Left Holding the Bag

by Carol Dean Jones

  “So why did you call?” Sarah asked curiously.

  “Norman and I stopped at the Visitor’s Center to get brochures, and there was one about this museum, the National Quilt Museum in Paducah.”

  “Oh Sophie, I hope you can spend some time there. I’ve heard it’s an incredible collection of quilts.”

  “Norman said we could stay over an extra day and spend it at the museum. From the brochure, it looks fantastic. People come from all over the world to see their quilts. I probably don’t know enough about quilts to really appreciate it, but I’m excited about going.”

  “I’m excited for you, and I wish I could be with you there. Take lots of pictures.”

  The two friends continued talking, and Sarah told her about the feedsacks and that Bernice might be going with them to the quilt club.

  “Is the car back yet?” Sophie asked.

  “Not yet, but it’s okay. That was her grown foster son that we saw,” Sarah responded, but decided not to pursue the topic and get Sophie worried. “She’s almost completely settled in her new house,” Sarah said as a way of changing the subject. “I can hardly wait for you to see the feedsacks. I know they’ll remind you of your childhood.”

  * * *

  “Sarah, it’s Bernice.” Sarah was glad to hear from her. It had been several days, and she was hoping the car had been returned. She’d been hesitant to call and ask, not wanting to be intrusive.

  “I hate to ask this of you,” Bernice continued, “but you were so kind to me the other day, and I don’t know anyone else to call. I tried to reach Sophie, but there’s no answer. Could you please come over?”

  “Sophie’s out of town for another day or two, but I’d be happy to come over. I was just getting ready to walk my dog. May I bring him?”

  “Of course. Thank you, Sarah,” she responded with a slight tremor in her voice.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Charles asked. Sarah had told him about the phone call and that Bernice sounded upset.

  “I’ll call you if I need you. She’d probably be more comfortable talking to me. And, before you ask, yes I have my cell phone!”

  Bernice was again apologetic when Sarah arrived. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. It’s just that I’ve been so upset and I needed to talk to someone.” As she was talking, she pulled two mugs out of the cupboard and filled them with coffee.

  “Bernice, I know this isn’t my business, but I see your car is still gone. Have you heard from Darius?”

  “I haven’t been able to reach him,” Bernice responded. “My calls just go to the machine. I’m so worried, Sarah.”

  “Would you like for me to drive you over to his house so you can talk to him?”

  “I don’t know where he lives. He told me he was staying with some friends. Sarah, I think something has happened to him.”

  Sarah was baffled. She knew very little about Bernice and nothing about her situation. She didn’t want to pry, but the woman seemed to be asking for help. “Does he have any family?”

  “He was taken away from his family when he was ten years old and placed in foster care. By the time he came to me, he was thirteen, had been in several foster homes, and was an angry child.”

  “And his parents?”

  “His father’s in prison for life, and his mother was a prostitute back then. Since then she died. The social worker came one day to tell Darius about it.”

  “How did he take it?”

  “He went out with his buddies and robbed a liquor store that night. He spent the next few months in detention, but they brought him back to me after that. I tried, Sarah, I really did. But that boy was so angry. I wondered if he’d been abused, but the agency wasn’t allowed to share that information with me.”

  Sarah listened intently and wondered how this woman had been able to deal with all these problems from a child who wasn’t even her own.

  “He was arrested another couple of times before he was eighteen. I don’t know what kind of trouble he might have gotten himself into now.”

  “How old is Darius?” Sarah asked.

  “He’s twenty-three.”

  “Did he have siblings that he might have gone to?”

  “Not that I know of. He never mentioned any. I suspected there was a lot more to the story than I ever knew about, but I just tried to take it one day at a time and give him the love he never had. It probably helped some.”

  “I’m sure it did, Bernice. He was lucky to have you, and he still turns to you when he needs help.”

  Bernice dropped her eyes, looking embarrassed. “That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m embarrassed to tell you this part, but he has emptied out my checking account.”

  “What?” Sarah exclaimed. “How was he able to do that, Bernice?” Sarah was beginning to wonder if Darius was physically abusive as well.

  “He just went to the bank and withdrew it I guess.”

  “Is he on your account?”

  “Yes,” Bernice responded, again looking embarrassed. “He told me it would help him establish credit if he could show he had money in the bank.” Bernice wasn’t making eye contact, and Sarah knew there was much more to this story.

  “Has he done this before?”

  “Just small amounts and he’d always say he was going to pay me back, but he never did.”

  "Has he taken much this time?" Sarah asked.

  “I just got off the phone with the bank. He’s taken every penny out of the checking account. Of course, I still have my savings and my certificate. I’m afraid he’ll figure out a way to get those too.”

  “Well, I know one thing we can do," Sarah responded, determined to help her new friend. "We can go to the bank and close your account so he can't get his hands on any more of your money. We’ll open a new account in just your name. Would that be okay?”

