Stunned, confused, Sarah picked up the basket of flowers and followed her. "What's wrong? You didn't seem upset about the condos until I mentioned the carousel." Worse, she had looked disappointed, as if she expected better from her own granddaughter.
"Buildings, shmildings. Go ahead and build whatever you want. But why would you even think about removing that carousel? Don't you realize how important it is to everyone?"
What was her grandmother talking about? "Nobody has even gone over and looked at that thing in twenty years."
"That thing is important and magical."
Sarah could feel the power of conviction behind Olive's words, but that didn't mean she understood where it had come from. "I'm sure it used to be really magical, Grandma," she said gently, "but it's in such a bad state now that I'm afraid it would take a great deal of money to restore it." And there was no way she was going to be able to get the money to do that out of the Klein Group, not when putting in a new boat dock made a whole lot more sense for the town and for the people who would buy the condos.
The set of her grandmother's face was stubborn. "Well, then you'll just need to figure out a way to make it work. Isn't that what you do?"
"I'll talk to the builders," she said, careful not to make any promises she couldn't keep. "But honestly, I doubt they're going to get behind the idea of incorporating the carousel into their plans." She couldn't picture it, couldn't see a way to make it work. Not when the whole point was to move the town forward rather than back into the past.
"It has to work."
"Why is the carousel so important to you? What is so magical about it?"
"Yesterday, when we were in the store, I told you about falling in love with knitting. Do you remember?"
"Of course I do."
"I didn't just fall in love with knitting. I fell in love with Carlos too."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Summer Lake, 1941...
Olive was coming home from a planning meeting for the new exhibit at the Adirondack Museum when she first noticed the man talking to her father.
He had jet-black hair, a little too long, just starting to curl at the base of his neck. He looked strong, his skin was dark, and one more breathless glance told her his eyes were blue with thick, dark lashes.
He was quite simply the most beautiful man she'd ever set eyes on, even in a ratty sweater that was starting to unravel at the wrists and the neckline.
The wind blew colorful leaves down from the trees, but although it was an unseasonably cold fall day, Olive felt overheated.
She guessed the man was one of the jacks of all trades who had come into town to see if anyone had work. The locals had likely sent him to her father, who was building a new wing on their mansion on the water. Though her father was paying these men pennies, they still seemed glad to have the money.
The man suddenly looked at her over her father's shoulder, and a powerful current, a rush of something she didn't understand, passed between them.
Her father shifted, clearly sensing someone behind him. Olive tucked her head down and moved swiftly toward the house. Her mother intercepted her just as she stepped into the kitchen and started taking off her hat and gloves and jacket.
"Oh, there you are, Olive. I was thinking, it's such a cold day, and the men out there are working so hard. Would you mind putting together some sandwiches and hot drinks for them?"
She nodded, responding with a calm, "Of course, Mother," even as her heart raced.
Maybe she would find out his name. Maybe she'd get to speak with him.
Thirty minutes later, the tray of snacks and drinks was ready. Putting her jacket and hat and gloves back on, she headed out of the house and across the wide stretch of grass that led to the construction area. There were usually a half-dozen men working, but there was only one there now.
The beautiful man in the ratty sweater.
A sudden vision came to her of a new sweater, one she would make for him, a complicated Fair Isle made up of blues and whites to pick up the color of his eyes.
She'd been full of anticipation about the chance to see him up close, but now that it was just the two of them, she was nervous, skittish. Normally composed and sure of herself, she was thrown off by her own uncertainty around this stranger.
"Hi." The word sounded squeaky to her ears. She cleared her throat. "You looked cold. I thought I'd bring out some coffee. Some food too, if you're hungry."
She put the tray down on a makeshift table made out of plywood, then stepped back.
His blue eyes darkened for a moment. "Thank you."
She let his low voice rumble through her as she watched him pour himself a cup of coffee. His hands were big, but not rough like a laborer's would be.
Why, she suddenly wondered, was he here doing this work? And where had he come from?
She felt his eyes on her again, just before he said, "You look cold. You should run back inside."
It was true--she was getting cold. But it was the way he'd said "run back inside" that had her stubbornly staying right where she was. She wasn't a little girl in pigtails. She was eighteen years old, old enough to get married and have her own house if she wanted to.
Certainly old enough to carry on a conversation with one of the men working for her father.
Shrugging, she said, "I've spent all day inside. It's nice to be out here. And so beautiful." She looked up at the thick canopy of the maple tree above them. "Look at that tree, at those amazing reds and yellows." She took a deep breath of the sweet, crisp air. "And the air smells so good."
"How long have you lived here?" The slightly rough edge in his voice was tempered by something smooth that whispered over her skin.
"My whole life. Why do you ask?"
"You act like you've never seen your own land before."
Olive's back immediately went up again. First he treated her like a child. Now he was implying that she didn't pay any attention to her surroundings. Worse still, she didn't know how he kept managing to ruffle her feathers--everyone knew she was unruffleable!
