But this woman who is willing to throw tens of thousands of dollars away in the hopes that hiring a celebrity hairdresser might garner her niece a magazine spread is someone I don’t recognize.
“Doesn’t ten thousand seem like a lot to spend just for a cut and blow-dry?”
“I know,” she said a little defensively, clearly displeased that I wasn’t as enthused as she about the fabulous Emiliano. “But Liza
is
my niece. My only living blood relative and my sister Susan’s only child. I want to do what’s right to make sure that Liza’s wedding is perfect in every detail. If it costs me a little, then so be it. I owe this to Liza and to the memory of my sister.”
“But,” I said slowly, “do you think that this is really the kind of wedding Liza wants? It just doesn’t seem like her style.”
Abigail straightened her shoulders and gave me a look that made her doubts about my opinions on style of any kind obvious. “Well, I think I know a little about Liza’s likes and dislikes. After all,
we’re family,
” she said in a pointed tone. “Liza hasn’t voiced the least objection to any of the wedding plans. In fact, she’s thrilled. What bride wouldn’t be?”
Off the top of my head, I could have named a few but didn’t. I had my doubts about Liza being “thrilled” by this upcoming three-ring circus of a wedding, but both Abigail and Garrett said she was going along with it. Who was I to question them? I hadn’t spoken to Liza in weeks. Maybe I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did.
Abigail’s unanswered question hung awkwardly between us. Franklin cleared his throat.
“Abbie, we’d better head out if you want to get there on time.”
“Yes. All right,” Abigail said and pulled her coat closer around her. “Good night, Evelyn.”
“Good night, you two. Have fun. Drive carefully. The roads are icy.”
“Oh, Evelyn, one more thing. I need your guest list by the end of the month. That’s when we have to put the invitation order in to the printer. You should see them!” she said, brightening. “Each invitation will come in an individual lidded keepsake box, upholstered with ivory watered silk and topped with Liza and Garrett’s monogram in sterling silver. The post office won’t deliver them, so we’re having each invitation sent via messenger.”
Invitations in upholstered silk boxes? Individually messengered? I couldn’t even begin to imagine what a thing like that must cost. I swallowed hard. “They sound beautiful, Abigail.”
“They are! So please, do get your list to me as soon as possible, and try to be judicious in making it. June is such a busy month for weddings. People book their rentals years in advance and we had gotten a late start. Byron’s people have called simply everywhere, but the largest tent they could locate for the reception only holds five hundred. Well, really seven hundred, but we had to leave room for the orchestra and dance floor. Did I tell you about the orchestra?”
I nodded. “Boston Symphony.”
Abigail beamed. “Can you believe it!”
“Not really.”
“I know! Such a coup! Anyway, it does mean cutting back the guest list. You don’t mind, do you?”
Only five hundred?
“That’s fine. Won’t be a problem.”
“Oh, good! I was hoping you’d feel that way.”
“Abigail,” Franklin said, tapping his watch.
“You’re right! Must run, Evelyn! Tell the girls I’m sorry about missing tonight. I’ll call you and let you know how it went with Emiliano. Wish me luck!”
I stood in the doorway and waved while Abigail and Franklin hurried across the courtyard and down the alley.
“Good luck.”
M
om was sitting in a chair, appliquéing leaves on her birdhouse project. Ivy, who had always been nervous about trying appliqué, was watching while Mom explained the process, assuring her that it was easier than it looked.
Ivy is strong. If not, she’d never have found the courage to pack up her two children, flee her abusive marriage, and start a new life in New Bern. That’s why, when I decided that Cobbled Court Quilts should become involved with New Beginnings, the Stanton Center’s program to help mentor victims of domestic violence and make them ready for life in the workplace, I chose Ivy to be our shop liaison. Ivy works full-time at Cobbled Court, but ten hours of her week are spent working with women from New Beginnings. They all look up to Ivy. She’s a great role model.
But Ivy is still uncertain about so many things, and she often doubts her own abilities. Even something as simple as trying a more advanced quilting technique can bring up her old fears and insecurities. Ivy hates to fail.
