Main Street #1: Welcome to Camden Falls (5 page)

When the Row Houses were built, which was more than fifty years before Min was born, they were some of the grandest homes in Camden Falls. Each was three stories high, topped off by an attic accessible by a ladder that dropped down into a hallway below. On the first floor were a large kitchen, a butler’s pantry, a dining room, and a living room. On the second floor were four bedrooms. And on the third floor were several smaller rooms, the sleeping quarters for maids. In 1882, the wealthy people who lived in the Row Houses all had maids who slept in the maids’ quarters, and butlers who used the butlers’ pantries. But now, 125 years later, while the Row Houses were still grand, the people who lived in them did not have maids and butlers, or chauffeurs and gardeners, for that matter. Many of the butlers’ pantries had been turned into breakfast nooks or mudrooms, and the rooms in the maids’ quarters were nurseries or playrooms or offices or dens or guest rooms. The backyards, which once boasted formal gardens, were now cluttered with basketball hoops and vegetable plots, jungle gyms and storage sheds and swing sets. Even Min’s yard, with her carefully tended flower beds, was home to a tire swing and a tree fort that Flora and Ruby’s mother had played with when she was their age. The twelve children who lived in the Row Houses these days (twelve if you counted Lydia, Margaret, and Robby, who were teenagers and did not consider themselves children) ran freely through the eight yards and in and out of the houses, comfortable with each of their neighbors, old and young.

Now, if you were walking north along Aiken Avenue and came to the Row Houses on a warm Sunday evening in June, you would find most of the windows open to let in the summer air. And if you paused on the sidewalk, you might be able to take a peek in the windows and glimpse the lives of the people inside. In the house on the left end, you would find the Morris family, Elise and Paul, their four children, Lacey, Mathias, Travis, and Alyssa, and their hamsters and guinea pig. Supper is long over — the Morrises eat early — and Alyssa and Travis are already in their pajamas. Mrs. Morris is commenting to her husband that the children are growing up so fast. This fall Alyssa, who’s the youngest, will be in all-day preschool, and what will Mrs. Morris do with herself while the children are gone?

In the next house you would find Bill and Mary Lou Willet. They’re nearly seventy-eight years old, both of them. Their birthdays are just a week apart in August. Mr. Willet is encouraging his wife to change out of her clothes and into her nightgown, but she won’t. She’s been wearing these same clothes for four days and four nights now, and Mr. Willet can’t convince her to put on anything else. He can’t convince her to take a shower, either, or to comb her hair or take her pills or brush her teeth.

“Come on, honey,” he says. “You’ll feel so much better in a nice clean nightgown. Trust me.”

But his wife, who’s patting their cat, Sweetie, replies, “You know, my sister was here again today and we had such a pleasant conversation.”

Mrs. Willet’s sister has been dead for more than twenty years.

Next door to the Willets are the Malones. There’s Margaret, sixteen now, drinking tea with her father, Dr. Malone, the dentist. They’re sitting at the kitchen table, their cats, Twinkle and Bandit, nearby, and Dr. Malone is laughing at something Margaret has said. Upstairs, Lydia, who’s fourteen, has shut herself in her bedroom and is sitting before her computer, instant messaging her friends. When her father calls upstairs to her, she ignores him.

The house to the north of the Malones’ is Min’s. She was born in that house — she was Mindy Davis then — and has lived there for most of her life, first as a child with her parents and her brother and sister, later as a wife and mother, and now as a grandmother. On this evening, Min, Flora, Ruby, Daisy Dear, and King Comma are in the kitchen and Min is making dinner. Daisy and King are lying on the floor just inches apart, and this is one of the first times they have been so close to each other without growling.

“They’re finally getting along,” Ruby whispers, not wanting to break the spell. Then she adds, still whispering, “Min, is there a dance school in Camden Falls?”

Next door in Olivia’s house, Mr. Walter closes up his home office on the third floor and leaves his computer and papers behind. He finds Olivia, her younger brothers, Henry and Jack, and his wife playing Clue on the living room floor. Olivia looks up when her father enters the room and thinks he looks not only tired but discouraged.

