Road Trip (6 page)

“Grandpa always loved his patients like that,” Annie said with a small sniff.

“I’m so glad you like the display,” Mr. Gold said, his own eyes shining a bit behind his glasses. “Is there anything you think I should change?”

They all agreed that it was perfect, and the group stood and simply looked at the display for another minute until they heard the door to the room open. They all turned around in unison.

It took Annie only a moment to recognize the portly man with the big mustache barreling toward them. Edgar Harvester had said he’d see her at the convention, but she hadn’t expected it to be so soon after arriving.

7

“This is incredible,” Mr. Harvester announced as he looked over the tribute to Betsy Holden.

“I don’t believe this room is open for public display yet,” Mr. Gold said. He glanced down at his watch. “It opens in an hour.”

Mr. Harvester’s mustache seemed to bristle with offense. “I am not ‘the public,’ young man,” he insisted. “I am a close friend of Elizabeth Holden. It’s only right that family,” he nodded toward Annie, “and close friends view the display first.”

“Oh,” Mr. Gold said, blinking slightly, then turning toward Mary Beth, “is he with you?”

Mary Beth shook her head. “No, though we have met Mr. Harvester before.”

“I haven’t,” Stella announced regally.

Mr. Harvester turned to look at her in interest. “I am Edgar Harvester. Were you a relative of Elizabeth?”

“I was Betsy’s friend,” Stella said.

“Mrs. Brickson is the woman in the portrait,” Mr. Gold said, gesturing toward the display.

The portly man turned rapturous eyes toward the portrait. “I had heard of this piece, but have only seen it in newspaper photos before now. It is magnificent.” Then he turned toward Stella. “And you are the beautiful woman in the portrait?”

“I’ve aged,” Stella said dryly.

“And yet,” Mr. Harvester assured her, “you’re still beautiful.”

Stella’s skeptical look grew even shaper. “I am old, Mr. Harvester. As are you. Beauty is for the young.”

Annie disagreed with that sentiment, but she would not have dared tangle with Stella. Clearly Mr. Harvester was less intimidated. “It is very refreshing to see a beautiful woman who is also modest,” he said.

At that Mr. Gold coughed suddenly, and Annie suspected he was hiding a laugh.

“Mr. Harvester—” Stella began.

“Please call me Edgar.”

“Mr. Harvester, I do not encourage flattery, nor do I enjoy it. I’ve had a long drive today, and I’m going to my room to lie down. I don’t expect we’ll exchange any further conversation, so I bid you goodbye.”

With that, Stella made a grand exit befitting a movie star. Annie was quite impressed, and Mr. Harvester stood staring after her. Annie suspected his mouth might even be agape, though you couldn’t tell as it was hidden behind the mustache.

Finally, he turned back to the portrait and stepped closer, reaching out a hand to touch it.

Mr. Gold caught his hand. “Please, do not touch the display.”

The stout man was clearly offended, but he simply nodded, and then turned and walked quickly from the room. “Well, that was easier than I thought it might be,” Mary Beth said.

“What an odd man,” Mr. Gold said. Then he clapped his hands in what Annie was starting to think of as his trademarked gesture. “Well, this display will remain in place until Sunday when we’ll move it all to the main ballroom stage for the ceremony.”

“Main ballroom?” Annie said. “Do you really think you’ll need that many seats?”

“Oh, certainly,” he said. “Mr. Harvester may be Betsy Holden’s oddest fan, but he’s only one of many. I expect the room will be full.”

Annie swallowed a lump in her throat. The dozen or so people she’d been picturing as she planned her speech just got a whole lot scarier. She was glad when everyone decided to head back to their rooms for a little rest. Annie definitely needed to make a panic call to LeeAnn. She was certain her fearless daughter could talk her through her pre-speech jitters.

****

LeeAnn picked up the phone on the second ring, “Hello.”

“I’m in Texas!” Annie announced.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” LeeAnn said. “I wish I could pile the kids in the car and rush right over. In fact, I had really planned to do that. I thought it would be fun to just come and stay at the hotel for the whole weekend. I’m sure I could find things to keep us occupied while you did your convention activities.”

“Oh that would be lovely,” Annie said. “What changed your mind?”

“Joanna woke up sick this morning,” LeeAnn said. “She is throwing up and a little feverish, poor lamb. She’s asleep now. I hustled John off to school—against his strong objections, I might add. I hope he doesn’t catch this.”