She often says, “I’ve perfected failure and don’t need any more practice, thank you very much.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but deep down she means it. Sometimes, rather than risk trying and failing, Ivy doesn’t try at all. She’s come a long way but still has a long way to go. Well, don’t we all?
But watching her lean closer to Mom, her gaze fixed intently on the deft movement of Virginia’s needle, I could almost see the wheels turning inside her head as the better voices of her nature shouted down her doubts. I’ve got a feeling that Ivy’s next quilt is going to be graced with any number of appliquéd flowers and leaves. One more step down the road—a baby step, but a step just the same. Way to go, Ivy.
And way to go, Mom! There’s just something about the loving assurance of a wise older woman that gives a younger woman faith in herself. Cobbled Court Quilts should have had a Grandma-in-Residence from day one.
The workroom was all tidied up. Margot was sweeping the last few green spangles, leftover dinosaur scales, off the floor. She looked up as I came in carrying bolts of green and blue fabric I was thinking of using to make a set of quilted place mats for Liza’s bridal shower, assuming she comes home long enough for us to throw her one.
“Where’s Abigail?” Margot asked. “I thought I heard her.”
“You did. She just dropped by to say she couldn’t come tonight. She and Franklin are going to the Walden Inn to meet Emiliano Vargas—hair banger to the stars. Abigail wants him to do Liza’s hair for the wedding.”
Margot’s eyebrows rose. “Wow. That’s got to run into some money. Huh.”
“What?”
“I’m just surprised, that’s all,” she said, tipping the glittering contents of the dustpan into a nearby wastebasket. “I didn’t think Liza went in for that kind of thing. But, on the other hand, why not? You only get married once.”
“If you’re lucky.”
I dumped the bolts on the cutting table, rolled out a couple of lengths of fabric, and stood looking at the combination. In this light, I could see that the blue was leaning toward turquoise. Pretty, but not quite right.
Mom got up from her chair. “Ivy and I are going downstairs to pick out some appliqué fabric. She’s going to try adding a vine border to her quilt.”
“It’ll probably end up looking more like a weed border, but what the heck.” Ivy shrugged. “I’ll give it a try. If it doesn’t work, I can take it out.”
Mom shook her head. “You are not going to need to, I promise. For goodness’ sake, Ivy! Have a little faith in yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ivy said with a grin.
Mom glanced at the bolts of fabric I had laid out and frowned. “That’s a nice turquoise. Doesn’t look quite right with the others, though.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” I sighed.
“What’s it for?”
“Place mats for Liza.”
“Place mats? For a wedding gift? Why not a quilt?”
“Well, I was thinking the place mats could be a shower gift. I’d like to do a quilt, but it’d need to be a big one. I’m not sure I’ve got time to finish it before June.” That was the truth, if not the whole truth. With things so unsettled between Liza and myself, I wasn’t sure she’d want a quilt from me.
Mom shot me a look that bored right through me, the expression on her face exactly the same as it had been when I was five years old and had accidentally broken one of her Hummel figurines and blamed it on Snowball. It always was impossible to get anything past her.
“There are four of us here,” she said in a voice that made it clear she wasn’t buying my story, not for one minute. “Place mats are fine for the shower, but for the wedding, you should make Liza a quilt. If everybody pitches in, I’m sure we can get it finished in plenty of time.”
“Oh, let’s!” Margot squealed. “Let’s make Liza a quilt, from all of us! A double wedding ring!”
The double wedding ring pattern is very pretty and, as the name implies, the traditional choice for a bridal quilt. But somehow, it just seemed a little too traditional for Liza’s taste. On the other hand, what did I know about Liza’s taste anymore?
“I don’t know,” Mom said, narrowing her eyes. “Do you think that’s the right pattern for Liza? I realize I’ve never met her, but from everything you and Garrett have told me about her, she doesn’t go in much for the traditional patterns.”
Ivy nodded. “Virginia’s right. Remember the Dream House quilt?”
