“I think I’ll just lie down.” Forever.
“No,” Deydie said. “Ye need to be with people.”
Panic hit Emma. “You can’t tell anyone!”
“Don’t ye worry.” Deydie grabbed Emma’s coat and held it out for her.
“You have to promise. Not a soul. Do you hear?”
Deydie fixed her collar for her. “Don’t worry, lass. Not a word. Now, come. We’ll get you squared away.”
* * *
Claire carefully sliced the tomatoes, knowing all the fire had burned out of her. She should be spitting mad at Emma right now, but she only felt confused. A terrible realization hit her like a rogue wave: She wasn’t even close to being as tough as she thought she was. All these years, it was Emma and their friendship that had empowered Claire to be strong, gave her the courage to go out and conquer the world. Emma, who had picked her up as a wee, sad girl and been there for her after her da had died. Emma, the straight arrow. Emma, the one constant in her life.
Claire blinked back tears.
“Are you all right?” Dominic stood farther down the counter, cutting onions. The irony wasn’t lost on her.
She couldn’t answer him and not blubber, so she nodded instead. What could she tell him, anyway? That she’d lost everything. First him and now Emma.
Dominic wiped his hands on his apron and came to stand beside her. He took a washed green pepper and began coring it. “Are you as mad at them for meddling in our marriage as I am?”
Where did that come from? “I don’t know. I guess. It would’ve been nice, though, if Emma had stood behind me and taken my side.”
“Tell me about it,” Dom laughed derisively. “Gabe is the one who always says that men have to stick together. Instead, I feel like he took my best butcher knife and stabbed me in the back.”
“By taking my side of things?” Claire stated matter-of-factly, with no accusation.
“You know what I mean.”
“Aye.” She smiled at the tomatoes. “Bros before hoes.”
“Clairrrre,” he chided.
She looked up at him, and their eyes locked. Claire’s heart jolted. It was as if they were seeing each other for the first time. But more powerful, because it felt like old times, too—working side by side in the kitchen, with comfortable conversation between them.
Dominic gave her a long, easy smile, and she knew without a doubt he felt it, too. Their connection. Happiness sizzled through Claire. It had always been like this with him. Dominic was the yeast in her dough. The clotted cream on her scones. The absolute love of her life. For the first time in a long time, she felt like they were working from the same recipe in the same cookbook.
Dominic finished with the green peppers and scooped up the onions, tossing them in the sauté pan. He spoke above the sizzle and pop of the vegetables. “How are those tomatoes? I was a little worried they weren’t ripe enough.”
She cut off a chunk and walked over to him. “Open.” He had his hands busy with the sauce.
He did as he was told and she fed him the piece of the tomato, a well-rehearsed dance that had played out a thousand times between them in the kitchen. And like before all the trouble between them, his eyes dilated, then hooded. Her Italian Stallion was back and had sex on his mind. She was thrilled to see he still cared for her, but she couldn’t just gloss over what she’d done to him. She squeezed his arm and stepped away with a we-need-to-talk-first smile.
“Ah, Claire . . .”
She held up her hands. “Dominic, I’ve been a rotten person.”
He put down the spatula and turned off the stove, giving her his full attention. “Go on.”
She’d hoped he would’ve denied it, but they both knew it was true. “I’ve put you through the grater over wanting a baby.”
She grabbed the next tomato and began slicing; it was easier to talk if her hands were busy. “I know ye’re angry that Emma and Gabe got involved in our marriage. I am, too, but I’m also grateful. It was Emma who helped me to see what was really going on.”
“And that is?”
“Ye’re going to think this is a wee bit crazy.”
“I’m listening.” He waited patiently for her to continue.
“Dominic, ye’re the same age as my father when he died.”
“What?”
“I told you it was crazy.”
“I’m fine, Claire. Healthy as a horse.” He stepped back with his arms out as proof. “God willing, nothing will happen to me for a long, long time.”
“I know.” She shrugged. “It must’ve been coming home to Gandiegow that stirred up the old feelings. Mama used to say how lucky she was to have me to remember my da by. Don’t you see? I don’t have anything to remember you by if something should happen, except maybe your recipes and kitchen knives.” She glanced over at the knives, and shame filled her. She’d thrown pots at her husband’s head and crotch and had even waved a knife around like a lunatic.
“Yeah,” he said, frowning. He must’ve been remembering, too.
“I’m so sorry. You did nothing to deserve it. I promise to work at keeping my fear at bay about losing you. I don’t want to live without you, like my mother had to live without the love of her life.” She looked up at him, desperately wanting him to forgive her.
“Claire.” Dominic came to her and wrapped her in his arms. “This has been my fault, too. It wasn’t just the money, you know. Even though our finances have been bad enough to scare my sperm.” He laughed into her hair at his own joke. “I’ve had my own fears haunting me. I grew up without a father. What do I know about being a papa?”
She pulled away from him. “But ye’re amazing with kids. I’ve seen you. The whole town thinks ye’re a miracle worker.”
He laid her head back on his shoulder. “I’m feeling more confident now.”
“You know, Father Andrew told me to trust that everything will work out.” Being in her husband’s arms was a good start, the rightest thing in the whole world.
