Between Heaven and Texas (26 page)

C
HAPTER 44

 

“H
ey, Mr. Waterson!” Mary Dell tootled cheerily, waving as she walked in the door of the Dry Goods Emporium.

The old man looked up from the stack of mail he was sorting.

“Hey, yourself,” he grunted. “You're looking happy this morning.”

“I am. A decent night's sleep will do that for a person. The lambs are all delivered.”

She didn't mention that she'd been in a good mood ever since she'd put the first payment down on the store. She hadn't been this excited about life in general since she was a teenager sitting on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by fabric swatches and sketches of the beautiful dresses she planned to make and sell in the someday boutique she would own in downtown Too Much. And now, after all these years, her dream was about to come true.

Oh, yes, she was happy. She was happier than words could express, so she didn't try to, not to Mr. Waterson. He seemed a little glum today, preoccupied. Perhaps he was having regrets about selling. Or perhaps he was offended about the way she'd gone on and on about her big plans for improvements once she and Lydia Dale took over the shop, taking it as a criticism of the way he'd run the place.

Of course, she didn't think he'd done anything like what he could have with the store, but she would never have come right out and said it. That wouldn't have been polite, and anyway, she didn't want to hurt his feelings. She liked Mr. Waterson.

“That must be a relief to have it over and done with,” he said. “Had a good season, did you?”

Mary Dell nodded and strolled over to a rack that held a mishmash of fabric, gingham, seersucker, polyester, flannel, corduroy, sateen, and more, in all sorts of colors and textures, all sitting on the same shelf in a big disorganized jumble.

“Yes, sir,” she confirmed as she rubbed the corner of a blue-and-white plaid between her fingers before rejecting it as a little too thick for her purposes. “Almost as good as when Donny was running things. And Graydon says he'll stay on for a while, so that's good news too. I thought I'd celebrate by buying some fabric for a new quilt. I need to make up a sample for the first class I'm going to offer when we open the shop.”

Mr. Waterson stepped out from behind the counter. “Alone? Isn't your sister supposed to be helping you pick out all the fabric from here on out?”

“She is, but she's home keeping an eye on the babies. Howard has a cold. And the colors for this quilt will be simple—red, white, and blue—so she figured she could trust me with that. But she did tell me to tell you that if I start to stray, you're supposed to throw a lasso over me and rein me in.”

Mary Dell winked, and the old man snorted out half a laugh. Mary Dell smiled, pleased that she'd cheered him up a little.

“Well, you can't go far wrong with red, white, and blue,” Mr. Waterson said as he started hunting through piles of dusty fabric bolts and pulling out likely candidates. “The colors of the great state of Texas.”

“Not to mention the rest of the country.”

“Them too, I guess,” he said with a begrudging shrug. “Anyway, red, white, and blue is a crowd pleaser. What pattern are you going to use?”

“One of my own,” Mary Dell said, grunting as she struggled to yank out a bolt of red-and-white ticking stripe that was wedged tightly between one of black denim and another of purplish-puce polyester. “A medallion quilt. I'm using a Lone Star for the center.”

“A Lone Star? That's pretty complicated, isn't it?”

“Not if you use the all-new, can't-fail Mary Dell Method to make it,” she said, batting her eyelashes playfully and sweeping her hands into a graceful position on her left, like a spokesmodel displaying a fabulous new appliance on sale today for just four low payments of nine ninety-nine. She giggled and dropped her pose.

“If you don't make the star too big, it's not as hard as it looks. And I have worked out some new piecing techniques that make things much easier.”

“Well,” Mr. Waterson replied philosophically, “it's a good choice if you can pull it off. Texans love a Lone Star.”

“That's what I thought too. Just seems like the right way to start.”

Mr. Waterson picked up two bolts of six he'd selected and carried them to the counter. Mary Dell followed behind, carrying the fabric he'd left along with several more selections of her own, piling them in a stack that reached to the top of her head. After looking over the options, Mary Dell decided she might as well take a half yard of each plus two full yards of a dark blue studded with white stars for the background.

Mr. Waterson began cutting the fabric, but instead of squinting like he usually did, straining to find the correct marks on the cutting table, he frowned, pressing his lips into a line as he sliced through a length of red-and-blue-striped cotton. Mary Dell asked him if he was feeling all right.

“I'm fine,” he said, waving her off. “Actually, I'm relieved. I was kind of worried that something would go wrong at the ranch and you'd change your mind about buying the store.”

“Oh, I'm still going to buy it. I need a little time to pull everything together, but I'll have the second payment for you at the end of June, just like we agreed.”

