A Thread of Truth (10 page)

I
should have known. Almost from the first I'd sensed that Ivy was holding something back. Thinking about it later, it all made sense—her reticence, how she deftly changed the subject whenever anyone asked her about her past.

Now that she'd confessed the truth about her situation, the circumstances and reasons behind her arrival in New Bern, I began to understand what she'd been going through all these months. The poor girl. She lived every moment of her life looking over her shoulder, afraid of what she'd see if she looked in her rearview mirror, her pulse racing every time she heard a knock on the door, terrified of who might be standing on the other side.

She was so completely convinced that her husband was on to her, that at any moment he might arrive in New Bern and …I didn't know what she really thought he could do to her. After all, this was a free country; if she didn't want to stay in her marriage, there was nothing her husband could do to stop that, but no matter how many times I tried to convince her of this, my words rolled off her like rain pattering on a pane of glass. She saw her husband as a looming, omnipresent being. Her fear of him went beyond all reason and logic, qualities that, in other circumstances, Ivy had always possessed in abundance. But this Ivy, this cowering, frightened girl whose hands shook as she told us her story of her life before New Bern, or at least the outline of it, was nothing like the reticent but capable, intelligent young woman I knew. This Ivy was a stranger to me.

As soon as the broadcast ended, I called Mary Dell and explained the situation. She assured me that they'd pull the tape immediately and edit out the part with Ivy in it. When I hung up, I told Ivy what Mary Dell said, but it didn't seem to comfort her. Margot tried to reason with her.

“Sweetie,” she said, putting an arm around Ivy's shaking shoulders, “try to calm down. Think. You told us he's a businessman…”

“He owns a nursing home,” Ivy said in a flat voice.

“Right. So, he's not going to be sitting home on a Monday morning watching television. He's in his office, working. And even if he were at home, would he be sitting around watching a quilting show? I don't think so.”

Ivy didn't say anything, just stared straight ahead, as if she hadn't heard a word. Margot gave me a look, raising her eyebrows to indicate she'd appreciate a little backup.

“Of course not,” I added. “Ivy, listen to us. There is no way in the world that your husband saw the show. No way at all. And since that tape is never going to air again, he never will. Nothing has changed. Your husband has no more inkling about your whereabouts now than he ever did.” I squatted down in front of the chair she was sitting in and met her eyes. “Do you believe me?”

Silently, obediently, she nodded, but I could see the doubt in her eyes and the tremor in her hands. No matter how unreasonable her fear seemed to me, I could tell it was real.

Garrett had been present during this entire scene but seemed at a loss as to what he could do or say. Who could blame him? This was so far out of the realm of my experience that I was feeling at a loss myself, but at least I had age and gender working for me. For a twenty-six-year-old male without a violent bone in his body, the drama being played out in front of him must have seemed a bit unreal. He'd gotten Ivy the glass of water that she held in her trembling hands but hadn't drunk, but after that had stood by as a silently supportive but helpless observer.

Now he glanced at his watch and cleared his throat apologetically. “Mom? It's ten after ten. I think there's someone waiting outside the shop.”

I stood up and peered out the office door into the shop. He was right. Wendy Perkins was pacing in front of the door, undoubtedly wondering why it was still locked ten minutes after our posted opening time.

I switched into boss mode.

“Okay, let's pull ourselves together here. The best thing to do is go on with our day and go back to work. Garrett, please unlock the door. Margot, can you boot up the computer and print out the online orders that came in since Saturday? Ivy, you come upstairs with me,” I said. “We had a new shipment of reproduction fabrics that came in on Saturday and I'd like you to help me decide which to include in the new fat quarter collection we're going to offer as our online special of the week.”

All of that was true, but the real reason I wanted Ivy to follow me upstairs was so we could talk in private. I grabbed the stack of orders that needed to be fulfilled from the in-box and headed out the door, hoping Ivy would follow.

She trooped dutifully up the stairs to the workroom and sat down at the cutting table. Her hands had stopped shaking, but her gaze was still flat and frightened. She looked up at me.

“What should I do?”

“Right this second? Nothing. Just work on these orders and try not to think too much. Later, tonight or tomorrow, you're going to have to see Donna Walsh, the director of the Stanton Center, and tell her the truth.”

If it were possible, Ivy's already pale face seemed even more drained of color.

