Between Heaven and Texas (23 page)

C
HAPTER 39

M
ary Dell's pronouncement did nothing to change Graydon's opinion, but she was the boss, and he accepted her decision with as much good grace as he could muster.

They decided to break into teams. Starting the next day, everybody would help with the sheep, other stock, and chores during the day, but one team would take the night shift on alternate days, checking on the sheep every two hours, standing by to assist with any difficult births. It was decided that Dutch would be more help wrangling sheep than children, so Silky volunteered to come help Taffy with that and the cooking chores for the duration, and Velvet said she'd be out to help whenever she wasn't needed at the historical society.

Concerned that her speech about being the boss might have bruised Graydon's ego, Mary Dell sat back and let him organize the work schedule and teams. She was surprised that he put her, Moises, and Dutch on one team, which meant Lydia Dale would be working with him. And Lydia Dale seemed completely comfortable with this arrangement. Interesting.

Moises showed up at the ranch about the same time the meeting broke up. He and Graydon got to work. When Lydia Dale said she had to drive to town to pick up Cady and Jeb from their overnight visitation with Jack Benny, Mary Dell asked if she could come along. The babies were both yawning, so Taffy said she'd put them down for their naps and keep an eye on them.

Mary Dell grabbed two Dr Peppers from the refrigerator on her way out the door. She opened both and handed one to her sister as they drove through the gate.

“Thanks,” Lydia Dale said, then turned on the radio and hummed along with Kenny Rogers as they bounced over holes and down the dirt road toward town.

“You seem happy,” Mary Dell said. “What's up? Did you and Graydon kiss and make up or something?”

Lydia Dale rolled her eyes. “No. I have no interest in or intentions toward Graydon Bebee, not the way you mean it. But I've been too hard on him. He's been real good to the kids.”

“He sure has. You know,” Mary Dell said brightly, as if the thought had only just occurred to her, “he'd make a wonderful father.”

Lydia Dale turned her attention from the road and pointed her finger directly in her sister's face. “Stop it. I'm not looking for a husband. And if I was, I wouldn't need your help. You are the world's worst matchmaker.”

“I am not!”

Lydia Dale turned her eyes back toward the road and started reciting a list of names. “Cathy Mae Carradine and Randy Smith, Grace and Gordon Williams, Lila Tyrell and the traveling salesman . . .”

“Ancient history. Doesn't anybody around here ever forget anything?”

“The Lila Tyrell fiasco was only three years ago. The traveling salesman is still in jail on bigamy charges.”

Mary Dell shrugged. “So I made a mistake. But that doesn't mean that you and Graydon . . .”

Lydia Dale reached out and gripped a knob on the radio. “Either change the subject, or I'm going to turn the volume up high enough to shatter the windshield. And if you're so darned excited about finding husbands, why not find one for yourself instead of bothering me?”

Mary Dell shook her head and took a drink. “I'm not over Donny. And even if I was, I couldn't imagine loving any man the way I loved him. But,” she said in a voice that sounded a little surprised, “I don't think I want a husband anymore. I did that, and it was good while it lasted, but now I want . . . something. Something bigger.”

Lydia Dale glanced at her sister, equally surprised by this revelation. Mary Dell had always given every appearance of enjoying marriage. “Like what?”

“I'm not sure. But maybe . . .”

Mary Dell shifted in her seat, angling her body toward her sister. “Howard and I went to the Dry Goods Emporium yesterday.”

“And?” Lydia Dale said with a quizzical smile. “Wait. Don't tell me. Mr. Waterson actually got in some new fabric. Something milled in this decade?”

Mary Dell's eyes lit up. “He's decided to retire and sell the business. To me!”

“Really? Where would you get the money?”

“I haven't quite worked that out,” Mary Dell said. “It won't be from the bank, that's for sure. The manager said that the timetable for First Reliable Bank to give a loan to someone with no collateral and no real work experience will coincide with hell freezing over and pigs learning to fly.”

“He said that?”

“Not quite, but he was so darned smug I wanted to slap him.”

