delicious. I asked Haylee, “Did you hear or see anything unusual when you came outside early this morning? People? Vehicles?”
“Only my mothers, who are unusual at the best of times. We were awakened by the siren, if you can call it that. We saw Uncle Allen’s cruiser in front of your place, so we all came outside.”
“How did you manage to arrive at the same time? Phone each other first?”
“My mothers have been best friends since they were in first grade, and they all raised me, so it’s not surprising when we all do approximately the same thing. My mothers are all wacky, but they’re always supportive.”
I spread grape jelly on my toast. “I really like them. You’re lucky.”
She looked down at her plate. “I know. They can cramp my style, but it’s great having them nearby.”
How many other people would invite their mothers to move to a sleepy village and help change it to a lively one where people could buy and make every sort of textile imaginable?
Haylee raised her head and the affection for her mothers in her smile lit the room. “Like anybody, I know which parent to go to for what. If I need enthusiasm for a project, I go to Opal. If I want someone one to tell me I’m perfect, I ask Naomi. And I can always count on Edna to say what she thinks. No set of parents could have loved me more.”
“That’s pretty obvious,” I said. Even before I met Haylee’s mothers, I’d been able to tell she’d been raised by loving parents.
She swept her hair off her shoulders. Her blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “They have their quirks, especially now that they own textile arts shops. They feel duty-bound to make the most creative garments possible, and actually wear them.”
I had to grin. Now that I had time to embroider almost everything, only a few of my outfits escaped touches of embroidery. I could be heading toward quirky dressing, myself. I defended her mothers and me. “We all need to advertise our stores and our talents, even you, with your expert tailoring. Your clothes look very expensive. That could be considered eccentric at our age.”
“Pooh. If anyone wants to think it, let ’em.”
“See?” I teased. “You’re getting as quirky as your mothers.”
“Maybe that’s not a bad thing.” She sat up straighter in her chair. “They’re strong. And tough.”
Haylee had acquired the same traits.
Had I? My mother was strong and tough, but she had never had time to belong to me the way Haylee’s three mothers belonged to her. My mother was a physician who had turned to politics.
Unlike Haylee, I knew my father. He was an inventor, seldom seen outside the carriage house behind my parents’ home, where he tinkered and invented. I’d lost count of the number of patents he had, but I wouldn’t categorize him as either strong or tough like our mothers were. My parents had never come to visit me in Manhattan and were even less likely to stir from South Carolina to the northwestern corner of Pennsylvania.
We finished breakfast. Haylee put our dishes into the dishwasher. “Any time you need to, call or come see me,” she offered. “Or my mothers.” She gave me a big hug.
Feeling less anxious and alone, I left her bright apartment. I couldn’t help touching fabrics as I passed them on my way out of The Stash. As always, the feel of cotton calmed and comforted.
I expected to see several law enforcement vehicles outside In Stitches when I returned, but the only cars and trucks seemed to belong to early-morning shoppers. I gave the dogs another short outing, started a fire in my woodstove, and put a pot of cider on its top.
Turning the cross-stitched sign in my door to Welcome may have been a mistake. Uncle Allen tromped in. “Your front gate’s locked,” he complained. “Give me the key.”
That didn’t seem like a good idea, so I went outside and unlocked it for him. “Are you going to need to get into my cottage?” I asked. “Somebody took my canoe paddle out
“Only my mothers, who are unusual at the best of times. We were awakened by the siren, if you can call it that. We saw Uncle Allen’s cruiser in front of your place, so we all came outside.”
“How did you manage to arrive at the same time? Phone each other first?”
“My mothers have been best friends since they were in first grade, and they all raised me, so it’s not surprising when we all do approximately the same thing. My mothers are all wacky, but they’re always supportive.”
I spread grape jelly on my toast. “I really like them. You’re lucky.”
She looked down at her plate. “I know. They can cramp my style, but it’s great having them nearby.”
How many other people would invite their mothers to move to a sleepy village and help change it to a lively one where people could buy and make every sort of textile imaginable?
Haylee raised her head and the affection for her mothers in her smile lit the room. “Like anybody, I know which parent to go to for what. If I need enthusiasm for a project, I go to Opal. If I want someone one to tell me I’m perfect, I ask Naomi. And I can always count on Edna to say what she thinks. No set of parents could have loved me more.”
“That’s pretty obvious,” I said. Even before I met Haylee’s mothers, I’d been able to tell she’d been raised by loving parents.
She swept her hair off her shoulders. Her blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “They have their quirks, especially now that they own textile arts shops. They feel duty-bound to make the most creative garments possible, and actually wear them.”
I had to grin. Now that I had time to embroider almost everything, only a few of my outfits escaped touches of embroidery. I could be heading toward quirky dressing, myself. I defended her mothers and me. “We all need to advertise our stores and our talents, even you, with your expert tailoring. Your clothes look very expensive. That could be considered eccentric at our age.”
“Pooh. If anyone wants to think it, let ’em.”
“See?” I teased. “You’re getting as quirky as your mothers.”
“Maybe that’s not a bad thing.” She sat up straighter in her chair. “They’re strong. And tough.”
Haylee had acquired the same traits.
Had I? My mother was strong and tough, but she had never had time to belong to me the way Haylee’s three mothers belonged to her. My mother was a physician who had turned to politics.
Unlike Haylee, I knew my father. He was an inventor, seldom seen outside the carriage house behind my parents’ home, where he tinkered and invented. I’d lost count of the number of patents he had, but I wouldn’t categorize him as either strong or tough like our mothers were. My parents had never come to visit me in Manhattan and were even less likely to stir from South Carolina to the northwestern corner of Pennsylvania.
We finished breakfast. Haylee put our dishes into the dishwasher. “Any time you need to, call or come see me,” she offered. “Or my mothers.” She gave me a big hug.
Feeling less anxious and alone, I left her bright apartment. I couldn’t help touching fabrics as I passed them on my way out of The Stash. As always, the feel of cotton calmed and comforted.
I expected to see several law enforcement vehicles outside In Stitches when I returned, but the only cars and trucks seemed to belong to early-morning shoppers. I gave the dogs another short outing, started a fire in my woodstove, and put a pot of cider on its top.
Turning the cross-stitched sign in my door to Welcome may have been a mistake. Uncle Allen tromped in. “Your front gate’s locked,” he complained. “Give me the key.”
That didn’t seem like a good idea, so I went outside and unlocked it for him. “Are you going to need to get into my cottage?” I asked. “Somebody took my canoe paddle out
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