Loom and Doom by Carol Ann Martin Page A

out a piece from my new collection. It was a lovely Navajo-inspired rug in shades of black, red and tan. “What do you think?”
    â€œThat’s gorgeous,” Jenny said. “I love Native weaving. Where did you get it?”
    â€œI made it.” They both stared at me openmouthed.
    Marnie was the first to speak. “You can’t be serious. I always knew you were good, but this is absolutely stunning.”
    â€œI have more,” I said, taking out all the pieces one at a time, until they were spread all over the tables, chairs and even the floor. “I thought I’d decorate my window with a Native theme. What do you think?”
    â€œPerfect,” Jenny said. “People will be glued to your display.”
    â€œAfter being closed for two months, they’d better do more than stay glued to the window. I hope they come in and buy.”

Chapter 11
    A fter hanging all the photos on the wall, Jenny decided her store needed more color and switched her usual white tablecloths for red gingham ones. She put the long G RAND R EOPENING banner that Marnie had made, we opened our doors wide, and Jenny sent Margaret outside with a gingham-lined basket of cookies. And then we waited for the crowds. It didn’t take long for the lineup to form.
    As expected, Jenny’s wall of pictures was a huge hit. Patrons soon gathered round, pointing and laughing, and phoning friends to come check out their photos. Meanwhile, in between serving customers, Jenny took new snapshots.
    My shop looked equally inviting. Margaret and Marnie had helped me drag my old-fashioned country counter by the door. And on top was my pride and joy, a shiny nickel candy-store cash register. It had been a gift from Matthew on my opening day last year. Next to it was a silk flower arrangement in a blue-and-white Chinese vase. The scene was as pretty as a picture.
    â€œThis makes so much more sense,” Marnie said, admiring the results. “Now, customers have to walk by the counter as they leave.”
    Against the opposite wall, I’d set up my century-old pine armoire. Inside, I artfully displayed my more traditional items. Over the open cabinet door, I had draped a lovely monk’s cloth tablecloth with hand-embroidered edges. On one shelf were luncheon and dinner napkins, on another, my latest addition—bread cloths. And on the lower shelf were sets of place mats. It made for a charming country presentation.
    I had carried through with the theme by filling an apple crate with rolled-up rugs, and covering assorted tea tables with other woven pieces. And right by the front door, I’d set a basket with a FREE WI TH EVERY PURCHASE sign on a plant stand. Inside the basket were the lavender-filled bags. Now, the entire room was perfumed with a lovely scent.
    â€œFor your lingerie drawers,” I told my customers. I hoped every morning as they got dressed, they would think of my shop.
    And last but not least, I had filled my window with pieces of my new Navajo-inspired collection. As I watched, two women walked by, then stopped to admire them. And then another two paused to look. My heart did a somersault.
Yes!
It was a hit.
    â€œMarnie, come and see,” I called out. She came round from the back of the shop, where I’d set up all my looms to create a private area for the weaving studio. “Look. My windows are creating a lot of attention. People love the collection.”
    â€œWell don’t stare at them. You’ll scare them away,” she whispered. I turned away, still giggling like a little girl. “They like it.”
    â€œYou’re not really surprised, are you?”
    Maybe not surprised as much as relieved. “Now let’s just hope they sell.”
    I was in such a good mood, I resolved to give Matthew a call. I hadn’t heard from him since our argument. Even though I’d sworn to myself that he would have to give in, it made sense that unless one of us made