Embroidered Truths Page 2

  It took a little while for the tickets to arrive and the flight to be scheduled, so it was not until April 22 that Betsy had driven the two of them to the airport and wished them bon voyage.

  Godwin had come back six days later jubilant and showing off a tan acquired on a jaunt to Teotihuacan, the ancient pyramid complex outside Mexico City. “I climbed all the way to the top of the Pyramid of the Sun!” he proclaimed, then staggered around panting heavily to demonstrate how hard the task had been in the thin air. Customers were amused. One who’d been there was definitely impressed. “Those steps are steep and it’s a hard climb!” she’d said.

  Among the gifts he had brought home was a clay statue of a high-nosed standing woman spinning wool by hand, a replica of an Aztec piece in the Museum of Anthropology. “It’s for the shop,” he’d said, and put it on a shelf near the knitting yarns. About the famous Museum of Anthropology, he told everyone, “That place is fantastic, but it just wore us out! It’s bigger than any other museum I’ve ever been in.” He told Betsy over a lunchtime sandwich, “I learned a lot about the different kinds of nations they had in ancient times down there. The Maya were all right if you like conquest, the Olmecs had a thing for conjoined twins, but those Aztecs were nasty! I didn’t know until we went to the museum what ‘flay’ really means. Do you know, their priests would actually walk around wearing someone else’s skin?” He gave a dramatic shudder.

  Betsy put her sandwich down. “Oh, ick, Goddy!” she said. “Who told you that? Does John speak Spanish?”

  “Oh, no, he makes a point of not learning the language. They had guides in lots of languages, but it didn’t take a guide to tell us about the flaying, they made statues of it!”

  “Enough, enough!” said Betsy, pushing her sandwich away. “How was the rest of the trip?”

  “It was nice. In fact, everywhere we went there were usually people who spoke enough English so we got along fine. And when there weren’t we had this taxi driver, he became like a friend, he took us everywhere, and translated for us. Once we got used to his accent, he was great. We sometimes brought him into the hotel, because that was the one place where no one spoke any English. On the other hand, their breakfast buffet was superb!” He waxed so lyrical on the huevos aporreados and orejas chilaquiles verdes that her appetite came back.

  At a Sabado Mercado—Saturday Market—John had bought a semi-abstract iron sculpture of a man on a horse. “We think it’s a man on a horse,” amended Godwin, “but whatever it is, John liked it, and I bought it for him.” And after some spirited bargaining, Godwin also bought himself a beautiful bracelet of heavy silver links and, for Betsy, a necklace and earrings of white shell and red coral. He’d even bought a gift for Sophie, the sweet and lazy shop cat. It was a chicken made of slices of colored sponges—the body was a simple cylinder, the head and tail silhouettes. Hidden in its underside was a small disposable plastic cup that had a long string hanging from it. Sophie had sniffed the chicken eagerly, possibly picking up strange smells but more likely hoping it was something good to eat. Godwin lifted it out of her reach, wrapped a small square of sponge around the string, and slid it downward. A loud squawk came from the chicken and Sophie fell off her chair in surprise. Godwin laughed and showed how a more careful tugging of the sponge down the string produced a sound like a rooster’s crow. He continued to play with the toy, not noticing that Sophie had fled to the back storage room of the shop, where she remained hidden until Godwin tired of making it squawk.

  That evening, Betsy had taken the foam rubber chicken upstairs to be put into a drawer, and was probably almost as glad as Sophie that Godwin never asked where it had gone.

  Remembering that, Betsy sighed. Godwin was sensitive, but not always about others.

  She was reaching rather far forward to nudge the last track light into place when she heard the front door to the shop open. But still no Bing!

  She climbed down the little ladder and went into the front to find a tall, very slender woman with bright red hair running long white fingers through the desperate-sale charts on the checkout desk.

  “Hello, Ms. Lavery,” said Betsy. Susan Lavery was a relatively new customer.

  “Hi, Betsy. Your doorbell’s broken.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I bet half your customers are pleased about that.”

  “Me, too, mostly.” Indeed, the raucous note the thing sounded whenever the door was opened was at least as much annoyance as aid. But estimates to replace it were high enough to make her decide to put up with it. Until now, of course.

