Between Heaven and Texas (32 page)

C
HAPTER 57

T
he second he finished speaking, the raised voices and cacophony of discord was replaced by cheers of greeting and, in the case of Lydia Dale, by tears.

With Rob Lee still in her arms, she ran to Graydon and collapsed on his chest in sobs, saying she was sorry over and over and over again. Graydon embraced them, mother and child, and kissed the top of Lydia Dale's head.

“It's all right,” he whispered. “Jeb and Dutch told me everything. You don't have to apologize; you were trying to protect the family. I understand. Shh. It's all over.”

Tears still streaming, Lydia Dale looked into his handsome face, as if afraid to believe him.

“Don't cry now, sweet girl. I'm back.”

He kissed her on the mouth, and she kissed him back. The sideline observers, who now included Dutch, Jeb, and Cady, exchanged sighs of relief and smiles of approval. Aunt Velvet smiled too, but blushed as she did, averting her maiden eyes from the clinging couple.

When they finally loosened their grip on one another, Graydon grinned. “I brought you a present.”

He took three big strides across the kitchen and picked up the bag he'd left next to the door. Opening it, he pulled out a satin evening gown of starlight white with a full skirt, tiny waist, and a scoop neckline, with 150 turquoise bugle beads hand-stitched to the smooth satin bodice.

“My pageant gown!” Lydia Dale squealed.

Graydon beamed, pleased that she was so pleased. “The one you were wearing the first time I laid eyes on you. I drove up to Fort Worth and bought it back. Figured something this pretty has to stay in the family.”

“Oh, Graydon!” she cried and rushed back into his arms.

Velvet looked at Silky and nodded approvingly. “It's gratifying to see that some young people still retain a sense of history and an appreciation for family relics.”

“Miss Taffy,” Graydon said, “this is for you.” He reached deep into the bag and emerged holding a tiny two-and-a-half-inch-tall tiara decorated with curves of rhinestones arranged around a crystal teardrop centerpiece. “Something to put in your display cabinet.”

“Lydia Dale's first crown! Little Miss Goody Gumdrop!” Taffy sniffled and her eyes went wet. “You're a good man, Graydon Bebee. I said so from the first.”

As usual, no one bothered to question the accuracy of Taffy's statement. They were too happy to worry about that.

When supper was served, they all took their seats around the table and bowed their heads as Dutch prayed over the meal, thanking God for the food and the safe return of their good friend, Graydon. The amens were said with more than usual gusto.

Graydon bit into a piece of fried chicken and groaned with pleasure. “Miss Silky, your chicken is worth the drive.”

Silky smiled. “Glad you like it. And, as it happens, we're having your other favorite for dessert, ambrosia salad.”

“You must have had a premonition that I'd be back.” He took another bite and said, “Hey, nobody answered my question. What were you all arguing about when I came in?”

Mary Dell started to explain, but was quickly interrupted by Silky, then by Velvet, then Taffy, and Lydia Dale in turn. In less than a minute, the battle was back on and continued until Mary Dell slammed her hand so hard against the table that the silverware rattled.

“Enough!” she shouted, shocking them into silence.

“Now, listen to me, all of you! Yes, I want to buy that quilt shop so bad it makes my bones hurt. But this isn't just about me. It's about our legacy as Tudmores. It's a trust, a sacred trust. Trying to convince me to violate that trust by letting even one acre of land pass out of family hands is a waste of breath. So let's just drop the subject right now.”

The immovable expression on Mary Dell's face silenced any thought of protest, though Silky mumbled something under her breath about pigheadedness being another Tudmore legacy. Everyone picked up their forks and resumed eating.

After an awkward moment, Graydon cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

“For what it's worth, Mary Dell, I think you're right. And I sure admire you for sticking to your convictions. But I was wondering . . . if you could sell land to somebody
inside
the family, would you?”

Mary Dell's mouth was too full to answer him immediately, or to point out the obvious, that nobody in the family had any money to spare and that was why the subject of selling had come up in the first place. But she didn't have to answer. Without waiting for her response, Graydon made his intentions perfectly clear.

“I went to Fort Worth to buy back Lydia Dale's gown and tiara, but before that, I drove back up to Kansas. Emptied out my bank account. I was kind of surprised at how much there was in there, but I hadn't spent my wages on anything but new blue jeans and liquor for the past ten years or so. And now that I'm giving up liquor for good, I've got to find someplace to put my money, so I was thinking . . .”

