Appliqued to Death

by Kathleen Suzette

  She nodded. "I'm sure the police will find the killer soon," she said, changing the subject. "Your brother’s working on the cases, isn’t he?"

  "Yes, Robert is in charge of the investigations."

  She nodded. "I hope he's going to consider having a nice long chat with Christine."

  "I'm sure he's having a chat with everyone he feels may have important information about the case," I said.

  I suddenly didn't feel good about Ellen and I didn't know if it was because she was pointing a finger at Christine, or if I just didn't like a teacher that would gossip about a student.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Seam work can be tricky. Especially when they're long seams, because if your attention is drawn away for even a moment, those seams can go off track quickly. If you choose a width that's too large for the project, you end up with a bulky garment. Too small and it allows for a greater possibility that the stitches may pull loose from the edges when pressure is applied. Such is life. When too much pressure is applied to something, the stitches that hold everything together can come out mighty quickly.

  I held up the baby blanket I had been working on for Suellen Ross. "Isn't it lovely?"

  "Yep, lovely," Daniel said without taking his eyes off the newspaper.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "You didn't even look."

  He smiled and looked up from his newspaper. Squinting his eyes, he gazed at the baby blanket I held up. "I like the baby ducks. It is an exquisite piece of baby equipment."

  "Baby equipment? I have to say I have never thought of a baby blanket as baby equipment."

  He chuckled. "Call it what you want. Its equipment used on a baby."

  "Oh you," I said. I took the baby blanket over to the dining room table and laid it out right side up. Then I picked up the yellow Swiss dot fabric I had chosen for the underside of the blanket and laid it over the top of it and then laid some batting on top of that and began pinning it together. It was going to be a sweet baby blanket for the spring. The batting would give it just enough weight that when the baby became a few months old, it could lay on it and then eventually play on it. Come winter the baby would need something warmer, but this would work well for spring and summer.

  "What's for dinner?" Daniel asked without looking at me.

  "Spaghetti and meatballs," I said.

  He looked at me now, eyebrows raised. "Spaghetti and meatballs? Are you getting fancy on me?”

  I laughed. "Since when is spaghetti and meatballs fancy?"

  He shrugged. "I guess since we’ve been eating a lot of sandwiches lately."

  “It wasn’t that long ago that we had a roast beef,” I reminded him. He was right though. I had been getting lazy about dinners. It always happened this time of year. Summer would be here soon, and school would be out, and I just didn’t want to do much of anything around the house. Sandwiches were easy.

  “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “Spaghetti and meatballs sound great.”

  "Did you know that Ellen Baines has been absent all this week?" I asked him as I maneuvered the steel straight pens through the batting and both layers of the blanket.

  "She has? Doesn't she have a spring concert coming up?"

  I nodded. "She does. I thought it was odd that she was absent. Peggy and I brought her some chicken noodle soup to help her recover faster."

  "That was nice of you," he said, folding the newspaper over and putting it in his lap. "What does she have?"

  "She said the flu, but she seemed fine when we visited with her. She said she could've come in today but didn't want to get her students sick."

  "I guess that's reasonable," he said slowly. "But what about the spring concert?"

  I nodded. "I didn’t ask her. Hopefully the students are ready for it. I saw something funny at her house though."

  "Funny how?"

  "It was one of Darren Peabody's paintings. She said she had stopped by his classroom and admired it and he gave it to her."

  "I guess that was nice of him. Why do you think it's funny?"

  I turned toward him. "Do you think Ellen Baines appears to be the sort of person that would like the avant-garde paintings that Darren enjoyed?"

  "I guess you've got a point there," he said thoughtfully. "What you make of it?"

  I shrugged. "I guess I don't make anything of it, to be honest. It just seems odd is all. I spoke to him frequently and he never offered me a painting."

  "Did you ever admire one of his paintings?" he asked.

  I chuckled. "Well, now that you mention it, no. I never did admire any of his paintings because I really didn't like them. I mean, I understand you have to enjoy that sort of thing in order to, well, enjoy that sort of thing. But I just don't."

  He laughed. "I guess that explains why you never got a painting then."

  I chuckled. "I've had several people mention that Christine Tidwell is in trouble." I looked at him to see what his reaction would be.

  He looked at me wide-eyed. "In trouble, in trouble?"

  I nodded. "Someone even hinted that Darren was the one who got her in trouble."

  "Wow. I would never have thought something like that of him."

  "I thought the same thing," I said standing up straight. "I just can't see it, but Christine was working on a dress for an infant as her class project."

  He narrowed his eyes in thought. "Well, that kind of thing isn't something most girls would want to get around. Do you really think she would be working on a baby dress right there in class if it was for her own baby? When she isn't married?"

  He was right. And suddenly I felt silly for even considering that it was a possibility. "Thank you for pointing that out. I just wasn't thinking."

