The Friendship Star Quilt (10 page)

****

While Brad placed their orders, Anne and Jenny pushed their carts to one of the tables in the café area. Jennie fetched paper napkins from the service counter and carefully set them at three of the places on the table then she laid a couple more in the middle of the table.

“Daddy likes jelly donuts, but sometimes they're really sticky,” she explained, “then he needs lots of extra napkins.”

The little girl was absolutely adorable with her long, blond curls and tiny button nose. It was easy to see why Brad called the child Princess. Anne was grateful he had Jennie with him this morning. It had been a long, long time since she'd sat at a table enjoying coffee and donuts with a man.
A handsome man
, she amended as she watched him carry a tray with their food toward the table. But more than his appearance attracted her. Brad Carmichael seemed to be both a dedicated teacher and a devoted father.
And he's got a great sense of humor, too.

“Here you go,” he announced. “One cup of coffee and a sourdough donut.”

Anne stared at the huge donut he placed before her then glanced up at him. “Oh my. I didn't realize their donut would be so large. I'm not sure I can eat the whole thing.”

“That's okay,” Jennie piped up. She plucked a sprinkle off the donut her father had handed to her and popped it in her mouth. “You can just cut it in half and save it for later like my grandma does. Grandma Barb says restaurants always give you way too much food.”

“Your grandmother sounds like a smart lady,” Anne said. “But maybe you should take the rest of my donut home with you to have for a snack later.”

“Absolutely not,” Brad cut in. “It's your donut, so you take it home. This young lady will have leftovers of her own. See, I already asked for a knife, because Jennie is never able to finish all of her donut.”

As he passed the small plastic utensil to Anne, Brad suddenly noticed how graceful her hands were. And dainty, nearly as small as Jennie's hands. His fingers brushed hers, and he had a crazy urge to wrap his hand around hers, to stroke its soft palm and—

What on earth is wrong with you this morning?
He abruptly sat up straighter and pushed himself back in his chair.
You're behaving like one of those moonstruck teenagers in the halls at the high school.

He was much too old for such nonsense, too old to believe in things like love at first sight. Or even second or third sight. Anne was just an acquaintance. But her fragile air made him feel… protective. Protectiveness was not love. Love was cozy and familiar like a pair of favorite slippers. The kind of boring relationship he'd had with Sarah.

Boring? Now, where the Sam Hill had that come from?

He had loved Sarah. Sure, he'd sometimes wished for the kind of grand passion they'd discussed in the literature class where he'd met her during their senior year at Michigan State. But they'd both known such stuff only happened in novels. He'd cared about Sarah, but after a few months, he'd felt something was missing in their relationship. He'd decided to break up with her after Spring break, but just after Valentine's Day, Sarah had announced she was pregnant. She'd broached the idea of an abortion, but they'd both rejected it. So, they'd gotten married and had built a life together. When Jennie was born, Brad had promptly fallen in love with the tiny mite. His daughter made up for everything.

Yet something about Anne stirred a deep longing inside him, too. As he watched her cut the donut, he noticed a slight tremble in her fingers, and wondered if she was nervous around him. Or had Anne also felt something when their hands touched?

“Daddy, can the quilt shop lady cut my donut for me, too?” Jennie asked, breaking the silence.

“I'd be happy to,” Anne replied. “If it's okay with your dad, of course.”

“Certainly it is. But, Jennie, I think you ought to ask Miss Anne if you can call her by her name, don't you?”

“Could I?” his daughter asked, looking hopefully at the woman seated beside her.

Anne nodded. “Of course, you may, Jennie. I'd like that very much.”

Brad sipped his coffee and watched as the two blond heads bent over the donut, deciding how much of the treat to save. When Anne pretended to misunderstand, Jennie giggled and pointed to the right spot. Their easy laughter warmed his heart. It was a nice feeling. One he hadn't experienced in a long time, a very long time.

“Brad? Are you all right?”

Anne's question startled him from his thoughts. He blinked. “What? Oh, yes, of course. Why?”

