by Terri Thayer
As I waited for the woman to finish giving the overalled man his list of jobs for the day, my attention was snagged by an old quilt hanging across the back of the booth—a tree design formed by hundreds of equilateral triangles on a butterscotch-colored background. What kind of woman had spent her nights, bent over an oil lamp, piecing together those tiny pieces? Intellectually, I knew the answer—one who had worked all day in the fields, tended to her children, and still had the time, energy, and inclination to create something beautiful before bed. I felt like such a slacker. I resolved to go home tonight and, instead of watching another True Hollywood Story or Forensic File, install the crown molding in my dining room.
Just past the tree quilt a sign in the back of the booth read “Youngstown Antique Quilts.” I looked at Freddy’s list. I was in the wrong booth. I was looking for “Young’s Quilts.” Dammit, I was wasting time.
I was suddenly drawn into the man’s chest as he bear-hugged me. I gasped as the cold metal buckle from his overalls pressed into my cheek. He pushed me away, holding me at arm’s length, then yanked me in for another clench. The quick glimpse of his smiling face told me he meant no harm, but I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t get whiplash.
“Look at her, Noni, just like her mother.” The man had tears in his eyes.
Noni smiled and touched my arm, extricating me from her husband’s grasp with practiced ease. Her hand was as soft and light as a cream puff, and she smelled of lilacs.
“Hello, sweetheart. Don’t mind Chester, he’s harmless. We knew Audra, you see, and it’s such a joy to see you. Having you here is like she’s still with us.”
My eyes filled with tears. Noni produced a handkerchief from her apron. Lace-edged and embroidered, the hanky was too pretty to use. Chester embraced me again. I leaned away, dabbed at my eyes, and handed Noni the now wet cloth.
“I’m so glad you stopped by,” she said, patting my arm. She acted as though she’d been expecting me. “I’ve got something for you.”
She turned away from me, rummaging under the table until she came out with a large box, about the size and shape that boots come in. Chester was beaming at me, his cheeks squashing his eyes into little slits. I smiled back, wondering what would be in the box. Noni opened the lid to show me an old quilt, the fabrics worn but still colorful.
“I found this at an estate sale last fall,” she said, her hands smoothing the quilt. The back of her hands were freckled deeply, with bumps where her veins bulged. I felt sad looking at them. My mother’s hands would never get so fragile looking.
“As soon as I saw it, I knew it was just what your mother wanted.”
“My mother?”
“You know how she loved any quilt with Flying Geese,” Noni said.
Did she? I wasn’t even sure what a flying goose was. I hesitated. Should I touch it? I knew the rules about never touching quilts. Oils on the skin were toxic to old fabrics, but I felt like I wanted to bury my face in this quilt. Noni saw my hesitation and took the quilt out and handed it to me. I cradled the folded bundle.
I ran my hand over the crinkled quilt, tracing the path of the peaks. “Is that what this is called—Flying Geese?”
“That’s the name of the smallest unit there.” She pointed at one section, a rectangle with a colored triangle in the middle. “The block is called by another name. Could be ‘Flying Carpet Ride’.”
“I think it’s ‘Corn Rows,’ ” Chester put in.
“You may be right, dear,” she said.
The quilt was very old-fashioned, not my style, but the brown-and-pink color combination was appealing. I turned to Noni, returning her sweet smile. I had no words for what I was feeling. The quilt was dredging up emotions in me that I hadn’t had before. I was bereft, yet comforted. Alone, but not lonely. Feelings of home and belonging seemed to permeate the fibers.
“Your mom told me that when you were little you wanted a quilt like this,” Noni said.
“I did?” I had no recollection. And no one to ask. This was not something my father or brothers would remember.
“She said you were reading her copy of ‘Quilts in History’ and saw a picture of a quilt you loved.”
This rang some faint bells. “Oh yeah—I was planning my wedding to Ricky Schroder and insisted Mom make me a quilt just like the one in the book.”
