Spinning Forward

Book 1: Cedar Key

by Terri DuLong

Genres: Family Life; Sagas; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

In a debut novel brimming with warmth and wit, Terri DuLong spins a tale of new beginnings, old friends, and lives forever bound. . . A New Englander born and bred, the last place Sydney Webster expects to find herself starting over is on an island off the coast of Florida. Yet here she is in Cedar Key, trying to pull herself together after her husband's untimely death--and the even more untimely revelation of his gambling addiction. Bereft of her comfortable suburban life, Syd takes shelter at a college pal's bed and breakfast, where amidst the bougainvillea blossoms and the island's gentle rhythms, a plan begins to form. . . Syd never considered the possibility of turning her passion for spinning and knitting into something more than a hobby, but when the unique composition of her wool draws attention, a door is opened--the first among many. Yet even as she ventures out of her comfort zone, Syd finds herself stepping into the embrace of a community rich with love, laughter, friendship. . .and secrets. And as long-hidden truths are revealed, Syd faces a choice: spin a safety net--or spin decidedly forward and never look back. . . "Poignant, absorbing, humorous. . .a debut that tugs at the heart." --Sophia Nash, author of A Dangerous Beauty "Captures the essence of what often lies in each of our hearts. Don't miss it!" --J.L. Miles, author of Cold Rock River Born and raised in north of Boston, Terri DuLong now resides with her husband, two dogs, and three cats on an island off the west coast of Florida. A retired Registered Nurse, she began her writing career as a contributing writer for Bonjour Paris, where she shared her travel experiences to France in over forty articles with a fictional canine narrator. Terri's love of knitting provides quiet time to develop her characters and plots for her future novels.

Release date: October 30, 2009

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 321

Sample

When I visited Cedar Key for the first time, in 1994, I knew I was in my element—surrounded by water and Mother Nature. But when I relocated there in 2005, my love for the town deepened because I found that it was the people who were the soul of the island.

 

The locals made me feel welcome and gave me a sense of belonging. I was inspired by their strength, their compassion for neighbors, and their love for family. Without them, my story wouldn’t have been possible, so I owe a huge debt of gratitude to each and every one.

 

A few in particular touched the writer in me. By sharing their own childhood stories, Cedar Key history, and island folklore, they unknowingly allowed my imagination to create a fictional story. My deepest thanks to Dottie Haldeman, Mary Rain, Frances Hodges, Rita Baker, Jan Allen, Beth Davis, Dr. John Andrews, Marie Johnson, Shirley Beckham, and so many others who enabled me to feel the true essence of Cedar Key.

 

Thank you to Alice and Bill Phillips, owners of the Cedar Key Bed & Breakfast—for your in-depth tour and enthusiasm for my story.

 

For Alice Jordan, my high school friend, I can’t thank you enough for renewing my interest in knitting, turning me into an addicted knitter, and always being a phone call away to answer any knitting questions. For Bill Bonner, my friend and writing partner, your belief in my work made the tough times easier. And huge thanks to both of you for reading this story and giving me your constructive advice and loyal support.

 

Thank you to my children, Susan Hanlon, Shawn, and Brian DuLong—for your love and enthusiasm.

 

Most sincere gratitude goes to my editor, Audrey LaFehr, for your professional support and for making my story a reality. And to the entire team at Kensington for bringing it all to fruition.

 

Thank you to my husband, Ray, who gave me wings to soar, encouraged my destiny, and has kept me airborne with belief in myself.

 

And to you, my reader—thank you for including me on your bookshelf.

Whining drew my attention to the fawn-colored Boxer curled up beside the bed. Lilly had been my constant companion for four years and now she was my salvation. With my home, my assets, my life as I knew it taken from me, Lilly was my one factor of stability.

Living on an island off the west coast of Florida wasn’t something that I planned to be doing at age fifty-two. Twenty-eight years of marriage to a successful physician provided a lifestyle that I not only enjoyed, but took for granted. Okay, so maybe Stephen wasn’t the most passionate and romantic man on the planet, but he created a sense of security in my life. That is, until his Mercedes crashed into a cement barrier on I-495 in Lowell, leaving me a widow with no sense of direction and no knowledge of a secret he harbored.

