A Wild Goose Chase Christmas: Quilts of Love Series Read online

  “A story for all seasons! Don’t be misled by the title and think that this is a book you’ll only enjoy at Christmas time. A Wild Goose Chase Christmas is a story to be savored, no matter what the calendar says. Jennifer AlLee hooked me on the first page and never let go. With an endearing cast of characters, a hint of mystery, and more than a hint of romance, this is a book I’m adding to my keeper shelf. A Wild Goose Chase Christmas comes with my highest recommendation.”

  —Amanda Cabot, author of Summer of Promise and Christmas Roses

  “Jennifer AlLee hit a home run with The Mother Road, but she hit a grand slam in A Wild Goose Chase Christmas. These characters became family with all their quirks and dysfunction as they search for mysterious fortune alluded to in Gran’s quilt. I’m a huge fan of AlLee. Novel Rocket and I give A Wild Goose Chase Christmas 5 stars. It’s a must have for this Christmas!”

  —Ane Mulligan, Senior Editor, Novel Rocket

  “Jennifer AlLee has done it once again—created memorable characters that seem so real you expect to meet them on your next trip to the grocery store, characters so enchanting that you root for good things to happen to them. A Wild Goose Chase Christmas will capture your heart, bring laughter to your lips, and tears to your eyes as Izzy and Max discover the importance of famiy and love during one memorable Christmas season. Don’t miss this one!”

  —Anne Mateer, author of Wings of a Dream and At Every Turn

  “A Wild Goose Chase Christmas by Jennifer AlLee is a heartwarming story about searching for the secret behind a mysterious family quilt, with a heroine who goes on her own wild goose chase. Like many of us, Izzy Fontaine is searching for happiness in all the wrong places.”

  —Julie L. Cannon, best-selling author of Twang

  “A Wild Goose Chase Christmas encapsulates unique family dynamics, quilts, and romance—my favorite subjects! A priceless quilt, and a trove of clues and mysteries, lead to family reconciliation and uncover the real treasure: Love.”

  —Kate Lloy, best-selling author of Leaving Lancaster

  “Jennifer AlLee never fails to deliver a witty and engaging story with characters that feel like family—warts and all! A Wild Goose Chase Christmas is a wonderful story full of poignancy as well as joy. It has just the right blend of Christmas cheer without relying too heavily of the holiday theme to keep the plot moving. A delightful, well-paced story to warm the heart.”

  —Lisa Richardson, Inspired Adventures

  “Jennifer AlLee takes the pieces of her characters lives and arranges them into a beautiful quilt of family love and forgiveness. The characters, from Bogie the Jack Russell terrier to Gramps Virgil, will grow on you with each turn of the page. This is a heartwarming Christmas story to get your season started on merry note.”

  —Martha Rogers, author of the Winds Across the Prairie series

  “I love Jennifer AlLee’s writing and stories about Christmas, family relationships, and old quilts, so what’s not to love? A Wild Goose Chase Christmas has all of these attributes and more. Join her sometimes quirky, always endearing characters on a treasure hunt for a true treasure and discover things about yourself and your family that will help you find your own real-life treasure.”

  —Rose Allen McCauley, author of the novella, “Nick’s Christmas Carol” in Christmas Belles of Georgia

  Other Books by Jennifer AlLee

  The Pastor’s Wife

  The Mother Road

  Other books in the Quilts of Love Series

  Beyond the Storm

  Carolyn Zane

  Path of Freedom

  Jennifer Hudson Taylor

  For Love of Eli

  Loree Lough

  Threads of Hope

  Christa Allan

  A Healing Heart

  Angela Breidenbach

  A Heartbeat Away

  S. Dionne Moore

  Pieces of the Heart

  Bonnie S. Calhoun

  Pattern for Romance

  Carla Olson Gade

  Raw Edges

  Sandra D. Bricker

  The Christmas Quilt

  Vannetta Chapman

  Aloha Rose

  Lisa Carter

  Tempest’s Course

  Lynette Sowell

  Scraps of Evidence

  Barbara Cameron

  A Sky without Stars

  Linda S. Clare

  Maybelle in Stitches

  Joyce Magnin

  A WILD GOOSE CHASE CHRISTMAS

  Quilts of Love Series

  Jennifer AlLee

  A Wild Goose Chase Christmas

  Copyright © 2012 by Jennifer AlLee

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4267-5249-0

  Published by Abingdon Press, P.O. Box 801, Nashville, TN 37202

  www.abingdonpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  AlLee, Jennifer.

