Shear Trouble (2 page)

“No,” said Martha, “I said that
Phyllis
should be done with her quilt. She procrastinates. I, on the other hand, have been incredibly busy. I have only a little ways to go, but this would give me a deadline for finishing my project.” She looked expectantly at Posy over the bags of fabric still sitting on the checkout counter in front of her.

Posy nervously fingered the beagle pin on her fluffy blue cardigan. “I’m sure I can find a spot for you at the retreat, Martha. I’d love to have you come.”

Martha rewarded her with a smile. “Thanks so much, Posy. See you ladies on Friday,” she added coolly to Beatrice and Meadow.

“Now, why on earth would she want to come to your retreat when clearly she and Phyllis don’t get along?” asked Beatrice.

“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Meadow. “To get on her nerves, of course.”

“Dangerrr,” crooned Miss Sissy, right on cue.

Beatrice had just finished doing some chores around the cottage the next morning when the phone trilled.

“Beatrice? It’s Wyatt.”

Beatrice felt a smile spread over her face at the sound of the minister’s voice. Wyatt, a widower for many years, and she had seemed to have a connection between them since Beatrice had moved to Dappled Hills. “How are you?”

“Great! I was wondering—I know this is a little last-minute—if you would like to have lunch with me today.” He hesitated, then hurried on, “I understand if you’ve already got plans, of course. I’m finishing up at the church office here and . . . well, I’d love to see you for lunch. Have you eaten yet?”

Was this . . . was Wyatt asking her out on a date? Beatrice’s heart thumped in her chest and she said rather
breathlessly, “I’d love to. No, I haven’t had any lunch yet.” At this point, even if she’d eaten enough for ten lunches, she’d still go out with Wyatt for a meal.

“Wonderful. I’ll come over and pick you up in about—is thirty minutes all right?”

Beatrice touched her hair. It felt as if it must look like a squirrel’s nest after she’d been working around the house all morning. “Perfect,” she said weakly. And as soon as they hung up the phone, she hurried off to brush her hair and find something that looked nice—but didn’t look as if she were trying too hard. She settled on her favorite pair of black slacks, a cotton blouse, and a red infinity-loop scarf that Meadow had told her set off her hair well. After carefully applying some makeup and brushing her hair, she looked at herself critically in the bathroom mirror. A definite improvement.

She found herself feeling a little nervous as she waited for him to pick her up. Silly. It was only Wyatt. But this was the first time he’d asked her on any kind of actual date, despite the fact that it was lunch. Lunch was low-key, wasn’t it? Beatrice jumped as the doorbell rang, then fussed at herself some more. She paused for a couple of moments—it wouldn’t do to swing the door immediately open as if she’d been waiting by the door. Although she
had
been waiting by the door.

When Beatrice opened the door, all her nervousness quickly vanished. Wyatt’s eyes crinkled in a smile when he saw her. “Ready to go?” he asked. “You look
wonderful, as always. Thanks for coming with me.” Beatrice flushed with pleasure.

Wyatt drove them to the Dappled Hills Eatery downtown. It was a popular meat-and-three-vegetable restaurant with Southern-inspired dishes that would melt in your mouth. Beatrice and Wyatt had a nice view of the park from their table by the window, and the little restaurant was filled with delicious aromas. “I thought a warm lunch would be a nice change,” said Wyatt, pulling off his jacket and hanging it neatly on the back of his chair. “If you’re like me, then you usually eat sandwiches for lunch.”

She did. And frequently, lunch would even pass her by completely and she’d realize she’d forgotten to eat it when her stomach would start rumbling in the middle of the afternoon.

After perusing the menu, Beatrice settled on chicken and dumplings with side orders of fried okra and black-eyed peas and Wyatt got the meat loaf with butter beans and fried green tomatoes. She’d ordered and Wyatt was still giving his order to their server when Beatrice glanced up and saw several tables of diners staring goggle-eyed at them. Most of them she recognized as members of Wyatt’s congregation. When one table of older ladies saw that she was staring back in their direction, they waved delightedly at her, grinning. Beatrice gave a small smile back, and then determinedly gazed down at the checkered tablecloth. Small towns.

Wyatt, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed. He noticed the diners staring at them, too, but he immediately waved and smiled at them, even inquiring after one of the diner’s health. He was a bigger person than she was, reflected Beatrice. This might be expected, however, considering that he pursued the ministry.

“You’ve got the kind of job where you’re always on the clock,” said Beatrice ruefully. “Does it bother you sometimes?”

