Quilt or Innocence (2 page)

Savannah stopped stitching at the mention of the quilt shop. “Posy, tell us what you’ve found out about the shop. Did Judith back off on raising the rent?” She reached over and rescued a pricey-looking pair of scissors that Georgia had absently picked up, and stowed them safely back beside her.

Posy shook her head, looking down at her quilt. “No, she’s planning to go ahead with it. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. I just never imagined that Judith would try to force me out of the Patchwork Cottage.”

Beatrice frowned. “Your landlady? Surely that doesn’t make sense. She’d have to find another tenant for the space.”

“Miss Judith has
plans
,” Meadow said with a sniff. Her indignant tone made Boris growl menacingly at the unknown threat. “She’s got some fancy women’s-boutique idea in her head, and apparently there’s someone interested in the space. Judith is adamant she can get more rent.” She snorted.

Georgia’s face clouded over. “But she’s a quilter, too! Why would she want the Patchwork Cottage to close? Where would we get all our supplies? Where would she get hers?” Her voice was tight with worry. “I don’t want to have to worry over getting supplies online—it’s just not the same as running the fabric through my fingers and seeing all the colors in person.”

“Everything will work out fine,” Savannah said, fiercely stabbing her needle into her fabric. “Judith is temporarily insane—that’s all. She’ll soon come to her senses and realize that Dappled Hills isn’t the right place for a designer boutique. It’s the
perfect
place for a quilt shop.”

“Judith is a sister quilter, but she makes me mad enough to spit sometimes,” Meadow said. “She’s forever making little digs at me. And I don’t think she likes Boris,” she added in a scandalized tone, reaching out to give the dog a sympathetic rub.

Beatrice strained to hear Georgia’s quiet voice. “She’s only making digs at you because she wanted to be the beekeeper.”

Meadow explained to Beatrice, “That’s what we call the president of the quilting bee.”

Savannah frowned. “She’s sniped at Georgia, and me, too. Although I guess that anyone who loves quilting as much as Judith does can’t be all bad, right?’

“No one is
all
bad,” Posy said with certainty. “When I have a chance to sit down and really talk to her about the shop and what I think it means to all of us, I’m positive she’ll reconsider raising the rent.”

Savannah looked cross. “We’re quilting, ladies. This is our time to relax. Let’s move on to a nicer subject.”

“Yes! Let’s move on,” Meadow said enthusiastically. “And we all should be eating! I knew there was something I was forgetting. Snacks make everything in life better.” In a flash, Meadow was back with a huge platter full of food. “Pimento cheese–stuffed celery, sweet Vidalia onion dip and spicy fried pickles.” She beamed at the happy murmur from the quilters. Beatrice wasn’t sure what to make of the offerings. It was the kind of food that could either be very good or very bad.

But, apparently, it was all good. Posy leaned over and said in a confiding way, “Meadow is the most fantastic cook. Everything on that platter is to die for! But make sure you try her pimento cheese. It’s creamy-looking, but has a real kick to it with the jalapenos. I think she has a little cream cheese in there, and I’m completely nuts over creamy cheese. And now, Beatrice, tell us a little about you. I want to learn more about our new quilting friend.” Her eyes twinkled at Beatrice as she filled a small plate with fried pickles and celery.

Beatrice fiddled with her napkin and cleared her throat. “Well, let’s see.” She thought for a moment. “Actually, there’s nothing really interesting to share.” They stared at her in disbelief. “There really isn’t.” It was sad, but true. Her life in recent years had revolved around work.

“Except that she just moved in yesterday and she’s already a member of the Village Quilters!” bubbled Meadow. “I’ve waited for someone to move into that cottage next to me for ages. Ages! It’s sat empty, and I kept thinking it was going to become a crack house or something else really dire.”

Posy gave a tinkling laugh. “A crack house? In Dappled Hills? It was more likely to be turned into an art gallery or a church or a charming coffee shop.” Posy was practically consumed by the huge polka-dotted pillows on Meadow’s sofa and hard to see.

