CHAPTER 58
September 1984
Remodeling the old dry goods store took a full four weeks longer than planned, but the results were worth the wait.
They tore out the ugly drop ceiling and fluorescent lights, and then, in keeping with the old-timey Western feel they were going for, installed ceiling tiles with a Lone Star pattern in pressed tin and a score of schoolhouse pendant fixtures, unfortunately delivered two weeks later than promised, that gave off plenty of bright, clear light.
It hadn’t been in their original plan, but when they ripped up the scarred linoleum prior to the installation of new vinyl, they discovered beautiful old wooden boards underneath and decided to refinish them in a warm cherry color topped with three coats of varnish so that they gleamed when sunlight beamed through the new, bigger display window. That added an extra week to the schedule but made a world of difference in the look and feel of the shop.
They salvaged the old display cabinets that Mr. Waterson left behind, sanding and refinishing them to match the floor. Graydon and Dutch, with Jeb assisting, built extra cabinets so there would be room for twice as much fabric as before.
They knocked out the wall between the front of the shop and the windowless room that Mr. Waterson had used to store his extra stock. This gave them room for more fabric, a corner to display notions, and a gated, half-walled toy room where the children of customers, and someday Howard and Rob Lee, could play while their parents shopped.
They took the upper floor of the building, which housed the one-bedroom apartment where Mr. and Mrs. Waterson had begun their married life, right down to the studs, leaving only one wall with a mural of Hawaiian palm trees on a white-sand beach, painted and signed by Mabel Waterson in 1940, untouched. The space was turned into an office with a kitchenette and a nursery where Howard and Rob Lee could nap, plus two medium-sized classrooms outfitted with tables, built-in ironing stations, and loaner sewing machines. The rooms were separated by a folding wall that could be opened to accommodate bigger classes, if needed.
“We can only hope,” Mary Dell said when she tested the folding wall for the first time.
When it came to paint, Mary Dell had her heart set on a color called Playboy Pink. Lydia Dale explained that a more neutral shade would be a better background to display class samples. Mary Dell eventually acquiesced, allowing the walls to be painted with three coats of Natural Muslin, but not until Lydia Dale agreed they could use Playboy Pink in the bathroom.
The bathroom had to be redone entirely, and when they pulled out the old toilet, they discovered a leak that cost them another week and an extra five hundred dollars to repair. The bathroom was finally finished in early September, the day before the first of three delivery trucks pulled up in front of the shop.
The first two trucks contained 2,500 bolts of gorgeous, fine-loomed, 100 percent cotton White Star quilting fabric. The third delivery truck carried four white rocking chairs and a custom carved sign with a picture of a red, white, and blue quilt in the lower left corner and shiny gold, Western-style lettering that read. . .
THE PATCHWORK PALACE
ESTABLISHED 1984—TEMPLETON SISTERS, PROPRIETORS
Mary Dell and Lydia Dale placed the rockers on the walkway in front of the shop as soon as they came off the truck, but they had to wait until the next day for Graydon, Dutch, and Moises to hang the sign.
Even with help from the family, it took three days to get all the fabric, notions, patterns, pattern books, and whatnot unpacked, arranged, and rearranged on the shelves. But at 3:12 in the morning, just six hours and forty-eight minutes before they were scheduled to open, Mary Dell slid the last bolt of fabric into place.
“Well? What do you think?”
Lydia Dale turned in a circle and clasped her hands under her chin.
“Perfect!”
Though the delay of their grand opening was unintentional, it turned out to be for the best. The town of Too Much hadn’t had a new addition to the commercial area in years, and people were naturally interested in the transformation of the old Dry Goods Emporium.
Everyone commented on how good the building looked with a fresh coat of paint and flower boxes out front, and how nice it was that the Templeton girls had put up that black sign with gold letters saying WATERSON BUILDING at the top of the second floor. But it was speculation about what was going on inside that really got people talking.
Trucks were parked in front of the shop all summer long, and men wearing tool belts and painter’s coveralls passed through the door every day, and there was a great noise of buzz saws and hammers coming from within, but no one could see inside because Mary Dell, whose inborn streak of showmanship was just beginning to blossom, had covered the windows and beveled glass door with brown butcher paper. By August, the curiosity about what was going on behind that brown paper was pretty intense. But when word got out that the grand opening was to be delayed another month, anticipation reached a fever pitch.
