Moonlight in the Morning (Edilean 6)

They talked nonstop as they looked at ribbons and trims, patterns and buttons, thread and equipment. They got samples of several fabrics. Jecca laughed at Lucy’s snobbery over m ~roideave to havachines. “There’s Bernina and there’s Baby Lock and that’s it,” she said. “There isn’t anything those two companies don’t do, and they do it the best.” Smiling, Jecca trailed after her.

After they left the fabric store, they treated themselves to afternoon tea at the Williamsburg Inn. While sitting in the beautiful restaurant, looking out over the gorgeous golf course, Lucy got Jecca to talk about her life. When Jecca said that her mother died when she was a child, Lucy reached across the table and took her hand.

“It was just me and my dad,” Jecca said.

“And your brother,” Lucy added.

Jecca gave a half smile as she ate a tiny cake with three layers of chocolate. “I guess so. But Joey’s always been self-sufficient. He’s more like a shadow of Dad than his own person. And now that Sheila’s in the picture, everything’s changed.”

“Is Sheila your father’s girlfriend?”

“Worse. She’s Joey’s wife.” Jecca waved her hand. “All this is boring, just the regular family problems. Nothing different and certainly not interesting.”

“Jecca, I spend all day sitting at my machines with only a TV for company. The love life of a snail is interesting to me.”

Jecca laughed. “Okay,” she began, “I call Sheila a confronter because—”

“She can’t wait to tell people that only her opinion is right and the only one that matters.”

“You’ve met her!” Jecca said.

“Someone like her. So what has she done?”

“She wants my father out of the family business,” Jecca said. “She wants Joey to stop being the shadow and become the man in charge.”

Jecca went on talking, telling in detail all that had changed in their family since Sheila had entered it. Sometimes Lucy made comments, but mostly she did that thing that is so overlooked in modern society: She listened. She didn’t just listen politely, but gave Jecca her full attention. Lucy listened with her mind and her heart.

“Your poor father,” Lucy said. “He must feel like his son and daughter-in-law want him to die.”

Jecca caught her breath because Lucy had put into words what she’d felt but hadn’t wanted to say out loud. “I think you’re right.” Her voice lowered. “I don’t think Sheila hates him, but if Dad died tomorrow I believe she’d feel as though their lives could go forward.”

Again Lucy put her hand over Jecca’s. “Don’t be so hard on her. She’s a mother looking out for her children and she’s making a place for them in the future. When you have your own children, you’ll understand. You’ll do anything for them.”

“Like Tristan does for his niece?”

“It’s even stronger than that,” Lucy said. “Would you like to walk around Colonial Williamsburg for a while?”

“Sure,” Jecca said.

As they walked, they talked more. But again it was Jecca talking and Lucy listening. Several times Jecca tried to get Lucy to tell some about herself, but she wouldn’t. Lucy wouldn’t so much as say whether she was married, had been married, or if she had children. Absolutely nothing.

In other circumstances, Jecca would have been annoyed, even angry, that someone was so secretive, but Lucy had a way of making it seem like she was just being modest.

As they sauntered down Duke of Gloucester Street, through the perfectly restored ei

ghteenth-century village, Jecca told Lucy about Tristan—and asked questions about him.

“I’ve known him for about four years now,” Lucy said, “and I’ve never met a man who cared more about people than he does. He doesn’t charge about half his patients. You know what he does on weekends?”

“What?” Jecca asked.

“House calls. That’s why his house needs paint and the playhouse is so awful. Livie and I worry that he’s going to fall asleep at the wheel some night when he’s driving home. When we heard his arm was broken we were almost glad. At last the poor boy would get some rest.”

“Is that why his father won’t let him see any patients?”

“Oh yes. Livie went to Dr. Aldredge and told him that his son was exhausted. Between patients and girls who want to be taken out for a ‘good time’”—she said the words with a sneer—“Tristan was about to collapse.”

“Maybe Reede will stay here and help.”