Chapter 16

 

Shari called Thea later that morning. “I’m with Tillie and Bill. It’s a girl. There are problems.”

“I know.”

When Thea didn’t say more, Shari’s voice grew tight. “What should I do?”

“Be there for her.”

“Oh, God.” Thea could hear Shari’s sigh over the phone. “Is she going to make it?”

“No.”

A long silence. “Thanks for telling me. I can do this. I can be strong for her.”

“Are her parents there?”

“Her mom came for a while. She upset Tillie so much, the nurse asked her to leave.”

“What did she do?”

“It was eight-thirty in the morning. Her mom hadn’t slept it off yet. She was pretty trashed. Told Tillie that if God took her baby, it was because she was born in sin.”

“Shit.”

“Tillie lost it, couldn’t stop crying.”

“Wasn’t Naomi pregnant when she married Bud?”

“Sex is okay. And being drunk is okay. But according to the gospel of Naomi, you have to be married to give birth.”

“They’re getting married in a few weeks.”

“Naomi goes to church every Sunday, and that makes her an expert Christian.”

“Good for her.”

“I gotta go.”

“Don’t say anything to Tillie. Just be there for her.”

“Got it.” Shari hung up.

Thea stood for a long time looking out the tall windows at the front of the cabin. Outside, everything was painted with the verdant green of May, the color of new life, while Tillie’s baby struggled to cling to its frail thread. Why? she wondered. What purpose did it serve to enter the world for such a short time? What was the point?

She needed to do something, to feel some sense of accomplishment. She went to the barn and climbed the steps to the loft. She’d work on Joshua’s life map. Maybe that would give her some answers. Once inside the studio, though, the windows beckoned her. She was higher on the hill here, looking a greater distance. Perspective. She needed more distance to be more objective. Did that give her greater wisdom, or just remove her from everyday pain?

She shook her head. She’d been a weaver for twenty years. She wove life’s patterns, but she still didn’t understand the “why.” Maybe mortals weren’t meant to.

She crossed the loft to the big loom and sat in front of Joshua’s bookmark. When she calmed herself enough to work, she realized that something wasn’t right in the room. The vibes were off, filled with tension. She looked around more closely and noticed a bookmark that had fallen to the floor.

In her studio, nothing fell. Nothing was disturbed.

Everything was in order. She walked to pick it up. Cold fear stiffened her movements, but when she studied it, it was fine. No loose threads, no cut knot.

She placed it in her open palm and let it drift to its place in the rafters, carefully following its path. When it settled, she opened her palm and asked for the bookmarks on either side of it.

Two bookmarks floated down to her, and she flinched when the first landed on her palm. A soft pattern of yellows, greens, and blues--happy, harmonious, and nurturing--were cut short where the knot had been unraveled and the threads yanked loose. Whose was it? She ran her fingers over the threads. Sheila Grayson’s.

Thea walked to the overstuffed chair at the edge of the room and sank onto it. Why??? Sheila Grayson was a sweet, old soul who helped anyone in need. Thea studied the bookmark. Only two or three rows of threads had been pulled. Sheila wouldn’t have lived much longer, anyway. Why tamper with what was inevitable?

She laid her head on the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Some things she understood. She knew that each and every life had a purpose. She knew that each soul had ups and downs that were preordained to help it reach its goals. But why anyone would purposely mess with destiny was beyond her. Who would want to play God? And why? More importantly, how did she find who was doing this? And how did she keep them out of her studio?