“Don't worry,” I said. “She's not going to throw you out on the street. I can't imagine you're the first person who's come through their doors who's been less than completely honest, but she needs to know the whole story. If nothing else, so she can make sure you have the security you need and help you file whatever notices or complaints you should make with the police, maybe find a lawyer.”

“The police?” she asked weakly.

“Yes,” I said, trying to keep my tone firm without scolding. “You have to. If your husband were to show up today…” Her eyes grew wide with fear and I backpedaled a bit. “That's not going to happen, but if it did, he could claim that you kidnapped his children. Maybe in retaliation over an extramarital affair, or maybe just out of spite. Right now, he can accuse you of anything. Unless you document what happened, explain that you ran and took the children with you because you were afraid for your safety and theirs, there's no reason for anyone to believe your story over his.”

“I can't talk to the police, Evelyn. I just can't. Hodge always said that if I ever tried to run, he'd follow me, find me, and take away the kids. He promised that he'd make sure I never saw them again.”

As far as I was concerned, it was obvious that he'd never be able to do anything of the kind, but it was just as obvious that Ivy believed he could. What had he done, how had he beaten her down to make her believe he had this kind of power over her? I couldn't understand it.

“Ivy, he can't do that,” I promised. “You're a wonderful person and an ideal mother. I've seen how you handle the kids, how devoted and patient you are with them. I'd testify to it in court, if it came to that. What could he possibly accuse you of that would make a judge decide to give custody of your children to him over you? Especially once you've told the police about his history of abuse?”

She didn't answer and I backed off a bit. “Let's not worry about the police just yet. All you need to do is get through this day and talk to Donna Walsh. Donna has dealt with situations much more complicated than this; it's her job. She'll know exactly what you need to do.” I reached across the expanse of the table between us and covered her hand with mine.

“And I'm going to be with you every step of the way. We all will. Margot and Garrett. Abigail, too.”

“Abigail? I have to tell her, too? Don't you think she'll be mad when she finds out I've been lying to everyone?”

I nodded. “Probably. At first. But, Abigail is a good egg. Once she gets over it, she'll be your most stalwart ally. You see if I'm not right. Besides, Abigail Burgess Wynne is a very influential woman. Her word carries a lot of weight in this town and she knows everyone. One quick phone call from Abigail can open doors that would remain firmly closed to lesser mortals.

“When I got my cancer diagnosis, Abigail went into string-pulling mode and within forty-eight hours she'd gotten me appointments with three of the best, most overly booked breast surgeons in New England, not to mention an entire briefing book on everything you'd ever need or want to know about breast cancer, all cataloged and footnoted with especially relevant passages highlighted in yellow marker. It was amazing. Near as I can tell, she just marched into the library, cleared her throat, and next thing you know, she had four research librarians clicking their heels and making color copies.”

Ivy smiled weakly.

“Trust me,” I continued. “If you're in a bind, Abigail is someone you want on your side. Certainly a better friend than an enemy,” I joked.

“Yeah,” Ivy said, “I can see that.”

“Good. Trust her. For that matter, trust all of us. We're all on your side, Ivy. From here on out. You're not in this alone. Not anymore.”

Ivy looked down at her hands, suddenly shy. “Evelyn, I'm sorry.”

“About what?”

“About lying to you. I never wanted to. Never. I just…” She faltered, searching for an explanation. “It's just that I've been hiding out for so long. You know?”

I nodded. I thought I did.

“You don't need to apologize. It's all water under the bridge. I'm going to do everything I can to help you, Ivy. We all will. If you'd like, I'll even go with you when you talk with Donna.”

“Really?” she said gratefully.

“Sure. I'll call her and get an appointment for this afternoon. Then we can work out a plan for how to deal with the rest of this,” I said confidently. “Everything is going to be fine. You'll see.”

Ivy bit her lips and inclined her head to show she believed me, or at least that she wanted to.

“Oh! And before I forget, after we close on Saturday evening, I'm taking everyone out to dinner at the Grill, just as a kind of thank-you for all your hard work. Do you want to come?”

Her eyes flickered. the Grill was one of New Bern's more expensive restaurants and I knew that Ivy had never been there. But her initial expression of enthusiasm faded after a moment.

“What is it? Would you rather not go? You don't have to if you don't want to, but I wish you would.”

“It's not that. It's just that I don't have anyone to watch the kids and…” She looked down at the jeans and polo shirt that constituted her normal work uniform. “Isn't the Grill kind of dressy? I don't have anything nice to wear.”

