Main Street #1: Welcome to Camden Falls (6 page)

Ruby’s eyes widened. This was an important job.

Min asked Flora to start working on a sample outfit to display in the store. “We just got in all these adorable patterns for fall skirts and vests for younger girls,” said Min. “Gigi and I wanted to make up several and hang them around the store later this summer when people come in to start their back-to-school sewing. Do you think you could make a skirt and vest? I’ll show you the fabric Gigi and I would like used in the display. I’ve already washed it.”

So Flora spent the morning at a class table in the back, laying out the pieces for a corduroy skirt and a pumpkin-print vest, size six.

By lunchtime, Ruby had finished her task and was allowed to take a handful of letters to the post office and to pick up Liz’s lunch order from College Pizza. Olivia had tidied everything in sight. And Flora, while she was busy with the corduroy, had also had a long and slightly confusing conversation with a haughty woman who was so dressed up that Flora thought she must be on her way to a party.

“My name is Mrs. DuVane,” said the woman as she approached Flora. “Do you … work here?”

“Sort of. My grandmo —”

“Oh, well, that’s fine then. I saw the notice in the window about the ribbon embroidery classes. I’m going to sign up, so I’ll be needing ribbon, of course, but I only want
silk
ribbon.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s all my grandmother carries.”

“Because silk is the best. I wouldn’t use anything else.”

“Well, the ribbon is over there, and it’s all silk,” said Flora, pointing. “Maybe you should ask my —”

But Mrs. DuVane had hurried away while Flora was still talking.

“Don’t worry about her,” said Olivia later, when Flora recounted the conversation to her. “She’s just a —” Olivia caught sight of her grandmother standing nearby and said quickly, “She’s fussy, that’s all.”

At two o’clock, when Flora was beginning to feel a bit tired, the bell over the front door jangled and in came an old woman, wearing what Flora thought was way too many clothes for the warm day. She was carrying a cloth parcel and wheezing slightly.

“’Afternoon, Mary,” said Min and Mrs. Walter at the same time.

The old woman didn’t reply, just raised one hand in greeting before lowering it to touch a tiny star that hung from a delicate necklace half hidden under a scarf. Then she made her way to the little table near the display of sewing machines.

Flora looked around the store and caught Olivia’s eye. Olivia nodded. Here was Scary Mary. In person.

Min introduced Flora and Ruby to Mary a few minutes later and they shook her hand — Flora gingerly, and Ruby more robustly since she didn’t know anything about Scary Mary yet — but Mary Woolsey barely spoke to them. She barely spoke to her customers, either, Flora realized later as she watched people bring their torn pants and too-long skirts to her. They would explain what they needed, and Mary would take some measurements, then carefully make notes on a battered notepad. She would suggest a price for the work, and the customers would agree, thank her, and leave.

Later that afternoon, Flora and Ruby, both exhausted from their first day in the store, lay down on the couches by the front door. Flora began paging through a sewing magazine. She leafed through articles on paper piecing and the perfect set-in sleeve and how to miter a corner, and then she came to a photo of a firefighter handing a teddy bear to a small boy. The title of the article was “Project Teddy: Creating Hope with Handmade Teddy Bears.” The article explained that in a town not far from Seattle, a sewing store was helping children cope with grief by donating hundreds of handmade teddies to various organizations in the area.

Flora remembered the teddy bears that had been given to her and Ruby in the hospital the night of the car accident, and an idea began to take shape.

Nikki Sherman was eye to eye with a grasshopper, separated from it only by the glass jar in which she had carefully prepared a grasshopper-friendly environment. Nikki studied the grasshopper’s head. Then she drew in her breath and returned to the sketch she was working on, using a bitten-up pencil and a sheet of lined notebook paper.

The afternoon was hot and still, very still. The steps on which Nikki was sitting were warm from the sun. She set down the jar and her drawing, stretched her skinny legs in front of her, and yawned. It wasn’t often that her yard was this quiet. But her mother had taken Mae down the road to see the Shaws’ donkey, and Tobias had gone off with friends of his, and her father — well, he could be anywhere. Nikki hadn’t seen him in several days.

Nikki sat still and let her gaze take in the yard. She was aware that it was probably one of the most rundown, dirty yards in all of Camden Falls. If there was anything good about living so far from town it was that very few people passed the Shermans’ place, so most of Nikki’s classmates didn’t know where she lived, out here, on the edge. Not that Nikki spoke much to her classmates. She saw how they looked at her, at her worn clothes, some of them hand-me-downs from Tobias, even though he was a full six years older than she, and a boy to boot. No matter how Nikki tried to keep up with the washing and the mending (on the days when her mother couldn’t cope), her clothes were torn and shabby and faded and dirty.

From time to time, her classmates informed her that she smelled.

Nikki thought of the yards of the houses in town, yards with grass growing and flowers blooming and tall trees shading porches, tidy yards with maybe a jungle gym in the back or a swing hanging from the limb of a maple, but no litter or clutter or ramshackle sheds. In Nikki’s yard were four wooden structures that her father had once used for storage and for workspaces, three of which were falling apart. There were also two old cars, neither with wheels; a woodpile; an ax that had been left for so long in a log that the blade had rusted; an ancient refrigerator, its door removed; a burning pile; and a heap of trash resembling a dump, which was in fact garbage that Nikki’s parents had been too lazy to take to the actual dump. What wasn’t in the yard was grass, unless you counted crabgrass. There were no flowers or trees, either. Just packed earth and plenty of weeds.

“Woof!”

