ago.
She let him guide her through the door of Noel’s shop.
Walking into Piece By Piece, with its bright fabrics and quilted works of art, was like entering a more innocent time—though she knew there really had never been a more innocent time. There had just been a time when she was more stupid.
Noel had a comfortable little sitting area in front of the fireplace where quilters could come and visit while they worked or get help with a project. Today, the chairs were empty and it would be months before the fireplace would see another fire. Noel was sorting a new order of brightly colored thread.
“Emory!” Noel’s little pixie face lit with a smile and she put aside her task to meet them. “This must be the Gertrude quilt.” It was only then that she looked at Jackson—and froze.
He removed his cap and pulled out a blinding smile. “Jack Beauford. My great-great-grandmother made this quilt. At least that’s what they told me. It was sold during some bad times but I was able to get it back.”
Ha! Like he had driven all over the country himself, seeking the one true quilt, the quilt to rule them all, sleeping in ditches when he had to. And since when had he become a quilt expert? Did he become an expert on whatever the moment called for?
Hello there, Beelzebub. That is a mighty fine grade of brimstone you’ve got there. The better the brimstone, the hotter the fire. Is that a new pitchfork? It looks similar to mine. Is that an inlaid mother-of-pearl handle?
Yeah?
Mine is just like that …
Noel recovered and laughed a little. “I must say I’m surprised to see you, Mr. Beauford.”
“Call me Jack. And I treasure this quilt. I couldn’t trust it to just anyone.” He gave a pointed look to Emory. “Though I know your reputation and I have no problem entrusting it to you. Now, if you’ll just tell me where to put it.”
Noel, usually such a sensible girl, looked smitten. And why not? Here was Jackson Beauford standing in her store pretending to love what she loved.
“I promise you I will take the very best care of it. It’s an honor to work with such a fine piece, not to mention the history it holds. Oh.” Noel gave out a timid little laugh. “Listen to me going on and on. Let me take that.”
“No. No,” Jackson said. “I can’t hand this big old bulky box off to a pretty lady. Just show me where to put it.”
“Back here in my workroom, then.” Noel parted the curtain behind the counter. “Put it on the table, please.”
Emory inspected a display of quilting paraphernalia. Fancy rulers of all kinds, pins and needles in every size, different kinds of scissors—plus lots of stuff Emory had never seen before. Did you really need all this stuff to quilt?
“I used to sleep under that very quilt when I was young,” Jackson said as he emerged from the back room.
“Really?” Noel raised her eyebrows. “That goes to show that a well-made quilt will give service for years in addition to being beautiful. But as time goes on, you really want to be careful of the delicate fabric.”
“I wouldn’t sleep under it now. My aunt put all the old quilts in cases so people can just look at them. I suppose it gets to that point, but it is kind of sad that they’re not being used as they were meant to.”
Noel nodded enthusiastically. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Jackson moved toward the door. “I sure do appreciate you coming out to the house to teach those classes and know those ladies will, too. If there’s anything we can do to make it easier on you, just let Emory know.”
Emory’d had enough of this. She turned to Noel. “Jackson loves to sleep under a quilt. He was just telling me how he wished he had one.”
Noel smiled. “Really? I have a few in stock, and I do custom work.”
“Custom would be what he wants for sure,” Emory said. “If fact, he would like one with guitars. You could do that, couldn’t you, Noel? And not just generic guitars. Jackson collects guitars
She let him guide her through the door of Noel’s shop.
Walking into Piece By Piece, with its bright fabrics and quilted works of art, was like entering a more innocent time—though she knew there really had never been a more innocent time. There had just been a time when she was more stupid.
Noel had a comfortable little sitting area in front of the fireplace where quilters could come and visit while they worked or get help with a project. Today, the chairs were empty and it would be months before the fireplace would see another fire. Noel was sorting a new order of brightly colored thread.
“Emory!” Noel’s little pixie face lit with a smile and she put aside her task to meet them. “This must be the Gertrude quilt.” It was only then that she looked at Jackson—and froze.
He removed his cap and pulled out a blinding smile. “Jack Beauford. My great-great-grandmother made this quilt. At least that’s what they told me. It was sold during some bad times but I was able to get it back.”
Ha! Like he had driven all over the country himself, seeking the one true quilt, the quilt to rule them all, sleeping in ditches when he had to. And since when had he become a quilt expert? Did he become an expert on whatever the moment called for?
Hello there, Beelzebub. That is a mighty fine grade of brimstone you’ve got there. The better the brimstone, the hotter the fire. Is that a new pitchfork? It looks similar to mine. Is that an inlaid mother-of-pearl handle?
Yeah?
Mine is just like that …
Noel recovered and laughed a little. “I must say I’m surprised to see you, Mr. Beauford.”
“Call me Jack. And I treasure this quilt. I couldn’t trust it to just anyone.” He gave a pointed look to Emory. “Though I know your reputation and I have no problem entrusting it to you. Now, if you’ll just tell me where to put it.”
Noel, usually such a sensible girl, looked smitten. And why not? Here was Jackson Beauford standing in her store pretending to love what she loved.
“I promise you I will take the very best care of it. It’s an honor to work with such a fine piece, not to mention the history it holds. Oh.” Noel gave out a timid little laugh. “Listen to me going on and on. Let me take that.”
“No. No,” Jackson said. “I can’t hand this big old bulky box off to a pretty lady. Just show me where to put it.”
“Back here in my workroom, then.” Noel parted the curtain behind the counter. “Put it on the table, please.”
Emory inspected a display of quilting paraphernalia. Fancy rulers of all kinds, pins and needles in every size, different kinds of scissors—plus lots of stuff Emory had never seen before. Did you really need all this stuff to quilt?
“I used to sleep under that very quilt when I was young,” Jackson said as he emerged from the back room.
“Really?” Noel raised her eyebrows. “That goes to show that a well-made quilt will give service for years in addition to being beautiful. But as time goes on, you really want to be careful of the delicate fabric.”
“I wouldn’t sleep under it now. My aunt put all the old quilts in cases so people can just look at them. I suppose it gets to that point, but it is kind of sad that they’re not being used as they were meant to.”
Noel nodded enthusiastically. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Jackson moved toward the door. “I sure do appreciate you coming out to the house to teach those classes and know those ladies will, too. If there’s anything we can do to make it easier on you, just let Emory know.”
Emory’d had enough of this. She turned to Noel. “Jackson loves to sleep under a quilt. He was just telling me how he wished he had one.”
Noel smiled. “Really? I have a few in stock, and I do custom work.”
“Custom would be what he wants for sure,” Emory said. “If fact, he would like one with guitars. You could do that, couldn’t you, Noel? And not just generic guitars. Jackson collects guitars
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