“Good,” he said with a tired little smile and unrolled the bolt of stars on blue. “I know you've got plans for big changes, Mary Dell, but I'm glad people will still be able to buy fabric here. My family has been selling dry goods in Too Much since 1919. Isn't that something?”

He stopped in mid-cut and cast his eyes around the shop as if he'd never seen it before, or might never see it again.

“You know, I'm going to miss this old place. I didn't think I would somehow. Must be getting sentimental in my old age.” He sighed. “But it's time to go, and the sooner the better. Mabel's been feeling poorly lately, no energy. I think the heat is too much for her. The sooner I get her out of here and down to Houston, the better.”

“Well, it's not going to be any cooler in Houston,” she said. “It's still Texas.”

“I know that,” he said as he rang up her purchase on the register, sounding a little irritated. “But I'm going to rent us one of those condominiums, the kind with swimming pools and central air. No more fans or window units for us. That ought to perk Mabel right up, don't you think? She's not as young as she used to be.”

“None of us are,” Mary Dell said, handing over her money. “And a swimming pool sounds good to me. You know, I've never gone swimming in a pool, just Puny Pond. Think they'll have less frogs in a pool than a pond?” she asked in a deliberately innocent tone.

Mr. Waterson smiled, picking up on the joke. “Dunno. They sure couldn't have more. Here you go,” he said, handing the bag with her fabric inside over the counter.

“Thanks, Mr. Waterson,” she replied and turned to leave.

He waved good-bye and returned to the task of sorting the mail. Just as she reached the door, Mr. Waterson called out, “Hold on a minute! There's something here for you.”

“For me?”

“Well, technically it's for me, at least until the end of June. But I don't have any need for it and you do. Here you go,” he said, holding out a thick manila envelope. “A catalog from a fabric wholesaler.”

C
HAPTER 45

“O
h, look at this,” Mary Dell said, picking up a swatch of fabric with big purple cabbage roses and pink ribbons on a background of seafoam green. “We have
got
to order a bolt of this.”

Lydia Dale rolled her eyes. “That's what you say about all of them. Remember the plan. We can only afford to order five hundred bolts to start, so we need to focus on simple patterns that most anyone will like in basic colors that most everyone needs. Later, once we start making some money, we'll bring in more specialty prints.”

She took the swatch from her sister and made a face. “But we will never, under any circumstances, order
this
. Looks like wallpaper from a two-dollar bordello.”

“Here,” she said, handing Mary Dell a stack of white-on-white fabric swatches, “you work with these. Pick any five you want.”

Mary Dell frowned and began flipping morosely through the fabrics. “You sure know how to take the fun out of shopping.”

“We're not shopping, we're buying—for the shop, not for us. What about this?” Lydia Dale held up a white-and-bright-yellow windowpane check. “It comes in six different colors.”

“Better,” Mary Dell said.

Mary Dell took one of the windowpane swatches, a bright blue one, and placed it on the floor directly between Howard and Rob Lee, who were lying stomach-down on the carpet, which was strewn with toys, rattles, and stuffed animals.

“What do you think, boys? Should we order some of this?”

Howard pushed up on his little arms, his face turning pink with effort, and smiled. Mary Dell laughed.

“I'll take that as a yes. Seems you inherited your aunt's good taste.”

“He's sure holding his head up good now,” Lydia Dale commented, smiling at Howard as she pushed a blue rattle with a teddy bear on it a little closer to Rob Lee, who was struggling to reach it.

“Yep,” Mary Dell said with pride. “He can keep it up for fifteen seconds. I timed him.”

Mary Dell put the fabric aside and got down on her stomach, almost nose to nose with Howard, who pushed his head up again so he could see his mother's face. “Now we're going to work on rolling over. When did Rob Lee start rolling?”

“Last week. It's not a competition, sis.”

“I know,” Mary Dell said, reaching out a finger for the baby to grasp. “Howard is doing great. But it helps me to know what Rob Lee can do and when he started doing it so I can see what's on the horizon for Howard. Hey, speaking of children, how are Cady and Jeb? I haven't seen them as much since the end of lambing.”

“Cady is fine. Nagging me about wanting to go to cheerleading camp this summer,” Lydia Dale said, examining a stack of small-scale floral prints in muted shades of blue, red, and brown. “Even if we could afford it, she's still too young. But I guess one of the Benton girls from her class is going. She keeps rubbing it in Cady's face.”

Mary Dell shook her head. “Meanness just runs through that whole family.”

“Seems to,” Lydia Dale agreed. “But don't forget my babies are half Benton, too.”

“Tudmore genes trump Benton meanness any day of the week,” Mary Dell declared. “Your children are proof of that.”

“I hope so,” Lydia Dale said, “but some days I have my doubts.”

