Between Heaven and Texas (33 page)

“Well, you can just turn around and un-sell that gold sponsorship right now!” Marlena barked.

“I can't do that,” Lena said. “It wouldn't be right, and I'm not even sure it would be legal. The ball is open to the public; anybody can buy a ticket. On top of that, the program proofs are already at the printer. Patchwork Palace is all over it.”

Marlena's nostrils flared.

“I don't care,” she hissed. “The Christmas Ball is Too Much's most important and exclusive event. We are not going to lower our standards just because some low-class climber thinks she can buy her way up the social ladder.”

Lydia Dale's voice rang out from the back of the shop. “Take that back!”

She threw a pattern book down on the table and advanced quickly toward Marlena.

“Don't you dare speak to my sister like that! Take it back right now, Marlena, or so help me . . .” Lydia Dale's fingers curled into a fist.

Taffy ran out from behind the register, putting herself between Marlena and Lydia Dale.

“Now, honey. Calm down. I won't let my girl sink to catfighting.”

“Momma's right,” Mary Dell said, yawning to indicate her complete disregard and walking back toward the register. “She's not worth it. Calm down.”

“I will,” Lydia Dale said in a low and dangerous tone, “when she takes it back.”

“I'm not taking back anything,” Marlena snipped. “You're low class and always have been, the whole pack of you. Your aunt is a crazy old spinster who dresses like she's going to a funeral. Your mother was a circus freak . . .”

“Momma was the star of a Wild West show,” Taffy said evenly.

“Your daughters are loose women with no morals who couldn't hold on to their men. Ha! And you're no better, Taffeta Templeton. The only reason you've kept hold of your husband is because Dutch is dumb as a watermelon. No wonder your grandchild was born a retard. Blood will tell, I always say . . .”

There is a noise that a wooden bat makes when it smacks a leather baseball right in the sweet spot, a whoosh-crack that some athletes have described as the most satisfying sound in the world. The sound of Taffy Templeton's right fist making contact with the lower left portion of Marlena Benton's jaw was very similar to that sweet smack of wood against leather, and more satisfying to witness than a home run.

“Momma!” Mary Dell and Lydia Dale cried in unison, their voices a mixture of shock and delight, as Marlena toppled backward, landing in a pile on the wooden floor and losing a shoe in the process.

“Marlena!” Diamond cried at the same moment, scuttling to her president's side.

Diamond crouched on the floor with the thought of helping Marlena to her feet, but changed her mind when she saw Taffy plowing toward them. Abandoning Marlena to her fate, Diamond leapt to her feet, ran out the door and into the street, quaking with fear and wringing her hands. Lena, not knowing what else to do, followed her and stood in the street, not sure if she should go home or wait for Marlena.

She didn't have to wait long.

Before her daughters could restrain her, though, in truth, they didn't try all that hard to do so, Taffy grabbed Marlena by her dress collar, yanked her to her feet, dragged her out the front door of the shop, and gave her such a shove that she flew backward once again and landed on her behind in the street.

Taffy stood with her hands on her hips, the look on her face so murderous that Marlena was afraid to rise and sat on the ground with only one shoe, propped up on her elbows with her legs askew.

“Now, you listen to me, Marlena Benton, because I'm only going to say this once. I don't care what you say about me, and I don't give a rattlesnake's rear end if you have me blackballed from polite society for the rest of my days, but I'm warning you, if I hear you ever, I mean
ever,
use that word to refer to my grandson, or anyone, ever again . . . I will kick your skinny behind so hard you'll land on the Mexico side of the Rio Grande. Am I making myself clear?”

Marlena was too stunned to do more than give her head a quick bob, and Taffy was too consumed by anger to hear the sound of her daughters' convulsive laughter. Taffy turned on her heel and stomped back into the quilt shop, only to return a moment later with Marlena's pink pump, which she flung onto the street next to its owner before going back inside and slamming the door.

The immediate danger having passed, Diamond came running, helped Marlena to her feet, and tried frantically to brush the dirt from the back of her dress, whacking at her backside like she was beating a rug.

“Stop that!” Marlena spat. “Hand me my shoe.”

Marlena grabbed Diamond's shoulder to steady herself while she replaced her pink pump, the heel of which had come loose during the fracas, then pushed her cousin away. She straightened her shoulders and limped off with Diamond in her wake, fussing and fretting. Lena followed her too, but turned around and walked backward for a few steps, giving the Templeton twins an apologetic shrug before going on her way.

Lydia Dale was laughing so hard she could hardly breathe, let alone speak, but Mary Dell recovered herself enough to walk into the middle of the street, holding her hands to her mouth like a megaphone.

“Marlena, are you
sure
you don't want to learn to quilt? We've still got a few spots in the beginners' class!”