Mary Dell put her elbow up near the window and rested her chin in her hand, staring vacantly out as they passed acres and acres of land dotted with scores of grazing cattle, all of it belonging to the F-Bar-T.

“Matter of fact, I've had an urge to slap any number of smug men in the last couple of days. Must be the heat or something.” Mary Dell sighed. “You know, Mr. Waterson really isn't asking that much. Business has been bad the last few years. The value lies more in the building than anything else. I've got almost enough to buy the business right this moment, but that wouldn't leave us with any kind of cushion. If lambing season goes bad, or the drought doesn't let up, or if cattle prices take another drop, then we'll need that money. I can't risk it. I told him I'd get back to him within a week to tell him if I want to go ahead with it. Can't see any way of raising that much money in such a short time.”

Lydia Dale frowned and a small indentation formed between her eyebrows, the way it did when she was thinking.

“Well, you wouldn't have to have all of it in a week. You'd just need to let him know that you had a way to get it within a reasonable amount of time, right? Say two or three months.”

She drummed her fingernails on top of the steering wheel. “What if we put the ranch up as collateral? Not all of it, just part.”

“No,” Mary Dell said in a definitive voice. “This ranch has been in our family forever. I'm not going to take chances with the F-Bar-T. Besides, buying the Dry Goods Emporium is just the beginning. I've got to make a lot of changes if I hope to make a go of it, and that will take money. I'll need to paint the building, fix the lighting, buy new displays, a new sign, and all new stock.

“See,” Mary Dell said, turning back toward her sister and leaning closer, her eyes glittering with enthusiasm, “I want to turn it into a shop just for quilters. We'll carry only one hundred percent cotton made for quilting, the biggest and best selection in this whole part of the state. And we'll have patterns and notions, and all the newest tools and gadgets, all that stuff they advertise in the magazines. And we'll offer classes. Lots of classes! Think about it, sis. If we had eight students a day, five days a week, and all those students were buying their fabric and patterns and such from us . . . well, it just seems to me we'd have to turn a profit! I mean, we'd need more customers than that, but those students would be a pretty good base to begin with. Don't you think?

“And I'm not even figuring in class fees,” she mused, talking more to herself than her sister at this point. “That'd help too. But wait . . . no. You know what? I'm not going to charge a class fee, not for beginners anyway. I'll offer a four-week beginner's class, and I won't charge a thing. It'll be kind of a free sample. The supplies they'll buy will make up for any money we're out.
And
once they give quilting a try, see how much fun it is and how cute their quilts turn out, that'll be it!” Mary Dell snapped her fingers to underscore her point. “They'll be hooked like trout! Customers for life!”

Lydia Dale smiled. It had been a long time since she'd seen her sister this happy. “So what do you plan to call this amazing new shop?”

Mary Dell stretched her hands out flat with her thumbs angled into mirrored Ls, then spread them apart, as if she could see it all right in front of her. “Too Cute Quilts,” she said with reverence.

Lydia Dale made a face and pretended to gag.

Mary Dell balked. “What? You don't like it? What's wrong with it?”

“It's too
cute,
that's what's wrong with it. Find something a little less precious and a little more elegant.”

Mary Dell bit her lip. “I've got it! Mary Dell's Temple of Quilting! Isn't that elegant!”

Lydia Dale rolled her eyes. “No,” she said with a laugh, “that's hideous. And possibly blasphemous. Not to mention way, way over-the-top.”

“Well, if you're so smart, what would you name it?”

“Oh, I don't know . . . maybe . . . Patchwork Playground?” Lydia Dale frowned. “No. Too cute again. How about Patchwork Palace?”

“I like it!”

“Me too,” Lydia Dale said matter-of-factly. “I'd go inside to check it out, and I'm not even a quilter.”

“No, but you're going to be. I won't be able to pull this off without your help. Don't!” Mary Dell said, raising her hand to stop Lydia Dale's protest before she even began.

