A Tapestry of Secrets Read online

  Ella flushed and glanced at Seth, who was busy watching an old crow perched on a fence post. Her brother, Will, watched the exchange with something like amusement. She wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but instead said, “Sorry about that, Seth. Guess I was kind of taken by surprise.”

  Dad squeezed her arm. “Good enough. C’mon, we’ve got work to do and you’re more than welcome to pitch in.”

  Ella stuffed her hands in the pockets of her cutoffs and looked down at her bare feet. “I’m not exactly dressed for it. Guess I’ll go work on a quilt piece.”

  “That’s the ticket,” Dad said with a wink.

  Ella sighed and wandered back to the house. She glanced over her shoulder as she opened the screen door. Seth was watching her. She ducked her head and disappeared into the cool of the house.

  Perla dabbed a little lipstick on her mouth and tried to smile. The right side still sagged, but if she tilted her head . . . Oh, but she was a vain thing. She patted her hair, admiring the way Ella had twisted it into a chignon. It looked nice. She still wasn’t sure she was ready to go back to church, but she supposed the die was cast now. Ella and Sadie had taken turns staying with her around the clock since she came home from the hospital—helping with rehabilitation exercises, making sure she ate the awful prescribed diet, and dispensing medication. They both deserved an outing, and Perla was feeling a bit of cabin fever herself.

  Ella appeared at the bathroom door, Sadie not far behind, and offered her grandmother her arm. Perla had a walker, something she hated. Vanity again. She wanted to tell Ella to leave the contraption behind. Taking a deep breath, she managed two words. “Go. Own.”

  Sadie made a face. “Mother, you’re going to have to do better than that. The speech pathologist said we shouldn’t let you take shortcuts. Try again.”

  Perla felt annoyance rise. Sadie always had a bossy streak, and she wasn’t in the mood for it on this lovely summer Sunday when she was finally leaving the house.

  Ella patted Perla’s hand where it gripped her arm—probably a little too tight. “I put your walker in the backseat of the car, but maybe if you hold on to me or Dad, you won’t need it.”

  Perla gave her granddaughter a grateful smile. It was almost as though she could read her thoughts. She remembered how Ella always seemed to understand everything when she was a child. She’d even known what that old bird dog of Henry’s wanted when he wagged his tail or whined. Sadie rolled her eyes, but didn’t press the matter. Perla felt a little thrill of triumph that she immediately regretted. This shouldn’t be a battle of wills. But then she and Sadie hadn’t really seen eye to eye ever since . . . well, probably since Casewell died. Somehow Perla felt as though the secret of Sadie’s parentage stood between them. And now there was the question of Sadie’s health; knowing her father’s medical history could help her make good decisions. Surely it was time to tell her daughter the truth.

  Perla squared her shoulders as best she could. Life was a journey, and she was determined not to let this stroke business sidetrack her. She needed to get her voice back so she could tell Ella and Sadie what they needed to know.

  4

  ELLA WAS SURPRISED by how excited she was to get back to Laurel Mountain Church with Gran on her arm. She’d been here as recently as Easter, but it felt different now. She’d been feeling more and more like her old self since coming home and this was part of what she needed to regain her footing. The one-room church with its steeple pointed heavenward was something that would never change. Here was her firm foundation.

  Helping Gran up the steps one at a time, she felt proud that she was the seventh generation in the Phillips family to sit in these pews—a descendant of the founders. Looking around, she was surprised at how small the congregation was this morning, maybe twenty in all. Ella remembered the pews being full when she was a child. Probably sixty or seventy people would crowd in to hear Reverend Archibald Ashworth preach. But he’d retired the summer before, and Mom said several pulpit supply pastors had filled in until they sent someone new to take over. Dad talked like the church might not last much longer if something didn’t change. But Ella wasn’t worried—Laurel Mountain Church was a fixture in Wise. This wasn’t a falling-down chicken coop; this was the lifeblood of the community.

  “His name is Richard Goodwin,” Mom whispered in Ella’s ear. “He’s been here three months now. I think the turnout is pretty good because folks are still curious about him.” She flicked her eyebrows. “We have yet to see if he’s going to be able to gain ground, though. He’s supposed to be rebuilding the church.”

