Tempest's Course: Quilts of Love Series (4 page)

4

L
ottie, I got a new contract.” Kelly stood on one side of the sales counter and fidgeted with the packets of needles arranged in a symmetrical pattern by the register. Threads by Lottie had become a fixture in Haverhill, as had Kelly’s former foster mother. Lottie had always dreamed of having a shop. As Kelly’s dream had sprouted, so had Lottie’s.

The gray-haired woman rose from the chair at the desk. “Kelly . . . it’s been too long.”

“I thought I’d say hello before I left town. I put some of my things in storage, but I’m heading out now.” She hated the apologetic tone in her voice. In the same town, she could have gone by Lottie’s, either the shop or the old house. But she hadn’t.

Busy, she always said. Fostered out, reality told her. Lottie had never turned her to the curb like some foster parents did when their children turned eighteen, but a sense of being on the outside, always, nudged Kelly away from the warm circle that was life in Lottie and her husband, Chuck’s, home. A gaggle of foster kids stair-stepped in ages had been her brothers and sisters for the final six years she was in the system. Her first six years had been seared from her memory.

“Leaving, are you?” Lottie leaned on the counter. She acted as if she wanted to round the corner and give Kelly a hug but thought better of it.

“New Bedford, at least through September, maybe October.”

“Right on the coast. Beautiful.”

“Contract says I need to live in Gray House while I work on my project. Nothing like living in an old mansion. Poor me.” Kelly laughed, but Lottie didn’t smile.

“You be careful down there.” Lottie rubbed her arms and shivered. “Just knowing you’ve been here in town, knowing you’re all right . . .”

“I’ll be fine. Besides, living on-site will save me rent. Good thing my lease is month to month here anyway.” She grinned at Lottie. “I’ll call you, or e-mail you. You
are
using e-mail, aren’t you?”

“I know how to e-mail.” Lottie returned the grin, her expression lighting up her face. “Don’t be shocked, but Threads has a website, too. I’m not getting on the Facebook and Twitter stuff, though.”

“You do what you think is best, really.” Kelly patted Lottie’s hand, soft and slightly wrinkled. “I know that Facebook can be a great marketing tool, but even I’m not to that point yet.” Willa had tried to talk her into it once, and had nearly succeeded until Kelly got a freaky friend request from a stranger who was “enchanted with her photograph.” That spurred her into deleting her account.

“Make sure you call me, please, or something, and give me updates.” Lottie almost sounded as if she were pleading. “I always like making sure my kids are okay.”

“I will. I promise.” Kelly watched as Lottie ambled around the counter. She closed her eyes as Lottie embraced her. The closest thing to a real mother she ever had, yet somehow it never seemed enough.

After another good-bye and another promise to keep in touch, Kelly scurried from the shop and out to her car that fairly groaned with all her supplies and sundries. Two hours later, plus an extra half hour getting through a snarl in Boston traffic, she breathed a little easier. Good-bye, Haverhill. Good-bye to what she’d known for most of her adult life.

The closer she’d gotten to the coast, the more clouds piled up along the western horizon. A storm system drifting across the area. New Bedford greeted her with a bleak, gray sky. How fitting, given that she was now pulling up in front of Gray House. Wait. Mrs. Acres had said the back gate had a keypad and that she should take her car inside the perimeter of the property.

A motorcycle sat crosswise on the slab that made up two parking spaces, leaving her no choice but to pull onto part of the lawn. Dark, tousled hair Tom what’s-his-name would probably object to her parking, but if he was the owner of the motorcycle, he was to blame.

Her car sputtered to a stop, then the engine coughed and died. Well, she wasn’t about to go anywhere, anyhow. Although she probably should have stopped to pick up a few groceries. The idea had escaped her during her enthusiasm about the new project. She still shook her head, that her bid was accepted. It wasn’t the lowest, but she still marveled that someone would pay the kind of price to have a mere bed covering restored.

A few raindrops spattered on the ground as Kelly exited the car, lugging her laptop and her suitcase into the back entrance by the kitchen. Mrs. Acres had given her a key ring with front and back door, plus mailbox keys when she stopped by the property management office.

