Threading The Needle Part 31

"Everything looks wonderful. I can't wait until Friday!" She clapped her hands together under her chin, looking almost as excited as little Bethany.

"Glad it worked out," Lee said. "It's the least we can do after you helped get my microgreen business running. That little idea just about saved our skin. Is there anything else we need to do up here? I've got to get back to the farm and take care of the stock."

"And we've got to clean up and get over to the sus.h.i.+ place," Jake said, nodding to Madelyn. "I don't want them giving our table away."

Madelyn turned in a circle, looking the room over with an appraising eye. "I think we're all set . . . except for . . . Oh, never mind. It looks great. I don't want to keep you."

"What is it?" Lee asked. "We've got a little time yet."

"Well," Madelyn replied apologetically, "it's just that there's no place to hang up clothes. We don't need a lot of hanger s.p.a.ce but . . . maybe I could rig up a dowel on wires and hang it behind the curtain."

"Why not just use that armoire that I saw under the back gable, that big mahogany piece? Lee and I can move it over there by the end wall, right under the window."

"Are you sure?" Madelyn asked innocently. "It's so heavy. I wouldn't want you two to hurt yourselves."

Lee and Jake exchanged glances, their expressions half insulted, half disbelieving that she could so doubt their strength. Lee hooked his thumbs in his belt. "Step aside, ladies. My partner and I will have this done in no time."

They marched off toward the back gable. Madelyn looked at me and winked.

"Oh, you are bad," I whispered out the side of my mouth. "You played them like a couple of cheap violins."

She looked at me, eyebrows raised. "Well, I had to. We couldn't move that thing. It weighs a ton. Besides, look how cute they are together. They're practically preening, they're so proud of themselves. Any second now they'll flap their wings and start to crow."

"If they don't give themselves a hernia first," I said.

Judging from the grunting sounds they were making as they tried to move that monster, I started to think it might not be a joke after all. After a couple of attempts that moved the armoire only inches, Madelyn and I joined in, but it was still slow going.

"Hang on," Jake said, holding up his hand and panting. "I think there's something inside there." He wiped sweat off his forehead.

"There can't be," Madelyn protested. "I've gone through everything up here, opened every cabinet, drawer, and box." She stopped herself, putting a finger against her lips. "Oh, wait a minute. Except this one. The door was stuck."

Madelyn shrugged sheepishly. Jake let out a little growl before pulling out a pocketknife and using one of the blades to pry open the door of the armoire.

Inside, we found a box with a complete tea service for twelve, a long silver barbell and a box of weights to go with it, and a pile of heavy wool blankets that, when pulled back, revealed something I'd never thought I'd see again.

"Oh, my gosh," I said, turning to look at Madelyn, who was standing with her hand to her mouth, fingers splayed out over her lips. "Will you look at that?"

"The dollhouse," she breathed. "Our dollhouse."

48.

Madelyn It was Friday, hours before the guests were due to arrive for the weekend. Tessa and I had been cooking all morning making m.u.f.fins for tomorrow's breakfast, and two enormous lasagnas for Sat.u.r.day dinner, and was.h.i.+ng and chopping vegetables for salads. Tonight's dinner, a big pot of chicken noodle soup, was simmering on the stove. Now we were getting ready to fill gift bags with goodies that Evelyn had sent over from the quilt shop-a pink tape measure, a spool of thread, and six-packs of fat quarters in a variety of colors-and all kinds of treats that Tessa had donated from the leftover stock from For the Love of Lavender-citrus shampoo and soap, lavender hand cream and body lotion, and the little quilted drawer sachets we'd made together, one for each guest.

"This is quite a haul," Tessa said as she lined the bags with lavender- and sage-colored tissue paper while I cut lengths of raffia for bows. "It's almost like Christmas."

"We've got sixteen bags, right? We can't forget Bethany."

Tessa's eyes circled the table and her lips moved as she mentally counted the empty bags. She shook her head. "Fifteen. We're short one. That's okay. Bethany can have mine."

