Wreath Read online

  “Here and there.” Faye opened a closet full of bins. “Want to see the rest of it? There’s more upstairs.”

  More comfortable in the dark attic and the little walk-in closet than the guest bedroom, Wreath exclaimed repeatedly over trunks of linens and Faye’s old clothes. “You must have saved everything you’ve ever worn,” she said as she examined outfit after outfit. “Your old clothes are in better shape than most people’s new clothes. Don’t you ever spill anything or rip something?”

  She didn’t think Faye heard her because the woman was fingering a pair of white bell-bottom jeans, with an elaborate pattern down each leg. “I bought these to go to the state fair on my first date with Billy,” Faye said and then looked up. “Take any of these things you want, and we’ll throw the rest away.”

  “We’ve got enough here to open a boutique!” Wreath’s enthusiastic words came out before the idea had formed fully, but once the thought hit her brain, it was off and running. “That’s it!” she continued. “We can add a boutique over on the left side. It’ll fill in that empty spot and add another dimension to the store.”

  “But we’re a furniture store….” The doubt was deep in Faye’s voice.

  “We’ll be an all-around furnishings store—home and body. We’ll give it a name of its own and segment it off. Fine furniture and fine fashion … They go together like pen and ink.”

  “Bread and butter,” Faye said.

  “Sales and money.” Wreath laughed.

  “We can only hope,” Faye said. “It’d sure be nice to get things stable again.”

  “We’ll make it happen. I know we will.” Feeling like she was jabbering, Wreath pulled one of the trunks out of the attic and shoved it into the sewing room. “We’ll have to have help with those others, but this is fantastic.”

  “It is?” Faye asked.

  “Anything you don’t want, we can sell.” Wreath thumbed through a pile of stamped cotton tablecloths. “These are cool. I’ve seen them in lots of magazines.”

  “I have seen those in antique shops with Nadine,” Faye said, a calculating look on her face. “I can starch and iron them.”

  “You have designs for all our seasons.” Wreath practically hopped up and down with excitement. “They’ll fit our seasonal rooms perfectly. And these …” She held up pieces of white linen, some embroidered, some plain. “What are they?”

  “Those are dresser scarves and doilies.” Faye laughed. “I guess people don’t use them much anymore. My mother did that tatting on the end of those.”

  “Tatting?”

  “That’s the little stitches there on the end. She tried to teach me, but I never was good at that. I liked the machine better.”

  Wreath remembered the boxes of older clothes at the store and inexpensive items she’d seen at the thrift shop. “Maybe we can combine this material with out-of-style clothes and come up with more new outfits.”

  Now Faye was smiling and pulling out items faster and faster. “You can design some like those outfits you wear all the time. My friends asked me if we sold those. I think they’d buy them for their granddaughters.”

  “Girls at school might buy them, too.”

  “They’ll be unique and handmade,” Faye said. “But we’ll have to make people want them. For some reason, women like things with designer labels.”

  “The name needs to be catchy. Something fun-sounding,” Wreath said.

  “Let’s sleep on it. If I don’t get you to bed, you’ll never be up in time for church tomorrow.”

  Wreath sang in the hot shower and wrapped her tired body in the thick towel. She might not need a fancy house, but she would never take hot water for granted again.

  Mrs. Durham called good night to her as she pulled the soft sheets and down comforter up around her and started to doze off.

  Suddenly Wreath sat upright, a name in mind. She knew it carried a slight risk, but it set the tone they needed. Junkyard Couture.

  Law waited in front of the church, right where he said he’d be.

  “Right on time,” he said. “Hey, Mrs. Durham. Thanks for bringing Wreath.”

  The older woman smiled, something Wreath had noticed her doing much more often these days. “My pleasure.”

  J. D., almost unrecognizable out of his hardware store clothes, rounded the corner, and Wreath saw Faye’s smile grow.

  “Was he watching out the window for her?” Wreath whispered to Law. “I think he likes her.”