  Pastor Goodwin stepped up to the pulpit as the congregation settled in. Ella marveled that twenty people was considered a good turnout. The pastor was youngish and looked like he should be playing tennis or sailing a boat. Ella thought he looked too . . . what? Affluent? He just didn’t quite fit here.

  Ella didn’t pay much attention to the service, but rather basked in the familiarity of the place and the comfort of having her grandmother here and on the mend. For now, the only thing anyone expected of her was to sit and at least pretend to listen. It was a relief.

  Reverend Goodwin finally wrapped up his sermon and invited the congregation to stand for the closing hymn. Sometimes Ella struggled to focus on Scripture or the message, but the traditional hymns held her attention. Mavis Sanders banged away at an old upright piano while the people sang from worn hymnals.

  The church featured two front doors, which confounded more than one bride marrying into the local community, and since Pastor Goodwin could only stand at one of the doors to shake hands, Ella made sure Sadie had Gran in hand before slipping out the second door. She headed for the cemetery and went straight to her grandfather’s headstone with its unique inscription. Casewell died long before Ella was born, and she’d heard all her life what a good man she missed out on knowing.

  Lost in bittersweet ruminations, Ella jumped when someone spoke.

  “Your mother said you came out here, and I wanted to make it a point to meet you,” said Reverend Goodwin. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Oh no—just visiting family.” Ella waved a hand at the stones around her.

  “It’s nice to remember where you come from.” He smiled. “I’m Reverend Richard Goodwin, but you can call me Richard.” He grimaced. “Actually, please call me Richard. I can’t seem to get any of my congregants to call me anything but Pastor.”

  “Calling you by your first name probably seems too familiar to them. Don’t worry. I hear it took Archie a good five years before they really embraced him when he first came forty years ago. I think that’s why he stayed—too hard to break in a new congregation.”

  They stood with Casewell’s gravestone between them. Ella became acutely aware of the way the sun gave Richard’s light brown hair blond highlights. His gray eyes didn’t quite go with his hair color, creating a vague feeling of dissonance. Seeing him in the pulpit, she would have thought he’d tower over her, but now, standing so close, she could see he was only a few inches taller.

  They both spoke at once. Richard laughed. “Go ahead.”

  “I was going to ask where you’re from, since your ancestors aren’t laid out at our feet.” Ella winced. Did that sound irreverent? But if Richard thought so, he gave no indication.

  “I’m from Connecticut. My family is mostly gone now, and I was never all that attached to the place where I grew up, so I decided to make my way south. This area suits me.” He scanned the cemetery, the church, and the valley beyond. His gray eyes appeared to turn the color of early morning fog. “It’ll suit me even better once people warm up to me.” Then he added, “Not that they haven’t been nice. I just get the feeling I’m on some sort of probation.”

  “Of course you do.” Ella laughed. “You are.”

  They stood smiling, silence mounting. It should have felt awkward, but Ella felt peaceful instead.

  Finally, Richard said, “Your grandmother looks like she’s doing better. I haven’t been to see her since she doesn’t really know me, but I’d like to visit if you think she’d welcome it.”

  “I think she’d like that. She’s recovered a lot of her movement, but language is slow coming so she’s not much for conversation. I’m sure she’d enjoy having a cup of coffee and listening to us chat, though.”

  Richard looked like a little boy who’d been offered a puppy. “I’d enjoy that, too. I’ll plan to come by one day this week, if that’s all right.”

  “We’ll look forward to seeing you.”

  Did he sound eager or was Ella imagining things? Attraction sparked, but she quelled it. He was a pastor. And she’d managed to stay clear of any romantic entanglements since breaking up with Mark. Not that she hadn’t thought about dating again; she just wanted to be extra careful after her last poor choice.

  Ella turned back toward the parking area. When she stumbled over a footstone, Richard reached out to steady her. She was surprised at his large callused hands. Farmer’s hands, she thought, and felt that spark again.

