by Tara Randel
Stella’s brows rose. “Oh, no, you don’t need to do anything.”
“Stella, you’re our friend. We want to help.”
“But, really, I--”
“Stella,” Annie pressed. “We want to do this for you.”
Surprised again, Stella’s tense features softened. She looked to Annie as though seeing her for who she really was for the first time.
“Well, we could get rid of all these boxes and tidy up.”
Gwendolyn saluted. “We’ll get right on it.”
For the next hour Annie and Gwendolyn took orders, along with the rest of the workmen, as they finished their tasks. They’d just stowed away the broom and placed the empty boxes in the dumpster when the door opened and a tall, thin woman in her late forties walked in. She was dressed in tailored taupe Bermuda shorts and a loose-fitting blouse, her blond hair cut in a stylish bob.
“Stella. It’s been too long.”
Stella hurried over to greet her friend. “Marisa, I’m so pleased you could make the time to stop by.”
“Or miss seeing your plans? Never.” Marisa air-kissed Stella, then gazed around the room.
Marisa sauntered around the open room with a critical eye, commenting on the lighting, the acoustics, even the shade of paint on the walls. And the entire time Stella stayed rooted to one spot, worry lining her face, as if she were afraid to engage with Marisa for fear she might find some fault in Stella’s design.
Annie would have liked to walk over and placed a comforting hand on Stella’s shoulder. She didn’t, knowing the older woman wouldn’t appreciate her gesture.
After a final assessment full of hmms and aahs, Marisa smiled brightly. “The space is wonderful. You thought of everything when you set up the exhibit area.”
Stella let out a breath of relief. “I’m so glad you agree.”
Marisa wagged a finger at her friend. “I always said you were very clever, Stella.”
As if suddenly remembering Annie and Gwendolyn, Stella introduced them to Marisa. “These are my friends.”
Annie’s eyes widened at her statement.
“We’re all members of a local needlecraft club.”
Before Annie could add to Stella’s introduction, Marisa came over to shake her hand.
“How lovely,” Marisa told her. “I have a special place in my heart for needlecrafts. After I return home from vacation, I’m finalizing a new exhibit set to open in October: Celebrate Americana. It will include different textiles and modes of needlecraft that women have worked through the years.”
“Oh, then, you must stop by our local yarn shop before you leave town,” Gwendolyn told her. “We have a group of women, including Stella, who get together and work on different needlecraft projects. In fact, there’s a new, never-before-seen Betsy Original being displayed there right now.”
Marisa stopped. A glint of anticipation, as well as calculation, was in her eyes. “A new Betsy Original?”
“Yes. It’s beautiful.”
Annie watched Stella’s reaction. Her lips pursed in impatience and her bearing grew stiff as Gwendolyn described the cross-stitch.
“Where did it come from?” asked Marisa.
“I found it,” Annie told her. “Betsy was my grandmother, and I inherited her house. I’m spending the summer here and found it in the attic.”
“You really should see it,” Gwendolyn said with all seriousness.
Marisa smiled at Stella. “Have you been holding out on me, my friend?”
“Well, I--”
“Stella, you have a Betsy Original in town. Let’s check it out. Then I’ll share my ideas for your exhibit space.”
Annie picked up her purse. “Let’s go.”
The four walked to the store, Marisa and Gwendolyn taking the lead, chatting like long-lost friends. Stella walked silently beside Annie, who slowed to the older woman’s pace. She’d have no choice but to see the cross-stitch now. Annie didn’t know how Stella would respond, especially since she was only going at Marisa’s request.
As they entered the shop, Stella lingered by the door until Marisa took her arm and led her to the display stand. Annie held back far enough to be out of Stella’s way, but close enough to watch her reaction.
Eyes narrowed, lips taut, Stella stepped up to the cross-stitch. At first, she looked all around the store, at anything but the image in question. Finally, she gazed directly at the cloth. Initially nothing registered on her face, then, slowly, her eyes grew wide.
