2 Knot What It Seams (2 page)

“Beatrice, I don’t think it was any major disagreement. It was probably a matter of creative differences. As I mentioned, Jo is a quilt show judge, too, and is very highly regarded. She wanted the guild to be more competitive or something.”

“Is that the direction that
we
want to go in, though? Is that what she wants for the Village Quilters? Most of our members are only quilting for the sheer love of it.” Beatrice absently rubbed Boris’ massive head as he laid it in her lap. For a moment she thought the beast might start purring.

Meadow shrugged. “We could probably handle more competition, Beatrice. I don’t see it as a bad thing. Even you said that we could kick it up a notch. Remember? You have ideas for a few interesting designs that might help us in juried shows.”

“I do have some design ideas. But I was figuring that we’d start out slowly with submitting our quilts for juried shows. Otherwise we could burn out—then the quilting isn’t fun anymore,” said Beatrice.

But Meadow had that stubborn expression now. There was no getting around her when she dug her heels in. For some reason she’d gotten a real bee in her bonnet with this membership drive. She must really not want the Cut-Ups to show up the Village Quilters. “I guess including Jo in the group is fine, Meadow,” said Beatrice with a sigh. “After all, I don’t really know the woman. Maybe she’ll grow on me . . . it’s not fair of me to judge her solely on her mail delivery capability.” Or incapability.

Meadow said in a grateful voice, “Thanks for opening up your mind, Beatrice. That’s what I always say, during my daily morning meditations. Open my mind! Help me live
mindfully.
I really do value your opinion, Beatrice. You have an incredibly discerning eye for people. And then there’s the fact that you’re the very smartest person I know.”

Beatrice flushed and gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Meadow . . . please. . . .”

“I’ll admit that I’ve struggled over this decision. It’s been tough for me. I did consider asking Karen Taylor to join our group. But honestly, I was a bit scared to,” said Meadow, eyes wide. “She’s
so good
.”

Beatrice frowned. “I’m trying to remember exactly who Karen is.” You’d think that, in a town as small as Dappled Hills, you’d know everyone immediately. It was amazing, though, how many people you didn’t cross paths with.

“You’d probably know her if you saw her. She’s young, attractive. And—wow. She’s just such an impressive quilter,” said Meadow, looking as if she was struggling to find the words to describe Karen.

“She’s not that young, is she?” asked Beatrice. “I don’t remember any superyoung quilters here.”

“Karen is in her early thirties. Age is a relative thing, of course, but at my age, that’s young. She really has a gift, Beatrice. You need to see her work. Her quilts are simply stunning—she has the technique down perfectly, and her design is very innovative.”

“And you didn’t
ask her to be part of the Village Quilters?”

Meadow looked around as if someone might hear. “She’s sort of scary.”

“Scary!”

Meadow nodded. “Just intimidating. Because she’s so good and she wins all these quilt shows. You know. I didn’t want to be rejected.”

Now Beatrice was intrigued. There was someone who could make Meadow Downey as insecure as a teenager? This was a person she’d have to meet.

“Besides, she’s in the Cut-Ups guild,” said Meadow. “So it’s not as if she was displaced or anything.”

Meadow changed the subject. “But anyway, I think Jo will be perfect for our group. I do! And I can’t wait to hear your recommendation. It will definitely give me some of that much-needed validation I mentioned. And I do feel it’ll work out great to have Jo joining us—you’ll see. I happen to know that Jo is going to drop by the Patchwork Cottage right before lunch today for some fat quarters,” said Meadow, reaching out to rub Boris. “It would give you a chance to spend some time with her before the first guild meeting. I do want it to go off without a hitch. Can you help me?”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do during the guild meeting.” Beatrice rubbed her eyes. “What time will she be at the shop?”

“She said she’d be there at eleven, so let’s meet then. You’ll really love Jo, once you get to know her!”

She might be a little more loved if she delivered Beatrice’s mail regularly. After Meadow left with Boris dragging her home, Beatrice walked out to her mailbox to see if the mail had come yet. It was empty except for a magazine that Beatrice’s daughter, Piper, had stuck in the box. She’d starred one hot pink headline in the issue with a permanent marker: Y
OUR
M
IND-SET IS
H
AZARDOUS TO
Y
OUR
H
EALTH.
T
AKE
C
ONTROL OF
Y
OUR
L
IFE,
S
URVIVE AND
T
HRIVE.

