Main Street #2: Needle and Thread Read online

  “Yes, to Mary Woolsey’s. It will be fine, Flora. And Gigi and I really need you to do this. It will save everyone a lot of time if Mary gets this fabric today.”

  Flora felt her heart begin to race and had a feeling she was blushing. She cast about for an excuse — homework, some urgent knitting project — but came up with nothing that couldn’t wait until the evening. “Can’t Mary come over here and get it herself?”

  “She’s working. She has a lot to do.”

  “Well,” said Flora, but Min was already placing a package in her hands and ushering her out the door.

  “You know where Mary’s house is, don’t you?”

  Flora gulped. She knew, all right. It had been one of the first things Olivia had shown her after Flora and Ruby had arrived in Camden Falls. And then Olivia had shared with Flora the tales about buried treasure in Mary’s garden, a hapless child hidden in her basement. “Yes,” said Flora, and before she knew it, she was stumbling down Main Street, Mary’s package clutched in her sweaty hands.

  How could Min do this to her? she thought. Make her go to Scary Mary Woolsey’s. Alone. But she had no choice, and presently her feet were leading her to the little house that looked to Flora like a fairy dwelling. It was a different place in the autumn than it had been at the beginning of summer. When Flora had first seen it — the tiny house set among so many gardens that it appeared to be an island rising out of an ocean of flowers — the yard had seemed alive with butterflies and insect noises and the sweet scent of blossoms. Now, on this chilly day, Mary’s yard was a quieter place. Flora heard a few stray crickets, but that was all. She saw no butterflies, and the gardens that had been lush in June were now sparer, the colors muted and dull.

  Flora paused for a moment at the end of the path that led to Mary’s house, wondering briefly where, exactly, a treasure might be buried. Then she walked resolutely along the flagstones and climbed two stone steps. She raised her hand to ring the doorbell and saw that there wasn’t one. Instead, there was an old- fashioned knocker in the shape of a lion’s head on the door. Flora’s mind flashed to the knocker on Scrooge’s door in A Christmas Carol, the one that had shifted into the ghostly image of the long-dead Marley, and she shivered. She reached for the knocker, but before she could lift it, the door swung open.

  There stood Mary Woolsey.

  “Hi!” said Flora, her voice coming out as a croak.

  “Is that Flora, then?” asked Mary. “Or Ruby?”

  “It’s me. I mean, I’m Flora.”

  Flora held out the package, but instead of taking it, Mary held the door open wider. Flora hesitated, then stepped inside. She listened for the sound of cries coming from the basement but heard only a clock ticking. And her own loud breathing.

  I’m in Mary Woolsey’s house, she said to herself. Inside it. If only Olivia could see me.

  Mary closed the door behind Flora and stood watching her.

  Flora held the package out farther. “I brought the fabric,” she said. “Min told me you need it today.”

  Mary ducked her head. “Yes. I do. Thank you.” At last, she took the package.

  Flora turned toward the door, but Mary didn’t open it. “Well … your gardens are really nice,” said Flora. “I saw them in the summer.”

  “They’re not so much to look at now, I know.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean that!” cried Flora. “They’re still really nice. I saw those flowers with the long name, the ones that smell good. I can’t remember —”

  “Chrysanthemums,” said Mary. “A reliable autumn flower. If the deer don’t get them.”

  Flora saw that Mary’s hands were shaking and realized that Mary wasn’t any more comfortable having a visitor in her house than Flora was being a visitor. Her eyes traveled to Mary’s neck, and there was the star necklace. Flora opened her mouth to say “I guess I should go” and instead found herself saying, “I saw an old picture of you.”

  “What?” said Mary.

  “In a box of stuff in Min’s attic. And you were with my mother when she was a little girl. And you were wearing that same necklace,” said Flora in a rush, pointing to the star. “And I was interested because it was my mother, and I didn’t know you knew her, and my mother died.” Flora put her hand over her mouth. What was she saying?

  But she found that Mary was looking at her softly.

  “Sorry,” said Flora.

  Mary set the package on a chair by the door. “Nothing to be sorry about. Come, let’s sit down.” She turned and walked through a doorway, leaving Flora to follow her. “This is the parlor,” she said tersely.

