Authors: Cindy Davis
Eva led her through a solid paneled door at the back of the dining room. The kitchen, a shiny spotless contrast to the office, looked out over a lush white expanse of open field before sharply ending at a tall line of balsam firs and tiers of white-mountained splendor. Paige stood in the bay window, arms crossed, listening to Eva bustle about the kitchen. Soon the aroma of French vanilla mingled with the cinnamon and balsam.
Eva placed cups, saucers, cream and sugar on the table. While she sliced wedges of homemade coffee cake, Paige set the cups and saucers into places beside each other on the long countertop table. She slid onto a tall stool as Eva poured strong black coffee into the waiting ceramic mugs.
Eva chatted gaily about her family back in Sweden.
"You don't look Swedish."
Eva smiled. “I'm not. My father owned a candy company and we moved there when I was eight. I met Alf in high school. We moved back here after my parents died. We bought this place with my inheritance."
"It's lovely."
"We've been worried about you. You've lost a lot of weight."
"I know."
Eva didn't say or ask anything more.
"I appreciate all you've both done for me."
The women filled the remainder of an hour talking about the guests, the weather, and the merits of living in the small village of Brandon.
"Well, I've got to get back to work,” Eva announced.
Paige rose and placed the dishes and mugs in the stainless steel sink. “I think I'll go for a walk.” She ran upstairs for her handbag, then retrieved her coat from the hall closet.
The February sun reflected off the snow, multiplying its brightness. Paige stood on the steps for a moment, letting her eyes get used to the brilliance. The dirt encrusted snow melted under the rays’ power. Rivers of salty water cascaded into the street as Paige ambled along the main street past the Brandon Inn, the bank, an art gallery, and Miss B's Kitchen, where laughter and friendly chatter oozed through the old walls.
The Pizza Restaurant, not yet open for business, sat beside Shear Attitudes by Debbie, a hair salon. A computer-generated sign in the window said,
No Appointment Necessary
. Paige absently ran her hands through her shaggy hair, then stepped inside, greeted by the aroma of permanent wave solution and hot, moist air.
A chunky woman with flaming red hair and wearing a bright pink smock, called, “I'll be right with you.” She unwound the remaining rods from the hair of a tiny elderly woman who, from the side, reminded Paige of Hester Peterson.
Paige settled into a comfortable, vinyl-covered chair by the window and let the sun beat on her back as she thumbed through a Woman's Day magazine that was only two months old. She alternately scanned the recipes and watched the woman she assumed was Debbie comb, fluff, and spray the new coiffure.
Debbie bid good-bye to her client, penning in another appointment for next week, then raised chocolate brown eyes to her new customer. She walked the woman outside into a waiting auto driven by an equally elderly man.
Back inside, she shivered and said, “Brrr. Wind bites right through you, doesn't it?” Debbie waved Paige into the vacated chair in front of a tall rectangular mirror. She introduced herself as she fastened a nylon cape around Paige's neck. “Let me guess. You're the mysterious stranger who's been staying in the cubby hole at the inn."
Paige gazed seriously into the mirror at Debbie standing behind her. Suddenly a smile spread across her face. “I've heard about small town grapevines."
"Nothing like it. Have a case of diarrhea at night and the whole town is calling offering Kao-pectate by morning.” Debbie laughed. “What are we doing today?"
"I thought about a new color and style. It's been a while since I've done anything with it."
"Not surprised, with you holed up like that. Come out back and we'll give you a wash.” As Debbie worked on Paige's new style, she said, “So, where you from?"
Paige hesitated, not wanting to tell any more lies but frightened to tell the truth. The truth could hurt people. Every time Debbie asked personal questions, Paige switched the conversation to general topics—the scenery, the people, the state of Vermont.
Debbie launched into tales of her upbringing in Brandon. “Lots of people can't wait to escape these small towns when they graduate from high school. Not me, I love this life. I went to college in Burlington with the intention of getting away, but after a year, I enrolled at the local college."
"Homesick?"