In the next house is Mr. Pennington. He’s eighty-two years old, and Jacques, his cocker spaniel, is nearly as old in dog years. Mr. Pennington is peering in Jacques’s food dish, seeing lots of kibble there and trying to remember if it’s old kibble or new kibble.

In the seventh house, the house belonging to the Edwards family, Robby and his parents are lingering over dessert, and Robby is talking about his beloved day camp.

“When does it start, Mom?” he asks.

“In two weeks,” replies his mother.

Robby is grinning. “Swimming in the pool!” he says. “Basketball, nature walks, arts and crafts, swimming in the pool, snacktime when we make our own snacks. That’s what I like best. Making our own snacks. Except for swimming in the pool.”

In the last house, the one at the right end, live Mr. and Mrs. Fong, artists who make furniture and jewelry. They have a studio in town, where they work and sell their pieces. At home they have turned the small rooms on the third floor into a second studio, and this evening they are there, working side by side, their puppies resting in the doorway.

Now walk back to the fourth house, to Min’s, and take one last peek in the windows. Min is almost finished making dinner, and Flora is tossing a salad. It’s Ruby’s job to set the table.

“Let’s use the good china,” says Ruby. “I know where it is. We can have a fancy dinner tonight.”

You would never guess, from a quick peek in Min’s window, that she and Ruby and Flora have been a family for just five months.

On Monday morning, Sonny Sutphin, making his way slowly through town in his wheelchair, noticed Min Read walking smartly along Main Street, hand in hand with her granddaughters.

“’Morning, Min,” called Sonny.

“’Morning, Sonny,” replied Min. “Sonny, I don’t believe you’ve met my grandchildren yet. This is Flora Northrop and this is Ruby Northrop.” Flora and Ruby stepped forward and shook Sonny’s hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Sonny. He turned to Min. “Back at work?”

“My first day. I’ve been away for a long time. Ruby and Flora are coming to the store with me.”

“We’re going to spend
every day
there,” said Ruby, glaring at Min and stabbing the toe of her sneaker into a crack in the sidewalk.

“Ruby,” said Min, a warning in her voice.

“Well, what am I going to
do
all day?”

“At Needle and Thread? Goodness me, I think you’ll keep yourself occupied,” replied Min. “And please don’t whine. It isn’t becoming.”

Ruby almost said “Becoming what?” but stopped herself in time.

Sonny waved good-bye, and Min and Ruby and Flora continued down the street. Ruby was scowling fiercely, but Flora wore a small smile on her face. Flora hadn’t admitted this to her sister — it wasn’t any fun telling something good to someone crabby — but she was looking forward to spending her days at Needle and Thread. In fact, just thinking about this was one of the few things that made her feel truly happy. Needlework was Flora’s passion. She liked sewing. She liked quilting. She liked embroidering. She liked embellishing things. She liked fabric and buttons and beads and patterns and ribbons and lace. (She also liked knitting and crafting and card making, but Needle and Thread didn’t carry many supplies for those hobbies.)

When Flora was very small, her busy grandmother had taken the time during visits to teach her to sew. (Later, Min had offered to teach Ruby, but Ruby was more interested in ballet classes and tap routines and voice lessons.) Flora had first made pillows and blankets for her dolls but was soon learning crewel work and even smocking. Her mother had taught her to knit. And now the thought of spending summer days at Needle and Thread made her let go of Min’s hand and skip the last few paces to the store.

“Mrs. Walter’s already here!” she said, peering through the door.

From behind her, Ruby said, “Do we really have to spend
every single day
here, Min?”

Min stopped walking. She looked down at her granddaughter. “Ruby,” she said, trying to sound patient, “this is my store. Mrs. Walter and I own it. We have to run it. Do you understand that?” (Ruby nodded.) “I have worked out the best hours I can, but I still have to be here at least five days a week. In the fall you will go to school, and if you want to go to after-school activities you may. But this is the summertime. What do you suggest you do all day while I’m at the store? I can’t leave you at home alone, and I haven’t arranged for a baby-sitter —”

“I don’t
want
a baby-sitter. I’m not a baby.”

