Going Through the Notions(33)

As a child, I remembered hanging on to my grandmother’s every word, listening to her stories and memories of life as a milliner, soaking up as much history as I could. I was enraptured with the sewing notions used to trim hats: the ribbons, braids, glass beads, veiling, velvet and organdy flowers.

I slumped down again, the caffeine rush worn off, swallowing against a bittersweet longing for the past.

“Hey, Alice, you know I think my daughter would be hard-pressed to tell someone much about my life. And she certainly doesn’t understand my connection to all these beautiful old things.”

Alice, diplomatic as ever, didn’t comment, but there was a wealth of understanding in those almond-shaped eyes framed by impossibly long lashes.

I blinked when Sarah walked in the door, as if thinking about her had conjured her up.

“Who were you talking to, Mom?”

I could feel the flush heating up my neck and cheeks. “Oh, um, you know, just practicing my sales pitches.”

“Oh-ka-a-ay.” She wrinkled her nose and looked around the store. “You need help with anything?”

She must have been utterly bored out of her mind if she was asking me for something to do. But I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Not that Sarah would even know what that old-fashioned phrase meant.

I walked over to the computer and pulled up a file. “Well, I’ve been doing some after-hours open houses, about one every couple of months, specifically for interior designers and high-end collectors. I need to send out an e-mail blast for the next one. Would you like to create the flyer?”

“Sure.” Sarah skimmed through my file, which showed past events that featured French linens, quilts and samplers, or vintage jewelry, bags, and clothing.

I pointed to some of the more recent images. “See, they usually have a specific theme, and I serve cheese and wine, and of course offer a substantial discount for that evening only.”

“This is actually a cool idea, Mom. I didn’t know you were doing this.”

Score one for old Daisy.

“What’s the theme this time?” she asked.

“I have quite a lot of children’s items right now. The auction this weekend will give me a chance to focus and acquire even more.” I thought about the dollhouse that would be up for bid and my pulse accelerated again.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re helping Betty Backstead with the auction. I see your ulterior motive!” Sarah grinned at me.

“Brat.” I grimaced and nudged her with my elbow.

I showed her some of the items in the corner of the store—a lithographed tin sand pail, an early 1900s Blue Onion toy silverware set, a Chautauqua home-schooling desk, and a 1930s heavy pressed steel toy metal stove that was green and white jadeite with an orange back panel.

She seemed to take a little more interest in the children’s toys than she ever did in the sewing notions.

I smiled to myself. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.

As I took photos of Mary Willis’s table linens for the website, I glanced surreptitiously at my daughter. Her blond hair fell in a shiny golden wave over her shoulder, and she bit her full bottom lip in concentration as she worked at the computer.

I couldn’t believe Sarah was still hanging around Millbury. She must be more burned out and upset than I’d realized.

As a child, she’d been fascinated with the movies, and she had a funny habit of dotting her speech with snippets of film dialogue. It was sometimes hard to tell where the movie left off, and where the real conversation began. In fact, she had named this store after the film Sometimes a Great Notion, starring Paul Newman, Henry Fonda, and Lee Remick.

Tears stung my eyes, but I willed them away. Sarah didn’t deal with my sentimentality too well. I remembered a conversation I’d had with her when she must have been about five, and I was in my thirties.

“Why do old ladies always cut their hair so short, Mom?” she asked as she played with my long dark brown locks.

I smiled at her. “I don’t know, Sarah.”

“Promise me you’ll never cut yours?”

“Well, I’ll have to cut it sometime,” I teased.

Even today I kept it shoulder length, but now I had to dye it to achieve that rich chestnut color. Coloring my hair every month was such a production. It was something, like my period, that I wouldn’t mind not having to go through anymore. One of these days I’d let it go all gray. But not this week.

I sighed. Damn it, when was I going to find the time to do my hair?

“You have a lot of clients in this database.”

Sarah’s comment broke my reverie.

I straightened up. “Yes, the store has really hit its stride. And with interest in crafts on the upswing, it should turn a nice profit again this year.”