Two weeks following his funeral, I had been working my way through the grieving process when I was zapped with another shock. I opened the door of my Lexington, Massachusetts home to find a sheriff standing on my front porch, knowing full well this wasn’t going to be good news. My first thought was concern for Monica, my twenty-six-year-old daughter.

“Are you Sydney Webster?” he’d questioned.

“Yes. Yes, I am. What’s wrong?” Despite the chill of the October day, beads of perspiration formed on my upper lip.

He’d cleared his throat and with downcast eyes passed me a large envelope.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to have to deliver this to you, but it’s a certified notice for your eviction.”

“My what?” I felt lightheaded and gripped the door frame.

“Eviction of premises. You have thirty days to pack up your belongings and vacate the house.”

I’d thought it was a joke. Somebody had seen Stephen’s funeral announcement in the paper and was playing a prank on me. The house had been paid for years ago. Nobody could just show up and kick me out of my own house. This didn’t happen to law-abiding citizens.

Clutching the envelope with sweaty palms, I’d torn it open and removed an official-looking piece of paper. All I saw was a blur of words, making no sense out of what was happening.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Webster,” he’d told me. “I really am. I’ll return in thirty days at nine A.M. to make sure your belongings are removed and obtain the house keys from you.”

“This is a mistake,” I babbled. “A major mistake.” Closing the door, I slid down the length of the wall, my sobs shattering the quiet of the house.

And here I was five weeks later on an island off the west coast of Florida. In a quaint but small room at the Cedar Key B&B, and I knew for certain none of it had been a mistake. Stephen’s secret vice of gambling and the events that followed were what had brought me to this small town of nine hundred permanent residents, relying on the hospitality of my best friend Alison.

“Come on, girl,” I said, swinging my legs to the side of the bed. “Time for you to go out and for me to get some coffee.”

The bedside clock read 6:15. At home I never woke before 9:00 and was amazed that in the week I’d been staying at Alison’s B&B, I didn’t sleep beyond 6:30. Slipping into sweat pants and a T-shirt, I grabbed my pack of cigarettes and with Lilly close at my heels we descended the stairs to the porch.

Opening the door to the small L-shaped dining room, I saw a middle-aged couple quietly conversing over coffee and made my way to the kitchen.

“Mornin’,” Twila Faye said as she removed freshly baked blueberry muffins from the oven.

Twila Faye was Alison’s right hand running the B&B and I liked her. She’d raised her only son alone after her philandering husband had left town twenty years before with a tourist visiting from Macon, Georgia. Raised in the Boston area, I didn’t know much about Southern women, but I knew Twila Faye represented what they called true grit.

Pouring myself a cup of dark, strong coffee, I asked if Alison was around.

“Lord, child, she’s already out for her walk with Winston.”

I should have known. I felt slothful when I had discovered that Ali woke seven days a week at 5:00 A.M. She never varied from her routine. Up at five, she prepared muffins, brewed the coffee, squeezed oranges for fresh juice, and by 6:00, her guests had breakfast waiting for them. Then she rounded up her Scottish terrier for a walk downtown to the beach.

I looked at the clock over the table and saw it would be another twenty minutes before she returned.

“I’m going to sit in the garden with my coffee,” I told Twila Faye.

“Take one of these muffins with you.”

Patting my tummy, I shook my head. “I’m trying to lose the twenty pounds I packed on this past year. I’ll have some cereal later.”

Settling myself on the swing in the far corner of the garden, I lit up a cigarette. Blowing out the smoke, it crossed my mind once again that perhaps smoking was another bad habit I should consider discarding.

I watched Lilly sniffing around the artfully arranged flower beds. Bright, vivid azalea bushes in shades of red. Yellow hibiscus gave forth cheer even on a dreary day. And dominating all of it was the huge, four-hundred-year-old cypress tree. I looked up at the leaves creating shade over the garden and wondered about something being on this earth that length of time. Having withstood tropical storms and hurricanes, drought and floods, it stood proud and secure. Right now secure was the last thing I was feeling. I had an overpowering urge to climb the tree. All the way to the top. And maybe absorb some of the positive energy that it seemed to contain. But with arthritis recently affecting my knees, I decided to stay put on the swing.

Physically, I was in pretty good shape for my age. If we discount the extra twenty pounds and smoking, that is. But emotionally, my life was a train wreck.

“Good morning,” Ali called, walking through the gate along the brick walkway. “Let me put these shells inside and I’ll join you with coffee.”