  Susan laughed. “I’ve got a friend at work who just announced she’s pregnant. She’s about six weeks along, and I figure if I start now, maybe I can have a baby sampler done for her in time for the baby’s first birthday.”

  Betsy smiled and said, “Well, in that case, you’ll be ahead of the game. Lots of children get their stitched birth announcements about the time they start kindergarten. But if I may offer a suggestion?”

  “Certainly,” Susan said in her pleasant, dry drawl.

  “Godwin came back from Mexico City with some charts from a new designer he met down there. She does an interesting mix, some are exotic little symbols from the Aztec language and some are cute teddy bears and blocks that would look darling on a birth announcement.”

  “Who’s Godwin?”

  For a moment Betsy looked as blankly at Susan as Susan was looking at her. Then Betsy said, “That is amazing, but I think it’s true: You’ve never met my store manager, Godwin DuLac.”

  Susan frowned. “I think I’ve heard that name before, but I’m sure I’ve never met him. But I’ve only come into your store, what, six or seven times?”

  “Well, Godwin works at least as many hours as I do, so it’s odd you haven’t met him. But that’s not the point. Here, let me show you some of her designs.” Betsy led the way to a spinner rack devoted to baby and toddler charts.

  “I have some pastel pink or blue aida cloth you can work these on,” said Betsy, handing Susan three charts. One was of a trio of ducklings, one a trio of baby bluebirds, one a laughing Teddy bear. “You can use the alphabet chart I sold you last week. What I suggest you do is work one or two of these on the cloth now, plus a border from that kit you bought the first time you came in—”

  “My word, how do you do that?” demanded Susan.

  “Do what?”

  “Remember what I bought here!”

  “I don’t know. I can’t do it all the time, just once in awhile.” Betsy didn’t want to say that Susan, with her height, beauty, and that improbable hair, was a memorable person.

  “Anyway,” Betsy continued, “do the border and the figures now. If the mother decides to name the baby ahead of time, you can put that on—and then all you’ll have left to do is fill in the date.”

  “Okay, I like that. Say, what’s that?” She reached for another counted chart. “Hey, it’s a tlatolli!”

  “A what? What’s a ‘tlatolli’?”

  “This is,” said Susan, holding out the chart. It was another of Maru’s designs, a strange device that looked like a J outlined on one side with crenellations.

  “Oh, that. Godwin brought it back from Mexico. It’s Aztec.”

  “You bet it is! It means ‘talk.’ You see it in Aztec paintings in front of figures who are lecturing or talking.”

  “You do? How interesting.” Betsy looked more closely at the chart. “Like a speech balloon in comic strips, I guess.”

  “Sort of, except it doesn’t say what they’re talking about. Here, I want this one, too.”

  Betsy hoped Godwin would come down while Susan was still here, but she kept her record intact by going out the front door just about one minute before he came in the back.

  He found Betsy selecting some yarn for a new knitting project she wanted to try.

  “Betsy, I was thinking, I just about maxed out my credit cards in Mexico City, so how am I supposed to shop for clothes?”

  “Get just on
e pair of slacks and two shirts. There’s a K-Mart and a Target right up Highway Seven at one-oh-one.”

  “K-Mart?” He stared at her in surprise. “You want me to buy work clothes at K-Mart?”

  “Or Target,” she said, nodding. With John, Godwin had become accustomed to far, far more upscale stores than these. But she wasn’t going to continue the custom. “You have such a great sense of style, I’m sure you can find something affordable that will look terrific.”

  He smiled, if faintly. “I hope you’re right.” He sighed and took himself off.

  Two

  GODWIN came in with a big white bag marked with a red bull’s-eye, and a smaller plastic Walgreen’s bag. Betsy gave him the key to her upstairs apartment, and he went away, to return about forty minutes later wearing manufacturer-faded blue jeans and a pastel-plaid shirt in yellow, green, and blue. His penny loafers were worn on bare feet—the skin on his feet was so sensitive to fabric dyes, Godwin wore only white cotton socks he knit himself. Since those were at home, where he was forbidden entrance, he wore none.