“I hope not either,” Annie said, feeling bleak. “If the kids are sick, I’ll understand if you can’t make it at all. I think Mary Beth is planning to film it, so I’ll send you a copy.”

“
I’ll
mind!” LeeAnn said. “I have my fingers crossed that this is one of those one-day bugs, and that it skips John. Then we’ll all be there by Saturday—maybe even Friday night, no problem.”

“I hope so,” Annie agreed, “but you need to do whatever is best for the children.”

“I will. Don’t worry about it though, Mom,” LeeAnn said. “But if you want to say an extra prayer or two, we’d take them.”

“You know I will,” Annie agreed.

“So how is everything so far?” LeeAnn asked. “Seen anything interesting?”

Annie settled into describing the hotel, the beautiful display for Betsy and even the attempted car theft. “Oh my,” LeeAnn said. “I am so glad no one was hurt. You should know better than to rush at thieves. What if they’d had guns?”

“We didn’t exactly rush them,” Annie said. “And they ran away, so we weren’t even close to them really. I never even got a good look at one of them.”

“Still, you can be way too brave for your own good sometimes,” LeeAnn said. “Now, tell me again about Gram’s tribute display.”

With a laugh, Annie described it again. She’d barely finished when LeeAnn spoke up. “I can hear Joanna calling, Mom,” LeeAnn said. “I have to run. I’ll see you Saturday, or Friday—Sunday, for sure. I love you.”

“I love you!” Annie said as LeeAnn hung up to rush away to tend to Joanna. Annie remembered well how horrible it was to have a sick child. She’d always hated whenever LeeAnn was ill. As a mom, you just wanted to be able to instantly make things better.

She really only knew one way to help the situation, so she bowed her head and prayed for Joanna’s quick healing and for the rest of the family to stay well. She so wanted them to share Sunday together. After praying, Annie felt much better. She settled into the wing chair in the corner of the room and finished the baby blanket for the missions cupboard.

It was almost time to meet the others in the lobby for supper when she finished the last bit of edging. “Perfect timing,” she said. “She carefully folded the blanket and slipped it into her project bag on top of the knitted blanket from Gwen and the quilt from Peggy. Now all she had to do was track down Dorothy and hand the lovely things over to her as they’d planned.

Over supper, Mary Beth teased Stella a bit about her new admirer. “He certainly seemed very taken with you,” Mary Beth said.

“I do not want to discuss that odd little man,” Stella insisted.

“I don’t know,” Mary Beth said. “He certainly went out of his way to be charming. And some women like mustaches.”

Kate giggled at that, and Stella merely stiffened her backbone and frowned at them. “If we’re going to waste the dinner hour in idle talk, I believe I will go and sit with some of my friends from the knitting guild.”

“That reminds me,” Annie said. “I want to be sure to find my friends from Brookfield. I need to hand over the baby blankets for the missions cupboard.”

“Just don’t forget the fashion show practice,” Mary Beth said.

“I won’t,” Annie assured her as she stood and picked up the bag of blankets. “I made sure to check my packet when I finished the blanket.”

Annie wandered from table to table, but couldn’t find the Brookfield group anywhere.
Now where are they?
she wondered. Then it struck her. Maybe they’d gone to the exhibit room to look at Betsy’s display. She hurried out of the dining hall and headed down the long hall to the Zavala Room.

The hallways were a little crowded with small groups carrying their dinner conversations out into the halls. As Annie passed each group, she looked into faces to be sure she didn’t accidentally pass right by her church lady friends.

Suddenly she felt a sharp shove from behind and stumbled forward. She bumped hard into a tall stout woman in a soft sweater. At the same moment, she felt a hard jerk on her arm making her drop her project bag.

The tall woman turned sharply to look at Annie.

“I’m so sorry,” Annie said. “Someone bumped me.”

The tall woman smiled. “That’s perfectly all right. It
is
getting busy out here.”

Annie nodded, looking around the floor for her project bag. Had someone kicked it aside accidentally? “Have you seen a pink canvas bag?” she asked. “I dropped it when I stumbled.”

A shorter woman with an alarmingly sharp nose blinked from behind large glasses. “I saw a man pushing through the crowd with a canvas bag,” she said. “I thought it was odd because the bag was pink. Though these days even football players wear pink—for breast cancer, you know. I think that’s so nice.”