“Well, I don't mean to insult you,” Anne apologized, “but you seemed to be about a million miles away.”

Brad cleared his throat. “Sorry. I was – uhm – thinking about work.” He leaned across the table toward her. “In fact, it's kind of why I wanted you to join us. I wanted to talk to you about some additional work.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at her cup and started to stir her coffee. “Work. Of course.”

Was it his imagination or had her expression suddenly grown sad? He dismissed it as a trick of the lighting and continued with what he'd been saying. “I know you said I could give your name to my band parents for alterations, but I wondered if you might be interested in a bigger job, too.”

“That depends on how big the job is. I'd have to be able to do it around my schedule at the shop.”

“I think you could,” he said then hurried to explain. “I'm conducting the orchestra for the school musical next spring, and our play director, Cal Johnson, is frantic. The woman who normally is in charge of wardrobe can't do it this year, so he is scrambling to find someone to make or alter costumes. I almost gave him your name, but I wanted to make sure it was okay with you first. The poor guy was nearly pulling out his hair yesterday.”

“Sounds like fun,” Anne said then gave an embarrassed laugh. “Oh dear, that came out wrong. I meant the costuming not the hair-pulling.”

“Then you might be able to help us?” Brad paused and grinned. “Just costuming, no pulling of hair required.”

Her twinkling laugh fell like music on his ears.

“Well, so long as it's understood. I draw the line at hair pulling.” She paused and took a sip of her coffee, regarding him over the rim of the cup.

“I actually have a little experience with costuming. I used to help the drama department when I was in high school. But I'm not sure about being in charge of wardrobe. Sounds like a big job. What play are you doing?”

“
The Music Man.
”

“Wow. That production calls for period costumes. Lots of them.”

“True,” Brad agreed, “but we have a dozens of usable items in our wardrobe from previous plays. Cal plans to utilize as many of them as possible to keep down costs.”

“They'll probably need to be altered,” Anne commented.

“Most likely. And I'm sure he'll need to have a few new costumes made. If it's okay with you, I can give him your phone number on Monday then he can call you to discuss exactly what he has in mind.”

“Fine, Brad. Give him the number at the shop. He can reach me there since I'm at The Stitching Post more than I am at home.” She paused and laughed. “In fact, I actually don't have a phone at home.”

“Then call the shop it is.”

Anne took another sip of her coffee then stood up. “I'd better finish my shopping so I can get back to The Stitching Post. Courtney is a good worker, but the shop can be a lot for one person to handle if it gets busy.”

“Thank you for having breakfast with us,” Jennie said. She glanced around then whispered, “And for taking me to the bathroom.”

“You're very welcome,” Anne whispered back. She slid on her jacket, gathered up her purse then sent a teasing smile in his direction. “Thank you for breakfast, Brad. I hope it doesn't blow your expense account. I'll call you as soon as I have the sample flag ready for you.”

Brad watched her walk away and noticed how her slight frame was all but obscured by her bulky clothing. In fact, her jacket could have nearly wrapped around her twice. Her sweater and jeans were also loose and a bit too worn to be stylish. She'd probably had to pinch pennies and buy her clothes from one of the second hand stores. Still, she managed to make it work. It had to be hard to be a woman alone, and the job at the small fabric shop couldn't possibly pay very much. He admired her spunk. He admired a lot about her, actually, and wanted to get to know her better. The costuming job might help her finances, and it would give him time to get to know her better, too.

He wondered if she'd grown up around here, or if she was a transplant like he was. She'd mentioned sewing in high school, but she hadn't said where it had been. He'd have to ask her. He wanted to know all about her, where she was from, if she had family. Things like –

“Daddy?”

He turned to his daughter.

“What is it, Princess?”

“I'm glad you asked Miss Anne to have a donut with us. I don't think she eats enough.”

His brow rose. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

“Her stomach growled when we walked to the bathroom,” Jennie replied.