I nodded and smiled. Ali always had a way of cheering me up. Ever since our college days as roommates, she’d always been there for me as a good friend. A no-nonsense-type person, she stepped in when I called her about my eviction. She demanded I drive down with Lilly, a few belongings, and stay with her at the B&B. She apologized that the second-floor apartment in the Tree House was rented till January, but I could stay in one of the rooms in the main part of the house. The Tree House was detached and located on the side of the garden. Ali had her apartment on the first floor and sometimes rented the one above. Feeling like a homeless person—actually, I was—I was grateful to have any space where Lilly and I could stay. But I won’t lie…going from a 4,500-square-foot luxury home to a 12 x 12 bedroom with adjoining bath was like giving up a BMW 700 for a military jeep.

“I see you still haven’t given up those disgusting things,” Ali said, settling in the lounge beside me.

I snubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray and remained silent. I could have said plenty. Like she was the one that turned me on to cigarettes in the first place, during our freshman year in college. Everyone smoked back then, until it became a health issue long after our college days. I also could have said, unlike her, I hadn’t dabbled in smoking pot. But I let it slide and took a sip of my coffee. The only rule that Ali had imposed when I moved in was no smoking inside the B&B.

Ali flung the long salt-and-pepper braid hanging over her shoulder to her back. She hadn’t changed much since our college graduation. Tall and still very slim. Only faint lines beside her eyes attested to the passing years. She was wearing shorts that showed off her long legs, and a crisp white blouse. Her bronze tan reminded me of the days we used to spend (without sunscreen) on the beaches of Cape Cod.

“So what are your plans today?” she asked.

Plans? I was beginning to feel like an inert creature since arriving in Cedar Key. I had ventured downtown a couple of times. Taken a few walks with Lilly. Read a couple books. But other than that, I felt lost. It had even crossed my mind a few times that maybe I should return to the Boston area. Which always led me to question, to what? My life, as I knew it, had been snatched away from me.

As if reading my mind, Ali said, “Look, Syd, I know you’ve been through a hell of a lot these past couple months. Losing Stephen and then the eviction, but you’ve got to pull yourself together and decide what you’ll be doing for the rest of your life. You can’t just turn off.”

Anger simmered inside of me. “What the hell would you suggest I do? I have no job. I haven’t worked as a nurse in twenty-six years. I’m not sure I’d even remember which end of a syringe to use. I have no training in anything else. My bank account is on low. I have no clue what I’m going to do.” I swiped at the tears now falling down my cheeks.

Ali reached over and patted my hand. “I don’t mean to be hard on you, but it’s very easy for a woman in your situation to regress. You’re in a funk and you need to do something to get yourself moving forward. What happened to that girl I knew in college? The take-charge, independent woman, who knew where she was going and how she was going to get there?”

“She married Stephen,” I said and realized that was true. “He wasn’t supposed to die at fifty-five. And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to leave me financially insecure. It’s damn difficult not to be angry with the rotten hand life suddenly dealt me.”

As soon as I said the words, I felt embarrassed. Alison had gone through similar circumstances twenty years before. Gary had died suddenly after a three-month battle with cancer. Leaving her alone, with no children and no future. Within a year of his death, she had shocked me with the news that she was uprooting. Relocating to an island off the west coast of Florida where she had vacationed as a child. She explained the place was calling to her and she felt certain she could heal there. She had been right. Purchasing the B&B had turned her into a savvy businesswoman, and given her an increased confidence. Something I definitely lacked.

“That’s total bullshit and you know it. Life isn’t fair, so you move along and make the best of it.”

I sighed and reached to light up another cigarette. “Sometimes all of this feels like a dream. In the blink of an eye my entire life has changed. Stephen was well regarded in our community and at Mass General. We had a wide circle of friends and entertained lavishly. Sure, he had been preoccupied recently, but I thought it was his work. Certainly not illness. When the autopsy revealed a massive coronary had caused the accident, I thought it had been a mistake. Just like I thought the eviction was a mistake. Imagine—he was a compulsive gambler all those years and I didn’t realize it.”

“You allowed Stephen to run the household financially. He paid the bills, he balanced the checkbook. You’re being a little hard on yourself, Syd. I’m not saying it was right, but since you had no idea where money was going, how could you know he’d taken out a second and third mortgage on your house?”

