Tempest's Course: Quilts of Love Series (12 page)

“That it is.” Pop shuffled as he stepped closer to his car. When had he started to shuffle like that? A flash of memory came to Tom, of Pop tossing the football around with him and Nick, the three of them tumbling into the leaves as the brothers took turns trying to tackle their father.

They were on their way, zooming along through the city traffic. Pop muttered at drivers as they careened along the streets. Tom held on to the armrest until they pulled into his parents’ driveway. He would almost rather risk driving himself than riding with his father. Twenty-five days until his next MRI. No more headaches since his trip to the ER. He should be grateful, and he was. But that didn’t make the time pass any more quickly.

It was just him and his parents for supper. Bella was busy with her summer job and had plans with friends, or so Mom said.

“She’s just taking off with her life.” Mom picked up the last of the supper dishes. “Broke the news to us today that she’s planning to be in Europe next summer, on an internship before her senior year.”

“Wow. Really?” His baby sister was going places. Literally. He never thought she’d get past that silly-girl phase, raving over her newest purse or pair of shoes, exclaiming over the latest news from her reality shows.

“She says she’s going to change the world someday.” His mother chuckled.

“I think she needs to finish her degree first,” said his father. “Can’t get anywhere without an education, or some kind of job training. Might as well be stuck doing odd jobs or working fast food or a desk job. How can someone support themselves on that?”

“Oh, honey, she’s going to finish college. This is just in between semesters and will look good on her résumé.” His mother headed off to the kitchen. Tom figured that within seconds, the coffee would be brewing.

“Well, she’d better.”

“Uh, Pop, I have something to show you. Dave Winthrop brought me a folder of information about our family today.” He might as well dive in now and see what his father’s reaction would be, if he had any type of reaction to his family’s history. He slid the folder across the table toward his pop.

“Dave Winthrop?”

“The owner of the townhouse where I’m installing the new wood and tile floors.”

“Ah, okay.” He reached for the folder. “So he put some family information in this folder, huh?”

Tom nodded. “I always wondered about Grandpa Pereira, you know.”

“Yes, I know. You used to drive me crazy when you were about Hunter’s age, doing some family-tree project for school.” Pop opened the folder, then slipped on his reading glasses.

“I did?”

Pop nodded. “You chased me around for over a week, asking me about relatives I hadn’t thought about since I was a kid.”

“Well, Winthrop is a genealogy buff. He went back quite a few generations. I didn’t realize we’d been in New Bedford that long.”

“Lots of census records here and birth certificates.” Pop shuffled the papers. “Some good hardworking folks on those lists.”

“But you never talked about them.”

“No. What’s done is done. I didn’t see the point, then you kids got too busy to care. Besides, my father’s family isn’t around. Just me and your great-aunt.” Pop ran his fingers across the pages. “Look at us, going back across the years. Birth certificates and death records and the census. All the way till before the Civil War. We must’ve lost a few family members then.” His father passed a page to him from the 1870 census, then the 1860 census.

“Hector and Leticia Delgado, with seven children: Leonora, eighteen; Isabel, sixteen; Tomás, twelve; Hortensia, ten; Lupe, nine; and Pedro, seven.” His father rested his hand on the pages. “It says Hector was a shipbuilder.”

“So Hector is your great-great-great-grandfather?”

“I think that’s right. Pedro, the youngest, was my great-great-grandfather.” His father sighed. “Not much in the way of genealogy in my house. Your great-aunt worked hard to take care of me after my own papa died. We worked at just getting by.”

“Why didn’t you go to college, Pop?” He ventured the question, something he’d never asked before.

“I wasn’t a good student. Dyslexic. I was labeled a dummy and sent to special classes.” His father’s head hung low. “No one ever mentioned college to me. At least I went to trade school. I was able to give you and your mother a good life, keep food on the table for you kids.”

No wonder his pop had hounded them all along about education, education, education. No wonder his pop had a cow when Tom entered the Army two summers after high school, then relented a little when he learned about the GI Bill benefits Tom would earn.

“I didn’t know you were dyslexic, too.”