Wyatt considered this for a couple of moments. “Hardly ever. Maybe after a very long day or if I’m especially tired. But overall, I really enjoy being around people—you really have to, to be a good minister. What about you, though, Beatrice? I’d imagine you spent a good deal of time with people in your role as art museum curator.”

“Sometimes I did. We’d host special showings and events there—evenings with museum patrons and members. The difference was that there was a definite end to it—there’d be an event from eight o’clock to ten o’clock and then I could sort of decompress at ten. But there were plenty of times when I’d be by myself at the museum, too—setting up exhibits or planning events,” said Beatrice.

Their meals arrived, steaming hot to warm them up on the cool morning. There was something about comfort food that was just so . . . comforting.

Wyatt said interestedly, “Tell me more about the
kinds of things you’d do as curator and the sorts of exhibits you’d put together.”

Beatrice talked a little about planning, preparing, and promoting exhibits, organizing community outreach activities, and developing relationships with museum patrons and collectors as Wyatt listened intently and asked questions at various intervals.

Wyatt said, “So although you worked a lot with artwork, and you’re remembering a lot of the time spent alone, it was also a job where you needed to foster relationships.”

Beatrice smiled at him. “Maybe our jobs were more alike than I’d thought. Although I have a feeling your relationships with your congregation might be a lot closer and more rewarding than the ones I developed. What does your usual day look like?”

She found herself listening with genuine interest as Wyatt talked about being a pastor in a very small town—the different generations he’d known and ministered to. The kinds of situations, both humorous and heartbreaking, that came up every day. And she found, as she listened to him and enjoyed her lunch, that the rest of the world faded away. They talked about books they always found themselves returning to, places they’d like to see, and music they enjoyed. And through it all, Beatrice realized that what she really missed was this type of companionship—this type of intellectual and spiritual connection.

Fortunately, they were both finished with their meals when Wyatt’s phone made a soft chime. “I’m sorry,” he said as he picked it up to look at it. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to go. Constance Bradley, one of my oldest church members, has been doing poorly for a while and has taken a turn for the worse. Her daughter says she’d like me to visit.” He quickly signaled for the check and gave Beatrice a rueful look. “I’m very sorry about this,” he repeated. “I guess this is one of those occupational hazards we were talking about. But I did enjoy our lunch and time together. Can we repeat it again soon?”

Beatrice smiled at him. “I’d like that, thanks.” She tamped down the twinge of disappointment that she felt. This was just the nature of Wyatt’s profession, after all.

Wyatt walked over to the cash register to stand in line to pay their bill. As Beatrice was waiting for him, she heard voices from the table behind her. A woman was saying, “I don’t know how you keep your temper around her, Jason. Every time I turn around, it’s like Phyllis is there, smiling in your direction. Doesn’t she realize that you’re not interested? That you’re with me now?”

Beatrice turned surreptitiously to see a woman near her age with red, upswept hair and a determined expression sitting with an older man with silver hair and very white teeth set in a tanned face.

The man’s voice was deep and soothing. “Martha,
you can’t think that Phyllis wants to get back together with me. She can see how delighted you and I are in each other’s company—it’s plain to everybody. Besides”—and now his voice had an embarrassed edge to it—“you do know how Phyllis’s and my relationship went the last time. It didn’t exactly end on a good note.”

“She’s the kind of delusional person who just might believe she can get you back,” came the woman’s voice. She sounded put out.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Martha. I’d simply ignore her behavior. After all, won’t you have to learn to deal with her? She’s in your quilt guild, isn’t she?” asked the man.

“Not for long. Not if I have my way,” said the woman darkly.

*   *   *

That night, Noo-noo growled at the door and Beatrice, laying down her book, looked down at her in surprise. “What’s wrong, Noo-noo? What is it?” She listened for a moment, but didn’t hear anything, so she picked her book up again.

Then there was another growl from the dog, this time more persistent. Beatrice listened, harder, and this time she heard something. “Is that an animal out there?” she muttered. Noo-noo gave a small woof of agreement.

Beatrice flipped on the porch lights and peered out the window next to her front door, looking first to make sure there were no people out there lurking on her
porch, then gazing down at the floor of the porch. But she didn’t see anyone, or anything, out there. “Noo-noo, I’m not sure what you’re hearing, sweetie. . . .” And then she stopped short, hearing the noise herself. She squinted, peering intently out the window at the corner of the porch. But she still couldn’t see anything.

Beatrice cautiously opened the door just a crack and a little gray fuzzy paw immediately came through. She opened the door farther and a gray kitten bounced through the door, rubbing against her legs and purring. She was a beautiful bluish gray with blue eyes. “Where did you come from?” asked Beatrice as Noo-noo growled at the cute intruder. The growling didn’t faze the kitten whatsoever and she ran over to lovingly rub against the growling Noo-noo. The corgi gave Beatrice a helpless look.