A crowd began to gather outside more than an hour before opening. It was a good thing Mary Dell stood back a bit when she unlocked and opened the door at precisely ten o’clock; if not, she might have been trampled.
It was also a good thing that Taffy, as well as Mary Dell’s old students, Pearl, Pauline and Sweetums, volunteered to help out that day, otherwise they’d never have been able to keep up. Silky and Velvet arrived just after the opening and stayed until four, circulating among the customers with trays, offering cups of cold lemonade and Silky’s special peach crumble bars.
Ten minutes after they arrived, a man came through the door carrying an enormous spray of two dozen yellow roses and a note of congratulations from C. J. Evard. Mr. Evard, the man informed them, had called the shop personally and paid him extra to bring those flowers all the way from Waco, there being no florist in Too Much. Mary Dell buried her nose in the bouquet to breathe in the scent before placing them on a stand in the center of the front window, where everyone could see them.
Not long after, a package arrived, delivered by Wanda Joy herself, who avoided making eye contact with Mary Dell but loitered around the shop for a good ten minutes and had two cups of lemonade before returning to her route.
The postmark said Amarillo, but the handwriting was familiar. Donny had sent one hundred dollars and a present, an electronic calculator. The card that came with it said . . .
I thought this might come in handy. Congratulations. I’m so proud of you.
Love always,
Donny
How had he known? Who had told him about the shop? Mary Dell read the card twice, found a tissue so she could blow her nose, and went back to work. She had no time for tears today.
Howard was there too. Knowing how busy the day would be, Graydon and Dutch offered to watch all the kids, but Mary Dell wanted Howard with her, deciding it was high time her boy met the people of Too Much.
Dr. Nystrom came in first thing and insisted on carrying him around on her hip, cooing about how handsome he was and asking him what he thought of this fabric or that, while she chose material for the log cabin quilt she’d always intended to make but had never found time for. Before long, a couple of the Methodist Church ladies, who already knew Howard from the nursery during services, came along and decided they needed a pretty baby to help them pick out their fabric as well, and on and on it went for most of the day, with Howard being passed from customer to customer, friends and strangers alike, some who had questions about Down syndrome that Mary Dell was perfectly happy to answer, and all of whom agreed they’d never seen a baby with prettier eyes or a sweeter disposition. By three o’clock, Howard Hobart Bebee had met and charmed half the women in Too Much, gaining so many admirers that Mary Dell practically had to pry him away so she could put him down for a nap in the second-floor nursery.
Except for a few glitches with the cash register, which Mary Dell and Lydia Dale were still trying to get the hang of, things went remarkably smoothly. Customers were patient even when the line for the cutting table stretched all the way to the door and had nothing but praise for the shop, the quality of the goods offered, and the owners. One woman did grumble a little about the cost of the yardage compared to the prices Mr. Waterson charged, but Lydia Dale noted that this didn’t deter her from purchasing three four-yard cuts of fabric, sixteen fat quarters, three spools of thread, and one of the new rotary cutters Mary Dell was demonstrating at a table in the notions section. As Mary Dell had predicted, people went crazy over those cutters. By day’s end, they’d completely sold out of cutters and mats.
The class sign-ups went well too. The Lone Star class filled up so quickly that Mary Dell added a second session, and by the end of the day the beginners’ class was filled too. Most of the sign-ups came from people who’d come into the shop only out of curiosity and never planned on taking up quilting. But the sight of all those beautiful class sample quilts displayed on the walls, along with reassurances from Pearl, Pauline, and Sweetums that Mary Dell was a wonderful instructor and really would be able to teach them to quilt, changed many minds that day.
Traffic was busiest in the first two hours of the day, ebbing a little at lunchtime, but it picked up at around one fifteen and stayed steady for most of the day, not slowing until four forty, which was when Mary Dell gave Pauline, Pearl, and Sweetums her thanks, as well as bags filled with fabric that Lydia Dale had chosen just for them, and sent them on their way.
“We couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, hugging each of them in turn.
