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“I can help,” Jake declared and scrambled off his chair to hurry after them.
“Have you heard from Laredo lately?” Jessy directed her question at Chase and took a sip of coffee.
“Not for a couple days.” Chase tipped his head down to peer at Jessy over his half-rimmed glasses. “Why?”
“Just curious.” She shrugged, then admitted, “He hasn’t called me, and every time I try his cell phone, it goes straight to voice mail.”
“Feeling a little neglected, are you?” Chase observed in half gest, then shook out the folds of his paper again. “I promise he hasn’t forgotten you.”
“I never thought that for one minute, and you know it,” she retorted.
“He’s probably ignoring your messages so he doesn’t accidentally let it slip where he is or what he’s doing,” Chase told her. “Christmas is just around the corner, you know.”
“Speaking of Christmas.” Jessy downed a final swallow of coffee and pushed her chair back from the table. “That reminds me I have a couple presents upstairs that need to be wrapped before it’s time to get ready for church.”
Halfway up the stairs, she met Trey and Sloan on their way down, each carrying a large armload of old quilts. Jessy pressed close to the railing so they would have enough room to pass. The folded fabric brushed her arm as they moved by single file, the contact unleashing that musty, dusty smell of something that had been stored away for years.
“Whew!” She waved a hand in front of her nose, trying to dispel the strong odor. “Those need a good airing.”
“Tell me about it,” Trey muttered in absolute agreement. “We’d better p
ut them in the living room,” he told Sloan. “We don’t want to ruin somebody’s breakfast.”
Trey dumped his armful on the sofa cushions and left the task of separating them to Sloan. Cat came to give her a hand. She held up the first one and studied its intricate stitching.
“I’m so glad you found these, Sloan,” she murmured. “It makes me wonder what else is stashed up there that we’ve forgotten all about.”
Sloan shook out another quilt, then nodded to the one Cat held. “Did you see? That one is signed and dated.”
“Millicent Clyde, December 1931,” Cat read. “Finished in winter obviously, when she was housebound.”
Sloan traced a finger over the embroidered name. “So long ago. Would your dad have known who she was?”
“Maybe,” Cat replied. “Judy Niles certainly would’ve known.”
Sloan nodded thoughtfully. “I think Millicent would be happy to know that her handiwork has lasted this long.”
“Back then, everything had to,” Cat said and quoted the old saying, “‘Use it up, wear it out. Make it last or do without.’ Being a ranch hand’s wife wasn’t the easiest life back in the day.”
The thumping of a cane announced Chase’s arrival. “What are you two doing?” Entering the room, Chase shot a glance at the stack of quilts and the unfolded patchwork. “Oh. Those quilts.” He came over for a closer look.
“See any of your shirts here, Chase?” Sloan said in a lightly teasing voice and held out a quilt for his inspection.
He looked at the date she showed him. “No. And my shirts aren’t that old,” he said gruffly.
“I’m not so sure.” Cat laughed. “You’ve never put one in the ragbag for as long as I’ve known you.”
“Why would I? Takes time to break in a shirt just right.”
“Of course,” Cat said in dry disbelief.
“Do you recognize the woman’s name?” Sloan wondered.
Chase peered at the embroidery and shook his head. “No, but a lot of people lived on the Triple C over the years.” Sloan began folding the quilt back up. “I like your idea to use them as backdrops for photos,” Chase told her. “Especially since everyone will be here this Christmas.” He paused and added, “Who knows when that will happen again?”
“Oh, Dad…” Cat didn’t finish, a lump closing off the words in her throat.
Both women knew what was left unspoken: the fact that Chase himself might not be around for many more holidays.