  "That's what I'm here for," he said. "Unless of course, she just doesn't care who knows. It's not like she has a lot to lose. She was already held back a year and couldn't graduate with her class and her friends have gone on to their new lives. She’s stuck in high school without them with the shame of everyone knowing she couldn't graduate. Maybe she just doesn't care."

  "Okay well, thanks for ruining that for me. For a minute there I was ready to agree with you and now you’ve brought that up, I don't know what to think."

  "That's what I’m here for," he said again. "Did you ask her about it?"

  "I couldn't ask her that," I said and picked up the baby blanket and headed back over to the sewing machine. "How does one go up and ask an unmarried girl if she’s in trouble?"

  "I guess you just say excuse me Christine, but are you in trouble?" he said and shrugged. "You can approach it as if you were concerned for her and wanted to know if she needed any help."

  "I am concerned for her and I did offer my help, but she didn't say anything. I didn’t say it directly, of course. I don’t feel right about coming right out and asking her."

  He nodded. "Maybe she didn't know that you knew. Or maybe she doesn't know that everybody's talking about it. You know how that school is, rumors fly at the slightest provocation. Even without provocation, they fly."

  I nodded. "I know. And that's probably all any of this is. Just rumors because somebody wanted to be unkind."

  All these things could be true. Poor Christine. I didn't know if she really was in trouble and needed my help, or if it was just a bunch of mean-spirited girls spreading lies. There was something about Christine that made my heart go out to her and I hated to think she might be pregnant, regardless of who the father might be.

  "Well, the easiest way to find out the truth is probably just to ask her. But I can see where you might not want to do that. Maybe you can just ask about the baby dress?"

  "I did. She never answered me directly."

  "Well then, I guess that means she doesn't want to discuss it. So maybe keeping quiet is the best way to go," he said picking up the newspaper again.

  I turned back to the sewing machine and raised the presser foot and carefully put the edge of the fabric beneath it, then lowered the presser foot. I was going with a 5/8-
inch seam. I could trim it back if it seemed unwieldy when I finished. I would leave one end open so I could turn it right side out and then stitch up that side. Suellen probably had plenty of baby blankets, but it was nice to start out a new baby with at least one new blanket. I couldn't imagine having seven children. But there were some days when I thought I might like to give it a try. I slowly lowered the needle into the fabric to get it started. Then I pressed the pedal and let the machine pick up speed, stitching through all three thicknesses, carefully removing each steel pen before the needle got to it.

  I wondered if I dared to make a baby blanket for Christine. I couldn't of course, not without her admitting that she was in trouble. But I wanted to do something for her. Anything that might help her in some way. At the present moment, the only thing I could think of was to stop the rumors from flying during class. It was woefully little that would be of any use, but it was all I had.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  What I’d heard about Christine bothered me. Not because I was judging her, but because I worried about her future. I hoped if it was true, that she had a boyfriend that would marry her and make things right.

  “Mrs. Taylor, I’m going to make a lined suit for my final project,” Carrie Adams said. Her glasses had slipped own to the end of her nose, making her look older than she was. The rhinestones sparkled under the fluorescent lighting of the classroom, adding to the effect.

  I looked up at her. “Do you think you can complete it before the end of the year?” It was now the end of April and Carrie was the slowest seamstress I had ever had in a class. I doubted she could do it. She was a perfectionist, and that tendency got in her way. She labored over every stitch until I wanted to scream at her to just get on with it.

  She nodded. “Yes, I’m certain of it. My mother is taking me to Stinson’s to buy wool fabric this afternoon.”

  “Wool will be hot for the summer. Don’t you think you should use a lighter fabric?” I suggested.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m going to be interviewing for jobs this summer and I want a suit that looks professional. I think I’m going to buy it in gray. And if not gray, then black. Those are professional colors. I heard they were going to be hiring typists at Callison’s and I want to put my best foot forward. I’ve always dreamed of being in a typing pool.”

  I smiled at her. “That sounds exciting,” I said, trying to be enthusiastic for her. “But by the time you graduate, summer will be here, and a wool suit is going to be miserable. You might try a nice linen or cotton fabric.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m going to get wool. My mother says it’s a quality fabric and it will last me for years to come.”

  I forced myself to smile. If she wanted to sweat through an interview, that was her business. “Well then, I guess wool it is.”

  She nodded. “I want to be a professional working woman. My mother is a nurse, you know.”

  “I do know. I can see why you want to find a professional job,” I said. “Perhaps you can go to nursing school and work at the same time. I hear they’re always looking for nurses at the hospitals.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to work while I go to nursing school. My mother has it planned out for me.”

  “That’s nice.” I looked up as Christine went to her sewing machine and sat down. “Excuse me, Carrie,” I said and headed over to Christine. “Hello, Christine. How is your project coming?”

  She looked up at me, the infant dress in her hand. “Hello, Mrs. Taylor. It’s coming along. I just need to finish up the applique work.”

  “It’s adorable. What happened to the graduation dress you were making a couple of weeks ago?” I asked.