“I'm sure Franklin wouldn't mind watching the children again. If he can't, I'll bet Wendy Perkins would love to do it. She's a grandma six times over, just loves kids. And as far as clothes, I've got an idea. You pick out a few yards of fabric, anything you want, and I'll help you whip up a nice dress. Plenty of time to get it done before Saturday. All you'll need is a pair of sandals and some earrings and you'll be good to go.”

Ivy's beautiful eyes filled with tears, but they were happy tears, tears of relief that needed to be shed, so I didn't say anything.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome, sweetheart,” I said, using the same endearment I used for Garrett. She'd never mentioned her mother or her father and I wondered what kind of relationship, if any, she had with them. Grown woman that she was, at that moment Ivy needed a little mothering. I was more than happy to fill the role. “It's my pleasure.”

Ivy smiled through her tears.

I smacked my hands against the table and got to my feet. “Well, we'll talk about this more later, but now, we've got work to do, right?”

“We do,” Ivy agreed, and wiped her eyes. “The anniversary sale and all.”

“Don't worry,” I said. “As long as we work together we'll get through it.”

E
velyn was as good as her word.

What with getting ready for the anniversary sale, we'd already known it was going to be a busy week, but even before the day was out, busyness blossomed into pandemonium.

It seemed like everyone in New Bern and a good percentage of the population of New England had seen
Quintessential Quilting
and were either calling and e-mailing to place orders, or actually dropping by the shop. It was crazy. Customers were five deep at the checkout counter and I had to come down from the workroom to help wait on them, abandoning a stack of unfulfilled orders that was growing taller by the minute. Finally, I called my neighbor Karen, who had just been let go from her factory job, and asked if she'd like to help us out for a few days. She accepted eagerly and showed up at the shop an hour later, bringing two more of our neighbors, Jeni and Gayle, with her. Evelyn hired all of them on the spot.

The addition of three new workers, especially Gayle, who had retail experience, definitely helped, but we were still swamped. Even so, Evelyn found time to do everything she'd promised to do, right down to helping me cut out and sew an adorable dress from the gorgeous green and violet floral I'd picked out. It had been so long since I'd had anything new to wear, and sewing it myself (with much guidance and instruction from Evelyn) gave me a great sense of accomplishment. When I mentioned that it would be fun to make a matching dress for Bethany, Evelyn insisted I take another two yards of fabric. I tried to pay for it myself, but she wouldn't hear of it.

“Consider it your finder's fee for bringing in Karen, Jeni, and Gayle. There is no way we'd be able to get through this week without them.”

The shop bells jingled and a gaggle of women entered, grabbed the last wicker shopping baskets from the pile sitting by the door, and began loading them up. Evelyn sighed and hauled herself to her feet. “Even with three new pairs of hands, I'm still not sure we're up to it. After two years of financial drought, I'm not complaining, but I'm sure glad for the extra help.”

The phone rang yet again. Evelyn grabbed it. “Cobbled Court Quilts. This is Evelyn.”

I headed toward the stairs to give the new girls a quick lesson in the use of rotary cutters so they could get to work on the unfilled orders. I glanced behind and saw Evelyn wedge the phone between her ear and shoulder while she hunted for a pen.

She looked so harried. I wondered if she'd remember her promise to accompany me to my meeting with Donna Walsh.

As if reading my mind, she asked the caller to hold just a moment, then took the receiver away from her ear and pressed it to her chest. “Ivy, we've got a four-thirty appointment over at the shelter offices. Be ready by four-ten and we'll drive over together, okay?”

“Okay.”

She winked and went back to her call. “We're all out of that Hoffman print, but I'm expecting a shipment in a couple of days. Would you like me to call you when it arrives?”

When we got to the meeting, Donna was reassuring rather than reproachful. She said she wished I'd been straight with her from the beginning, but she understood why I hadn't and promised that she would do everything possible to help me. In spite of Donna's encouragement, I felt anxious and a little overwhelmed. Evelyn took notes, listing in order the things Donna said I should do next. It was a good thing because by the time we left, I couldn't remember any of it.