  “J. D. and Faye? I don’t see that happening. A train killed his wife and son a long time ago. My grandmother says he’ll never marry again.”

  “Hit by a train?” Wreath grimaced. “That must have been horrible.”

  “The warning signal failed at that crossing out past where I live,” Law said. “They were coming back from Alexandria, and I heard they never even saw it.”

  Wreath thought of her mother’s fright on the drive through Landry, the mention of a scary train crossing. “I wonder if my mother knew J. D.’s son. Maybe she even knew your mother.”

  “I didn’t know she ever lived in Landry.” Law guided her toward the youth room as they talked, his hand on the small of her back.

  “Up through high school,” Wreath said.

  Their conversation was interrupted by Mitch, who gave Wreath a hug and introduced her to some kids she didn’t know, while Law practiced with the youth band. Remembering Sunday school as a sober, withdrawn kind of place, Wreath absorbed the lesson from the book of Ezekiel in the Old Testament and was intrigued by the forthright ways the youth leaders answered questions from class members.

  The discussion went back and forth, and Wreath wanted to take out her journal and jot a few notes. They talked about “dry bones” and whether they would live again, and Wreath felt as though this conversation was aimed straight at her.

  She wanted a better future, and these teachers seemed like they might help her figure it out.

  She sat with Mitch and Destiny during church, giving a small wave to Mrs. Durham, who was one section over, with Nadine and Jim Nelson, J. D., and a few other people who came by the store to drink coffee.

  “Aunt Faye always sits in the middle there,” Mitch said with a smile. “Uncle Billy asked her one time if they paid rent on that pew.”

  The youth band led all of the songs, some traditional hymns Wreath had heard before and one or two unfamiliar songs that sounded like something Frankie would have listened to on the radio. Two girls from the senior class at Landry High sang a duet, and Law played his guitar solo, a moving ballad that made Wreath want to cry for reasons she could not fathom.

  “Lo, I am with you always,” the pastor said when he stood to speak.

  Wreath sat up straighter, straining to hear what he would say next.

  “That is the reminder Christ gave us, words for days when we are nervous or tired or uncertain or feeling lonely. God is with us always.”

  Wreath drifted in and out after that, thinking about the words written in the back of her diary, wondering how they came to be there and why the preacher would speak on that sentence on the first day she attended church in Landry.

  She glanced across the church and met Faye’s eyes, and the woman smiled at her.

  After the service, church members poured out into the sunny day, standing on the front walk and visiting as though soaking up the sunshine, which had been rare the past few weeks.

  Wreath stood on the edge and watched the expressions of affection between young and old. Grandmothers gave Law and Mitch hugs and hellos, while men shook their hands, sometimes yanking them forward for a semi-hug. Young children played tag, yelling until their parents admonished them, and families grouped around to discuss lunch and the day ahead.

  The warmth of the people was more potent to Wreath than the warmth of the day, and hollowness expanded inside her until she thought she might collapse in on herself. These people were connected to one another, and she had no one.

  As she turned to slip away, thinking
perhaps she could wait in Faye’s car until the impromptu gabfest ended, the preacher walked through the front door and met her eyes, his expression thoughtful. “Lo, I am with you always,” she remembered him saying. She would have to ask Faye or Law’s grandfather what that meant, because she was not quite sure she understood.

  The pastor walked over, shaking hands with the men on his way, and gave Wreath a pat on her hand. “Welcome,” he said.

  “This is Law’s friend Wreath,” Nadine Nelson said.

  “And my friend, too,” Faye said, her smile drawing Wreath into the circle and erasing the sudden melancholy feeling that had enveloped her. “This girl is the brains behind the transformation of Durham’s Fine Furnishings, and you’re not going to believe what she’s got coming next.”

  The pastor, interrupted by an occasional churchgoer, stood for a few minutes near the group, looking at her. The first couple of times, Wreath thought he was trying to include her in the conversation, but then he stepped closer, making her nervous. “Are you from Landry, Wreath?” he asked.

  “No, sir.” She looked down at the sidewalk. “I moved here from Lucky.”