“Or something. Or maybe the house would get rented out to a college student who’d have wild keg parties and stagger drunkenly through my yard. Instead, I’m
blessed
with a lovely older lady who quilts. What could be better?”

Beatrice opened her mouth to refute her quilting (and possibly her loveliness), but decided it was futile.

Posy said, “Shouldn’t you amend the
older lady
, Meadow? If
she’s
older, and she must only be in her early sixties, then what am I?”

“Simply sensational, Posy. Didn’t you know seventy is the new sixty? As for Beatrice, I’m going to try desperately to get over the fact that she has pretty hair that apparently doesn’t even have to be dyed!” Meadow peered closely at Beatrice’s chin-length soft bob, and Beatrice resisted the urge to put a protective hand on it. “That light blond, almost silver, sort of platinum color is way too natural-looking to come from a bottle. Life sure isn’t always fair, is it?” Meadow sadly lifted her own gray braid and stared reproachfully at it.

“I do have some highlights put in,” said Beatrice, feeling almost guilty.

“It’s the perfect hairstyle for your heart-shaped face,” said Posy with a sweet smile. “I bet it’s a low-fuss style, too. I have to go to the beauty parlor to get my wash and set every week.”

“It’s pretty easy to take care of. I didn’t have a lot of time when I was working to worry over my hair, so I chose something simple,” said Beatrice.

The prettier sister, Georgia, said timidly, “Savannah, Beatrice’s hair is the style I was thinking would look good on you. You have a heart-shaped face, too.”

Anything would look a lot better than the severe bun that Savannah sported. Savannah’s heavy brows lifted. “You know perfectly well that I’m not preoccupied with my appearance, Georgia. Although I think Beatrice looks very nice. I’m sure Beatrice was used to attending exciting events in Atlanta, where it was important for her to look stylish.”

“I hope Dappled Hills won’t be too boring for you, Beatrice,” said Georgia shyly. “There’s not nearly as much going on. But sometimes there’s an amateur night at the theater—that’s usually a lot of fun. Well, the
singing
isn’t as much fun, but I love some of the skits, and the local barber does a stand-up routine that’s always hilarious. So there
are
things to do here.”

“Sometimes,” said Savannah in a repressive voice.

Looking more cheerful, Meadow added, “Oh, and since Beatrice just happens to be a folk-art expert, she’ll have to give a talk at one of our programs. That’ll take care of one of them, anyway. I have the dickens of a time trying to plan and schedule those.”

This was territory Beatrice felt a little more comfortable with. “I’m sure I could manage that, Meadow. Folk art wasn’t my
only
focus, but I did get to arrange some wonderful exhibits at the museum.”

“And so you left a big career behind to come to Dappled Hills?” Savannah asked. “And look after Piper, I guess.” Her voice implied that looking after people was the most understandable motive of all.

“Oh, Piper does fine on her own, I think. She’s always been such an independent child. I was simply ready to retire. I’d been thinking about slowing down for a while. And I thought it would be a nice change to move to a small town—and be near Piper, of course. I didn’t realize I’d be directly across the street from her, but it was the perfect cottage. I fell in love with it as soon as I saw it.”

Meadow pursed her lips and gave Beatrice a considering look. “I’ve had a brilliant idea. My son Ash is here from California, visiting me this week. He’s absolutely gorgeous,” she said, completely seriously, “and a real
gentleman
. I’ll introduce Piper to Ash at the quilting bee—which is tomorrow! Let me call him. He was working on his laptop when I left. Oh, shoot! No, I remember . . . he’s gone to lunch with an old friend from high school. But I’ll bring him to the bee for sure. And you’ll need to come with Piper, Beatrice. Being independent is
fine
,
of course, but it’s even better to have a soul mate. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of her life!”

Beatrice was beginning to long for her little stone cottage and the soft gingham sofa in her tiny living room. She could read her new book,
Whispers of Summer
,
to the dulcet sounds of her corgi snoring. Somehow she’d pictured her retirement in quieter terms than quilting guilds and bees and quirky neighbors pulling her into a swarm of social activity.

