Gibbs said, “Grab your gear.”
“That’s exactly what I probably need to do, ain’t it? Grab my gear and go back to Ringgold, Texas.”
Noel pushed the pie plate around the floor, licking the last crumbs of her dog food from the corners. Angel sat in front of the tree and washed her paws.
“All is quiet. All is calm,” Creed said. “Except in my heart. What in the devil made me think I could meet my soul mate and everything would work out just wonderful in two weeks? The season made me crazy is what happened. Blame it on Christmas.”
Noel jumped up on the sofa and laid her head on Creed’s lap. Angel pranced across the floor and curled up on his other side.
“Grab your gear,” he repeated. “Sounds like the best advice one man could give another in my predicament.”
Chapter 18
The whir of the sewing machine sounded through the whole house. The thing was old as God and sounded worse than a threshing machine. Well, almost, anyway! Ada remembered when her mother bought it in 1948. She was just a little girl that year, and Essie had already gotten married and moved away. It was probably just tired of working and ready to retire to the attic with everything else Essie couldn’t bear to part with.
Ada cut the small squares and Essie sewed them together. The pattern, showing them which colors went together, was tacked on the wall and provided plenty of fodder for arguments.
“That thing sounds like a threshing machine. You sure you oiled it?” Ada asked.
“Three times a year. On New Year’s Day. On Mother’s Day to remember Momma. And on Labor Day because I’ve made it work so hard,” Essie said.
“Why didn’t you ever buy a new one?”
“Didn’t need a new one and this one reminds me of Momma. We only got to go home to Oklahoma once a year at first because it cost so much to travel. And she’d always have the machine set up to make me a couple of new outfits.”
Ada laid the scissors down. “I remember. She’d get so excited when your letters came, and the week before you were supposed to be there she’d cook all kinds of things.”
“And send half of it back with me.” Essie smiled. “We’d eat on that food all the way home. We even shared with the folks on the train until we got our first car and could travel that way.”
Ada went back to cutting squares. She’d thought she could sell the ranch and she hadn’t been wrong about Creed. He was the one. She’d known it in her bones that first day and they hadn’t been lying.
But she couldn’t leave Sage on the porch the same way that Essie had left their mother all those years ago. She just couldn’t.
Essie wouldn’t remember because she stayed a few days and then disappeared again. Ada was the one left behind to witness her mother’s tears, long sighs, and broken heart until the next time Essie came home to Oklahoma.
“Just look what all we’re getting done,” Essie said. “Sage is going to love this.”
“Yes, she is,” Ada said around the lump in her throat.
“We’d never get it done in time if I didn’t have the quilting machine. Top it out today and tomorrow and quilt it on Wednesday,” Essie said as she worked.
“You ever make one of these for your grandkids?”
“Every one of them has a quilt. Gave it to them at their wedding showers. Did I tell you that Calvin’s oldest granddaughter is getting married in June? That’ll be the first great-grandchild to get married so we’ll start one for her after the holidays are over. What do you think? A wedding ring pattern?”
Ada didn’t have the heart to tell Essie that she wouldn’t be there after the holidays.
“I cried every time I had to leave Momma and Daddy. Especially after Daddy died and it was just her standing there on the porch waving until I couldn’t see her anymore,” Essie said. “I’m glad we’re together, Ada, in our last years. Being alone ain’t no fun at all and getting old alone is a pitiful damn shame. Especially on Christmas. This has been the best season since I lost Richard.”
* * *
Sage had slept little and alternated between bouts of crying and cussing all night. Grand would be home in a few days. After the cold shoulder she’d given Creed the night before for no reason whatsoever, she’d best get to work on it. He damn sure wouldn’t want a thing to do with a moody woman who wouldn’t talk to him.
“Oh, shit!” She wiped her cheeks and went back to cussing.
It had been a date.
A real, honest-to-god date.
He’d taken her to dinner and to shop and damn, after seeing Victor she’d forgotten to go to the art store. And she’d acted like a bitch on a PMS high. She hadn’t kissed him good night; hell, she hadn’t even thanked him for the day.
She hugged the pillow but it didn’t hug back and it didn’t wipe away the fresh batch of tears flowing down her cheeks. She had her mood swings every so often like most women, but what she experienced the previous night was brand-new territory. If only she could get a line on why she was so upset, she’d face off with her demons and destroy them.
“I’m twenty-six, not fourteen,” she said.
The clock flashed five o’clock when she finally gave up and slung her legs over the side of the bed. When Sage was angry, she painted. When she was happy, she painted. She’d never tried painting through tears, but maybe if she cleared the multitude of thoughts from her head, she’d figure things out.
She pulled on a pair of sweatpants and jerked a sweatshirt over her head. The nightshirt hung out the bottom, and her dark hair looked like she’d fought with grizzly bears all night. She pulled it up into a ponytail