  He shook his head slightly, as though trying to dislodge a thought. “You remind me so much of somebody, but I can’t think who.” The pastor turned toward Faye and J. D. “Doesn’t Wreath remind you of someone?” he asked.

  He smiled at Wreath. “Sure hope you’ll come again,” he said to her.

  Wreath looked at the people around her, at the blue sky, anywhere but at the preacher.

  “I will,” she said, but as much as she regretted it, she didn’t think it was a good idea.

  When the crowd broke up, Law’s grandparents insisted that Wreath, Faye, and J. D. join them for Sunday dinner.

  Wreath declined, and Law pulled her aside to talk her into it. “I know it sounds boring,” he said, “but Grandma’s a great cook, and they’re fun to be around. They don’t treat you like kids or anything.”

  “It’s not that,” she said. “It’s just that I don’t want to …” She stopped.

  “You won’t be imposing, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Law said.

  The older adults had walked closer, too, intent on convincing the girl.

  “I’ll take you home in plenty of time to do your schoolwork for tomorrow,” Faye jumped in.

  “It’s fried chicken and mashed potatoes day,” Nadine said, “plus I made rice for Law. I even cooked a peach cobbler this morning.”

  Wreath thought of the peanut butter crackers in her pack and gave in.

  Chapter 32

  Julia popped into Durham’s Fine Furnishings nearly every day after school.

  She used the excuse of checking on Wreath and her schoolwork and teaching her graphics shortcuts on her prized laptop, which had finally arrived. In truth, the new liveliness of the place made Julia happy, and she liked to visit with Wreath and Faye.

  Apparently the store’s zest had a similar effect on a lot of people. In late afternoon, there was usually a crowd gathered. What passed for society women in Landry looked at accessories. Young women discussed redecorating their bedrooms or family rooms. High school girls tried on the new line of clothing Wreath had come up with.

  Certain customers consulted with Faye about new colors for a tired room, while others bought gifts and chatted about Landry news. Wreath flitted from the furniture to the new boutique, often suggesting outfits, quickly telling teens when something looked good and when it didn’t.

  “Those colors wash you out,” Julia heard Wreath say on this February afternoon. “Try this instead.”

  Julia shook her head and wondered if Wreath needed art tutoring anymore. She had pulled her grade up to an A and learned how to communicate with Mrs. Colvin as well as Julia could. The girl’s fashion drawing had caused a small stir when it was published, and the art teacher had gotten a lot of attention for coaching Wreath, the irony of which was not lost on Julia.

  While a flock of girls tried on clothes, Faye demonstrated the store’s new website, using Wreath’s laptop computer on a vintage 1950s desk. “You can look at our accessories, fashions, or furnishings from here,” Faye said, pointing a finger at the screen. “Wreath made it simple enough that even I can use it. You have to call to order, but this gives you a peek.”

  Faye wore a pair of rolled-up jeans, red sneakers, and a red-and-white cotton sweater. For a moment Julia had trouble reconciling the image with the woman she had ignored and judged for more than two years. A trio of older women, friends of Faye’s, Julia thought, took turns looking at the site, murmuring and nodding as they scrolled through the simple screens.

  “We have free shipping for a limited time, and a discount on phone orders, so tell your out-of-town friends and relatives,” Faye said, offering them a plate of home-baked cookies in the shape of flowers.

  Julia knew the old desk came from a garage sale because she had seen Faye and Wreath unloading it last weekend. When she jogged on Saturdays, she often saw the two going from garage sale to garage sale, lugging an array of items to Faye’s Oldsmobile. As she scooted by a yard sale, she’d hear them animatedly discussing this item or that, haggling over prices and carrying various items to Faye’s car.

  When Julia jogged back each week, sweaty and tired, they would be taking stock of their purchases in the alley, Wreath proclaiming what they could do with a rusted metal chair or a tin pail. Sometimes Julia would help haul the items into the store, amazed at the goods they managed to wedge into the car, from backseat to trunk.

