sort of construction accident and left Ivy and the children without a dime to live on, but she never speaks of him or of how she ended up in New Bern. I think she’s from somewhere in Pennsylvania originally, but I don’t know for certain.
Not that she has to share any of that with us, not at all. Our quilt circle isn’t a place for gossip, it’s a place for honesty. It might take some time, but I think that’s what Ivy needs: a safe place where she can be herself, and with a group of friends who will love and accept her for exactly who she is.
8
Evelyn Dixon
Abigail was indignant.
“No? We’re kind enough to invite her to join our quilt circle and she just says no? After all we’ve done for her! Especially you, Evelyn. Where would she be if you hadn’t given her a job?” She answered her own question. “In the unemployment line, that’s where! I’ve never heard of such ingratitude!”
She practically stabbed the needle through the quilt top and batting she was basting together. Looking at her, I decided it was a good thing Ivy had left as quickly as she did. If not, Abigail just might have turned that basting needle into a lethal weapon.
We were in the workroom, Abigail, Liza, Margot, and myself, going on with our usual circle meeting like we normally did, but the evening’s previously festive atmosphere had definitely faded.
Margot was working on a quilted tote bag she planned to give her sister for Christmas. Liza was supposed to be sewing a bunch of shells with holes she’d drilled herself onto the back of a jacket, but mostly she seemed to be drinking wine. And I sat at my sewing machine with my head down, using my seam ripper to remove the stitches from a seam I’d accidentally sewn wrong sides together, the sort of beginner’s mistake I hadn’t made in years.
“Abigail, calm down. It’s not like joining the quilt circle is a condition of employment around here. Ivy must have her reasons for not wanting to be part of the group,” I said evenly, though for the life of me, I couldn’t think what those reasons could be.
I was so sure that Ivy would be happy, even excited, at the prospect of being included in our circle. If not for the quilting, at least for the chance to have an adult evening out now and then. It never crossed my mind that she’d refuse the invitation. I couldn’t help but feel a little hurt by Ivy’s reaction.
“Well”—Liza shrugged and took another sip from one of the coffee cups we used in lieu of wineglasses—“it isn’t like she was rude about it, Abigail. She just said she’d rather not, that’s all. You’re just mad because someone isn’t doing what you want them to do. That always ticks you off.”
Abigail glared at her niece. “That’s simply not so. I don’t know why you always think the worst of me, Liza.”
“Then why are you so upset? Why should you care if Ivy joins the quilt circle or not? You don’t even like her. Admit it, you’re just mad because Ivy isn’t doing what you want her to do. You’re not happy unless everyone is dancing to your tune.”
Oh great, I thought. Here they go again.
The last thing I was in the mood for was to listen to Liza and Abigail’s bickering. They were each other’s only living relatives, thrust unwillingly together when the court had briefly made Abigail responsible for her niece after Liza had experienced a minor run-in with the law. Their relationship was often rocky but they truly did love each other, though Liza knew exactly how to push her aunt’s buttons and never tired of doing so.
I never understood why Abigail, so intelligent about so many things, couldn’t see that Liza was setting her up, striking the match of her aunt’s temper and then laughing at the ensuing shower of sparks.
“Margot, what did you put in that pound cake? It’s fabulous. I’m going to have another piece. Abigail, can I get you some more cake?”
It was a weak attempt at a diversion, especially since Abigail hadn’t had any cake to begin with, but I was tired; it was the best I could come up with on short notice.
“That’s not true,” Abigail said airily, ignoring my question. “It makes not the slightest bit of difference to me if Ivy joins us or not. I do think it was rude of her to refuse, but it’s no skin off my nose that she did. I’m perfectly happy for things to stay as they are. I wasn’t all that sold on adding someone new to the group anyway. I’ve got other things on my mind besides Ivy Peterman, I can assure you.”
A hint of a smile bowed Liza’s lips. “Such as?”
“Such as,” Abigail answered haughtily, “my upcoming presentation to the zoning board on the subject of turning my house into transitional apartments for families in crisis.”
“What?”
I dropped the piece of cake I’d been serving, missing the plate entirely and scattering crumbs across the floor. Margot sat wide-eyed at the sewing machine, hands in her lap but so shocked she’d forgotten to take her foot off the pedal. The mechanical whirr of the machine underscored our expressions of disbelief.
“You’re selling your house?”
“But why?”
“You can’t be serious,” Liza declared. “This has to be some kind of joke.”
This time it was Abigail’s turn to smile. Clearly she was enjoying being the one to set Liza off balance instead of the other way around.
“It’s no joke,” she answered. “I’m quite serious. But, I’m not selling the house; I’m donating it. The Stanton Center is desperate to find a larger facility.”
“So you just thought to yourself, ‘Hey! I’ve got an idea. Why not give them the house?’”
“The Stanton Center needs a large building. I do not. At my age, do I really need to live in a house with eight bedrooms, six baths, and a ballroom? No. If the Stanton Center needs the space and I don’t, why not give it to them?”
“You’re very generous, Abigail,” Margot said diplomatically. “But wouldn’t it make more sense for Stanton to buy an empty lot and build from scratch? It won’t be cheap to convert your antique home into modern apartments. I’m sure you’d have to make all kinds of changes to the plumbing and such. Not to mention the remodeling you’d have to do for it to meet fire codes and handicapped accessibility requirements. It could run into hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“Oh no,” Abigail said assuredly. “It will run into millions. I’ve already looked into it. But, there are simply no available lots that are large enough or close enough to town. The new center must be close to bus lines, schools, and the downtown area.”
Abigail squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “These women are facing enough problems trying to move beyond the legacy of domestic violence without our community making it even more difficult for them to obtain decent housing, and the access to transportation and good schools for their children that they need in order to become productive members of the workforce while raising their children to be responsible citizens. This is an issue that concerns our entire community and it will take the efforts of our entire community to meet and conquer this challenge!”
“Let me guess,” Liza said sarcastically. “You’re running for Congress. Either that or this