These magazines always claimed to have the perfect prescription for every problem. The idea that they could take something as complex as a woman’s life, her entire personal ecosystem, and transform it in two thousand words or fewer was laughable.

But intriguing. The article suggested that she look objectively at her life, think of one thing
she
could do to improve the quality of it (whatever thing was under her control) and then two things she could do to become a better person. Taking control. Yes, that would be a popular theme with women readers.

The article wasn’t without its truths, though.

Retirement is for relaxing. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. She felt better, so she took another deep breath. She wondered for the hundredth time if it had just been too abrupt
of a change—going from the fast-paced world of Atlanta to the long minutes in Dappled Hills. The quilting had definitely helped, she was sure of it. Because with quilting, she was not only sitting still to accomplish something, but creating art at the same time. And occasionally socializing while doing it. The multitasking aspect of it all was definitely pleasing.

The rest of her time tended to be more of a problem. Often she climbed into her hammock, prepared to read while listening to her corgi’s snorting snores. But too frequently instead of settling into the story, she ended up thinking that she needed to refill the hummingbird feeder—so she’d leap up out of the hammock, startle the sleeping corgi, and dash inside to make nectar. Or else she’d realize that the knockout roses needed to be deadheaded and she’d pop inside for her pruners.

She was officially making a new goal—she was going to put more time into what was guaranteed to make her relax. The quilting. And she was going to make a conscious effort to keep hammock time as quiet time. That went for sofa time, as well, she decided abruptly. No jumping up to dust off the end table when she had her feet up. It was regretful that she had these compulsions, but she vowed to keep trying to work against them and have the peaceful retirement in the picturesque town that everyone wanted.

Of course, it might be difficult if Meadow Downey had anything to do with it. But at least she knew whom to go to in Dappled Hills if she ever started feeling bored.

* * *

Later that afternoon Beatrice walked into the welcoming environment of the quilt shop. Apparently, every single quilter in Dappled Hills had needed quilting supplies at once because the Patchwork Cottage was bustling with shoppers. But even full of quilters, the Patchwork Cottage was a peaceful oasis. Posy, the owner, always played soft music in the background, frequently featuring local musicians. Visually, it was a colorful feast for the eyes with bolts of fabric and beautiful quilts on display everywhere—draped over antique washstands and an old sewing machine, and hanging on the walls and ceiling to make the space as cozy and welcoming and homey as it could possibly be. Posy had also stocked the shop with every imaginable type of notion.

Jo was there, all right. She was the kind of person who stood out in a group because she was striking, not because she was attractive. She had black hair with white streaking through it, arched brows that gave her a condescending look, and a fondness for bright red lipstick. And she was already actively engaged in an argument with a younger woman.

“That’s Karen Taylor,” muttered Meadow. Her brow was furrowed with concern. Apparently, this wasn’t the first impression she’d been hoping for.

Didn’t Meadow say that Karen was in the Cut-Ups guild? No wonder Jo needed to find another guild. Karen, arms crossed and fire in her eyes, looked as if she might have single-handedly thrown Jo out herself. Aside from the ferocious expression on her face, Karen was a very attractive woman—tall and with the kind of carelessly tousled blond hair that had likely taken lots of time to achieve.

“All I’m saying,” said Jo, wagging her finger at Karen, “is that you might want to reconsider that pattern combination. It’s tacky.”

Posy, the gentle and kindhearted shop owner, watched anxiously, her bright blue eyes clouded.

Karen’s eyes narrowed. “Jo, you don’t even know what I’m working on. It’s an experimental quilt. I’m combining patterns and techniques to—”

“I don’t need to know what you’re working on to know it’s going to be completely hideous,” said Jo, hands on her hips. “Considering I’m probably going to end up judging it, I thought you’d want the heads-up.”

Karen snorted. “I doubt you’ll judge it. People talk, Jo, and you have a tendency to stir the pot wherever you judge. Making trouble won’t win you friends and it sure won’t get you invited to judge quilt shows.”

“Then why do I already have three shows on my calendar?” asked Jo.

