Andy had forgotten his worries and was still chuckling when they walked into Running Stitches.
“You must be Andy,” the woman standing by the register said. She quickly walked around the counter and offered her hand. “I’m Ruth Weaver, and this is my sister, Anna. We’re so happy you are joining us tonight.”
“Yes, I’m Andy Burgess, and I’m happy to be here,” Andy replied. “Well, that’s not entirely true,” he added. “I’m actually terrified. I don’t know how I let Sarah talk me into this.”
But Ruth knew better because this gentle man had kind eyes and a caring smile.
“Well, you can relax here. We’re quilters—the nicest folks in the world, you may have heard—and we’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Quilters,” she suddenly called out to the group surrounding the coffee and dessert table, “come meet Caitlyn’s father and tonight’s presenter.”
Introductions were made all around until Andy’s eyes were spinning. “I’ll never remember everyone’s name, but I can hardly wait to call Caitlyn and tell her I met all you folks.”
After a half hour spent enjoying the variety of cakes and conversation, primarily about Caitlyn and how much she was missed, Ruth asked everyone to find a seat, and she led Andy and Sarah to their seats. Before the meeting, Ruth had pushed two tables together to make a large square and placed most of the chairs around three sides, with just Andy and Sarah at the head.
“I arranged the table this way,” she said, “so we’d have a large tabletop space for displaying the quilt without having to handle it directly.” Everyone nodded, knowing that Ruth was actually instructing them to keep their hands off the quilt. “Sarah, would you like to introduce our speaker?”
“You’ve all met Andy by now,” Sarah began. “If you haven’t, this is Andy Burgess, Caitlyn’s father and a dear friend of mine and Sophie’s. Andy received a gift from a family member, which he’d like to share with you tonight. Andy would also like to learn more about his quilt, so as you’re looking at it, please share what you might know about the pattern, the fabrics … anything.
“We’ll begin with Andy telling you how he came to receive this quilt, but we won’t spread it out until after he does that so you won’t be distracted.” Sarah had learned this the hard way. She often taught classes at the quilt shop and discovered that if she passed out the instructions or pictures of their projects before speaking, no one was able to listen because of their eagerness to see what they would be doing.
“Andy?” she said, turning to her friend. His hands were trembling, but he began talking, often looking at Sophie for support. He told a bit about Caitlyn’s search for a relative and shared some of what he had told Sarah the previous week. She was surprised at first but then realized he needed to say those things to put the letter in context.
He then unfolded the letter and read it to the group. Once his voice cracked with emotion, but he was able to speak through it. When he reached the end of the letter, the room remained silent. Sarah noticed that several women had tears in their eyes. Suddenly everyone applauded.
Andy took a deep breath and smiled. “Thank you,” he said, “and my aunt Maddie thanks you. She led a life of regret, and Caitlyn and I are hoping to help make the rest of her years happy ones.”
“Now, let’s take a look at that quilt,” Ruth announced excitedly. She helped Sarah and Andy spread the quilt out on the table. It just fit, with everyone having a part of the quilt near them.
“It’s damaged,” Frank grumbled, looking disappointed.
“It’s well over a hundred years old, Frank,” Ruth said. “Probably more like 120 years old. And remember what we talked about the last time we had a very old quilt? Its flaws only tell us it has been used and loved over the years. It tells us something about its history.”
“And about its life,” Frank added, remembering what Ruth had told him. Frank was somewhat limited develop-mentally, but he had been very successful with simple quilting projects. He had been a part of the group for several years, frequently making things for his grandmother.
“I don’t recognize the pattern, but it looks very complicated, with points going out here and there,” Becky said as she studied the pattern.
Ruth and Delores, the two most experienced quilters, simply smiled and stepped away from the table. Sophie realized that the two women already understood the pattern, but she was determined to figure it out for herself. She moved closer to the quilt and started in one corner, looking for the repetition, just as Delores had shown her in class.
“What are you doing?” Sarah asked.
“I’m looking for that one block that will lead me to the design of the quilt.”
Others joined her, and Kimberly remarked, “There are certainly lots of four-patches.”
Her sister, Christina, immediately added, “And lots of snowball corners.”
“What’s a snowball corner?” Sophie asked, abandoning her investigation for the moment.
“It’s when you add a half-square triangle to the corner of a square block. If you put one on all four corners, the block appears to be round. I guess that’s why it’s called a snowball corner, but in this quilt, the half-square triangles are only on two of the corners.”
“Two opposite corners,” Allison added, “but sometimes the top one is on the right corner, and sometimes it’s on the left corner. I’m totally confused. This looks like a very difficult quilt.”
“We aren’t going to be making it, are we?” Becky cried.
“No, we’re just analyzing how it was made right now,” Ruth responded. “But if you want to …”
“No!” Becky squealed. “I’m having enough trouble with the simple Irish Chain I’m working on.”
“Well, I can’t make sense of it,” Sophie finally admitted, returning to her seat. “But I love it.”
“Okay,” Ruth responded. “Are you ready to hear how simple this quilt is to make?”
“You bet,” Allison replied.