C
HAPTER 59

M
ary Dell chewed nervously on her thumbnail as Lydia Dale shuffled through the last stack of bills quick as a gambler dealing a hand of poker, counting under her breath, an expression of complete concentration on her face. When she finished, she licked the end of the pencil, wrote a number at the end of a column, and added them up twice on their new electronic calculator and then again with her pencil.

“Well? How'd we do?”

Lydia Dale put down the pencil.

“Great,” she said, sounding almost dazed. “Actually . . . it's better than great. We made as much today as I'd projected we'd make in a week and a half. It's unbelievable!” She paused to chew on the pencil eraser. “Maybe I better add it up again.”

Mary Dell reached out and snatched the pencil away. “You don't need to check the math. Look around you! There's not a rotary cutter or mat in sight, ten percent of the pattern racks are empty, and there are so many fabric bolts stacked behind the cutting counter that we're going to have to come in an hour early tomorrow to reshelve them. We did it, sis. Eight days of business in one. Believe it!”

She let loose a whoop of joy and threw out her arms. The sisters hugged, dancing in a lumbering circle. When they were finished, Taffy came and put one arm around each of her daughters, her face beaming.

“I am so proud of you!” she said, planting a kiss on each of their cheeks. “So proud! You know, I was thinking . . . after the barn is done, maybe we ought to think about putting in a pool.”

Mary Dell smiled. Taffy was still Taffy. But after today, Mary Dell had a feeling she'd find her mother's character quirks a lot less irritating.

“One good day doesn't make a good month or a good year, Momma. Things will drop off now that people have had their curiosity satisfied, and we spent a lot more than we figured on the remodeling, but we're off to a good start. Not a put-in-a-pool-and-fly-first-class-to-Europe start, but a good one.”

“I suppose you're right,” Taffy said philosophically. “And if we're going to make any improvements to the ranch, I guess we'd better start by building on an extra bedroom. I don't guess Graydon will want to keep sleeping in the tack room after the wedding.”

“Good thinking, Momma.”

A faint cry came from upstairs, quickly increasing in volume and intensity.

Mary Dell cast her eyes toward the ceiling. “Howard's up. Sounds like he's hungry too. Why don't you two head home? I'll feed the baby and lock up.”

“Are you sure?” Lydia Dale asked. “I can stay for a while.”

Mary Dell shook her head. “No, you go on home. The kids are waiting for you. Rob Lee's probably hungry too. I won't be long.”

Taffy and Lydia Dale gathered up their things. Taffy paused at the door and looked back at her daughter. “Do you want to come for supper?”

“Thanks, Momma, but I'm so tired I just want to go home and go to bed. Maybe tomorrow.”

Taffy nodded, got halfway through the door, and changed her mind. She walked back to Mary Dell and gave her a squeeze. “I want you to know that I meant what I said; I'm proud of you. Always have been. And I love you. Always did.”

Mary Dell squeezed her back. “I love you too, Momma.”

 

Mary Dell fed and changed Howard, then carried him downstairs and laid him down on a quilt with some toys while she took a quick inventory of the notions and made notes about what to reorder. She thought about reshelving the fabric, but it was a big job and she just didn't have the energy to tackle it right then. Now that the grand opening adrenaline rush was subsiding, she realized that her feet were killing her and she felt about as tired as she could ever remember feeling. Still, she didn't want to go home. Not just yet.

It felt so good to be alone in the shop, her shop, hers and Lydia Dale's, this special spot suspended somewhere between heaven and Texas, to look around and see so many of the display shelves missing fabric, and that many of the bolts that were on display were decidedly thinner than they'd been that morning, to walk to the checkout counter and see a stack of completely empty bolts lying on the floor, to open a three-ring binder and see so many names of future students, pages where every line was filled with names, with an asterisk at the bottom of one page and two more names beside it, the start of a waiting list.

They were making money, at least for the moment, and that felt good. She had a son to provide for, a family to support. But there was more to what she was feeling than that, though it took her a moment to put her finger on it. It was the names. All those names, names of people she knew, names of strangers, names that weren't even written in the book yet, names of people who had not yet come through the door, but they would . . .

Oh, yes, they would.

And they would fall in love with this sweet little shop, even if they'd never sewn a stitch, especially if they'd never sewn a stitch, and look up to the wall at a beautiful quilt she had made from beautiful fabrics her sister had chosen, with a mixture of longing and anxiety, wondering if they could make one themselves, afraid the answer was no. But she would come alongside them as they stood there, tell them a joke or a story, put an arm around their shoulder, put them at their ease, convince them to write their name in the book, and then she would help them, encourage them, teach them, and when their quilt was finished they would be amazed at what they'd learned, amazed at what they could accomplish. Amazed. Just like she felt right at that moment.

She'd found it, just like Mr. Evard said she would—her best self.

