The Clock and Quilts in Patchvine Cottage

Chapter Two

The Whimsical Chronicles of Stitch Briar Hollow

Hazel rested her hand against the door and eased it the rest of the way open.  She paused at the threshold, taking in the moment. Honey stood beside her, nose twitching, tail giving a slow, eager wag.

The air smelled of dust, dried herbs, and something faintly sweet, like the last whisper of summer flowers. Hazel thought she caught the delicate scent of sweet peas, perhaps drifting in from a window left slightly ajar.

She stepped softly inside, placing the key back into her pocket, and closing the door with care. Her gaze fell first on a stone fireplace, centered along the far wall as if it had been placed there to greet her. Faint embers glowed within, warm oranges and reds. Hazel moved closer, basking in the gentle heat.

On the mantle, a scatter of curios drew her gaze:  three mismatched teacups, each with a tiny plant sprouting from its rim, and at the center, an oval frame with a photograph in warm sepia tones.  Just beside the photo sat a small wooden carving of a hummingbird, its wings caught in mid-flight. 

Hazel tilted her head.  “That’s funny,” she murmured, glancing down at Honey. “First the door-knocker… and now this.”

She gave the little carving one more curious look, making a quiet note in her mind, two hummingbirds…I wonder if there’s more? 

Hazel leaned closer to the photograph. A group of smiling townsfolk stood gathered at what must have been a Hollow Fair. There, proudly holding a fancy decorated cake, was Mr. Butterhorn. And perched just nearby was Brambles, resting on the Stitch Briar Hollow sign. Hazel smiled, remembering the kind baker and his feathery companion. She could already call them friends.

The other faces were strangers, but their smiles felt as though they had been waiting for her. Warmth spread though Hazel’s chest, steady and sure. 

This is what home feels like, she thought.

She stood still for a brief moment letting the gratitude fill her heart. 

The moment broke with a muffled bark. 

Honey, the sweetest good girl, sat in front of Hazel with a new found toy — a colorful patchwork ball. Hazel bent to pick it up and gave it a toss.

Honey bounded back, tail wagging furiously. Hazel scooped her into her arms, spun in a circle of joy, and laughed through the flurry of puppy kisses. “We are finally home, Honey!”

Hazel set her down and tossed the ball again for her. Honey scampered after it, while Hazel’s gaze swept over the room—and that’s when she noticed the clock.

Nestled between two windows stood a grand cuckoo clock, carved from cream-colored wood and etched with delicate patterns. Under the clock face was a tiny turquoise door, similar to the front door to the cottage. The hands rested at quarter to eleven. 

Hazel’s brow lifted, her curiosity flickering. I wonder what will happen when the minute hand reaches on the hour?

The sheer curtains next to the cuckoo clock swayed gently. Hazel caught the delicate  scent of sweet pea again.  She approached the window that had been left open a little and peered outside. She inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet aroma. Who has been taking care of this cozy cottage? She pondered. Outside was a small garden complete with a sitting area, perfect for sipping tea and enjoying the birds.

Honey barked softly. Hazel spun to see where she was. She was sitting between two overstuffed chairs, one to each side of the hearth, angled just right for long conversations. Each chair wore a quilt over its rounded back, the fabrics rich with color and pattern. Hazel reached out, her fingers tracing the gentle rise and fall of each seam. Admiring the colors and the delicate craftsmanship.

A small linen tag peeked from the corner of the quilt, the letters stitched in a graceful hand:

Handmade by Violet Dresden.

“Violet Dresden…” Hazel whispered, letting the name settle in her mind as though it belonged to someone she very much hoped to meet one day.

Honey, with an approving little wag, hopped into one of the chairs. Hazel was feeling a bit drowsy herself and thought a quick mid morning nap sounded lovely. Hazel followed, curling up beside her, covering them both with Violet’s quilt.

As she settled in, the cuckoo clock gave a gentle whir. The tiny door opened just a crack, and a soft cheer-cheer bird sound floated into the room.

Hazel’s eyes darted to the clock face. “So that’s what you do on the hour,” she whispered.

The fire’s glow, the soft ticking of the clock, and Honey’s steady breathing wrapped around her like Violet’s quilt. Her eyes fluttered closed, and before long, Hazel and Honey were fast asleep. Patchvine Cottage fell into its quiet late afternoon hum.

But just then, up on the wall, the cuckoo clock gave the faintest click.

The tiny door creaked open once more, not for the hour, and not for the chimes.

Inside, an iridescent shimmer stirred in the shadows.

A single tiny eye blinked. Then… a gleam of rainbow-colored sparkles slipped out into the room, so faint, you might miss them if you weren’t looking very closely.

The door clicked shut again.

And Patchvine Cottage kept its secrets.  For now.