"I'm busy with school and helping my mother's charities. There are a lot of needy people out there who need my help. I can't waste my day staring at trees."
"Ah." He nodded, his eyes darkening, his full mouth going taut for a split second. "Charities." But then, as if he was trying to be kind to the poor little rich girl, he looked out over the lake in front of her house and said, "You're right. It really is beautiful." His eyes met hers again. "Almost more beauty than a man can take in."
There was no reason she should think he was talking about anything but the trees and the lake. But for a moment it felt as though he was talking about her.
Not knowing how to deal with a sudden flare of attraction that was so much bigger and brighter than anything she'd ever felt before, even as her cheeks flamed, she found herself admitting, "I really should get out more."
"So what's stopping you?"
That was when something shifted between them. Instead of treating her like a little girl, instead of letting her get away with her previous excuses, this beautiful stranger was forcing her to dig deeper.
And he acted like he cared about her answer.
She shook her head, realizing she didn't have a good answer. "I don't know. It just never fits into my plans, I guess."
"Or maybe," he said softly, his blue eyes darker now, "something out here scares you?"
That was when she jumped to her feet, because even though she instinctively knew this man would never harm her, her reaction to him was scaring her. "I think I hear my mother calling."
His mouth quirked up into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You'd better run back to her, then."
She was almost on the grass when she had to turn around one more time. "I don't know your name."
He remained silent for a long moment. Finally, he said, "Carlos."
It wasn't until she was back in the house, closing the door on the trees and the lake and the mountains, that she realiz
ed she hadn't told him hers.
Her sister Jean was sitting in the living room giggling over the funny papers when she walked in. Dazed, Olive tossed her hat onto the love seat, then promptly sat down on it.
"You look odd," Jean said. Always a mother hen, she put her hand on Olive's forehead. "You're hot. You should lie down."
Olive would have pushed her sister away, but she was still too caught up in thinking about the man outside. Carlos. His name was Carlos.
Still, Olive hated being told what to do. "I don't need to lie down. In fact, I've decided I'm going to make a sweater."
Her sister looked at her in surprise. "But you don't like knitting. Why would you want to make a sweater?"
Olive stood up and walked into the sewing room. She quickly found several skeins of blue and white yarn and her mother's book of knitting patterns. Her heartbeat kicked up as she imagined the beautiful man wearing something she had made with her own hands.
"He needs this sweater."
Olive didn't know her sister had followed her until she heard Jean say, "You're making a sweater for Kent?"
Kent Bartow was from the most well-to-do family on the lake, even wealthier than they were. He was a perfectly nice, good-looking guy, but she didn't love him.
Olive had always told her sisters everything before. But now, for the first time ever, there was something she wanted to keep all to herself.
"Could you talk me through this Fair Isle pattern?" was what she finally said.
Jean talked her through the difficult first few rows of the pattern. The sweater that would keep Carlos warm--and make his blue eyes seem even bluer.
Olive had never had the patience for handiwork like this, had never enjoyed needlepoint or quilting. But here she was, sweating it out over counting stitches and alternating colors for a sweater that she wasn't sure she would ever have the guts to actually give to a stranger.
A stranger she suspected just might steal her heart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Present day...
"Could I have a glass of water?"
Sarah was so riveted by her grandmother's story that it took her a moment to hop up from the porch and head into the kitchen. They had come back to the cottage while her grandmother had been talking. "I'll be right back with it, Grandma."
At first it had been a little bit of a shock to realize Olive had been head over heels in love with someone who wasn't her grandfather. But maybe every woman had a Carlos in her past, a man she wanted but couldn't have. Still, none of this helped Sarah understand why her grandmother was so attached to the carousel.
Coming back in with the water, Sarah waited until she finishing drinking as if she'd been walking through the desert. But then suddenly the glass fell to the ground as her grandmother began to cough--deep, hacking coughs that racked her small frame.
"Grandma!"
Their earlier roles in the garden now reversed--Sarah was the one trying to comfort her grandmother this time--she rubbed Olive's back, noticing as she did so just how much the bones in her ribs and spine pressed into her palm. Sarah hated feeling palpable proof of the fact that every year the woman she loved so much was losing more and more of the flesh that had once protected her from falls, from illness.
Fortunately, this coughing fit wasn't nearly as prolonged as the one in the store had been, and a few moments later, Olive managed to say, "The water went down the wrong pipe."
Sarah made sure none of the glass had pierced her grandmother's skin before she knelt carefully to pick up the shards. "You shouldn't have tired yourself out with all that talking."
"But you had to know, had to understand."
Didn't her grandmother realize she hadn't yet got to the part about the carousel, hadn't yet told her why it was so important? But Sarah couldn't ask her now. Not when Olive shouldn't be doing anything but resting. Especially not revisiting such emotional territory--after last night in the Tavern with Calvin, Sarah knew firsthand how fiercely all of those lost dreams and hopes ripped at your heart.
"I want you to see the doctor again."
"Pfft. I told you. The water went down the wrong pipe. Besides, your mother needs me to help her with the inventory today. I'm planning to head in soon."
