Tempest's Course: Quilts of Love Series (15 page)

“Your home. I thought . . .”

“You thought a company owned it. Of course it does. My company. It’s too impractical to live here.” Jonas Plummer took a slow glance over his shoulder at the house. “But recent developments in my personal circumstances have made me see that I should tend to this, for my family’s sake.”

“I can understand that.” Tom shook hands with the man. His fingers felt soft, but there was a wiry strength inside them. “How about I show you the gardens, then?”

“I’m up for it.” But Jonas wheezed. “So long as I take my time, of course.”

“You’ll see I’ve reseeded and fertilized. Chandler, I mean Mr. Chandler, gave me strict instructions to make sure the lawn is mowed once a week.”

Jonas said nothing, but kept rolling his walker, its wheels clicking on the cobbled pathway. He grunted when one wheel stuck in a crack where some of the filler between the cobbles had crumbled away.

“Need to fix these pathways. Find yourself a stone worker. Send me the estimate.”

“All right.” He glanced toward the women, who still stood by the steps, talking.

“Never mind them. A pretty lady can be a distraction, you know.”

How well he knew. “You’ve got that right.”

“It looks good, Son. Really good.”

The other woman, not Kelly as he’d hoped, joined them on the path. “Tom, I’m Megan Hughes with the
New Bedford
Star.
I’m writing an article on the comeback of Gray House.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“If you could tell me what you’ve worked on since coming here and share about your future plans for the property.” She licked her lips and paused, the tip of her pen in the air.

“I first started with snow removal, then was hired for lawn maintenance and gardening,” said Tom.

“What was your background before working here?”

“I was in the United States Army, went through three tours in Southwest Asia before getting injured and medically discharged.” The words sounded practiced. It seemed as if that entire segment of his life had been lived out by someone else. His old self, maybe, with his new self still growing accustomed to his new reality.

“Thank you for serving our country, Mr. Pereira.” Jonas extended his hand once again, which Tom shook. “I was once First Lieutenant Jonas Plummer, United States Air Force, 1941 through 1948. The worst days of my life and the best days.”

“I wanted to stay, Mr. Plummer.” They reached the greenhouse.

But it was Megan who answered. “So you’re working here now. Did you know you’re not alone? A lot of veterans have found themselves out of work after entering the civilian world once again.”

“I’m not surprised.” Tom pushed open the greenhouse door. “Anyway, we have some herbs started here and some vegetables. I’m not sure what we can do with them all. Maybe there’s a food pantry or shelter that could use them?”

“That’s a good idea,” Jonas said. “It’s about time Gray House starts doing something good for someone.”

Megan scribbled wildly on her notepad. Tom nodded.

“You two are so very young. I’ve got a heap of regrets that only now I’ve started making restitution for. God knows it will never be enough, but selfishness tends to run in my family, it seems. We only see what we want and can’t imagine the rest of the world not bowing to our wishes.” He turned himself around and plopped onto the seat of his rolling walker. “Get Tara for me. The interview’s done.”

“Who’s Tara?” Tom asked.

“She drove him here,” Megan explained. “She’s in the house. I’ll let her know that Mr. Plummer is ready to leave.” She scurried back across the expanse of lawn to the house.

Tom almost chuckled at Jonas’s actions. Definitely in charge and making sure everyone did as he told, but still seeing the need to make up for any selfishness on his part. He wished all along that Mr. Plummer had come to see them instead of having to deal with someone like Chandler.

“Mr. Plummer, can I get you some ice water or something? It’s a humid day today.”

“No, I’m fine. Glad I got that pretty little hovering thing away from us, though.” Jonas sighed. “Maybe my lawyer was right. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”

“What do you mean, the article?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.” Jonas frowned. “But it’s important. It’s important I set things right for everyone while I have the chance, especially her.”

“Especially who?” Tom had no idea what the man was getting at.

“Never mind.” Jonas looked at him with sad eyes. “Thank you for helping take good care of my house.”

15

October 1852

Hiram is home. Esteban has gone, taking Peter with him. I ache inside, but it must be this way until I can tell Hiram once and for all how things will be between us. I am going to leave him. Hiram suspects nothing, but demands everything upon his return. He comes to me his first night home, and he repulses me. I know without asking him that he has satisfied himself with another woman’s embrace, despite his pious manner. Yet I am the one who is a scarlet woman, and he the great ship’s captain. I try to comfort myself by tending to little Hiram, but he pulls away from me and instead runs to his papa.

I try to tell Hiram that I do not love him, that I will leave him as soon as arrangements can be made. He laughs at me. I try to explain that there is someone else.

“You have admitted your sinful ways to me, yet you expect me to let you go?”

His response was to lock me in my rooms for two weeks, with only bread and water.

I have missed my agreed-upon meeting time with Esteban. My heart aches to be with him and with our little Peter.