"A little, I guess, but every time I took a breath in the city, I was reminded of where I
wasn't
. I missed not having people say good morning on the sidewalk. I missed not having people hold a door open for you. I missed not having to lock my doors when I went to the store."
"You don't develop a complacency about the scenery?"
"No way. I still marvel at the beauty of this place.” Debbie flourished the spray bottle over Paige's head. “There. What do you think?"
Paige examined each angle of her fluffy new hairstyle. “I love it.” And, I love it here."
"So, how long will you be in our little town?"
"I don't know."
"Well, next time you come in, I'll hear about your life."
And next time she'd know what she'd say.
Eva oohed and aahed over Paige's new style.
"Very becoming,” Alf agreed. “Does this mean you've rejoined the ranks of the living?"
"Alf!” Eva chastised.
"Sorry. We've just been worried about you."
"I know. I'm awfully sorry for the trouble I've put you through."
"No trouble at all,” Eva said. “We knew something terrible must have happened to you and we also knew it would take some time till you worked through it."
"Thank you both."
"Any idea what you'll do now?” Alf asked.
"None whatsoever. I still have a lot of thinking to do."
In her room, Paige straightened up, folding things that had been lying about since her arrival. She removed the remaining items from her suitcase and hung them on the small rod in the bathroom. She laid a kerchief across her money, closed the suitcase and slid it back under the bed. She took out her unfinished quilt and held it up to her cheek. It still held the aroma from her Minneapolis apartment. She blinked back a bundle of regrets and vowed to complete her project.
Paige opened the brocade satchel that she'd once used to hold her quilting supplies. Now, it was jammed with toiletries and items she'd tossed in as she'd hurried away from Minneapolis. At the bottom, a flash of blue caught her eye and she removed the small package Harry had given to her the last night they'd been together. Harry had bought her a Christmas present. It didn't seem right to open it; she never had the chance to give him what she bought—an antique collection of Harvard Law books. They'd cost her a fortune, but she visualized them on the shelves of his office, beside the battered issues from his alma mater, Harvard.
Paige got up and carried the package to the window. She gazed out at the snowbanks that had been melting steadily in the February thaw over the past week. Everything looked dismal and dirty. Spirit's loud purring made Paige turn. The cat had crawled into the brocade bag and curled up. Paige stroked the multicolored fur and attempted to slide the package underneath the cat. One end of the cellophane tape and wrapping fluttered open. She tore off the paper and opened the rectangular box, averting her eyes from the writing on the cardboard, as she'd always done as a kid, not wanting to know what was inside the box until she slid out the protective package.
She lifted the Styrofoam top. Inside was a black plastic object. Paige turned it over in her palm and flipped the lid open. A cell phone. She pressed the ON button but the battery had long since gone dead. Paige found the only available outlet in the room and plugged the unit in.
She checked the phone every hour until enough charge registered on the panel. Shakily she punched the ON button and dialed Harry's office number. He answered on the first ring. “Where the hell have you been?"
Surprised, she held the phone away and stared at it. She put the phone back to her ear, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Brandon, Vermont. At an inn."
"Listen carefully. Thirty seconds is all we can talk at a time. We'll hang up and call back in an hour or two. Understand?"
"Yes."
"What name are you using?"
"Cassidy Larson. Harry, where were you?"
"In the hospital. They caught up to me. Hang up now."
"Wha—” The line went dead.
She clicked the phone off and replaced it in the charging base. Shakily, Paige dropped on the bed and put her head in her hands. Spirit rubbed her back on Paige's thigh, purring gently.
Why had she told Harry her location? Now Stefano would ... No, Harry knew what he was doing when he bought that phone. Paige took a breath and bolstered herself.
A knock sounded on the door, and opened before she could reply. Eva poked her head into the room. “Wine and cheese in ten minutes.” Eva spotted Paige's quilt in her lap and pushed the door all the way open. “My goodness, did you make that?"
"Yes. I started it in another life. I've just decided to finish it."
"I think it's wonderful. When you come downstairs, I have something to show you."
"I think I'll take a rain check on the wine..."
Eva folded her arms decisively across her chest. “I thought we'd gotten past your burying yourself in this cave."
