Threading the Needle (35 page)

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Authors: Marie Bostwick

BOOK: Threading the Needle
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I spread out my hands with exasperation. “It's not that hard. I keep telling you, just remember to do a save after you enter each new record. . . .”
Madelyn looked at me with pitiful eyes, her lower lip pushed out in a pretended pout.
I laughed. “Oh, all right. Let me buy my batting and then I'll come over and show you how it works. Again!”
“Thanks, Tessa. You're the best.” She was out the door like a flash, pausing only to say a quick hello and good-bye to Evelyn, who was entering the shop just as Madelyn was going out.
“Somebody looks happy,” Evelyn commented as she looked out the front window, watching Madelyn scurry across the courtyard and down the alley. “I guess she saw the show.”
“You knew?” Evelyn nodded. “So it was your idea?”
“Nope, it was Mary Dell's. But she told me about it beforehand. No matter how much she likes someone, Mary Dell would never recommend a product or service on the show unless she truly believed it was something her viewers would enjoy and benefit from. Madelyn really has done a wonderful job remodeling the place and she was a wonderful hostess, made everyone feel right at home. Plus, she's got a good setup for quilt retreats. And if I know Madelyn, it probably won't be too long before she'll turn it into a
great
one.”
“Before she left, she was already talking about turning the garage into a sewing studio.”
“Good,” she said. “I'm glad she's excited. This is great news for Madelyn, but it's good news for the town too. It will definitely help our business. Those quilters won't be able to resist coming in and adding a few more yards to their fabric stash.” Evelyn bit her lower lip and fiddled with her necklace absently, thinking.
“You know, I should talk to her about putting together some workshops and special classes, retreats people could come to by themselves or with just a friend or two. Of course, she could still cater to groups, but not every quilter belongs to a guild or circle. This would be a nice way for people who don't have time or opportunity to join a quilt group to pick up some new skills and meet some new friends. Plus, it'd be a way for Madelyn to keep her rooms filled during the week. Between Mary Dell and myself, I'm sure we could help her find some first-rate guest teachers,” she mused, nodding to herself a few times and then looking up, giving a little start, almost as if she was surprised to see me.
“Sorry,” she said with a laugh. “I'm getting ahead of myself but, like I said, this could be really good for business, and not just my business. When they're not stitching, those quilters will walk into town to shop, eat, buy souvenirs for themselves and gifts for the family and friends who couldn't join them. In a town this small, in times like these, an extra couple hundred dollars in sales a week can mean the difference between staying afloat and locking your doors.”
“Tell me about it,” I said.
Evelyn made a sympathetic face and patted my shoulder. “I know. I'm sorry. You had a lovely shop, Tessa, and you made fabulous products—Mary Dell just raved about your soap and shampoo—but your timing was off. It wasn't your fault.”
“I suppose not. I wish it had worked out but . . . anyway, I'm luckier than most. At least I've got a job. And the way things are shaping up, it looks like I'm going to be able to get all the hours I need or want. Madelyn can't run the inn by herself.”
“So, you're going to stay on and help her?”
“Sure,” I said with a shrug of resignation. “What else have I got to do? I mean, besides help Lee on the farm.”
Evelyn tilted her head to the side, her lips bowing into a knowing smile. “Well, that all depends.” She reached into the pocket of her skirt, pulled out a folded slip of paper, and held it out.
“What's that?”
“That is the direct phone number for Mr. Hubble James Hollander, Hub-Jay to his more intimate friends, like Mary Dell. After she tried, and loved, your lavender products, she asked if she could have mine too. She didn't keep them for herself, she gave them to Hub-Jay, who loved them just as much as Mary Dell did.
“She didn't have your cell phone number, so Mary Dell tracked me down at the restaurant after she finished the show and asked if I could find you and give you a message. Hub-Jay would like to place a trial order for enough lavender bath amenities to supply one of his hotels for two weeks. During that time, they'll conduct a special survey of their guests to see if they like the products. If they do, Hub-Jay may want to supply all his hotels with For the Love of Lavender bath amenities all the time.”
Evelyn's small smile broadened into a grin as she placed the slip of paper in my hand. “He's in his office and would like you to call him before the close of business today. What do you think about that?”
I unfolded the paper and stared at the ten numbers written on it, gripping that piece of paper on either edge, pinching it so tightly between my thumbs and forefingers that it would have taken a crowbar to pry it from my digits.
A slip of paper, a line of numbers, the barest of possibilities—it wasn't much to go on, but in my heart I knew this was more than wishful thinking. It was Plan B.
51
Madelyn
August
 
“T
hat's a lot of zeros, Madelyn.” I pulled off my reading glasses, perched them on top of my head, and looked up at Jake. “You're telling me. Why so much? It cost me less than that to remodel the whole house.”
Jake was bending over me as I sat at the kitchen table, going over the initial construction sketches. He straightened up and stretched his back.
