to hold on to.”

  “Maybe, or maybe I had a dog named Hannah, and me as a kid thought it was my name. Or maybe it was Anna, but I heard it as Hannah. No matter what, it's not my identity. My identity is as the daughter of my parents.”

  “Sure, it is.” He nodded. “But you must wonder.”

  “Sometimes.” She looked down at the photograph on her camera. “Sometimes things have a deeper meaning to me, one I can't explain. Then I wonder if it has something to do with my early childhood.”

  “Do you remember anything?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head. “The therapist I saw when I was a child said that the trauma of being abandoned may have blocked my memory, or I may have simply been too young to retain much.”

  “What do you think?” He reached out and took the camera from her hand. She tried not to think about the way his fingertips brushed against hers.

  “I don't know. I guess I don't think about it that much. When I was little, I used to imagine all kinds of fanciful things. Embarrassing things.” She blushed as she laughed.

  “What kinds of things?” He skimmed through the pictures on the camera.

  “Childish things. You know, that maybe I was a long-lost princess that had been smuggled to safety, or a movie star's kid. That kind of thing.”

  “A princess, huh?” He glanced up and smiled. “I could see that.”

  “Stop.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, my mystery isn't what we're looking into today. I want to know more about the history behind these quilts.”

  “These images are interesting. Have you noticed the way that some of these look like words?” he asked, clearing his throat.

  “Yes, but I can't make out the letters. I tried enhancing the photograph on my computer, but it only makes the letters more blurry.”

  “Interesting. I wonder if they could be places? Or maybe names?”

  “I would guess names, possibly. Look at this.” She pointed to the picture of the smaller quilt. “The design in the center, here, has the same shape as the name in this square.” She showed him on the image of the larger quilt. “So, if they are names, then it's likely this quilt was made for a certain person, and that there will be a quilt made for the rest of the names, as well.”

  “Good find. You've got great detective skills. Well, from what I found in my digging around, many of the women in this family were seamstresses or involved in sewing of some kind. So, it would not surprise me if the quilts were made my hand by someone in the family line.”

  “I believe they were all made by one person.”

  “All?”

  “Twelve, plus the sampler quilt.”

  “Wow, that would be a lot of work for one person.”

  “Yes, it would. I can't help but wonder where the rest of the quilts are. I think if we can pin down where they are and maybe even get to all of them, they would make a remarkable exhibit for the museum.”

  “Yes, I've heard that the museum is at risk of being closed this year.”

  “I don't even want to think about it. I have no idea what I'd do with myself if I couldn't work here.”

  “I'm sure there are other museums that would love to have you.”

  “But this is where I want to be.” She frowned. “I'm hoping we'll find a way to save it. Maybe enough people would be interested in these quilts—if we can find all of them—to generate some good income.”

  “That's a big wish to make on some old blankets, Hannah. I just don't want you to be disappointed.”

  “All I can do is try, right?”

  “Right. So, here is where I think you should start.” He pointed to a name on his tablet. “Audrina's mother, Gretchen, supplied uniforms to this private school.” He pulled up the name of the private school on the screen. “The private school was owned by Josiah Ridge, and is still open, and run by his great-grandson, Jefferson Ridge. It's possible that the families were close at one time, as most women were not employed then. For Gretchen to have supplied the uniforms, she may have been doing it as a favor to Josiah, in which case Jefferson Ridge may still have some information about Gretchen and Benton that could provide us some guidance as to who their parents were, or where they might have come from.”

  “Wonderful, Callum! You really are amazing.”

  “Am I?” He smiled as he picked up his tablet. “Does that mean you'll let me come with you?”

  “Aren't you too busy for that?”

  “Not for a mystery like this. You know my weakness is for a good treasure hunt.”

  “Mine, too.” She grinned. “Okay.” She glanced at her watch. “I might be able to get away with a road trip tomorrow if I get the rest of the paperwork on my desk done today. Are you available tomorrow?”

  “Sure. I'll pick you up.”

  “Maybe I should drive.”

  “No way—I'll pick you up.” He stood up from the table.

  “Um. It’s technically my project and I'm a good driver.” She stared up at him.

  “Didn't you just tell me that you couldn't parallel park?”

  She bit her lip to suppress a smile. “That has nothing to do with my driving.”

  “If you say so.” He laughed. “Should I pick you up at the museum or your house?”

  “The museum,” she sighed. “I'll text you later to confirm in the event I can't get off work for some reason.”

  “Okay, great. Eight?”

  “Eight is good.”

  “See you then.”