  “I guess so. There’s money from the state too, my pension,” Bernice said. “I’ll have to find the paperwork…”

  “Let’s go to the bank and talk with the manager. I’m sure he can arrange for your next check to go into the new account until you can get your direct deposits changed. We can let him know what has happened so he can be on the lookout if Darius tries something like this again. Okay?”

  “But what about Darius? I don’t know what has happened to him.”

  Sarah sighed. The boy had been financially exploiting his foster mother, and yet she’s more concerned about his welfare than her own.

  “Let’s deal with one problem at a time, Bernice. Let’s get the bank issue solved, and then we’ll talk to my husband. He’s a retired police detective…”

  “Oh no,” Bernice wailed. “No police. Darius told me to never talk to the police about him. But now I just don’t know, Sarah. How could he do this to me?”

  “Bernice, let’s go to the bank and get your finances secure, and then let’s go out to lunch. I want to show you our quilt shop, and there’s a lovely little café right across the street from it. We can talk there.”

  Sarah was pleased to see her new neighbor begin to relax and, as a smile began to form on her face, Bernice said, “Let’s take a few feedsacks with us and talk to your friend.”

  She’s going to be able to deal with this, Sarah told herself with a sigh of relief.

  * * *

  “The guy’s got more than a juvie record,” Charles announced as he walked into Sarah’s sewing room the next morning.

  “What?”

  “He’s been arrested twice in the past year for grand theft auto. Some sleazy lawyer over on the East Side got him off the first time, and he was awaiting trial on the second. Your friend didn’t tell you about that?”

  “I honestly don’t think she knows. She seems to be under the impression that he’s just a little down on his luck.”

  “This guy has created his own luck, and it isn’t good.”

  “Wait. Earlier you said he was awaiting trial. If he doesn’t turn up before the trial, she can see him there. When
is it scheduled?”

  “That trial was set for last week, and he never showed up. There’s a bench warrant out for his arrest.”

  “Maybe that’s where he is, in jail,” Sarah responded.

  “Nope. The first place I looked.”

  “Poor Bernice. Do you think I should tell her?”

  “I don’t know how she’d feel about us poking around in their business, but if you want to tell her, I’ll go with you.”

  “She doesn’t want to talk to you…”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Darius told her to stay away from the police.”

  “And that wasn’t a red-flag to this woman?”

  “She’s been in denial about this boy, Charles, but I think she’s beginning to see the light. Emptying out her checking account seemed to get her attention,” Sarah responded.

  “He’s no boy,” Charles corrected. “He’s a twenty-three-year-old criminal, and I hope he doesn’t show up on her doorstep when he discovers the account has been closed.”

  “You think he’s dangerous?” Sarah asked aghast at the thought that her new friend might be in danger.

  “I don’t know, but Bernice needs to be prepared for that possibility.”

  “I doubt very much that she would agree with you.”

  Sarah was right. Presented with the idea later that day, Bernice was shocked that anyone could think her foster son could be a danger to anyone, especially to her.

  She doesn’t seem to realize that his financial exploitation of her was already placing her at risk. Sarah decided not to tell her about the warrant. Charles said the police would certainly be contacting her about it. Reluctantly, Sarah returned home, instructing Bernice to call if anything changed.

  * * *

  “I tried to wait until I got home to tell you about the museum, but I can’t control myself,” Sophie said when Sarah answered the phone.

  “You and Norman were able to go?”

  “We sure were, and Sarah, you and I are coming back here on our own. For one thing, Norman wanted to move through it much faster than I did. He didn’t understand that it took me time to figure out these quilts. Most of them aren’t like the ones we do in our club.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They are mostly very modern. Contemporary, Norman called them. They are more like the pieces we saw in the art museum in Hamilton. Even the Log Cabin designs are all catawampus, but they are beautiful, and some quilts looked like photographs from a distance – landscapes, buildings reflected in the water. And the colors! They are exquisite. I can’t imagine how they did them, and I can hardly wait to come back down here with you. You’ll love it!”

  “Nothing traditional?” Sarah asked.

  “Oh yes! I saw traditional ones too, and some from the 1800s, but I think those might have been special exhibits. Most of the quilts that the museum displays are award winners from around the country. Like I said, Norman was rushing me, but I saw some that looked like they’d taken traditional patterns and put them into more modern settings. You’ll see when we go.”

  “I hope you took lots of pictures.”

  “Oh my, I forgot to tell you. Visitors aren’t permitted to take photographs in the museum. Sorry, but you promised you’d come back here with me, so you’ll be able to see them first hand, which will be much better anyway.”

  “Well Sophie, I actually thought about the fact that your picture taking needs work anyway.”

  “And just what does that mean,” Sophie responded indignantly. Sarah could imagine her friend all puffed up with her fists on her hips.

  “It’s just that the pictures you took at Martha’s wedding…”

  “Are you referring to the fact that I got pictures of everyone’s shoes but not their heads?”

  “That’s exactly what I was referring to.”

  “Humph,” Sophie replied, but added, “I guess I see your point. So you’ll come back down with me?”

  “You bet I will. I can hardly wait,” Sarah assured her friend excitedly.