“This quilt has two blocks and only two blocks. One is a simple four-patch, and the other is a square with two snowball corners.”
“But they go in all different directions,” Becky responded.
“No, look more carefully. It’s all in the placement. Divide the quilt into fourths right through the middle and look again. The bottom left quarter is the reverse placement of the bottom right. And look at the top. They are also reversed in the other direction.”
“I see it,” Sophie cried as she jumped out of her chair. “The top left quarter is exactly like the bottom right quarter!”
“You’re right, Sophie,” Delores responded with a proud smile. Sophie had been one of her favorite students.
“Wait a minute,” Becky announced. “You said there were only two blocks: a four-patch and the square with snowball corners, but I see a sixteen-patch block right in the middle!”
“Look again,” Ruth said patiently. “Remember the four quarters? That’s where they meet in the middle. Each quarter is contributing one four-patch to that block you’re looking at.”
“Of course,” Becky agreed. “It really is pretty straight-forward. Like you said, ‘It’s all in the placement.’ ”
As the group continued to examine the quilt, someone said, “This was completely stitched by hand, wasn’t it?”
“It was hand pieced and hand quilted,” Ruth responded. “Just look at these perfect stitches.”
“Yes,” Sarah said, “but look at these stitches over here. They are irregular and look like they were made by an inexperienced person.”
“Several people must have worked on this quilt, and perhaps those stitches were made by a younger person, or someone who was just learning,” Ruth suggested.
“How do you think this quilt should be repaired?” Kimberly asked, looking at the blocks with disintegrating fabric.
“Unless Andy wants to keep it in its original condition, I’d suggest finding compatible fabric and appliquéing over the damaged blocks,” Delo
res responded. “Actually, there aren’t that many—mostly just along this fold line.”
“What do you think you’ll do about those, Andy?”
“I have no idea what you ladies are talking about,” Andy announced as he stood up, “but I’m getting another cup of coffee.” Everyone laughed as Sarah and Ruth began to carefully fold the quilt so they could return it to Andy’s duffel bag.
“I love doing this,” Allison said. “I’ve learned so much tonight. I’ll bet a few of us have old quilts at home. Why don’t we bring them in and talk about them as well?”
“I don’t have any,” Becky replied, “but I’d love looking at the others.”
“How many people have an antique quilt at home?” Allison queried.
“How old does it have to be to be an antique?” Peggy asked. “I have old quilts from the 1960s and 70s, but they probably aren’t antique, are they?”
“A general rule of thumb,” Ruth explained, “seems to be that items over one hundred years old are antique and over fifty years are vintage, but lots of people don’t follow that rule. As far as I’m concerned, I’d be happy to see old quilts of any age.”
“I agree,” said Delores. “So let’s repeat the question. Who has an old quilt to share with the group?”
Almost everyone in the room raised their hands.
“My granny has a bunch of them in the attic,” Frank announced. “She’d let me bring some.”
“I have some, too,” Myrtle offered. “They’re in terrible shape. I kept meaning to repair them, but I never did.” Myrtle, now in her mid-eighties, had recently returned to the group after a stay in the nursing home’s rehabilitation center following hip surgery. She was now walking without her cane and was eager to get back to quilting.
“Shall we plan on bringing a few to our next meeting to look at?” Ruth asked.
“Wait a minute,” Sarah interrupted. “Sophie, would you tell the group about your idea?”
Sophie struggled to stand, although it wasn’t necessary. No one else was standing, but Sophie, being short, preferred to stand when she spoke to the entire group. Ruth had given up suggesting that she remain seated.
“I had this idea about us having a quilt show and displaying all our old quilts. I talked to Sarah about it, and we thought it would be fun. We could even charge a small fee and earn money for charity projects in the future.”
“How many old quilts do we have among us?” Ruth asked, and members began calling out numbers.
“Okay, I didn’t write those down, but it sounds like if I add the quilts I have at home, we’d have at least a couple dozen, probably more with what Frank’s grandmother has. That would be enough. We could include a write-up about each one. People would be interested in knowing something about each quilt.”
“Where would we have it?” Delores asked. “This shop is too small.”
“We thought of that,” Sophie added. “We could probably have it at the Cunningham Village Community Center. They’re always doing things like that—art exhibits, book signings. We might have to share some of the proceeds with them.”
Excitement was growing around the table. “We’d all need to be there, making sure no one was touching the quilts,” Christina added.
“That part would be fun. We would be ‘white-glove ladies.’ ”
“What about security?” one member asked.
“I could probably help with that,” Andy offered. Everyone turned to look at him. After returning with his coffee and a couple of pastries, he had been sitting quietly, just listening, but with interest.
“I’m sure my husband would be happy to help,” Sarah offered, knowing her retired detective husband would jump at the opportunity.
“I hate to interrupt this lively discussion, but we’ve run way over time,” Ruth interjected, “and I’m sure your families are wondering where you are. I’ll look into this idea and report back at our next meeting. I think we may have come up with an exciting project. I’ll check with the Community Center tomorrow and see what they think of the idea.”
“How do you think it went?” Andy asked as they were driving home.