I nodded and felt ashamed. But I should have known. I should have paid more attention, but Stephen made it so easy for me not to. I remembered the conversation with our attorney the day I was slapped with the eviction notice.

“Whose name is on the deed to the house?” Calvin asked.

My mind had gone blank. Whose name? “Our name,” I told him, clutching the phone to my ear. “What difference does it make?”

“A big difference, I’m afraid. And Stephen’s name is on there.”

“Yeah, so? Okay. His name is on there,” I’d told Calvin with impatience.

“You’re not following me, Syd. Only Stephen’s name. Your name isn’t on the deed. Did he purchase your home in his name only?”

“What the hell difference does that make? I’m his widow and beneficiary. Why would I be evicted?”

Calvin’s insistent voice repeated, “Did Stephen purchase the house in his name only?”

“Yes,” I had whispered.

I ran a hand through my hair and looked at Ali. “I should have gotten that deed changed years ago. It was the week before Thanksgiving and I was due to deliver Monica any minute. We got an early blizzard that year in Boston and Stephen assured me I didn’t need to attend the closing. I guess I always felt we were married and the house was half mine anyway, even though my name wasn’t on the deed. Over the years there never seemed a reason to change things. Now it’s come back to bite me.”

Ali sipped her coffee and remained silent.

“I still find it hard to believe that Stephen mortgaged our house to pay off some large gambling debts. And then, making it worse, he defaulted on the loan and was three months in arrears.”

“Syd, sometimes you never know the person you’re living with. Really know them. I’m sure Stephen’s stress level was off the charts. Knowing that the bank was about to take possession of your home for non-payment.”

Anger flared up again inside of me. “And now they’ll sell the house for close to a million and I’m left a bag lady. Literally.”

Ali smiled. “I’ll never let you be a bag lady. You don’t need to worry about that. But speaking of bags, where’s that spinning wheel and knitting bag you brought down here with you?”

“Up in my room,” I replied with no enthusiasm.

“Maybe that should be your plan for today. Sit out here, enjoy the great weather, and do some knitting. That always relaxes you and allows you to think clearly. Try to focus on what you might like to do. Fifty-something is the new thirty—you have the rest of your life ahead of you.”

As always, Ali was right. Feeling sorry for myself was getting me nowhere. Maybe I needed to regroup and figure out where I might be going.

Sitting in the garden with the late-afternoon sun creating lacy patterns on the grass, I watched Lilly romp and play with Winston. She sure seemed to have settled in quite well. My eye caught the flashy pink bougainvillea draped along the fence and gate. Circular flower beds held purple lantana with butterflies hovering above the blossoms. It was easy to see why Ali had been drawn to this place. I was captivated with the dramatic green of the old cypress tree. The circumference was at least ten or eleven feet, with thick, knotted roots emerging from the ground. My life was in limbo, but sitting beneath the majestic tree provided me a certain amount of tranquility.

I leaned forward toward my spinning wheel and heard a woman’s voice.

“My goodness, I haven’t seen one of those since my grandmother’s attic.”

I recognized her as the guest in room four. “Yeah, it does have an authentic look. That’s what attracted me to it. The brochure said it has the look of wheels from the Baltic area of Poland and Scandinavia. In fact, a well-known spinning-wheel historian said that the manner in which the wheel was built is as close to being historically correct as he’d seen.”

“Oh, it’s absolutely lovely.” The woman reached to touch the walnut finish. “And what on earth are you spinning? Is that dog fur?”

I laughed and nodded. “Yeah, this happens to be Winston’s fur.”

“What a clever idea. So you spin the fur into yarn?”

“Sure. Just like alpaca or any other kind of fiber. Then you knit with it.”

Excitement spread across the woman’s face. “Oh, my goodness. If I mailed you some fur from my Bailey—he’s my Old English sheepdog—would you be willing to spin it for me?”

When I hesitated, she added, “I’ll pay you for your services, of course.”

Pay me for my services? To spin dog fur? “Well, uh…I’ve never really done this for other people. I mean…”

“I’d need enough to knit myself a sweater. I’d be the hit of my knitting club, I can tell you that. How’s two hundred dollars? Would that be adequate?”

I was flabbergasted that somebody would offer me money to do something I enjoyed.

“I’ll add another hundred,” she said. “I know it’s presumptuous of me to even ask you. But I adore my Bailey and he’s getting on in years. To think I could have a part of him with me forever. I’d be so indebted to you. By the way, I’m Lucille—Lucille Graystone, but you can call me Lu.”