  * * *

  Back in her office, Hannah took the time to jot down her thoughts after her conversation with Callum. If there was a scandal that erased the history of the quilts, she wondered if they would be able to overcome it. This was one of the reasons why she always wrote down her thoughts and took copious notes—the knowledge that people and things could be completely erased if proper documentation wasn't followed was something she’d experienced more than once.

  A knock on the door of her office drew her attention.

  “Yes?”

  “Hannah, I was looking for you earlier.” Dr. Wagstaff stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

  “Is something wrong?” She could tell from the crease of her superior’s brow that this was all business.

  “I know I told you that you could look into the quilts, but I need you on another project.”

  “Oh, but I was just going to—”

  “Hannah, if we don't come up with something to keep these doors open, we're going to have to close by the end of the year. One of the museums in the next state has offered to loan us their exhibit of precious gems, and I'm hoping it will drum up enough attention to ge
t us by for a few more months. I need you to go there and coordinate this with their assistant director, then organize and promote the exhibit.”

  “It's possible that I could find all of the quilts that go with this set, and we could use it as a historical exhibit—”

  “Possible won't keep the doors open. Get the exhibit set up, and if there is time after that, you can go back to the quilts. They're not going anywhere.”

  “Yes, you're right. I'm sorry. I will contact the museum about the gems right away.”

  “Thank you, Hannah.” She paused beside the door and looked back. “I know that you are passionate about things, and I'm sorry for putting on the brakes, but right now all of our focus needs to be on generating funds. Okay?”

  “Yes, Dr. Wagstaff, of course.” She closed the pictures of the quilts on her computer and looked up the details on the museum. Before leaving work that night, she sent Callum a text to cancel their road trip.

  Over the next few weeks, she focused on gems, how best to light and display them, how to maximize PR for the show, and how to ensure their security. Yet at the end of every night as she closed her eyes, the embroidery on the quilts floated back into her mind. She thought about the promise she made to Audrina, and she longed for the truth behind the mystery that the old trunk had brought into her life.

  When she walked into her office after the first day of the gem exhibit, she found a small package on her desk. When she picked it up, she noticed that the return address belonged to Audrina Bell. With a buzz of excitement, she grabbed her scissors to carefully open the package. Flipping back the box top, she pulled out the contents. Her heart lurched at the sight of a small notebook. It was leather bound and appeared to be very old. On top of it was a folded letter from Audrina.

  Dear Hannah,

  I discovered this in my things. I had forgotten all about it. My mother gave it to me when I was young. I'm not sure that it will help you with the quilts, but I do hope that it might. I hope you are well. Thank you for doing what I do not have the strength to.

  Kind regards,

  Audrina

  She carefully lifted the book, turning it slowly from side to side. The scent of musty leather filled her nostrils. Under her fingertips, the texture of the cover stirred a brief sense of recognition, similar to her experience with the quilts.

  When she opened the book to the first page, her eyes widened at the sight of a pencil sketch. It was the face of a small child with a wide smile. The artwork was quite skilled, and despite the age of the paper, it had been well preserved. As she continued to look through the book, she discovered that each page contained a portrait. Many of the faces were similar. Some, she thought, could have been older versions of others. It seemed like a photo album, perhaps created before photo albums were possible.

  The only way to tell for sure was to date the paper; however, she knew the moment that she turned the notebook over to Dr. Wagstaff, it would become a possession of the museum. She didn't want to let go of it just yet. Audrina had sent it to her with the hope that she would be able to use it to find out more about the quilts. She tucked it safely away back in the box.

  That night as she closed her eyes, she could see the faces in the sketches as they danced before her eyes. Who were these people? Who had drawn them? Were they related? The questions jammed up in her mind. She grabbed her phone and sent a text to Callum.

  Road trip tomorrow?

  After glancing at the clock, she wondered if it might be too late for him to answer. A second later she received a response.

  Pick you up at eight.

  She smiled to herself as she let her head rest on the pillow. Tomorrow was her first day off after working for weeks without a break, and with the gem display already set up, and security in place, she wouldn't be needed at the museum.

  Tomorrow belonged to her, Callum, and the quilts. Could it be she would discover more of their story?

  * * *

  The next morning Callum was at her door at 8 AM sharp. She provided him with a cup of coffee-to-go, then settled into the passenger seat of his car. Just like Callum, everything about his car was in order. It was so clean she might have guessed it was brand new. His cell phone had a place, as did his briefcase, as did his sunglasses, and two granola bars.

  “Breakfast,” he smiled. “Because I've noticed that when you are consumed in a project, you forget to eat.”

  “Rather observant, aren’t you?”

  “I’d better be.” He winked at her then started the car. As they drove, she told him about the notebook that Audrina sent. “Do you think it could help us in our search?”