“There are other locks and cabinets and such in the house, but these are the most important ones you’ll need,” the older woman had assured her. “You need anything else for the house, call me day or night.”

The spatter of rain turned into a brisk downpour by the time she reached the kitchen entrance. Once inside, she shut the door behind her. The sound echoed in the house. Kelly shivered.

She hadn’t seen the kitchen on her first visit. White walls, white cabinets, and a large wooden island in the center of the immense room. A high ceiling held a pot rack over the island. Kelly stepped across the black-and-white tile floor. No, this room had been updated at some point and wasn’t original to the house. Well, some of it anyway.

The sound of her footsteps and clicking suitcase wheels echoed off the bare walls. The space was so . . . empty of warmth. She shook off the sensation and pushed through the swinging door and found herself in the dining room. Wrong door. She needed to find the main hall and head upstairs to figure out where she was going to sleep. On impulse, she flipped the light switch. The chandelier glowed, casting the reflected lights from hundreds of crystals. Gorgeous now, it must have been breathtaking in the era of gaslights. Kelly turned off the light and headed for the pocket doors she’d used a few weeks ago.

Lightning flashed, followed by a boom of thunder that rattled the windows. Kelly pulled her suitcase along behind her, up the wooden staircase with its curved banister that led to the second floor. She started trying doors. Which room to choose as hers?

The other day, she’d been on a mission to find the quilt that now lay on Captain Gray’s bed where she’d found it. Kelly pushed open the first door, a front bedroom that looked out onto County Street. Simply decorated in tones of blue and cream, it had a peaceful air to it. A settee was positioned under the shuttered front window. A good possibility, although perhaps there might be street noise if she left a window open. Or were there rules about opening windows of the historic house?

Kelly laid her laptop case on the bed and let her suitcase down at the corner of the four-poster bed draped with a frilly canopy. Rain drummed on the windows full force now. Kelly flung the shutters open to let pale gray light into the shadowed room.

She moved on to the next bedroom, this one smaller and decorated for a little boy. A few turn-of-the-twentieth-century toys were arranged at the corner of a dark-patterned rug. It was as if the family had left for the weekend and were due back any moment. Kelly moved to the closet and opened the door. Little boys’ clothing hung from the rack and a faint whiff of
something
struck her nostrils. Not on the clothes. She leaned closer . . . smoke? But old, very old.

Her nosy meter shot into overdrive. She’d definitely ask Mrs. Acres more about the house once she got settled in. Kelly left the room through a door that connected it to the next room.

This was a lady’s room, elegant and dramatic in shades of crimson and gold. Captain Gray’s wife’s room, perhaps? The maple wood bed rested almost on a dais-like platform with steps. Kelly shook her head. The front room would be more for her.

She entered the hallway again and shivered. Maybe she should see where the thermostat was. Or did the house have more than one? Not in the main hallway.

Kelly stepped across to the other side of the hall to find a study and a seamstress’s room. The sewing room made her smile. Maybe she’d make this her sewing room as well, if the light were right.

At the back corner of the house, opposite the captain’s room, she found a narrow staircase that led in two directions, one to the kitchen below and the other to the third floor. Her curiosity piqued, she took the creaky steps.

Servants’ quarters, simple yet neat. Sparsely decorated with a modest fireplace at each end. An even narrower staircase led the way to the tiptop of the house, the lookout room. Kelly placed her toes on each step, barely meeting the middle of her arch. Yes, people had tinier feet one hundred fifty years ago.

One more turn of the stairs and she emerged into a square room, no larger than four-by-four feet, framed with windows and a low bench that ran the perimeter of the space. Kelly squinted into the pouring rain outside and caught a glimpse of the harbor, blocks away and downhill from County Street.

She could well imagine the captain’s wife climbing these stairs every day, watching to see when her husband would return. Kelly looked up at the wooden roof and at the corner trim. A few droplets of water were leaking through the roof and running along a wooden ridge. She ought to tell someone, for the sake of the building.