I hadn’t thought about that quilt since that summer, but with Noni’s gentle nudges, the memories came flooding back.
“Mom told me she would piece a quilt for me, but I didn’t want that. I wanted an old one, like the picture in the book. After several days of serious pouting on my part, she’d promised I’d have one when I got married.”
My throat swelled shut as I realized my mother would never watch me get married, as I’d imagined so many years ago. The tears flowed again. Noni put her arm around me, handing me a new handkerchief, this one with pink roses embroidered on the corner. I laughed at her seemingly endless supply. She pressed it into my hand.
Noni patted my shoulder. “The quilt is yours, my dear. Take it and have a wonderful life. That’s what your mother wanted for you.”
A wonderful life sounded good. Would the quilt ensure that?
“Let me send you a check. An antique quilt like this must be worth a fortune.” A fortune I didn’t have, but I couldn’t see myself giving up this quilt.
Chester held up a meaty hand. “We wouldn’t hear of it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Noni concurred. “No, dear. We bought this quilt as a gift for your mother, to thank her for all the business she’s brought us through the years. We’d be honored if you would take it.”
What could I say to that? I didn’t trust myself to talk.
Chester bussed my cheek. “Let me put it back in the box for you.”
The box was surprisingly light, as if over time the batting in the quilt had been replaced with air.
Customers were demanding his attention. “We’ll see you soon,” he bellowed.
Noni drew me in for a hug. She looked fragile, but her arms held me tight.
“Thank you both so much,” I said. “Make sure you stop by the booth sometime this weekend.”
That was the first real conversation I’d had about my mother since she died. At the store, everyone tiptoed around me; talking ceased when I walked into the room. I felt myself relax a little. The knot in my stomach had started to loosen. A place in me, maybe it was the daughter place, was opening.
I was starting to sense that the quilt show was not a place trying to leech my mother away from me, but a place where I could add to my mother’s stories.
With another reading of the map, and several false starts, I found my way to the Freitas sisters’ booth. The tall, curly-haired one was restocking their pine shelves with neat bundles of hand-dyes. The array of colors was dazzling. The two sisters were dressed in flowing garments made from their fabrics, and they greeted me with the same toothy smiles.
After pleasantries, I said, “I’m getting serious about selling my mother’s shop.”
The tall one nudged the shorter. “Spooky, huh?” To me, she said, “We were just talking about you.”
I looked from one to the other questioningly.
“We’re thinking about making you an offer, Dewey. We have some questions for you.”
“But not now,” the shorter one with the bangs said. “We’re about to get hammered with customers. The booth was crazy busy yesterday.”
“Want to get together after the show closes?” I suggested. “About five thirty?”
“Sure, we’ll be in the bar. Meet us there again.”
The bar reminded me of the overheard conversation between Eve and Justine.
“Great. Hey, I’ve been looking for Justine this morning. Have you seen her? Eve wasn’t very helpful.”
; They exchanged a look. These two had a secret and were ready to spill. “You left before the fireworks last night.”
“Fireworks? I heard there was karaoke,” I said.
“Not that. Justine came to the bar about midnight,” Cully said.
“Straight from the card club. Tail between her legs.”
This was news. “Did Eve flip out?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. She was ready to kill Justine.”
Eve had said Justine played to de-stress. “I thought she was cool with Justine gambling,” I said.
The tall one looked around before confiding in me. “Justine got on a losing streak and lost everything, including the bank deposit.”
I caught my breath. “Wait a minute. She was supposed to take money to the bank. She didn’t?”
“Nope, she went straight to the card club. And she had all the cash from the gate.”
“How much are we talking?” I asked.
“Think about it,” the tall sister said. “All of yesterday’s admittance fees. Most of the attendees pay cash to get in. Running credit cards takes too long. We had more than two thousand people here yesterday. At fifteen dollars a pop, do the math.”