  Wreath told her that frequenting garage sales was part of their new inventory strategy, and they hoped to add flea markets and estate sales when they had time.

  “You have to learn to see the potential in discarded objects,” the girl said. “People overlook things that are in plain sight.”

  Today Faye offered Julia a bottle of water from a small display Wreath had arranged in an old galvanized tub, and motioned to a used garden glider.

  “Let’s have a seat,” Faye said, scanning the room to see if any customers needed a hand. “I may be able to grab a minute or two.”

  Wreath had spray-painted the metal piece a tangerine color and strategically placed Faye’s big, handmade cushions on it. New ones appeared daily, and Julia had watched women gush over them, asking about the designs.

  “This looks like something straight out of one of Wreath’s decorating books,” Julia said as they swayed slightly back and forth. She held up a small cushion that had been wedged behind her back as she spoke.

  “With our orders from the website and in-store shoppers, I can hardly keep up with these pillows,” Faye said. “Now Wreath’s pushing me to consider comforters and curtains.”

  “She’s a natural entrepreneur, isn’t she?” Julia watched the giggling teenagers in the boutique area.

  “Junkyard Couture,” Faye said, following Julia’s gaze. “Do you think my husband is turning over in his grave?”

  “Hardly,” Julia said. “He’s probably wondering why he didn’t bring you into the business earlier.”

  “I doubt it. I was too critical of him, and he didn’t pay much attention to me.” Faye covered her face with her hands and added a muffled groan to the statement. “I don’t think I’ve ever admitted that to anyone.”

  “I’m glad you told me,” Julia said. “I’m around high school kids all day. I need adult conversation.” She sipped the water, wiping condensation off with a bright napkin with tulips on it.

  “Are you still seeing that handsome deputy?” Faye asked. She put her clasped hands in her lap and turned to meet Julia’s eyes.

  Julia felt herself blushing like one of her students. “I am, and I have a crush on Shane bigger than the one Wreath has on Law. Shane’s an incredibly nice guy.”

  “Take care with him,” Faye said. “Have fun. Life will pass you by if you don’t pay attention.”

  Impulsively, Julia grabbed Mrs. Durham’s hand. “Well, it certainly doesn’t look like it’s passing
you by now. Look what you’ve done! This store is fantastic.”

  “I’ll say it again. Wreath gets the credit. She thinks up things like the website and special promotions. I just nod and do whatever she tells me.”

  “I doubt that’s true,” Julia said. “You strike me as a fighter.”

  A look of incredulity came to Faye’s face, and she sat perfectly still. “Maybe I am,” she said finally, “but I’m not nearly the person she is.” Faye nodded at Wreath.

  “That girl’s something, all right,” Julia said. She shredded her napkin as she thought about how to ask the question on her mind. “How much do you know about Wreath’s background?” she finally asked.

  “Not much.” Faye shook her head, a measure of grief in her eyes. “She won’t open up about that. I know she can’t have had it easy. She works harder than most adults I know.”

  “Have you met the family she lives with?”

  Again, Faye shook her head in regret. She started to speak and then stopped. Then she started again. “There’s something I ought to tell you, but …”

  “What is it?” Julia interrupted.

  Faye looked across the showroom, jiggled her leg up and down a few times, and sighed. “You promise you won’t spread this around?” she asked softly. She stared at Wreath, who was holding up a shirt and smiling at a young customer.

  “Of course,” Julia said. A knot grew in her stomach. “Please. Tell me.”

  Faye breathed in, held it for a moment, and exhaled. “Wreath confided in me that her mother passed away last May, but she won’t say much more than that.”

  Julia moved her head up and down slightly. She had wished for more information. “Law told me about her mother—in strictest confidence. He worries about her, too.”

  “Did he tell you anything else?” Faye asked eagerly.

  “No. He’s cautious when he talks about Wreath. I hoped she’d opened up with you,” Julia said. “She’s so much more at ease around you than she is at school. Wreath needs guidance if she’s going to get into college.”