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Cordelia was not herself. Ivy noticed as she helped at the craft fair. She spotted the woman walking from booth to booth aimlessly. Vendors offering friendly conversation were stunned and watched with stone-faced confusion as their leader ambled away.
Victor Cotton, operating his booth, followed Cordelia with intentional vigilance. Ivy watched him watching her. One neighbor looking out for another neighbor? Ivy wasn’t sure.
Lydia was far too busy to notice much else. She sewed the entire apron to her skirt, and two little girls worked with seam rippers to free her. Miss Jacqui visited the market at the most inopportune of times. She scolded and fussed.
First things first. She ignored Lydia, completely and hurried to the Wedding Quilt. “You’ve displayed this backward.” The other crafters, at least a decade older than Lydia, flurried into action correcting whatever mistakes Jacqui pointed out.
They organized and reorganized every display — a $500 price tag flickered from the wedding quilt. Lydia hadn’t realized the Wedding Quilt was for sale. On Sunday, someone offered her $650 for the beautiful piece. A wave of guilt socked her in the gut. Jacqui would not like Lydia missing a huge sale.
The entire ordeal was humiliating for Lydia. She had no choice other than to sit and watch and endure it. The little girls working at her skirt were slow but still much faster than she was at detaching the apron. Patrons strolled past to see if the rumors were true. They took pictures, and some took videos of Lydia’s embarrassing moment.
Ivy tried to detour the gawkers and offer them something else to stare at, but it wasn’t any use. She prayed they were merciful and didn’t display the mess online.
Again, she noticed. Cordelia didn't turn her face to the crowd. She made her rounds without a word and without meeting the eyes of her vendors.
Lydia saw Cordelia, too. She assumed, at first, Cordelia was merely exhausted. Disturbed by the lady’s inability to acclimate to the day, she prayed for her and wished, even more, she was free to stand. The woman needed help and probably an excellent cry. She was acting like a deranged woman. Then again, after months of worry and terror, the discovery of Hobo Joe’s assault would make anyone insane.
“Ivy,” Lydia called. Ivy finished a sale before replying.
“Yes, I see her.”
“Do you think you can go to her?”
Ivy untied her crafter’s apron and folded it. She tucked in her duffle bag and straightened her shirt. “What should I do?’
“Maybe bring her a slice of pie and some tea. Invite her to sit at the bandstand for a while. Anything to help her reset.” Lydia reached an arm under her chair. Her purse was too far for her fingers to hold. “Get in there,” she said, “and help yourself to some money. I’m sure I’ve got a twenty tucked in there somewhere.”
Ivy complied with hustle. Lydia sat watching her. The girl tracked Cordelia through four booth inspections before Cordelia turned to face the teenager. Ivy pointed to the bandstand. Latte and Lava finished their set half an hour ago before packing in their gear. Ivy led the distractible woman to the steps of the gazebo and sat down beside her.
Lydia wished she was able to hear their conversation. Ivy would relay it back to her, no doubt. However, second-hand reports were never as good as first-hand discussions.
Shannon and Susie, the girls wielding the seam rippers, clapped and giggled. “We did it!” The apron fell to the dirt.
“Yes! Thank you, ladies! You did great. Here are your extra raffle tickets and a few dollars. Split a dessert on me. “
Shannon, the eldest, took the cash while the other girl took the tickets. They offered their thanks and sprinted toward the food stands. Fifteen minutes until closing and Lydia still hadn’t sold a single item.
✽✽✽
The Market ended with Ivy and Cordelia still reclining on the steps. Their fried pies went untouched. Each drank their teas, their hands wrapped around the once warm mugs. The sun had an hour before it set. The last vendor boxed up their wares and drove off.
Lydia paced by her car. She wanted to know what was going on, but she didn’t want to interrupt Cordelia. She fiddled with her phone. A quick text to Kat addressed the absence of news from Ethan or Gus. After thirty minutes of waiting she sent a message to Ivy.
From where she stood, she saw Ivy check her phone. However, Ivy did not respond. She set the phone back in her purse. Scout, slumbering in her car seat, was due for her second dinner. Lydia didn’t want to rouse the little girl earlier than needed but her feet wouldn’t keep still. She needed to know what was happening.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, she arched across the center console and reached back to the middle position. Her fanny hung out of the car, as she unlatched Scout. Footfalls behind Lydia startled her into fast action. She left the baby napping and spun around, forgetting her gravitational center teetered outside the safety of her car. She splatted, bum first, atop the curb and landed with her elbows digging holes into the lawn.
Her husband stood above her and offered her a hand up. His face was welcoming but not jovial or humorous. Lydia’s fits of clumsiness usually made him laugh aloud. He stood stalwart and silent. Something was very far from alright.
Ethan dusted Lydia off before retrieving Scout from her seat. He brought her cheek up to his and nestled her in the crook of his neck. This had been his favorite way to snuggle his own baby girl, Joan. He took a deep inhale of baby scent.
“I’m going to need your help, I think. I’m about to break some sad news, and I’m certain you’ll be needed. Stay nearby, will you? I’ll wave you over when it’s time.”
A tirade of thoughts assailed Lydia. Names, faces, and accidents appeared and morphed. Ethan handed the baby over to Lydia and Lydia pulled the sleeping one in for a close hug. Scout sighed and shimmied into Lydia’s folds with easy recognition.
Ethan did not kiss or pet his wife before heading toward the gazebo. He didn’t wink or joke or banter. He walked, one foot in front of the other straightening his back with each step. Whatever he had to say sagged on his shoulders like he was toting an anchor around his neck. Lydia ached for him. She was proud of her husband. However, she did not envy his job.