Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
C ora came home exhausted, hungry, and dirty. On the first day at the mill, she followed Bonnie around. Then, on the second day, she and Bonnie played with the big machine Bonnie had named Bernie.
“He’s reliable but finicky,” Bonnie said. “He’s got nine lives. The whole thing nearly broke a few years ago, but I just repaired the broken part, and he works as good as new.”
When Cora had to study textiles in college, and she fell in love with its rich history and ancient beginnings. Color, texture, and design all played important roles.
“I read somewhere that linen is the fiber of the Gods,” Cora said to Bonnie.
This made Bonnie smile wide, showing off the space between her two front teeth. “What was it like to work for someone like Madame Dubois?”
“Well, I didn’t really work there. I interned.” She felt like a complete loser. How many twenty-nine-year-olds interned?
“I bet you learned a lot from her, that’s for sure,” Bonnie said.
“I did, but more about the business side of things.” Cora learned about branding, marketing, and current design styles.
“I brought my designs to show you,” Cora said, pulling out her finished swatches with the design she had dyed a couple of days ago. She had finished four designs, the seashells, the mermaid, grasses, and water ripples. She used different colors like burnt orange, deep forest pine green, and bright sunshine yellow, but she mostly used her blueberry dye.
Bonnie held the fabric in her hands. “You designed these? Using my father’s fabric?”
Cora nodded, wishing she hadn’t done the silly mermaid now. “It’s my first go around. I have more designs I’m going to try out.”
Bonnie set the swatches of fabric on her desk, studying them with her glasses on. “They’re gorgeous, Cora.”
Cora couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh. “Thank you.”
“No, really, it’s beautiful work,” Bonnie said.
“I got to use beautiful fabric,” Cora said.
She looked up to Cora with a serious expression in her eyes. “Well, we better make some more fabric.”
She walked to a closet in the back of the room and pulled out a large spool of thread. “It’s linen thread from Belgium. It's the best in the world. I got a hold of it some years back, hoping I’d be able to use it for a higher-end line of bedspreads, but...” Bonnie shrugged. “I never got to it.”
Cora touched the soft thread. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s the softest linen thread you can buy,” Muriel said, touching the thread delicately with her fingertips.
“How expensive is it to buy linen thread now?” Cora asked.
“Quite a bit.” Bonnie rested her hands on her hips. “Is there even a market for linen nowadays?” Bonnie asked. “Aren’t people using paper for everything?”
“Families,” Cora said. “Families use linen for their tablecloths and napkins and aprons and tea towels. My mom’s always using linen while she bakes. The restaurant I used to work for went through tons of linen.” Cora moved her swatches around in a different order. “I want to make something that will last and can be passed down.”
Bonnie narrowed her eyes and made a clicking noise with her tongue. She put her hands on her hips as she thought about it. “I bet those posh restaurants in Portland would kill for an organic linen tablecloth to go with their grass-fed beef.”
“Linens are part of the décor.” Cora could design beautiful linens for the home, gorgeous fabrics for gatherings and special events, as well as everyday cooking and cleaning. She’d design patterns that were whimsical but also original pieces of art, each piece of fabric unique.
“What would you call your linen line?” Bonnie asked.
“Blueberry Bay Linens,” Cora said.
This made Bonnie smile. “I like the sound of that.”
“That’s what I’m going to call my fabric shop, too,” Cora said. She may start as an online store, but someday, she’d like to see her fabrics displayed in an actual shop with her name displayed.
“Your fabric shop?” Bonnie said, and a grin grew on her face.
“I’d like to open a store where I can sell my linens,” Cora said. She could see a little storefront in the village with a wooden sign with Blueberry Bay Linens written on it.
Bonnie clapped her hands together. “Here in Blueberry Bay?”
Cora shrugged. “I don’t know. Why not? I could sell it online at first, but someday I’d like to have a store, and what better place than Blueberry Bay as my setting for my posh all-natural, all-organic made-in-Maine linen?”
“I think you should agree to produce your linens with a local mill,” Bonnie said, holding out her hand to Cora. “What do you say?”
Cora shook her hand, but doubt flooded her thoughts for the rest of the day.
At this point, she had only created at least a dozen different designs. Nothing too complicated. They were mostly bi-color designs over the woven threads. Would that even be enough for a store online? Could she continue to come up with original pieces, make the dyes and the stamps, and produce it all fast enough for consumers? Would people scoff at the expensive price tag of using natural fibers and being an original handmade piece of fabric?
When everyone had gone to bed, she sat in the piano room trying to come up with more designs when Gordon came down the stairs. “Hmm, I thought I heard someone up.”
He opened the freezer and pulled out a pint of ice cream. “Want some?”
“Do you have to ask?” Cora said.
She had never lived far from her grandfather, having grown up down the road from him. She’d practically lived at their house. Ice cream had always been a special treat with Gordon. She put down her notepad and got up from the leather recliner she had nestled into.
“Don’t get up. Keep working,” Gordon said, pulling out two bowls from the cabinet. He quietly opened the silverware drawer and wrestled out two spoons. Cora listened to see if he woke up the rest of the house.
“Did I wake you?” Cora asked, opening her notebook again. She had a design idea of using the actual shells, not stencils, that she collected from the beach. She’d use the large quahog shells and their curved, lined bodies, the spiral-curved shells of the tiny mollusks all over the shore, and the flat surface of the sand dollar. She’d find all different types of shells and use their shape for her patterns.
“No, couldn’t sleep. How are the designs coming?” Gordon asked, handing her a bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup drizzled over the two perfect scoops.
She took the bowl and placed it on the side table. She passed over her notebook. She had finished all but one design.
“Take a look and see.” Cora felt proud of her ideas.
Gordon opened the notebook. She’d titled the collection, Sea Escape.
The first design would be her mermaid, offered in two sizes. A large single mermaid on the bottom right corner of the linen fabric square, the size of her palm, and the second mermaid design would be the same mermaid but twenty-fourth the size and repeated throughout the fabric square.
“Your grandmother would be tickled pink knowing you created your own mermaid,” he said.
Cora pointed at the face. “I used the smile from Jacob’s statue.”
“As gorgeous as your grandmother.”
Cora smiled at that.
Gordon flipped to the next page, where she’d sketched her blueberry stamp. The following design was her whale’s tail. Then she had her scalloped shell and a crisscrossing of lines across the fabric representing seagrass.
“I need one more design,” she said through a mouthful of ice cream.
Gordon put the pad down and picked up his bowl. He took his first bite of ice cream and chewed for a while before saying, “Why not the Blueberry Bay lighthouse?”
“Oh, that’s it!” Cora jumped up in her chair, pointing her spoon at her grandfather. “That’s a perfect idea.” She thought about what she could use to make red. “I could use strawberries, or rhubarb.”
“Beetroot,” Gordon said. “I bet you could find some around this time of year at a farmer’s market.”
When they finished their bowls of ice cream, she kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for the ideas.”
“Of course, kiddo,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it.
When she went to bed, she realized she had missed a text from Brandon. He sent a picture of Boston Harbor at night. The view was incredible and one that she’d never forget.
I found the best writing spot in the city, but I decided to take you up on that offer.
She recognized Boston’s harbor right away. The view wasn’t far from his apartment, but the sunset, like in the picture, was always spectacular. Her heart skipped a beat at the idea of Brandon coming to Blueberry Bay.
And she liked that feeling.