“Maybe she missed breakfast like we did this morning.”

“She's very skinny,” his daughter insisted. “But she's really nice. I like her at lot.”

His daughter had a point. He glanced in the direction Anne had gone and saw her unloading her cart at one of the self-check lanes. Anne was quite thin. But she was still very, very attractive.

He turned back and squeezed his daughter's hand. “I like her, too.”

The following Tuesday afternoon, Anne was alone in The Stitching Post when a young woman entered the shop holding a young boy by his hand. The woman wore the frazzled air common to most mothers of rambunctious toddlers, yet she seemed happy, too. She returned Anne's greeting with a cheery wave then headed to the aisle where the juvenile prints were stocked. The woman perused the various fabrics there, patiently showing each pattern to her son and discussing its merits as if the child's opinion was of the utmost importance to her.

Enchanted, Anne watched them, noticing how the young mother absentmindedly stroked her softly rounded tummy with her free hand as she spoke. Anne's hand traveled to her own tummy, almost mirroring the woman's motions.

In her mind's eye, Anne's slender body assumed the curves of a woman in her last trimester, and she stood in the doorway of a charming nursery. Antique baby furniture, recently delivered by her in-laws' servants, filled the cozy room. The highly polished wood of the crib and matching rocker gleamed softly in the light pouring through the window. High-end accessories were arranged on the top of a matching dressing table. If this were any example, the Harpers would make sure their grandchild lived in luxury, had the benefit of every comfort their money could buy.

The baby's well-being meant everything to her. She could put up with her husband's abuse and her in-laws condescension if it meant her little one would have a much more secure childhood than she'd had. She wanted her child to have two parents… no matter how flawed they might be.

“Excuse me, miss?” The soft voice pulled Anne back from her thoughts of the past.

The young mother gestured apologetically toward her squirming toddler. “Do you have a restroom my son can use? We're working on potty training, and Tommy is catching on fairly well—but I usually have to react pretty fast when he tells me he has to go.”

Anne nodded and pointed to a door closed door at the back of the shop. “It's right over there.”

The woman thanked her then hustled toward the restroom. Anne sighed and turned back to her work.

It did no good to indulge in memories. All the wistful thinking in the world couldn't change what had happened in her old life. It had been a different time and a different place. She needed to forget the pain and move on. She had a new life here and an opportunity to make something better of her future. Even though there'd be no child to share it with her.

****

When the quilting group arrived that evening, once again carrying their containers of food, Anne was ready for them. The inexpensive tablecloth she'd found at Meijer on Saturday now covered the work table at the back of the shop. Plastic eating utensils stood in a caddy in the middle of it. Fabric printed with autumn leaves draped another table for the potluck offerings.

A loaf of fragrant banana bread, her contribution to the spread, already waited on the food table, and an assortment of delicacies brought by the quilters soon crowded around it. Savory aromas scented the air as the various dishes were uncovered and lids removed. Anne's mouth watered as she surveyed the spread. Pasta, casseroles, salads, desserts – everything smelled so yummy. She set out a stack of paper plates then waved at the buffet.

“Grab a plate and help yourselves,” she invited.

For the next half hour, the women relaxed and caught up on the past week's happenings as they sampled the delicious potluck. Anne was pleased when Doris McDermid, a quilter Anne admired for her friendly attitude and positive outlook on life, asked if she could get a copy of the banana bread recipe.

“Mike loves my banana bread,” she said, “but it's not quite as good as my late mother-in-law's. His mom never wrote down her recipes, so it was lost forever when she died. Your bread tastes almost like hers.”

“Why, thank you. It was my grandmother's recipe. I can make of copy for you and bring it to the meeting next week. Meanwhile, why don't you wrap up a few slices of this loaf to take home to him?”

“That would be wonderful,” Doris said, clapping her hands. “You're going to make my sweetie a very happy man.”