I did the math quickly.
“Thirty thousand dollars? Gone?”
Thirty thousand dollars. I left the Freitas sisters and headed toward the QP booth. Threading my way through the crowded aisles, I wondered how much money the Extravaganza had taken in today. There was a lot more cash floating around than I’d ever imagined.
Maybe the notebook was a record of Justine’s gambling debts. As I walked, I looked through it.
A drawing of a simple quilt block was repeated over and over. It was a rectangle with a triangle bisecting the length. I traced it with my finger. Easy to draw. I wasn’t sure of the name, but it was similar to blocks in the antique quilt I’d been given.
There was no mention of gambling wins or losses. Maybe the book was just what I’d originally thought—a record of vendors that JustEve dealt with.
Near the middle, I found a sheet with the QP name on the top and the number ten with several letters alongside. Ten? Was that good? Maybe on a scale for good vendors, we’d scored a perfect ten. Maybe it was the number of years we’d been doing business with JustEve. Whatever it meant, this was Justine’s private property. I closed the book guiltily.
When I got to the booth, Kym was on her hands and knees. She had pushed aside the calico skirts and was half under the table. She poked her head out to grill me.
“I need more promotional QP bags. Do you know where they are, Dewey?” she asked.
“Me? I didn’t pack that stuff, you did. In fact, if you remember, you insisted that you were the only one who could be trusted with that job.”
Kym rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t need so many bags if people wouldn’t use them for their own purposes. They should only go out to the customers, everyone,” she lectured. Jenn looked innocent. Ina was struggling to keep a straight face. “The customers who spend over two hundred dollars in one sale. And only those.”
Kym was looking right at me. How did she know I had taken a bag home with me last night? I arranged my face in a neutral position.
“We have plenty of those bags, Kym,” I said. “Vangie can bring us some from the store if we need them.”
Kym made a face and continued to rummage through the plastic bin.
I approached Ina. We exchanged grins behind Kym’s back. “Do you know what a Flying Geese is?”
“Sure, it’s a quilt block,” Ina said.
“Like this?” I pulled out the notebook and opened it to a random page. I didn’t recognize the name of the vendor on the top, but there was a row of the rectangular quilt blocks underneath. I pointed.
Ina said, “Yeah, that’s the block. You see a whole row of them in a border or they can be put together in different combinations to make quilt blocks.”
“I heard my mother liked them.”
Ina nodded idly, taking the notebook out of my hand and flipping pages. “What’s this book?”
“I’m not really sure. I found it near Justine’s room. I was thinking it might be hers. And now that I heard she stole the money …”
“What?” Ina asked.
“Justine took the JustEve bank deposit—thirty thousand dollars,” I whispered. “She stole the admission money and then gambled it away.”
Ina made a perfect O with her mouth. She held up the notebook. “So you’re thinking she’s done this before and kept some kind of record?”
I nodded. “Maybe.”
“Found them!” Kym gave me a smug grin and came out from under the table. I couldn’t tell if she’d heard me tell Ina about Justine. I tucked the notebook back in my pocket.
“Thanks,” I said, taking a bag out of Kym’s hand. She gave me a nasty look. “I need one right now. This box is kind of awkward to carry.”
“What’s in there?” Ina asked.
I pulled the box open to reveal the quilt. “Noni and Chester from Youngstown Quilts gave this to me.”
“They gave you a quilt?” Kym stood up.
As I unfolded the quilt, Jenn and a few customers gathered around us. I knew from show-and-tell at the store that antique quilts were like newborns, impossible for women to resist. Kym didn’t appreciate the shift in focus from her and cut in front of Jenn, running her hands over the quilt. I wanted to tell her to get her fingers off my quilt, but I restrained myself, just moving the quilt slightly so her hand fell off.
“Mom bought this for me,” I said.
Kym cut in. “How did your mother buy a quilt?” she said snottily. She was determined to step on any happiness I might have.