"No, she can have mine." Tessa gave me a look, that stubborn one she has when she's about to argue with me. "Okay, how about this? We'll share a bag. You're already up to your ears in herbal goodies, so I'll take the soap and lotion and such, and you take the quilting notions. I'm sure not going to use them. Deal?"

"Deal." Tessa smiled. "You really like Bethany, don't you? Did you ever want children of your own?"

I hesitated. With anyone else, I'd have been embarra.s.sed to admit the truth-it sounded so selfish, so unnatural-but this was Tessa. I knew she didn't judge me.

"Not really. I just never wanted the responsibility. Does that make me sound awful? And Sterling had very definite opinions on the subject. It's probably just as well; we'd have made terrible parents. But Bethany is a sweetheart. Ivy brought her over yesterday afternoon. She was in rapture over the dollhouse," I said, tilting my head in the direction of the living room, where we'd set the dollhouse up on a table in back of the sofa.

Tessa smiled. "Well, why not? We were when we were her age. It's a shame all the furniture was missing."

"I know, but I still have that sofa I bought at the church fair. Now I have someplace to put it-"

The phone rang, interrupting my thought. Angela was on the line.

"I'm so sorry about the wedding being canceled after you went to so much trouble."

"Don't worry about that. How is Kerry doing?"

"She's pretty broken up. I gave her some time off. She went out to see her parents for a few days."

"That's good. Poor thing, but better she found out now than later."

"That's what I told her. But I do feel badly about canceling on you. You can keep my deposits," she said in a tone I supposed was meant to sound magnanimous. "So you shouldn't be out too much. I wish I could afford to just pay you for everything, but now that I'm on my own and with the baby coming . . ."

And only twenty-five million to your name . . .

The words almost bubbled up from my mind to my lips, but I stopped myself. I was the last person who could afford to throw stones. In Angela's world, that world and mind-set that I had inhabited myself not so long ago, twenty-five million wasn't enough. In that world, there was no such thing as enough.

"I've got to preserve my capital. You understand, don't you, Madelyn?"

"I understand, Angela. Don't worry about it. Anyway, we're putting our unexpectedly vacant rooms to good use."

I told her all about our plans for the quilt retreat, about Ivy and all her friends from New Beginnings who were trying to get their high school diplomas, about Bella and Connie and how they'd volunteered their time to teach them, about Evelyn and Mary Dell, who were volunteering their goods and time to make the weekend a success.

"Madelyn! What a wonderful story. Have you called anyone about it?"

"Called anyone?"

"Magazines, television stations. This is a great human interest story-very heartwarming. And since you're a celebrity . . ."

"Angela, I'm hardly a celebrity. Just someone who married a very rich man and lived to regret it."

"A rich and famous man," she corrected me. "And whether you like it or not, that fame spills over to you. Madelyn, I've started seeing someone. He's a senior producer at Good Morning America. I think he'd jump all over this. Let me call him."

"Oh, I don't know, Angela. . . ."

"What's to know? Just the other night Steve was telling me how hard it's been for them to come up with upbeat stories these days. GMA is all about happy endings, but these days, it's hard to find many."

"But I wasn't looking to generate publicity here, just do a little bit of good for a town that's been good to me."

"Think, Madelyn. One good story on GMA, seen by millions and millions of people, and you'd not only rehabilitate your damaged reputation, you'd get more free advertising for your inn than you could buy in a lifetime. You'd be booked solid for the next year. You're trying to do something to benefit mankind, fine. Very generous. But why shouldn't you benefit from your generosity too? That's the way things work, Madelyn. What could it hurt?"