  “Soon?”

  “Yes, very soon.”

  “Norman said it’ll take you and me a little over three hours from Middletown to Paducah, so I thought we might make a mini-vacation of it and stay over.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Sarah responded, catching her friend’s enthusiasm.

  “And the brochure says they have a quilt show here every year and people come from all over the country,” Sophie continued.

  “Oh yes! I’ve heard about that show, and I’d love to go,” Sarah responded excitedly. “In fact, Ruth said she might get a bus trip organized for next year.”

  “But I want you and me to go on our own before that,” Sophie insisted. “You never should have talked me into quilting, Sarah. You’ve created a monster!”

  “But a likable one,” Sarah laughed, enjoying her friend’s enthusiasm. “See you soon.”

  “We’ll be home late. We’re stopping for dinner on the way.”

  “And you had a good time at the lake?”

  “Absolutely. Come for coffee in the morning, and I’ll tell you all about it.

  When she hung up, Sarah saw that Charles was smiling. “I notice you didn’t mention Bernice,” he said.

  “I didn’t want to bring her down. She sounds very happy.”

  Chapter 5

  “I see you brought a guest this week, Sarah. Would you introduce her to the group?” Ruth had met Bernice the previous week when Sarah brought her into Running Stitches to talk about the feedsacks, but she wanted Sarah to make the introductions to the quilt group.

  “This is my new neighbor, Bernice Jenkins. Bernice is a quilter, and she has something very unique to tell us about.

  Bernice had brought a large tote bag filled with feedsacks which she pulled out as soon as they had gone around the room introducing Bernice to all the members. She began by telling the group how she had come to own this collection of feedsacks.

  “Why are they called feedsacks?” Caitlyn asked. Caitlyn, at seventeen, was the youngest member of the group and daughter of Andy, Sarah and Sophie’s close friend.

  “I’m still learning about them,” Bernice responded, “but I do know my father would bring these bags home filled with feed for the farm animals when I was a child.”

  “And bulk items for the kitchen came in these bags, too, like sugar and flour,” Delores added. Delores was the oldest member and the most experienced quilter.

  “You’re right, those came in these same bags,” Bernice responded. “Times were hard, and fabric was scarce in those days, and being frugal, the farmer’s wives would use the bags to make things for the family.”

  At first, Bernice held up the plain muslin ones which displayed the name of the company. “As you can see,” she said, “at first they were white and had the company logo printed on them and the farmers’ wives couldn’t use them for outerwear, but they would make dishrags, diapers, and even undergarments for the whole family.” She passed the bags around, and the group talked about the different things that could be made from them.

  “When the companies realized that women were using them for sewing, they started printing them in pretty colors and made their labels removable,” she said as she pulled out several bright solid-colored bags, “and later they began to add patterns like these.” The group oohed and aahed as she pulled out sack after sack in colorful florals, stripes, and plaids.

  Sarah and Sophie looked at one another and smiled, both pleased to see the progress their new friend had made in the past few days. She’d been through a great deal. Her car had not been returned, she hadn’t heard from her foster son, and the police had been hounding her about his whereabouts. She’d been forced to face the truth about the young man that she’d invested so much of herself in over the years.

  “I have a trunk full of my grandmother’s things made with vintage fabrics, and many of those items were made from feedsacks,” Delores said, smiling as she reminisced. “She made all the child
ren’s dresses, our curtains, anything that required fabric. I remember she told me that it took three matching feedsacks to make a dress for herself, and sometimes my grandfather had to buy seeds he didn’t even want in order to get the right feedsacks for her.” Everyone chuckled.

  Pulling several more feedsacks from her tote bag, Bernice said, “Now these are examples of a smart marketing tool the feed companies came up with a little later.” She held up feedsacks with printed teddy bears and dolls. “The women would just cut these out and stitch them together for their children.”

  “I think we have a doll just like that one in the attic,” Kimberly cried, looking at her sister.

  “You may be right,” Christina replied thoughtfully. “We should look for it. I wonder whether mother or granny made it.”

  “We’ll never know,” Kimberly responded sadly. “Mother tried to tell us so many stories those last few months, but we were just so busy with her care…”

  “I think we all have regrets,” Delores interjected. “There are so many things I wish I had asked Mother, and I know there were times she was telling me stories from her past and I was only half listening.”

  “There are stories I’d like to share with my children,” Sarah added, “memories that are going to be lost forever if they aren’t told, but our kids are busy, and truth be known, I don’t think today’s generation are really that interested in bygone days.”

  “I took a class once,” Delores added, “about the stages of life we all go through, and they stressed the importance of listening to our elders when they want to tell these stories. Their stage of life is all about life review – making sense of it all – and telling their stories is an important part of doing that.”

  The group remained quiet for a few moments, each thinking about what Delores had said.

  “Okay Girls,” Sophie announced abruptly. “This is becoming way too solemn for my taste. I want to hear more from Bernice.”

  The group seemed to appreciate that Sophie had lightened the mood as they all turned toward Bernice with anticipation.