"No way. I'll help Mom so that you can stay here. In bed."
Sarah refused to leave until she had her grandmother tucked into bed with a good book and another glass of water on the bedside table. Her own project workload would just have to wait.
Lakeside Stitch & Knit was calling again.
*
Denise was helping a customer when Sarah walked into the store. "Honey, would you mind coming over here to give us your opinion? We're trying to figure out the best color combination for a blanket."
Sarah walked over to the table where a dozen skeins of various colors were set up in three different groupings. She quickly pulled a skein out of each grouping. "These."
The customer said, "Perfect! Now why didn't we see that?"
"My daughter has a great eye," Denise said with pride, and Sarah wondered for half a second if it was true. She never had any problem putting together her presentations, but that seemed less about design than about content.
After her mother finished ringing up the yarn, she came over to where Sarah was sitting in the back, booting up the store's old computer where they kept their financial records.
"I'm going to take over for Grandma today if that's okay with you. I went over to her cottage for a visit this morning." And she told me all about a man named Carlos. Something told Sarah not to bring that up with her mother, who most likely wouldn't appreciate hearing that Grandpa hadn't been Olive's only love. "She started coughing again, so I sent her back to bed."
Her mother frowned. "I know it's just a nasty cold, but I hate it when she's sick."
Sarah put her hand over her mom's. "I do too. But she's going to take it easy the rest of the day, which should help."
"You're so sweet to come in again. You know how much I love having you here." Smiling now, Denise pointed to the computer screen. "Everything look okay?"
"Actually, I've been looking at your ordering and inventory systems, and I can't help but think everything would run more smoothly if you upgraded a few things."
"You're the expert. We trust you to do what's right for the store."
Sarah's fingers stilled on the keyboard as she remembered Calvin's pointed questions last night, the way he'd said she was only thinking of her career, not of her own town. Of course the condos were going to be good for the store. Her mother's trust wasn't misplaced. Sarah would never do anything to hurt their livelihood.
Although, truth be told, she was beginning to worry about how her mother and grandmother were going to cope with running the store by themselves in the coming years. Was there anyone they trusted to take over one day as manager?
"Mom, do you and Grandma have many employees?"
Her mother pulled up a chair and sat. "A few ladies who come in part-time now and again. Jenny is probably here the most. Why do you ask?"
Not wanting to tread on her mother's toes--after all, she'd been running this store with absolutely no help from her daughter for decades--Sarah proceeded carefully. "With Grandma starting to slow down, I can't help but think that running Lakeside Stitch & Knit alone has got to be a big burden for you. Have you ever thought about hiring a manager? Perhaps one of the women who already works here?"
"I've been trying to get Olive to agree to hire a manager, but so far your grandmother refuses to even consider it."
Sarah found herself staring at her mother practically openmouthed in surprise. This was the first she'd heard about problems at the store. The irony wasn't lost on her: Her job was fixing companies that were breaking. And yet, her own mother hadn't thought to come to her for help with their family business.
"How long have you been talking about this?"
"Awhile now. But Olive says the store should be run by family, not a stranger who is only working fo
r a paycheck. That it's about love and personal connection, not money. You know how she is." She smiled. "You've always reminded me a lot of her." Before Sarah could express her shock at that surprising statement, her mother added, "I'm sure it will all work out."
The bell over the door rang as a customer walked in, and Denise went out front to say hello. Because there was no one else to help the customer but her.
Which was precisely why Sarah was concerned. The only family member left to manage the store in the future was herself.
And they all knew the last thing anyone wanted Sarah to do was move back to Summer Lake to run Lakeside Stitch & Knit.
*
Later that afternoon, she caught her mother yawning for what had to be the hundredth time. It was one thing to worry about her from a distance, but it was another to watch her barely make it through the day.
"You seem tired, Mom."
"Oh, honey, it's just that ever since your father passed away, the bed has seemed too big."
Sarah was a breath away from noting that her father had rarely been there, even when he was alive, but that wasn't what her mother needed to hear. "Did you take any time off? After?"
"It's better to be busy."
Sarah knew she should agree. After all, hadn't she done the same thing? Gone to her father's funeral in Washington, DC, one day and been back at her desk in New York City the next. "Maybe I should send you off to bed, like I did with Grandma earlier. I can keep things running here until closing."
Denise's eyelids were drooping, but she still insisted, "Oh no, you've already done too much."
Was her mother kidding? Two days in the store wasn't even close to too much. Sure, Sarah was neglecting her job, but her family needed her right now.
"Please, Mom. I'm happy to take care of closing up."
"If you're absolutely sure."
"Positive."
Heck, she'd already made it through a day and a half at the store. She was feeling pretty proud of herself and of the fact that she could almost talk about yarn and patterns with customers like she had half a clue about what she was saying.
Sarah didn't see Calvin standing just inside the doorway until Denise went to get her things. As her mom walked over to say hello, Sarah stood behind the register and tried to act busy, even though she knew there was no escaping him.