The Lover's Knot by Clare O'Donohue Read Free Book Online

large, wildly colorful ones with abstract patterns that appeared to follow no rules. Nancy, on the other hand, was clearly the creator of the small, carefully constructed and elaborately quilted pieces. In the center was one of Eleanor’s favorites—a small, bright log cabin quilt that Grace, the woman who taught her to quilt, had made. Each was enough to inspire even me to take up quilting.
    Nancy caught me staring at the quilts. “Are you ready to make one of your own?”
    “At some point,” I admitted.
    “Well, I’d be happy to help you learn, if you like.” She reached her hand out and touched one of her wall hangings. “Making a quilt can be the answer to so many problems.”
    Then she sighed, grabbed a ruler from a nearby basket, and headed back to the front of the shop. I’d liked Nancy from the moment she came to work at my grandmother’s shop more than ten years ago. She seemed rooted to Archers Rest. I don’t think she’d been more than fifty miles from it for years, but she’d made sure her sons had the chance to go off to bigger things if they wanted. One was in medical school and the other, Nancy proudly told me, was planning to spend his junior year of college in Italy.
    “What are you doing?” My grandmother’s voice snapped me to attention. “Are you caught in a trance over there?”
    I turned quickly, knocking over a display of scissors and rotary cutters.
    “You could definitely use more space,” I said to justify my clumsiness. “If you knocked a wall down you could put up more shelves and get some of this stuff off the floor.”
    “Knock a wall down?” Nancy asked as she moved back in our direction.
    “I was telling my grandmother that she should lease the diner space and expand the shop.”
    “What a nice idea. Eleanor, do you think you will?”
    “For heaven’s sake, Nancy, I have enough on my hands with this space, let alone taking on more expense and trouble.” My grandmother walked away from us to help a woman pulling bolt after bolt of fabric off a shelf.
    “I think she’s worried that she’s getting too old for so much work,” Nancy said in a low whisper.
    “Really?” was all I could say. To me, my grandmother had always been old and always ageless. When I was born she was almost fifty, and now she was in her midseventies. Even now she seemed to have more energy than I did. Or maybe it was just that she used her energy in more focused ways.
    “I think it would be exciting to expand the shop.” Nancy looked around. “Give it a little face-lift.”
    “If you want a face-lift . . . ,” Eleanor started as she finished up with her customer.
    “Too late to do me any good,” Nancy laughed. “I just think it would be fun.”
    It would be, I thought. I considered writing down some ideas, making myself useful.
    “I know we have more six-inch rulers.” My grandmother was done dreaming and had returned to the business at hand. “But I can’t find any.”
    “Downstairs,” said Nancy. “I’ll get them.”
    As she said that, two more women came into the shop. And behind them Carrie entered with two small kids in tow.
    “I’ll get it,” I volunteered. “You guys are getting busy.”
    “Will you know what they are?” my grandmother asked, concerned.
    “Six-inch rulers are rulers that measure six inches, right? Or is that some clever quilting code to fool nonbelievers?”
    My grandmother was not a fan of sarcasm. Well, that’s not true. She wasn’t a fan of my sarcasm. She was perfectly fond of her own.
    “They’re in a box by the back corner,” said Nancy. “I think they’re under a pile of other boxes. Just bring up three or four. We haven’t room for more.”
    “Just be careful,” Eleanor said.
    “What’s the worst that could happen? I’m in a quilt shop,” I threw back at her as I headed toward the stairs.
    At the very back of the shop stood a long, narrow staircase that led down to a small storage room and office. With space at a premium, even