  The parlor was a tidy room with a couch and two armchairs covered in a faded blue-and-white fabric that Flora thought Min would call chintz. On the walls were exactly two pictures (both paintings of Mary’s gardens) and a cuckoo clock that Flora hoped would chime while she was there. Several tables were crowded with framed photos, wooden boxes, small glass birds, snow globes, and china teacups. Curled at one end of the couch were two orange cats whose slumber was not disturbed by the arrival of Flora and Mary. The room, Flora thought, was simple but cozy, and she felt at home in it.

  Mary sat on the couch, and Flora was about to sit in one of the armchairs when instead she asked, “May I pat the cats?”

  “Certainly,” said Mary. “They probably won’t even wake up. They’re very old.”

  “What are their names?” Flora leaned over and stroked the cats’ heads. One opened an eye, then closed it, and the other began to purr.

  “Daphne and Delilah,” Mary replied.

  “We have a cat. His name is King Comma,” said Flora, “because he has a white comma on his forehead.”

  “Ah, a fine name.”

  Flora sat in one of the chairs then, and Mary regarded her for a moment before saying, “Tell me about this photo.”

  Flora described it to her. “Min said she wasn’t sure, but she thought it was taken one day when you came over to her house. A long time ago. When my mother was four years old.”

  Mary frowned, then brightened. “My goodness. Is there a photo from that day?”

  “Yes. You remember the day?”

  “I do. It was the first time I was ever in your grandmother’s house. I was looking for your great-grandfather.”

  “Min said you wanted to thank him for something.”

  Mary’s gaze left Flora and traveled out the window. “He had been very kind to me. I’d just found out about it.”

  Flora sat on the edge of the chair, hands clasped between her knees. She felt that if Mary didn’t tell her what her great-grandfather had done, she would explode. Ruby or Olivia might have urged Mary on, but Flora couldn’t. So she waited.

  “That was such a time,” Mary said finally. “My mother had just died —” Mary caught herself, her gaze jumping back to Flora. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” murmured Flora, “really.”

  Mary cleared her throat. “My mother had just died,” she said again. “Only I was much older than you. A grown woman. And I had been clearing some things out of the house. This house,” she said. “I’ve lived here all my life. I came across some old letters and papers that had belonged to my mother, and suddenly I realized something. I realized that your great-grandfather must have been the one who’d been helping me out for years. With anonymous gifts of money.” Mary paused. “Well, it’s a long story,” she said, “a very long story.”

  Flora nearly fell off the chair. She wanted to cry out “Don’t stop now!” and might have done so if the cuckoo clock hadn’t suddenly chimed. Flora jumped, then turned to look at the clock. She had read about cuckoo clocks in books but had never seen one, and she felt quite rewarded when a door on the front of the houseshaped clock opened and a painted wooden bird slid through it. Flora heard four distinct “cuckoos,” then the bird retreated backward through the door as if the house had sucked it inside.

  “So,” said Mary, “are you the one who likes to sew or the one who likes to s
ing and dance?”

  Flora sighed. “The one who likes to sew. And knit and embroider and make cards.”

  Mary smiled. “My mother taught me to do those things. Well, not to make cards. But she taught me how to do all kinds of needlework.”

  “Min mostly taught me,” said Flora. “My mother taught me a few things, too.”

  “And who taught your sister to sing and dance?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, no one. Ruby just does things. She’s already in the chorus, and she’s taking dance classes, and she tried out for the school play. She’s going to find out today if she got a part.”

  “She’s fitting right in here, isn’t she?” asked Mary. And Flora looked up in surprise, remembering how she had thought of Ruby as a puzzle piece. When Flora said nothing, Mary went on. “But sometimes it takes a long time to fit in.”

  Later, Flora walked back to Main Street, thinking that there was probably not a whit of truth to the rumors about Mary Woolsey. Then she thought about what Mary had said about fitting in. She was still considering this when she entered Needle and Thread and was greeted by Ruby, who shouted, “Flora, I did it! I got the part of Alice Kendall! I’m going to star in the play!”