Nikki smiled. Trotting across the yard was Paw-Paw, one of the many stray dogs who hung around the edges of Nikki’s yard. He’d shown up in the spring and was Nikki’s favorite.

“Come here, Paw-Paw,” said Nikki. “It’s okay. Dad isn’t home. I’m the only one here.”

Paw-Paw crossed the yard cautiously, glancing from side to side, but when he reached Nikki, he relaxed. He plopped down on his haunches and offered his front paw to her, something he had done the first time Nikki and Mae had seen him, which was why Mae, five years old at the time, had named him Paw-Paw.

As she often did when she talked to Paw-Paw, Nikki now said, “Who used to own you? Huh? Who did, Paw-Paw? Someone must have owned you. You’re trained. And you’re friendly. But if someone owned you, why did they let you go?” Nikki wished she knew the story of every single one of the stray dogs.

“Come on,” said Nikki, brushing off her shorts and standing up. “I’ll get you some food. It’ll be okay. You can eat as much as you want, and you won’t even have to hide. Now, if Dad was here …”

Nikki’s voice trailed off. She crossed the yard to one of the sheds and grabbed the bag of kibble she had stashed there. It usually took Nikki three weeks to earn enough money to buy each bag of dog food, and she was careful to keep them hidden. The last time her father had found one of the bags he had slurrily told Nikki that if she didn’t stop attracting those filthy beasts to his property he would take her outside and tan her hide. Then he had burned the bag and its contents.

Nikki hadn’t worried much about the threat. Her father had been too drunk and forgetful when he’d made it (what he had actually said was that if Nikki didn’t shtop trekking those filthy feasts to his proppity he would take her outshide and tan her tide), but she couldn’t afford to buy extra bags of food. Not unless she found a way to earn more money, and her money-earning opportunities were few.

Nikki carried the bag to the bushes at one side of her yard and filled the bowls she left there.

“Come and get it, everybody!” she called, and from behind sheds, from under bushes, from the farthest edges of her yard crept one scruffy dog after another. Nikki hadn’t named most of them; the dogs came and went. While they were there, though, Nikki did the best she could for them.

Nikki was returning the bag of kibble to the shed, her mind on the grasshopper and her sketch, when she heard the sound of tires on gravel.

Oh, no, she thought. Not Dad. Not on such a peaceful afternoon.

But the car that was crunching its way toward the Shermans’ house was a red Audi in fine condition, one Tobias envied.

Nikki clapped her hand to her forehead and groaned. It was the old bat. Mrs. DuVane. Nikki would almost rather have seen her father’s dented truck come roaring up the drive.

The Audi glided to a stop by the house, and as Nikki approached it, the driver’s door opened and a pair of long legs, delicate sandals on the feet, slid out, followed by the rest of Mrs. DuVane.

“Nicolette! Just the person I wanted to see.”

“Hi, Mrs. DuVane,” said Nikki.

“I’ve had a wonderful idea. Come, sit on the steps with me and we’ll have a chat.”

Nikki followed Mrs. DuVane to the stoop, sticking out her tongue and making faces at her back. Mrs. DuVane, who years ago had attended Camden Falls Central High School with Nikki’s mother, had somehow taken on Nikki and Tobias and Mae as personal charity projects. Nikki wasn’t quite sure how this had come about. All she knew was that her mother was an acquaintance of Mrs. DuVane, and that Mrs. DuVane showed up periodically to take Mae shopping for school clothes (so she could hold up her head in class) or Tobias out for a fancy dinner (in order to teach him manners) or Nikki to the community theatre (to expose her to culture). Nikki knew they should be grateful for such treats, especially since Mrs. DuVane often made vague promises about helping with education — and Nikki desperately wanted to go to college someday. But it was hard to be grateful since Mrs. DuVane made Nikki and her brother and sister feel stupid and needy and awkward.

All the Shermans privately referred to her as the old bat.

When they reached the stoop, Mrs. DuVane said, “Is your mother here, Nicolette?”

Nikki shook her head. “She’s out with Mae.”

“All right, I’ll talk to her later. Listen, I’ve just come from Needle and Thread. Do you know Needle and Thread? In town?”

Nikki nodded.

“Well, I’ve signed up to take a class in ribbon embroidery there, and I’ve decided that you should come with me. The class is for adults, but I’m sure the people who run the store wouldn’t mind if you came along as well. I saw other little girls there today. One of them seemed to be quite an accomplished seamstress, which is a wonderful thing for a girl. Now, I know you like to draw, so I thought you’d like sewing as well.”

Nikki didn’t see the connection. She did like to draw. And she liked animals. She wanted to become a wildlife artist one day. What did that have to do with sewing?

“You’re a very creative person,” Mrs. DuVane continued. “We must nurture that. It will stand you in good stead in the future.” Mrs. DuVane paused. “Is your phone working, dear?”

“Yes. We paid the bill yesterday.”

“All right. Tell your mother I’ll call her tonight. And I’ll be picking you up in three weeks to go to Needle and Thread. In the meantime, brush up on your sewing skills.
À demain!
That’s French for ‘good-bye.’”

Actually, thought Nikki as Mrs. DuVane climbed back into her car, that’s French for “good-bye until tomorrow.”

On a sultry July afternoon, Olivia Walter looked up from the book she was reading on one of the couches in her grandmother’s store. The hot weather had kept some people at home but had driven others to Needle and Thread for a chat-and-stitch in the air-conditioning. Olivia listened to their conversation, catching phrases here and there: mini piping, pin-tuck foot, lace insert. She watched Min show a woman how to make a bullion knot.