N
ot a good way to start the morning. Kelly’s heart ached for Mary. In Mary’s mind, it seemed that she would get her way. She probably hadn’t counted on Hiram Gray’s pride that made him keep his wife in submission at any costs. And poor Peter, without his mother. Surely the Delgados were good people, but then, she didn’t know much about Esteban, other than he was a carpenter and didn’t respect Mary’s marital status. Kelly tried not to sigh. These people were long gone, their stories told and ended, and all that remained was a house, a journal, and a quilt.

Jonas Plummer’s warning rang in Kelly’s ears as she set the journal down, that no good could come of reading it. She’d wanted to ask him that day he toured Gray House if he’d read it as well, and what he knew of Mary Gray.

That never happened. She’d tried calling his office at Firstborn Holdings, but never received a response. Likely he didn’t go to the office, given his health. Or maybe somehow Mr. Chandler had soured him against her.

She took a sip of her morning coffee. It was her day to call Lottie before she got too busy, so she started dialing before the day’s work carried her away.

“How’s my girl?” Lottie asked on answering the phone.

“Terrific, I think.”

“Terrific? You just think, though.”

“Things are going well. I met the real owner of Gray House, and he’s happy with my work. I have a feeling he might hire me to do more.”

“Oh, praise the Lord! I’ve been praying for you, dear, that you’d find something else after this.” But her voice sounded a little sad.

“What is it, Lottie?”

“I wish you’d come visit me, even for a few days. I know you’re working there, but surely you can take some time off.”

“You know, that sounds like a good idea. But actually, I’ll be through with the quilt before too long. Maybe I can take a week or so and visit then, instead of a few days.” Then Kelly had another thought. “Or, you could come here. We could do the tourist thing and see the museums.”

“That does sound fun.”

“You can see the quilt firsthand, too. I would even let you copy the pattern to use yourself, if you wanted.”

“Ah, now I am tempted for sure to close the store and drive down. Did you know, I’ve never seen your work? Not counting pieces you’ve created from scratch, of course.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I would love to see your work. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, Lottie. That means a lot.” She thought for a moment. “Oh, when you come for a visit, you can meet Tom.”

“Tom, huh? You’ve mentioned him quite a few times.”

Kelly’s cheeks flushed. “Yes, he’s . . . he’s different from anyone I’ve ever known. And, well, he gets me, too. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that with anyone else.”

“Is he a believer?”

“Oh, yes, definitely. He’s had some hard times, but he’s coming through the other side.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Good.” Kelly crossed the kitchen and stopped at the back door. “The paper should be here now, too. Remember the article I told you about, how the reporter came and saw the quilt and toured the house? Well, that’s come out today.”

“Get me a copy, if you can.”

“I will.”

“Ah, I hear the busy tone coming into your voice. I’ll let you go. Don’t forget to call.”

“I won’t.”

Kelly ran outside for the paper, then back in. She paged through to the “Living” section and found the story. Three photos, one of the house, another of Tom talking to Mr. Plummer at the garden, and the third of her with the quilt. She was saying something, gesturing down at the fabric. She thought she was probably explaining the difficult choices she’d had to make to keep the quilt from disintegrating.

She read the article. Megan Hughes had done well, even giving Kelly some free advertising.

While Frost isn’t sure what’s next on her professional schedule, she looks forward to doing what she’s done for nearly a decade—bringing textiles back from the edge of ruin.

Megan had made Tom sound brave and strong after his ordeals, and it was as if being at Gray House had brought both Kelly and Tom second chances at their crossroads in life.

Even with learning Mary Gray’s sad tale, Kelly felt hope. If God was her heavenly father, surely He was charting her course on the open seas of life, guiding her on her voyage. The nautical analogy seemed to fit, especially after being buffeted by the storms of life.

She headed to the quilt again, as she had for many mornings. Her training taught her certain things—that she could never restore a piece without losing some of the original, for one thing. But this quilt was special. The old had mingled with the new.

Her phone warbled again, just as she’d pulled on her gloves to begin work.

Jonna. Someone must have been reading the paper.

“Hello, Jonna.”

“I see you’ve worked your new little angle to your advantage.”

“Nice to talk to you, too. I never asked to be interviewed. I’ve been busy here.”

“So have I.”

“You’re calling me because . . . ?” Kelly tried to think of why. “The dirt’s already been slung, you know. You’ve won. You got the higher-paying job. You’ve probably got work lined up for a year or two out. FYI, I only have work for the next two weeks or so, maybe three.”

“Uh, um . . .”

“People already know about Peyton and me. Why do you think my work in Boston has fizzled?” Amazing, now that the truth was out. She’d beaten herself up over it, but now that she had nothing to hide, Jonna had no ammo.

“It just looks to me like you’re trying anything for publicity.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure something out. I think if you were in my position, you’d welcome the free exposure.”

“True, but . . .”

“I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other, then. I wish you the best on your project.” With that, Kelly hung up. But her hands were shaking.

Before, she’d let Jonna get to her. But now, she realized Jonna could do nothing to her that hadn’t already happened. Yes, she and Peyton had been wrong. But that was past. Firmly in the past.
Thank You, God, for holding my future, even when I can’t see it.

