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Beatrice opened Piper’s gift first. She smiled and gave her daughter a big hug when she saw a gift certificate to her and Wyatt’s favorite restaurant in downtown Dappled Hills.
“I wanted to give you an excuse to go out for a few nights on the town,” said Piper, teasingly. “I know how you both try to save money, but sometimes it’s just important to get out.”
Everyone oohed and ahhed and laughed when Beatrice opened Georgia’s present. It was a white satiny bandana that had ‘happily ever after’ and the date of the wedding stitched on it with a cream-colored cotton flower on it.
The ever-practical Savannah had given her an account ledger. She said eagerly to Beatrice, “I thought combining the accounts of two different households might be tricky. I monogrammed the cover for you, myself,” she added, proudly.
Beatrice gave her a hug, feeling her eyes prickle with tears—not so much at the gift itself but how much time and thought her friend had put into purchasing something for her.
Posy held out her gift to Beatrice. It was in a large box and wrapped beautifully in patches of various gift wraps to give it a quilting flavor. “Hope you’ll enjoy it,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Here—be a bit careful ... it’s a little fragile.”
Beatrice was extremely careful at that point, because just hearing that something was fragile was enough to turn her completely into butterfingers. She carefully unwrapped the gift and pulled back the tissue paper inside to reveal a handmade birdfeeder: a replica of Dappled Hills Presbyterian Church where Wyatt preached. Even the ivy climbing up the sides of the church and the steeple were represented. Beatrice gasped. “It’s gorgeous, Posy! Did you make this?”
Posy’s eyes crinkled and she gave her gentle laugh. “Oh, no. No, I’m no good at all with woodworking or models or anything. Cork made this.”
“Cork did? I had no idea he could make something like this,” said Beatrice.
“Me either!” Meadow put her hands on her hips. “How secretive of him!”
Posy smiled. “He’ll be so pleased you like it, Beatrice. I think he’s kept his talent a secret because he’s not only a little insecure about it, but he also wants to make things for himself and not so much for others.”
Meadow sighed. “So he won’t be taking orders, then?”
“If he does, you’ll be the first to know,” said Posy, grinning.
Beatrice said, “It’s so pretty that I almost don’t want to put it outside for the birds!”
“Oh no, it’s designed for the birds and for being outdoors. He did something to weatherproof it,” said Posy.
Beatrice gave Posy a hug. And then gave her another one. “For Cork,” she said.
Meadow’s gift was next. Beatrice unwrapped it to find a treasure trove of fabrics, notions she’d never even seen before, and patterns. Beatrice grinned at her. “Wyatt will love these.”
Meadow laughed and said, “Actually, you’re right. ‘Happy wife, happy life.’”
Sadie held out and envelope and said with a smile, “From Della and me.”
Beatrice flushed. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. We wanted to.”
Inside the envelope was a gift card for a manicure and pedicure in nearby Lenoir.
Della said with her eyes partially closed and a smile on her face, “It’s the best mani-pedi ever.”
Sadie added, “We thought you might need something relaxing with all the stress of a wedding going on.”
Beatrice thanked them and then saw what looked like a banker’s box with a lid on it.
“From Miss Sissy,” said Meadow.
Beatrice approached the box a little cautiously. With Miss Sissy, you never really knew what you were going to get.
Inside was a lovely old quilt. It wasn’t just an ‘old’ quilt. It was vintage, an heirloom. And, for a moment, Beatrice’s art curator background took over as she studied it. It was an appliqued Tree of Life quilt and the stitching was impeccable. The quilt was in wonderful shape and the reds and blues of the bird perching in the branches of the tree were nearly as bright as they must have been one hundred years earlier.
“It’s beautiful,” said Beatrice reverently.
Miss Sissy smiled at her, her blue eyes bright. “Was Mother’s. She made it,” she said gruffly.
“She was an amazing quilter,” said Beatrice gently. “Although I never thought otherwise—after all, her daughter is such an amazing quilter.” She hesitated. “Are you sure you want me to have this? It’s one of your heirlooms.”