By this time Mary Beth had engaged Marisa in conversation, but Stella stayed motionless. Then, reaching out, her fingers lightly brushed the cloth before covering her mouth. A small cry escaped her.
Concerned, Annie stepped toward her just as Stella turned. Surprise slammed Annie. Tears were streaming down Stella’s face, her eyes bright and filled with … regret? Loss? Annie couldn’t name the emotion.
Stella’s gaze met and held hers for moments. Then she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and brushed past Annie. By the time Annie realized what was happening, Stella had disappeared into the storeroom at the back of the shop.
Weaving her way through customers, Annie felt someone grab her arm. She turned to see Marisa. “We need to talk. I want to show this piece in the new exhibit.”
Annie stared at her for a moment. “What?”
“I want to show this piece.”
“Oh, I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can.”
All Annie could concentrate on right now was Stella. “Please excuse me.”
Annie barreled through the room, only to run into Ian.
“Hey,” he said. “I was hoping to bump into you.”
She didn’t need a distraction right now. She had to get to Stella. “Ian, I don’t mean to be rude, but can it wait?”
“Sure. I’ll be here.”
In the storeroom, Annie found Stella, who had stopped to catch her breath and staggered to a desk chair. She was fishing through her purse to find a tissue.
Alarm flittered through Annie. “Stella? Are you okay?”
Clearing her throat, Stella turned, clenching a ball of tissue in one hand as she visibly tried to maintain her composure. “Annie. You shouldn’t have followed me.”
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, as you can see.”
“You don’t look fine to me.”
“Well I am. You can go now.”
“No. I’m afraid I can’t. Not until I get answers. You know the Lady in the cross-stitch, don’t you?”
Stella placed a hand over her chest. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you’re the only person I’ve seen have such an emotional reaction to the piece.”
“I can’t help you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice firm, stubbornly signaling the end of the conversation.
Annie began to pace in the confined space. “All this time we’ve been going out of our minds trying to figure out what this cross-stitch piece means. If you’d looked at it from the start like we asked, you could have given us the answers.”
“You’re assuming I knew her.”
“I know you did. Your reaction says so.”
Stella’s voice grew acerbic. “Maybe some truths are better left unanswered.”
“Better for whom?”
“If your grandmother had wanted the young lady’s identity known, she would have told you.”
“Stella, we’ve all worked so hard to find out who the woman is. We’ve gone to the places that must have meant something to my grandmother, searching for the truth behind Gram’s work. If you know anything at all, please, tell me.” Annie didn’t bother to hide the frustration on her face. “Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because the young woman is me.”
18
Stella smiled sadly. “From a long time ago.”
“Oh my,” Annie whispered.
“Oh my, in
deed.”
Just as Annie was about to ask how and why, Mary Beth rapped on the door frame. “Hey, you two, I saw you run back here and--” She stopped abruptly when she glimpsed Annie’s dazed expression. Her gaze quickly flew to Stella’s pale face. “Is everything okay?” Mary Beth asked with alarm.
Annie looked at Stella, her brow raised in silent question. Stella clutched her purse tighter and hugged it to her chest, then nodded.
“Mary Beth, would you gather together the Hook and Needle Club members?” She paused. “Stella and I want to tell you something.”
Mary Beth hesitated a half second. “Of course.”
After Mary Beth left the room, Annie heard her loudly announce that the shop must briefly close. Everyone would be welcome back in an hour. She directed customers--even Marisa--to The Cup & Saucer, down to the Town Square, the park, or the docks to view the lobster boats.
Stella looked up at Annie. “I don’t know where to start.”
“At the beginning would be good.”
Stella’s lips curved slightly. “You’re very much like Betsy, you know.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Minutes later Mary Beth returned. “All clear. I ran everyone out.”
Annie took hold of Stella’s elbow, slowly leading her into the outer room. Stella’s color had returned, but Annie wasn’t taking a chance that Stella, frail as she was, might crumble before she reached the circle of chairs.
