Twisted Threads (18 page)

“I’m home!” I called.

“In the kitchen,” Gram called back. “Did you get all those envelopes delivered?”

“I did. I’m glad you suggested I go in person. It gave me a chance to get to know everyone better.”

She nodded. “A good group.”

“Seemed so. Although I gathered they work more at certain times of the year, most are free to work in the winter. If we got in several large orders during the summer, we might be hard-pressed to get them done.”

“True,” said Gram, who was stuffing haddock for supper. “Sometimes we need to juggle assignments a little.”

I stepped over Juno, who was keeping a close watch on Gram. I wondered if Gram was making enough for three for dinner. “Oh, and Ob Winslow’s wife would like to learn needlepoint. She wondered if you’d teach her.”

“I could do that.” Gram put the haddock in a deep casserole dish, covered it with bread crumbs and onion and garlic, and squeezed fresh lemon juice over the crumbs and seasonings.

“I was thinking, maybe we could advertise that you’d teach needlepoint classes. It might be a sideline for the business, and you might end up training people to work at Mainely Needlepoint in the future.” I poured myself a glass of ice water. “I should learn, although I’d still rather stick to the business end rather than the creative side of the business.”

“Classes might be a good idea.” Gram nodded. “A year or so back the local adult school wanted me to teach a course for them, but at the time I wasn’t free when they needed me. If we could decide when the classes were held, I’d be able to do it.” She paused. “Of course, after I’m married, I don’t know what my schedule will be.” She shrugged, smiling. “The downside of falling in love with a minister.” She took a mess of fiddleheads out of the refrigerator and rinsed them off.

“You’ve been single a long time, Gram, since before I was born. Are you sure you want to lose that independence?”

“Every woman needs to know she can survive without a partner. I’ve proved I can. After your grandfather died, God bless him and his life insurance, I raised one daughter and one granddaughter, kept this house going, and started a business. I’ve done my bit. Got nothing to prove to myself or the world about independence.”

“Being on your own has advantages,” I suggested. “Deciding what you’re going to do, and where you’ll go, and who you’ll take time to see. Even just choosing what you’ll have for dinner and what time you go to bed and get up in the morning. No one to tell you your chicken was too dry or yell at you because you forgot to pick up clothes at the cleaners.” I surprised myself by being so adamant.

Gram raised her eyebrows. “An interesting perspective. I won’t ask you where you came up with those examples. I remember being young, centuries ago as it might seem to you. Marrying then meant choosing who was going to be the father of your children, and who’d share your dreams with you.”

I nodded.

“When I married your grandfather, we planned our future together. . . .” She paused, remembering. “It was a wonderful time. As the saying goes, we didn’t have much money, but love and joy made up for it.” She put the haddock in the oven, the fiddleheads in a steamer, and sat down at the kitchen table. “But at my age, the ‘till death us do part’ aspect of marriage is what’s important. I’m looking forward to sharing my life with someone. And then, when the time comes, we’ll take care of each other.” She looked at me. “Couples in their twenties don’t usually think about that. When you’re older, you know that’s part of your future. Tom and I’ve talked about it. We’re both ready to make that commitment to each other.”

“Gram! If you were sick, I’d take care of you!”

“That’s all well and good. You might want to. But you have your life ahead of you. You’ll have a job, maybe a husband and children. Although I’d love to have you settle nearby, I don’t want you ever to feel obligated to take care of me. I want you to live your life the way you want to, not the way you have to.”

I was silent for a few minutes. “You don’t have to worry about that, Gram. I wouldn’t take care of you because I felt obligated. I’d take care of you because I love you.”

“Thank you for that, Angel. But don’t you worry! I’m not planning on being disabled immediately.” She shook her head, smiling. “Tom and I hope we’ll have a lot of years ahead to enjoy life together. So you liked the needlepointers?”

Conversation change. “I did. Ob is a bit of a character, and Ruth seemed lonely. I’m going to try to stop and see her every week or two.”

“Good call.”

“I still have Lauren’s envelope. Her neighbor said she and her family went up to their camp for a few days.”

“Caleb must have calmed down a bit,” Gram said dryly. “They didn’t wait for Lauren’s money, and he didn’t insist she work today. He’s been pushing her to work as many hours as possible.”

