The Quilting House Page 6

  “Christmas cleaning,” Liesel pointed out. “Baking, too.”

  “And quilting, three,” her mother answered. “Winter is quilting season, you know.”

  It was true, as far as Liesel could tell. They needed something to keep their hands warm and busy. Anyway, they’d be holed up in the house from now ‘til March or longer. “Quilting season,” Liesel echoed. “In our quilting house.”

  Her mother smiled at her, then ran the back of her hand down Liesel’s cheek. “My quilting partner at quilting season in our quilting house.”

  Liesel smiled back. “The perfect project for a mother and her daughter.”

  “For best friends,” her mom replied, returning to her work.

  “Best friends,” Liesel repeated under her breath as she stole a quiet glance at her mother who’d taken to pinning her triangles. She liked being best friends with her mother. But it was a worrisome thing, too.

  “Mom?” she asked, a small lump forming in her throat.

  “Mmhmm?” the woman answered absent-mindedly.

  “I mean,” Liesel went on, blinking through her thought, “what if you die?”

  Her mom laughed. “Everyone dies. So?”

  “Who’ll be my best friend then?”

  Her mother lowered the delicate fabric to the table and turned to Liesel. A sad smile spread across her lips. “By then, you’ll have your own daughter, and she’ll be your best friend. And so it goes, my darlin’. On down the line.”

  Liesel nodded earnestly. It was a good answer. Though she still worried—what if she also didn’t have her own child? What if she also had to adopt someone else’s baby?

  But an assuring image filled her mind. Regardless of how Liesel might come to have her own little girl, she could picture it:

  A generational series of best friends and quilt makers until the end of time. And Liesel? She was but a snowflake in the progression. A little white stitch, linking the women before her to those who came after.

  And that was enough.

  But for now, she had her mom. Her best friend. And that was all Liesel really needed.

  Chapter 9—Gretchen

  Although the snow had stopped, the next morning was no less cold. Heavy gray skies froze Hickory Grove as Gretchen and Liesel woke up together in Greta’s spare room.

  It was a little awkward but also a little fun. Like a sleepover. Gretchen hadn’t had many sleepovers in her life. A lonesome sort, she always got scared and called her mom to come get her. Or left before it was time to claim a spot on some strange family’s living room floor. Gretchen preferred the smells and shadows of her own house. Back then, that was the house on Pine Tree Lane. The one they’d had to give up when things soured between her parents.

  Now, as an adult who’d only recently moved into her own space, Gretchen had gotten better at sleeping in unfamiliar locales. Not, however, with unfamiliar faces to which to wake up.

  As her eyes cracked open, she rubbed sleep away to see Liesel untucking herself from her bed. Incredibly, she looked just as put together as the evening before. Without makeup, however, Liesel was even prettier. Younger, too. Light freckles splayed across her nose. Her hair, unsmooth now and crimped in wild wires, still fell into place once she’d lifted her head from her pillow. Her red nails intact, she pressed the pads of her fingers beneath her eyes then, almost mischievously, Liesel smiled at Gretchen.

  “Good morning.”

  Gretchen pushed up and rubbed more sleep from her eyes. She could feel her hair standing on ends, staticky and crinkled. “Morning,” she answered. Her mouth was dry, and she longed for a cup of hot, black, sweet coffee. Her one dietary staple.

  “I need coffee,” Liesel murmured, reading Gretchen’s mind.

  Gretchen followed Liesel downstairs, where Greta was up and at ‘em, with Luke manning a simmering pan of bacon. He’d made it home just an hour before, he announced. Gretchen could see he was sleep-deprived but chipper. Tabby babbled to herself in her swing, and, all things considered, it was a picturesque family moment. If she let her mind wander, Gretchen could see herself in this way in the distant future. Maybe with someone like Theo.

  Maybe with Theo.

  As if on cue, the back door swung open, a frigid wind slicing into the kitchen. Theo stood in the same outfit he’d worn the night before. His eyes landed on Gretchen, and her heart stopped briefly.

  She knew how she looked and how he probably saw her, standing there in the same outfit she’d worn the night before, too. Now without the mask of any makeup or brushed hair. Like the abominable snowman. Possibly worse.