The next morning, Abigail dropped by the shop after yet another meeting with the people at the zoning department, who were no more enthusiastic about the idea of Abigail remodeling her home into more transitional apartments for the Stanton Center than they'd been during the last three meetings. Abigail's intentions were good but, personally, I thought she was fighting a losing battle. There was no way her neighbors, the most prominent and influential folks in town, were going to stand by and let Abigail put an apartment building in their midst, particularly one filled with abused women and their children. Of course, I wasn't going to say that to Abigail, not when she was in such a ticked-off mood—and ticked off was describing it politely.

Abigail was furious and somewhat incredulous that she'd been unable to get the people at zoning to budge. I suspect it was the first time in her life she hadn't been able to make people in New Bern see things her way simply by smiling and uttering those two most influential of words—Burgess Wynne. Suffice it to say, she was not a happy camper—even less so when Evelyn told her the whole story about me.

As predicted, at first Abigail was supremely indignant at what she termed my unpardonable deceit, but Evelyn calmed her down. After a few minutes and an apology from me, I was pardoned after all. Next thing I knew, she became my staunch ally, transferring all her enmity to Hodge, whom she immediately dubbed a “bullying, parasitic louse.” A redundant insult but an apt one and every time she said it, I couldn't help but smile. It was nice to have someone on my side for once. And, as Evelyn said, if you were going to pick someone for your side, the first person on your team should be Abigail—particularly if your team was playing in New Bern.

Abigail Burgess Wynne in action was a sight to see. She wielded her address book like a fairy godmother's wand.

Her first call was to Franklin Spaulding. He wasn't in, so she left a brief message explaining what was going on and asked him to call right away. Next, she phoned home and arranged for her housekeeper, Hilda, and Hilda's niece, Gabby, to pick up Bethany and Bobby from day care at five, as well as the children of Karen, Jeni, and Gayle, and take them over to my apartment and keep an eye on them until we all got home from work. When Hilda asked how they were to transport themselves and seven children from the day care to the Stanton Center, Abigail called the Dowell Ford dealership. She got the manager on the phone and said she wanted to rent a new van from him for a month or so and that it had to be delivered to her house by four o'clock.

“My housekeeper will accept delivery,” she said. “And make sure the gas tank is filled. Yes, her name is Hilda. Thank you, Gene. You're a darling. Oh! Wait just a moment.”

She lowered the phone and looked at me. “Won't we need some of those car seat things for the babies?”

I nodded mutely, more than a bit in awe of the way in which Abigail maneuvered her way past roadblocks that would have stopped me in my tracks with little more effort than it took to puff on the petals of a spent dandelion, scattering seeds to the four winds.

She waited for me to say something and when I didn't, frowned and said impatiently, “Well? How many do we need?”

“Oh. Ummm.” I did a quick calculation. “Three, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“No. I mean, I know. Three.”

Abigail put the phone to her ear again. “And Gene, could you be a dear and include three car seats with that order? Well, no, I didn't suppose you had three car seats there at the dealership, but I'm sure you can have one of the salesmen run out and buy some, can't you?”

I shook my head and whispered, “Abigail, you don't have to do that. We all have car seats back at Stanton. I could run over there and…”

But Abigail held up her hand and closed her eyes, making it clear that my interruption was unwelcome.

Evelyn came into the back office, which Abigail had requisitioned as her personal command center in the battle against the bullying parasitic louse (it made me smile even to think it), and whispered in my ear, “How's it going?”

I whispered back, “She's telling them they should go buy three car seats for the babies. They don't need to go to all that trouble. I could run back to Stanton and get them.”

Evelyn grinned and leaned in closer so Abigail wouldn't hear her. “Don't worry about it. Just let her do her thing. She's loving every minute of this, especially after getting shot down by the zoning department. She needs to throw her weight around a bit, just to prove she still can.”

Abigail's countenance brightened. “Oh,
could
you?” she purred. “Thank you so much, Gene. When Jim Dowell promoted you to manager, I knew he was making the right choice. I'm going to call him as soon as I hang up and tell him so. Bye-bye.”

I turned to Evelyn. “I didn't know the Ford dealer even rented cars.”

“They rent them to Abigail,” Evelyn said.

Abigail's face was all concentration, trying unsuccessfully to summon a phone number to memory. She hung up the phone. “Evelyn, what's the number at the Grill? It's completely slipped my mind.”

“I thought you were calling Jim Dowell.”

