by Leah Day
Thankfully the Great Tree was intact, although missing a few branches. It looked like it had escaped the worst of the destruction. Two mountains had been dissolved and she’d just cut off the green Open Door and checkerboard block pieced below it. There was a massive hole in the sky where the sun had once been stitched. Mally leaned close and could see the fabrics had been ripped cleanly away and every stray thread was pulled from the area.
She leaned back, devastated. The quilt looked so different from how she’d seen it the first time. It wasn’t even Grandma’s quilt anymore. This was Menda’s abomination.
Mally glanced down and gave a little shriek. Her jeans were covered up to her knees with straight lines of red stitches crisscrossing in all directions. Her sneakers had been completely encased as well. The snarl’s rope! She dropped Patch as she sank to the floor pulling on the threads, desperate to remove the stitches.
“They were cut. They can’t hurt you anymore,” Patch said gently.
“I can’t stand it! I can’t stand that witch’s rope touching me!”
“Well, yelling about it isn’t doing much good. Cut it off if it bothers you so much,” he replied.
Mally didn’t need telling twice. She pried off her socks and shoes, then jumped back to her feet, wiggling out of her jeans. She spread the garment out on a clear spot on the cutting table and grabbed the rotary cutter again. With a quick slice, she cut her pants off above the knee, removing all traces of the snarl’s stitching.
“There! That’s better!” She said, slipping on her newly cut-off shorts. She hadn’t focused as well on the cutting job this time and one leg was slightly longer than the other. But anything was better than wearing the remains of Menda’s monster on her clothes. She threw the ends of the jeans in the trash along with her ruined shoes and socks.
Scooping Patch off the floor, Mally pressed her face into his neck and sucked in a deep, calming breath. I wonder how long I’ve been gone, she thought, wiggling her toes in the carpet. She’d beat Rose back to Grandma’s house and returned to Quilst on a Tuesday. Please don’t let it be months and months. If she could sneak downstairs, Grandma kept a calendar on the kitchen wall and Dad was in the habit of crossing off the days when he checked the house in the evening.
Only then she remembered the alarm. Dad had set up motion detectors on the stairs and around the outer doors to catch anyone moving in the house. If she went downstairs to check the calendar, she’d set off the alarm and he would know someone was here.
Her stomach rumbled and she pressed a hand against her belly. How long has it been since I ate anything? she wondered. She walked over to the window seat and pulled back the curtains to peek outside. The sun hung low in the horizon. Whatever day it was, it was nearly over. She wandered back to the cutting table, biting her lip. Her eyes skimmed over the landscape quilt, and she did a double take. Something had changed!
She looked closer and found it was the Nature Path curving gently over the green hills around the Great Tree. Mally stroked her fingers over the tiny pieces and once again the horrible sight of the snarl splitting open behind Ms. Bunny and Sunshine filled her mind. She tried to block out the memory but it was like the scene was etched in her mind. She couldn’t close her eyes without seeing it over and over.
What does it matter what day of the week it is? Mally thought, her eyes filling with tears. I’m the only one who knows about Quilst. Ms. Bunny and Sunshine… what will happen to them? What is Menda doing to them? And Grandma must be there! What is one or two more days missing matter if I can save them all? Mally made up her mind.
“I’m going to fix this, Patch. I’m going to stitch this quilt back together and I’m going back to Quilst.”
“Brave words, little Maker. Now, do you plan to accomplish this feat of extraordinary stitching before or after you stop crying?” He sighed and Mally could have sworn the doll gave her a withering look. “That world is in bad shape and the Ripping Witch wasn’t happy we were leaving. This won’t be as simple as stitching me back together. This will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”
I’m either really tired, or that’s just how it works when you bring someone out of Quilst, Mally thought.
Then she remembered the hours of conversation she’d shared with Ms. Bunny. She would tell her everything and she would listen patiently, her black eyes accepting every word. But many times she’d heard the doll’s kind voice in her mind, comforting her when she was frustrated, lifting her up when she was sad.