  Greta reached to Theo and took an empty plate from him. “Thanks, Theo.” She turned to the others. “Theo delivered the first batch next door. You girls slept in.”

  Gretchen blinked and searched for a clock. It was after eight. They had.

  “Merry Christmas Eve,” Theo said, grabbing two mugs for coffee and tipping them toward Gretchen and Liesel. “I know how Gretchen takes hers. Miss Liesel? Sugar and cream?”

  Liesel glanced at Gretchen, and a smile twitched across her bare lips. “Just sugar, please.”

  “I can help clean up after breakfast next door, Greta. Then I’ll need to be on my way. Lots to do for tonight.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Greta answered. “The tree lighting.”

  “Tree lighting?” Gretchen frowned. “I’m not sure if we’re going. What with Rhett at home, we might just have a little family thing.”

  “You have to go to the tree lighting,” Theo said, his voice low. “Everyone goes.”

  Greta cocked her hands on her hips. “She’s going. Her whole family is. I talked to your mama on the phone this morning, Gretchen. She’s taking all y’all up to Fern’s for the tree lighting. Then you’re going back home for the usual. That’s what she said, at least.”

  The Hickory Grove Tree Lighting was the annual event of the season. It more commonly took place earlier in December, but this year, Miss Fern had changed things up. Fern Gale was known for never taking down her Christmas décor, but when she declared that her front-yard event would happen on December 24th this year, the town grew restless, contemplating if they oughtn’t host their own separately from hers and earlier, as was tradition.

  But Fern had her tentacles in the community, by way of Maggie Devereux, Becky Linden, and sometimes even Liesel Hart and Greta Hart. As a formidable team, they clamped down on any uprisings. The idea this year was to direct folks from the tree lighting event to Little Flock’s midnight mass, a somber and candlelit affair that fewer and fewer had been attending in recent years.

  It was Fern’s goal to improve turnout, and so she intended to usher tree lighting goers directly to the little old Church on the corner of Main Street. This was her way. And as the local queen of Christmas, people were sure to obey.

  But Gretchen’s mother had been only casually religious, and she’d passed that habit onto her children, too, who moaned and groaned any time Maggie got a hankering to head to the house of the Lord.

  Gretchen, though, didn’t mind. She found it peaceful there, among the wooden pews and rich incense. The quiet. The echoing of the priest’s homilies and the choral singing. It was peaceful. Warm.

  “I’ll have to touch base with my mama,” Gretchen said, joining Greta at the sink. “See about our plans. Need any help?” She changed the conversation quickly.

  Greta shooed her back to the table. “Sit. Sit. We all have a busy day ahead. A cold and busy day, assuming the weather lets up enough to let us move about the town. We all need our calories.”

  That much was true. Gretchen’s stomach rumbled as Luke slid a crispy sheath of bacon onto her plate.

  She looked up to see Theo staring at her. He glanced away. Gretchen’s heartbeat doubled. She hated that he was seeing her like that—helpless and sleep-eyed. He stole another glance at her, and she shook her hair off her shoulders.

  “Miss Liesel,” she said, redirecting her focus… and Theo’s. “Think you’ll stick aro
und town after all?”

  Liesel leaned left to see out the window. “I haven’t checked on any outgoing flights,” she answered.

  “The weather has lifted in Louisville,” Luke offered before joining the others at the table as they began breakfast. “But Greta and I were sorta hoping you’d stay, Aunt Liesel.”

  “Stay?” she echoed.

  “Well, sure. Come to the lighting with us. And mass. If we walked in with you, we’d probably get special seating or something.” Luke grinned charmingly, and Gretchen couldn’t help but giggle.

  Though Gretchen was surprised to learn that Liesel had attempted in earnest to become a nun, everyone already knew Liesel as the unofficial Sister of Little Flock.

  “We’ll see,” Liesel answered, her eyes lowered to a forkful of pancakes. “I suppose I’ll need to make plans one way or another. Weather or no weather.”

  “Miss Liesel,” Gretchen said, an idea forming in her brain. “If you do stay in town… will you be busy today?”

  Liesel studied her as she chewed and swallowed then took a long sip of her coffee. “Busy? Well, only as busy as people need me to be. Why?”