There was a knock at the door and Meadow popped up again like a jack-in-the-box, bouncing toward the front door, Boris dutifully giving a guard-dog-bark in a deep, growling, hellhound way.

Posy smiled. “Dear Meadow and darling Boris. So much energy!”

Beatrice’s daughter, Piper, was at the door, looking pretty as always with her dark hair in a pixie cut, her cute figure, and her gray eyes that matched Beatrice’s. Piper hugged Meadow. “When I saw Mama wasn’t home, I guessed you might have invited her over. Thanks for taking care of her for me. Did you know that if people don’t drag Mama out of the house, then she’d happily spend hours poring over dusty antiquities or tomes on Early American furniture?” She gave Beatrice an unrepentant grin and a fleeting kiss on the cheek.

“We’ll have to set Mama up with some quilting supplies,” said Piper to Posy. “Or she can do some blocks for the bee. I finished mine, so I’m all set for tomorrow.”

“Oh!” said Meadow with a start. “That reminds me that I need to get us set for our next project.” She attempted to look official and businesslike, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that she had picked up the water pitcher to refill Beatrice’s tea and was now gesturing so much that the tea sloshed over the sides. “Y’all, this time I want us each to do a very personal quilt. Not one from a pattern book. I’d like each of us to come up with a block that shows something particularly meaningful for us and incorporate it in symbols on our blocks. Everyone in the group will create a 12.5-inch-by-2.5-inch block so that it will finish to 12-inch-by-12-inch when sewn together. I’ll get in touch with the ladies who didn’t make it today. I’ve got the background for the blocks, to unify the look and show we’re working on a theme.”

Frowning, Savannah said, “And we’ll auction it off? Who is going to want something that’s so personal, Meadow? It doesn’t seem like it would be an interesting quilt for anybody but us.”

“They’ll
love
it, Savannah! They’ll absolutely love it because it’ll be the coolest quilt around.” Savannah still looked unhappy. “You just need to give it a go. I know you’re practically married to your geometric designs. But life isn’t just about Dutchman’s Puzzles or Pieced Stars. You need to color outside the lines a little bit.”

“Some of us need to color a little
inside
the lines,” said Savannah, with a cross nod at the crazy quilts scattered through Meadow’s house.

Meadow either didn’t hear Savannah or chose to ignore her. “I’ve already officially invited your mama to the bee tomorrow,” said Meadow to Piper. She turned and gave Beatrice an exaggerated wink to show she still had matchmaking on the brain. “Beatrice, it’ll be the best way for you to get up to speed with what’s going on with quilting today.”

Beatrice stood up to leave. She was having visions of a fully booked calendar, courtesy of Meadow, if she didn’t escape. “Thanks so much for the tea and sandwiches. Really lovely to meet all of you. Of course we’ll come to the bee tomorrow.”

She heard Meadow calling after her and chortling as she left. “Be there or be
square
! Get it? Square!”

The next day, the cottage was very, very quiet. Perfect, Beatrice reminded herself, for reading a book. But try as she might to relax, enjoy her tea and focus on the poetically descriptive passages of
Whispers of Summer
, she had the niggling sensation that she should be doing something else.

She shifted back and forth on the sofa before getting up to put a small load of laundry in the compact washing machine. She hand-washed the china coffee cup, although it could just as well have gone into the dishwasher. Finally, she decided to check her mailbox. Was her mail getting forwarded from Atlanta like it was supposed to? Rats . . . it was empty. What time was the mail supposed to come in Dappled Hills? Hadn’t it come yesterday
morning
? And here it was, almost two o’clock in the afternoon and there was no mail to be seen.

Piper would know. She’d just give her a quick call.

“Mama? What’s up?” Piper sounded distracted.

“I was wondering about the mail. Shouldn’t it already have come by now? Do you think I simply didn’t get any mail today? That seems very unlikely. Usually I’ll have a catalog or some other junk mail. Do you think it’s not all getting forwarded from my old address?”

