That Hemingway Guy
It’s top-of-the-line. Computerized. Can sew denim, leather, probably Sheetrock too. Self-threading, with a top-loading bobbin, and a free swing arm for more creativity. It’s the Swiss Army knife of sewing machines.” Holly switched to a whisper. “And I love it almost as much as I love Rayburn.” Holly Paine’s new sewing machine was gleaming white and covered with buttons.
“It’s nice.” I went back to sorting through old bolts of fabric. I was cutting and bundling quilting squares into a dozen fat quarters, a mix-and-matched stack of fabrics all measured and ready to sew. I’d decided to make a window display called “A Quilter’s Dozen.” With the deadline for the contest closing in, Holly was selling more quilting supplies than anything else.
“Nice?” Holly asked. “That’s all you’ve got?” She sidled up to me. “I might even let you use it.” She bumped me with her hip. “I’m going to win that contest for sure now that I’ve got this puppy to do the finishing touches. Entries are due in two days. So, there’s not much time to get the border finished and whip the whole thing together. Come on, Rayburn, let’s go set up.”
She danced over to a sewing table. Rayburn didn’t move from his dog bed—not even a wrinkle wiggled.
The newspaper was folded by the register with the Arletta article face up. Holly whistled while she plugged in the machine.
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Why are you so happy? Did you read the article? She’s basically putting a Fabric Barn in the SmartMart.”
“Nothing like winning a fight when it seems like you’re in for a real licking. Something for your lollipops.” Holly laughed. I didn’t.
“How can you not be worried? It feels like there’s nothing we can do to beat her.”
“Listen, honey. I’m not sure it’s about beating her. If people around here want me to stay open, they’ll keep shopping here. If they don’t, well then, I’ll figure something out. But don’t give up hope. Business is better than it’s been in years.” Holly walked back over to me and made a point of looking me in the eye. “You and your friends have been such busy beavers. A single beaver can take down a whole tree. A few working together can change the flow of water. That’s not nothing. What’s got you so defeated all of a sudden?”
“We’re thinking about moving again,” I said.
“So soon?” she asked.
I nodded and focused on the fabric. Measure, cut, count, stack, tie. If I kept counting and tying, maybe I could push Momma and Wynn and Nan and losing most everything I cared about out of my mind and make it through the day without crying in front of Holly.
“Do you want to move, Jubilee?”
I shook my head.
“Have you told her that you want to stay?”
“Not exactly, but it’s not that simple.” Holly meant I should talk to Nan. She was right, but the person I really needed to have a talk with was Momma. All my life, I’d been angry at her for not taking an interest, not acting like a real momma. Now that she was doing what I’d wished for, I couldn’t tell her living with her made as much sense to me as high-heeled sneakers.
“There’s your problem, honey. Same thing happened to Claire Von Montclair and the General—she couldn’t be honest about her feelings, so he left never knowing how deeply she loved him. And her lapse of courage cost her the love of a lifetime.” Holly paused to stare off into the distance for a second. “If Nan’s guessing about how you feel, she’s got a fifty percent chance of guessing wrong. I don’t know Nan well, but seems like she loves you and she’d listen. At least that part is simple.” She put her hand on one of the bundles I’d tied. “Besides, you can’t leave. You’re the brains behind this operation.”
Before I rode home, I took a walk over to the well in front of city hall and read the plaque again.
I took out a penny, made a wish, and tossed it. I didn’t wish to change the past. Why waste a perfectly good penny? Besides, I’d decided with a large dose of the whole truth, a little courage, and some creativity, I might be able to change my present and maybe even my future. But a wish sure couldn’t hurt.
That night after dinner, I asked Wynn to excuse us. Nan raised her eyebrows at me as Wynn left, announcing it was a nice night for a solo walk.
Nan sat at our small kitchen table. “Just a sec. I’ve got to get something,” I said. She smiled. I left and brought out my box of Momma’s letters. Nan’s smile disappeared—she’d been expecting the maps.
I handed Nan the first letter I’d opened.
Her eyes scanned the page. When she’d finished, I said, “I don’t want to move.” I slid the whole box of letters across the table to her. “I’ve been carrying these around with me, unopened, for years, ignoring how Momma felt and what she had to say because I was scared of how that’d make me feel. But since we’ve been here, I’ve realized something. ‘You can’t get away from yourself by moving from one place to another.’ Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises.” Prepping for this moment, it hadn’t hurt to research famous author quotes; I knew I’d picked the right one.
Nan’s brow wrinkled, her eyes filled, and the corners of her mouth dipped. Seeing her face crumple like that reminded me I wasn’t the only one who’d been left behind. When Daddy died, he’d left Nan too. Starting on our first day in town I’d been letting go of our way of life bit by bit, and here I was asking Nan to let go all at once.
I pointed to the letter she still held. “I think I need to remind Momma of what she wrote in that letter. I’m different here, but not because I escaped being me, like Momma says. It’s because I figured out more of who I am. I’m more me here, and I want to stay. If you gave Hope Springs a chance and we make this place our home, maybe you could be more you too.”
Nan stood and wrapped me up in a hug even though I could tell it hurt. “I’ll call your mom tonight and make another try at smoothing things out. A heart-to-heart between me and your momma is long overdue. And then I think we should all sit down and talk when she’s here for the concert.” All the nerves and guilt and fear that’d been building and sitting heavy as a boulder fell away. She wiped at a tear I’d let escape, pulled me in for another hug, and said, “We’ll sort it out. Together this time.”