“Well, Noo-noo, it’s a chilly night, and our visitor did single us out to visit. She doesn’t seem to have a collar or belong to anyone. I guess she’s our guest until we figure out a long-term plan for her.” Somehow the little dog seemed to understand . . . and looked rather dejected.

Clearly, something would have to be done about a makeshift litter box. Beatrice thought this through for a moment and then found a small cardboard box that she lined with a trash bag. She tore up some newspaper into strips for the inside and then put the kitten inside.
Apparently, she didn’t have to go, though. And Beatrice was ready to turn in.

Both animals followed her into her bedroom—Noo- noo probably to keep an eye on the little intruder. She lay down on the floor close to Beatrice, and the kitten somehow managed to jump and scramble and claw her way to the top of the bed, where she lay curled up against Beatrice’s leg.

The next morning was the perfect day for a fall quilt retreat. The skies were sunny and wispy clouds blew quickly through. There was a brisk breeze in the air, although it wasn’t quite cold—only a little crisp. Beatrice’s unexpected furry guest had behaved herself remarkably well and even figured out the temporary litter box. That afternoon, she went to the store and picked up cat food, toys, and a real litter box. Noo-noo had settled into wary acceptance of the kitten.

With the animals set, it seemed that the best course of action, as the sun started to sink, was to enjoy some tasty food and the company of quilters in the cozy quilt shop.

Meadow beamed when she saw her and immediately relieved Beatrice of half of the things she was carrying and led her to the store’s large back room, where
long tables were set up next to one another. “Good. You came early. Figured you would, since you’re one of those strictly punctual types. Here, take this table.” She laid down Beatrice’s things with a flourish. “See, you’re here in between me and Miss Sissy.” Meadow gestured behind Beatrice.

Beatrice turned, repressing a sigh. How was Miss Sissy today, on the lucidity scale?

Miss Sissy glared fiercely at Beatrice, her black button eyes narrowed. “Wickedness!” she growled.

Apparently, Miss Sissy was not having one of her good days. Fortunately, Beatrice now knew how to make her a bit more even-tempered. “Could you help me out with my quilt today, Miss Sissy? I’m finished with my quilt for the show, because it was an easy pattern, but I wanted to try something harder for myself.”

Miss Sissy’s harsh gaze relaxed and she trotted spryly around her table until she was on Beatrice’s side. She gently helped spread out the quilt and ran a hand over it. “Double wedding ring,” she grunted, smiling down at the colorful arcs that Beatrice had started. Instability aside, Miss Sissy was a fantastic quilter. And Beatrice would take all the help she could get. Particularly if, in the process, it meant keeping the peace.

“Hoo-boy!” said Meadow, looking over Beatrice’s shoulder at her project. “That’s not a pattern for the faint of heart, is it? You’re a very brave quilter.”

Beatrice said, “Well, I figured the fastest way to learn
was to do something really tough—and probably to fail at it. Besides, if I try a pattern this difficult, I know I’ll have experts volunteering to help me out.” She smiled over at Miss Sissy, who rewarded her with a small smile in return.

Meadow grabbed her arm and gave it a squeeze. “Ash is here. Isn’t that exciting? I know he and Piper have already gone out a few times. Hope Piper can tear herself away from Ash to finish that quilt of hers. We need to get cracking to get ready for this quilt show.” She looked toward the door. “Hi, Georgia!”

Georgia Potter, one of the younger quilters, in her early thirties, gave Meadow a quick wave and then wrinkled her brow as she looked around the shop’s back room.

“Something wrong?” asked Beatrice.

“Have y’all seen Savannah?” she asked them.

Meadow gestured toward the store. “I saw her—looked like she was shopping for quilting supplies.”

Georgia sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

Meadow said, “Don’t worry about it.” She lowered her voice. “If she nicks something, you know Posy will just tell you about it later on. It’s not a big deal. Posy doesn’t even care.”

Georgia gave her a grateful smile and then said, “I know. And it’s sweet of y’all to cover for Savannah and work around her . . . problem. I’ll admit—lately, she’s
worn down my patience a little.” Georgia’s eyes were tired.

Beatrice and Meadow exchanged glances. That was a huge admission for Georgia to make. She always seemed to have endless patience for Savannah. “Has Savannah been especially . . . challenging . . . lately?” asked Beatrice.

