Jodi Thomas - Mornings On Main

“Oh, my goodness!” Mrs. Kelly’s words came so fast as she stepped into the room, they almost sounded like a hiccup. “Look at the beams of light coming in. If a crystal beam shines on your face, you’re blessed by the angels today. I just saw two on your cheek, dear.”

Jillian rubbed her face. “I don’t believe in crystals or angels, but it’s a nice thought.”

“Don’t worry, they believe in you.”

Papa’s rule: Stay away from the crazies. Insanity spreads like the plague.

Mrs. Kelly laughed as if she’d only been kidding, and Jillian relaxed as breakfast was delivered on a silver tray.

A Dallas Cowboys football player couldn’t have finished all the meal. Pecan pancakes, sage sausage, fresh fruit, and a cinnamon roll for dessert. Who has dessert for breakfast?

While Jillian ate, the tiny woman circled the room, talking as if even one guest needed a floor show to go along with her meal. “I heard from Stella, one of the quilters at the shop yesterday, that you’re working in Miss Eugenia’s shop. It’s been there forever, and I’ve never known her to hire help.”

“I’m logging and photographing all the quilts for the county museum. Miss Eugenia is telling me the history of each one.”

“That’s a very brave and honorable thing you’re doing,” the little lady said as if Jillian had joined Special Forces. “Are you planning on staying with me while you’re in town?”

“I’d hoped to. The job will only last a few months, then I’ll be moving on.”

Mrs. Kelly rocked her head back and forth as if sloshing an idea around in her mind. Finally, she said, “If you don’t mind cleaning your own room, you can have the two rooms up there for a hundred a week, breakfast included. Those rooms are never rented in the winter anyway, and you could use the small one as a living area or study. It only has a half bed in it, so I’ll toss pillows along the wall side and make it look like a couch. There’s also a desk if you’re one of those ‘work into the night’ people.”

“That’s a very fair price.”

Mrs. K grinned. “Oh, I forget to add that I sometimes have to leave town for a night now and then. You would have to fend for yourself and watch over the house and the ghost while I’m gone.”

“I could manage that.” Jillian hoped Mrs. K’s wink meant that she was only kidding about keeping up with the ghost.

Jillian frowned, fearing this setup might be too good to be true. People usually weren’t so nice. Most folks only trusted family and longtime friends. Strangers they kept at arm’s length. She knew this because she was always the stranger. Even in grade school she was usually still being called the new girl when her father pulled her out to move. After a while she quit even trying to make friends. It hurt too much to leave them.

“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. K. I’ll try to be quiet. The other guests won’t even know I’m upstairs.”

Mrs. Kelly laughed that fully rounded laugh that shook her whole body. “Oh, don’t be that, dear. I’ll enjoy the company. Being alone in this old place always makes me a little sad.”

Jillian looked up from her breakfast. Mrs. Kelly’s apron read I’m not short. I’m just compacted.

Jillian couldn’t hide her grin. Crazy and kind, she could live with. “You’ve got yourself a deal. A hundred a week. I clean my own rooms and house-sit when you need me. But when I’m the only guest for breakfast, we go light. Toast, one egg and coffee.”

Mrs. Kelly widened her stance as if preparing for a fight. “All right, with one exception. We add a muffin and sausage to the light breakfast. I feed that crow, who thinks he lives on my back fence, more than one egg and toast every morning.”

“Deal.” Jillian glanced out the window and was surprised to see a huge old crow propped on the dog-eared fence that had been painted red. He reminded her of the black ravens around the Tower of London. Rumor was, six ravens had to guard the tower at all times or the monarchy would fall. Maybe one crow was all that was needed to stand guard here.

Mrs. Kelly had disappeared when Jillian turned back to the table. She finished her grand meal, thinking this must be her lucky day. Maybe there was something to that crystal thing.

As she walked the block to the quilt shop, she planned. If she worked eight hours a day, five days a week, she’d bring in over seven hundred a week after taxes. A hundred a week for the room, maybe twenty for the car, fifty or sixty for meals on weekends and essentials. If she watched her money she could pocket five hundred a week easily. Two thousand a month. Even allowing for emergencies during the three months in Laurel Springs, she’d walk away with five thousand dollars.

Enough money to move to a big city, rent a nice apartment, find a real job. Disappear into the crowds.

Her good mood lasted until she opened the shop door and saw trouble perched on the old mahogany counter like a six-foot-tall buzzard.

4

A long slice of light shone into the dark shadows of the quilt shop. For a moment, Jillian thought she was in the wrong place. No soft ribbons of fluorescent bulbs twenty feet above. No laughter from the quilter’s corner. No smell of coffee drifting from the tiny kitchen.

Only a long-legged girl dressed in black, staring at her as if Jillian had just interrupted a demonic ritual.

The backward lettering of A Stitch in Time circled across the front window. Right place. Jillian was in the quilt shop. Squaring her shoulders, she moved forward.

“Hi,” Jillian managed as she widened the opening of the door. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to see the invader better or simply wanted to enlarge her escape route.

The strange girl swung one leg so it bumped against the side of the counter in a heartbeat rhythm. Her hair was so light it appeared white, and hung straight past her shoulders. A dozen bracelets, all appearing to be made out of rusty bolts, clanked on her arms as she turned toward the back of the store.

“Dad!” the intruder yelled. “Someone’s drifted in.”

Rows of lights began to click on, starting from the back and finally reaching the front. All the beautiful colors of the store returned, but the escapee from the Addams Family remained. Her black peacoat, with batwing shoulder pads, was ripped in several places. Black eyeliner extended almost to her ears and charcoal, lace gloves covered her hands.

Jillian studied the girl carefully. On the bright side, the coat and leggings matched. Both black and ragged. She appeared to be wearing three blouses, the last one a lace nightgown. Silk, holey as if moth-eaten, and spotted with what looked like bloodstains. Her skirt, with several chains hanging off it, reminded Jillian of a midnight plaid kilt.

They both turned as footsteps stormed from the back. “Sorry,” Connor Larady shouted. “I usually have the place all opened up by this time.”

He didn’t seem to notice the girl still perched on the counter. “I’ll have a key made for you so you won’t have to wait for me if I’m running late.”

When Jillian turned her gaze to the girl, Connor finally acknowledged the goth in the room. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jillian, this is my daughter. Sunnie, this is the lady who is helping Gram organize the shop.”

Jillian offered her hand, hoping the strange girl wouldn’t try to suck her blood. She was so thin and pale she probably hadn’t eaten in days.

The girl reluctantly took Jillian’s offered hand, but her handshake was limp.

If there was a prize for someone born with the wrong name, Sunnie Larady would win. Stormy might be better. Or Scary.

She slid off the counter. Six feet of pure adolescent rebellion. “I need to get to school, Connor.” She said her father’s name louder than the rest of the sentence.