  “I could…I could use a little help on my Christmas gifts,” Gretchen answered sheepishly. She was a fool to ask. To put Liesel Hart on the spot like that. Probably, Liesel had any number of things she’d rather do than sew up poorly cut stockings for some silly family out on the edge of Hickory Grove.

  Liesel blinked, her soft, bare eyelashes fluttering as she looked again out the window. “It’s Christmas Eve,” she replied. Gretchen exchanged a look with Greta who shrugged.

  “Do you mean you’ll still go to Michigan, then?” Gretchen asked, trying to understand the woman’s airy rumination.

  But Liesel shook her head, and then, a smile formed on her lips. She glanced around the table, her gaze finally landing on Gretchen beside her. “It’s Christmas Eve,” she said again. “I’d hate to be on an airplane on Christmas Eve.”

  “Then stay,” Gretchen urged. “Come to the lighting and to mass.”

  “You’ll sleep here,” Luke said. “Tabby would love to have you around. So would Greta.” He smiled broadly. “Come on, Aunt Liesel. What’s Christmas without family?”

  Chapter 10—Liesel

  Luke had said it best. What’s Christmas without family?

  And here she was, like a desperate fool, searching out other family. Elsewhere. Beneath a blustery winter sky on Christmas Eve, for goodness’ sake.

  It was the answer she needed. But something was still bothering Liesel.

  Something about Gretchen and the boy, Theo. Something simmering. Something that perhaps the other people in Gretchen’s life had missed.

  But Liesel saw.

  “You need help with sewing, then?” Liesel said to Gretchen as they finished cleaning up after breakfast. Theo had left. Greta and Luke were upstairs getting Tabby ready for the big day. Liesel and Gretchen were about to part ways, too. The snowplows had come through, and the streets were drivable, if still icy.

  Gretchen nodded urgently. “I got a late start, and I have nothing else to give my family. I mean—I was going to go to the market or one of the little shops on Main, but I’m worried they’ll be closed today.” She frowned miserably. “I’m the worst daughter ever. Sister, too.”

  “You’re not,” Liesel admonished her. “And I’d love to help. It’ll keep me preoccupied enough to pass the day.”

  Gretchen looked at her in confusion.

  Liesel explained. “Typically, I’m at the church all day on Christmas Eve. Setting up for a charitable dinner. Finishing the Foundlings giftwrapping. We sponsor families for Christmas. It’s a big undertaking.” Liesel frowned. “I gave up all of that this year to go to Michigan.” Then, she smiled and chuckled. “I guess I feel a little… useless now. Out of sorts. Maybe I should find a flight after all. How awkward to show up at mass without having helped.”

  “Well Miss Becky and Miss Fern are helping this year, though. Right? At least, that’s what I heard.”

  “And your mama, too, I’d imagine. Those three have become a close-knit group.”

  Gretchen raised her eyebrows. “I feel more and more disconnected from my own mama every day. I had no idea she’d planned for us to go to the lighting and then to mass. She spends all her time on hair or on the kids or on Rhett. I’m a little… out of touch.”

  “That happens,” Liesel assured her. “Moms and daughters, they go through phases. She still loves you.”

  “I know she does. It’s just—she’s busy. I guess. And, well, I’m busy, too.”

  “And Theo?” Liesel asked delicately.

  “What about him?” Gretchen shot back as she tugged her coat on at the front door.

  Liesel knew this was prickly territory. If she was going to spend the day with the girl, then she’d better tread lightly so as not to make for awkwardness.

  But then, it just fell out of her mouth. She couldn’t hold it back. She was desperate for something, Liesel was. Human discourse. Gossip. Sisterhood. Something.

  “What’s the story?”

  Gretchen whipped her head to Liesel and they left through the door together, pausing in the cold gray Christmassy morning—Gretchen to go back up to the parking lot and Liesel to go down to the street, where she’d have to dig herself out of the plowed-in snow, no doubt.

  “Do you know how to get to the farm?” Gretchen asked by way of answering the question.

  Liesel let out a breath and smiled. “I’ll follow you.”