“Well, she didn’t actually buy it. That couple in the antique quilt booth, Chester and Noni, had been on the lookout for one like it for her. They just handed it to me,” I said.
“No one ever gave me a quilt,” Kym muttered.
Ina stroked it. “Beautiful. I think the block design is ‘Wild Goose Chase,’ Dewey.”
“I’d call it ‘Geese in Flight,’” Kym put in. Jenn pointed at her and nodded her agreement.
Ina wouldn’t take the bait. “You know how it is, quilt patterns have lots of different names.”
“I can’t remember all the details,” I said, “but when I was a kid I saw one like it in a book.”
A customer grabbed Kym’s attention. Jenn followed her, and the other customers drifted off, pulling fat quarter packs off the shelves and touching the bolts.
Ina and I refolded the quilt. “I know how being here drags up memories of other shows, of Mom,” I said to Ina. “You’d been together for what, fifteen years …”
“Nineteen,” Ina corrected.
“Sorry about yesterday. That was rough. Kym and I shouldn’t have fought like that in front of the customers.” My voice faded as I struggled to apologize.
“Kym’s always been a bit too big for her britches. With your mom gone, she likes to throw her weight around. She’s already hassled me today about my attire. Tough toenails, I’m too old to wear petticoats and go without my sneakers.”
Jenn crossed in front of us to get a ruler for a customer. Ina stifled a laugh.
“Check out her hair,” Ina whispered.
Jenn was dressed like Kym in an old-fashioned long skirt and high neck ruffled blouse, but her ponytail was tied back with a soccer ball printed scrunchy. Ina coughed out a little laugh.
“Should I tell her?” I said.
Ina shook her head. “Don’t you dare,” she whispered.
“Ina, what if I was thinking about selling QP?”
Ina’s face fell. “I figured that was what Claire was after. I saw you two talking yesterday morning.”
Why was I surprised? Nothing es
caped notice at the quilt show. “Claire said my mother was going to sell. Why would she do that, Ina?”
Ina looked away. “Audra hadn’t made a quilt in years.” Her voice was rough and low as though she was telling me a shameful secret.
“What do you mean? She loved to quilt. She owned a quilt shop, for crying out loud.” I was thinking fast, trying to remember the last quilt Mom’d made. There was the Double Wedding Ring for Kevin and Kym when they got married, but I couldn’t picture another.
Ina said, “The shop took up too much of her time. She’d stopped quilting and she wasn’t happy about that.”
Claire had thought the shop had gotten too big for Mom to handle. Freddy talked about the dangers of working in a field you loved. Now Ina was saying Mom hadn’t sewn enough. Everyone had a different idea as to why Mom would sell.
“Do you think selling is a bad idea?” I asked. “I’ve had some other inquiries. I don’t know what to do. You know I’m no good at managing the shop.”
Ina pulled me in for a fierce hug. “Do whatever works for you, Dewey. Your mother wanted you to be happy.”
I nodded into her chest. Ina released me with a quick pat. I gently folded the quilt into the box and placed it in the QP bag. Last night Claire’s friends had remembered her with humor. Talking about Mom with Noni, and now Ina, had felt good.
I stashed the bag under the counter and clapped my hands together, trying to dissipate the emotion I was feeling.
“You know what, Ina, enough grief already. My mother loved working this show.”
“That she did.”
“My mother was a fun person.”
“That she was,” Ina agreed.
“And,” I said raising my voice so Kym could hear, “My mother always said no real quilter would allow a small thing like death to get in the way of buying fabric.”
Kym took the bait. “Your mother said no such thing,” she sniffed, handing her customer her receipt. Jenn glanced at Kym, who set her mouth in a straight line. Jenn frowned in echo.
I winked at Ina. She caught my drift and threw a convivial arm around my shoulder.
“Listen, kiddo, your mother and I missed a funeral once because there was a quilt shop on the way to the cemetery.”
