“Let’s start with two new pieces of your pattern.” Mark held out a steady hand.
Sarah lifted two pieces of her quilt block, hoping Mark didn’t see her own hand shake from her palpitating heart, and laid them in Mark’s outstretched palm. How had he gained control in such a short time?
Mark lined up the raw edges of Sarah’s quilt blocks. “Slide your straight pins over to me.” He pinched several pins out of her plastic pin container and scattered them on the table. “This is what you need to do.” He poked each of the pins into cloth so that the sharp end was even with the raw edge of the fabric. He handed it back to Sarah.
She studied the pins lined up a few inches apart. “Do I take the pins out as I sew?”
“You could, but I think you’d have better luck leaving them in until your seam was finished. Don’t worry. The machine will stitch right over the pins. Try it.”
Sarah lined the fabric up with the seam-measurement marker on the sewing machine. She lowered the presser foot and slowly pushed down on the foot feed. Concentrating on her sewing, Sarah began to regain control of her emotions. After a few minutes, she was finished. “That worked so much better!”
Mark’s eyes crinkled from his wide smile. “Have fun practicing.” He scooped his garbage up from the table and headed toward the door.
“Are you sure you don’t know how to sew?” Sarah started pulling pins out of the material.
“Only enough to demonstrate the machines I sell.” Mark winked then walked out the door.
Although the edges weren’t even, Sarah had one block sewed by the time Caroline and her classmates started arriving. She wasn’t sure if it was faster to sew by hand or the machine. Both took arm control. Yet MS tingled her arm as if it were asleep—more times than she cared to admit by this time of the day.
Once everyone was seated, Caroline began the class. “I just want everyone to work on their projects tonight. I’ll walk through and check your progress or answer any questions that might have come up since you worked on your projects last week.” She held up a table runner. “I finished this during the week. I’ll pass it around so you can see how the blocks look when they’re finished and sewn together.”
Caroline handed the table runner to Sarah, who ran her fingers over the Job’s Tears blocks. Caroline had sewn the quilt’s pattern pieces crisp and even, creating distinct angles that added to the beauty of the block. Sarah’s heart sank a little. Even her hand-sewn blocks were jagged in spots, giving her block a choppy look. Karla was probably right—Sarah was wasting her time.
“While you’re looking at the table runner, don’t use it as a measure for your project. I’ve been sewing and quilting since I was teenager.”
Sarah slowly lifted her eyes to Caroline.
“Your wistful expression gave you away. The very first quilt I ever made was four-by-four-inch blocks, in pink and orange, sewn in rows. Some had wide seams and some had narrow seams. At ten, I wanted to do whatever my mom did, so while she made a double wedding ring quilt for my grandparents’ fortieth wedding anniversary, I stitched a psychedelic twin-sized quilt for my bed, which brings me to something I’d like to discuss tonight.”
After examining the front and back of Caroline’s table runner, Sarah passed it to one of the elderly ladies then resumed pinning more pieces together as the other machines’ purrs mocked her lack of abilities. Yet the last block she sewed was her best work so far.
Caroline examined everyone’s stacks of blocks and returned to the front of the room. She pulled a chair to the center. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring my hippie quilt, as my grandmother donned it.”
“You still have it?” the teenage girl asked.
“Yes, I do.” Caroline laughed. “It’s a little worse for wear but still serves its purpose. That brings me to what I want to talk about tonight. Every quilt has a story. You just heard the story of my first quilt. I made it because I wanted to be like my mother. Tonight, I’d like you to share with the class why you wanted to make a quilt so we’ll all know your quilt’s story.”
Caroline smiled wide. Her laugh lines crinkled, emphasizing the love of her work. “Who wants to go first?”
Sarah’s machine whirred as she tried to keep her fabric pieces lined up with the measurement guide. Between no sewing experience and a numbness interfering with her arm’s control, she had to stop occasionally to realign the material. This required too much concentration for her to talk about her reason for enrolling in the quilting class. Plus, did she really want to disclose the number one reason she was here? She wasn’t ashamed of her multiple sclerosis, but was it everyone’s business? Sarah continued to try to get a fluid motion to her sewing.