  The Devereux farm was a sight to behold, especially with the white shimmering blanket. Shimmering, now that the sun had peeked out between a slice of clouds at the northern most edge of the sky. The plow had made it as far as the driveway and no farther, but someone had cleared that, too, making it manageable for both Gretchen and Liesel to drive up to the space just beyond the barn.

  Liesel felt awkward arriving there as Gretchen’s guest. She was closer in age to Maggie, and even then, she and Maggie weren’t very close.

  Still, she’d promised the girl she’d help, and it was the one thing she could do and still feel good about sticking around town and appearing at Little Flock that evening.

  “Come on,” Gretchen waved her in. “I’ve got everything in the loft.”

  As the stepped into the weathered space, Liesel was taken aback at how homey it was. A potbellied stove anchored the room, and Gretchen was quick to add a few pieces of wood to it before getting it roaring to life. She then flicked on a space heater and rubbed her hands together. “It’ll warm up quickly. Especially up there.” She pointed toward a narrow, bare wooden staircase—fresh wood, it appeared. Above, indeed, sat a loft. The place and everything in it—from Gretchen’s chunky knit blanket on her simple little bed, to earthen colors and handmade wreaths and garland that draped here and there—reminded Liesel not of a young woman’s studio apartment.

  Rather, it reminded Liesel of a… well… of a manger. She all but gasped as she ascended the staircase behind Gretchen.

  Above, towers of fabric crowded between green milk crates chock full of scraps and supplies. A crafting house, of sorts. Not wholly disorganized, but also not quite orderly. At least, at first glance. Upon closer inspection, as Gretchen pulled a second folded chair from a corner and opened it for Liesel, Liesel saw that the girl had made a system. On the small sewing table—something of an artifact in and of itself—was the old Singer she’d talked about. Proper accessories sat at its corner in a ceramic bowl, handcrafted.

  In many ways, not only did Gretchen’s barn house remind Liesel of a manger, but so, too, it reminded her of a convent. Simple and pretty and wholesome and necessary. Everything there, either natural or necessary. And it spoke to Liesel. Truly it did.

  “Wow,” she breathed, glancing around one last time as Gretchen peeled a pinned pattern from a stack. The frame for her next stocking, apparently. “You have a beautiful place here,” Liesel said. “Did your mother help you?”

/>   Gretchen nodded. “When she could. I mean, she gave it to me. So that was a big help.”

  “What a home. It’s different,” Liesel added.

  “I have a lot of work. But it’s as good a home as any. I think we’ll put in a wall or two to create bedrooms. At least, that’s what my mom and Rhett said.”

  “And you’ll live here long term? Or just while you—” Liesel’s question fell away as she recalled that Gretchen wasn’t in college or anything. She was just—there. In Hickory Grove. Working odd jobs and saving money and handmaking Christmas gifts for her family and… waiting. It felt like that. It felt like Gretchen was, well, waiting.

  Kind of like how Liesel had lived her early days. She swallowed hard.

  “While I save for my business,” Gretchen was quick to fill in the blank. “I want to make this place a craft store. I could hold classes here. Sell stuff, too. Maybe we could have a quilting room downstairs, even. I have big ideas, but it’ll be a while. I’m not that experienced, still.”

  “Experience only comes with time,” Liesel pointed out. “If that’s what you’re waiting for, then you might be waiting for a while.”

  “That’s true,” Gretchen allowed, and they got started, Liesel on the machine and Gretchen stitching the edges as she’d done to the first.

  “I think Hickory Grove needs a craft store. We don’t have a Hobby Lobby or a Michael’s. You have to cross the river.”

  “Right,” Gretchen agreed anxiously. “And if I can get in touch with distributors, then I can offer both locally made wares and little classes alongside the real things that crafters buy. Yarn and fabric and thread and all that. Everything that a real store has. Small quantities, maybe. But Rhett would build me a storehouse, he said. So, eventually I could expand. Maybe even have a website and sell there, too. That was Rhett’s idea.”

  “You seem to like your mother’s husband?” Liesel asked delicately.

  “I like him a lot. I mean, he’s not my dad, but he doesn’t try to be. He’s a good man. He makes my mama happy. He helps with the little kids, too.”