He pulled a tiny blue box from his pocket and opened it, revealing a platinum ring with a single marquis-cut diamond in the center. Lydia Dale gasped.

“Mary Dell, if your sister would agree to make me the happiest man in Texas by saying she'd marry me and if I promised to honor her, love her, cherish her, and pass the ranch on to Cady and any daughters we might have when death parts us, do you think you might be willing to sell to me then? Because, if Lydia Dale says yes, that hundred acres would still be in the family, wouldn't it?”

Mary Dell had swallowed her food some time before, but now she had to swallow again, to choke back tears.

“It sure would, Graydon.”

Graydon got up from his chair and knelt down. “What do you say, sweet girl? Is it a deal?”

C
HAPTER 58

 

R
emodeling the old dry goods store took a full four weeks longer than planned, but the results were worth the wait.

They tore out the ugly drop ceiling and fluorescent lights, and then, in keeping with the old-timey Western feel they were going for, installed ceiling tiles with a Lone Star pattern in pressed tin and a score of schoolhouse pendant fixtures, unfortunately delivered two weeks later than promised, that gave off plenty of bright, clear light.

It hadn't been in their original plan, but when they ripped up the scarred linoleum prior to the installation of new vinyl, they discovered beautiful old wooden boards underneath and decided to refinish them in a warm cherry color topped with three coats of varnish so that they gleamed when sunlight beamed through the new, bigger display window. That added an extra week to the schedule but made a world of difference in the look and feel of the shop.

They salvaged the old display cabinets that Mr. Waterson left behind, sanding and refinishing them to match the floor. Graydon and Dutch, with Jeb assisting, built extra cabinets so there would be room for twice as much fabric as before.

They knocked out the wall between the front of the shop and the windowless room that Mr. Waterson had used to store his extra stock. This gave them room for more fabric, a corner to display notions, and a gated, half-walled toy room where the children of customers, and someday Howard and Rob Lee, could play while their parents shopped.

They took the upper floor of the building, which housed the one-bedroom apartment where Mr. and Mrs. Waterson had begun their married life, right down to the studs, leaving only one wall with a mural of Hawaiian palm trees on a white-sand beach, painted and signed by Mabel Waterson in 1940, untouched. The space was turned into an office with a kitchenette and a nursery where Howard and Rob Lee could nap, plus two medium-sized classrooms outfitted with tables, built-in ironing stations, and loaner sewing machines. The rooms were separated by a folding wall that could be opened to accommodate bigger classes, if needed.

“We can only hope,” Mary Dell said when she tested the folding wall for the first time.

When it came to paint, Mary Dell had her heart set on a color called Playboy Pink. Lydia Dale explained that a more neutral shade would be a better background to display class samples. Mary Dell eventually acquiesced, allowing the walls to be painted with three coats of Natural Muslin, but not until Lydia Dale agreed they could use Playboy Pink in the bathroom.

The bathroom had to be redone entirely, and when they pulled out the old toilet, they discovered a leak that cost them another week and an extra five hundred dollars to repair. The bathroom was finally finished in early September, the day before the first of three delivery trucks pulled up in front of the shop.

The first two trucks contained 2,500 bolts of gorgeous, fine-loomed, 100 percent cotton White Star quilting fabric. The third delivery truck carried four white rocking chairs and a custom carved sign with a picture of a red, white, and blue quilt in the lower left corner and shiny gold, Western-style lettering that read. . .

Mary Dell and Lydia Dale placed the rockers on the walkway in front of the shop as soon as they came off the truck, but they had to wait until the next day for Graydon, Dutch, and Moises to hang the sign.

Even with help from the family, it took three days to get all the fabric, notions, patterns, pattern books, and whatnot unpacked, arranged, and rearranged on the shelves. But at 3:12 in the morning, just six hours and forty-eight minutes before they were scheduled to open, Mary Dell slid the last bolt of fabric into place.

“Well? What do you think?”

Lydia Dale turned in a circle and clasped her hands under her chin.

“Perfect!”

