“Well, these are simple pieces. Her true masterworks are the large canvases. She stitched some of them on ratchet frames. You can buy some wonderful modern frames with two-way rail systems, but Grandpa made the first one for her with his own hands, and it was always her pet frame.” Annie had found six finished canvases that had been stored in fancy embroidered pillowcases favored by women in earlier years. Some embroidery spelled out the days of the week, and other cases were bordered with lace.
Tara’s gaze rested on the doorway to the attic. “How many do you suppose are stored in there?” she asked, almost reverently.
“I haven’t counted,” Annie said, laughing. “But Gram was very prolific with her needle. And she stored her canvases in homemade pillowcases, so they wouldn’t get damaged. I found some others wrapped in acid-free tissue and kept in cardboard tubes. I’m still in the process of going through things; Gram lived a long time, and she was seldom without her needle.”
Tara took the watering can and kitten piece out of the water and rolled it in a thick towel, as Annie had showed her. She was about to pin it to one end of the blocking board when the doorbell rang. She jumped at the sound.
Tara had exhibited such skittishness from the start. She acted a lot like Boots when anyone came to the door, Annie thought, amused. The day Boots had knocked the pot of geraniums off the porch, Tara had practically jumped out of her skin. “That’s just Wally,” Annie said gently. “I asked him to come and have a look at my pantry; it desperately needs new shelves. Come on down. I want you to meet him.”
“Morning!” Wally called before she had opened the screen door. He was dressed in his usual blue shirt and faded jeans, his handmade toolbox clutched in one deeply tanned hand. He smiled shyly and lowered his head.
“Oh!” Annie said in surprise, for he wasn’t alone. A tall, muscular man, somewhere in his late thirties, stood beside Wally. Unruly black hair dipped over one of his deep-set eyes, giving him a roguish look. But his smile was as broad as his shoulders.
“This is my brother, Je—J.C.,” Wally said, dipping his head toward the man. “He’s visiting me and Peggy. He said he wanted to see Grey Gables again. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Annie said. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She shook his hand and looked up inquiringly. “You’ve been here before?”
“A very long time ago, I’m afraid. My—uh—business keeps me on the move, but I spent some good years here in my youth. I remember your grandmother. And I’m very pleased to meet you too.”
Annie stepped back to admit them, charmed by the stranger’s rather over-gallant manner. At least he didn’t have any trouble expressing himself. She turned, aware that Tara had followed her obediently down the stairs. “Wally, I don’t think you have met my guest.”
A deer-in-the-headlights stare passed over Tara’s face. She looked as though she might break and run. She was skittish indeed.
“This is Tara Frasier,” she said to Wally, who had placed his toolbox inside the hall and was wiping his boots on the mat. “Tara met your Peggy at A Stitch in Time the other day. Now she can meet you and your brother—J.C. is it?”
“Folks in town might remember me as Jeremiah, but the name’s a little hard to get around. J.C.’s simpler. Besides, some folks might not want to remember the wild kid I was in those days. I hope I’ve improved.” He laughed, setting off a spark in his deep-set eyes.
Tara didn’t move to take the hand offered to her but nodded stiffly, her face drained of color.
“Pleased to meet you too, young lady,” said Jem. Turning away, he clapped his brother amiably on the back. “Yup, old Wally and me had some good times here in Stony Point.”
Annie suppressed the urge to correct his grammar, which detracted from his charm.
“When we weren’t getting up to mischief we did an errand here and there. We liked doing chores for Mrs. Holden. Fine lady. And this house …” He made a sweeping gesture and looked around the room in open admiration, his eyes coming to rest on the large over-the-couch canvas of flowers. “This house is still an eye-popper—inside and out.”
Annie turned to Tara who hadn’t moved from the spot. “Tara, will you see if there’s still some coffee in the pot?” She gave her a reassuring pat on the arm and turned to her guests. “Won’t you come in and have a cup of coffee?” She indicated the way to the kitchen. “I might have some oatmeal cookies in the cupboard. Tara and I were working on something upstairs, but a morning coffee break would not go amiss, would it, Tara?”