“In a minute. First I'm calling Charlie. I want him to send over a tray of sandwiches. I'm starving, aren't you? I'd intended to take you to lunch, but with that crowd in the shop, I can see you won't be leaving anytime soon and I'm sure no one else will have a chance to take a lunch break, either.”

The doorbell jingled again and Evelyn looked over her shoulder to see who was entering. “You're right about that, but at least the phone has stopped ringing off the hook.”

Abigail wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “Evelyn. That clicking sound that you hear sometimes when you're on this phone? Does that mean that someone else is trying to call in?”

Evelyn closed her eyes for a moment. “Yes,” she said wearily.

“How many times has it clicked since you've been talking?”

“About seven. Ivy,” she said before returning to the shop floor. “Would you please check the phone messages when Abigail is finished?”

“Sure.”

“And the number to the Grill is 5883,” she said, using New Bern telephone shorthand. New Bern is so small there is only one telephone prefix, so no one who lives here bothers saying the first three numbers; such knowledge is assumed.

Before Abigail could start dialing, the telephone rang. She picked it up herself. “Cobbled Court Quilts.” She paused a moment and smiled at the caller's comment.

“Well, maybe I'm taking up a new career.” She laughed again, raised her eyebrows and glanced up at me. “It's Franklin,” she mouthed before continuing her conversation.

“Really? That's wonderful, darling. Thank you so much. Yes, she's standing right here. I'll tell her myself. All right. Oh, and don't forget. We've got a five o'clock tee time at the club. We'll only be able to get in nine holes before sunset, but better nine than none.”

Her smile faded as she listened to his response. “Well, that's fine, darling. No. Don't give it another thought. I'll just reschedule for later in the week. All right. Good-bye, Franklin,” she said and hung up.

“Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes. Fine. Franklin and I were supposed to play a round of golf this evening, but he's feeling a little too tired to keep our date, that's all.”

“Franklin works very hard.”

“Too hard,” Abigail said. “I keep reminding him that he's no spring chicken anymore. At his age, he should slow down a little, pass off some of the work to a few of his younger, overpaid associates.”

“And how does he respond to this good advice?” I asked.

Abigail's lips twitched into a smile. “About the way most men respond to the news of their advancing age—with offended expressions and much sucking in of their sagging stomach muscles. And they say that women are vain about their age.” She laughed and her face lit up, partly from the pleasure of female superiority over foolish, boyish men, and partly with the pleasure that comes from being able to call one of those foolish creatures her own. She and Franklin made a good couple.

“Franklin wanted me to tell you that he's already making some appointments for you on Monday. He'd like you to be at his office at ten. He wants to talk with you privately and then you'll have a conference call after. You have officially retained him as legal counsel. You couldn't be in better hands.”

“Really?” I bit a little flag of cuticle from off my finger. “Okay. Good.”

Abigail scowled. “Don't bite your nails, Ivy. You'll ruin your hands. What's making you so nervous all of a sudden? Franklin is an excellent lawyer. One of the best.”

“No, it's not that. I know he is. It's just…well…is he very expensive? I've got some money saved, but I've been saving it for a deposit and rent on a new apartment…”

“Is that what you're so worried about?” Abigail waved her hand dismissively. “Well, don't be. Franklin is doing this pro bono.”

“Pro bono?”

“Without a fee,” Abigail informed me. “And I'm going to take care of the other expenses. Investigators. Consultants. That sort of thing.”

“Abigail, you can't. Are you sure? Oh, Abigail! I don't know how to…”

Abigail pursed her lips and frowned, uncomfortable with the sight of tears. “Now, stop that right now. There's no need. Franklin is happy to help you and so am I. If you were in a position to help either of us, I'm sure you'd do the same.”

I nodded mutely and Abigail rolled her eyes.

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” she said, picking up her pocketbook and looping it over her shoulder. “If there's anything I can't bear, it's weeping. Tell Evelyn I decided to go up to the Grill and get those sandwiches myself. I'll be back soon. In the meantime, Ivy, pull yourself together.”

I nodded again and sniffed. I didn't blame her for being irritated with me; I was irritated with myself. I almost never cried, especially not in front of people. Over the years, I'd trained myself not to, having learned that when Hodge flew into one of his rages, the sight of me crying only made him angrier. I'd become very good at distancing myself from any feelings of pain, or even of pleasure, keeping my emotions boxed up and out of sight where they couldn't be used against me. But now that the box had finally been opened, it was hard closing the lid again.