Eastover Treasures Read online

  Published by Blue Dragon Publishing, LLC

  Williamsburg, VA

  www.BlueDragonPublishing.com

  Copyright © 2021 by Dawn Brotherton

  ISBN 978-1-939696-68-7 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-939696-67-0 (ePub)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2021937720

  Cover by Hakm Bin Ahmad

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

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  Dedication

  To the ladies of the Colonial Piecemakers Quilt Guild who helped make me a better quilter.

  Table of Contents

  chapter 1

  chapter 2

  chapter 3

  chapter 4

  chapter 5

  chapter 6

  chapter 7

  chapter 8

  chapter 9

  chapter 10

  chapter 11

  chapter 12

  chapter 13

  chapter 14

  chapter 15

  chapter 16

  chapter 17

  chapter 18

  chapter 19

  chapter 20

  chapter 21

  chapter 22

  chapter 23

  chapter 24

  chapter 25

  chapter 26

  chapter 27

  chapter 28

  chapter 29

  chapter 30

  chapter 31

  chapter 32

  chapter 33

  chapter 34

  chapter 35

  chapter 36

  chapter 37

  chapter 38

  chapter 39

  chapter 40

  chapter 41

  chapter 42

  chapter 43

  chapter 44

  chapter 45

  chapter 46

  chapter 47

  chapter 48

  chapter 49

  chapter 50

  chapter 51

  chapter 52

  chapter 53

  chapter 54

  chapter 55

  chapter 56

  chapter 57

  chapter 58

  chapter 59

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Free Quilt Pattern

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  September 10, 1861

  Mary’s long skirts swished as she hurried into the dining area. Where do I even begin? she thought.

  James had already transported some belongings, but he left her to sort out household items. How could she decide what was worth saving and what wasn’t?

  If she cleared too many objects, they would suspect items were hidden and go searching. She must be selective. Opening the drawer of the buffet, she withdrew a handful of items, then opened the next drawer, slamming them shut as she moved on. She repeated this process until she had a small pile.

  Brushing the loose hair off her forehead, she turned to the next room. I don’t know why he has to leave now. We are supposed to be plowing a new garden.

  Outside the window, the reins clinked as James hitched the horse to the wagon. Swiftly, she shifted her attention to the parlor and took the painting from over the mantle. A lighter rectangle was left on the wallpaper where it had been. Muttering words her mother wouldn’t approve of, Mary replaced the painting. She spun to take in the rest of the space.

  Everything is a treasure to me! How can James not understand that?

  Mary’s frustration was clouding her concentration. She needed to take a minute. She stopped in the library, admiring their collection of books. Her father was a generous man and often sent treasures he found on his trips to Philadelphia. With the fighting between the north and south, no packages had come recently. She picked up the leather-bound volume he had given her when she and James moved to Virginia.

  I need to get back to my writing. Father will expect to hear all the details about country life when we travel north next.

  But when will that be?

  Looking around, she took a mental inventory. A drop of sweat threatened her eyes, but she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Then she heard the thunder of the boys’ feet across the wood floor. They skittered into the room.

  “Momma, can Frederick and I go to the river to catch frogs?” nine-year-old Thomas asked.

  She put on a brave face. “What are you going to do with them once you catch them?”

  “We can eat them,” Frederick offered.

  Thomas punched his arm. “That’s foul.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s living off the land. You eat what you can catch. Isn’t that right, Ma?” Frederick was only ten, but already starting to talk like his father.

  She smiled at the towheaded boys. “Let’s save the eating until it’s necessary.”

  “But if those secesh take our house, we may have to live in the woods. Pa said so,” Thomas insisted.

  “Where did you learn that kind of language, young man?”

  “Noah,” both boys said together.

  Mary rolled her eyes. “I’ll have a talk with your brother. You may go down to the river but take a basket and bring some berries with you when you come back.”

  The boys were out the door before she had a chance to say anything else.

  “Sarah?” Mary called.

  The fourteen-year-old entered the library, carrying her latest sampler. “Yes, Ma.”

  “Will you get some of the quilts from the upstairs closet and bring them down?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mary replaced the book on the shelf and plucked out another one, placing it on the side table. Then another.

  “Momma?” Sarah’s voice cut through Mary’s wild purge. “We aren’t moving all those books, are we?”

  “And why not? Books have value.” Mary turned away from the shelf and took in the overflowing stacks she had subconsciously built.

  Sighing, she began replacing some volumes. “Why don’t you help me pick the best ten to save?”

  Chapter 2

  Present Day

  The breeze picked up as Aury St. Clair sat on the back deck of the rustic motel checking the latest weather forecast on her phone. The hurricane had shifted again, this time moving up the east coast of Florida. There was a fifty-fifty chance the weather that accompanied a storm of that size would miss their slice of Virginia all together.