  Nikki Sherman was used to having bad days, but the bad day she had in the middle of October was supremely bad. Maybe it wasn’t the worst one of her life, but it was right up there.

  It hadn’t started off badly. In fact, it had started off in the usual way for a Tuesday. She had called good-bye to her big brother, Tobias, when he was picked up by the bus that would take him to the high school. Then she and Mae, having already said good-bye to their mother (their father was sound asleep and couldn’t be wakened, not that Nikki cared), climbed onto the bus to Camden Falls Elementary. The ride into town was almost pleasant (only two kids teased Nikki and Mae, and only one held his nose as they walked by), and when they got off the bus, Ruby and Olivia and Flora were waiting for them. Nikki was able to give her friends the news that after some carefully orchestrated conversations with her parents, she thought she and Mae had permission to go trick-or-treating.

  “Except I want to be a princess,” said Mae, “not that Toto dog.”

  Nikki and her friends walked Mae to her first-grade class as usual, Ruby chattering on about having gotten the lead in the witch play, and then Nikki and Olivia and Flora entered Mrs. Mandel’s room and took their seats.

  After the morning business had been attended to, Mrs. Mandel stood in front of her students, hands behind her back. That was when the regular day ended and the bad day began. Before Mrs. Mandel had even opened her mouth, Nikki had a feeling she wasn’t going to like whatever Mrs. Mandel was going to say. And she was right.

  “Class,” their teacher began, “I have some news to share with you. My daughter is pregnant. My husband and I have known that for a while, and we’re very happy.”

  Nikki glanced at Olivia, who was grinning, and she felt bad because she could tell by the look on Mrs. Mandel’s face that there was much more to her news, and that it was not going to be good.

  “My daughter and son-in-law have been trying to have a baby for a long time,” said Mrs. Mandel, “and recently they learned that they’re going to have triplets.”

  Olivia let out a whoop, then clapped her hand over her mouth, still grinning.

  “My husband and I have been planning to move to the town where our daughter lives. We were going to do that next summer, which was one of the reasons I decided to retire.

  “Now,” continued Mrs. Mandel, crossing her arms over her chest, which made her look stern when she didn’t intend to look stern at all, “we’ve decided to move just after Thanksgiving so that we can settle in before the babies are born. We want to be able to help out as much as possible. That means” (Mrs. Mandel paused and looked around the classroom) “that I’ll be retiring at Thanksgiving.”

  Nikki’s classroom was usually bustling and noisy. Now it fell quiet, as quiet as it had been on the rainy afternoon when Mrs. Mandel read aloud from the most exciting part of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

  After a few moments, Claudette Tisch raised her hand and said, almost in a whisper, “Does that mean you won’t be our teacher anymore?”

  Mrs. Mandel nodded. “When you come back to school after Thanksgiving, you’ll have a new teacher. His name is Mr. Donaldson. I’ve met him and spoken with him several times, and I think you’ll like him very much.”

  Nikki glanced at Olivia again and saw that her grin had disappeared. Now she was looking at her desk, absently rubbing at a pencil mark with her forefinger. And Flora, Nikki thought, was trying not to cry.

  “I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Mandel. “I know this is coming to you as a big surprise, but I’m doing what I feel is right. I want you to know, though, that I am going to miss every one of you very much. We’ve been together for just a few weeks but I can tell you’re an extraordinary class. Mr. Donaldson is going to be lucky to have you.”

  Olivia raised her hand and said quietly, “Maybe you could send us some pictures of the babies after they’re born.”

  “And maybe,” said Nikki, who rarely spoke up, “we could send you letters and things.”

  “That would be lovely,” replied Mrs. Mandel. “I’d be happy to send you pictures, and I’d be just as happy to hear from you.”

  Mrs. Mandel smiled then, but Nikki wasn’t able to smile back. And for the rest of the day, even when she got a 100% on her spelling quiz, and even when she found that she had enough pocket money to buy an ice cream after lunch, she had the feeling that something was wrong.

  Nikki couldn’t escape the feeling. It was still hovering around her like fog when she returned home after school, and it only grew stronger when she discovered that her mother was in bed with a hangover. On the bus that afternoon, Nikki sat alone, since the first-graders had gone home at lunchtime with the morning kindergartners while their teachers held a meeting. Nikki imagined telling her mother the news about Mrs. Mandel. On her good days, Mrs. Sherman was a patient listener with practical suggestions. But this was not one of those days.