 

Though the delay of their grand opening was unintentional, it turned out to be for the best. The town of Too Much hadn't had a new addition to the commercial area in years, and people were naturally interested in the transformation of the old Dry Goods Emporium.

Everyone commented on how good the building looked with a fresh coat of paint and flower boxes out front, and how nice it was that the Templeton girls had put up that black sign with gold letters saying W
ATERSON
B
UILDING
at the top of the second floor. But it was speculation about what was going on inside that really got people talking.

Trucks were parked in front of the shop all summer long, and men wearing tool belts and painter's coveralls passed through the door every day, and there was a great noise of buzz saws and hammers coming from within, but no one could see inside because Mary Dell, whose inborn streak of showmanship was just beginning to blossom, had covered the windows and beveled glass door with brown butcher paper. By August, the curiosity about what was going on behind that brown paper was pretty intense. But when word got out that the grand opening was to be delayed another month, anticipation reached a fever pitch.

A crowd began to gather outside more than an hour before opening. It was a good thing Mary Dell stood back a bit when she unlocked and opened the door at precisely ten o'clock; if not, she might have been trampled.

It was also a good thing that Taffy, as well as Mary Dell's old students, Pearl, Pauline and Sweetums, volunteered to help out that day, otherwise they'd never have been able to keep up. Silky and Velvet arrived just after the opening and stayed until four, circulating among the customers with trays, offering cups of cold lemonade and Silky's special peach crumble bars.

Ten minutes after they arrived, a man came through the door carrying an enormous spray of two dozen yellow roses and a note of congratulations from C. J. Evard. Mr. Evard, the man informed them, had called the shop personally and paid him extra to bring those flowers all the way from Waco, there being no florist in Too Much. Mary Dell buried her nose in the bouquet to breathe in the scent before placing them on a stand in the center of the front window, where everyone could see them.

Not long after, a package arrived, delivered by Wanda Joy herself, who avoided making eye contact with Mary Dell but loitered around the shop for a good ten minutes and had two cups of lemonade before returning to her route.

The postmark said Amarillo, but the handwriting was familiar. Donny had sent one hundred dollars and a present, an electronic calculator. The card that came with it said . . .

How had he known? Who had told him about the shop? Mary Dell read the card twice, found a tissue so she could blow her nose, and went back to work. She had no time for tears today.

Howard was there too. Knowing how busy the day would be, Graydon and Dutch offered to watch all the kids, but Mary Dell wanted Howard with her, deciding it was high time her boy met the people of Too Much.

Dr. Nystrom came in first thing and insisted on carrying him around on her hip, cooing about how handsome he was and asking him what he thought of this fabric or that, while she chose material for the log cabin quilt she'd always intended to make but had never found time for. Before long, a couple of the Methodist Church ladies, who already knew Howard from the nursery during services, came along and decided they needed a pretty baby to help them pick out their fabric as well, and on and on it went for most of the day, with Howard being passed from customer to customer, friends and strangers alike, some who had questions about Down syndrome that Mary Dell was perfectly happy to answer, and all of whom agreed they'd never seen a baby with prettier eyes or a sweeter disposition. By three o'clock, Howard Hobart Bebee had met and charmed half the women in Too Much, gaining so many admirers that Mary Dell practically had to pry him away so she could put him down for a nap in the second-floor nursery.

Except for a few glitches with the cash register, which Mary Dell and Lydia Dale were still trying to get the hang of, things went remarkably smoothly. Customers were patient even when the line for the cutting table stretched all the way to the door and had nothing but praise for the shop, the quality of the goods offered, and the owners. One woman did grumble a little about the cost of the yardage compared to the prices Mr. Waterson charged, but Lydia Dale noted that this didn't deter her from purchasing three four-yard cuts of fabric, sixteen fat quarters, three spools of thread, and one of the new rotary cutters Mary Dell was demonstrating at a table in the notions section. As Mary Dell had predicted, people went crazy over those cutters. By day's end, they'd completely sold out of cutters and mats.

The class sign-ups went well too. The Lone Star class filled up so quickly that Mary Dell added a second session, and by the end of the day the beginners' class was filled too. Most of the sign-ups came from people who'd come into the shop only out of curiosity and never planned on taking up quilting. But the sight of all those beautiful class sample quilts displayed on the walls, along with reassurances from Pearl, Pauline, and Sweetums that Mary Dell was a wonderful instructor and really would be able to teach them to quilt, changed many minds that day.