Mom entered the dining room, the scent of freshly brewing coffee following her. “Your pop never wanted to say anything. He didn’t think it would make much difference to you.”

“Of course it would have.” All these years he’d struggled in school, and his mother had been the one to go to the special meetings for his IEP in the Special Education Department. An “individualized education plan,” which had helped him graduate, just barely. He wouldn’t have felt so alone. But Tom didn’t bother saying these things aloud.

“I’m ashamed, Tom. Ashamed I passed this to you. Which is why I wanted you to go beyond what I did and not let it hold you back. Then when you got hurt in the Army—” Pop’s voice cut off. Mom reached for his hand.

“Pop, it’s not your fault. Really, it’s not.” Tom cleared his throat. “I’ve been asking God what’s going on, what His purpose is in all this, and what I’m supposed to do. I don’t hold you responsible at all.”

“But still, I know learning disabilities get passed down in the family.”

“That’s true,” Mom said. “But Tom can do a great many things. Can’t you, Tommy?”

“Pretty much.” Tom shrugged. “All except drive, for now.”

“Have you had any more headaches?” His mother’s forehead wrinkled.

“Nah, not really. Only if I get overtired. But I’ve been okay.”

“Well, you need to take good care of yourself. I think it’s awfully sweet, too, that Kelly is helping you out.”

“She’s a . . . neat person” was all he could manage to say.

“A ‘neat person’?” Mom shook her head. “Really, you can do better than that. I think you should keep her around. I like her a lot. Seems like a lost, sad soul who’s finding her way back from wherever she’s been.”

Tom nodded. He should be grateful that the focus was off him. He hadn’t intended his own issues to be the topic of conversation, but at least it wasn’t with the rest of the family around. That, and the topic of Kelly Frost. How to keep her around, he didn’t know.

The other night at the harbor, he’d fought to restrain himself and managed to not give her a quick kiss, which had almost occurred the night he’d brought her home for dinner. Watching her face, lit by a glow from the twilight reflected on the water, as she talked about some of the places she’d traveled in her work, well, he almost couldn’t pay attention to her stories. When she dropped the self-conscious shell, Kelly Frost glowed.

What had life done to her to scar her so much, living in a foster home aside? It sounded like the last home she’d lived in had almost become the family she never had.

“Son, you okay?” Mom patted him on the arm and offered him a cup of coffee. “You were off somewhere for a bit.”

“I’m okay.” He accepted the cup of coffee and took a sip. “I was just thinking. Pop, I’m looking into some horticulture or woodworking classes at the community college. They have a good program that helps veterans, so this fall you might be looking at a college student.”

“Is that so?” Pop’s voice brightened as he closed the folder labeled Pereira genealogy.

12

K
elly opened her eyes, fabric inches away from her eyelashes. Somehow, during the afternoon she’d drifted off while working on the quilt. She shifted her arms to push herself upright, but the sensation of knives slicing through her neck and upper shoulders made her stop. She forced herself to move and moaned at the pain, reaching for the quilt top fabric with her gloved hands. Good. She hadn’t drooled on it or laid her bare skin on the piece. What had happened to her energy?

The light outside had faded at last. Another muscle spasm shot through her right shoulder as she glanced toward the hallway. Somehow, she had to get herself out of the chair, away from the ballroom, then up the stairs to her bathroom and the deep claw foot tub.

She’d overdone it. She squinted at the stitches she’d worked on this afternoon. No good. The new threads had already started unraveling the weakened fibers. Just what she hadn’t wanted to happen.

Today’s work, all nine hours or so of it, had been for nothing.

That knowledge didn’t help the lancing pain that made her gasp for breath when she stood. She should have known better. Take her time. She wasn’t about to call Jonna for help, or anyone else.

When Kelly reached the ballroom doorway, she leaned on the pocket door frame, taking slow deep breaths.

One step at a time. She could do this. As she walked, fresh pain sliced down her back in spasms, toward her knees. Maybe raising her arms up over her head would help.

She paused again and tried the maneuver. Bolts of pain struck her shoulders and she lowered her arms. She’d gone and done it good, this time. A whimper escaped her lips before she could bite it back.