Miss Sissy glared at her. “Of course! Needs to be enjoyed. Too many quilts at home.”
Beatrice ran her hand softly over the needlework of the applique. “We’ll take good care of it, Miss Sissy. This means a lot to us. Thank you.”
The last gift was from a round-eyed June Bug who blushed as Beatrice reached for her gift.
“I have a hard time deciding on gifts,” said the little woman, shifting from one foot to the other.
Beatrice opened the little box to find an exquisitely made dainty handkerchief with tiny blue flowers.
“June Bug! This is beautiful,” said Beatrice.
June Bug’s eyes shone as she looked shyly at Beatrice. “Do you think so? Mother made it a long time ago.”
Meadow exclaimed, “Something old! And something blue, too—the little flowers!”
Beatrice said quickly, “May I give it back to you after the wedding? You may want to give it to Katy one day. I remember that you said before that you don’t have many of your mother’s things left anymore. That way, this will also be something borrowed, too.”
“Three in one!” said Savannah. The sheer efficiency of it delighted her.
Beatrice was afraid that she would offend June Bug by returning her precious gift later, but if anything, the little woman looked even more pleased. “Three in one,” she repeated with a happy smile.
The bridal shower was wrapping up and everyone had made their goodbyes but Beatrice.
Beatrice remembered something and quickly called out, “By the way, does anyone need a dog?” She laughed. “Or maybe I should ask if anyone wants a dog. I happen to know a very friendly, cute one who is looking for a home!”
Everyone laughed, shaking their heads. Beatrice sighed. She really hoped she wasn’t going to end up being the long-term solution for Scooter.
“Did you take that dog on?” asked Meadow. “The one that’s been driving you crazy with all his racket?”
“I sure did,” said Beatrice. “But he’s quiet as can be when he’s with people. It’s just being confined outside day in and day out that made him bark.”
Meadow said, “I’ll ask around a little. Maybe I can find someone.”
Beatrice hugged her quilting friends as they left. Meadow looked at her suspiciously as Beatrice lingered. “You are not allowed to help clean up! This was a party for you.”
Beatrice held up her hands and laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I just wanted to thank you again for putting this together.”
Meadow put a plate in the dishwasher. “Wasn’t it a great shower? And everyone came! Having your shower take the place of a guild meeting was a stroke of brilliance, I must say. There’s no way you’d have let me host one, otherwise. Now, let me help you put your presents in your car for you.”
Beatrice shook her head. “No need. Savannah and Georgia already did. Everyone’s kept me completely lazy today.”
“Because it’s your special day!” retorted Meadow. “Now all you need to do is to go back home, pour yourself a glass of wine, and read your book out in your hammock.” She snapped her fingers. “Which reminds me! Ramsay gave me another book for you to read. Oh, he’d have really rolled his eyes if I’d forgotten. He insisted that you needed something to read now, even through all the chaos you’ve got going on.”
Beatrice wasn’t at all sure that she needed a book to read right now. There was, as Meadow pointed out, the wedding-related chaos. There was also the fact that she was trying to help solve Caspian’s murder. She was part of a search team for a missing cat and the hopefully temporary owner of a second dog. And, add the fact that she was trying to squeeze some quilting in, her life was pretty busy.
“I hope it’s not another Moby Dick,” said Beatrice with a sigh.
Meadow strategically stuffed another couple of glasses into the dishwasher and started it up. “I agree. The very idea of saddling a bride-to-be with Moby Dick! All those harpoons and nets and fish and whatnot. Ramsay must have lost what was left of his mind. Surely this must be a better choice.” She grunted. “Although he’s not been at all perceptive these days. It must be the murder investigation. Watch him have chosen a book by Steinbeck or Hemingway or something equally grim for you to read.”
“Either one of those would be an improvement on Melville. At least for right now,” said Beatrice.
Meadow said, “I’ll run get it. Oh, and let Boris out. The poor guy. I know he must have been dying to join the party, but I thought he might be a bit distracting.”