Karen’s response was to turn her back to Jo and closely study Posy’s new selection of fat quarters. Jo slapped down her purchases by the cash register and fumed as Posy fumbled through the checkout. Jo packed as much irritation as she could possibly fit into her small, rather stout frame. Posy, however, was even shorter than Jo—a fact that Jo seemed to be taking advantage of as she looked down her upturned nose at Posy. Beatrice muttered to Meadow, “This isn’t at all promising. I thought you said I’d
like
Jo once I got to know her.”

Meadow shrugged. “Everyone’s entitled to a bad day, Beatrice. We all wake up on the wrong side of the bed every now and then. Oh, and that reminds me that I need to introduce you to Karen. Maybe not right this second, though, since she’s so unhappy. And busy. I forgot to tell you earlier that she mentioned that she was terribly interested in meeting you,” she said in her noisy stage whisper. “She said she was very impressed with your background and stature in the art world. Imagine! Karen impressed!”

“Karen is the kind of person who isn’t usually impressed, I take it?” murmured Beatrice drily.

“Never! The stuff that ordinarily impresses Karen Taylor is really
big
. Like national championship–winning quilters. Or maybe national-level judges. Or like astronauts. People like that. She did a search for you on her computer and said you were completely remarkable. Special!”

Beatrice shifted a little, uncomfortably. She didn’t feel very special, especially struggling with her quilting.

Meadow squinted as the bell on the shop door rang, pushing her red glasses higher on her nose. “Uh-oh. This isn’t going to make things better. It’s Opal Woosley. Now, keep in mind, Beatrice, that these are a couple of people who don’t coexist well. Everyone else loves Jo! Really!”

Opal was an elfish woman with a sharp chin and large ears that stuck out of her frizzy brown hair. Her genial expression transformed when she saw Jo. Jo’s did, too, and became even grouchier.

“Why the long face, Jo?” The little woman was fairly bristling. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Jo didn’t deign to glance her way. Instead she grabbed her bag of supplies and shouldered her way through the gawking women customers and out the shop’s door.

Opal burst into tears and several of the customers patted her as Posy hurried around the sales counter to give her a hug.

Beatrice muttered to Meadow, “Sorry, Meadow. I was wrong. Jo’s obviously the perfect choice for our guild.”

“So she’s had a couple of misunderstandings,” said Meadow with a shrug. “Haven’t we all?”

Beatrice could see Jo stomping across the narrow main street. She raised her eyebrows when she saw a couple of different women scurry to the opposite side of the street after they caught sight of Jo. Clearly other members of the Jo Paxton fan club.

Beatrice turned back around to Opal, who was still quivering with indignation. “I don’t know how she dares show her face around town after what she’s done!”

Beatrice raised a questioning eyebrow at Meadow, who shook her head, making her long braid bob around. “Too long of a story,” she hissed. “I’ll tell you later.”

Karen Taylor was commiserating with Opal. “Ignore Jo. I know you’re mad, but if you try to argue with her, you’ll get nowhere. Trust me, she’ll only make your blood pressure go up. Want to help me decide between some patterns? I’m planning on doing the complete
opposite
of Jo’s advice.”

They moved their conversation to the other side of the shop, Opal’s querulous voice still audible.

Posy walked over to Beatrice and Meadow. As usual, just seeing Posy put Beatrice in a better mood. She wore fluffy, cheerful pastel cardigans, no matter the weather, and always had a cute pin—today’s pin was a hummingbird. But her sweet features were concerned. “I’m so glad Miss Sissy was asleep during that exchange,” she whispered. “She thinks Jo is one of her best friends because Jo visits her house almost every day.”

Beatrice turned to see the shop’s sitting area. Miss Sissy, a cadaverous, fierce old woman, was snoring with gusto in one of the overstuffed floral love seats. “She really
visits
Miss Sissy that much? She must be a saint . . . or a relative.”

Posy spread her hands out. “She’s really just delivering the mail, I guess. But it seems like a visit to Miss Sissy. And sometimes she’ll drive Miss Sissy with her to an out-of-town quilt show. Miss Sissy would have been yelling at Opal and Karen for sure.” Posy, never one to dwell on trouble, then went on to change the subject. “Was there something in particular you were shopping for today, Beatrice? We’ve gotten some really fun patterns in.”