“And Cindy was visiting her parents. She confirmed we’re going to have lunch with Clem on Monday.”

“Good. I’m glad that worked out.”

“I liked Dave Percy, although his poison garden is a little strange. And I loved the needlepoint he was working on . . . a matching cushion for an old chair?”

“Yes. He’s had that for a while.”

“He’s been working on other pieces, too. I saw a half-finished canvas of a skiff in his living room.”

Gram stopped. “What did it look like?”

“I didn’t look closely. A red skiff, in water, with a lighthouse in the background. About a twelve-inch square canvas.”

“That’s not one of Dave’s projects,” Gram said. “It’s one I assigned to Lauren.”

“Maybe he’s helping her,” I suggested. “It was lying on the window seat.”

“Maybe,” said Gram. “But what was it doing at his house when she’s out of town?”

Sunday morning dawned, and I realized Gram expected me to attend church with her. After all, I was now the almost-stepgranddaughter of the minister.

I knew she’d be upset if I told her the truth—I hadn’t attended a church service in years, and hadn’t intended to change that pattern. So, instead, I found an appropriate skirt and a light sweater. Not elegant, but I was in Maine, after all. Women were expected to dress up a little for church, but anyone who wore
Vogue
fashions would be as out of place as someone wearing L.L.Bean boots in Phoenix. What I was wearing was okay for a Haven Harbor Sunday. I even put on lipstick.

I cleaned up all right.

The sanctuary was half full. Not bad for a non-holiday Sunday. I wondered if Reverend Tom got paid by the head. Would he be rewarded (in this world) if his church was full every Sunday? I suspected the total of the day’s collection plates was critical. I contributed five dollars. I wasn’t exactly a regular there.

Gram chose seats for us close to the front, on the aisle. She wanted to make sure Reverend Tom knew we were there. His fan club, if not yet his family.

His sermon was focused on forgiveness—a classic theme. Although I listened, I didn’t totally buy in. I didn’t think I’d ever forgive whoever killed Mama. She’d had a hard life, and her death had messed up mine, and Gram’s, too. How could that be forgiven?

After the service ended, we joined other parishioners for coffee and sweets in the same room used for Mama’s funeral reception almost a week before. This time I recognized more people. I picked up a homemade doughnut as Gram went to speak to Reverend Tom.

Ruth Hopkins was standing by herself, one hand on her walker and one on her paper cup of coffee.

“Why don’t I get a chair for you?” I asked.

“Thanks, Angie, but I’m fine. If I start sitting all the time, someday I won’t be able to get up. Got to keep active.” She took a final sip of coffee. “But you can throw out this cup and get me one of those big white-chocolate cookies on the table? I have coffee at home. I don’t have cookies.”

I did so, and got one for myself. They were much too good. Maybe I’d found a reason to come to church. I wondered if Reverend Tom ever preached about gluttony.

“Tom told me you and he had a session with one of his boards the other day,” Ruth commented. “How’d you like contacting the spirit world?”

“I’m not sure. It was my first time. We did get at least one answer. But I kept thinking one of us was pushing that planchette, and I knew it wasn’t me.” Reverend Tom must have told her about our Ouija experiment. I certainly hadn’t told anyone.

She nodded. “Logical. You’re very logical. Not unusual. Most folks are. I don’t know anyone who’s tried Ouija only a few times who doesn’t think that. But I believe there’s some truth to the answers Ouija gives.”

“Have you used a board?” I asked. I would never have thought little old Ruth Hopkins had a penchant for spiritualism. But, then, I never would have thought she was secretly S.M. Bond and Chastity Falls.

“Not on a regular basis, you understand,” she confided happily. “But I live alone. Sometimes I’m just in the mood to talk with someone. So I get out my board and see if any spirits are interested in conversing.” She expertly brushed cookie crumbs off her chest.

“Has anything the board told you come true?”

“That would be telling the future, dear. The spirits I speak to are more interested in the past. Oh, occasionally they’ll tell me something about today. For instance, about three weeks ago they told me you’d be coming home.”

I looked at her. “Three weeks ago! That was before Lauren found my mother’s body!”

She nodded. “It was. But, see . . . you’re here. The board knew.”