Traffic was busiest in the first two hours of the day, ebbing a little at lunchtime, but it picked up at around one fifteen and stayed steady for most of the day, not slowing until four forty, which was when Mary Dell gave Pauline, Pearl, and Sweetums her thanks, as well as bags filled with fabric that Lydia Dale had chosen just for them, and sent them on their way.

“We couldn't have done it without you,” she said, hugging each of them in turn.

At four forty-five, Marlena Benton showed up, flanked by Lena Brooks, the new treasurer of the Women's Club, who was also relatively new to Too Much, having married a local man and moved to town from Tulsa only three months previously, and Diamond Pickens, Marlena's ever-present sycophant, secretary, and kin.

Lena was first through the door. Mary Dell gave her a friendly wave and greeted her by name. Lena waved back and started cooing about how sweet the shop was, but stopped when she noticed that Marlena was staring at her with the intensity and heat of a laser.

Lydia Dale blanched at the sight of her ex-mother-in-law and went to the back of the shop and busied herself reshelving pattern books. Taffy took over Lydia Dale's spot at the register, saying nothing but keeping her eyes glued to Marlena. Mary Dell, however, walked right up to the trio and, in the pleasantest possible tone, asked if she could help them.

Lena started to answer but was interrupted by Marlena, who sighed deeply, glancing around the shop with a disdainful expression.

“I doubt it. I was hoping to find some fabric that might do to make my gown for the Christmas Ball, but . . .” She rubbed a corner of a fabric from a nearby bolt between her thumb and forefinger, then released it with a look of disgust, as if she were tossing aside a used tissue. “It's obvious that nothing you carry is even remotely appropriate.”

“Probably not. We can sell you fabric to make a quilt or, if you don't know how already, we can teach you to make a quilt, but we don't sell dress goods. For that you'll need to go to Waco.”

Mary Dell's lips bowed into a smile, and in a voice that sounded like saccharin tastes, sweet but bitter and just as artificial, said, “Would you like me to draw you a map, Marlena?”

Diamond stepped back nervously. Lena frowned, a little crease of confusion appearing between her brows, as if she wasn't entirely sure what was going on.

The corner of Marlena's lips twitched almost imperceptibly, as if she'd just received a pinch, but she recovered quickly.

“That's all right. I'll probably make a run up to Dallas and get something at Neiman's anyway. Homemade fashions are always so . . . quaint, aren't they?”

She covered her mouth with her hand, feigning surprise. “Bless your heart. I'm so sorry, Mary Dell. I forgot. You make all your own clothes, don't you?”

Marlena's eyes moved slowly over Mary Dell's frame, taking in every inch of the zebra-print wrap dress she'd made especially for the grand opening and paired with a red alligator belt and purple suede platform shoes.

“Yes, I can see you do. Well, considering how you spend your time, you know, shoveling sheep pens and such, I suppose homemade is fine. Of course, if you were going to the Christmas Ball,” she said, launching a pointed and gleeful glance in Taffy's direction, “it'd be different. But since you're not . . .”

“Oh, I'm going to the Christmas Ball,” Mary Dell said casually. “The whole family is going: me, Lydia Dale, Momma, Granny, Aunt Velvet, and the menfolk too. The Patchwork Palace is a sponsor. Didn't you know?”

Taffy let out a little gasp of delight. Mary Dell looked back at her and winked before turning back to Marlena, whose eyes were so wide with shock that it looked like somebody had goosed her with a cattle prod.

“What!” she shouted to Mary Dell, then spun around to face Lena. “What!”

The crease that had formed between Lena's brows deepened to a crevasse, her confusion complete.

“That's right. Patchwork Palace is a gold-level sponsor. They'll get a table by the bandstand and a full-page ad in the program.”

“You can't be serious! You sold them a sponsorship to the Christmas Ball? Why didn't you check with me first?”

“You didn't tell me to check with you,” Lena said, sounding a little annoyed. “You said to go out and sell a bronze sponsorship and a gold sponsorship or we wouldn't have enough money to pay the printer or the deposit for the caterer, so I did. Hazel Dawn over at the Primp 'n' Perm bought the bronze, and Mary Dell took the gold.”