“Okay. And I’m sorry, but I didn’t get around to looking into day camp or anything else. This has been a busy time. I know it isn’t what you want, but bear with me. We all have to make sacrifices. I promise you, though, things will work out. For now, you and Flora will come to the store with me. I don’t think you’re going to be bored. There will be plenty for you to do. Please just give it a try. I’m doing the best I can.”

“Okay,” muttered Ruby. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” said Min.

Flora flung open the door to Needle and Thread. She was greeted by the smell of coffee, and while the coffeemaker steamed and gurgled, Olivia’s grandmother was setting out cups and spoons and packets of sugar on a table at the front of the store.

“Hi, Mrs. Walter!” said Flora.

“Flora,” Mrs. Walter replied warmly. She wrapped Flora in a giant, bosomy hug. “How are you?”

“Fine, thank you,” said Flora.

Ruby and Min stepped inside then, and Mrs. Walter opened her arms to Ruby. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

Min grinned at Mrs. Walter. “Ruby wants to be put to work,” she said. “She’s afraid she’s going to be bored.”

“Bored? Never,” said Mrs. Walter.

Flora turned her attention away from crabby Ruby and looked around the store. She let out a long, satisfied sigh. There in the front of Needle and Thread were the couches for people who stopped by for a chat-and-stitch. All day long, Min and Mrs. Walter’s customers dropped in with their sewing projects and sat on the couches, drinking coffee or tea, sewing and chatting with whomever else was there. The coffeepot was kept going all day long, and often people brought in cookies or muffins to share.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” Flora said to Ruby. “People will be coming in for chat-and-stitches.”

“And sometimes,” said Mrs. Walter, “we have a special event here in the evening — a lecture, or an author reading from a new book.”

“Lectures and books about sewing?” asked Ruby.

“Not necessarily,” replied Mrs. Walter. “Needle and Thread is a gathering place. All sorts of things go on here.”

Flora drifted toward the back of the store, past the checkout counter and several racks lined with bolts of fabric, to the tables where classes were held. There were classes for adults and for kids. All kinds of classes. Quilting, ribbon embroidery, holiday projects.

“Min?” Flora called to the front of the store. “Could I please take a kids’ class sometime?”

“I think you could help
teach
the kids’ classes,” replied Min, and Flora smiled and looked at her shoes. She continued wandering through the store, stopping to examine the cards of buttons on the spinner racks, the tables where customers could look through pattern books, the counter where fabric was cut, and the arrays of laces and ribbons and zippers and notions and thread and interfacing and needlework magazines.

“What’s that table for?” Flora asked Mrs. Walter. She had passed a display of sewing machines and come upon a messy table, piled with fabric, patterns, and articles of clothing, each with a receipt attached.

“That’s where Miss Woolsey works. She comes in several times a week to take in mending and altering, or to do custom sewing. She does some of her work here and the rest at home.”

“Miss Woolsey?” repeated Flora, her voice rising to a squeak. “Do you mean Sca — Mary Woolsey?”

“I do,” replied Mrs. Walter in a voice that stopped Flora from asking any more questions. “She’ll be in this afternoon.”

And so Flora and Ruby’s first day at Needle and Thread began to unfold. By nine, Liz Durbin and Rick O’Bannen, the store clerks, had arrived for work. Five minutes later, Olivia arrived.

“Is there anything I can organize?” she wanted to know, and her grandmother asked her to tidy the button racks and the rows of zippers and piping and bias tape.

“What can I do?” asked Ruby.

“I have a stack of things that came in for people who placed special orders,” Min replied. “They’re all right here with receipts attached. You can make sure we wrote the customers’ phone numbers on the receipts. If you don’t see a number, look it up in the phone book and write it on the receipt. There’s the phone book.”