“Something else,” Dom said, kissing her temple. “About the finances . . . I’ve figured out a few things, too.”
“How to get more customers?”
Porco took that moment to make an irreverent snort from the corner.
Claire leaned back and looked into Dominic’s eyes. “Ye’re not fooling anyone when it comes to that pig. We all know his only job is to be our garbage disposal.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty attached to him. Maybe he can be used as a stud at the farm where I got him,” Dominic offered.
“We’ll see. First, tell me what you figured out about the finances. You know I understand as well as you do about how tight things are.”
“I know my wife has good business sense.”
“I’ve just been an emotional mess.”
“We’ll work together to help you through this. It has to be hard. I still miss my madre just like you miss your father. But, Claire, what I’m finally starting to understand is that we’re not in Edinburgh or Glasgow.”
She squeezed him. “Duh.”
He tweaked her nose affectionately. “We’re in Gandiegow. Look around at the people here. They have children and don’t have tons of money.”
Claire thought of Amy and Coll’s little one-room cabin. “Aye. Everyone makes do.”
Dom continued on. “The cost of living is incredibly low here. I think we could do it. I think we could have a bambino and make it work. Right now.”
“Maybe,” she hedged. “I’m not sure I’m ready. Amy’s little hellion has shown me I have a lot to learn about bairns before we go down that path.”
Dominic looked at her earnestly. “I don’t want to wait too long. I love you, Claire. I can just imagine my baby in you.”
“And my breasts getting as big as watermelons?”
He peeked down at her cleavage. “Th
at, too.” He turned serious. “How about in a year? Do you think that would give you enough time? I don’t want to wait any longer than that.”
“Maybe two. I can train Moira and have her get up early with the scones. You and I both know—”
“The scones wait for no one,” they both said together.
Dominic smiled at her tenderly. “I love you, Claire.”
“I love you, too, Dominic.”
Then their lips met, and Claire’s world tilted back into place. She was finally home.
Just as she was being swept up in the magic that was them, a worry pulled her away.
“What, my dolce?” Dominic caressed her back. “What’s wrong?”
She laid a hand on his chest and looked him in the eyes. “What are we going to do about Emma and Gabriel?”
* * *
For Christmas Eve, Quilting Central was surprisingly packed. Emma had assumed that everyone would be home with their families, but women filled almost every work space, furiously putting together last-minute projects or wrapping presents. Deydie brought over the Gandiegow Doctor quilt and the embroidered tag, laying them next to Emma on the overstuffed sofa in front of the hearth.
“Just turn under the edges on the tag and hand-stitch it in place,” the old woman said.
Emma flipped it over and read:
To Gandiegow’s Doctor
Gabriel MacGregor
Pieced & quilted by Emma Castle
Stunned, she looked up at Deydie. “My name is on his quilt?”
“Ye’re the one who did all the work. Now get to stitching.”
While Emma sewed, she kept her eye on the door, but neither Claire, Dominic, or Gabriel appeared. When Emma was done with the tag, Deydie shoved a box and some Christmas paper onto her lap and made her wrap the package, as well.
Never more than a few feet away, Deydie stood near Emma all day, shoving crackers and tea at her, making sure she was comfortable and cared for. Throughout the day, she kept an endless stream of tasks in front of her, too. When she wasn’t fussing over her and working her half to death, Deydie was using her rotary blade to cut out fabric. If anyone stopped by for a chat with Emma, Deydie shooed them off.
“Emma’s not working today,” Deydie said to them. “It’s Christmas Eve. Yere problems will have to wait until after Hogmanay. She’s taking some time off for the holidays.”
Deydie the receptionist. “Not working?” Emma gestured to the projects laid before her. A stash of fat quarters to sort, a box filled with patterns to organize, and thread to arrange by style and color. Not working, indeed.
And why would Deydie assume Emma would be in Gandiegow after the New Year?
After the building cleared out and the quilters went home to their families, Deydie plopped a quilting magazine and a shoe box in front of Emma. A big red bow had been taped to the top.
“What’s this?” Emma asked.
“A Christmas present from me,” Deydie said.
Emma stared at her, dumbfounded.
“Come on, lass, we’re going to miss church if you don’t get on with it.” Deydie took the lid off the box for her. Inside were pieces of pastel cotton fabric—blue, green, pink, yellow, and white—cut into perfect squares and triangles.
Deydie flipped open the magazine to a page marked with a Post-it note. “I thought you could make this for yere next project.”
It was a baby quilt made of stars, triangles, and squares. But in the center, there was a quarter-moon with its own special star.
Deydie tapped the middle of the quilt picture. “I’ll show ye how to applique that part.”
Emma burst into tears.
Deydie sat next to her and took her hand. “Now, now, don’t be sad. Working on a quilt will help you accept the miracle ye’ve been given. It’s what I did when I found out I was to have Nora. It’s what we all do here in Gandiegow. It’ll all work out for you. I promise. My Nora was my greatest blessing. She could be a handful, but she was my shining star.” Deydie seemed far away for a second, but she snapped back quickly to the here and now.
