Pinned but Fluttering

Chapter 48

     The center window contained stained glass in a lovely Tiffany-inspired pattern of a grape arbor at sunset with hollyhocks and red roses in the foreground and rolling Tuscan hills in the background. The red, greens, and golds of the stained glass added a sense of warmth and classical beauty to the room.

     A few paintings of natural subjects hung on the walls, but they were small and simple enough not to detract from the masterpiece of the stained glass window. One larger painting even matched the window thematically—a bunch of grapes that looked too real to be merely painted on canvas. Antique maps were framed beside the door, and a hand-embroidered sampler that was obviously quite old, the formerly white material yellowed to a pale cream by the years, the red stitching perfect as the alphabet and numerals one through ten were embroidered in almost-perfectly upright printing below the stunningly-stitched calligraphy of a verse of Scripture, followed by a name and date:

“’Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning. Of his own will begat he us with the word of truth, that we should be a kind of firstfruits of his creatures.’

The First Chapter of the General Epistle of Saint James, verses seventeen and eighteen.

                 Elizabeth Anne Bentley March 2, 1888”

    

     I was speechless. My eyes flew to Edward, and he nodded minutely. Finally I forced out the two words: “You mother’s?”

     Smiling slightly but with pain behind his eyes, he nodded again.

     “Wow,” I breathed. Words couldn’t express how amazing it was to not only see a sampler stitched by Edward’s mother when she was a girl but to have it framed in antique brass and hung on the wall of our cottage.   

     I continued through the room, touching a china teacup here, a beeswax candle there. Smiling gently, Edward watched me discover it all, one element at a time, as my fingers brushed an old Singer treadle sewing machine which doubled as a table between the two bookcases, a painting of an English castle hanging above it. In the back corner, an overstuffed loveseat upholstered in red velvet and decorated with throw pillows of contrasting colors would make a lovely place to read…if one didn’t automatically gravitate to the two cozy chairs in front of the fireplace.

     “Electricity”? I asked quietly.

     Edward looked uncomfortable for the first time. “No. I-I thought that we would prefer roughing it out here; we can always return to the house to watch TV or use the computers.” He peered down at me nervously. “Did I make the right decision? We can always add—“

     “Yes,” I interrupted him smoothly. “It’s perfect. I’ve always wanted a place away from technology, with a fireplace for heat and candles for light.”

     “So, do you like it?” Edward asked, excitement bright in his eyes.