Lie of the Needle(70)

            Although Althea was stilted in normal social interaction, she was a good storyteller, weaving in facts effortlessly. A walking textbook of knowledge about her craft.

            Grace Vreeland leaned over to me. “Good teacher, isn’t she? I always said she missed her calling. Should have pursued her dreams, instead of going to work for that no-good builder.”

            “What?”

            “Oh, yeah, she was Beau’s secretary for ages. She only just retired a couple of years ago. How she put up with that bastard for so long, I’ll never know. It’s not like he paid her well, neither.”

            “She’s such a competent, take-charge woman,” I murmured.

            Grace snorted. “She had to be. Years of working in a construction office with Cassell and his men. She had to hold her own.”

            I moved around the class, deep in thought. I found myself standing behind Iona, the woman who had been working on the embroidered purse in the last class and was now copying an antique sampler, a family record originally sewn by one Catherine March in the nineteenth century. It was a delight to watch Iona’s slim fingers work the threads, so slim that her simple gold wedding ring was slipping off her fingers.

            Dottie had also come over to take a look, and we read the poignant verse together in silence:

            Peace is the gift I leave with you

            My peace to you bequeathe

            Peace that shall comfort you through life

            And cheer your souls in death

            This work in hands my friends may have

            When I am silent in the grave

            O Jesus, keep me in thy sight

            And guard me through the coming night

            Let no fond love for earth exact a sigh

            No doubts divert my steady steps aside

            Nor let me long to live, nor dread to die

            Heav’n is my hope and providence my guide

            “The verses seem somewhat grim, don’t they, for such a young girl?” Dottie asked Althea.

            “Children were much more conscious of death in those days, and how precious life is. Infant mortality was high, and they probably experienced the loss of at least one, if not several, of their siblings. You can see that this poor child lost four small brothers and sisters—all gone in five months.”

            “Iona hopes she can finish in time,” Dottie murmured in my ear. “Lung cancer. She’s asked one of the ladies in the class to fill in the date after she’s gone.”

            I sucked in a breath. It was rather morbid, but I understood in some strange way. I guess when your days were numbered, you didn’t need to stand on pretense, but I hated to think of this gentle woman gone from the earth.

            People always said they would want their doctors to tell them if they had some incurable disease, but was it better not to know? To enjoy your days in blissful ignorance until the end? I shook my head. One of those conundrums that made my head ache and my spirits sink.

            After the class was over, I stood at the register with Dottie and watched as Althea Gunn strode off down the street, wearing a long black coat and a man’s trilby hat.

            “She lives very frugally. I think she furnishes her wardrobe from the church’s annual jumble sale. And she doesn’t drive anymore,” Dottie said. “Donated her car to charity and walks everywhere. She’s probably fitter than a woman half her age.”

            Althea would certainly be familiar with Beau’s underhanded business practices. Was it Beau’s sins she was atoning for? Did she suspect that he’d killed Alex Roos? How blind was her loyalty to her former employer?