  Richard walked her to Aunt Sadie’s car and opened the rear door for her so that she could slide in behind Gran. “I enjoyed meeting you, Ella. I hope I’ll see you back in church next week. If nothing else, it’ll mean I’ve increased the congregation by one.” He closed the door, stepped back, and watched the car pull out of the lot and drive away.

  “I think you made an impression on the new pastor,” Sadie said. “Mother, I’d ask what you think, but you’ll speak in code.”

  Ella cringed, not sure why there was such tension between mother and daughter. She reached over the seat and squeezed Gran’s shoulder.

  “I think. Too soon. To tell,” Gran said, reaching up to grasp Ella’s fingers.

  Ella laughed. Gran always di
d have a way of summing things up.

  “Those last pieces you did sold out fast. When will you have more for me?” Ella had finally returned the third call from Sylvia, the owner of the shop where she sold most of her art pieces. “It’s best to strike while the iron is hot, and you’re hot right now.”

  Ella wrinkled her nose. She usually loved talking about—and selling—her art quilts, but she hadn’t been able to get anything to come out the way she wanted since that stupid lunch with Mark. “I’ve got a few things in the works, but nothing I’m ready to share . . .” Ella trailed off, not quite prepared to lie outright.

  Sylvia made a tsking sound. Ella could picture the gallery owner tucking her silver hair behind her ear and tapping a finger against her lower lip.

  “What about that dandelion piece I saw last time I was in your apartment?”

  Ella pictured the half-finished wall hanging of an overlarge dandelion puff against an azure background. She’d wanted the flower to have a sense of lightness, an ethereal quality, but the thread wouldn’t cooperate. She grimaced. “It just isn’t quite right—there’s something missing.”

  “What? The colors are great, and the composition is solid. Finish it off and I can sell it in five minutes.”

  Ella flopped down across her bed and stared at the ceiling. “Maybe next week.” She pictured two squares at the bottom of her workbag with pastoral images—rolling meadows, cows, and trees. One featured bright sunflowers that were too happy for Ella’s taste. “I guess I have a couple that aren’t exactly inspired I could send you.”

  Sylvia snorted. “Inspiration is for people who don’t have bills to pay. Send me what you have.” She hesitated a moment, as though deciding whether or not she had anything else to say. “Mark stopped by yesterday.”

  Ella froze. “He did? Was he looking for the perfect piece of country kitsch to add to his ultramodern kitchen?” She tried to make a joke, but unease settled over her.

  “He wanted to see your work specifically. I told him I was out, and he asked if I expected you to come in anytime soon. Seemed like maybe he’d gone by your apartment a couple of times and when he didn’t find you there thought to see what I knew.”

  “What did you tell him?” Ella could hear the strain in her voice and seriously doubted Sylvia would miss it.

  “Just that you were out of town and I didn’t know for certain when you’d be back. He gave me his number and asked me to call him when I got some more of your work in.” She paused. “Are you two dating again?”

  Sylvia asked the question lightly, yet Ella knew her friend cared deeply about her and really wanted to know. She petted the soft fabric of the quilt on her bed—the material had worn until it was like silk to her fingers. “No. He called me a while back out of the blue to have lunch.” She sighed. “I probably shouldn’t have agreed to see him. I may have given him the wrong idea, although I thought I was clear. I can’t imagine why he’s suddenly interested again.”

  Ella could hear Sylvia moving the phone around—it clicked against her earrings. “You know I was never a big fan of Mark’s and I still don’t trust him. You be careful. That man always did make me uneasy.” Ella heard Sylvia’s heels tapping across tile now. “Maybe you should stay put in West Virginia for a while. I know your family needs you, and you can work on your art anywhere. I can pack some things up and ship them to you.”

  Ella leaned off the end of the bed and hooked a hand through the straps of her sewing bag, dragging it up and onto her lap. “I do have some stuff here, but you wouldn’t know what else to pack—”

  “Wouldn’t I? I’ll gather it up this afternoon. You’ll have everything you need plus a few things you didn’t know you wanted before the week is out.” Sylvia sounded so pleased with herself, Ella didn’t have the heart to say no.