“Or maybe I’ve been able to hear the entire time, and I just thought I was talking to myself,” Mally said out loud.
“Nah, you’re probably just crazy.” There was no doubt about it, that was Patch’s voice speaking clearly in her head.
“So where do I start?” Mally turned in a full circle, her eyes skimming the room. Grandma was a prolific quilter and had stacks of quilts in all stages of progress stashed in every cabinet. But her true passion was piecing quilt blocks. Almost every Friday night when Mally came to stay, they would cut out a new quilt block together before dinner. Grandma liked to cut enough pieces to make two or three blocks at a time.
“Just in case my brain does a flippity flop on me and things don’t go quite the right way the first time,” she’d explained when Mally asked why they were cutting out so many pieces.
On Saturday morning, after a short stack of the best pancakes in the world, they would head upstairs and Grandma would settle in at her sewing machine and Mally in her window seat and Grandma would piece her blocks.
It would usually take an hour or so, then she’d finish up, cut her thread tails with a flourish, and add the new blocks to one of the various stacks around the room. Grandma didn’t seem too concerned with stitching the blocks together into quilts. Neat stacks littered the floor in all shapes and sizes, colors and styles.
Mally wandered over to the nearest pile and found it topped with a bright orange flower block. She stroked her fingers along the delicate stitching that held the flower to the background fabric. Twenty pointy petals surrounded a yellow center circle. That could also be a new sun block, Mally thought.
She lifted it off the stack and found an identically pieced block with yellow and red fabrics below. Grandma had made two! She carried them over to the quilt and lined them up in two corners.
The sun rises in the East and sets in the West, she thought as she placed one bright sun block in the upper right corner and the other in the lower left corner. “I’m going to stitch so many suns back into this quilt, Menda won’t ever be able to make it go dark again.”
“A solid plan. Are you going to fix the hole in the sky she left as well?” Patch asked in her mind.
“Good point.” Mally contemplated her options, looking around the room. Her eyes caught on her favorite scrap basket in front of the window. She dug in, looking for just the right fabric for the sun missing from the landscape. She pulled out a deep orange fabric printed with swirls and a larger scrap of solid yellow.
“Which do you think?” She asked, unsure of which looked better on the quilt.
“Either or. They’re both sun colors. Did I not mention this would be challenging? There’s no hope for us if you can’t make up your mind over something so simple.”
“Uggh, I was just asking for help picking the color. I can make up my mind!” Mally picked the orange spiral fabric and arranged it over the hole in the sky.
She returned to the stack of quilt blocks and paged through the fabric squares quickly. A small scrap of paper fluttered out and she caught it. “Disappearing Four Patch” was written in Grandma’s script.
It seemed to correspond with a strange looking block with squares and rectangles. As Mally browsed through the pile, she found more scraps of paper and sticky notes mixed in with the patchwork recording names like Churn Dash, Turkey Tracks, and Robbing Peter to Pay Paul.
She found several F
our Patches with a scrappy checkerboard pattern like the blocks she’d made with Audrey, a few House on a Hill and Sawtooth Stars, and a lot of complicated blocks with curving seams and tiny points with names like New York Beauty and Mariner’s Compass that looked off-limits. She didn’t want Grandma to come home and be mad about the blocks she used to fix the quilt.
Mally pulled out the ones she liked best and carried them over to the cutting table. She spread out the squares and arranged them around the landscape quilt. But there was still space to fill on all sides. She spotted another pile peeking out from under Grandma’s sewing machine table.
Mally slid the stack out and frowned at the top design. It was a weird block with a strange angle pieced in brown and teal fabrics. She rotated the block around and suddenly the shape became familiar – an Open Door!
“Whoo hoo!” She did a little dance and pumped her fists in the air. She had no idea how she would have pieced a new door block by herself, so this was a very lucky find indeed.