“It's a big job,” he said and began ticking the evidence of this off on his fingers. “Not only are you remodeling the garage into a quilt studio, which is going to require a complete electrical job, you're also turning the attic into a dormitory for six and adding a full bath with two toilets, and a sprinkler system. That'll require a lot of wiring
and
a lot of plumbing work. It adds up. Remember, most of the work on the first go-round was cosmetic and a lot cheaper because you were the one sanding the floors, installing the tiles, painting the walls. . . .”
“Well? What if I—”
“Uh-uh,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. “No way, Maddie. You've got an inn to run. You don't have time to be a do-it-yourselfer anymore. This is the first day you've been one hundred percent vacant in weeks.”
“I know. I almost don't know what to do with myself. The next bunch doesn't check in for two whole days.”
“How many?”
“Seven. Four sisters, plus the mother, the aunt, and a granddaughter—three generations of quilters. The two oldest sisters made the arrangements; very nice ladies.”
I turned my attention back to the sketches, tapping my pen on the table. “Yeah . . . I guess you're right.”
Jake's eyes flew open in surprise and he cupped his hand to his ear. “Excuse me, would you mind repeating that? I'm not sure I heard you correctly.”
I made a face and pretended to kick him in the shin. “Very funny,” I said and pushed the sketches aside. “It pains me to admit it, but I guess I'm just going to have to shell out the money and hire a real contractor.”
“If you want it done in time for a big retreat in the spring,” he said, “I don't see as you have any choice. It'll be worth it. Myron will do a good job and he'll give you a fair price on it. Hey, how's the application for your SBA loan coming along?”
“I won't know for sure until next month, but things are looking good so far,” I replied, crossing my fingers. “It helped that we've had such a strong summer and are already booking into next year. I don't have a single empty weekend until the middle of November.”
“Good for you.” He leaned down to give me a quick peck on the cheek. He's started doing that lately and . . . well . . . I don't mind. Jake's a good friend. And friends can kiss, right? It doesn't mean anything.
“We're on for sushi tonight, right?”
“Right,” I said. “I'll see you at six. If you get there first, could you order me a—”
“Spicy tuna roll with extra ginger and extra wasabi.” He opened the back door with a grin. “I know, Maddie. See you tonight.”
After Jake left, I poured myself another cup of coffee and went back to take another look at the sketches. This project was going to cost a pretty penny, no doubt about it. But the increase in capacity would be worth it. I'd already lost out on a few quilt circle bookings because I didn't have enough rooms. Not counting my room, I really only had space for ten guests, two doubles and two triples. The new dormitory would give me beds for six additional people who didn't mind sharing and wanted more modestly priced accommodations. I liked the idea of having rooms for people on a budget. And if everything went like I hoped it would, in a couple of years, I'd be able to add two more guest rooms, deluxe doubles, over the garage. That would give me capacity for twenty guests, which was about all I thought I could handle and as many as the new quilting studio would be able to hold.
I couldn't wait until spring! I was sick and tired of setting up and taking down sewing tables every weekend. Though, for today at least, having a sewing room in the house suited my purposes.
I picked up the sketches from the table, carried them into the office, and then headed toward the living room, coffee in hand. Just as I sat down to work, I heard the back door open and Tessa's voice calling, “Madelyn?”
“In here! There's fresh coffee in the pot if you want a cup!”
Tessa rattled around in the kitchen while I centered a scrap of purple onto the wrong side of a paper pattern, lined an inch-wide strip of black on the purple edge, and pinned both pieces of fabric to the paper. When I was finished, I heard footsteps coming down the hall and looked up to see Tessa with a cup of coffee in her hand and a quilted project bag looped over her shoulder, beaming like a ray of sunshine.
“Looks like somebody woke up on the right side of the bed today. Did your lottery number come up or something?”
She shook her head. “Nope, something even better. Three something betters, come to think of it.” She pulled up a chair and sat down across from me. “Lee went to church with me yesterday morning.”
I lifted the presser foot of my sewing machine and positioned my black-purple-paper sandwich underneath, pattern side up, before lowering it again. “Yeah? Well, that's great. I know that's something you've wanted for a long time. Did he like it?”
“Very much. In fact, he's planning on going again next Sunday. Do you want to come too?”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said, stepping on the foot pedal of the machine as I stitched carefully along the first line of the pattern. “While I'm willing to concede the existence of God, which, as you know, is a major shift for me, I don't believe in organized religion. I told you before, Tessa, I'm never going to go to church.”
Tessa mumbled something under her breath.
“What was that?”
“I said, ‘never is a long time.' ” She took a sip from her coffee mug.
“So you keep reminding me.” I lifted the presser foot, pulled out my stitched piece, cut the bobbin threads, flipped to the wrong side of the pattern, and pressed open the seam with my fingers. Perfect. “So, moving on. What's the rest of your good news?”
“Josh called,” she said, her smile returning. “He's finishing his internship this week and flying home for a visit. He'll have ten whole days before he has to go back to school!”
“Oh, Tessa, that's wonderful,” I said sincerely. “I can't wait to meet Josh. If you need to take some time off while he's here, you can. Lauren is still learning the ropes, but I think she can fill in for you. I'm sure she'd be happy to have the extra hours.”