  “I sometimes have trouble with leather on my feet, too,” he said, “so I washed my socks out and used your hair dryer to reduce them to merely damp,” he said. “They’ll probably be dry enough to wear right after lunch.” He raised both hands. “Not that I’ll be going out to lunch,” he said hastily. “But if you could bring me back something when you go out, I’d appreciate it. All I had for breakfast was a pair of Tic Tacs.”

  “I’m planning on going next door to the deli,” said Betsy. “Let me know what you want. My treat, of course.”

  “Thank you twice over!” said Godwin. “I held my breath when I bought this outfit, because I know my credit card’s close to being maxed out.” He leaned forward and mouthed quietly, “Cheap underwear, too.”

  Betsy chuckled. “Was it worth it? I mean, the trip to Mexico City?”

  “Oh, my God, yes! Even if it takes a year—two years—to pay it off, it was too wonderful to miss! That’s why I don’t understand why John is being such a pissant now.”

  “Maybe . . .” Betsy hesitated, then finished the thought. “Maybe it’s because John resented you paying for everything, instead of him.”

  Godwin smiled in surprise. “Now why on earth would John not want to have a free ride for a change?” He shrugged to show he hadn’t any idea why, and continued, still smiling, “You know, I think this is the first time, the actual first time, I ever paid not just my own way but his, too? He kept saying he didn’t think I should do it. But I showed him the tickets I won, and said I had almost no charges on my card, so why not? And he finally said, ‘You’re right, why not?’”

  “I see. Well, maybe he’s got another difficult case to work on, and it’s made him touchy.”

  “I’d agree, except he’s always been too fair to take work problems out on me. At least without first warning me he’s in a bad mood because of some problem at the office.”

  “Well, what did he say when he threw you out? I mean, did he say something like, ‘I don’t want any more of your . . .’ what? Your pride, your mouth, your dumb sense of humor, your silliness?”

  “Thank you so much for that list of my faults,” Goddy said with a hurt sniff.

  “Oh, you know what I mean.”

  “Okay, yes, I guess I do.” Godwin thought a few moments. “Here’s what he said: ‘It’s gone, the sweet boy is gone, it’s all over, get out, just get out. Out! Out!’” Godwin made sweeping motions with both arms. “Like that.”

  Betsy had a sudden notion, but she hesitated to present it. Godwin noted the hesitation and leaped on it. “You know something, don’t you? What is it? Have you talked to John? He called here, didn’t he? What did he say? Did he tell you not to tell me?” His voice showed rising panic.

  “No, no, nothing like that. I was just wondering. Goddy, could he be seeing someone else? Someone . . . younger?”

  Godwin had been engaged in a fight with the calendar for as long as she’d known him. Combining dieting, exercise, light tanning, hair brightening, tooth whitening, and a bit of botox, Godwin followed a complex regimen to make himself look barely twenty, when in fact he could reach out and touch thirty.

  Godwin’s mouth formed a small O, as he tried and tried to say, “No,” or “Nonsense!” Finally he managed, “He wouldn’t!”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Because he loves me!”

  “Goddy . . .”

  He burst into tears. “I know, I know! Then why am I homeless?”

  She took him into her arms as he wept helplessly on her shoulder.

  “Oh, dear, what’s the matter?” asked a strange voice, and they jumped apart like clandestine lovers caught in an embrace.

  “Well, hello, Mrs. Sowinski!” said Godwin.

  “Hello, Goddy. What’s got you so upset?”

  “Nothing much, really. You know how I am, I cry over every little thing. And it has nothing to do with the shop, really. Anyway—” He sniffed deeply and forced a smile. “I’m all over it now. What can I get for you?”

  “I’d like a fat quarter of fourteen-count gridded aida in ivory, please.”

  Mrs. Sowinski was a heavyset woman with short red hair and a liking for big floral prints. Even her spring coat was a deep green with enormous yellow flowers splashed all over it. She used to do simple counted cross-stitch pieces—the big, complex charts intimidated her—until she discovered Zweigart’s gridded aida cloth. She knew about gridding—marking fabric into five-thread segments with a single thread—but claimed that she routinely messed up even that simple task on a large piece of cloth. So when Betsy discovered that Zweigart put out aida cloth already gridded, she ordered some with Mrs. Sowinski in mind. As it turned out, other customers liked it, too. Gridding could be tedious and time-consuming; buying cloth already gridded was a blessing for many stitchers. Their only complaint was that Zweigart didn’t also offer linen already gridded.