“Jeb giving you trouble again?” Mary Dell placed a ring of plastic keys in Howard's hand, waiting until he had a good grip before sitting up to face her sister.

“A little. Jack Benny's the real problem. As usual,” Lydia Dale muttered. “Jeb hates going to see his daddy on Fridays. He keeps begging me to let him stay home.”

“Why don't you? Sounds like Jack Benny isn't all that interested in seeing him anyway.”

“He's not. But if I tried to change the visitation, Jack Benny would take me to court just to make life miserable for me.” She sighed. “I shouldn't complain. Jeb's actually doing better. He's passing his classes. Not by much, but it's an improvement. Graydon said that if he failed any of his subjects, he wouldn't let him help with the horses after school.”

Mary Dell laid out eight swatches of white fabric on the carpet, considered the choices, took away two, and considered some more.

“And that did the trick?”

“Uh-huh. Jeb loves to ride now. Graydon is teaching him how to rope too. They've been making some noise about Jeb entering the breakaway roping event at the fair this year.” Lydia Dale smiled to herself. “We'll see.”

“Graydon is good people,” Mary Dell said, noting the wistful look in her sister's eyes. Lydia Dale nodded.

“I saw the two of you walking to the west hills the other day.”

“Graydon wanted to see the bluebonnets.”

“Well, that sounds awfully romantic,” Mary Dell said knowingly.

“Stop it.” Lydia Dale tossed a swatch at her sister.

“I mean it,” Mary Dell said. “It does sound romantic. Is something going on between you two?” She leaned forward, eager for an answer. “Are you falling in love?”

Lydia Dale made an exasperated noise, picked up another stack of swatches, and started flipping through them.

“Don't be silly. I've got three children, one of them an infant, and I'm trying to help you open a quilt shop. I don't have time to fall in love. I don't
want
to fall in love.”

Mary Dell reached out, grabbed her sister by the wrist, and looked her in the eye.

“Love isn't always about what you want. Sometimes it just
is
. That's why they call it falling in love, because sometimes you just can't help yourself.”

“Like the Fatal Flaw?” Lydia Dale asked in a mocking tone. “You've been spending too much time with Aunt Velvet.”

“No, not like that,” Mary Dell said urgently. “Falling in love is different. You know it is because you fell in love once before, with Graydon. Is it happening again?”

Lydia Dale's cheeks flushed pink. She pulled her hand away and started sorting fabric swatches again, deliberately avoiding her twin's penetrating gaze.

“I don't know. Maybe,” she said softly. “He wants to take me out.”

Mary Dell's eyes went wide. “Out? Like on a date? A real date? What did you say?”

A mischievous little smile bowed Lydia Dale's lips.

“I said I'd love to. If the kids can come too.”

 

By the end of the afternoon, the sisters had put aside 716 swatches to consider as possible candidates for their initial order. It had been 715, but Mary Dell quietly slipped the purple-rose print back into the stack while Lydia Dale's back was turned.

They would have happily continued with their task, narrowing their options to the final five hundred, but Lydia Dale wanted to be home in time to meet the school bus.

Lydia Dale was changing Rob Lee's diaper, and Mary Dell was picking up toys when she heard the familiar sound of tires speeding too fast over gravel and an engine backfiring.

“There's the mail,” Mary Dell said.

Lydia Dale looked up from her task. “Why is Wanda Joy so late with the delivery?”

“This is her usual time,” Mary Dell said. “At least it is now. I'm the last one on the route.”

Lydia Dale looked perplexed. “She delivers to the big house before nine every morning, and we're just a quarter mile up the road. Why would she deliver to everybody else in town and then come all the way back out here?”

“Because I'm being punished,” Mary Dell said, then tossed a musical teddy bear into the toy basket. “Don't worry about it. Would you mind keeping an eye on Howard while I run out to the mailbox? I'll be right back.”

“Sure.”

Mary Dell kissed Howard on the nose, telling him to be a good boy for Auntie Lydia Dale, then hopped to her feet and jogged out the front door.

Lydia Dale finished putting on Rob Lee's diaper, grabbed one of his chubby feet, and pretended to nibble on his toes, making the baby giggle with delight.

“Oh, you are delicious, Rob Lee Benton! And so are you!” she exclaimed, scooping Howard up from the floor and giving him a squeeze. He smiled at her, drooling his delight. Lydia Dale squeezed him again, lifted him up high and, after a quick sniff, decided that her nephew could also use a clean diaper.

She'd just finished changing Howard when she heard her sister shouting her name. Lydia Dale stood up with a baby in each arm and looked out the front window. Mary Dell was running at top speed down the driveway, waving a piece of paper over her head, her big bosoms bouncing so hard they almost hit her in the chin.