Once Stella was comfortably seated, Annie sat beside her and motioned for the others to join them. As in their Tuesday-morning meetings, the solidarity of friendship was strengthened as they sat in the circle.
Stella took a deep breath. “I know the identity of the young woman in the cross-stitch.”
The announcement had them speechless. Finally, Alice asked, “Well?”
Stella bowed her head.
Five confused faces stared at her.
Annie’s heart went out to the woman. She waited for Stella to gain her composure. When Stella raised her head, Annie nodded at Stella.
When she hesitated, Annie took charge. “We all know the woman.” Annie shifted in her seat. “She’s sitting at the head of this circle.”
A hushed silence fell over the group, but as the revelation sank in, Alice whispered, “Stella?”
Questions flew fast and furious. Stella held up her hand to deflect them. “Yes, it’s me. I didn’t know I was the young lady in the piece. Today is the first time I saw it--believe me, I’m as surprised as you.”
“But how? Why?” Peggy stammered.
Stella clutched the armrests as if holding on to a lifeline. “It’s a long story.”
“And we aren’t going anywhere until it’s been told,” Mary Beth assured her. “I locked the front door and turned the closed sign so no one will disturb us.”
Stella paused a moment, meeting each woman eye to eye, as if to convince them that the real Stella, not the façade she’d always hidden behind, spoke to them now. “My mother died when I was very young. We had lived in the house on Old Harbor Road. That stitching in the corner of the cross-stitch? That was my home.”
“I didn’t know you lived there,” Gwendolyn interrupted. “You never mentioned it.”
“When I was about twelve, my father moved us to a bigger house, outside of town. All for status, you know.” Stella shrugged, but the forced disdain in her tone revealed this was not a minor detail. “Now I was even more isolated than before. And miserable. The only company I had were the many books my father insisted I read. He believed in having his only child tutored at home, so I had no friends to speak of. Until I met this outgoing girl in town when I accompanied the cook to the market one day. Having a friend to talk to changed my life.”
“Betsy,” Kate deduced.
“Yes. I had wandered off by myself, curious about the places in town I wasn’t allowed to visit. I ended up at the docks that afternoon. Betsy was there with a few others, leading the younger children in a game of tag or some other children’s game. I watched from the sidelines, afraid to dirty my new dress. Once she noticed me, a big smile broke out, and she dragged me into the game. She asked my name, introduced me, and before I knew it, I was included in the group as one of their own.”
Annie smiled. “My grandmother never let anyone stand alone. She pulled others into her life whether they wanted it or not.”
“And I didn’t. Not at first. This was all new to me. I didn’t even go to school in town, and here I was, running around the docks with children I’d never met, yet they acted like this was normal. I was as scared as I was excited. What would my father think?” Stella smoothed her skirt, a smile softening her features. “Before long Betsy and I became inseparable. Although she was five years older than I, age didn’t matter. We did everything together. She became the family I desperately wanted since my father had taken to traveling by then. I barely saw him.”
“Let me guess. You were adopted by my grandmother’s family?”
“Yes.” Stella visibly relaxed as the words tumbled from her. “I probably spent more time in your great-grandmother’s kitchen than in my own. It was a special time, one I’ve never forgotten.” She laughed. “I can still smell the homemade cookies whenever I think about those times.”
“It must have been heaven on earth for you.” Alice grinned in camaraderie. “I know that’s how I felt when Betsy would get me out of my house to visit her after my divorce.”
“And I’ll bet she had you involved in a needlework project,” Mary Beth added.
Stella smiled. “Even back then Betsy involved her friends in needlework. She taught me everything I know about needlecrafts, which isn’t much compared to her. As hard as I tried, I could never be as good as she.” The light in Stella’s eyes dimmed. “Betsy had a natural flair, a gift, and--God help me--I was always jealous of that.”