“I think the club members loved your presentation and that incredible quilt. Thank you for doing this, Andy. I know it was stressful for you.”
“Much more than it should have been,” he responded. “You were right all along. By the way, why didn’t Sophie ride with us?”
“She wanted Norman to bring her and pick her up. They went out to dinner before the meeting …” she began.
“… and he’s staying over,” Andy finished.
“Not our business, Andy.”
“Just saying …”
“Not our business,” she repeated firmly.
Chapter 8
“Miss Thompson, this is Sarah Miller calling. I’m …”
“Sarah, I know who you are, and I’m so glad you called. Caitlyn talks about you all the time. I’ve wanted to call, but I wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate. …”
“I wish you had, Miss Thompson. You and I have a great deal in common. We both love that young girl.”
“Isn’t she remarkable?” Caitlyn’s great-aunt replied enthusiastically.
The two women talked for twenty minutes or so, getting to know one another. “You know, Caitlyn looks just like my sister, Cora Lee, did at that age.”
“Andy’s mother, right?”
“Yes, Andy’s mother. I don’t know if you know the whole story, but I left home when I was seventeen and never saw any of the family again.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sarah responded tenderly. “That must have been hard.”
“I didn’t realize how hard it was at the time. I was a rebellious, angry teenager long before it was in vogue! By the time I started growing up and realizing what I had done, my family was essentially gone. Cora Lee died shortly after her twins, Andy and George, were born. Our mother passed away not long after that.”
“Oh, I thought the boys went to live with her,” Sarah responded.
“They went to live with their other grandmother. She lived in the next county, and you probably know about their father? Cora Lee’s husband?”
“Very little. Andy doesn’t talk about his father much.”
“Well, he married a woman with a child, and they pretty much dropped out of sight. Those boys grew up without parents. Andy turned out fine, but his brother, George, paid the price. I understand he spent most of his life in and out of prison.”
“Well, I can vouch for Andy. He’s a good man, kind and caring, and the best friend a person could have. And he’s done a fantastic job with his daughter.”
“He sure has,” Maddie responded. “Caitlyn is a fine young woman.”
“So, Miss Thompson, I wanted to ask you a few questions about the quilt. You know, we’re having a local quilt show featuring antique quilts, and Andy asked me to write the history of your quilt for the exhibit.”
“Well, first of all, please call me Maddie. You are practically family, and it feels good to have some family in my life for the first time in all these years. I want to tell you about the quilt, but most of what I’m going to say can’t go on the sign. It’s too personal.”
“You will be able to approve what we write before it’s displayed, but I’d love to hear whatever you’re willing to tell me. It’s such a lovely quilt—all hand pieced and quilted. Do you know if it had a name? There was no label.”
“It was made by my grandmother, Minnie Evans. I don’t know exactly when, but I do know she made it for her daughter, Gloria, my mother. I’m sure of that because Mama always called it her ‘wedding quilt.’ She was married sometime in the late 1800s, so that tells us when it must have been made.”
“That means the quilt is at least 120 years old!” Sarah exclaimed.
“I suppose so. It was on my parents’ bed throughout my entire childhood. Mama treated it with such loving care. It was probably her most precious possession and the only quilt that survived in our f
amily from that generation.”
“She must have treasured it,” Sarah said before remembering that Maddie had taken it when she ran off. She was sorry she had said it, but it was too late to take it back.
“She did, and I knew that. Like I said in my note to Andy, I was a rebellious child, jealous of my sister, who I felt was favored by my parents. When I look back on it all today, I can see why I might have thought that. Cora Lee was a good daughter and never got into trouble. I was always in trouble, and you know how kids can interpret things. It seemed to me they loved her more since they didn’t punish her as often, when, in fact, I deserved every punishment I received.”
Sarah sighed silently, feeling sad for that little girl of long ago.
“Anyway, I ran off mainly to ruin Cora Lee’s wedding and to defy my parents. At the last minute, I yanked the quilt off Mama’s bed and took it with me. I was immediately sorry about that.”
“Where did you go? You were so young.”
“The farmer’s son up the road was taking off for a job on a cattle ranch in Oklahoma, and I went with him. That turned out to be a disaster. I stayed with Joe for a few years, but they were rough years. He turned into a mean drunk and kept me with him until I finally had a chance to run off. I headed back home, but nobody was left by then except the folks on a neighboring farm. They gave me temporary work and helped me get into nursing school, which had been a dream of mine. I ended up working at the local hospital until I retired. It was a good life, but a lonely one.”
“You never married?”
“My experience with Joe made me very cautious … too cautious, I guess. I never married, but I dated a few men over the years. I just never got close to any of them.”
“That’s sad, Maddie.”
“Not so sad, actually,” Maddie responded with a smile in her voice. “I’ve had a good life. I bought this little cottage in the 60s, and working at the hospital, I’ve met lots of people and made many friends.”
Sarah remained silent, waiting for Maddie to continue.
“Oh my,” Maddie said suddenly. “I’ve wandered far from the subject. I was talking about the quilt, and how did I ever get this far afield?”
Frayed Edges Page 4