She turned to Virginia and explained. “It was a present for me. Everybody made a block of their dream house, but it wasn’t so much about the actual house as what it represented, the life we wanted for ourselves. Liza’s house was modern and sparse with tall ceilings and plenty of room to hang her paintings. Basically, it was an art gallery with a couple of sofas thrown in—not like anybody else’s,” Ivy said with a grin.
“Liza’s an original,” she said. “Think about the quilts she’s made for herself. I don’t think she’s ever used a traditional pattern without altering it or updating it. And her fabric choices are just as unique. Bold colors and fabric combinations I’d never be able to come up with, but somehow, in Liza’s quilts, they always seem to work. The double wedding ring is a nice quilt, but I can’t see her actually using it. And if we’re going to go to the trouble of making Liza a quilt, I’d just as soon it be one she’d be happy to put on her bed.”
“Well, I guess you’re right.” Margot sighed, reluctant to let go of the quilt she’d pieced together in her imagination. “But if
I
ever get married—not that there’s ever a chance of that happening,” she said with a derisive snort, “I want a double wedding ring.”
Virginia patted Margot’s arm. “All right. And I’ll pick out the fabrics myself. Pink and white, with a touch of spring green, right?”
Margot nodded.
“But I think Ivy is right,” Mom continued. “A traditional quilt won’t do for Liza. You know, Garrett is taking me into New York with him tomorrow to meet her.”
“He is?”
This was news to me. Garrett gets to see Liza so infrequently these days that I couldn’t help but think he’d be anxious to have Mom tag along.
“That was nice of him.”
Mom’s eyes twinkled. “It was, not that he really had much choice. I insisted he bring me along. After all, I’ve been here for weeks in hopes of meeting Liza! I can’t wait around forever, not at my age. Anyway, after I meet Liza for myself, get to know her a little, maybe I’ll have some ideas for a wedding quilt she’d like.”
“Good plan,” I said.
When making a quilt for someone else, Mom has an uncanny knack for choosing exactly the right pattern and style for that person. Over her lifetime, Mom has made hundreds of quilts, most of them intended as gifts, and I’ve yet to see a recipient open one of Virginia’s quilts without going on and on about how it was the absolutely perfect quilt for them.
“I still want to make these place mats,” I said, “but why don’t we hold off deciding about a wedding quilt for Liza until Mom comes back and gives us a report?”
The others agreed.
“Good!” Mom beamed, pleased to be entrusted with so important a task. “I’m so looking forward to meeting Liza—and to seeing New York City! I’ve never been. I wish it wasn’t so cold. I’d love to go to Ellis Island and see the Statue of Liberty.”
“It’ll warm up soon, Mom. I’ll take you myself in the spring.”
“Oh no,” she said dismissively. “I won’t be here that long. I really should be getting back to Wisconsin as soon as I finish teaching this class. I should never have let you talk me into it, Evelyn. It’ll hold me up another three weeks at least.”
“I know, but think what it means to those moms to have you here. They’re already crazy about you. Natalie told me she thinks you’re a fabulous teacher and that she can’t wait until next week’s class.”
“Oh, pshaw! She just said that because it’s her first quilting class and she doesn’t have anyone to compare me to. Quit trying to flatter me, Evelyn.” She frowned and made her tone scolding, but I could tell she was pleased.
“Anyway, enough gabbing,” Mom said. “It’s coming up on seven o’clock and so far, other than myself, no one has sewn a stitch. Ivy, let’s go pick out fabric for your appliqué. Evelyn, I think I saw some coffee-and mocha-colored batiks, kind of an art deco pattern, that would look nice with that turquoise. I’ll bring them back up for you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Mom and Ivy went downstairs. As they did, I heard Ivy say, “You know, Virginia, I’ve been thinking. Would you consider teaching a class at New Beginnings? We’ve got so many moms with children in the program, and I was thinking that a Mommy and Me hand quilting class might be…”
Ivy’s voice faded away as she descended the stairs. Margot sat down and started pinning fabric triangles, readying them for the sewing machine.
“Come spring,” she said, “I’ve got a feeling Virginia will still be here.”
