Confessions from the Quilting Circle by Maisey Yates (free ebook reader for iphone TXT) 📗

And that’s why she was here. Not to quilt or confront untied threads from the past.

It was for them. For her girls.

They were happy. Hannah was on the verge of being principal violinist, like she had dreamed of since she was a little girl. Lark, for all that it was easy to seem like she was her pie-in-the-sky daughter, had come up with a business plan, and money in hand to begin this next phase of her life.

And then there was Avery. Married to such a wonderful man, with her two beautiful children, Mary’s grandchildren that she loved with all of her heart.

The girls were happy.

And the sharp, unsettled edges in her own heart didn’t seem quite so important in the face of that.

6

You have never gone so far that you can’t come back home again.

From a letter, unsigned and unsent

Lark

“Can I be your first customer?” Lark’s dad sat down at the counter and picked up one of her printed menus. “This is great, Lark.”

She had been ready for her soft open of The Miner’s House Craft Café. She didn’t do any advertising, she just quietly opened the door one sunny day at noon, with her family there to see it become official.

Over the past couple of weeks her dad had helped install the new counter, which had been built by a local furniture maker. Lark had assembled many of the craft kits that she had begun working on shortly after Gram’s funeral. Her sisters had helped clean the public areas of the space. The front room, where there was a bar and different things for sale, jewelry made by Lark, and other local artisans, local honey and fire cider, along with other folk medicines that were brewed in town. She was set up to serve coffee and had gotten her liquor license so that she could serve alcohol.

There was also a display with craft kits—small needlepointing sets with patterns, thread and hoops. Beading kits and kits to make graphic ink designs using linocut. All things she’d been working on for the last few months ahead of coming back to town.

Hannah sat down on the stool next to their dad. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Beer,” Dad said.

“Beer,” Hannah confirmed.

Her mom and Avery came in a moment later, and sat at the two bar stools down at the end. When Lark put the beer bottles on the counter, her mom gave her father a scathing look. “It’s barely noon,” she said.

“I’m retired,” he said, lifting the bottle. “Time is relative.”

“I’m a musician,” Hannah said, also lifting the bottle. “I do what I want.”

Hannah and her dad clinked their bottles together. “Cheers, Hannah Banana,” he said. “And cheers to you.” He extended the bottle toward Lark, and Lark felt herself warm with happiness.

“Are you going to do a craft, Dad?”

“Not likely,” he said. “I have a shop for that.”

For the first time, Lark realized that she probably got some of her creativity from her dad. He made things, it was just she didn’t think of them in the same way she thought of her own art.

“Are you all set up? Or do you need anything else?” her mom asked.

“I’m going to add more art to the walls. Keep gathering kits and talking to local artists.” She moved from behind the counter. “Come here.”

When they’d been little, Gram had often given them ice cream and set them down at the table nearest to the front of the store where she could keep an eye on them, and given them crafts to do.

Back then, the back rooms had been Gram’s living quarters. Lark had left her bedroom untouched, and it was still filled with her belongings. She couldn’t bring herself to disturb any of them.

The other rooms, though, she had turned into more space.

She led her family back to the room that was connected to the front. Past that was a hallway, another seating area, and then one in the back with a table for large groups. Behind that were the kitchen and bathroom. The kitchen was small, but she didn’t need much room, considering she would be doing more reheating than actual prep.

“Dad, this is where we quilt,” she said, gesturing to the room just behind the bar. It was the space where they had once done crafts in their grandmother’s candy store. Gram’s store had ice cream in the counter, along with walls of candy bins. Shelves filled with candy bars, both modern and old-fashioned. All the rooms had contained tables and chairs, similar to the layout that Lark had now, though she had traded in the round iron tables with matching chairs for eclectic chairs that she had purchased at various yard sales and thrift stores, with scarred, secondhand tables.

“It’s cozy,” Avery said.

“I think so,” Lark said.

“This is great. I have a lunch meeting. I need to go.” Avery pulled her in for a hug. “Best of luck on your opening day.”

“I’m reading at the library,” her mom said. “I’ll come back by later to see how things are going.”

“Hannah Banana and I can hang out for a bit,” her dad said, putting his arm around her sister.

“Maybe I’m busy,” Hannah said.

“You’re not busy. Go finish your beer. Maybe we’ll have one of Lark’s cheese plates.”

Hannah and her dad lingered for another hour before they left, and during that time, a few customers came and went. She had quite a few people come in and ask what was happening, and what the business was. And several of them stayed in the late afternoon and had beer. By the time she closed up, she was feeling more than a little bit tired. She was ready to go back to The Dowell House and lie down in a dark room. But when she got in her car and tried to start it, it only sputtered.

She sighed heavily. She could walk back to The Dowell House. It wasn’t far. But she had more supplies to