Sunday supper at his parents’ house. Tom found the scene idyllic, with all of them around the table. All of them and Kelly. She filled a good spot, joking with Hunter and Hailey, chatting about Europe with Bella. Of course Angela liked her. The two were already making plans to go shopping at the outlets in Fall River one day.

“So you’re almost finished with the quilt, then?” his mother asked Kelly as they were clearing the table for a rousing game of dominoes.

“Almost.” Kelly’s glance bounced off him.

“What are you going to do after that?”

“I’m not sure yet. Mr. Plummer, that’s the CEO, had mentioned once about some other projects in the house that need some conservation, but I haven’t heard anything more.” She stacked a few of the dirty plates.

“Oh, hon, don’t worry about the plates and such. We’ll take care of them.” Tom’s mother took the plates from Kelly’s hands. “Well, I sure hope you’ll find a way to stay around here.”

Tom had a flashback to the first time she’d come to supper after his seizure. “I’m sure she’ll go where she has work.”

“I’d . . . I’d like to stay in the area, if it works out,” Kelly said. “It’s really grown on me.”

“Well, we hope you stay. Don’t we, Tom?”

“Of course we do.”

Kelly giggled at his discomfort. Funny, she thought it was amusing when he was in the hot seat.

“You’re famous now, Uncle Tom,” said Hunter. “You had your picture in the paper.”

“Not quite famous,” Tom said, tousling Hunter’s mop of hair. Thank goodness somebody changed the subject. “One day I’m sure you’ll get your picture in the paper, too.”

“Then I’ll be famous.” Hunter pointed at his chest.

“You are a little famous,” said Kelly. “Didn’t you tell me you’ve had several calls for work since the article ran? Plus someone with the Wounded Warrior Transition program wants you to speak to a veterans’ group about your story?”

“Really?” His father looked up from the Sunday paper. “That’s good. That’s very good.”

“Kelly’s right.” Tom nodded. “I told them I don’t mind sharing my story with them. I don’t know how it’ll help, but I figured, why not? If what I’ve been through can help someone, I should give it a try.” Talk about being in the hot seat. But Kelly beamed at him, the same look of pride he saw with his mother.

“We’re proud of you, Son,” his father said.

“Thanks, Pop.” Today he wasn’t expecting to get choked up. All this was supposed to be was a simple family dinner after Sunday church service. He’d invited Kelly to his church, which she liked better than the other she’d been visiting since living in New Bedford. Part of him wanted to believe it was because of him.

But now was one of “those” moments when you looked back at it, and you knew everything had changed. He wanted Kelly to be part of his life. The idea of her leaving . . . Yet she said she was open to staying.

Her phone rang, and she glanced at it. “Excuse me. Sorry about that.” She left the dining room and went to the living room. He didn’t miss the frown that clouded her face.

“She’s the proverbial keeper, Tom.” His mother beamed. “You definitely have our blessing.”

“Ma, it’s a little early for that.” He tried not to sputter. “Hold your proverbial horses.”

“I’m just telling you.”

“Honey, let the man breathe,” his pop spoke up from the end of the table.

Kelly reentered the dining room. “I’m not feeling very well. Do you mind taking me back to the house?”

“Of course not,” Tom began.

“You’re welcome to lie down here in our spare room,” said Mom. “The thought of you in that big old house by yourself. Maybe you’ll feel better a little later.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

Tom stepped closer to her. “What’s wrong?” She wasn’t telling him something. Her face had a walled-in expression.

She glanced at his mother. “Thanks, maybe I just need to lie down for a while.”

“This heat wave plus the humidity can’t be good for anybody,” Mom said. “Is there air conditioning in that big old place?”

“I have a window unit for my room, plus another portable one for the ballroom.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She shook her head. “Tom, get her a fresh blanket and a pillow for the guest room.”

“I don’t think she’ll need a blanket.”

Kelly laid her hand on his arm. “That’s fine.”

He led her from the dining room. “C’mon, I’ll show you where the guest room is.” She followed him upstairs, stairs he’d pounded up and down countless times. The stairs gave their familiar creak.

“So,” he said as he opened the door of the linen closet, “here’s a blanket. It might be ninety degrees out, but Mom wants you to feel cozy.”

“Thanks.”

He took her to the second room on the right, past Bella’s door. Giggles came from inside the room. He thought about telling Bella to keep it down, but then, she’d said something about heading out with some friends soon.

“And here’s the guest room.” Tom flung open the door. “It used to be mine.”

“Ah, okay.” She entered ahead of him and put the blanket on the bed. He held a pillow out to her, which she accepted.

“Kelly, what’s wrong?” He put his hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t feel like talking about it right now.” She shrugged, then frowned. “I’ll . . . I’ll tell you. I promise. I just need a few minutes. Please.”

“Okay.” He pulled her into his arms and she leaned against him. “Take some time. We’ll be downstairs. I’ll be here.”

“Thanks.”