There was a pause on the phone and then Piper’s voice sounded more alert—and a little ornery, thought Beatrice with surprise. “You’re worried about the mail service,” she said flatly.

“Not
worried
about it. Just curious why the mail hasn’t arrived. And what its usual arrival time is.”

“Mama,” said Piper, and there was distinct exasperation in her voice now, “you need something to do.”

“Oh, I have things to do. I’m reading
Whispers of Summer
.”

“No, you need more things to do than that. But Dappled Hills won’t offer the same kind of entertainment as Atlanta. Actually, it does have the same entertainment as Atlanta. The selection is just a little different. So we have amateur night at the Plaza Theater instead of a performance of
Les Misérables
. And you might not be able to grab a gourmet meal in downtown Dappled Hills, but you can get one of Bertha’s blue-plate specials at her diner. We need to keep you busy—with the quilters.”

“Piper, quilts make stunning artwork, but I just don’t feel compelled to make one myself.”

“There’s no better way to meet people in this town than being part of the quilting guilds. You could even act as sort of an artistic director—help generate ideas for the community quilts we do and keep us on track and organized. I bet Meadow would love to have you help her out.”

“I guess,” said Beatrice, unconvinced. Meadow certainly didn’t seem like the most organized person on the planet.

“I’ll walk over with you tonight to the church for the quilting bee. We’ve got to get mail delivery off your mind. Next thing you know, you’ll be obsessing over the garbage pickup.”

Beatrice pinched her lips shut. The garbage-pickup schedule was going to be her next question.

“Tell you what. Why don’t I come over for a short visit before we head out for the bee? I can help you unpack the rest of your boxes. Once you’re settled, I bet you won’t feel like you’re at loose ends anymore.”

* * *

“Where are all your boxes of food?” asked Piper, peeking into a couple of boxes and finding only books.

“You’re making a pretty big assumption,” said Beatrice. She pulled out some of the books, smoothing the covers and sliding them into the bookcase.

“An assumption about
food
?”

“An assumption that I cook.” Beatrice tried to keep a defensive tone from creeping into her voice.

“You
used
to cook, Mama. All the time. We had chicken casseroles and pot roast and hams!”

“And then your father passed away and I went back to work. And then
you
moved away. I made the amazing discovery that the grocery stores had heat-and-eat meals right there in the deli section. Why had no one mentioned this to me before? Some nights I’d pick up a salad or a meatloaf plate. Or maybe a pasta dish or a small gourmet pizza. There was plenty of variety.”

“Uh oh. You might be in trouble then, Mama. Bub’s doesn’t have ready-to-eat.”

“Bub’s? That’s the name of the store?” Beatrice felt her head start to throb. Bub’s sounded like the kind of store that might also sell live bait.

“It’s been around for at least a hundred years. Rumor has it that the original owner was so devilish that the townsfolk called him Bub, short for Beelzebub. The sign is very faded and no one can really make it out. Everyone has called it Bub’s for as long as the oldest residents remember. And I think you and Bub’s are going to have to get acquainted with each other pretty soon, unless you’re planning on eating out every meal.”

“There are good restaurants here?” This, at least, was promising.

“Well . . . yes. But they have funny hours unless the leaves are changing,” said Piper in a careless voice as if what she was saying made perfect sense.

“What in heaven’s name have leaves got to do with restaurant hours?” asked Beatrice.

“It’s prime tourist season when the leaves are changing,” said Piper. “But otherwise it’s hard to find a restaurant that’s open in the evenings. Easy to find a place for lunch, though.”

“It’s all right,” said Beatrice, holding her head high and dignified. “I used to cook once. I’ll just start cooking again—that’s all.”

“Well, my original plan was that I’d help you cook a quick supper before we headed over to the bee. But now I’m thinking that we might better head on over there. Meadow will be sure to have brought food, and she’s a great cook.”

Beatrice grunted, still annoyed over the food-and-cooking part of it all. “Are we walking over?”