  “I'm not sure, to be honest. It would be difficult to pin down who the people in the sketches were when so much time has passed. However, it could have some historical value if we find out who drew them.”

  “I hope that we can.”

  “Me, too, Hannah.”

  In the almost three hours that passed, they discussed what it would be like to find the history and story behind the quilts, and what it might mean for the museum. Then they veered off into amusing memories of their time in college together. They were almost to their destination when Callum looked over at her.

  “I was always trying to get your attention, you know. All of those ridiculous things I did—you must have thought I was a fool.”

  “My attention? You always had everyone's attention.” She shook her head. “I never thought you were a fool, Callum.”

  “No?” He pulled into the parking lot of the private school.

  “No, never.” She smiled at him.

  “Then why didn't you ever talk to me? I mean really talk to me. Every time I tried to get you into a conversation, you would find an excuse to get away.”

  “Oh, well.” She picked at the edge of her shirt. “I was shy.”

  “Shy?” He laughed. “Now that I don't believe. I saw you go toe-to-toe with our professor in front of our entire Lit class.”

  “Because he insisted that the Nelson-Atwell Museum was nothing but old relics and dust. He was such a jerk.”

  “You let him know it, too.”

  “We should go in.” She glanced at her watch. “It's lunch time, and I called ahead to let them know we would be here, so we should be able to get a good amount of time with Jefferson.”

  He stepped out of the car. When she joined him on the walkway that led up to the school, she wondered whether some of his friendly banter was hinting at something more. It was hard for her to believe, as she had never considered herself attractive.

  She pushed the thought aside and focused on the man that stood at the front door of the school.

  “Hello, welcome.” He smiled at them both. “Was it a difficult drive?”

  “Not at all.” Hannah shook his hand. “I’m Hannah Quinn and this is the friend and expert I told you about, Callum Jones.”

  “Hannah, Callum, it's a pleasure to meet you. I hear that you're on the path of a historical discovery.”

  “I hope so.” She smiled.

  “Do come inside. The kids are at lunch so it may be a bit noisy, but my office should be quiet enough for us to talk.”

  As they walked down the halls of the school, Hannah flashed back to her own youth. Her parents were wealthy and she'd been provided with a private school education. She made every dime worthwhile by gobbling up all the knowledge she could. However, that alienated her from most of her peers, who were more interested in partying and skipping class. It wasn't until college that she truly bonded with a small group of friends.

  Once they were settled in Jefferson's office, he lifted a box and set it on his desk. “My father was a big history buff. When you mentioned Gretchen, I did some digging, and I found a record of her making uniforms for the school. According to the documentation at the time, she was a close friend of my great-grandmother.”

  “Is there anything in your documentation about Gretchen's parents? Or where she might have come from?”

  “Yes, a few notes.
Gretchen was taking care of her elderly mother, by the name of Mary, and as it is stated in these documents, she was named after her own mother. So, Gretchen's grandmother would have been Mary, as well. In order to get the job as seamstress for the uniforms, Gretchen claimed that her grandmother was an extremely skilled seamstress who had connections with royalty. She couldn't prove that, as her grandmother had no actual record of birth. But the name she gave, that she claimed belonged to her grandmother, was Mary Alice Godwin Benton Palmer.” He chuckled. “Quite a mouthful, right?”

  “Yes, it is, and exactly what we needed to hear. Thank you so much for this, Jefferson. Do you think it will be enough for you to find out more about the family, Callum?”

  “Yes, I do. With that many surnames, I should be able to track everything. Did you have any other information about Gretchen or her family?”

  “Only that there was some kind of scandal in their past. My great-grandfather made a note in his personal diary, that the story of Gretchen's family was almost unbelievable, but that she was a good and honest woman. He believed what she said, but whatever it was, he didn't commit it to paper. That in itself tells me that it was big, as he normally documented everything. If he didn't write this down, then he likely considered it too much of a risk to mention on paper.”

  “How very interesting.” She smiled. “Who knew a search for quilts would lead to such intrigue?”

  “I still have a few of the uniforms that Gretchen made on display in the school's museum. She was an excellent seamstress, and the uniforms were flawless. You're welcome to take a look, if you would like.”

  “Thank you so much.” She smiled as she stood up, and then nodded. “I appreciate all of your help with this.”

  “No trouble at all. This school owes a great debt to Gretchen's family. If there is anything more I can do to help, please feel free to ask.” He shook her hand, then Callum's.

  After he directed them to the small room that served as the school's museum, Hannah stepped inside to take a look around. Callum followed after her, but he already had his tablet out.