These tangled threads, p.25
These Tangled Threads, page 25
Back downstairs in the workshop, Lorna tucked a stray lock of hair under her hat. She hadn’t dared linger too long upstairs with Arthur, although she would have been content never to leave the nest of his arms again.
Arthur reached out and toyed with a button on her sleeve. “I have a favor to ask,” he said, not making eye contact.
“Anything,” she breathed.
“Don’t be too quick now. Let me tell you what it is.” Lorna folded her hands, in part to keep them from reaching for Arthur, and waited. He cleared his throat. “Boyd is being released. I spent Thanksgiving with him at the hospital, and we all agreed he’s ready to leave.” He flicked a glance at her. “Will you come with me to bring him home?”
Lorna felt her mouth go dry. She’d never even met Boyd. Was he safe? Was he balanced? She gave herself a mental shake. She would not let fear rule her anymore. “Of course I’ll come.” She smiled. “I’m eager to meet your brother.”
Relief washed over Arthur’s face. His shoulders relaxed, and he took a deep breath. “Excellent. I’ve borrowed an automobile. I’ll come for you at two tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Lorna said. “Now, I’d better leave you to your work.”
“Are you sure I can’t walk you home?”
“Yes,” she giggled and blushed. “I could use some fresh air to clear my head.”
He glanced around the room and then took her hand and demurely kissed it. “Until tomorrow then.”
She laughed and boldly leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek just as Angus poked his head through the curtain. He looked pleased with what he saw. “Customer out front, Arthur. Interested in a commission.”
“Go.” Lorna waved him on. “I’ll bake a cake to welcome Boyd home.”
Arthur grinned and disappeared into the showroom. Angus sauntered over to Lorna. “He’s a good ’un. You could do a lot worse.”
Lorna laughed, her heart lighter than it had been in years. “And so I have. I suppose it’s high time I started making better choices.”
40
Arthur
ASHEVILLE
DECEMBER 1923
Angus’s borrowed car sputtered to a stop in front of Lorna’s house. Arthur sat for a moment, wondering if he was a fool. Taking his dream girl to pick up the brother who probably still thought he’d been betrayed might not have been his best idea. But having Lorna along felt like such a comfort. And surely Boyd would behave himself in front of her, even if he was still angry.
Arthur let his head fall forward onto the steering wheel. Why did he keep trying to manage people? It seemed like he’d been doing it his whole life. Trying to sense what others were thinking or feeling. Trying to stay at least one step ahead so he could meet expectations and avoid problems. The only time he’d risked himself was that dinner with Lorna at Grove Park Inn. And now, with Lorna’s apology fresh in his mind—not to mention her lips—he wondered if maybe he should spend more time simply letting life happen.
He straightened in time to see Lorna come out and skip down the steps, carrying a cake box tied with twine. He smiled, his fretting and worrying dissipating in the light of her presence. He jumped out and helped her into the motorcar, stowing the box in the back seat.
“Where in the world did you get this automobile?” she asked. “It’s ever so much better than the one we used in West Virginia.”
“Would you believe it belongs to Angus? He’s a dab-hand with automobiles and was happy to give us the use of this one today.” Arthur hurried around to the front to crank the engine, then hopped in behind the steering wheel. Soon they were chug-chug-chugging off in the direction of Highland Hospital.
They didn’t try to speak above the noise of the Model T, but once Arthur parked it below Oak Lodge, he cleared his throat and said, “I’m awfully glad you’re here, but I’m having second thoughts about asking you.” He reached over and took her gloved hand. “What if Boyd hasn’t forgiven me? What if he’s rude to you? He’s certainly better, or healthier, yet he’s still giving me the cold shoulder. I’m afraid I was thinking of myself more than you or Boyd.”
Lorna squeezed his hand. “Oh, Arthur. It’s high time you considered yourself. I think you’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met. You’re always looking out for everyone else. I’m glad you asked me along today. Goodness knows you’ve been doing favors for me for months now, and this is little enough to repay you.” She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. “And don’t forget I used to manage Gentry when she didn’t want to learn how to weave. I’ve seen sulky, sullen behavior before. I think I can handle it.”