In the end she found three Open Doors and two Closed Doors along with two beautifully pieced blocks labeled Moon Over the Mountain that instantly became her favorite. She spread them out with the others she’d picked and now had more than enough to create a border around the quilt.
Mally began arranging the squares around the center landscape. First, she tried all the doors on the top row, but that didn’t look right because they would be suspended in sky. Every time she rearranged the blocks, she found something wrong. That block has the same pink color as that one, it would be weird to have that star below the landscape, and so on.
She shifted the pieces again, ignoring the heavy weight of exhaustion that had settled over her shoulders. She longed to lay down and rest, just for a little while. She rubbed her eyes and tried another arrangement. But her stomach had graduated from gently rumbling to making her painfully aware she hadn’t eaten anything in a very long time.
She set the blocks down for a second to look out the window behind the thick curtains. Night had fallen, and the street was quiet. The back of her neck prickled and she quickly pulled away from the window. She’d never spent so much time in Grandma’s house all by herself, and never at night.
“If I can just get this done, everything will be fine! I just can’t make up my mind.” Mally said, returning to the cutting table to stare blearily at the quilt.
“How about you try moving those blocks another ten times?” Patch suggested sleepily. His expression hadn’t changed, but it seemed like his stitched green eyes were a little less bright. “Do you know what the definition of insanity is? Doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results.”
“I have to get this stitched back together tonight. I have to save them, but I can’t go back until the sun is fixed and...” The fabrics blurred as tears pooled in her eyes.
“You’re too tired to do this, little Maker. You need to rest. Nothing you do right now will get you any closer to fixing Quilst. It’ll keep for one night and you will see it fresh tomorrow morning.”
Guilt twisted Mally’s stomach, or maybe that was just hunger. “I feel bad, going to sleep while everything is so messed up.”
“Well, look at it this way: You rearranging those blocks another hundred times will not bring anyone home faster.”
“Fine.” Mally pushed away from the table and scooped the cat into her arms. She snuck down the hall to her special guest room. The floors creaked as she tiptoed in and then shut the door quickly behind her. She knew no one could be inside the house with the alarm on, but it still felt creepy to be here alone.
She tucked Patch into bed and snuggled down under the heavy quilts next to him. She stuck her toes deep into the chilly sheets and felt that perfect combination of weight, comfort and the promise of warmth.
She sighed, expecting to spend hours going over all that had happened in Quilst. But instead she barely closed her eyes and fell instantly into a deep, exhausted sleep.
* * * * *
Mally awoke and sat up. Sunlight filtered through the window, shining straight into her face. She closed her eyes, drinking in its warmth. She breathed in deeply, taking in the signature smells of Grandma’s house, the thick quilts piled up on top of her and something new – pancakes! She shot out of bed and raced downstairs.
At the stove was Grandma, back in her red apron, spatula in hand as she turned over three golden pancakes. Mally loved the way she fried them in hot bacon grease which made a crispy ridge all around the edge.
Grandma turned to hand the plate to Mally. Something was wrong. It looked like she was wearing black gloves and all her fingers were fused together like...
Mally looked up to find Menda’s silk face had replaced her Grandmother’s soft, wrinkled skin. She smiled widely, her blue eyes flashing. But it was Grandma’s gravelly voice that came out of her mouth as she spoke, “Good morning, Mally May. I made these just for you.”
Mally jerked awake, screaming. A faint light peeked around the edge of the curtains. It was still nighttime, perhaps an hour before dawn. “It was a dream. It was just a dream.”
“I’d say that one had a bit of truth to it, though,” Patch said cryptically.
“What would you know? Can you see into my dreams too?” Mally asked. It had been such a delicious dream, so perfect, right up until the moment Menda had taken Grandma’s place. Her stomach twisted painfully. She rolled over and tried to forget about the fried pancakes. “It wasn’t real. Grandma doesn’t have anything to do with Menda. She’s evil.”