“I hope so,” I said as I shoved a green print to one side and rearranged the remaining fabrics into different combinations. “She keeps talking about going back to Wisconsin, but I don’t know why. She loves it here. She’s more active, physically and intellectually. I can see a big difference in her already. She seems sharper and remembers things more easily than before. Mom needs to be needed. With Dad gone and so many of her friends passing on or moving to warmer climates, not to mention the trouble she’s had with driving, her world was getting smaller and smaller. Here, she’s got friends again.”
Margot raised her eyebrows knowingly. “I’ll say she does. I saw her chatting with Gibb Rainey in the post office lobby the other day.”
I looked up from my work and chuckled. “So what? Everybody chats with Gibb. He sits smack in the middle of the lobby. It’s kind of hard not to.”
“Maybe, but they seemed awfully friendly. And haven’t you noticed how Virginia volunteers to go to the post office at the drop of a hat? I think she’s got an itch for old Gibb.”
An itch? At the age of eighty my mother had an itch? It didn’t seem likely.
“Margot, you’re imagining things. I’m sure she just enjoys talking to Gibb. They must be pretty close to the same age. And that’s my point. Here in New Bern, she’s got connections, people who listen to her and respect her. More importantly, she’s got purpose again. Her students just love her. She’s much happier here than she was back home. You can tell just by looking at her. She looks ten years younger.”
“Hmm. Wish I could say the same of you.”
“Hey! That’s not very nice,” I said, offended and a little surprised. Usually Margot is sweet to a fault.
“Sorry, Evelyn,” she replied and blushed a little. “I hate to be the one to say it, but you look tired. Have you been having trouble sleeping? And you’re distracted too. I was looking over the vendor invoices today. Do you know that you ordered three bolts of the same red paisley?”
“I did?”
“Uh-huh. You’ve got something on your mind. What is it?”
“Liza,” I admitted.
Margot bobbed her head as if she’d expected as much. “You’re upset that Liza and Abigail aren’t including you in the wedding plans.”
“No,” I said. “Of course not. I’ve got questions about a wedding that’s going to make the union of Prince Charles to Princess Diana look like a backyard barbecue, but that’s none of my business. I’m keeping my opinions to myself. But I do have some other reservations, or rather, I did. I should have kept those to myself too.”
I told Margot all about Garrett’s phone call to Wisconsin, my foolishly unfiltered response, and the radio silence that had existed between Liza and me ever since.
“Oh, Evelyn,” Margot said in a disappointed voice.
“I know. I know. It was stupid. But the engagement came as a complete shock. Garrett hadn’t given the least hint that he was going to propose. Before I stopped to think, out it came.”
My eyes felt tired. I rubbed them. “I wish I could take it back,” I said, “but I can’t. And the thing is, I’m still worried about this wedding. Not the ceremony so much, but what happens after. They’re so young! And Liza is…” I paused for a moment, wanting to choose my words carefully, but I was talking to Margot, and Margot understood.
“Bruised?” she offered.
“Yes! I love Liza. She is caring and creative and intelligent, but she’s also been through a lot. Her father abandoned her before she was even born, and then, with her mother’s death…” I shook my head and pushed another bolt of blue to the side, rejecting it. “The poor girl has a lot of scars, and I’m just afraid she’s going to carry them with her into this marriage.”
“Sure she will,” Margot said. “Doesn’t everybody? Didn’t you?”
“Yeah. And look how that turned out.”
“So you think you’re going to be able to find a bride without baggage for your son?” Margot said with a laugh. “If you want Garrett to wait for that girl to cross his path, then I think you can kiss any visions of you bouncing a grandbaby on your knee good-bye forever.”
“You’re right. I know.” I started rolling up the rejected bolts of fabric, letting them thump hard against the table as I did, taking out a few of my frustrations. “But marriage is such a big step and, quite honestly, it’s a big risk. I never thought my marriage to Rob would end in divorce, especially not after twenty-four years. When it did—well, there’s no pain like it. Even losing my breasts to cancer wasn’t as painful as losing my husband to another woman. That’s the kind of hurt there just aren’t words for. I don’t want Garret to know that kind of pain. Or Liza, either.”