Arthur smiled. “Thank you.” His voice was husky. “Having you here is more comfort than you know.”
Lorna blushed and withdrew her hand. “Right then. Let’s get on with it.”
Once inside the hospital, Arthur had to leave Lorna in the expansive hall with its leather chairs and mission-style side tables. He hesitated, but she made a shooing motion as she settled near a sunny window. He gulped back his worries and followed an orderly to his brother’s room.
Boyd was sitting on the edge of a bare mattress when Arthur entered the room. He sprang to his feet and then stood, shifting from foot to foot. He looked from the orderly to Arthur and back again. “What’s the play?” he asked.
Arthur tried not to let his brother’s nerves affect him. “I’ve already signed the paperwork. Grab your stuff—I have an automobile waiting outside.”
“That’s it? No big rigamarole?”
Arthur glanced at the orderly, who nodded. “Yup. That’s it.”
Boyd wiped his hands on his britches and grabbed a carpetbag Arthur had brought on his last visit. He barreled out the door like he thought someone might try to stop him. Arthur jogged—as best he could—to keep up. “Hey there, Boyd, slow down. I wanted to tell you that I brought—”
Boyd burst into the entry hall and came up short. Lorna stood and smiled. “Boyd, it’s so good to meet you.”
“You brought a dame?” Boyd asked.
“She came along to keep me company.” Arthur felt uneasy. “And she baked a cake to welcome you home.”
“Home.” Boyd said the single word like he wasn’t sure what it meant. “Where’s that?”
Arthur reached out a tentative hand to clasp his brother’s shoulder. Boyd flinched but didn’t pull away. “Home is my place for now. If you think home’s somewhere else, we can talk about it.”
He felt Boyd’s knotted shoulder sag. “Okay. I guess that’s alright.” He put on a smile for Lorna, and it reminded Arthur of a kid trying on his father’s shoes. It was too big and plenty awkward, but at least he was trying.
Lorna cut immense slices of her lemon pound cake while Arthur finished brewing coffee. This time he had plenty of milk and sugar on hand. They sat at the tiny kitchen table in Arthur’s apartment. The space was tight, and he wished he’d thought of using the worktable downstairs. It wasn’t ideal, but at least there was more room. He squeezed the sugar bowl and creamer next to the cake and distributed mugs. Then he looked for a place to settle the coffeepot and failed to find one. Lorna chuckled and moved the cake to his one section of kitchen counter. He plunked down the pot in its place with relief.
They took turns pouring coffee and adding what they liked to their cups. Then it was just the clink of forks against plates and the sounds of chewing. Arthur racked his brain for something to say. He felt sweat pop out on his upper lip. He sipped his coffee and dabbed his lip with his napkin. He flicked a look at Lorna, who seemed vaguely amused.
Boyd set his fork down. “Thanks for the cake, Lorna. It’s real good.”
“I’m glad you like it. I don’t take time to bake very often.”
Arthur’s relief at hearing them speak dissolved as silence returned.
Boyd stirred his coffee and took a sip. “Coffee’s okay too,” he said. He looked Arthur in the eye. “But don’t you have anything stronger?”
Arthur felt his eyes bug out. He sputtered, “Are you asking me for . . . I mean, surely you don’t mean—”
He stopped short when he saw Boyd’s barely contained mirth. Then his brother burst into guffaws. “Had you goin’ there, didn’t I?” He elbowed Lorna. “Did you see the look on his face? Thought he was going to have to start all over with me.”
Lorna laughed so hard, tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Arthur stared at them both blankly, then began to chuckle. “You scallywag. You had me going!”
Once the laughter died down, Lorna leaned in and addressed Boyd directly. “Honestly, how are you doing?” Arthur could have kissed her for dealing with the elephant in the room. Of course, he wouldn’t mind kissing her anyway.