“I know you've never done much quilting, but you already know how to sew, and I can teach you the rest of what you need to know, enough so you can help customers with most of their problems. After all, somebody has to mind the store while I'm doing all that teaching.”

“But . . . why would you want me? Why wouldn't you hire somebody who already knows what they're doing? Pearl or Pauline, one of the girls from your class.”

“Because I want you. You have something to bring to the party that is a whole lot more important than just knowing how to quilt, something that can't be taught. Certainly not to me.” She laughed. “Taste.”

Lydia Dale quickly opened her mouth to protest, but shut it even more quickly and let Mary Dell keep talking, knowing that her sister's self-assessment was right on the money.

“I want your help to run the shop, to cut yardage, stock shelves, and ring up bills on the register because you're my sister and I trust you more than anyone else in this world. And it'd be fun. We'd see each other every day, and our children will grow up together. We can bring Rob Lee and Howard to work with us, there's plenty of room for toys or playpens or whatever else we'd need. It'll be like the old days, Lydia Dale, just like we always dreamed it would be. But beyond that, even beyond the fact that you're my sister, I
need
you.

“Look, no matter how hard I try, I'm always going to be the girl who gets the tacky green ribbon during fair week. Okay, fine. I get it. So what? I love my clothes and my quilts and my style, and I don't intend to change. But I'm not so stupid or so stubborn that I can't recognize the truth; nobody likes my style but me. Well,” she said with a shrug, “nobody but Donny, and he's gone.

“But you have taste. You have an eye for color, an appreciation of patterns and textures, and you know how to put them all together in ways that make people stand up and take notice. You should have seen how my gals went on and on over the quilt I made for Rob Lee, the one you picked the fabrics for. They said it was the best quilt I'd ever made. They were right. Even I knew that. We'd make an incredible team, sis. With you choosing the fabrics and me teaching the classes, we'd be unbeatable. We'd have the best quilt shop in Texas.”

“Texas, nothing. Probably the best in the world,” Lydia Dale said with a smile as she made a left turn and pulled up in front of the little white house she used to share with Jack Benny and her children. “You might just turn out to be a quilting legend after all.”

They laughed together, but after a moment, Mary Dell let out another deep sigh.

“It's crazy, I know. There's no way in the world I can pull the money together, not without putting the ranch at risk. I can't do that over some silly dream.”

“No,” Lydia Dale agreed. “But I don't think you should give up just yet. There's got to be a way we can pull this off.”

“We?” Mary Dell looked at her sister and grinned. “Does that mean that you're in? I mean, if we could figure out a way to raise the money?”

“Heck, yes! Of course I am! Do you think I'm going to stand by and let you have all the fun? Besides, once you're a great big fat quilting legend, somebody is going to have to come along to keep you from getting all full of yourself. And somebody,” she said with a pointed glance, “is going to have to keep you from making the best-constructed, ugliest quilts in the great state of Texas.”

Lydia Dale honked the horn. Jeb ran out, carrying a backpack with his clothes. He didn't look back or wave at Jack Benny, who was standing in the doorway wearing jeans, an undershirt, and a scowl. Carla Jean was there too, wearing too much eye makeup and jeans as tight as a sausage casing.

Cady followed, pausing in the door to give her father a good-bye kiss. Carla Jean bent down as if she expected to be kissed as well, but Cady dodged her puckered lips and raced toward the car after her brother, waving as she ran.

The children jumped into the car and slammed the doors. Carla Jean tossed her hair, whispered something in Jack Benny's ear, and tugged on his arm. He followed her back into the house and closed the front door. Lydia Dale shifted the car into reverse and backed quickly out into the street.

“Hi, Aunt Mary Dell! Hi, Momma!” Cady threw her arms over the front seat and kissed her mother's shoulder.

“Hi yourself, baby girl, and buckle your seat belt right this minute. That's better. Did you have fun?”

Cady shrugged. “Daddy watched football the whole time. Carla Jean made brownies from a box.”

“Uh-huh,” Lydia Dale said absently, glancing into the rearview mirror to look at her son. “Jeb, what about you? Did you have fun?”