She had a point. A story about my altruism on Good Morning America would show the world that I wasn't the heartless witch that the tabloids had made me out to be. That would be nice, but I was more intrigued by the positive publicity a warm, fuzzy television report would generate. Maybe my hunch had been right after all! Forget the wedding; maybe this was the reason I'd felt such an urge, spent money I didn't have, to make sure the inn looked its best. A picture is worth a thousand words. Millions of people would see Beecher Cottage Inn and think, "That looks like a great spot to celebrate our anniversary, birthday, wedding, honeymoon." My financial worries would finally be behind me! And it wouldn't just be me who would benefit, of course. I'd be sure to tell the television people about Cobbled Court Quilts, too. And they'd undoubtedly want background shots of New Bern and that would bring in more tourists, more business, more money. Everyone would win. I had to take advantage of this opportunity not just for myself, but for the town. It'd be selfish not to.

"And you're sure they'd be interested?" I asked.

"Absolutely! I'll call Steve right now. Steve Straub. Don't go anywhere. I'm sure he'll call you right away. Fingers crossed."

"Thank you, Angela. I really appreciate this."

"I'm happy to do it, Madelyn. You've always been so nice to me."

When I hung up the phone, my hands were actually shaking. I was that excited.

"Did you hear that?" I asked Tessa.

She stuffed a piece of tissue paper into the mouth of a gift bag with such force that it tore. "I heard."

Disapproval was written on every line of her face, and, I had noticed, when Tessa disapproved of something, the number of those lines increased significantly.

"What?" I spread out my hands, confused by her response. "Angela has a friend at Good Morning America. She thinks he'll be interested in sending a camera crew out here to do a story on our quilt retreat. This is good news. And good publicity, for the inn, for New Bern, for the quilt shop. . . ."

She wouldn't look at me, just kept stuffing tissue into the bags as if she had something personal against them.

"Good publicity for New Beginnings too."

Tessa's head popped up like it was on a spring. "Good publicity for Ivy? And Dana? And all the other women in their cla.s.s?"

Clearly I had pressed some sort of hot b.u.t.ton, but I still didn't understand how. "Well . . . I guess. Tessa, if you're worried that they might portray the girls in a negative light, don't be. Angela told me that they're looking for happy endings. This would be a 'feel good' story."

"I don't care if they crown them all Mothers of the Year and get them a spot on Oprah! There is no such thing as 'good' publicity for these women! Don't you get it? Don't you ever listen?"

"Hey!" I shot back, blindsided by Tessa's ire and furious at being scolded like some irresponsible adolescent. "I don't recall asking for your opinion."

"Too bad! When a friend sees you about to do something dumb, something that will hurt you and others, they get to speak up anytime they want to. Somebody who only tells you what you want to hear isn't a friend, Madelyn. Don't you remember what happened to Ivy when she accidentally stepped into a background shot on Mary Dell's television show? Somebody saw her, told her husband about it, and he tracked her down and attacked her!"

I blanched, remembering Ivy's left hand, the jagged white scars on her knuckles, the way her fingers refused to straighten completely. She'd told me about her husband, her flight from abuse, about unknowingly walking through the background when Mary Dell filmed a video at the quilt shop; about how her husband found her, threatened to take her children, and her life, had slammed the car door on her hand while she screamed in agony, and how much worse it would have been had not Evelyn, Margot, Abigail, and Liza arrived on the scene and fought him off.

How had I not remembered that? How could I have forgotten that story, the history that had drawn me to Ivy on that first day we met at For the Love of Lavender, the testimony of her courage in the face of dangers and hards.h.i.+ps that far outweighed my own and made me curious about the women who had come to her aid, curious enough to allow Tessa to drag me into the quilt shop for a five-minute visit that stretched to half an hour, because I had to see for myself if people like that existed, people who'd put themselves out and even into harm's way to protect one of their own? How could I?

How could I? By thinking only of myself, that's how. By becoming so focused on my desires, my lacks, my quest for more, my "needs," needs that didn't even come close to meeting that description, that I never stopped to think how my actions might affect others. By listening to the voices, internal and external, saying, "Everyone does it," and "What can it hurt," and "That's the way things work," by convincing myself of the lies.