At four forty-five, Marlena Benton showed up, flanked by Lena Brooks, the new treasurer of the Women’s Club, who was also relatively new to Too Much, having married a local man and moved to town from Tulsa only three months previously, and Diamond Pickens, Marlena’s ever-present sycophant, secretary, and kin.
Lena was first through the door. Mary Dell gave her a friendly wave and greeted her by name. Lena waved back and started cooing about how sweet the shop was, but stopped when she noticed that Marlena was staring at her with the intensity and heat of a laser.
Lydia Dale blanched at the sight of her ex-mother-in-law and went to the back of the shop and busied herself reshelving pattern books. Taffy took over Lydia Dale’s spot at the register, saying nothing but keeping her eyes glued to Marlena. Mary Dell, however, walked right up to the trio and, in the pleasantest possible tone, asked if she could help them.
Lena started to answer but was interrupted by Marlena, who sighed deeply, glancing around the shop with a disdainful expression.
“I doubt it. I was hoping to find some fabric that might do to make my gown for the Christmas Ball, but . . .” She rubbed a corner of a fabric from a nearby bolt between her thumb and forefinger, then released it with a look of disgust, as if she were tossing aside a used tissue. “It’s obvious that nothing you carry is even remotely appropriate.”
“Probably not. We can sell you fabric to make a quilt or, if you don’t know how already, we can teach you to make a quilt, but we don’t sell dress goods. For that you’ll need to go to Waco.”
Mary Dell’s lips bowed into a smile, and in a voice that sounded like saccharin tastes, sweet but bitter and just as artificial, said, “Would you like me to draw you a map, Marlena?”
Diamond stepped back nervously. Lena frowned, a little crease of confusion appearing between her brows, as if she wasn’t entirely sure what was going on.
The corner of Marlena’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly, as if she’d just received a pinch, but she recovered quickly.
“That’s all right. I’ll probably make a run up to Dallas and get something at Neiman’s anyway. Homemade fashions are always so . . . quaint, aren’t they?”
She covered her mouth with her hand, feigning surprise. “Bless your heart. I’m so sorry, Mary Dell. I forgot. You make all your own clothes, don’t you?”
Marlena’s eyes moved slowly over Mary Dell’s frame, taking in every inch of the zebra-print wrap dress she’d made especially for the grand opening and paired with a red alligator belt and purple suede platform shoes.
“Yes, I can see you do. Well, considering how you spend your time, you know, shoveling sheep pens and such, I suppose homemade is fine. Of course, if you were going to the Christmas Ball,” she said, launching a pointed and gleeful glance in Taffy’s direction, “it’d be different. But since you’re not . . .”
“Oh, I’m going to the Christmas Ball,” Mary Dell said casually. “The whole family is going: me, Lydia Dale, Momma, Granny, Aunt Velvet, and the menfolk too. The Patchwork Palace is a sponsor. Didn’t you know?”
Taffy let out a little gasp of delight. Mary Dell looked back at her and winked before turning back to Marlena, whose eyes were so wide with shock that it looked like somebody had goosed her with a cattle prod.
“What!” she shouted to Mary Dell, then spun around to face Lena. “What!”
The crease that had formed between Lena’s brows deepened to a crevasse, her confusion complete.
“That’s right. Patchwork Palace is a gold-level sponsor. They’ll get a table by the bandstand and a full-page ad in the program.”
“You can’t be serious! You sold them a sponsorship to the Christmas Ball? Why didn’t you check with me first?”
“You didn’t tell me to check with you,” Lena said, sounding a little annoyed. “You said to go out and sell a bronze sponsorship and a gold sponsorship or we wouldn’t have enough money to pay the printer or the deposit for the caterer, so I did. Hazel Dawn over at the Primp ’n’ Perm bought the bronze, and Mary Dell took the gold.”
“Well, you can just turn around and un-sell that gold sponsorship right now!” Marlena barked.
“I can’t do that,” Lena said. “It wouldn’t be right, and I’m not even sure it would be legal. The ball is open to the public; anybody can buy a ticket. On top of that, the program proofs are already at the printer. Patchwork Palace is all over it.”
Marlena’s nostrils flared.
“I don’t care,” she hissed. “The Christmas Ball is Too Much’s most important and exclusive event. We are not going to lower our standards just because some low-class climber thinks she can buy her way up the social ladder.”