Boyd stared into his coffee cup and spun it around. He huffed out a breath of air. “Honestly, I feel better than I have in a long time. Maybe ever. They fed us real good and kept us busy with plenty of stuff to do. I got to work in the gardens and”—he flicked a look at Arthur—“I liked it. It was good to see something I planted in the spring grow all the way to harvest. Even if it meant I was in that place an awful long time.”
“What did you grow?” Lorna asked.
“Flowers mostly, but we had some vegetables, too. Beans, tomatoes, stuff like that.”
“Grandma had a garden.” Arthur felt lost in another time and place. “She used to send me home with whatever was ripe. Guess she knew Mam and Pap weren’t feeding us good.”
The brothers glanced at each other and then away again. “That must’ve been before I came along,” Boyd said. “Guess she was dead by then.”
“Yeah, she would’ve been. She died right before I went to stay with Rodney.”
“You were lucky,” Boyd mumbled. “Getting out of that mess.”
Arthur rubbed a thumb along the lip of his cup. “I sure didn’t feel lucky. I felt like no one wanted me.”
“That preacher wanted you.”
“Not really. It was just something he felt like he had to do. He warmed up to me I guess, but I always felt like my place was . . . temporary.”
Boyd frowned. “I still think you had it better than me.”
“Probably,” Arthur said. “I guess you just always wish you could go home again—even when home isn’t all that great.”
Boyd slumped in his chair. “I miss it. As bad as it was, I still miss the view off the back porch and the way Pap would throw an arm around my shoulder and call me his best drinkin’ buddy.” Boyd’s eyes glistened. Arthur swiped at his own eyes.
Lorna reached out and took each of them by the hand. “Sounds to me like you both had difficulties in your own way. And it seems to me neither one of you could find a better person to listen to you talk about those difficulties.” She squeezed their hands. “Maybe that’s the trick. You have to let all that bad stuff out before you can turn loose of it.”
“They told me something like that back at the hospital,” Boyd said. “Called it a talking cure.” He chuckled. “I’ve never been much for talking.”
“Me neither,” Arthur agreed. “But I’m willing to give it a go if you are.”
Boyd sighed. “Guess I need to find something to do other than chase after liquor. Talking to you might be alright.”
They sat in silence, only this time it felt comfortable. Arthur had hoped to get his brother back. He hadn’t counted on getting a confidant who really and truly understood what he’d been through back in West Virginia.
“Say, how about we put some open shelves in front of that window in the back of the shop? Maybe you can grow things there all year round.” He spoke without giving it too much thought, and then he worried he was pushing too hard. He didn’t want Boyd to think he was trying to keep him occupied lest he start drinking again. “I mean, only if you want to.”
Boyd released Lorna’s hand and cradled his coffee cup. “You know, I think I’d like that. And I guess I can still help you around the shop.” He hesitated. “If you want me to.”
“More than anything,” Arthur said. “I’ve just about got your toolbox filled up if you want it.” Boyd didn’t speak, but his smile was exactly the response Arthur had been hoping for.
41
Lorna
WEST ASHEVILLE
JANUARY 1924
And still there wasn’t any word about a wedding. If the whole business turned out to be a figment of Mrs. Harshaw’s imagination, Lorna didn’t know what she’d do. Would the society matron still want the cloth? Would it do Biltmore Industries any good if it wasn’t a gift for a Vanderbilt? The notion that all of this might be for nothing was a crushing weight.
And yet what else was there to do but finish the commission? Lorna practically moved in with Vivian and Gentry to work on it. As she watched the pattern come to life beneath their fingers, Lorna almost wished she could work on it all day and all night. It was like uncovering treasure, and she was addicted to the slow progression of colors and patterns unfurling across the loom.
Initially, she’d been worried about Gentry helping, remembering the girl as prone to missing heddles when setting the warp and bungling designs when she got distracted. But this new Gentry was calm and steady. At first, Lorna thought it was simply that she was older, but the more her story spilled out, the more she realized Gentry had been transformed. She’d chosen to stay at the brothel playing music because she’d finally felt needed. Instead of being stuck with a cold and angry grandfather or shipped off to learn to weave, her natural gift of music had blessed people whose lives were impossibly hard. Gentry told about girls her own age who’d been neglected, mistreated, and forced into letting their bodies be used in the meanest of ways.