  A Wild goose chase Christmas / Jennifer AlLee.

  p. cm.—(Quilts of love series ; v. 2)

  ISBN 978-1-4267-5249-0 (book -- pbk. / trade pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Quiltmakers—Fiction. 2. Older men—Fiction. 3. Christmas stories. 4. Heirlooms—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3601. I39W55 2012

  813'.6—dc23

  2012032059

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 / 17 16 15 14 13 12

  To my grandmother, Marie Staats, who is dancing and laughing in heaven

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Each book presents its own unique challenges and blessings, and this one was no different. Big thanks are due to so many:

  • To my family, who never questioned why I couldn’t be separated from my laptop for two solid months. You guys rock!

  • To my awesome agent, Sandra Bishop, for never letting me lose hope. Ever!

  • To Lisa Richardson and Susie Dietze, for making themselves available for quick critiques and feedback as I worked my way through Izzy’s story.

  • To Abingdon acquisitions editor Ramona Richards, for her encouraging words and support.

  • To Teri, for her loving care in editing the final manuscript.

  • To the Abingdon sales and marketing teams, for everything they’ve done to make the Quilts of Love series a success.

  • And, of course, thanks to God in heaven, the giver of all good things. He’s given me more good things than one gal deserves. I am blessed.

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

&nbs
p; Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  1

  Izzy Fontaine was up to her elbows in family photos when the doorbell rang. The sound echoed, joined by two sharp barks and the clicking of nails on the hardwood floor as Bogie rounded the corner, bounded across the room, and slid to a stop in front of the door. The Jack Russell terrier did the same thing anytime someone rang the bell. And every time the door opened and he saw it wasn’t his owner, he slunk out of the room with his head down.

  Izzy looked down at the dog. “I miss her, too, Boy.”

  Letting out a sigh, she dropped the eight-by-tens from her hands, pushed her chair away from the table, and trudged across the room. Who would stop by unannounced? A list of the usual suspects flitted through her mind: Students selling magazine subscriptions? Local proselytizers unnecessarily worried about her soul? Or the man with the pickup truck full of gardening tools who kept offering to rake the leaves from her yard? What she didn’t expect to see through the fisheye lens of the peephole was a senior citizen standing on the porch.

  She opened the door wide enough to stick her head through but blocked the bottom of the opening with her body to keep Bogie from running outside. “Can I help you?”

  The man smiled. “Are you Isabella Fontaine?”

  The rational part of her brain, the part that took copious mental notes whenever she watched TV crime dramas, warned her against divulging personal information to a stranger. But the other part, the part that usually found the best in everyone, couldn’t believe this sweet old man held any danger.

  “Yes, I’m Isabella. But no one calls me that.”

  “What do they call you?”

  “Izzy.”

  The sides of his wiry white mustache rose in a smile. “Well then, Izzy it is. I’m Virgil, and I believe I’m the one who can help you.” With a bit of difficulty he produced a huge ribbontied box from behind his back and held it up in front of him.

  “What is that?”

  “A present for you. From your grandmother.”

  Izzy pulled back as if the box had grown teeth and snapped at her. Two days ago, alone at the assisted living facility, Grandma Isabella had passed from this world to the next. Guilt still gnawed at Izzy for not being there when her grandmother needed her. This unexpected gift only made things worse.

  “Can I bring it in?”

  Virgil’s hopeful question reclaimed Izzy’s attention. She hesitated, but the crack of thunder, followed several seconds later by a flash of lighting across the cloud-filled sky, made up her mind. “Oh. Of course.” She stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

  With slow but steady steps, Virgil entered the house. His eyes took in the dark wood and built-in cabinetry so typical of a craftsman house. “It’s just as beautiful as Isabella described it.”

  “Gran loved her house.” Only it wasn’t Gran’s house anymore; it was Izzy’s. Six months ago, when Gran fractured her hip and decided to move into the assisted living facility, Izzy convinced herself she was just taking care of Gran’s house, Gran’s dog. Just temporarily. But she couldn’t keep telling herself that. Not anymore.

  Virgil pointed to the heavy oak table in the dining area, strewn with photographs. “Are any of those of Isabella?”

  “They all are.” Izzy shut the door and followed Virgil, passing him and going to the table. “I’m making a photo display for Gran’s funeral and I can’t decide which picture to use. I narrowed it down to these.” She grabbed two photos from the table and held them up for Virgil to see.

  One was a black and white of a young Isabella in a classic dance pose. She balanced on one leg, satin-clad toes stretched into perfect pointe, her other knee drawn up, arms held out in front of her. The rapturous expression on her smooth, unblemished face and the extension of her fingertips gave the impression that she was reaching for her one true love.

  The other picture was much different. It was a headshot, probably taken the last time her church updated the picture directory. She wore a burgundy sweater with a silk flower pinned to it, her silver hair pulled back into a tidy bun. This was an Isabella mellowed by time, her skin etched with lines, her smile content.