Patch didn’t reply, and Mally felt a sudden wave of frustration. Why couldn’t they just find Grandma and bring her home? Better yet, why did she leave them in the first place? This was all her fault!
Her eyes caught on the painting on the wall, faintly illuminated by a gap in the curtains. It was the yellow brick road. Dorothy hadn’t had a choice in her trip to Oz. She’d been pulled from Kansas and set on the path to defeat the Wicked Witch of the West. Mally had a choice. She could run downstairs, call Dad, and give up this quest right now. But she couldn’t leave Ms. Bunny and Sunshine behind.
Her mind swirled with images of the dream. What if Patch was right? Who had made Menda and how had she gotten into Quilst in the first place?
Mally asked the question on her mind, but Patch simply said, “A story for the morning. Sleep, little Maker.”
She pulled the cat into her arms. Hugging him tightly, she fell back to sleep.
* * * * *
“WAKE UP! Come on, Mally! Wake up or we’re going to be caught!”
Mally opened her eyes blearily and found them clogged with gritty crystals. She must have cried in her sleep last night. She rubbed her eyes, yawning widely, then froze as the sound of the door slamming downstairs registered in her sleepy brain.
“Someone’s here!” She slipped quickly out of bed and pulled Patch down with her. She tucked herself into the narrow space under the bed as heavy footsteps stomped through the house. She glanced up and her heart rate doubled as she saw the edge of her purple quilt dragging the floor.
“The bed is a mess!” she whispered to Patch. “I have to fix it or they’ll know I’m here.”
She wiggled out from under the bed and jumped to her feet. She made the bed faster than she ever had in her life, pulling the sheet up with a jerk, then the layers of quilts. Thankfully Grandma didn’t care much for perfectly made beds. So long as the quilt on top was smooth and flat, that was good enough for her.
Mally had just smoothed out both sides when the footsteps started up the creaking staircase. She ducked back under the bed and pressed herself flat to the cold floor.
Years of playing hide-and-seek finally paid off. Mally knew to keep her head down and not move a muscle. What gave you away was movement and the glitter of your eyes in the dark. She’d caught her younger cousins so many times because they always wanted to see the seeker comin
g.
Mally squeezed her eyes shut as the bedroom door clicked open. She resisted the urge to move her legs and tuck her feet in closer to her body. She heard a loud sigh and knew it was Dad standing at the door.
Guilt wrenched her heart as he sighed again. It would be so easy to be found. She could tell him what happened and maybe he would help her piece Quilst back together again.
“Highly unlikely,” Patch’s voice echoed in her head. “If you get caught now, you won’t be fixing anything for months. You’ll never get a chance to be alone long enough to return.”
But he sounds so sad, Mally thought. It’s my fault, and I could fix it. Shouldn’t I fix this too?
“No,” Patch replied. “Where is all your ‘save Quilst’ spirit from last night? Do you remember what you decided? What is a day or two if it means you can save everyone and fix everything at once?”
The floor creaked as Dad turned and closed the door. It felt as if he’d made the decision for her. Mally let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She remained motionless on the floor as her stomach suddenly doubled over in knots.
Ow! Ow! Ow! Mally yelled in her head. She was beyond hungry now.
She tried to distract herself by focusing completely on Dad’s footsteps. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine where he was in the house. She listened to him opening each door and knew when he entered the sewing room. He seemed to pause longer in that room than the others. Did he notice the quilt on the table had changed?
For several agonizing minutes she waited for him to start yelling, “I know you’re here! Come out now!” But he didn’t. He shut the door quietly and was walking back down the hall to the stairs when his phone rang. She and Rose loved to change his ringtones to the most outrageous rings and right now it sounded like cats meowing to the tune of Jingle Bells. Mally bit her lip, trying not to laugh.
“John here. What? Slow down, what did you say? Yes, I’m on my way.” His footsteps were suddenly pounding down the stairs. The back door slammed loudly and seconds later the truck roared to life.