Finally, she reached the stairs and tried the first step. One at a time, she could do it as long as she could stand hunched over the railing as she made her way to the top. With her phone finally tucked onto the bureau beside Mary Gray’s journal, Kelly hobbled to the bathroom and managed to get a hot bath started. She didn’t have any salts, but figured the hot water alone would help.

She found her pajamas and a fresh towel and laid them aside for later, then sank into the hot water, hissing as she did so. Bringing medicines hadn’t been on her mind when moving into Gray House. She doubted the place had a first aid kit, although she hadn’t taken the time to explore for things like that. She’d been too busy.

Kelly slowly worked her muscles, still wincing at the dull ache that shot through her shoulders. Her hands cramped as well. Carpal tunnel syndrome wouldn’t be too far away if she didn’t keep up with her exercises.

Maybe today’s overdoing it would be a minor setback. The fraying threads of the old quilt pattern told her she still had plenty of work ahead of her. She’d never walked away from a job and wasn’t about to with this one, foolhardy as it was to try to restore the quilt. If she’d really thought about it, she should have rejected the bid request and held out for something else.

But someone had wanted her here. A door slammed somewhere below. The noise made her jump involuntarily, causing another gasp.

That was it. She crawled from the tub and pulled on her robe. No weapon, but her phone. Kelly didn’t know what or who made this particular noise, but she was ready.

She called directory assistance for the non-emergency 911 number for the New Bedford Police. “Yes, I’m at 248 County Street, alone. I heard a noise, and I’m afraid someone was trying to get into the house.” The dispatcher assured her they’d send a car to patrol by the house and check the yard for her.

Maybe she should have called 911, but then, if it were nothing she’d feel mighty foolish. Her feet leaving damp footprints on the floor, she descended the main staircase. Another bang, from the rear of the house. Kelly tightened her grip on the phone and padded as silently as possible toward the kitchen. Tomorrow, she was going to find a baseball bat or something to keep on hand. Or pepper spray.

The back door was ajar, with the breeze banging the screen door against the rear of the house. Kelly opened the back door and pulled the screen door shut, locking it from the inside, then doing the same with the main door.

Had someone been in the house with her? Tom had come and gone already with his other job, his father giving him a ride. She’d remembered to check the sprinkler timer, and it was correctly set for six a.m. Maybe that was it. She was to blame for not making sure the old kitchen door latched.

Firm pounding sounded toward the front of the house. Kelly moved that direction as quickly as she could with aching shoulders, back, and neck. She unlatched the front door to see a New Bedford police officer on the front steps with a patrol car at the curb. She could glimpse a rear fender through the iron gate.

“Miss, you called about the noise?” The young officer strained to look over her shoulder. “I need to see some identification, please.”

Kelly presented him with her driver’s license, as the dispatcher had suggested she have it ready. “Yes, I did. It seems silly now that I called, but like I said, I’m staying here alone and heard some noises.” She felt like an idiot now, playing the proverbial helpless female scaredy-cat.

“That’s quite all right, Ms. Frost.” The officer nodded. “I’m going to go around the side of the house and look through the back yard, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“I’m on until eleven p.m., so I’ll try to swing by once more before my shift is over.”

“Thanks, officer . . .”

“Dudden.”

“Officer Dudden, I appreciate it.” She smiled and nodded at the man, then relatched the front door and checked the back door once more. It had never occurred to her to check the windows for locks. She shuddered as she headed upstairs.

Kelly winced as before while hauling herself upstairs. If this was what getting old felt like, she was in no hurry. She reached her bedroom and stopped at the bureau.

Something was off about Mary Gray’s journal. She hadn’t moved it, but she knew she’d set it directly on the lace doily without any hanging off the edge of the fabric. Now one whole corner of the journal hung over the wood.

Had it been moved?

Her arms prickled as if she suddenly stood in a full breeze. Ridiculous. She’d been in a hurry to get downstairs, and she hadn’t even paid much attention to the journal. Maybe she’d even bumped it when grabbing her phone on the way downstairs.

Either way, she didn’t like it. She’d call Mrs. Acres in the morning and share her concerns about the house’s security.