  But now the news was even worse: “I’m afraid Zweigart has discontinued its gridded cloth,” Godwin said. “And we’re already out of the fourteen count. I have some eighteen count in a stunning shade of ivory, would you like to try some of that?”

  “Hmmm, eighteen count. Do you think I’m ready for eighteen count?”

  Evenweave fabrics were designated by the number of threads per inch. The bigger the number, the finer the weave.

  “Eighteen’s not any more difficult than fourteen—and you’ve turned out some wonderful pieces in fourteen. Actually, I’ve been wondering why you haven’t moved up to eighteen.” This last sentence was spoken in a confidential tone.

  Mrs. Sowinski smiled and raised a hand against that statement. “Oh, you have not!” she said. “But do you really think I could handle eighteen count?”

  “Absolutely! Now, are you going to need a new pattern, or do you already have one?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Do you still have that chart Wild Wonders? I’ve been thinking it would look nice on the wall of our cabin up on the lake.”

  “I’m pretty sure we do, but let’s go take a look.”

  The two of them passed through the twin sets of box shelves, into the part of the shop where the counted cross-stitch charts and materials were kept.

  “Arrrrrgggghhhh!!” came a cry a few seconds later. “What happened back here?”

  “What? What?” cried Betsy, rushing to the back. She looked around. Everything looked fine to her. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Everything’s been moved!” said Goddy. “I can’t find anything!” He was waving his arms in a helpless way over his head.

  “I just did what you and Ms. Davis suggested, for heaven’s sake!” said Betsy.

  “Oh?” said Godwin. For a moment his face was blank, then he nodded as he took in the rearranged area. “That’s right. Okay. I get it now.”

  Mrs. Sowinski began to laugh. “You scared me for a minute there, Godwin,” she said. Turning to Betsy, she said, “Do you know where to look for t
he chart called Wild Wonders?”

  “Of course,” said Betsy. “It’s right over here.” She shook her head at Godwin, who was looking a trifle embarrassed at his outburst.

  Mrs. Sowinski bought the chart and half a yard of the eighteen-count aida, saying the part she didn’t use would go into her stash. She also bought a skein each of three shades of green floss because she wasn’t sure if she had enough of it at home.

  After Mrs. Sowinski left, Betsy said to Godwin, “You are the most amazing man!” and hugged him.

  He squirmed out of her embrace, saying, “Don’t make fun of me, I’m too fragile to handle that.”

  “Who’s making fun? I’m serious! You were in the middle of a real emotional storm when a customer walked in, and you pulled yourself together faster than . . . than a speeding bullet.” She smiled at herself for that limp simile, but Godwin simply bloomed.

  “Do you really think so? I thought I lost it again when I walked in back and everything was changed around. It was like my whole life, everything changed around, so I don’t know where I am. . . .” His courage began to falter again.

  “Here, now, buck up,” she said. “Everything is going to be all right. I promise. Okay?” She put it strongly, hoping it was true. “Now, how about some lunch? What would you like?”

  He thought for a few moments. “A great big sandwich, double beef on whole wheat with horseradish sauce and a thick slice of tomato. And potato chips. And a kosher dill pickle—not a spear, the whole thing. Large iced tea to drink.”

  When Betsy brought it back for him, he ate every crumb. He even put real sugar into his iced tea.

  In consequence, that evening he decided they needed to eat light. “Let me make something I had in Mexico City,” he said. He searched the refrigerator and cupboards and gave Betsy a short list. “Here, run to the grocery store and get these,” he ordered crisply. “By the time you get back the soup should be ready.”

  He prepared a simple soup of boiled chicken and rice, then served it with a plate on which were avocado, sweet onion, green chilies, cilantro, and tomato, chopped and heaped into little piles. He showed Betsy how to strew a little of each over the soup to flavor a few bites, then strew again, so the add-ons never sank into the soup but remained bright stars of flavor in the firmament of chicken and rice.