Georgia nodded. “When Savannah gets stressed out about anything, these incidents seem to happen more. With the quilt show coming up, she’s really been tense—she’s fallen behind on her quilt and wants it to be perfect . . . but she also wants it finished on time. She and I even had a little spat a couple of days ago, and that made her even worse.” She noticed that Beatrice and Meadow were giving her a surprised look and she explained, “We can’t agree on getting a pet. I want one and Savannah thinks they’re really untidy. I guess they are. And I know Savannah is already making a lot of concessions for me—it was her house, originally, before she let me stay with her after my divorce.” She shrugged.

“But Savannah has always been delighted to have you stay with her,” said Meadow stoutly. “You can tell how much she loves having you there. You’re her sister!”

“I know. I feel the same way. But I’m very different from Savannah and she’s had to make a lot of adjustments to the way she wants to live. She likes everything perfectly straight and organized. And I’m more . . . loosey-goosey.” Georgia gazed ruefully at the pile of
quilting materials she’d brought in. Loosey-goosey was an understatement.

Beatrice said, “It’s probably only natural that y’all would have disagreements like that. After all, you spend so much time together. Maybe you need a little bit of a break from each other.”

Beatrice expected that Georgia, always so loyal to her sister, would immediately pooh-pooh that suggestion. To her surprise, she seemed to be seriously considering it. “Maybe. Maybe I should, just for a little while. It might be really good for Savannah, too. Actually, it’s funny but I have a good friend who asked me to pet-sit while she’s visiting her mother in Alabama. I was planning on checking in over there a few times a day . . . but she’d love it if I house-sat and stayed there.” She smiled and said, “She has the cutest little pets in the world—Snuffy and Mr. Shadow. I especially love Mr. Shadow—he’s this fluffy gray butterball of a cat.”

Meadow said, “See? It’s perfect . . . something like that has got to be fate. A break will do you good—maybe it will do Savannah good, too.” She cleared her throat. “And maybe it will give you both the opportunity to finish those quilts of yours in time for the show.”

Beatrice murmured, “Savannah is on her way over.”

They stopped talking and Meadow said breezily, “Hi there, Savannah!”

Savannah gave them a gruff greeting. She was wearing her customary long floral dress and had her hair
pulled into a tight bun. But Beatrice noticed she seemed less put-together than she usually did. Savannah spotted Georgia’s pile of fabric and notions on a table and carefully took her place at a table across the room from it. Georgia sighed and gave Meadow and Beatrice a meaningful look.

A small woman with a round face and a constantly startled expression peered through the door to the back room. Meadow clapped her hands when she saw her. “June Bug! And you’ve brought cakes for us to eat. Perfect!”

Posy hurried over to relieve June Bug of the desserts. “Since we all know that June Bug makes the best cakes in town, I thought I should ask her to make some for our retreat. But I do wish you’d stay for the quilting, June Bug,” she said to the little woman.

June Bug flushed at the praise but shook her head swiftly. “I’m not in the quilt show.” She gave a hurried glance at her large watch. “I’d better run,” she said. And she was gone just as quickly as she’d arrived.

“That June Bug!” said Meadow. “I can’t believe I can’t convince her to enter one of her gorgeous quilts into the show.”

Beatrice said, “
I
can’t believe you managed to persuade her to join the Village Quilters.” June Bug was extremely doubtful about the quality of her quilts or her craftsmanship. And, from what Beatrice had heard, she had no idea that she was as gifted as she was.

Meadow said gloomily, “Not that she ever goes to any of the guild meetings.”

Posy said, “Slow and steady wins the race, remember? We just have to build up her confidence, that’s all.” Then a frown suddenly creased Posy’s gentle features. She anxiously fingered the beagle broach she’d pinned on her fluffy pink cardigan. “Oh dear. It looks as if Martha Helmsley and Phyllis Stitt might have tables next to each other. I hope that’s going to be all right.”

Meadow gave a dismissive wave of her hand and said in a low voice, “Phyllis is looking for a little creative growth, that’s all. They’ll be fine. Remember, Phyllis is a professional in the community. She knows how to play nicely with others.”

“What does she do?” asked Beatrice.

“Phyllis is a wedding coordinator,” said Meadow.

Beatrice said in a low voice, “Is there some animosity between them because of a man? I overheard something recently and was trying to figure it out.”

“That’s right. Phyllis used to date Jason. Maybe Martha is worried Jason still has feelings for Phyllis. But that’s ancient history. I’m sure they’ll get along fine.”

*   *   *

Meadow stopped talking as Phyllis approached Posy. She looked a little nervous and said quietly, “Do you have another seat available? I’d rather not sit next to . . . well, you know.”

Posy gave Meadow and Beatrice a helpless look and
quickly said, “I think there’s one over here that’s still free, Phyllis. Let’s take a look.”