“Might as well,” said Piper. “It’s a nice evening and a short walk to the church.”

Noo-noo cocked her head to the side, hopeful. “Not this time, girl,” said Beatrice, reaching down to pet the corgi. “We’ll have a walk next time, I promise.” She found her pocketbook and followed Piper out the door, locking it behind her.

“What did you think of everyone at the guild meeting? Weren’t they fantastic?” asked Piper as she and Beatrice strolled down the driveway to the street. “Meadow especially. She’s
wonderful
. She’s friendly with my school’s principal, who asked her to help me find a place to rent when I first came to town for my teaching job. It just happened to be on the same street as hers, so we’ve become good friends.”

Beatrice’s heart warmed a little toward the impossible Meadow. “Yes, Meadow seems . . . um . . . really nice.”

Piper cut her eyes sideways at her mother. “I know that tone, Mama. Is she too quirky for you?”

“She seemed a teensy bit manic—in the nicest way,” said Beatrice hurriedly as Piper knit her brows. “She kept refilling my glass to the brim and filled Savannah and Georgia’s with tea, even though they were drinking water! I felt like Alice at the Mad Hatter’s tea party. I was waiting for Meadow to ask me why a raven was like a writing desk, and for all the quilters to switch places with each other.”

Piper laughed. “You’ll really see Meadow in action at the quilting bee. She wanders around, cramming food on your plate. You won’t even know how much you’ve eaten because she’ll keep piling on the food whenever she sees an open spot on your plate. She cracks me up! And Ramsay—that’s her husband—is great, too, if you ever get a chance to meet him. He’s the Dappled Hills police chief and is always on the go.”

Probably, thought Beatrice, to escape his eccentric wife. “Actually, I’ve already met him. I flagged him down, as a matter of fact, when I thought Meadow was kidnapping me. She wasn’t very clear on the fact she was just encouraging me to go to a quilting guild meeting with her. Unfortunately, Meadow seems to have gotten the impression that I’m desperate to stay busy. Now she’s assigned this group quilt project and seems like she’s expecting me to take part in it, too. Any ideas on how to extricate myself from a bunch of invitations and just be left alone?”

“I think you might be out of luck, Mama. It’s just not possible to be aloof here like you could be in Atlanta.”

“I don’t want to be
aloof.
I just want some quality reading time in my hammock. Quality reading time with a mint julep.”

Piper shook her head. “You’re going to want to become friends with these women, Mama. Take Savannah and Georgia. They might seem peculiar, but they’re the most loyal friends you’ll ever meet and they
live
for quilting. Georgia’s really sweet and absolutely crazy about animals. She has a little online business making cat and dog clothes. She went through a terrible divorce . . . such a sad story. Sometimes I think I never want to get married.”

Beatrice chose to ignore that last remark. “Georgia seems nice, I think, but that Savannah is bossy and imposing. And they live together?” she asked.

“They do. I think that’s how Savannah keeps Georgia in line. She’s
so
organized. You’ll have to see the quilting library she’s got in their house. It’s all alphabetized by author. I dropped by to borrow a book and Savannah checked it out like it was the public library. She carefully inserted a little dated card in the back of the book and everything. I don’t think Savannah’s
bossy
, just one of those people who likes fixing things. So when Georgia’s marriage fell apart about a year ago, Savannah insisted that Georgia move in with her so she could keep an eye on her. She’s so overprotective of Georgia that you’d think she was her baby sister instead of her twin.”

Beatrice thought of Savannah’s tightly buttoned-up blouse, tight bun and domineering manner and wondered how much Georgia really enjoyed being kept in line. Savannah seemed to have such a grip on Georgia that it was amazing Georgia had ever been able to pull away enough to marry.