  Aury held the cell phone loosely in her lap and prepared to say goodbye to the solitude she had with nature. The breeze rustled the bushes surrounding the pond, sending a ripple across the water. The frogs were especially loud. Maybe they sensed the impending storm.

  The phone’s buzz joined Mother Nature’s song, and Aury picked it up again. The cell reception was so bad this far into the woods that she was usually bombarded with text messages that had been waiting to find her phone as soon as it could get a signal. From the porch, she at least had a bar or two.

  She glanced through them, answering a few from the accounting firm she worked for. They seemed to disregard the fact that she was on vacation. She tucked it away again, rising from the picnic bench.

  As Aury opened the door, she was immediately flooded with the cacophony of sounds emanating from the women jammed into the open floor plan of the activities room. The concrete walls did little to absorb the sound, bouncing it around the hall until only emphasized syllables and harsh laughter could be discerned.

  Aury slid into place behind her sewing machine, which rested on a table butted against th
ree others. The ladies continued their banter.

  “Finished with your phone sex?” Debbie asked.

  “I was. Don’t know about him,” Aury answered, just as straight-faced.

  Debbie cackled. “Guys have a harder time faking it,” she said, reloading her bobbin and snapping the door closed on the casing. Her soft, gray curls framed a round face that was always quick with a smile, but it was her brightly colored sweatshirts that Aury appreciated. They usually had a quick-witted line printed on them in bold colors. Today was no different: “I’m glad no one can hear what I’m thinking” was printed in neon pink.

  Pat gave Aury a speculative look. “What’s the weather?”

  “The hurricane is scheduled to hit the east side of Florida. They still don’t know if it will turn, but it’s moving fast.”

  Debbie shook her head. “I could be a weatherman and do a better job than those bozos.”

  Pat ignored her. “Do we need to consider packing up sooner than planned?” A tall woman with a dry sense of humor, Pat’s imposing nature hid her inner spunk. It had taken a while for Aury to figure her out. Thankfully, Pat saved her sharpest retorts for Debbie.

  “No way,” Linda said from the next table. “I paid for six days, and I’m going to use all six.” The hum of her machine charged over the fabric in a practiced clip. “My husband would never let me get this much done at home. I’m taking advantage of the getaway.”

  Aury turned her gaze to the sunlight streaming through the windows. “Looks like another beautiful day.”

  “You just never know with these storm patterns,” Suzanne commented from across the table. “Hurricanes are fickle.” She stood from her machine and limped toward the ironing board.

  Aury tried to focus on one of the many projects she brought with her for this quilting retreat. She had been looking forward to it for so long, but now the projects were overwhelming, and she had trouble concentrating.

  “Sam said he thinks we should head back early in case they shut the ferry down,” Carla added. “Taking the twenty-minute ferry will be a lot better than the extra hour it would take if we had to go up toward Richmond and back down the peninsula.”

  She didn’t sound worried, though. At least twenty years older than Aury and six inches shorter, Carla was a sweet soul with a positive attitude. She’d find the bright spot in the toughest situation.

  “If it comes down to it, we’ll close up shop. Anyone can leave whenever they want if they’re nervous.” Aury had spent months planning this retreat. She would hate for the weather to mess it up.

  She looked around the room at the fifteen heads bent over their sewing machines and projects in various stages. Aury knew she needed to get some work done. When she got home, there would be many other projects that drew her attention away from her quilting. She wanted to get her entry for the Mid-Atlantic Quilt Festival completed before the week-long retreat ended.

  At thirty-eight years old, Aury was one of the youngest in the room. Reconnecting with her grandmother through her quilting had proven a useful hobby to distract her from the what-might-have-beens that kept her awake at night. After her parents had died in a car crash four years ago, she had been wracked with guilt. They had been on their way to visit her because she was upset after yet-another argument with her husband. They drove through the night instead of waiting until the next day. A drunk driver crossed the centerline and ended their lives upon impact.

  Even with her grandmother’s constant assurances that it wasn’t her fault, Aury still felt responsible. And her husband gave her no emotional support. She had followed him to Williamsburg when he was offered a job, more to be near her grandmother but also as a last chance to make their marriage work. It ended less than a year later.

  Now her grandmother was her best friend, and she loved spending time with her. Liza St. Clair had taught her to sew when Aury was only eight years old. They had made clothes and quilts for dolls when Aury visited on vacations. It wasn’t until visiting a quilt show that Aury began to value quilting as an art, not as a necessity.

  Aury leaned down to search through her fabric bag as a pretense to hide her welled-up eyes from the ladies at her table. Thinking of her grandmother stuck in the rehab hospital broke her heart. Liza was spry for eighty-one and would take on most challenges. It would be unfair to be taken out by the flu. Aury had tried to find someone else to take over the retreat so she could stay and care for her, but the old lady insisted she go. She said Aury would do more good there than at her bedside.