  “Okay, okay. Maybe digging into some work will be good for me.”

  “That’s my girl. Call me if you need anything.”

  Ella ended the conversation and stared out the open window, slumping on her bed like a cranky teenager. Her parents didn’t have air-conditioning, and she craved the breeze slipping through the screen. The sky was that sort of gray that brought gloom without actually producing rain. Then a beam of sunlight pierced the leaden sky like a needle shooting through fabric and Ella jerked upright. She knew then what was missing from the dandelion piece. She dug it out, found a spool of silvery thread, and set to work.

  5

  PERLA SAW THE WAY Pastor Richard looked at Ella and hoped something might spark between them. As far as she knew, Ella hadn’t really dated since breaking up with that Mark fellow, who always struck her as a little too smooth. She smiled. It might be nice to have a preacher in the family.

  She thought back to the admiring look in Richard’s eyes. She’d seen that look before. As a matter of fact, more than one man had looked at her that way over the years. Thank goodness Ella wasn’t quite as naïve as Perla had been that summer of 1948. She hadn’t dwelt on those days for a long time, but if she was going to tell Sadie and Ella about them, she should try to make sure she had it straight—think how she wanted to put it once the words in her head started flowing past her lips again.

  She hadn’t known his given name for a long time. It became a game between them. She’d call him Sonny and he’d accuse her of not having enough imagination to guess his real name. Chuck and Imogene called him Sonny if they called him anything at all. But mostly he stayed outside, working as though his life depended on it.

  Perla came to admire him—how hard he worked, the pride he took in doing things right. The farm was neat as a pin. Fence mended, barn tidy, garden planted, animals tended to. Perla often worked alongside Sonny, hoeing the garden or minding the animals, and had come to look forward to their talks. She also noticed a restlessness about him that grew with each day that passed.

  They were working in the garden one late April afternoon, Perla planting peas and lettuce while Sonny cleared rocks from the furrows.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked.

  “Three older sisters and a brother.” He grunted as he pried loose a large rock half buried in the ground. “Elam, my brother, died over in France. I would have gone after him, but I was too young then.”

  “I’m sorry about your brother. I’m an only child so I can’t even imagine how hard that must be.”

  “Ma took it hard.” He was silent for a while, and Perla thought to change the subject, but then he spoke again. “Elam left a girl behind, too. She’s the same age as me. Broke her up pretty bad.”

  “How awful.” Perla sifted soil over tiny black seeds and patted it down. “I’ve never had a serious beau.” She flushed. What made her say that?

  “No?” He grinned at her, stretching out his back. “Can’t see why not. Seems like your pa would have to chase ’em off with a stick.”

  Perla felt her braid slither over her shoulder as she knelt. She looked up at him through pale eyelashes. She might try flirting a little, but she’d never really known how. “Guess not.”

  “Probably you’re so pretty they’re scared of you,” he said. And the frank admiration in his eyes warmed her more than the April sun ever could.

  She cleared her throat. “What about your sisters? Any of them married?”

  “Every single one. Got you’uns too.” He bent to his work again, sending up the scent of the soil as he hefted stones. “I’m an uncle five times over. Oldest one isn’t but two years younger than me.”

  “Do you want children?” Again, Perla was amazed at herself. Such questions to ask a young man.

  “I want at least six or seven—as many as I can get. How about you?”

  He wasn’t looking directly at her now, but she felt overwarm just the same. “I’d like to have a few—maybe not that many—but more than one. It’s hard being just one.”

  Sonny laughed, yet it sounded harsh. “Just be glad you don’t have to be responsible for anyone but your own self.”

  Ella woke in her grandmother’s spare bedroom on another sunny Sunday morning. She’d opted to stay with Gran after Aunt Sadie returned to Ohio. There were therapy appointments, follow-up doctor visits, and ongoing treatments, all of which Ella was happy to coordinate. Plus there was plenty of time to work on her art—or try to—while Gran napped, read, or watched television. And although Gran still couldn’t speak very well, Ella had a knack for understanding her.