“I guess it made me grow up—seeing that,” Gentry said. “I thought I’d had a hard life, but at least I had a way to make a living without having to . . .” She sighed and shook her head. “The least I could do was stick it out with them. To be there with them when they cried and when they thought they couldn’t stand it another minute.”
Despite Gentry’s trials, it was hard not to be envious. She had been reunited with her mother. Her childhood sorrow had been redeemed. Lorna would never be able to fill the hole her parents had left in her life. There was no mistake about them being gone. No chance of a miraculous reunion.
So, as she worked the treadles and sent her shuttle flying, she allowed herself to daydream. It wasn’t something she’d done much of in the past. She supposed with all the losses she’d experienced, dreaming of what might be felt too risky. But the mother-daughter reunion unfolding before her eyes each day gave her unexpected hope. And Arthur gave her fodder for dreaming. What if they were to wed? They could have a family of their own. She could work in his shop. Or she might even acquire a tabletop loom to make smaller items like scarves and table runners that could be sold alongside Arthur’s pieces.
She imagined working at a loom in Arthur’s workshop. He’d lay down the piece of wood he was carving so he could lean over her shoulder. He’d sweep the hair from the nape of her neck and—
“Lorna!” She felt a hand on her shoulder and blinked her eyes. “Goodness, I called your name three times.” Vivian stood laughing at her elbow. “Woolgathering while working with wool. That’s a good one.”
Lorna flushed and stilled the loom. “Sorry. I was a bit lost in thought there.”
“It’s remarkable to me that you can be a million miles away and never miss a change in the pattern.” Vivian admired the rows Lorna had added to their fabric. “I may have a gift for design, but you have a gift for bringing designs to life.”
Lorna grimaced. “I suppose, but your gift is so much more impressive.”
Vivian frowned. “I don’t see that. You weave faster and more accurately than I ever have.” She laughed. “Than Gentry can ever hope to. It seems to me our gifts work together to get the job done, and that’s what matters. In a hive the drones are just as important as the queen. There wouldn’t be honey without all of them working together.”
Lorna stood and stretched. “Are you calling me a drone?”
“Perhaps I’m calling you a queen bee. Now, come eat before the food gets cold.”
They joined Gentry at the table for a simple lunch of vegetable soup and hot bread. Lorna ate with relish, finding the work, the mountain air, and the company all working to increase her appetite. A thought struck her. “Gentry, what happened that time you went to West Virginia to look for your mother? I haven’t heard that part of your story yet.”
Gentry slurped her soup and nodded. “I worked in a hotel there for a while. But I didn’t find Mama, and nobody seemed to know anything about her.”
Vivian frowned. “When was this?”
Gentry waved her spoon in the air. “I don’t remember. It was whenever I left Asheville.”
Lorna puckered her lips. “That would have been . . . October 1916. Yes, that’s when you gave me your mother’s drafts for train fare.” She shifted uncomfortably and darted a look from mother to daughter. “Can I tell you again how sorry I am about that?”
“It’s forgiven.” Vivian waved a hand. “Are you sure it was October of that year?”
“Quite sure. I was still reeling from the flood and losing my father.”
Gentry snapped her fingers. “That’s right. It wasn’t long after the big flood.”
Vivian shook her head. “But Sabine was still there in October. She didn’t leave until February of the following year.”
Gentry’s spoon clattered in her bowl. “No one knew anything about you. I asked everybody.”
“What hotel?” Vivian asked.
Gentry thought for a moment. “Let’s see . . . it had a funny name. The same as the town. It was hard to say until you’d heard it a few times.”
“The Hotel Ronceverte?”
Gentry smiled. “That’s it!”
Vivian paled. “Sabine sold butter to that hotel. We wrote to each other now and again, though not as often as I would’ve liked. She had a hard time forgiving me for marrying your father. It was only after we both became widows that we reconnected.”