  Chapter 3

  The sun shone through the windows the next morning, lighting up the inside of her eyelids as Aury rolled over. She fought the urge to turn away from the light, but her mind started processing the next steps in her quilt. Rubbing her tired eyes, she relished in the quiet of the wooden motel that was her home for a few more days.

  The layout of the Eastover Retreat Center was beautiful. The motel had sleeping quarters stretched out on either side, with a multipurpose space in the middle where they gathered to quilt. Although all the individual units had doors that opened to the outside rather than into a hallway, the path to the sewing area was under cover. It was a quick jaunt back and forth if something was forgotten.

  Another upside was the parking directly outside the bedroom doors made unloading and loading a breeze. The quilters had a short walk past the lake to the dining hall where they were served lunch and dinner. Everyone commented how wonderful it was not to have to cook. They ate breakfast on their own whenever they drifted in.

  Aury loved the idea of not waking to an alarm clock and took her time getting up. Eventually, the call of her sewing machine got her motivated. She slipped on a pair of flannel pajama pants, stuck her feet into old tennis shoes, and looked into the mirror. Pulling her dark hair into a messy bun, she declared herself presentable—at least for this group.

  “Morning, all,” she said to the earlier risers, already engrossed in their projects. Some raised their heads in greeting, but most simply called out a hello over the whirring of the machines.

  She went straight to the kitchen that took up a corner of the multipurpose room. Thankfully, someone had already brewed a pot of coffee. Aury filled a cup and wandered to her table where she stopped to stare at the mobile quilt wall hanging by sticky hooks behind her workstation. The bedsheet-sized, felt cloth was invaluable for gripping the cut triangle and square pieces of cotton to envision how the quilt would appear once sewn together. The ease of removing and rearranging the pieces made it one of Aury’s best quilting investments.

  “You finished a lot last night,” Debbie commented.

  “I’m a night owl. I think I got most of this done between midnight and three in the morning.”

  “That’s because you didn’t have Debbie yacking at you.” Pat tossed a crumpled-up napkin at her friend.

  Debbie screwed up her face. “Bite me.”

  “Seriously, see what I mean? How can we get anything done with that in the background?”

  Carla came in through the door. “Looks like the rain is going to hit us today. The wind has really started blowing.” As if to emphasize her words, a gust caught the door and slammed it behind her. Everyone jumped.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  Quiet laughter rippled through the women as they shook off their nervousness.

  “What time is lunch?” Aury asked.

  Linda looked up from her work. “You just got here. I think you need to get some work done before you can eat.”

  Suzanne raised an eyebrow. “Lunch is served at noon, just like every other day. You set up the retreat. Can’t you remember the schedule?”

  Aury checked her watch. “Guess I still have time for breakfast.”

  She wandered to the kitchen, stopping to check out the creativity of her fellow guild members along the way. The best part about this retreat was picking up pointers from all the ladies who had been doing this so much longer than she had.

  After she finished her cereal, Aury
poured herself another cup of coffee and returned to her table.

  Sorting through her boxes of scrap fabric, she tried to decide what could be repurposed. From larger pieces of material, she cut five-inch squares. For smaller pieces, she selected templates to make different shapes for future quilts.

  “Lunchtime!” Nancy called.

  Aury looked up, surprised that three hours had slipped by. She had worked through a sizable pile and would be ready to start sewing when they returned.

  She ensured her machine was off and unplugged her iron. Ladies grabbed sweaters off their chairs, readying to leave. As Aury stepped onto the porch, the wind cut through her pajama bottoms. Sheepishly, she realized she still hadn’t showered or changed yet that morning.

  “I’ll meet you all over there,” she told Debbie and Pat as they started down the path that led to the dining hall.

  Aury ran to her room, changed into jeans, and threw on a sweatshirt. She brushed her teeth and pulled her long hair into a sloppy ponytail. She decided boots would be a better choice for the walk alongside the lake, just in case the threatening rain started.

  She hustled down the path, hoping to get in the food line before people returned for seconds. As she passed the pond, the bullfrogs yelled out their protest, seconded by the cicadas and other wildlife. Under normal circumstances, Aury would have enjoyed the solitary walk. Today, everyone was so worried about the storm that she had started to become worried, too.

  This group of quilters had taken her in, encouraging her to try new sewing techniques and expand her skills. She felt responsible for them, and she didn’t want this storm to spoil their getaway.

  Chapter 4

  Aury grabbed her tray and settled at a table with Penny, Nancy, and Carol. Nancy had already finished eating and stared impatiently at her phone.

  “What’s up?” Aury asked, shoveling food in her mouth.

  “This darn thing. There’s no service out here.”

  “Haven’t they ever heard of WiFi?” Penny asked.

  “This is a retreat,” Carol emphasized. “The idea is to leave behind electronics. No TVs, radios, or computers.”