After a light supper, she settled down to read Mary Gray’s story once again. She winced as she sat down on the upholstered cushion. If this pain and the muscle spasms didn’t quit, she’d hunt down a massage therapist.

August 5, 1851

Esteban returned to the house for another lesson, he said. At last, after a long absence. But it is he who has taught me a new language, the language of love for the past three days. While I was once the teacher, I have become his pupil. I sent the help to their homes and we have scarcely left my room, but to care for little Hiram. I am doomed. When Hiram returns from the sea, I shall leave him. Scandal or no. Esteban is my love, my world. May God have mercy on us.

Kelly’s cheeks burned as she closed the journal. She almost wanted to take another bath after reading Mary’s entry. The woman had said plenty without sharing details. Her remark about asking for God’s mercy sounded hollow.

“You can never beg God to have mercy on sin, but only on the repentant sinner,” Lottie had said once upon a time, when Kelly had called during graduate school.

Kelly put the journal away, this time in a nightstand drawer near the bed. She had earned the right to hear Mary’s story by working on her quilt, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep reading.

Mary didn’t sound exactly repentant, but more as if she couldn’t help herself. Rationalizing. Didn’t everyone do that from time to time? When does wrong become right, when does the “these are my feelings and I can’t help myself” make things wrong in the sight of the law and of God, the Lawgiver?

Kelly’s own indiscretions came back to her mind, although they were never far away. She should have known something wasn’t quite right with the whole relationship with Peyton. The way it was always the two of them, never anyone else. Only calling him on his cell phone, never the office. She had assumed it would keep things from getting into a professional snarl for both of them.

Oh, it had avoided a snarl all right. Avoided his wife and their colleagues from knowing until Jonna had stumbled onto the truth.

Lord, I should have known, should have realized.
But she’d been naive and giddy with the prospect of a future with Peyton.

She’d even asked him once about when they could go public with their relationship.

“Soon,” he’d told her. “I’m waiting for the right time for both of us.” Then he’d whisked her to Martha’s Vineyard for a weekend, and she’d put the idea out of her mind.

Mary, Mary. Kelly patted the nightstand. She decided to drag herself to the nearest drugstore to get some ibuprofen. Maybe the medication would soothe her muscles so she could sleep tonight. Sleep, without thoughts of Mary Gray inside her head.

A blue service van marked A-1 Security Systems was parked in front of Gray House, with William Chandler’s car behind it.

“Oh good, they’re here,” Kelly said from the driver’s seat.

“You don’t sound like that’s good.” Tom wished she’d have called him the other night. He would have camped out on the front steps, or something, just to ensure her safety.

She maneuvered her car into the space at the back entrance of the property. “Good, as in I’ll sleep better with a security system in place.”

“What?”

Kelly didn’t answer, but parked the car and got out.

William Chandler appeared near the driver’s side door and was already talking when Tom closed his own door. “—overreacting.”

“What’s your supervisor’s number, or your boss’s number?” Kelly stood beside the car, her hands on her hips. “Surely you have a boss. I’d think he or she would want to protect what’s inside the house, and I’m honestly surprised they don’t have a security system in place already. There are thousands of dollars of valuable antiques and textiles in that house.”

Chandler stood there, looking like he was about to say a few choice words himself. Then Tom caught his eye and he backed down. “My ‘supervisor or boss’ can’t be bothered. He’s a very busy man. This house is only one of his interests and is hardly at the top of his real estate list.”

“I would think if you had someone living here in a house that had been empty for so long, you’d want to take a few precautions,” Tom said, giving Kelly a nod. “Haven’t you heard of real estate squatters who take over abandoned or empty houses? Except this one’s not empty anymore.”

“I can’t believe you phoned the police over noises.” Chandler shook his head.

Didn’t the guy have a clue? Tom opened his mouth to say something, but Kelly beat him to it.

“Who should I have called? You? Would you have come out and checked the house for me?” Kelly shook her head, then took a deep breath. “Look, honestly, I’m not trying to cause problems. I’m just here to work on the quilt. Which is coming along, in case you were wondering.”