I had no idea if the price was too high or maybe not enough. It did involve a certain amount of work to prepare the fur for spinning. After being properly cleaned, it then had to be carded. Not to mention the labor of spinning it. I knew how I felt about Lilly and couldn’t think of the day she’d no longer be with me so it was easy to understand how Lu wanted a keepsake of Bailey. Besides, I was desperate to earn some money.

“Alright,” I told her. “I’ll do it for you, but I have to explain what you need to do before mailing it to me. Plus, you’ll require quite a bit of fur for a sweater unless you want to combine the fur with another yarn.”

Lu threw her head back laughing. “Bailey sheds so much, quantity won’t be a problem.”

 

“Well, hey girlfriend, you could be on to something here,” Ali said later that evening. “You might want to think about opening your own business. Spinning pet fur for devoted owners.”

We were sitting on the porch after supper enjoying a glass of sweet tea.

“I don’t think so. I haven’t a clue about running a business.”

“Neither did I when I bought this place.”

I shook my head. “No, I’ll do this favor for Lu, but I wouldn’t know where to begin starting a company. I do need to begin thinking about a job though. Any ideas?”

Alison sighed. “Hmm, not really. Unless you’re a merchant, most of the jobs on the island are cleaning, waitress positions, or clerks. Minimum pay.”

“Oh, God. I haven’t been a waitress since my college days.” The emptiness I’d been feeling since Stephen’s death overwhelmed me as moisture filled my eyes. “What the hell am I going to do, Ali? It’s not like I’m sixteen again and can run home to my parents. They’re both gone now anyway. Monica has been extra cool toward me since she found out about the foreclosure on the house. Not that I’d ask her for help anyway.”

Ali remained silent, sipping her tea thoughtfully. After a few minutes she said, “I hate to be so brutally honest, Syd, but I guess the time has come for you to figure out what you want to be when you grow up.”

I flashed her a nasty look. With raised eyebrows, I said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve always been somebody’s daughter, wife, mother. You know yourself you relied on Stephen way too much and as a result you lost your own identity over the years. Haven’t you ever wondered about the real you? Who you are inside? Not that person created by other people.” She paused for a second. “Have you ever thought about searching for your biological parents?”

I sat up straighter in the chair and took a deep breath. Oddly enough, after losing Stephen it had crossed my mind again to wonder if the woman who had given me life might still be alive. Perhaps I wasn’t completely alone in the world. I’d shared my adoption story with Ali years ago, but we hadn’t discussed it recently. There was nothing earth-shattering about it. Vanessa and Bob Sherwood had been unable to have children of their own. They applied to adopt a child and brought me home when I was three weeks old. I had been told as a young child that I was adopted and it always made me feel special. When I got to be a teen, I became curious and questioned my mother about that other woman. All she could tell me was that I’d been born in New York City, March 19, 1955. I weighed 7 pounds, 12 ounces. I assumed that the woman who had given me away was young and unwed. The typical story.

I reached for a chip from the bowl in front of us and shrugged. “I always wanted to search, but I felt it would be a betrayal to my parents. They gave me a good life. You know that.”

“Yeah, but I remember when Monica was born. You questioned if maybe she’d inherited looks or traits from your real parents and it bothered you. I tried to encourage you to begin a search. I think your parents would have understood. It’s only natural to be curious and want to know exactly where we came from. Genes aren’t everything in forming us, but they do matter.”

Ali was right. It wasn’t that I felt like a misfit in my adopted family, but I had always felt a void. I used to wonder if maybe my smile was passed on from a cousin or aunt that I’d never met. Had my mother enjoyed knitting like I did? I hadn’t seemed to get many traits from my adopted parents.

“Do it,” Ali said.

I looked at her with surprise. “Do what?”

“Search for your biological mother,” she said forcefully. “You’re floundering, Syd. You’ve lost all that you knew as your way of life. You need to move on and maybe locating some information about that woman will help you to do that. We all need a touchstone. Something to make us feel whole and understand why we’re the person we are. I think the time has come for you to discover that.”

I recalled shortly after Monica was born that I went so far as to research A.L.M.A. on the Internet. Adoptee’s Liberty Movement Association was located in Denville, New Jersey. I never bothered to li. . .