Even at the end, even in his prison cell, Sterling clung to the lie that he'd done nothing wrong, that he'd "made millions for his clients." Even with twenty-five million dollars and a paid-for penthouse, Angela had convinced herself that she was just sc.r.a.ping by, that generosity was a luxury beyond her means. Even with a house all mine, left unwillingly to undeserving me, a house with fresh paint on the walls and new s.h.i.+ngles on the roof, a reservation book that showed every sign of breaking even my first summer in business, when I'd heard that silken rhetoric, the voice of seduction asking why I shouldn't benefit from my own generosity, I'd been quick to take the bait, to wrap my arms around the generosity that isn't generous at all.

"That's the way things work," or so the story goes. And that's true, if we allow it to be. But the needle is narrow, so narrow. A small s.h.i.+ft to the left, a little lean to the right, and you'll swing wide and miss the mark without even knowing it, so distracted by lies that you don't recognize the truth-not unless you have someone to shout down the voices, to tell you the truths you need to hear, whether you want to hear them or not. Not unless you have a Tessa, a friend.

What was I thinking? What's wrong with me?

I must have said that last thought out loud because in a moment, Tessa was at my side with her arm over my shoulder.

"Nothing, Madelyn. Nothing. You're all right. I shouldn't have jumped on you like that. I just . . ." She shrugged, as though admitting the inexcusability of her actions. "I should have engaged my brain before opening my mouth. I should have realized that you'd never purposely put someone else at risk for your own gain. I know you too well to think you'd be capable of something like that."

I closed my eyes for a moment, unwilling to let her go on. "No, you were right to call me out. I'm glad you did. You know what I think? I think everyone is capable of something like that. You can be my conscience any time, Tessa, because mine has clearly atrophied from lack of use. But, next time," I said, wincing a little at the memory, "maybe straighten me out without raising your voice? I just can't take it, especially from you. The last time you yelled at me, I lost you for a long, long time." I laughed, not because I found this funny, but because the sudden film of tears that blurred my eyes made me feel silly. "I don't even like to think about that happening again."

She laughed at her own tears, swiped them away, too, and squeezed my shoulder. "You don't have to worry about that, Madelyn. We may disagree sometimes. We may argue. Once in a while, we may even yell at each other. But you're not losing me, my friend, not ever again. That's the deal. And anybody who doesn't like it? Well, you know the rest."

When Steve Straub called from Good Morning America, I said thanks but no thanks to his offer to send a film crew to New Bern. Ours was a private party.

49.

Madelyn Even after we'd moved the furniture out to the garage (excepting the dollhouse, which we moved near the front window), we still couldn't fit eight eight-foot tables in the living room, so we tucked one in the foyer and one under the stairs. We had four ironing boards, three in the living room and one in the foyer, and a portable "design wall" (really just a white flannel sheet stretched and hammered into place on a wooden frame) in the dining room. Orange, black, and white extension cords were plugged into every available outlet, snaking along the floors to provide electricity for the irons and sewing machines. When we were done setting up, Tessa and I stood at the doorway between the living room and foyer and surveyed the scene.

"It looks so crowded," I said.

"Because it is," Tessa replied.

"Can't we get rid of one of the tables? After all, I'm not going to be sewing."

"It's two quilters to a table. We need just as many for fifteen as sixteen. Besides, you might change your mind."

"I'm going to be too busy taking care of the guests, making meals, cleaning rooms, that sort of thing." This was true, but it was also a convenient excuse and Tessa knew it. But she also knew when to back off.

"Well. All right," she said reluctantly, "but in case you change your mind, I've set up your sewing machine at the table under the stairs. You're sharing with Mary Dell."

"I'm not going to change my mind. Look, Tessa, I like hanging out with the quilters, but I have no desire to quilt and I never will. Why can't we all just be good with that?"

"Never is a long time. I'm just saying."

I rolled my eyes. "Tessa, were you this much of a nag when we were kids? Why does Lee put up with you?"

"I don't know," she said, grinning. "Maybe he's blinded by l.u.s.t?"

The doorbell rang. I made a gagging face and went to answer it. "Oh, ick. You've been married for a million years. Shouldn't you two be over that kind of thing by now?"