She placed one knee on the bench and reached up to touch the dampness. As she did so, the bench seat wobbled. This was probably the last place in the house anyone looked at to maintain. Kelly reached for the bench seat and it slid away from the wall.

A metal box lay lengthwise in the recessed seat. Old, very old. Kelly sucked in a deep breath as she pulled out the box, her wrist straining with the unexpected weight. She hefted it onto the edge of the bench and opened the box.

An old leather-bound book lay inside. Someone had taken care to put this away for safekeeping. Kelly opened up the cover. Inside, the faded pages were covered with a flowing script. She needed gloves to look at this further.

She allowed herself to sneak a read of the opening lines.

February 1850

Surely the Lord Himself has smiled upon me, Mary Smith Gray, that He bestows upon me such a situation! Indeed, I am exclaiming for joy. Hiram Gray is my wedded husband. A serious and devout man, but I see a spark within his silvery eyes. A woman ought not to think of nor write of such things. But here on these pages, meant for no other mortal’s eyes, I can freely share.

Kelly closed the cover, glancing around although she was alone. Mary Gray’s diary. She returned it to the metal box. This book was important to the house. How long it had been here, she didn’t know.

The rain cascaded down the windows in little rivers that blurred the world outside. Kelly shivered again. She needed to take the book downstairs, out of this place and into a more controlled environment.

A flash of color at the door of the greenhouse in the back corner of the immense yard caught her eye. Tom Pereira, wearing a red shirt under a dark jacket. Hopefully, this time Mrs. Acres had told him of her arrival, and her occupation of the house.

Kelly tucked the box under her left arm, holding the priceless cargo close to her side. Heading down was far worse than climbing up stairs meant for someone the size of a child. She managed to negotiate the stairs and soon had the box resting on her bed in the front room.

“Hello?” a male voice called out from below. “Ms. Frost?”

She touched her hair then descended the main staircase. “I’m here . . .” She rounded the corner of the lowest banister just as Tom entered the hallway.

“I moved my motorcycle,” he said, water droplets falling from his hair, now starting to curl with the humidity. “If you give me your keys, I can get your car back on the parking spot and off the grass.”

“Oh, that would be great. I didn’t want to block you in, and then it started raining.” She pulled her keys from her jacket pocket and handed them to Tom. “I assume Mrs. Acres told you I was coming.”

He nodded. “Congratulations, I think? You’re moving into this mausoleum, then?”

“For now.” She didn’t want to explain to him, but then, she didn’t need to. His opinion of her situation didn’t matter. He knew nothing about her.

“I’ll make sure the first floor of the carriage house has a place for you to park, if you want.” He half smiled and for half a second didn’t look as if the world’s worries had weighed him down.

“Don’t go to any extra trouble for me.”

“No trouble, not at all.” He spun the keys around on one finger and left in the direction of the kitchen.

When he wasn’t grouchy, suspecting her of being an intruder, he was pretty good-looking. Kelly followed the path he’d taken. She might as well take stock of what groceries she needed. Once she got in her work zone, she didn’t pay much attention to cooking or food. Which reminded her, she needed to gather a collection of takeout menus.

Kelly entered the kitchen and began opening cabinets. Most were empty, save a solitary cabinet that held like-new dishes, enough for four. So her new employer had thought of that much. The vintage refrigerator wasn’t even plugged in, she discovered.

Outside, the rain still pounded. Amidst the downpour, Kelly heard the valiant effort of her car’s engine to turn over. Car repairs weren’t in her budget. She had half her stipend now, plus the money up front for supplies.

Kelly went to the kitchen window closest to where the drive lay outside. Tom exited her car, and as he did so, he glared at it. She didn’t blame him one bit. She moved to the back door and opened it.

“I’m not sure what’s wrong with it. I’m just glad it made it all the way from Haverhill,” she said.

Tom pulled one of her plastic-covered tote boxes from the backseat. “We’ll wait till the rain stops.”

She scurried out to meet him. “You don’t have to unload my car.”

“It’s okay. I don’t have anything else to do at the moment.” He extended the tote in her direction, and she took it from him. He held onto it, making sure she had a good grip, his fingertips brushing hers.