It was unbelievable. “Do many people in Haven Harbor use boards?’ I asked, beginning to wonder if I’d discovered an underground coven.

“I have no idea. I don’t talk about mine much. I consider it a private hobby. Reverend Tom knows, though. Sometimes he joins me.” She looked around the room. “I suspect most of these folks wouldn’t be interested. Might even be frightened. Or decide I’m a witch, or some other nonsense. I’m just curious. I keep my mind open to possibilities.”

“Spiritualism is totally new to me,” I said. “But it is intriguing.”

“If you ever want to experiment a little, you give me a call and come on over. We can see if my spirits visit when you’re present. Or perhaps you’ll find a spirit of your own.”

“I’d like that,” I said. “Using the board with you, I mean.” Why not? I didn’t really believe those in the spirit world could contact people here. But, then, the whole concept was fascinating. And might be fun.

So long as I don’t take it seriously,
I reminded myself.

“Then you’re invited. For now, I have to get myself to home. I’ve stood long enough. The Kentucky Derby was yesterday. I missed some of the pre-race hoopla then. I’m looking forward to the rerun this afternoon of the stories they tell about the horses and jockeys and owners before the race.” She took a few steps toward the door. “Don’t forget. You’re welcome anytime. Except when the races are on!”

I joined Gram and Ob Winslow. “Angie, this is Anna, Ob’s wife,” Gram said, introducing me to a dark-haired woman about Ob’s age.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said. “Ob said you might want to learn how to do needlepoint.”

“That’s right,” she said. “Your grandmother and I were talking about that. This is a busy month, with getting the boat ready for summer. I’m the official brass polisher in the family.” She smiled at Ob. “But by the end of May I’ll be free. By then, Ob’ll be out on the water most of the time. Some days I go with him, but I’d rather cook fish than catch them. We’re a good pair, aren’t we, Ob?”

“That we are,” he said, putting his arm around her. “And looks like this year I’ve found a couple of young men who’ll be home from college by then and agree to crew for me. That way I can spend my time figuring out where the fish are and taking the tourists there, and you can get in a little needle practice.”

“I’ll call you to set a time, Anna,” said Gram. “Angie here may join us, and I’ll advertise and ask around to see if anyone else’s interested.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Anna Winslow said. “Thank goodness that Jacques Lattimore is gone and we can all get on with our lives. This past winter was a nightmare. I don’t think I ever hated anyone as much as I hated that Lattimore.” She lowered her voice. “I never want to be in a situation that I have to go to the food bank again. Ob and I work too hard to have to do that.”

Ob patted Anna on her shoulders.

“How’s your boy, Josh?” asked Gram, changing the subject.

“He’s back and forth. I always figured he’d grow out of that ADHD he has, but now he’s twenty-two. Even when he takes his meds, he can’t focus on any one thing for very long.”

“You’ll be seeing him this summer,” Ob added. “He’ll be home in a few days. He left his job in Lewiston—”

“He was fired again,” Anna broke in. “Didn’t take his meds and missed deadlines, and his attendance wasn’t great.”

“This summer he’ll be helping me on the
Anna Mae,
” said Ob. “Sea air may keep him straight.”

“I hope so,” said Anna. “I love that boy to death, but he’s a constant challenge.” She shook her head. “It’s not easy for Josh, and not easy for Ob and me. But you can’t turn around in life. You’ve got to keep going.”

Gram nodded. “Very true. And Angie and I are going to go now. I soaked beans last night, and want to get them baking.”

“Charlotte Curtis! Baked beans are a Saturday-night dish! Not Sunday dinner!”

Gram nodded. “Don’t I know it! But the past week has been crazy, and I’m a bit behind. So we have to be off.”

“It was lovely meeting you, Anna,” I said as we headed for the door.

Ob and Anna’s son was on meds for ADHD. I’d had high-school classmates who took Ritalin for ADHD. At least one boy sold his pills, instead of taking them. And even those with ADHD skipped pills when they were partying because of what my friend Tim Sanborn once called, “serious side effects.” Would those side effects include vomiting and convulsions? I didn’t know. Ob and Anna clearly weren’t happy with Lattimore. But did one of them hate him enough to kill him?

How fast would Ritalin dissolve in tea?