Elizabeth's Daughter Read Free

made a vice of spending money on you.”
      “No, not much, he didn’t.”
      “So, get some phones already! Anyway,” Martha continued without missing a beat, “I called to tell you about a rug and wall hanging exhibit at the Bower’s Museum. Do you want to go with me?”
      “I’d love to. But I’m afraid I might bore you, droning on about stitches and styles.”
      “That’s precisely my point, dear girl. I want to learn, and you’re my valued resource.” Elizabeth could hear Martha tapping her ipad. “Let’s see, today’s pretty booked. How’s your tomorrow?”
      “All my tomorrows are un-booked,” Elizabeth answered.
      “Agh! Deplorable, Lizzie, that’s got to change! I’ll pick you up at eleven-thirty tomorrow, and take part of the afternoon off. Maybe I’ll get crazy and take the whole afternoon off.”
      “We could wait until Saturday.”
      “No way,” Martha came back emphatically. “You miss my point, I want to take some time off. Besides, the exhibit will be crowded on Saturday. Don’t start that ‘oh no, I’m in the way,’ routine of yours. Now I mean it, no guilt, just fun.”
      “Yes Martha. Okay Martha,” Elizabeth recited, “no guilt, just fun. See you tomorrow!”
      Elizabeth went back upstairs, passed her bedroom and continued down the long dark hall to the end room, the room that long ago had been her mother’s. Elizabeth had taken it over for her work room when her mother gallivanted off to who-knows-where the last time the last time Elizabeth saw her, twelve years ago.
      She opened the door. Before her was arrayed her rug-making paraphernalia, several projects in mid-development.
      She remembered how Grandfather used to call to her from downstairs, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden yarn.” She smiled.
      All her love for the soft wool and the solid feel of the weft growing in the warp underhand, even the smell of the wood frames, and wool and jute and raw silk – the gorgeous, sensual sight of the hanks of pure colors, waiting to be knotted or woven or stitched – flooded over her when she opened the door with a nostalgia as strong as if she were remembering a person.
      In the middle of the room stood the biggest project she’d ever undertaken, a nine-by-twelve-foot latch-hooked rug with a Samarkand-styled pattern of her own design, two-thirds complete.
      She went over to it and and began working as if she’d only interrupted herself for a few moments instead of more than a year.

Chapter IV

    Elizabeth managed to wake at nine-thirty the next morning, even after working on the rug fifteen hours, non-stop. Her shoulders and hands were sore and she had a nasty blister on her right forefinger, but it wouldn’t be long and the Samarkand would be finished. She had to admit she savored the aches and  pains. Battle wounds! She couldn’t wait to put the rug on the floor at the foot of her bed where its reds and blues would complement the hardwood.
      She jumped in the shower to get ready for her day with Martha. Martha had first been her mother’s friend. They’d met in a ballroom dance class almost fifteen years previous and soon discovered they had much in common. They became dedicated to the search of more interesting dance partners then the class afforded. Although Elizabeth’s mother, Gloria, was ten years older than Martha, she didn’t look it, and the two of them, to hear Martha tell it, had the guys lined up.
      “And why not?” Elizabeth thought, “they’re two gorgeous women.”
      But the result of the flirtation with night clubs led Gloria off to some more exotic spot on earth. Or so she would have everyone believe. However, that was long ago. Since then Martha had befriended Elizabeth, and every now and then she escaped her frenetic schedule and came up with something for the two of them to do.
      Elizabeth stepped into her gold satin-finish cotton dress with fitted bodice and full skirt. Except, she noticed, it