She disappeared into the master bedroom, off the main room of the barn. Beatrice shuddered. She could only imagine what a bridal shower with Boris would have been like. He’d have been competing with Miss Sissy to see how much food he could eat. He’d have leapt on every guest as they came in. There’d have been big puddles of drool on all the gifts. He was a sweet dog, and Beatrice had come to appreciate his offbeat personality, but he was nowhere near as well-behaved as her Noo-noo. Nor, she suspected, nearly as bright. And she had the feeling that Scooter also far outshone Boris in intellectual capacity and behavior, too.
Boris came bounding out, head swinging around as if looking for any crumbs that might have made their way to the floor. When he spotted Beatrice, his eyes lit up and he came careening over to her, sliding on the hardwood floor until he crashed into her. Luckily, Beatrice had had the good sense to drop into a chair before the impact so she wasn’t bowled completely over.
Meadow beamed at the tremendous dog. “What a sweet boy. He’s so happy to see you!”
“I can’t believe you managed to contain him with all the sights and smells of the party,” said Beatrice, gingerly petting Boris as he leaned his head on her knees, his tongue lolling out.
Meadow said, “Oh, it was a piece of cake. I turned on the bathroom fan and the white noise sound machine that we had. Then I turned on the TV to this ambient music station that we have. On top of that, I gave him his favorite Kong and stuffed it with treats and peanut butter. He sort of had his own party.”
Beatrice said, “Glad it worked. What’s the verdict on the book?”
Meadow grinned at her. “Oh, I think you’re going to like it.” She held out the book to her.
Beatrice smiled. “Yes. Yes, this might be the perfect book for right now.”
And she drove back home with The Wind in the Willows sitting in the passenger seat next to her.
Later in the day, Beatrice realized that she’d forgotten to get stamps the last time she’d run errands. And now that she had new stationery from Harper, she certainly needed to have stamps worthy of them.
She was just walking into the post office when she saw Wyatt’s best friend, James, walking out. He grinned at her in his friendly way. In fact, Beatrice thought, most of the time she saw James, he had a smile on his face. He was also a lot more casually dressed than she usually saw him. James had grown up with Wyatt in Dappled Hills, but then had moved away to go to school, med school, and to practice medicine. He’d moved back five years ago to practice medicine in his hometown. Now he was Wyatt’s best man.
“You must have the day off,” said Beatrice, giving him a smile. “Unless it’s casual day at the doctor’s office.”
“Oh, I’d love to be able to get away with that,” said James, grinning. “No, if I showed up in shorts and a golf shirt, I’d scare off my patients. I’ve got the day off and am about to go fishing. The fish bite more at the beginning and end of the day.”
Beatrice said, “You’ve got to be ready for a break. From what I’ve seen, your doctor’s office is swamped all the time. It’s a tiny town, but I guess when there are only a couple of doctor’s offices, they stay busy.”
“True, although I’m not as busy as Wyatt is. Ministers don’t really ever have a day off, do they? Of course, I never thought he was going to be a minister, growing up.” James took a second to greet someone walking into the post office.
Beatrice paused and then asked, “You didn’t? What did you think he was going to be?”
“Oh, an artist. For sure! Although I’m sure his parents tried to talk him out of it. Artists aren’t particularly well-known for being able to make a living,” said James.
“An artist?” Beatrice stared at him.
“Sure! He was always sketching or painting or taking pictures. It’s what he loved to do,” said James.
“I had no idea,” said Beatrice slowly. The idea that she didn’t know something important about Wyatt was a surprise to her. They’d had so many long conversations together.
“Well, he’s probably too busy now with the church to do much of anything in his spare time. But you should ask him about it.” James glanced at his watch and grinned. “All right, I’d better head on out. Those fish are waiting for me.”
Beatrice gave him an absent smile as he left and she walked into the post office. She tried to think of any paintings or art in Wyatt’s small house that might have been artwork of his, but she couldn’t think of anything. Surely he hadn’t gotten rid of some of his work while trying to get ready to move to Beatrice’s house?
She bought her stamps and got back into the car. On the way back, she decided to stop by the church and see Wyatt. She wanted to ask him about his old hobby and find out if he was still creating. After all, both Harper and James had alluded to his art. It must have been important to him.