  Nikki stepped through the front door of her house to find Mae in the kitchen in the midst of a giant mess of crumbs, paper towels, spilled juice, smashed bananas, and smears of peanut butter.

  “Mae!” exclaimed Nikki, trying not to sound exasperated. “What — what is all this?”

  “Mommy said I could fix my own lunch.”

  “Why didn’t she fix it?”

  “She’s in bed. You know.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Nikki. “And where’s Dad? He’s not here, is he?” Mr. Sherman would not tolerate Mae’s mess.

  Mae shrugged. “He wasn’t here when I got home.”

  “Okay.” Nikki tiptoed upstairs to her parents’ bedroom and peeked through the door, which was open several inches. Her mother lay slumbering on the bed, the sheets and blanket in a messy nest off to one side. Nikki tried to remember what her mother had been doing that morning when she and Mae left for school, and she realized she hadn’t actually seen her mother, just spoken to her through the bathroom door. Nikki had been the one who made breakfast for herself and Mae and Tobias.

  “Mom?” whispered Nikki, and when there was no answer, she closed the door quietly.

  Back in the kitchen, Nikki looked at the clock on the oven. She didn’t know where her father had gone, but if he had a job nearby, Nikki might have only an hour in which to clean up the mess and then feed Paw- Paw and the other dogs. The dogs were strays, all of them, and Nikki, who couldn’t bear to see them starve, worked hard to be able to feed them. Her father, however, detested them. Nikki had to feed them in secret, had to save up her hard-earned money for weeks at a time in order to buy bags of chow, which she then kept hidden from her father.

  “Have you seen Paw-Paw?” Nikki asked Mae.

  Mae was sitting cross-legged in a kitchen chair, and Nikki noticed a smear of peanut butter on Mae’s shin. “Mae, how on earth did you get peanut butter there?”
she asked before Mae could answer her question about Paw-Paw.

  “I don’t know,” said Mae. “It was hard to control.”

  Nikki couldn’t help but smile. “The peanut butter?”

  Mae nodded. Then she said, “Paw-Paw was sitting on the front steps when I got home.”

  Nikki dropped the sponge she’d been swiping across the table. “What? Are you sure? Right on the steps?”

  Mae nodded again.

  “Oh, no.” This was not good, not good at all. The dogs — there were generally five to ten of them at any time — usually had the sense to hover around the Shermans’ property, knowing Nikki would eventually feed them, but to stay out of sight when Nikki wasn’t around. If Paw-Paw or any of the others had been sitting on the front steps and Mr. Sherman had come home, well, who knew what might have happened. Mr. Sherman screamed at the dogs, he threw things at them, and on occasion he struck or kicked them. They were filthy beasts, he said, and he couldn’t understand why anyone would waste money feeding them when it was hard enough scraping together money to feed the Shermans.

  But Nikki loved the dogs and so did Mae, especially Paw-Paw, who she had named and was the only dog who had stuck around for longer than a month. The others came and went, and Nikki couldn’t keep track of them, but she tried to care for them all anyway.

  “Mae, we have to get this mess cleaned up and feed the dogs before Dad gets home.” Nikki looked at the clock again. “I’m not sure I’m going to have time to do both.”

  “Maybe,” said Mae, “I could feed the dogs while you clean the kitchen.”

  “That’s a nice offer,” said Nikki, “but I don’t know when Dad is going to come back, and if he saw you feeding them —” Nikki caught herself, then said, “well, you wouldn’t be able to hide those bags of chow fast enough. They’re so heavy. No, help me here and then let’s just hope there’s enough time to feed the dogs.”

  “I’m sorry I made a mess,” said Mae.

  “That’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.” Nikki glanced toward the stairs, thinking of her sleeping mother, who should have been available to help Mae with her lunch. Then another thought occurred to her. She had better wake her mother before her father got home. If her mother was still in bed, that would present another problem. Nikki’s stomach started to churn. How was she going to get everything done in time?