“And Posy, the lady who owns the quilting shop? Her husband, Cork, owns a wine shop in town. We sometimes get together for food and wine—we had a tomato pie full of mozzarella and Parmesan a couple of weeks ago. It was the perfect refreshing supper. The tomatoes came right from their garden, and Cork brought a new wine for me to try. They never had children, so Posy treats their little beagle like a child—she’ll put her in outfits, and she talks to her like the beagle’s going to talk back. We sat out in their garden, laughing and talking, and hummingbirds darted around us all through supper.”

“Cork! That’s an interesting name.”

“Isn’t it? It was inevitable, though. He owns a wine shop and he even
looks
like a cork.”

“Bald?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Piper with a smile.

“Well, I can see the advantages of befriending someone whose husband owns a wine shop,” said Beatrice. “Clever girl. And Posy did seem really sweet. It wasn’t a very big group at the guild meeting, though. Who else is in the guild that might be going to the bee?”

“You’ll be meeting the wicked Judith, I’m sure. Did everyone talk about her yesterday, since she wasn’t at the meeting?”

“Of course they did. I hear she’s threatening to close Posy’s quilt shop and makes jabs at Meadow because
she
wanted to be the beekeeper. Is she as evil as everyone is making out? Or just misunderstood?”

“That’s for you to decide. She sure does have a lot of people mad at her, though. So, Judith will be there tonight at the bee, for sure—she never misses an opportunity to irritate large numbers of people at once.”

“Who else will probably come to the bee?”

“There’s another mother-daughter quilting team who’ll be there.” Beatrice rolled her eyes, and Piper chuckled. “Now, Mama. We’re on our way to a quilting bee . . . It’s safe to call ourselves quilters. Anyway, Felicity is the mom and Amber is another teacher.”

“Is she your age?” asked Beatrice.

“She’s a few years older, but she’s a lot of fun. And she’s my best friend here.”

“Did she grow up here?”

“She did, but I think she’s ready to move on to a bigger town. Y’all should have simply switched towns and houses. Daisy mentioned to me the other day that she was trying to help Amber find a teaching position in Atlanta.”

“Daisy?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll help you remember who everyone is. Daisy is married to the local doctor and belongs to nearly every organization in town. She does
lots
of volunteering. And she knows
everybody
. She’d actually be a great person to introduce you to Dappled Hills and get you involved.”

Involved? She was going to have to stay on her toes to keep from being
too
involved in this town. The residents seemed almost a little
too
friendly.

Piper suddenly swung around and looked behind them. “Look out!”

She shoved Beatrice into someone’s yard and jumped neatly out of the way herself as a boatlike, aging Lincoln ran up onto the sidewalk before roaring back onto the road and away. The driver raised a skinny arm and brandished a fist at them as the car pulled diagonally into a parking spot at the church.

Beatrice was breathless and shaking, but Piper had started walking again. “For the love of Pete! Piper! Someone tried to
kill
us!”

Piper chuckled. “That’s Dappled Hills, North Carolina’s famous Miss Sissy. She’s . . . interesting.”

“She drives on sidewalks!”

“Miss Sissy just has a creative interpretation of the word
road
. Plus, I guarantee you that she’s going to complain that
you
ran
her
off the road.”

“That
I
did?” Beatrice was incredulous.

“Didn’t you see her shaking a fist at you? She’s going to tell you off for being a road hog.”

“We were on the sidewalk!”

“Not in Miss Sissy’s opinion,” said Piper.

* * *

Despite feeling stomach butterflies at meeting more people—and at trying to remember more names and anything she might once have known about quilting—Beatrice felt immediately at home as they walked up to the beautiful old church, its stone walls blending naturally into the lushness of the surrounding trees and flowering bushes.

Piper recognized every vehicle in the parking lot. She nodded at a lavender Cadillac. “I see Felicity is here. She used to sell gobs of cosmetics for the Eula May company. Her husband died when Amber was just a teenager, so Felicity had to suddenly go back to work—like you did, Mama. Apparently she was a born salesperson. Felicity ended up being a top seller and built up a Eula May sales team and managed their sales. They ended up giving her a lavender Caddy.” She grinned. “And Savannah and Georgia are here—I see their bikes.”