“I’m not sad,” Emma said. And she wasn’t. “I’m just grateful. Thank you for being so kind to me.”
“’Tis nothing,” Deydie gruffed. “Come on, now. Get back to the dorm and get ready for church. Put on your best dress. Ye’ll sit with me and my ladies.”
Emma wiped her tears and stood, feeling stronger. “I’ll be there.”
Deydie shoved a sandwich at her before she left. “Make sure you eat this right away. We don’t want a repeat of earlier and have you swooning in front of the whole congregation. Now, do we?”
“Good point.” Emma took a bite and headed to the dorm. Even though she was worried about what she was going to tell Gabriel, her bigger worry was Claire.
Poor Claire. Emma being pregnant would be the biggest betrayal of all.
Chapter Twenty-two
At the quilting dorm, Emma sighed heavily as she pulled on her jumper dress, the color of evergreens, the one that matched her eyes. She wondered what color eyes the baby would have.
The baby.
A baby was the only thing that Claire had wanted. And Emma was the one who was going to get one. She didn’t know how her friend would bear it. This might be the final blow that would end their friendship. Emma sighed again.
But her insides glowed. I’m pregnant. Even though everything had gone wrong with Gabriel, she found herself overjoyed. She would have this baby. That was the only thing in the world she knew for sure. Except that she was going to church right now. What she did tomorrow would be anyone’s guess.
When she arrived at the white-steepled building, she hurried inside, keeping her head down. She couldn’t face Gabriel right now, or Claire, for that matter. Not yet. She zipped through the narthex and went into the nave, searching for Deydie’s pew with the quilting ladies. Bethia was already seated, and Emma joined her.
“Are you feeling all right, lassie?” Bethia’s old eyes looked concerned.
“Yes.” What could Emma say? Gabriel had impregnated her and Claire would never speak to her again?
While the organist played quiet Christmas tunes, more people filed in. Mattie came down the aisle, followed by Cait and her famous husband, Graham Buchanan. Mattie and Cait waved to her and it eased Emma’s anxiety a little. Only a very little. She waved back, then closed her eyes, willing the music to relax her.
Deydie squeezed in beside Emma, leaning over to whisper, “Keep the faith. Ye’re doing fine.”
Suddenly the music shifted to “O Come, All Ye Faithful” and the congregation stood. It took everything in Emma not to turn around and watch as Gabriel processed in with the choir. Instead, she stuck her nose in the hymnal and sang along, doing well for the first verse. But as he passed by their pew, her head came up automatically. Unlike before, he didn’t search her out and nod. He seemed to have locked his head in the straight-ahead position. Whatever she’d been hoping for from him wasn’t going to happen, and her stomach dropped. Even more upsetting, now that she’d seen him, she couldn’t look away.
Deydie tapped a gnarled finger on Emma’s hymnal to draw her attention back to where it should be. Emma tuned into the service as best as she could, and was surprised when it calmed her. Father Andrew spoke about how the baby Jesus had been a blessing to the world and observed that all children were a blessing and the best hope for the future. Emma put a hand on her stomach, warmed by his words, as if they had been delivered just for her.
She turned around and saw Claire sitting three rows back with Dominic beside her. Why were they keeping up the ruse that they were back together?
Out of the blue, a clear-cut decision came to Emma. Right after church, no matter what, she would seek out Claire and tell her about the baby. No more secrets, no more lies. She’d be honest with Claire, put it all out there. If their long-
standing friendship was over, at least Emma would have been honest with her in the end. And Gabriel? He needed to know, too. Maybe she’d write him a note and slip it under his door. If she told him in person, he’d probably propose on the spot; that Scottish warrior was such a gentleman. But a child was a poor excuse to be together. She couldn’t bear for him to be with her out of obligation.
At that moment, Father Andrew motioned to the table off to the side. “We have a special treat this evening. The choir has decided to surprise us with ‘The Holly and the Ivy’ on the bells.”
Gabriel stood and his eyes fell on Emma. He looked so vulnerable that she wanted to go to him. However, before she could blink, a dark mask fell over his face and only disappointment remained.
Tears sprang to Emma’s eyes and fell down her cheeks. Deydie dug around in her pocket and pulled out a clean hankie, shoving it in Emma’s hand.
On the other side of her, Bethia patted her arm. Alarm rang throughout Emma—Deydie hadn’t kept her mouth shut.
But then Bethia leaned over and whispered, “The bells always make me cry, too. They remind me of my daughter, Ciara.”
The music was beautiful. Emma didn’t punish herself further by watching Gabriel, but kept her eyes in her lap. She loved him, and it hurt so much. They’d probably never be together because of her lies. At least she’d have his baby to remember him by. Just like Claire’s mother.
But she couldn’t stay in Gandiegow another day knowing Gabriel couldn’t stand the sight of her. It was more than she could handle. As soon as she got back to the dorm, she’d call a taxi and head to London. For good.
The song ended, and Emma could finally breathe. Father Andrew announced the closing hymn, and the congregation rose and sang. When the service was over, Emma had every intention of sprinting for the door. She did fine hurrying up the aisle, but just as she made it to the narthex, her arm was snagged and she was pulled to a stop.
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