After considerable silence, the elderly gentleman said, “I’ll go first since I’m probably the least likely person to enroll in a quilting class. My granddaughter, Brystol, and I enrolled in the quilting class because our family voted last Christmas that this year’s gifts would be homemade, so I’m making my wife a table runner for Christmas. I’m sure she thinks she’ll get something made from wood since woodworking’s my hobby.”
“Won’t she be surprised!” the second elderly lady interjected.
Sarah stopped sewing and turned to look at the gentleman. His face beamed with apparent love for his wife.
“I think so.” The man winked at his granddaughter.
“And you sew so well, too. She will love it.” The lady nodded her assurance to him.
“Grandpa ran a car upholstery business for years so he knows how to sew.” Brystol smiled at her grandfather.
“So, does that mean you’re making a family member a Christmas gift, too?” Caroline looked at the young girl.
Brystol stopped sewing. “Yes, for my older sister.” She shrugged before refocusing on her work.
“I’m Mary and I’ll go next.” The chatty lady smoothed a finished quilt block with her fingers.
Sarah took a deep breath. She had sewn together only half a block in the time it took Mary to finish one. She continued to stitch while she listened.
“I’m selling my house and downsizing to a smaller apartment, so I decided to give myself a housewarming gift of a wall quilt.”
Sarah cut the thread, releasing her cloth from the machine. She noticed a shade of sadness in the woman’s expression. “What a wonderful way to celebrate a positive change in your life.” Almost the same reason Sarah had enrolled in the class.
Mary brightened. “Thank you, dear.”
“My table runner will be donated to my church bazaar,” Mary’s friend piped up.
“Sarah, you’re up.” Caroline shot her a sly smile.
What was that all about? Sarah left her pieces half-sewn in the machine and began to pin others together while she spoke. “About eighteen months ago, I was diagnosed with MS. I had to make some changes to my life, which ended up giving me a lot of free time.” Sarah’s voice cracked and the last few words came out in a whisper.
Sudden emotion welled up in Sarah as she visualized those first few months of bitterness. She cleared her throat, hoping the rush of feelings didn’t shake her voice again. What was wrong with her? She’d moved forward months ago. “So I decided I needed a hobby to fill up my time. I thought I’d better do it right away because who knows how long I’ll be able to do intricate movements.” The immediate flush of embarrassment burned her cheeks. Where had that come from? It might be true, but that was never a conscious reason she enrolled in the class.
“Grandpa, our quilt stories are kind of lame compared to everyone else’s.”
“No, they’re not,” Caroline said. “Because they’re all made with love for a special reason—be it happiness, service, or healing. Recently a quilt not only brought me healing but happiness. As I restored a Lily of the Field quilt, I relearned the lesson of the Bible verse, Matthew 6:28–34, that the block was named for and remembered I need to trust God with my life. In addition, I fell in love with the quilt’s owner.”
“What a wonderf
ul story about your quilt,” Sarah said, remembering the number one reason for her enrolling in this class. Mark.
“Actually, that is all it is. A story about a quilt, although Rodney and I tried to find out the real story behind the quilt, the reason it was made, but we weren’t successful.”
Caroline stood and began to walk around her students. “I’d just like you all to remember to never underestimate the power of a quilt.”
When Caroline patted her shoulder, Sarah jumped. Her knee-jerk reaction caused her to stop guiding her fabric but not lift her foot off the foot feed. As the needle buzzed up and down, the piece of fabric turned sideways. Sarah frowned and looked up at Caroline. Had she made an error while sewing?
Caroline’s eyes met Sarah’s. Her mouth curved in slyness that could match the Grinch’s. “Healing and happiness. Quilts have a wonderful way of bringing people together.”
Chapter 7
An electrician cracked Sarah’s office door and stuck his head in. “Miss, the other contractor is tied up and won’t make it out here until around six.”