The increase in business had absolutely necessitated my hiring additional staff. Lauren, who was among Ivy's classmates and had attended the quilt retreat, had just started working for me on weekends. She was no Tessa, but she was working out well so far.
“Well,” Tessa said slowly, “I'm glad to hear that because my third piece of good news might mean a little bit of bad news for you.”
I frowned, wondering what she meant. Tessa took in a big breath, held it, and then, as if she couldn't hold it one moment longer, blew it back out and exclaimed, “Hub-Jay called! The trials at the Austin hotel went great. He wants me to supply all the amenities for his hotels! Ahhhh!”
Tessa screamed. I screamed. We leapt from our seats, hugged each other, and jumped up and down, as elated as if Tessa really had won the lottery.
“Oh my gosh! This is great news! Incredible! I just . . . I . . .” I gasped, trying to catch my breath as the full impact of Tessa's news came over me. “Well, I . . . that's just amazing. How many hotels is that? Eight? Ten? How are you going to supply that many hotels?”
Tessa laughed a bit giddily and threw up her hands in an exaggerated shrug. “It's actually just eight hotels but, to tell you the truth, I have no idea! You remember what a time we had making product for just one property for a two-week test run.”
I certainly did. We'd all pitched in on that one, canceling the usual activities of the quilt circle two Fridays in a row to help Tessa package tiny bars and bottles of lavender soap, shampoo, conditioner, and body lotion. The quilt shop smelled like a garden for days afterward.
“We're going to do it in phases: begin with the first property, in Austin, and then add one more every month until we're supplying all eight. It's a good thing I didn't use my summer crop of lavender this year; otherwise I wouldn't have enough to get started. I'm probably going to have to buy some extra as it is.”
“I'll say,” I added. “And lease some space for a bigger workshop and warehouse, invest in some equipment, order more containers. Tessa, do you need to borrow some money? I've got a little extra capital at the moment, not much but some. If you need it . . .”
She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “Oh, Maddie. You're the best. That's a sweet offer, but no thanks. Hub-Jay is going to advance us some money to get started and, if that's not enough, I've still got a line of credit from the shop.”
“Okay, if you're sure. But if you need my help, you know you just have to ask. Right?”
“I know. Listen, Madelyn . . . there's something else. . . .”
I dismissed her worried look with a wave of my hand. “You don't even need to say it. I understand. You can't work for me anymore, you'll be too busy. In fact, you'd better start looking into hiring some help of your own.”
“I already have. I put ads in the paper and on the Internet today. And I went over to New Beginnings and talked to Cathy. We really hit it off at the retreat. She's smart, she's had manufacturing experience, and she really needs a job. She's going to start on Monday. And, fortunately for me,” she said with a wink, “I've already got an accountant. Lee is willing to sharpen up his pencils and help me out, at least for a few hours a week.”
“That's great, Tessa,” I said, giving her one more squeeze before returning to my sewing machine. “I'll miss having you around here, but I'm so happy for you.”
“Thanks. I'm going to miss you too, but . . .” She stopped in mid-sentence, frowned, looked at me and then at the sewing machine.
“Wait a minute . . . are you? Is that a quilt block you're making?”
I laughed. “I was beginning to wonder when you'd notice. As a matter of fact,” I said, holding up the piece I was working on, “it is a quilt block. So are these.” I patted the small stack of finished blocks that sat to the left of the machine.
“You've started quilting?” Her mouth dropped open, her expression a perfect picture of disbelief. “Why didn't you tell me?”
“I wanted to be sure I liked it first. I do, by the way. Mary Dell gave me these books to read.” I picked the books up off the far end of the table and handed them to Tessa, who started leafing through them. “They made me realize that I don't have to quilt according to anybody else's rules. I can make it up as I go along, create my own designs, do it my way.”
“And we both know how much you like that.”
“Uh-huh,” I replied without a hint of apology and picked up one of the completed blocks. “Anyway, the books just opened my eyes to the possibilities. I'm just crazy about this author,” I said, pointing to
Quilting Outside the Box.
“In fact, I just booked her for a weekend in April. Julie Lebreaux will be our first guest teacher and the first to teach in the new quilting studio. Assuming it's done by then. Fingers crossed.”
Tessa looked up, clearly impressed. “Julie Lebreaux? Really? Wow. I wouldn't mind signing up for that myself.”
“Why not? I'll give you the best friend discount—one hundred percent.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I won't let you do that, but we can argue about that later.”
She put down the books and picked up one of my finished quilt blocks, a six-by-nine, paper-pieced rectangle made up of fifteen different-sized scraps with fifteen completely different colors and values, each scrap surrounded and separated by a half-inch band of inky black. That was the neutral element that made all those colors pop and work together. Without that black banding between the colors, the block would have been a big, nonsensical mess. With it, the blocks were beautiful, rich and deep, and no two alike, a stained glass window in abstract.

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