visiting, Marcy?”
“I believe this one favors Mom,” I said, nodding toward my mother, still sitting in the red chair.
“Oh, hello, Beverly,” Vera said. “I didn’t see you here. Plus, I suppose, the scent of men’s cologne addled my brain for a sec.” She giggled. “I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.”
“Neither did I,” Mom said, “but things just worked out this way.”
“That’s a lucky break for us, then,” Vera said. “So who’s your admirer?”
“His name is Carrington Ellis. He’s a relative of the woman who collapsed in Marcy’s shop earlier this week.”
“Louisa Ralston,” Vera said. “I didn’t know her personally. It’s such a shame that had to happen, though, for her family and for Marcy. He wasn’t trying to make trouble, was he?”
“Not at all,” I said. “In fact, the heirs are allowing me to keep the sampler Mrs. Ralston brought by, and I’m planning to frame it. I want to make a complete display using the sampler, a brief history of embroidery samplers, and a tribute to the women who created this particular sampler—Mrs. Ralston and her great-grandmother.”
“What a wonderful idea. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.” She moved over to the navy sofa facing the window. “I thought I’d stitch and visit for a while if that’s all right.”
“That’s perfectly fine,” I said. “I’ll join you, and you can save Mom from being stuck talking only with me all day.”
I took my current project—Riley’s baby’s christening gown—from behind the counter and sat on the sofa beside Vera. I’d brought it from home to try to finish up today.
Vera drew in her breath. “That’s gorgeous!” She turned to Mom. “Isn’t that beautiful?”
“It is,” Mom said. “My daughter does terrific work.”
“She certainly does.” Vera took out her latest cross-stitch project—a pillowcase with a floral border across the hem. She was making herself a set.
“What are you working on?” Mom asked.
Vera proudly held up her pillowcase. “I’m saving my needlepoint project for class nights.” She was halfway finished with this pillowcase, and it looked really pretty. Fortunately for Vera, the pattern was stamped onto the fabric and she didn’t have to count her stitches. It really helped her out, especially since she loved to chat while she worked.
Mom made a fuss over Vera’s needlecraft, and Vera blushed with pride. After all, it wasn’t every day the favorite costume designer to A-list actress Clarissa LeBeau bragged on your work.
“You say you didn’t know Mrs. Ralston,” I said to Vera. “But do you happen to know her granddaughter, Eleanor?”
Vera paused in midstitch. “Eleanor Ralston. . . hmm . . . There was an Eleanor Ralston who used to work at John’s bank as a teller. It was several years ago, while she was putting herself through college. Not much sticks out in my mind about her, except for the fact that I felt sorry for her. She seemed broke all the time. Either that, or she was stingy.”
“What made you think that?” I asked.
“She never bought anything—no magazine subscriptions, no cookies, no whatever the kids were selling to support their causes.” Vera resumed stitching. “One day I saw her leave in a brand-new car . . . a sports car. That’s when I thought she might simply be stingy.”
“That,” Mom said, “or all her money went to pay for that sports car.”
“You’ve got a point,” Vera said. “I never had to worry much about money. Mom and Dad had plenty. I know that makes me very lucky. But I’ve seen how other young people have gotten themselves into bad situations by being unable to manage their money.” She shrugged. “From what I’ve read in the paper, that won’t be a concern for Eleanor Ralston any longer.”
“No, I don’t imagine it will.” I resumed work on the gown, but my thoughts were on Eleanor Ralston. I wondered if she’d rebuffed her family’s
“I believe this one favors Mom,” I said, nodding toward my mother, still sitting in the red chair.
“Oh, hello, Beverly,” Vera said. “I didn’t see you here. Plus, I suppose, the scent of men’s cologne addled my brain for a sec.” She giggled. “I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.”
“Neither did I,” Mom said, “but things just worked out this way.”
“That’s a lucky break for us, then,” Vera said. “So who’s your admirer?”
“His name is Carrington Ellis. He’s a relative of the woman who collapsed in Marcy’s shop earlier this week.”
“Louisa Ralston,” Vera said. “I didn’t know her personally. It’s such a shame that had to happen, though, for her family and for Marcy. He wasn’t trying to make trouble, was he?”
“Not at all,” I said. “In fact, the heirs are allowing me to keep the sampler Mrs. Ralston brought by, and I’m planning to frame it. I want to make a complete display using the sampler, a brief history of embroidery samplers, and a tribute to the women who created this particular sampler—Mrs. Ralston and her great-grandmother.”
“What a wonderful idea. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.” She moved over to the navy sofa facing the window. “I thought I’d stitch and visit for a while if that’s all right.”
“That’s perfectly fine,” I said. “I’ll join you, and you can save Mom from being stuck talking only with me all day.”
I took my current project—Riley’s baby’s christening gown—from behind the counter and sat on the sofa beside Vera. I’d brought it from home to try to finish up today.
Vera drew in her breath. “That’s gorgeous!” She turned to Mom. “Isn’t that beautiful?”
“It is,” Mom said. “My daughter does terrific work.”
“She certainly does.” Vera took out her latest cross-stitch project—a pillowcase with a floral border across the hem. She was making herself a set.
“What are you working on?” Mom asked.
Vera proudly held up her pillowcase. “I’m saving my needlepoint project for class nights.” She was halfway finished with this pillowcase, and it looked really pretty. Fortunately for Vera, the pattern was stamped onto the fabric and she didn’t have to count her stitches. It really helped her out, especially since she loved to chat while she worked.
Mom made a fuss over Vera’s needlecraft, and Vera blushed with pride. After all, it wasn’t every day the favorite costume designer to A-list actress Clarissa LeBeau bragged on your work.
“You say you didn’t know Mrs. Ralston,” I said to Vera. “But do you happen to know her granddaughter, Eleanor?”
Vera paused in midstitch. “Eleanor Ralston. . . hmm . . . There was an Eleanor Ralston who used to work at John’s bank as a teller. It was several years ago, while she was putting herself through college. Not much sticks out in my mind about her, except for the fact that I felt sorry for her. She seemed broke all the time. Either that, or she was stingy.”
“What made you think that?” I asked.
“She never bought anything—no magazine subscriptions, no cookies, no whatever the kids were selling to support their causes.” Vera resumed stitching. “One day I saw her leave in a brand-new car . . . a sports car. That’s when I thought she might simply be stingy.”
“That,” Mom said, “or all her money went to pay for that sports car.”
“You’ve got a point,” Vera said. “I never had to worry much about money. Mom and Dad had plenty. I know that makes me very lucky. But I’ve seen how other young people have gotten themselves into bad situations by being unable to manage their money.” She shrugged. “From what I’ve read in the paper, that won’t be a concern for Eleanor Ralston any longer.”
“No, I don’t imagine it will.” I resumed work on the gown, but my thoughts were on Eleanor Ralston. I wondered if she’d rebuffed her family’s
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