Sarah sagged in her chair. It was the third time this week. She rubbed the bicep of her right arm, knowing that it wouldn’t relieve the symptoms. Six really meant seven, or not at all. On Wednesday night, she’d waited for a carpet person to come and measure the room. At seven, he’d finally called and canceled.
At least today she was smart enough to bring along her quilt blocks and a can of soup. She didn’t know if it was acceptable or not to work on her project in the office, but she had to have something to do.
Sarah shook out the sewing supplies from her tote onto her desk then dropped her bag to the floor. For the millionth time, she mulled over what Caroline had said in class. Sarah had ripped the sentence apart and sewn it together so many ways, but the end result always seemed the same—Caroline saw through her where Mark was concerned. Maybe Mark mentioned something to Caroline?
Tired from the long working hours of the last three days, Sarah wished she could rest her head on her desk while she waited, but that would be unprofessional. Yet she knew a quick nap would do her a world of good since her MS had deadened her right bicep just after noon.
As Sarah struggled to thread her needle, she reminded herself that, like Job, she must take the bad—in this case long hours and the effects from MS—from the Lord, as well as the good.
At least the construction project filled her working hours and then some. The last two days, she’d played intermediary between the building managers, the construction people, and the new tenants. It was impossible to keep everyone happy, but she was trying.
Sarah wiggled her fingers, attempting to remove the frozen feeling from her right arm. After several attempts she managed to push the thread through the small needle eye. Her hand sewing would be difficult tonight. She pushed the needle into the fabric, trying to use the fingers of her left hand to guide the implement back up and into the material.
“Ouch!” Having poked herself with the needle, Sarah rubbed the tip of her middle finger with her thumb. She glanced at the clock. She really wanted to stop at the quilt shop tonight to practice sewing and see Mark. She’d almost called him earlier to see if she could bring him something for dinner. However, because of her arm tingling, she doubted she could guide the fabric through the machine any better than she could hand sew.
Sarah tried another way to control the needle, but it was no use. She could barely feel it between her fingers, let alone guide it into her fabric.
Ashley breezed in from the hallway. “What are you still doing here?”
“Waiting on a construction person so they can give me a bid for the remodel.” Sarah began to gather her quilting supplies with her left hand.
“You look beat.”
“I am. Fatigue is a major symptom with MS.” Sarah unsuccessfully tried to put fabric in her tote bag.
“What’s wrong?” Ashley dropped her briefcase and purse to the floor and stepped closer to Sarah.
“It’s just my MS. It affects my right arm.”
Ashley frowned as she snatched Sarah’s bag from the floor and held it open. “You need to go home.”
“I can’t. The new client wants the bid first thing in the morning.” Sarah sighed and dropped her sewing supplies into the tote. If she could just lie down for a few minutes, she’d feel much better.
“Do you have any medicine or anything to take?” Ashley put Sarah’s tote on the floor beside her own.
“I do, but I’d rather wait until I get home.” Sarah glanced up at the wall clock and wished the contractor would hurry.
“Understandable. Should you be driving?”
Sarah heard the genuine concern in Ashley’s voice, unlike the tone Karla used with Sarah. “I’ll be fine.” She forced happiness into her voice and smiled at Ashley. Sarah would be fine if she just rested a few minutes while she waited for the contractor to arrive.
“I don’t know about that. Listen, I don’t have any plans for tonight. I can wait around and drive you home.” Ashley dropped into the reception area’s guest chair.
The contractor stuck his head in the door once again. “They’re here. I’ll take them up so they can get started.”
“I’ll be right there.” Thank goodness they came at the time they said they would. “Ashley, thank you for your offer, but I don’t want to impose. Go home. I’ll be fine.” Sarah stood, but as soon as she put weight on her legs, the sensation in her right leg felt like tiny pins poking her muscles. She stamped her foot, trying to wake it up. “Great. My leg fell asleep.”