  Two pictures representing two very different sides of the same woman. Izzy looked from one to the other and shook her head. “I’m just not sure how she’d rather be remembered.”

  Virgil lowered himself into a hardback chair, leaning the box against one leg. “I think she’d like to be remembered both ways.” He reached out and took the photo of young Isabella. “I know I could never forget her.”

  Just how well had Virgil known her grandmother? Izzy pulled out another chair and sat in front of him. “Were you and Gran … close?”

  Virgil chuckled and waggled his finger at her. “Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking. We had a lot in common. And believe me, when you live in a place like Vibrant Vistas, it’s an accomplishment just finding someone who remembers enough about their past to compare notes.”

  Izzy laughed. “So if you two were such good friends, why didn’t I ever see you when I was there?”

  He swatted his hand in her direction. “You came there to see her, not to meet her doddering friends. I would have been in the way.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that.” Izzy’s eyes drifted back to the box at Virgil’s side.

  His eyes followed hers and he jumped in his chair. “Oh yes, the present. I’m sure you’re dying to get a look at it.”

  “I am curious.”

  He held it out to her. “Careful. It’s heavier than it looks.”

  He wasn’t kidding. She took it in both hands, glad for the warning. Laying it across her legs, she pressed her palms flat on the lid, as if doing so and concentrating would tell her what was inside. The last time she saw Gran, they’d decorated her room for Christmas, even though it was only the first of November. “If Walmart can put up their decorations months early,” Gran had said, “then so can I. Besides, I’m not getting any younger. Christmas is my favorite holiday and I want to enjoy it as long as I can.” She enjoyed it for a week, and then she was gone.

  Had Gran known how little time she had left? If so, why hadn’t she given Izzy the gift then, when they’d been together? Heat pushed against the back of Izzy’s eyes as she looked down at the loosely tied, red satin ribbon, no doubt secured by Gran’s arthritic fingers. Just one more experience Izzy had missed.

  She looked up at Virgil, blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay. “Why did she give it to you?”

  “She knew I’d keep it safe.”

  “Safe from what?”

  “Not what. Who.” Virgil’s voice was low. He leaned forward, elbows to knees, eyes darting back and forth as if he expected to find covert operatives skulking in the shadows. “There are a lot of people who would like to get their hands on that.”

  She lifted her hands from the box. What in the world had Gran given her? “I don’t understand. How could she have kept something valuable at the home without anybody finding out about it?”

  “Not everybody recognizes true value when they see it.” He nodded, impressed by the weight of his words.

  “But what is it?”

  He sat up straight, head slightly inclined. “It wouldn’t be much of a present if I told you. Go on and open it.”

  Izzy grabbed one end of the satin ribbon, then froze. Maybe she should wait. It was a Christmas present, after all. Maybe she should save it until Christmas Day, just so she could share one last holiday with her grandmother.

  But then that wouldn’t honor Gran’s spirit, would it? Gran never could wait to open gifts. She would have ripped into the package then and there.

  The ribbon fell away with a yank, trailing down her legs and brushing the floor. Wanting to make the moment last, she slowly lifted the white box top. Beneath it were neatly folded sheets of tissue paper. She peeled them away, one after the other, until her gift was revealed.

  “Well,” Virgil asked, “what do you think?�
��

  “It’s a quilt.”

  Izzy didn’t mean for her voice to sound so flat and uninterested. But after the workup Virgil gave it, she expected something a little flashier.

  “It’s not just a quilt.” A hint of scolding tinged his tone. “It’s a family heirloom. That was one of Isabella’s most prized possessions.”

  Izzy looked back down at the quilt. Triangles of different colors, mostly faded and worn by age, seemed to chase one another in geometric patterns, up one side and down the other. Izzy thought back to all the years she’d spent with her grandmother: long summer visits as a child, when she would pack her tiny pink suitcase and stay for a week at a time; so many weekends in her teen years, after her mother moved Izzy and her brother back to California and close to Gran; and those months after Izzy’s accident, when Gran took her in and mended not only her body but her spirit as well. In all that time, Gran never mentioned this quilt. Izzy had never seen it. How important could it really have been? For that matter, how had she managed to keep it hidden from her at Vibrant Vistas?

  Izzy reached across the box and squeezed Virgil’s hand. “It’s lovely. Did she tell you anything about it?”

  His face nearly glowed at the prospect of sharing his knowledge. “Oh yes. This is what you call a Wild Goose Chase pattern.” He ran one finger carefully down the middle of a row of triangles. “According to Isabella—”

  Virgil was cut short by the pealing of the doorbell. Bogie dashed around the corner, nearly crashing into Izzy’s legs as she crossed the room. Then the bell rang again. The dog barked and turned in a circle. By the time the bell rang a third time, he’d added a little jump to the barking and circling.