Lydia Dale’s voice rang out from the back of the shop. “Take that back!”
She threw a pattern book down on the table and advanced quickly toward Marlena.
“Don’t you dare speak to my sister like that! Take it back right now, Marlena, or so help me . . .” Lydia Dale’s fingers curled into a fist.
Taffy ran out from behind the register, putting herself between Marlena and Lydia Dale.
“Now, honey. Calm down. I won’t let my girl sink to catfighting.”
“Momma’s right,” Mary Dell said, yawning to indicate her complete disregard and walking back toward the register. “She’s not worth it. Calm down.”
“I will,” Lydia Dale said in a low and dangerous tone, “when she takes it back.”
“I’m not taking back anything,” Marlena snipped. “You’re low class and always have been, the whole pack of you. Your aunt is a crazy old spinster who dresses like she’s going to a funeral. Your mother was a circus freak . . .”
“Momma was the star of a Wild West show,” Taffy said evenly.
“Your daughters are loose women with no morals who couldn’t hold on to their men. Ha! And you’re no better, Taffeta Templeton. The only reason you’ve kept hold of your husband is because Dutch is dumb as a watermelon. No wonder your grandchild was born a retard. Blood will tell, I always say . . .”
There is a noise that a wooden bat makes when it smacks a leather baseball right in the sweet spot, a whoosh-crack that some athletes have described as the most satisfying sound in the world. The sound of Taffy Templeton’s right fist making contact with the lower left portion of Marlena Benton’s jaw was very similar to that sweet smack of wood against leather, and more satisfying to witness than a home run.
“Momma!” Mary Dell and Lydia Dale cried in unison, their voices a mixture of shock and delight, as Marlena toppled backward, landing in a pile on the wooden floor and losing a shoe in the process.
“Marlena!” Diamond cried at the same moment, scuttling to her president’s side.
Diamond crouched on the floor with the thought of helping Marlena to her feet, but changed her mind when she saw Taffy plowing toward them. Abandoning Marlena to her fate, Diamond leapt to her feet, ran out the door and into the street, quaking with fear and wringing her hands. Lena, not knowing what else to do, followed her and stood in the street, not sure if she should go home or wait for Marlena.
She didn’t have to wait long.
Before her daughters could restrain her, though, in truth, they didn’t try all that hard to do so, Taffy grabbed Marlena by her dress collar, yanked her to her feet, dragged her out the front door of the shop, and gave her such a shove that she flew backward once again and landed on her behind in the street.
Taffy stood with her hands on her hips, the look on her face so murderous that Marlena was afraid to rise and sat on the ground with only one shoe, propped up on her elbows with her legs askew.
“Now, you listen to me, Marlena Benton, because I’m only going to say this once. I don’t care what you say about me, and I don’t give a rattlesnake’s rear end if you have me blackballed from polite society for the rest of my days, but I’m warning you, if I hear you ever, I mean ever, use that word to refer to my grandson, or anyone, ever again . . . I will kick your skinny behind so hard you’ll land on the Mexico side of the Rio Grande. Am I making myself clear?”
Marlena was too stunned to do more than give her head a quick bob, and Taffy was too consumed by anger to hear the sound of her daughters’ convulsive laughter. Taffy turned on her heel and stomped back into the quilt shop, only to return a moment later with Marlena’s pink pump, which she flung onto the street next to its owner before going back inside and slamming the door.
The immediate danger having passed, Diamond came running, helped Marlena to her feet, and tried frantically to brush the dirt from the back of her dress, whacking at her backside like she was beating a rug.
“Stop that!” Marlena spat. “Hand me my shoe.”
Marlena grabbed Diamond’s shoulder to steady herself while she replaced her pink pump, the heel of which had come loose during the fracas, then pushed her cousin away. She straightened her shoulders and limped off with Diamond in her wake, fussing and fretting. Lena followed her too, but turned around and walked backward for a few steps, giving the Templeton twins an apologetic shrug before going on her way.
Lydia Dale was laughing so hard she could hardly breathe, let alone speak, but Mary Dell recovered herself enough to walk into the middle of the street, holding her hands to her mouth like a megaphone.
“Marlena, are you sure you don’t want to learn to quilt? We’ve still got a few spots in the beginners’ class!”