She was not rich and likely never would be. She was not wise or as good as she wanted to be. But she had something special to offer, a gift that she was born to share. She knew it, and the knowing amazed her.

She thought about everything that had happened in the last year, remembering that it was almost a year ago to the day that she'd learned she was pregnant with Howard. She'd had a baby, lost her husband, been in the pit of despair, grabbed on to a rope and climbed out, found hope, and lost it, and found it again. All that in a year, while the Earth made a single circuit 'round the sun.

She could never have imagined how exciting it would be, or how hard. It was just as well. If she had known, she would probably have been too scared to make the trip. But she knew something now that she hadn't known before: that no matter how rocky the road ahead might be, no matter how hard the journey or steep the climb, she would make it to the finish line. She was a survivor.

Mary Dell picked Howard up from the floor. He snuggled close, cooing contentedly, as she locked the back door and began switching off the lights. They walked to the front of the shop and paused at the little table in the center of the window. Mary Dell lowered her face into the mass of yellow roses and breathed deeply.

“Here, honey,” she said, holding Howard nearer to the bouquet. “Smell the flowers. Aren't they pretty?”

She picked out the most perfect of the blossoms, pulled it from the vase, and stroked his cheek with the petals.

“So soft. Let's take this one home and press it in a book, so we'll always remember today. All right?”

She shifted him to a more comfortable position on her hip and walked toward the door. Lena Brooks was standing on the other side, but with her back turned slightly away, an indecisive posture. Mary Dell opened the door.

“Have you made up your mind about coming in?”

“Oh. Hi, Mary Dell.” Lena turned around, looking a little sheepish, but her awkwardness disappeared when she noticed the baby. “Is this Howard? What a cutie!”

“This is Howard,” Mary Dell confirmed with a smile, then opened the door as wide as it would go. “Do you want to come in?”

“No . . . I mean, I know you're closed and probably headed home, but . . . well, I just wanted to come by and tell you I'm sorry about everything that happened today. About the Christmas Ball and all that stuff Marlena said . . . you know.”

Lena held a finger out to Howard. He grabbed it and pulled it to his mouth.

“He's so precious. And Marlena . . . well, she's just hateful. I told her so later.”

“Uh-oh. You'd better watch yourself. Go shooting off your mouth like that to Marlena and you'll get yourself kicked out of the club.”

“Too late,” Lena said with a smile. “I resigned. I only joined because I was new in town and wanted to meet some people. See, my husband has to travel a lot, so I'm on my own and, well . . . Too Much is a lot different than Tulsa.”

“Oh, yes. I can believe that.”

“Well, when I heard about the Women's Club, how they do a lot of charity work and all, it seemed like a good thing to get involved with. And it would be, if not for Marlena. I never met anybody so mean,” she said, sounding genuinely surprised. “And yet, they all suck up to her. Why is that?”

“Darned if I know.” Mary Dell laughed. “If you figure it out, be sure to tell me. But don't worry. There's plenty of nice people in Too Much.”

Lena smiled. “I'm beginning to see that. Anyway, I don't want to keep you, but I saw the lights were still on and just wanted to stop in and apologize.”

“Well, that's sweet of you, but there was no need. You didn't say those nasty things, Marlena did. But”—Mary Dell winked—“I bet she'll think twice about saying them again after what Momma gave her.”

“I know! I couldn't believe it. Neither could Marlena.” She giggled, but her expression turned serious after a moment. “But you know, she was talking about calling the sheriff, having your mother arrested for assault and battery.”

Mary Dell waved off the young woman's concern. “Don't worry about it. It'll never happen. If she called in the law she'd have to tell her story to the sheriff, a lawyer, a judge, and next thing you know, it'd be all over town. Trust me, the last thing Marlena wants is for everybody in Too Much to be talking about the day Taffy Tudmore Templeton kicked her keister.”

“I hope so. Well, I should let you go. Good night, Mary Dell.”

“Good night.”

Lena got as far as the door. “Mary Dell? I was wondering . . . and with everything that happened today, I'd understand if you'd rather not . . . but could you teach me how to quilt?”

“I'd love to.”

Mary Dell beamed, and the weariness of a moment before was banished. With Howard still on her hip, she walked to a basket near the checkout counter and pulled out a nine-patch kit from the pile.

“Do you like blue and yellow?”

“Sure,” Lena said, looking at the picture on the front of the package. “This is so pretty. You really think I could make this?”

“Well, you won't know until you try. Let's get started.”

Lena's eyes went wide. “You mean now? But weren't you headed home for supper? I mean . . . you must have things you'd rather do with your evening than teach me how to quilt.”

“Things I'd rather do?” Mary Dell switched on the overhead lights and then paused to consider the question. “No, ma'am. Not a one.”