Sewn with Joy (12 page)

Joy turned the quilt over so the woman could see the underside. “Personally, I like it when all the stitches don't match. I like to imagine the conversations that took place when women were working together. Quilt stitches are like handwriting, you know. Each woman has her own distinct, recognizable style. That's one thing collectors love about old quilts.”

The woman wrinkled her nose. “And how much would this one be?”

“This one is $1,200, and I wish I could give you a discount, but
the season has just started and we get a lot of tourists. Maybe if you come back in May we might—”

The woman waved a hand. “Twelve hundred—you've got to be kidding. I could buy them and sell them in California for so much more. Vintage, retro quilts would be all the rage.”

Joy nodded, not sure what the woman meant or whether she was still interested in the quilt. “We have others.” Joy pulled two more quilts off the shelf and set them to the side, and then she pulled out a third one for the woman. The quilt top was made of tiny shapes in various colors, and when put together they made a scalloped pattern. It reminded her of rolling ocean waves reflecting a rainbow.

“Oh, look at this one,” the woman cooed. “So detailed.”

“This is the bargello pattern, and putting it together is as tricky as putting together a puzzle. See how the colors and pattern vary to give it this swooping effect? The quilter has to be precise with the various shapes, or it turns out a mess.” Joy didn't want to admit she took on one of these quilts when she was young and it led to disastrous results.

“Oh, yes, the bargello design. I learned about that in art school. Some call it a flame stitch. There was a story about a princess who designed it. They don't just use that pattern for quilts. I've seen it in both textiles and paintings.” The woman pulled out her glasses again, slipping them on her nose, and studied the design.

“Amazing, just amazing.” She straightened up and peered over her glasses, looking at Joy. “And I assume this one cost more, because of the extra work.”

“Yes, one hundred dollars more, but it's my favorite quilt. If you'd like to look at some less expensive ones…” Joy reached down farther into the pile.

A beeping sound erupted from the woman's purse, and she
pulled out her cell phone, hitting a button. The beeping stopped, but her eyes widened, noting the time. “Listen, I need to run, but…” She typed something into her phone with her thumbs, and Joy waited for her to finish.

“Oh, I understand. It's a big investment. If you'd like to return later, we're open between ten and four o'clock every day.”

The woman glanced up. “Actually, I'm supposed to be meeting one of my assistants who just flew in, but if you can ring up these two quilts and four more that you like, that would be great.”

“Six?” Joy gaped. “You want to buy six quilts?”

“Are they all around $1,300?” The woman looked down at her phone again. “I really need to get going.”

“Yes. I can ring them up, but it'll take me time to fold and bag them too.”

“Do you think you could have someone deliver them? Our place is just down the road. I won't be there. I'm flying out to work on another project in the morning, but I'll let everyone know you're coming.”

Joy nodded and then took the credit card from the woman's hand. She rang up the sale for more than they usually made in two months' time, still not believing this was really happening.

The woman signed the receipt and then handed it back.

“If you'd like to come back later and check my choices, I can stay open a little later—”

“No, no. I trust your judgment.” The woman flashed perfect, white teeth. “And I really need to go. We have to be in a meeting in ten minutes. Thanks for delivering them!”

The woman grabbed one of Elizabeth's business cards, turned it over, and scribbled down the address. “Here is where they need to be delivered. If you could get them there before eight tomorrow morning, that would be marvelous. I really appreciate your help.”

Then, sliding the glasses back into her purse, the woman strode out of the store. As soon as the door shut, laughter spilled from Joy's lips. “Well, that's not something that happens every day.” She looked at the credit card receipt in her hand and then at the quilt shelf. Two quilts were pulled out, and others had fallen to the floor. It looked as if a raccoon had dug through them, trying to build a nest. Then a new thought caused a twinge of excitement. Elizabeth paid her an hourly wage, but Joy also got a commission from quilt sales. She usually sold only one or two a month, and it was a nice little bonus in her check though nothing to get overly excited about. But this…this would help with her
dat
's therapy. She clasped her hands to her chest.
Thank You, Lord. Thank You for providing!

She couldn't wait to tell Faith. She couldn't wait to tell Matthew.

“Oh.” The word slipped out. She remembered how they parted yesterday. She also remembered that she hadn't yet told him about her
dat
's medical issues. Pain pierced her heart, and she let her eyes close. They couldn't lose
Dat
; they just couldn't. She opened her eyes again, willing the tears to stop. She quickly wiped them away and then moved to the quilts to pick four more to deliver. She chose her favorites and then started to wrap them. She couldn't carry all of them at once, but if she borrowed
Mem
's garden wagon—the one she used when she went grocery shopping—then she'd be able to deliver them all early the next morning.

Just a few weeks ago, she seemed to be living in a dream as she started her relationship with Matthew, but in a matter of days things had changed. She'd found out about her
dat
's true condition. He needed her. She couldn't simply think of herself. Then there was Matthew's anger. She felt an ache in her gut, thinking how he'd been cross with her. His reaction surprised her. He'd gotten angry so easily. She wasn't used to that. Her father had always
been so even-tempered. Very few things made him really upset, and most of the time he was merely frustrated, just as he'd been the other night when both she and Faith asked questions about his health. But the anger that had flashed in Matthew's eyes had been different.
Is it something I need to be worried about?