Wyatt was just walking out of the church when her car pulled into the parking lot. He looked tired, but as soon as he saw Beatrice, he smiled.
“This is a nice surprise,” he said.
“It looks like you’ve had a long day,” said Beatrice.
“Oh, it’s been setting the church budget today. That’s always a lot more draining than my usual work. And I probably need to do some packing when I get back to the house—maybe some of the nicer china and crystal that I won’t be using until after the wedding,” said Wyatt.
“I’ll help you,” said Beatrice. “I hope you’ve got lots of newspaper to wrap them in.”
When they arrived at Wyatt’s house, Beatrice saw that newspaper wasn’t a problem. There was a large stack of it, along with flattened boxes and rolls of packing tape. It was all very organized-looking.
They chatted about their days for a few minutes while they carefully wrapped the china and crystal. Beatrice finally couldn’t wait any longer to ask Wyatt.
“I ran into James today at the post office,” she said slowly.
Wyatt raised his eyebrows. “Was he taking a lunch break?”
“No, he had the day off and was about to go fishing. But he did mention something that I found interesting. Actually, Harper had sort of hinted at the same thing when I talked to her earlier,” said Beatrice.
“Now you’ve really whetted my interest,” said Wyatt in a teasing voice.
“James mentioned that he’d always thought, growing up, that you were going to be an artist,” said Beatrice, watching Wyatt closely.
A hint of a red blush rose from Wyatt’s neck. He quickly shook his head and said, “That was just an old childhood dream. You know. When all kids wanted to be astronauts or vets or archeologists or something.”
“I don’t think that being an artist is the same sort of dream as being an astronaut,” said Beatrice. When he didn’t immediately answer, she said, “You must have been really good.”
Wyatt snorted and Beatrice followed up quickly with: “Or at least must have enjoyed it a lot.”
“I did, actually. I really enjoyed it—especially the sketches. It was just a very calming activity to sit outside and sketch,” said Wyatt. He sounded a little cautious.
Clearly, Wyatt was insecure about his artwork. Beatrice said, “I’d really love to see some of it.”
“I’m not even sure that I can put my hands on it,” said Wyatt. “After all, I’ve been packing for the last couple of weeks. And besides, it’s not very good.”
Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure that you’re the best judge of that? Most artists don’t get enough distance from their work to be able to assess whether it’s good or not.”
Wyatt smiled at her. “I’d hardly call myself an artist.”
“An artist is someone who creates art,” said Beatrice briskly. “There’s nothing more to it than that. It’s not some sort of mystical club.”
“I think that my problem is that you’re a very good evaluator of art. You were an art museum curator, after all. It’s not like passing art by someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing,” said Wyatt. “And I think your interest in my art probably stems from the fact that you love me.” His voice was light, but there was a cloud of concern in his eyes.
Beatrice recognized the concern. Artists were frequently insecure about their work. Sharing your art with someone was a huge step.
“Of course it stems from the fact I love you!” she said in an impatient voice. “But that’s only part of it. Another part is that I’m genuinely curious. I’m a curious person, if you haven’t noticed. Why else would I be investigating murders in my spare time?”
Wyatt’s smile was broader now and a bit more confident, although his eyes still had that hint of uncertainty. “I’ll try to pull some of the paintings out while I’m packing.”
“Great! I’ll find some room on my walls to display it.” At the somewhat panicked expression on Wyatt’s face, Beatrice added quickly, “That is, only if you want to. Although I’d love to.”
“Wait until you see it first,” protested Wyatt. “And no matter how good it might be, there is no way it can compete with the masterpieces you have hanging up on your walls.”
Beatrice started to protest and then stopped herself. She had collected a lot of art through the years and some of it was quite good. It would be easy to be intimidated as an artist by sharing a wall with some really excellent pieces.
“Hanging anything up is totally up to you,” she said, reaching out to give him a hug. “Just remember that I’m always proud of you, no matter what.”
He held on to her tightly before tilting back to look at her with his eyes full of love.