She felt his body stiffen. He gave her a little push backward. He planted both hands against the door on either side of her and looked into her eyes. A strand of black hair fell lower on his forehead. He was quiet for a few seconds, but she could see a muscle working in his jaw, which meant he was angry. Then the little boy angst took over, that plaintive needing in him that always cut through her defenses.
“I need you to help me—to help us!” he whined. “I thought we were a team. You know how tough things have been for me. I need you, baby.”
When he began stroking her hair, her arms and shoulders, she let her breath out in a long stream. “Jem …” He silenced her with a kiss, and then drew back with a smile that made her wilt.
“That’s my girl. Take all the time you need. I won’t hurry you ” He paused and added, “too much!” He rolled his eyes around the foyer and the view of Grey Gables’s living room. “This is some place, and that picture!” He stepped toward the large cross-stitch hanging over the sofa in its gold filigreed frame.
The vibrant red-orange poppies seemed alive in the room, the verdant greenery giving the flowers sharp dimension. An intricate border design around the work drew all the elements together in splendid artistry. A work of love, Annie had said with such tenderness in her eyes.
“She’s got stacks of pictures like that hidden away in that attic, I’ll bet.”
“Jem, you have to get out of here! What if she comes back and finds you here? Besides, I’m supposed to be cleaning the wicker on the porch.”
“She’s got you doing her dirty work already? Those rich ones are all alike. They don’t want to get their hands dirty.”
Annie didn’t put on airs. And Grey Gables was no mansion—it was beautiful but modest. Why couldn’t Jem understand? “That’s not fair!” Tara retorted. “She’s not like that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said wearily. He paused and raised his eyebrows as though a new thought had come to him. “She’s got my brother, Wally, working for her too.” He rubbed his jaw in that way Tara knew so well. “I must say, Wally’s got himself a nice little wife, though. That Peggy, she’s a real looker, rounded in all the right places.”
Tara cringed. She hated it when Jem teased her about other girls. They weren’t married, but they had an understanding, didn’t they? She supposed he fooled around like many men did, but he always came back to her, didn’t he? She was glad that Peggy—whoever she was—was married and hoped she wouldn’t be bowled over by his charm.
“Well, sweet Cinderella, I’m going now. You can get back to your chores, but don’t wait too long. I’ll be watching.” He slipped out the door and scuttled around the porch to retreat from Grey Gables the back way.
Tara knew she’d lost valuable time, but she managed to completely clean and dry one chair before flying up to the guest bedroom to change into something presentable for the club meeting. She imagined it was some kind of quilting bee attended by a bunch of dried-up old women with time on their hands. But Annie Dawson was nothing like that; nor was Alice MacFarlane with her shining hair and glittering rings.
She had barely changed out of her work clothes when Annie and Alice returned to pick her up. She tucked in her blouse with nervous fingers and smoothed her hair. She could choke Jem for waltzing in on her, getting her all upset and nervous. She forced a cheerful smile as she got into Alice’s Mustang. Then they were off for the quilting bee.
Actually, only one quilt was in evidence when Tara arrived at A Stitch in Time, and the women of varying ages and dress were anything but dried up. Glancing around the tidy shop with its colorful banks of yarn, fabric, and threads lifted her spirits. The cheerful ambience in the room took the edge off her newcomer anxiety.
“This is Tara Frasier, a friend who’s staying at Grey Gables for a while,” Annie said, introducing her. “She’s come especially to visit with us and to meet people who might have known her mother.”
A sturdy woman of sixty or so, wearing a maroon smock and a gentle smile, took both of Tara’s hands in hers. “I’m Mary Beth Brock, the owner of A Stitch in Time. Welcome to the Hook and Needle Club.” Her eyes were kind but shrewd; no doubt the owner of a thriving needlecraft shop had to be astute in business, Tara thought. She’d have to watch her step around this one.
She was introduced to Kate Stevens, a woman in her late thirties. When Mary Beth referred to her as “my right-hand and left-hand girl, without whom I’d be handless,” Kate’s laugh was quick and light. “Her daughter Vanessa is still in high school,” Mary Beth continued. “Vanessa won’t be here today; she’s volunteering at the animal shelter, and the boss wouldn’t release her today.”