“I’m sure that couldn’t have been my bag,” Annie said, but as she looked all over the floor, it seemed more and more likely that it
was
her bag. Why would someone take a project bag at a needlework convention? She didn’t have any money in it. Annie shook her head in dismay. It was all so strange.

She glanced at her watch and let out a small cry. It took longer to get from one place to another in the big hotel than she expected. She would have to report her problem at the front desk after the fashion show rehearsals. She didn’t want to disappoint Kate by missing the rehearsal and doing a poor job as a model in the show.

Annie worked her way down the halls looking at the names on the doors. She’d left her convention map in her project bag, so it took her a while to find the room. She hurried in and a grandmotherly woman cheerfully hustled Annie off into the small side room where the models were preparing for the rehearsal.

Annie was glad to see Kate’s dress hanging almost alone on the rack, waiting for her. She slipped into it as quickly as she could. Then she carefully straightened the seams on the long sleeveless lace dress so they hung straight. The wide lace edging just brushed her calves.

Annie checked the deep neckline to be sure not too much showed. Then she ran her hand over the silk thread lace and checked that the navy lining was smooth. Finally she stood and reached for the navy crochet jacketed. It was a much denser piece of crochet and made in several pieces to give it a perfect tailored fit. Seams ran down the front on either side of the pewter buttons for a military-look jacket. Only the delicate lace along the bottom and lapels softened the look. The lace matched the pattern in the dress.

Together the outfit was a charming mix of tailored vintage and sassy modern. As Annie slipped into the jacket, she noticed another woman nearby nervously tugging at the sleeves on a cute crocheted jacket she wore. The jacket back was a collage of different-size granny squares while the sleeves and front were solid-color except for a small corsage of crocheted flowers on one ruffled lapel.

Annie spotted the problem with the fit right away. Someone had clipped the jacket to something at one point and the plastic clip still hung on the jacket back. It had gotten caught on the blouse beneath the jacket, twisting the piece out of fit.

Annie walked over. “Let me help,” she said as she reached behind the young woman and pulled off the plastic clip.

“Oh,” the woman said as she spotted the clip. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No, no,” Annie said. “Anyone could make that mistake. You’re probably just nervous. I know I am.”

The woman smiled and brushed her fine black hair away from her face with a shaky hand. “This is the first time I’ve entered one of these competitions,” she said softly. “My boyfriend says it’s stupid, but I’m really proud of this jacket. He’s just embarrassed to have a girlfriend who does old lady stuff like crochet.” Then the young woman’s eyes widened as she realized what she’d said. “Not that you’re an old lady. And your dress and jacket are beautiful. I’m so sorry.”

Annie shook her head. “It’s OK, but I didn’t make this dress and jacket. The woman who did make it is only a
little
older than you. There are a lot of young women here who like crochet.” Then she smiled. “And your jacket is very lovely.”

The young woman’s face lit up. “Do you really think so? I know I like it, but Max said it’s tacky … .”

“Max is your boyfriend?” Annie asked.

“Yes.”

“I know this is none of my business, but he doesn’t sound very supportive.”

She shrugged. “Men are like that.”

Annie shook her head firmly. “No, many men are
not
like that. My husband used to tell me my work was beautiful, even when I knew I’d gotten some of the stitches wrong. As I was growing up, my grandmother told me that anyone who tries to tear at your dreams isn’t worthy to be your friend. I tend to think she was right.”

The young woman sighed again. “She sounds like my brother. He’s always telling me stuff like that. But I love Max, and he loves me.”

“Does he?” Annie asked. “Here’s what I know: ‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud. It does not dishonor others. It is not self-seeking. It is not easily angered.’” Annie looked at the young woman and jumped to the end of the seventh verse of First Corinthians 13. “‘It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.’ I think that’s the kind of love we need to give … and to get back. Or at least as close to that as humans can.”

“That would be nice,” the young woman said with a shake of her head. “It’s not very realistic though.”

“Love might not be realistic,” Annie said, “but it exists. My husband loved me like that for all the years we were together.”

“But then he changed—right?” the woman said. “And you ended up divorced?”

“No, then he passed away,” Annie smiled sadly. “Look, I don’t mean to tell you what to do. Really I don’t. But I believe real love is a powerful thing, and I also believe you deserve that kind of love. Not the kind that says you’re stupid.”

Just then, a stocky older woman called everyone to the side of the small raised stage to form a line. The young woman hurried to follow the woman’s directions, and Annie joined the group.