Joy pushed that thought out of her mind. No one was perfect. If this relationship continued, sometimes she would do something to make Matthew angry. And sometimes he would make her angry. Everyone had a bad day now and then, even the most eligible bachelor in Pinecraft. She also had to think through her actions before acting on a whim. It wasn't just her she had to think about now, but Matthew too. If they were going to spend their lives together, everything she chose would impact him.

I need to be more careful. I need to make wiser choices.
She didn't want anything to risk the life they were starting…together.

Twelve

A true friend will place a finger on your faults without rubbing them in.

A
MISH PROVERB

L
aughter spilled from Alicia's mouth as she stepped in front of the mirror and eyed herself in her new wardrobe. She was told to come to the set today without a stitch of makeup on. And then the wardrobe designer, Georgia, helped her carefully put on the Amish clothes. She wore a long, dark-blue dress with three-quarter sleeves. A white apron was over her dress. And over her pulled-back hair she wore a bonnet that she learned the Amish called a
kapp
.

“I got all of these things on eBay. I was hoping they would fit.” Georgia stepped back and placed her hands on her hips. “Actually, I think they look pretty good.” Georgia was three inches shorter than Alicia and plump around the middle. They'd worked together before, and Alicia was pleased when she arrived to see who Rowan had hired to help with wardrobe. Alicia trusted Georgia—trusted that whatever they talked about wouldn't be in the tabloids. Trust like that was hard to find.

Alicia swayed from side to side, studying her reflection.
I look like my grandmother.
Emotion pinched her heart. Out of everyone
in her growing-up years, Granny had been the stable, caring one—but that didn't mean she wanted to dress like her.

“This dress is baggy and so plain. Can we pin a flower up by my collar or something? Or maybe I can find a necklace?” She glanced down at her hand. “At least this wedding ring gives me some bling, although the plain gold band isn't really my style.”

She didn't know how she felt about playing the role of a widowed woman, especially in front of Rowan. It's almost as if she had FAILURE tattooed to her forehead.
Don't think of that now. Don't go there.
She was here to work, not to dwell in the past. That would get her nowhere.

A ripple of laughter bubbled up from deep in Georgia's chest. “I'm sorry that we had to ditch the bling for this one. Amish don't wear jewelry, except for wedding rings. They don't pin flowers on their dresses. They don't like all those fancy things. Weren't you paying attention when you and Rowan were walking around the village yesterday?”

Alicia nodded, but she could tell from Georgia's eyes that she didn't believe that. Georgia had spent enough time with her to know when she wasn't telling the truth.

“Mm-hmm.” Georgia used a small comb to brush stray strands of hair under the
kapp
and then sprayed them into place. “You can't fool me, Ali. You weren't paying attention to the Amish at all. Do you even remember what state we're in, beyond the state of confusion?” She laughed again at her own joke, and then her motion stopped. She paused, looking deep into Alicia's eyes. “I'm sure it was just nice being with Rowan again.” Her voice was soft, tender.

Alicia leaned forward, speaking loud enough for only Georgia to hear. “I don't know what to think about it all. Rowan is acting like…like we're friends.”

Georgia hadn't been working on the foreign set with Alicia
when the event that had shattered her marriage happened, but Georgia no doubt had seen the steamy photos the paparazzi had captured at the bar before Alicia and her costar retired to her hotel room. Georgia had probably read the many stories in the newsstand tabloids, stories that unfortunately had no need for exaggeration to be shocking. It was a scandal Alicia was sure would be the fall of her career, but she'd highly underestimated the wonders of the crisis-management expert her manager hired. A few tearful pictures, a good publicist who guided her actions and responses in the months after, and a Barbara Walters special that dove into her painful childhood and heartwarming rise to stardom…these tactics helped her retain her role as America's sweetheart.

“Rowan's had time to get used to the idea of working with you again.” Georgia attempted a smile. “And he knows you well. He knows that whatever's on your heart shows up on your face. Maybe that's why he doesn't want to stir the waters. After all, I've never seen a ticked-off Amish woman.”

Alicia gasped and placed a hand on her hip. “Are you calling me a bad actress? A good actress can act pleasant even when she's seething inside, right?”

One perfectly arched eyebrow cocked in the air. Georgia clucked her tongue. “I'm just saying how things are.”

Alicia's heart sank, and the warm feelings that had bubbled up yesterday popped, leaving just an emptiness in their place. Georgia was right. Rowan knew her—knew how she responded to stress and sadness. Of course he'd want to keep her as happy as possible while she was on set.

She gazed into her face in the mirror. Pale, with brown eyes that were too large and lips too thin without lipstick. An ordinary woman who'd experienced an extraordinary love and thrown it all away.

“So you don't think he's forgiven me?”

Georgia moved to a clothes rack, flipped through some garments, and then turned back to look at Alicia. She still didn't answer right away, but instead she studied Alicia's face as if testing to see if she should answer truthfully. Georgia bit her lip and again raised her eyebrow. “Would you forgive yourself if you were in his shoes?”

And like a rush, the memory came back. The sound of the church bells ringing across cobblestone streets. Her costar and former boyfriend lying in her bed asleep after a long day of filming and too much drinking at the hotel bar. The knock at the door—housekeeping she'd presumed. Opening the door to see Rowan's weary but smiling face. “We wrapped up filming yesterday. I thought I'd surprise you,” he'd said. And then the hurt and horror to realize what she'd done as her costar exited the bedroom.