"We did. I ... I'll be down in a few minutes. I want to clean Spirit's box first."
"All right.” Eva fondled the cat's chin and left.
As soon as the door shut, Paige's phone rang. She lunged for it. “Yes?"
"Exactly where are you?"
"At Inn on Park Street. It's a—"
"Never mind that. Are you going to stay there?"
"I'm not sure yet. I had a rough time. I didn't find the phone until—oh Harry, how's Max? Have you talked to him? Is he drinking again?"
"I'll go see him and call you back in a day or so."
The line went dead again.
Several guests milled around the living room. Flames danced like elves in the enormous granite fireplace. A large ficus plant on each side of the floor to ceiling bay window was adorned with tiny white Christmas lights. A sprig of mistletoe hung in the doorway. Alf pulled her into a quick kiss and then introduced Paige to her inn-mates. Conversation was difficult. Everyone seemed to want to know all about her.
Eva signaled Paige who followed her down a hallway. She opened a door to the right and flicked on a switch. The room burst into brilliant fluorescence.
"Ooh,” was Paige's only comment.
"Welcome to my haven,” said Eva.
Paige stood in the doorway hands on hips, viewing the shelves of fabric and sewing supplies Eva had amassed through the years. In the center of the room was a large waist-high table, a thick sheet of clear plastic was taped securely to it. Measurements were recorded around the perimeter. Another table in front of a pair of windows held a sewing machine.
"Ooh,” Paige repeated, walking toward the sewing machine. A quilt lay under the presser foot, a job stopped midway. She traced a finger around the points of the Star of Bethlehem. “You do machine quilting?"
Eva gave an embarrassed grin. “I know, it's cheating, but if I tried to do it by hand, I'd never get a single one finished.” She wiggled two fingers for Paige to follow her back into the main part of the inn. She entered a bedroom, turned on a table lamp, and waved a hand toward the matching quilts on the twin beds.
"I've made quilts for most all of the rooms. I even have some on a rack in the living room. I'm a dedicated quilt-a-holic."
"That was the name of a shop I used to go to. Actually, it's where I learned to sew."
"In another life."
Paige smiled and asked, “Where do you get your materials?"
"There's a quilt shop right here in town. I'll take you there tomorrow."
One evening, in the middle of March, Paige rocked on the back porch, a steaming mug of buttered rum in her hands. She gazed out over the expanse of field, a dusting of snow having covered the crusty brown timothy grass that morning. The black sky, twinkled with stars, showed behind a lace curtain of clouds.
She thought about Harry's weeks in the hospital at the hands of Stefano's goons; none of their descriptions sounded like Chris. She wondered about Max, whom Harry hadn't seen since Christmas, about Polly, Burt, and Stefano. Was he sitting in his office at this moment wondering how she managed to stay just out of his reach? Was he on the phone bawling out his men for missing her once again? Was he slamming a fist on his huge desk, telling the next battery of thugs they'd better do the job right, or else?
Someone was watching Harry's every move and so far the police had been unable to catch them. Paige finished the last of the rum and stood. Maybe tonight she'd get a decent night's sleep.
Eva and Paige drove to the quilt shop in Eva's battered red Dodge, Paige's quilt in her lap, Eva's tossed haphazardly in the back seat. Sew & Sews was owned by Colette Deveaux. Eva introduced Paige to Colette, a buxom brunette, originally from Montreal, sporting a lilting French-Canadian accent, hesitating over difficult words. But the language of the quilter rolled fluently off her tongue.
Colette donned her glasses hanging on a cord around her neck, and bent till her eyes were within inches of Paige's quilt. “Mon Dieu. You have sewn this all by hand! You must have the patience of Job."
Paige laughed. “I have no sewing machine."
Colette turned raised eyebrows on Eva's companion and cried, “No machine? Mon Dieu."
Paige merely nodded her head. Should she tell the woman it wouldn't be the first thing you'd grab when your fiancé's thugs were pounding on your door?
"You have some wonderful stitching here,” Colette noted.
"Thank you."
"And some not so wonderful stitching,” she continued.
Paige's cheeks reddened.