Phyllis abruptly vacated the table as Martha watched with a derisive smile on her face. Phyllis called over to Beatrice, “You’ve got quite a project on your hands there.” She nodded at the table to indicate Beatrice’s double wedding ring quilt.

Beatrice said, “That’s exactly why I decided to bring it today. This retreat is the perfect place for advice.” She looked over at Phyllis’s quilt—a very complex tumbling blocks pattern. “You haven’t really got an easy quilt yourself.”

Phyllis laughed. “I sure don’t, sweetie. But I’ve got some great tools to help me with it.” She held up a pair of eight-inch stainless steel quilting shears. “This is my new favorite notion. It’ll clip threads like nobody’s business. Posy pointed them out to me a couple of weeks ago. She sure does stock this store well.”

Beatrice looked around her and sighed. “Well, I brought my quilting things in, but I apparently left my pocketbook in the car. I’m starting to think I’d lose my head if it weren’t attached. I’d better go grab it.”

Everyone was either getting their notions and fabrics set up or talking to one another. Meadow and Posy were keeping a watchful eye on the Phyllis and Martha situation. Martha was still throwing icy glares in Phyllis’s direction, and Phyllis appeared blithely unconcerned or else completely ignorant of the malice
directed at her. Beatrice found her keys—fortunately, she hadn’t left
those
in the car along with her purse—and walked out to the parking lot.

When she’d retrieved her bag and was heading back toward the shop, she saw the much-talked-about Jason Gore walking in. He was speaking with Posy and his white teeth flashed as he threw back his head and laughed at something she said. This made her flush with pleasure. Beatrice looked Jason over with a discerning eye. He certainly was tanned. What on earth did he do for a living? Or perhaps he spent a lot of time on the golf course. Jason had silver hair and something of a corporate world appearance. He wasn’t classically handsome, though, and had rather a large nose, although it did seem to fit his face well. A man from the shop next door walked out and Jason hesitated briefly while talking to Posy, as if he’d forgotten what he was going to say. The younger man, very lean and fit in jeans and a white T-shirt, gave Jason a look of complete contempt. Jason averted his gaze and quickly resumed his conversation again, stuttering a bit as he talked. He glanced back over a few seconds later and saw the man still standing there, arms crossed, as if determined to make Jason nervous.

Beatrice watched as Jason deftly put an arm around Posy and lightly motioned her into the shop and away from the brooding man on the sidewalk. Interesting. She’d have to ask Meadow who the young man was. Or
maybe Piper knew. Beatrice entered the shop behind them.

Jason’s appearance inside the Patchwork Cottage created a multitude of different reactions. Several ladies were primping with surreptitious lipstick applications. Posy and Meadow looked a bit anxious. And Phyllis seemed—well, Beatrice couldn’t decide exactly what the expression on Phyllis’s remarkably unlined face meant. Perhaps it was longing? Perhaps it was exasperation? Frustration? Beatrice really didn’t know her well enough to be able to read her. Her usually mischievous eyes were solemn and she impatiently brushed an errant strand of her artfully careless hair from her eyes. She hurried from the back room into the shop.

But Martha seemed delighted to see Jason. “You’re here. I didn’t know you were coming.” She leaned against him and beamed as she looked up into his face.

“Just trying to be supportive,” he said with a grin.

Martha gave a giggle that didn’t fit either her age or her sophisticated style. Then she abruptly glanced across the room. “Oh, splendid, my son is here. I asked Frank to bring by some fat quarters that I’d accidentally left at the house.”

Martha’s son, Frank, was wearing his customary black. Beatrice always thought he’d carefully constructed his appearance to make it scream “artist.” He had a scraggly Van Dyke beard and occasionally sported a beret in case someone didn’t get the point. He smelled
like cigarettes. He also seemed invariably moody. Although he was probably nearly thirty, there was an air of immaturity about him.

Frank was moody today, in fact. As he handed his mother a plastic grocery bag full of fabric roll, he shot Jason an icy glare and said, “I don’t suppose you could have asked your Special Friend to get your forgotten items.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Martha sharply. “Jason doesn’t have a key to my house.”

Frank rolled his eyes at this. Apparently, there was some disagreement on this point. “Whatever. You’re certainly adults. But don’t pretend I don’t know what’s really going on. Remember, Mother, we’re family. He’s . . . not.”

“Not right now he’s not. That’s open to change,” said Martha stiffly.

“Not if I have a vote,” muttered Frank between gritted teeth. “He’s always trying to tell you what to do. Whispering lies in your ear. I know all about this guy. He’s nothing like the man you think he is, Mother. He’s putting on a front.”