Once everyone had eaten their fill and settled down to sew, Anne decided to assemble the design piece for Brad's sample flag instead of working on the squares for her Friendship Star quilt. The special order of silk had arrived the previous afternoon, and she'd sewn the flag itself last night after closing. Now, she needed to cut out the white piece representing the sea hawk. After she machine appliquéd the design to one side of the flag, she would carefully trim away the fabric behind it so it would show from both sides. As the other women quilted, Anne took the white silk to one of the long cutting tables. She maneuvered the pattern piece to find the best layout. When she was satisfied with the placement, she carefully pinned the pattern to the silky fabric.

“An unusual fabric for quilting,” Sylvia remarked as she walked by to refill her coffee mug.

“Oh it's not for a quilt. It's the design for Brad's flags.”

“Brad?” Ellen teased, coming over to join them. Her hazel eyes sparkled merrily as she leaned against the cutting table.

“Um—Mr. Carmichael,” Anne corrected, ducking her head as heat flooded her cheeks. She quickly continued before either woman could comment. “The fabric for his flags arrived yesterday, so I want to get a sample made to show him. In case he needs any alterations to the design. I couldn't find a flag pattern, so I had to make one myself.”

“I'm sure it will be beautiful,” Sylvia assured her. She reached over and lifted Anne's chin. “You're quite an amazing young woman, you know.”

“I am?” Ann blurted.

“Of course you are.” Sylvia chuckled. “You make beautiful display items for the shop. You teach quilting classes. You make a lot of your own clothes. Now, you're making these flags for the band–”

“And curtains for Falcone's,” Ellen added.

“And you're doing it without even a pattern.”

Anne shrugged. “They're both simple designs.”

“Maybe for you, but most people wouldn't have tackled them,” Sylvia insisted.

“She's right,” Ellen agreed. “I'm sure it's one of the reasons why Brad-slash-Mr. Carmichael had such a hard time finding someone to do it.”

“I'm sure plenty of people have told you how talented you are,” Sylvia said.

“Not really,” Anne demurred, thinking how Jeffrey had belittled everything she'd ever done. “Thank you both for your kind words.”

“Just ‘telling it like it is' as my students used to say,” the former professor replied

“Speaking of students,” Lila piped up from her chair in the quilting circle. “Did I hear you're going to do the costumes for the high school this year, Anne?”

Anne blinked in surprise. “How on earth did you hear about that? I only talked to Mr. Johnson about the possibility yesterday morning.”

“Honey,” the older woman replied. “Rivertown is a very small school district.”

Several heads nodded in agreement as the other women looked up from their projects with interest.

“Besides, my daughter is friends with Cindy Johnson, Cal's wife. She said he has been fretting about finding someone ever since Gladys Alt said she couldn't do the costumes any longer.”

“Why can't Gladys do them?” Doris asked, glancing up from her baby quilt to join the discussion.

“It's probably more like she doesn't want to do them anymore,” Betty contributed. “Gladys' kids are scattered through the Midwest now, and she wants to be free to visit her grandbabies.”

“She's probably burned out, too,” Sylvia remarked. She turned to Anne to explain. “Gladys has been costuming the kids ever since her oldest was a freshman more than twenty years ago. Her youngest child graduated almost ten years ago, but she's kept making the wardrobes, year-after-year.”

Anne grimaced. “Mrs. Alt sounds like a hard act to follow.”

“You'll do just fine. We've seen the lovely clothes you make for yourself.”

“Besides, if the job gets to be too much, you can always call on us for help.”

“I can?”

“Of course.” Sylvia laughed. “We may be quilters, Anne, but all of us know how to sew, too.”

“Oh, I know you do,” Anne said. “But I meant would it really be okay if I asked for help if I get overwhelmed?”

“Of course you can!”

“You'd help one of us out if we needed it,” Doris added as she picked up her quilt project again. “It's what friends do.”

She saw the nods of agreement around the table.

Friends! Wow.

The word enveloped her like one of her grandmother's warm and cozy quilts. She mentally repeated the word like a mantra as she reached for her scissors to get back to work.