She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Even after being closed up for six months, the shed still smelled like roses. Nanny Lucy had always kept a rose-scented candle burning on top of the filing cabinet in the corner. She glanced over that way, and sure enough, a large jar candle with three wicks was waiting to be lit. Nessa wondered if rose-scented sachets were still tucked away in Nanny Lucy’s dresser drawers, too.

“Wonder what’s so important that we need to finish this thing?” she muttered. “And why do we have to work on it together? I wish I had faces to go with their names—Stella and Vivien, two sisters.”

“Guess we’ll have to get it finished to find out why,” April answered. “It’s sure not something I’m looking forward to doing. I hate anything that has to do with needles. Stella and Vivien had been friends to Nanny Lucy since they were all just kids.”

“Didn’t you ever get to help quilt?” Nessa asked.

“Get to help?” April’s chuckle was brittle. “More like had to help. Don’t worry about me messing things up so we don’t pass the test. I can do the job, but I won’t enjoy it.”

Nessa couldn’t imagine not enjoying sitting beside Nanny Lucy and quilting. She was amazed by the quilt in the frame, though. Nanny Lucy’s quilts were intricate and fancy, like the one hanging behind the sofa. For that matter, Nessa loved every step of making a quilt. Cutting the pieces out was like the beginning of a friendship when two people are getting to know a little about each other. Sewing those pieces together was like building all those little shapes into a quilt top. Then the final step was putting the backing, batting, and top all into a frame, where it was stretched tight. That was the tedious part of a hand-quilted piece of work. One stitch at a time to hold everything together. That process reminded Nessa of life.

The colors in the squares of the quilt top before them looked like they had been thrown together haphazardly by a drunk—and Nanny Lucy had sworn that not a drop of liquor had ever entered her mouth. “That has to be the ugliest quilt I’ve ever seen. Did she make y’all sew this up when I wasn’t around? It looks like something a beginner might do, not an accomplished quilter like Nanny Lucy.”

“Not me,” Flynn said. “You were here when I was.”

April shook her head. “Me either. I never put a top together in my life. Like I said, I hated anything to do with sewing.”

Nessa took a deep breath. “Do y’all remember this place always smelling like roses? And did you ever wonder why she used a quilt as decoration behind the sofa and not family pictures?”

“Of course I remember the smell of roses. They’re planted everywhere, so it stands to reason that in the summer it would smell like roses around here.” Flynn frowned and pointed toward the quilt. “I’m glad she didn’t hang that thing above the sofa.”

“She loved the scent of roses. Maybe they made her think of good times in her life. She seemed to be happiest when she was quilting or else working with all the roses in the front yard,” April said. “And I agree with Nessa. This does not look like one of Nanny Lucy’s projects. Maybe Uncle Isaac was right when he said she was losing her mind. As far as the pictures go, I don’t think she liked any of her kids or grandkids well enough to put our pictures on the wall. She tolerated us, but that’s about as far as it went. I learned when I was pretty small that she had good days and bad days, and to steer clear of her on the latter ones.”

“Shhh . . .” Nessa put a finger to her lips. “If the wind or the angels in heaven carry that statement about her not being in her right mind, Daddy is liable to take us back to court again and put you on the stand. Can’t you just hear it? ‘Judge, I think my mother was insane because she made an ugly quilt.’” Nessa laughed, but she wondered if Nanny Lucy had suffered from depression from a young age, and if so, if it was something genetic that Nessa would inherit someday.

She shook her head to get such thoughts out and poked Flynn in the arm. “I always gave her rose-scented sachets for holidays. You might want to take them out of her dresser drawers before you unpack your things. The women might not flock around you like flies on a fresh cow patty if you smell like roses.”

“Then I will leave them right where they are,” Flynn told her.

“What’s this?” A chill chased up Nessa’s spine. Was Flynn having the same kind of emotional turmoil as their grandmother? “The playboy isn’t on the prowl anymore? Do give us details.”

“Like I said, it’s a conversation for another day, maybe never if we don’t become friends.” Flynn’s tone left no doubt that there was a story hidden deep in his heart—or maybe his soul.

“Did you find a picture of Jesus in your morning toast and decide to turn your life around?” Nessa asked.

Flynn turned toward her and gave her a dirty look. “Uncle Isaac would disown you for a comment like that.”

Nessa ran her hand over the first few squares in the quilt. “I doubt that. He would love to find a picture of his Lord and Savior in a pancake or in his morning oatmeal. That would make him famous.” A heavy, tense feeling hovered in the shed as they all stared at the quilt again. “I loved coming out here with Nanny Lucy and watching her quilt. She had the neatest little stitches, so even and uniform.” Not even the good memory eased the tension.

“I was practically raised in this shed.” April sighed. “I spent hours under the frame when I’d done something bad, like remind her of my mother. I learned to stay down by the waterfall as much as possible just to stay out of her way. When Nanny Lucy put me under the quilt, I got tired of listening to them singing hymns and talking about the healing properties of the Spirit of God and patterns for making future quilts. I often wondered if God had quilting frames in heaven, and if He didn’t, would Nanny Lucy be happy there? I always felt like her quilting business, the ladies from the church, and her garden club women came before me. I was just the burden from my mother’s death.”

“I wanted to live here when”—Flynn hesitated for a second—“my mother passed away. Nanny Lucy told me that she couldn’t raise another kid, and maybe if my father had to take care of me, it would straighten him out, but she was wrong. Nothing could ever straighten Matthew O’Riley out.”

“You might have been luckier than you realize.” April whipped around and glared at Flynn, bringing even more tension into the shed. “Nanny Lucy was over fifty when I was born and thought she was done with raising kids. She told me that on a daily basis. When my mother died, she said that God told her she had to raise me.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “But enough of that depressing old story. Let’s get out of this place.”

“You’re not the only one who didn’t have a perfect life, girl. It’s a wonder that I ever got to come spend time here with you and Nanny Lucy,” Nessa said as she started outside. “Daddy used my time here as a disciplining tool, and believe me, I was not a perfect child.”

“Did you have to eat your carrots to get to come to Blossom?” April did a head wiggle when she smarted off.

“I wish that’s all it was.” Nessa didn’t even try to smile. “But it was more like ‘Vanessa, if you don’t say your prayers for at least thirty minutes, you don’t get to go to Blossom this summer.’ Or from Mama it was, ‘Nessa, if I catch you wearing makeup again, you won’t be visiting your Nanny Lucy this summer. Jesus says I have to love Mother Lucy, but she’s a bad influence on you, and I don’t love that.’ Carrots had nothing to do with the way things were done in the Reverend Isaac O’Riley’s house.”