Ah, Annie thought. That explains why Stella stuck to her practical knitting.
“And then one day, handsome, charming Charlie Holden sauntered into our lives and changed everything.” Stella’s lips straightened into a hard line.
“My grandfather,” Annie whispered.
“He swept us off our feet.”
“Both of you?” Peggy blurted.
“Yes.” Stella’s eyes flashed with pain. “But he only had eyes for Betsy.”
Annie felt a reluctant tug of sympathy.
“He was nice enough to me at first,” said Stella, “and I misinterpreted it as romantic interest. I fell in love and believed he loved me in return. I believed what I wanted so desperately to believe. When he didn’t return the sentiment, I was stunned, then hurt. Betsy and Charlie spent more and more time together. When they decided to get married, I was devastated. I blamed Betsy for stealing the man I loved.”
“Surely, you realized that wasn’t the truth,” whispered Alice.
“Not right away. I stayed angry with her, first for her relationship with Charlie, and then because I was afraid of losing the only family I had become a part of. If she married Charlie, what would become of me? I was convinced I was still in love with him, so I lashed out instead of joining Betsy in her newfound happiness. As a young woman, I only felt the pain of their abandonment hitting so close to home, like my mother’s passing and my father’s only interest being his business. She’d done the one thing that had the power to hurt me, and I couldn’t forgive her.
“I begged my father to let me stay with relatives in New York. He agreed and I attended school there, eventually married Seymour and tried to forget about life in Stony Point and the new Mrs. Charlie Holden.” Tears brightened her eyes, and her words wavered. “I never spoke to her again.”
Annie thought of her grandmother, of the times Annie would ask her to tell family stories. Betsy would laugh and relate a story, but oftentimes, afterward, she’d stare off into the distance, sadness in her eyes. Annie never knew what caused that look. She did now.
“Is that why you wouldn’t look at the Betsy Original? Because my g
randmother stitched it?”
“I could barely look at your grandmother, let alone her work. And when you talked about this new piece, I had no idea who the woman in the piece was. I only knew that if Betsy stitched it, it would be beautiful, and I wanted no part of it. After all these years, I still couldn’t bring myself to set eyes on her work. Partly from my sorrow over the way things ended,” Stella paused. “But mostly from guilt. From ruining our friendship. I know I hurt Betsy by my actions.”
“She must have understood,” Annie assured her.
“When we were younger, yes, but not later.”
“Why?” Annie asked, confused.
“Your grandmother had started to show samplings of her work at different venues throughout New England. Word of her work reached New York, and many scrambled to showcase it.”
“But that never happened,” Annie said. “My grandmother would have told me if her work was shown in New York. That was her dream.”
“It never happened,” said Stella. “I stopped it.”
Disbelief coursed through Annie.
Stella continued. “I heard your grandmother was coming to New York. I wouldn’t see her, and I couldn’t allow her be successful in my city. A few well-placed telephone calls and a few ‘untruths’ passed on to the right people, and any hope your grandmother had of showing her work in New York was finished.” She paused a moment, her voice a near whisper. “As soon as I’d made the calls, I knew I’d set in motion something I could never take back.”
Mary Beth flinched. “Did Betsy ever find out?”
“I don’t know.”
Annie tamped down her resentment. It had to be difficult for this proud woman to admit all this, not just to Annie, but to her other friends as well. “I know you were hurt, angry even, but she was your friend. Why didn’t you try to make amends?”
“I had this crazy notion that Betsy should come to me. After all, it was what I saw as her betrayal of me that got us to that point.” Stella’s brows knit together. Her hands shook as she steadied herself by fiddling with the clasp of her purse. “I didn’t even have that first blush of love with Seymour. I admired him, certainly, but I can’t say I was swept off my feet. Not like Betsy and Charlie. It wasn’t until we’d been married for many years that I realized I’d grown to love him.” Almost defiantly, she added, “We had a good life.”