She leaned against the desk and wiggled her ankle. No relief. Dread pulled at her heart. Maybe she’d just sat wrong, blocking the flow of blood to her leg. She stamped her foot again. Some improvement but a niggling sensation remained.
“Do you need some help?” Ashley stood.
Sarah took a tentative step. Better. “No, I’m fine, but maybe I shouldn’t drive since I’m so tired. This shouldn’t take long.”
“No problem. Like I said before, I don’t have plans.”
Still half asleep, Sarah glanced at her digital alarm clock. When her mind registered the time, she sat straight up in bed. Her mother would arrive for their Saturday morning visit in a few minutes.
Sarah flexed her right arm. It was amazing what a good night’s sleep would do to lessen the numbness. Tentatively, she stepped out of bed. Sarah smiled, relieved that her leg felt normal. She must have just sat in the same position too long yesterday.
Sarah padded to the kitchen to start a pot of tea, smiling all the way. Today was the day. Anticipation shivered through her as she considered outfits for her date with Mark.
Just as she started to add water to the teakettle, the doorknob rattled.
“Just a minute, Mom.” Sarah put the kettle in the sink before heading to the door. Unlocking the door with one hand, she twisted the knob with the other. Before she swung the door open, she drew a deep breath in case another surprise visit from Karla awaited her. Even that wouldn’t dampen her spirits today.
“Good morning.” She returned her mother’s bright smile and sighed with relief that her mom was traveling alone this Saturday.
Her mother’s smile faded as she gave her daughter the once-over. “Are you all right?”
Her mother’s appraisal of Sarah’s appearance as she entered the kitchen annoyed Sarah. So she was still in her pajamas and slippers at nine thirty in the morning. “I’ve been putting in long hours at work this week, so I slept in.”
“Sarah, I’m telling you that you are taking on too much.” Her mother pursed her lips before setting the bakery bag on the table. “I told your father that he needs to have a talk with you.”
“What did Dad say to that?” Sarah removed two mugs and luncheon plates from the cupboard.
“He said you always sound fine and happy on the phone and that you were a big girl and could take care of yourself.” Her mother took the mugs, filled them with water, and placed them in the mic
rowave.
“Good, because he’s right.” Sarah shot her mother a grin as she placed the cinnamon rolls on the plates and grabbed some napkins.
“I don’t think so.” Her mother pulled the paper covering from two tea bags. When the microwave timer went off, Sarah headed into the living room.
Her mother followed carrying the steaming mugs with a steady hand. She carefully set a mug on each end table.
Sarah waited for her mom to sit down then handed her a plate and napkin.
Her mother slipped off her sandals before tucking one leg under the other. Sarah joined her on the couch.
Sitting cross-legged, she faced her mother. Balancing her plate on her legs, she broke off a piece of her roll. The spicy burst of cinnamon followed by the sweet creaminess of frosting brought out a hum of appreciation from Sarah.
“Thank you for always bringing my favorite.” Sarah smiled at her mother.
“You’re welcome.” Her mother cocked her head and studied Sarah. “Actually, your father may be right. Perhaps Karla has planted seeds of doubt in me. I don’t think the sun will shine brighter today than the twinkle in your eyes. You must really love your job.”
Happiness erupted in Sarah’s heart. Her job had little to do with her beaming joy. That could only be attributed to Mark and the appreciation that flamed in his eyes when he looked at her. The internal quiver inspired by his touch. The zap of electric current that, days later, still tingled her palm where he’d kissed her. Sarah swallowed her bite of roll and drew a deep breath. She hoped her mother would share her excitement. “It’s not my job. Today’s my first official date with Mark.”
The dropped gaze and pursed lips told Sarah that her mother didn’t share her enthusiasm.
“Why can’t you be happy for me?” Sarah hated the pleading sound of her voice.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt again.” Her mother placed her plate with the half-eaten roll on the floor beside the sofa. “I know that you don’t think so, but you are vulnerable. I don’t want someone taking advantage of you.”
Dakota Love Page 23