“What in the world?” Lydia Dale muttered to herself. She walked quickly to the front door, opening it just as Mary Dell came bounding in and collapsed with her back against the door.

“What is it?” she asked, looking down at the letter Mary Dell held in her hand. “Is it from Donny?”

Still too winded to speak, Mary Dell just shook her head. She closed her eyes and took in several deliberately big breaths.

“C. J. Evard.”

Lydia Dale's jaw dropped. “The magazine editor? The one you're always going on and on about? The one who rejected all your quilt designs?” Mary Dell bobbed her head. “What does she want?”

“Me!” Mary Dell exclaimed. “She wants me! She wants me to come to Dallas and bring my quilts. Ahhh!!!”

Mary Dell squealed with excitement and Lydia Dale joined in, her delight matching Mary Dell's and her squeals even louder. The sisters danced a celebratory circle in the middle of the living room, their babies held between them, Rob Lee giggling at this impromptu ring-around-the-rosy and Howard expressing his pleasure with a wide and toothless grin.

This went on for some time. Each time Mary Dell would quit squealing and get hold of herself, Lydia Dale would shout, “Dallas! You're going to Dallas to meet C. J. Evard!” and the party would start all over again.

When they finally calmed down, Lydia Dale said, “I can't believe it! This is fabulous, Mary Dell. I'm so proud of you! You never gave up. Just think, after all this time and all those submissions, she finally sent for you. What do you think changed her mind?”

Mary Dell's eyes got very wide and her complexion turned suddenly pale.

“The letter . . .” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no. That stupid, stupid letter.”

“What letter?”

“The letter I wrote one night when I was mad, after Donny left. I'd had about all I could take and then I got another of those form-letter rejections from the magazine and I . . . well, I kind of went off the deep end. I wrote this terrible, terrible letter to C. J. Evard, calling her all kinds of names. It was crazy, but I was mad, and I'd accidentally taken one of Donny's old prescriptions, thinking it was an allergy pill. Then I had a couple of beers and . . .”

“Beers?” Lydia Dale laid Howard back down on the floor, then settled Rob Lee into his car seat. “You hardly ever drink beer. And I've never seen you drink two.”

“Yes,” Mary Dell replied grimly, “and there's a reason for that. Because it makes me do stupid, stupid things!” She smacked herself on the forehead and groaned.

“This is a nightmare. I've waited years to meet C. J. Evard and now, when I finally get the chance, it's only because she wants to holler at me in person. Well, I'm just not going to go,” Mary Dell said, setting her jaw. “I've humiliated myself enough for one lifetime.”

“Are you crazy? Give me that!”

Lydia Dale snatched the letter from her sister's hand, pulled the sheet of thick, creamy stationery from the envelope, and read a portion of it aloud.

“ ‘Upon reviewing the body of your submissions during the past seven years, we are intrigued by your technique and would like to see more. . ..' Mary Dell, this woman isn't mad at you. Look here,” Lydia Dale said, pointing to a paragraph, “it says they booked you a hotel room. Nobody pays for a hotel room just so they can holler at somebody else.”

Mary Dell bit her lip, considering this. “Do you think so?”

“She's interested in your quilts and wants to see more. Here,” Lydia Dale continued, moving her eyes to the final paragraph. “She says she is greatly looking forward to meeting you in their offices at two o'clock on the twenty—”

Lydia Dale stopped in mid-sentence. She flipped the envelope over and examined the postmark.

“This was mailed almost two weeks ago. The mailman could have walked it from Dallas to Too Much in that time.”

“Two weeks?” Mary Dell took the envelope from her sister, looked at it, and scowled. “Not the mail
man.
The mail
woman
. I bet Wanda Joy has been holding on to this for days. You know, I've had just about enough of this.” Mary Dell's fingers curled into a fist. “Next time I go into the post office, I'm going to . . .”

“You don't have time for that!” Lydia Dale said, throwing up her hands. “Aren't you listening? Your appointment with C. J. Evard is at two o'clock on the twenty-fourth. You've got to be in Dallas the day after tomorrow!”

“The day after tomorrow?” Mary Dell grabbed the letter back from her sister and scanned the final paragraph.

“Well, I can't do it,” she said weakly. “I just can't. There's no way I can be ready by then. I . . . I've got to pull my quilts together, and I'd have to pack. I don't have a thing to wear. And I'm supposed to see the lawyer about drawing up the papers for the quilt shop. And they made a hotel reservation?” She looked at the letter again. “What am I supposed to do about Howard? I can't take him to some hotel in Dallas.”