  Her forehead creased. “Well, I’m still working on it. I need to put the zipper in and then finish off the seams. I guess I got distracted making the baby dress. It was so cute.” She looked up at me and smiled weakly.

  “It is really cute. Who is it for?” She had ignored the question when I hadn’t asked directly. Now I was asking directly.

  Her eyes went to the dress, then she looked back at me. “I have a cousin who’s having a baby. It’s her first.” She ran a finger over the stitching in the applique work and looked away.

  “How exciting. I’m sure a first baby is something wonderful to be looked forward to. Your cousin will be thrilled to get that dress. You really do such fine work.”

  She looked up at me. “Do you have children, Mrs. Taylor?”

  The question always caught me off guard. It shouldn’t have. It seemed most people didn’t mind asking it and I heard it a lot. “No, I haven’t been able to have any. Yet. I’m sure it will happen sometime.” I was still young enough, I reminded myself. It could happen. It might just happen yet.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Do you want children?”

  “I do,” I said. “It seems unfair that it’s so easy for some and not for others.” I caught myself before I said something I’d regret. I usually tried not to burden others with my problems, no matter what they may be.

  She stared back at me, her forehead furrowing again.

  “It is unfair, isn’t it? Some people have so many children and some have none.”

  Her eyes met mine, and I saw the pain in them. “Christine, what sort of plans do you have after graduation?” I asked her. “Are you going to college? Or are you going straight into the workforce?”

  She looked down again. “I’m not sure.”

  “Maybe a job would be good? I heard Callison’s is hiring typists.”

  She looked up at me again and there were tears in her eyes. “I don’t know if I can do that. I can type, but not very well.”

  “Perhaps they have something for beginners,” I suggested. “You’ll never know until you try. Unless you have other plans, that is.”

  She hesitated. “I think—” she said and looked around, then turned back to me. “I think I might have a problem.”

  My heart sank. I had really hoped it was all rumor. “What kind of problem?” I asked, my words came out sounding breathless. I silently cursed myself for it.

  “I think I might be in trouble,” she whispered and looked away.

  “I’m sorry,” I said gently. “Will you be marrying the father?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  The thought of her not marrying her baby’s father saddened me. “Did he say he didn’t want to marry you?” I glanced around to make sure no one was listening in.

  “He doesn’t know,” she whispered.

  “You’re going to tell him, aren’t you?”

  She ran a finger across the neckline of the baby dress and didn’t answer me.

  I pulled a nearby chair up to her sewing machine, sat down and laid a hand on hers. “I’m sorry. I know this has to be hard. Maybe you can look into adoption? There are homes for unwed mothers that can assist with that.”

  She turned back to me. “What if I want to keep it?”

  What was I going to tell her? I wanted a child as much as any other woman. I couldn’t have given a baby up for adoption, even if I weren’t married. “I understand the wanting. I really do. But it’s going to be very difficult for you to raise a baby on your own. You’ll need a full-time job and that may be hard to get around here if you’re not married and have a baby.” It was the truth, as much as I wished it weren’t.

  She nodded. “I know. I doubt anyone would hire me. The café doesn’t pay enough.”

  “What about your family? Will they help you?” I hoped there was someone in her family that might stand up for her. Help her through this.

  She shook her head. “No. My parents aren’t very good at being parents.” She gave me a wry smile. “I want to do better.” She whispered the last part.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I know of anything else to help. Maybe think things over and think about adoption. You have your future to think about and while that might sound selfish, it really will be hard to raise a baby on your own. Or
maybe the father would be happier about the news of a baby that you think he will be.”

  “The father isn’t around.” She looked away. “I’ll think about adoption, but I don’t see how I can do that.”

  My stomach dropped at that news. Then I nodded. “I’ll ask around and see if anyone’s hiring. Anyone that I think might not mind your situation,” I said. “I’ll be discrete.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Taylor,” she said gratefully.

  I gave her hand a squeeze and got up, placing the chair back near the machine I had taken it from and went to my desk. My heart hurt for her. A small town had its disadvantages for all of the good things it provided. This was one of the disadvantages. She wasn’t going to be accepted. But then, with the family she came from, she probably already expected that. It was unfair. But she needed a way to support herself and the baby.

  I shook off what Ellen Baines had said about the baby being Darren’s. Christine had said the father wasn’t around, not that he was dead. It was most likely one of her classmates that had already graduated. That was why I never saw her with a boy here at school, I was sure.

  The clock ticked toward the end of the hour and I closed my eyes for a moment. Peggy had never had children. She said she didn’t want them and was relieved that she and her husband hadn’t had them when she caught him cheating. That was a blessing. At least she wasn’t breaking up a child’s home when she decided to throw him out. I couldn’t understand not wanting a baby. If I never had one, I would manage. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  During fifth period, I saw Amanda James sitting at her sewing machine, tussling with a spool of thread. I approached her, watching her struggle. The black thread had tangled, and she was desperately trying to untangle it but was introducing new knots as she fought with it.

  “It might be easier to just cut off the tangled end,” I suggested. “It’s only thread.”