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

the stairs were piled with boxes. A small chain with an EMPLOYEES ONLY sign was supposed to keep out the customers, but the regulars always ignored it, as there was a bathroom downstairs.
    The stairs were not only narrow but also steep. I slowly went down, with one hand on the wall for safety. This was not something I wanted my grandmother to see—my being careful—but these were not stairs for the faint of heart.
    At the bottom, I stood amazed at the sea of boxes. Both Nancy and Eleanor were fans of keeping the latest new tools and fabric in stock, but with the shop already crowded, it meant that only one or two of each design made it upstairs and the rest waited in the basement. As something like six-inch rulers sold out, they had to make a trip downstairs for more. With the shop as busy as it was, that could mean as many as a dozen trips a day.
    It took me several minutes to find the box of rulers in the back corner and several more to find the six-inch ones. I had the brief idea of bringing up a twelve-inch ruler as a joke, but decided it would amuse only me. Instead I grabbed what I had been sent for and started back upstairs. But before I’d reached the third step, I’d almost tripped over a bolt of fabric. I put the rulers down and cleared the steps, moving everything to the corner of the basement.
    “Nell,” I heard my grandmother call.
    “Coming.”
    With that task done, I perched on a chair behind the register for the next hour and watched Eleanor wait on person after person. Everyone that came in gravitated toward her, and she seemed to have exactly what each person wanted. I liked my job most days, but I didn’t excel at it like this. I didn’t love it. One more way my life wasn’t working. Could I be any more self-pitying? My name-sake would have been proud.
    When I saw her stop to talk with Carrie, I made my way over. Carrie’s children were having quite a time tossing books from the low shelves of the book rack, but neither of the women seemed to notice.
    “It was something my granddaughter thought up,” Eleanor was saying. “It seems like a lot of trouble.”
    “What’s that?” I interrupted. If the word on the street was that I thought up something that was a lot of trouble, it was enough of an invitation to join the conversation.
    “The diner,” said Carrie. “Susanne mentioned to me that Eleanor might take it over.”
    “Just talk,” Eleanor said. I got the feeling she was reassuring the woman. “It’s just that we are getting crowded in here.”
    “Well, you could use the space,” admitted Carrie. “But, of course, we could also use a good coffee shop in town.” She turned to me. “The only place to get espresso in Archers Rest is at the pizza parlor. And it’s instant.”
    “I think a coffee shop is a great idea, too,” I responded, trying to be nice. No sense in stepping on anyone’s dream.
    “Well, it’s a lot of work,” Carrie said, seeming to back off the idea. Carrie’s daughter was tugging at her leg, and Carrie was ignoring her. “My husband thinks it would be a waste of money since I don’t really have the time.”
    “Nor do I,” agreed Eleanor. And then my grandmother reached down without looking and caught a bolt of fabric that Carrie’s son was about to pull down on his head.
    Since I was doing little but stir up small-town controversy, I slowly headed toward the door. The shop was getting busy. People were coming in alone and in groups. Mostly women but some men. Some of them had fabric swatches or books to reference. Some seemed focused, heading right toward a section or a color. Others wandered around, pulling fabrics here and there, waiting to fall in love with something. Everyone seemed filled with anticipation and creativity, and rather than sit on the sidelines, I decided to leave.
    “I’m heading to the house,” I called back to my grandmother.
    “Barney will want a walk,” she called back.
    Carrie’s little boy beat me to the front door,