Special Blessings
Page 24
When Elena's cell went off, the three women laughed. “Poor Lorraine. Things must be tough if she's making calls herself.”
Anabelle nodded. “I guess a couple of nurses went home sick. I hope we’re not already into the flu season.”
Elena excused herself to take the call, saying much the same thing Anabelle had—that she wouldn't be available. “I feel sorry for her,” Elena said as she joined her friends again. “She always makes me feel guilty when I have to turn her down.”
“No need to feel bad,” Genna said. “It's the nature of the job. She has a lot of options. There's a fairly large pool to draw from.”
Elena and Anabelle looked at each other. “Okay.” Anabelle was the first to speak. “I won't feel guilty if you won’t. We have some serious shopping to do.”
“Agreed.” Elena chuckled. “Lead on.”
Once inside the store that boasted an acre of fabrics, the women grabbed carts and separated, promising to meet in the small coffee shop at the back of the store at noon. “There must be over a hundred women in here already,” Genna exclaimed.
“I know.” Anabelle grinned. “Sewing's coming back big-time.”
Anabelle and Genna headed toward the quilting fabrics, while Elena made her way to the bridal and specialty departments. Anabelle salivated over the vast selection of batiks, vowing to come back to them. Her first task was to choose the retro fabrics that would go into the double wedding quilt. She soon found a large selection of replicas from the 1930s as well as a variety of nostalgic materials that mimicked the old-fashioned cloth flour sacks.
Anabelle clearly remembered watching her grandmother at the old Singer treadle machine, her foot working the pedal to make the needle rise and fall. Pieces of fabric her grandmother had cut out of whatever she could find or buy became something special—a dress, a blouse or pair of pants, a jacket, a coat or a quilt, pot holder, or a bag.
Even as a child, she had been fascinated with fabric arts, and at nine she was cutting and piecing together her own works of art. She’d definitely picked up the sewing gene from her Grams.
Anabelle slipped on the reading glasses that hung from a beaded lanyard around her neck to better see the prices and began gathering up bolts of fabric that would make the rings in the quilt for Candace and Heath.
Excitement built as she thought about the happy couple. She couldn't have been more pleased for them and could hardly wait to get started on the heirloom quilt.
At eleven thirty, Anabelle, her cart filled to overflowing with bolts of quilting fabric and batting, made her way to one of a dozen clerks at the cutting stations. The line was long, but moved quickly. “Next in line please.” One of the clerks called and Anabelle saw Elena take the spot. She was about six people ahead and like Anabelle had her cart filled.
Elena was still at the cutting table when another clerk called Anabelle forward. She gave her friend a wave and then turned her attention back to the clerk, handing her one bolt after the next, giving her the yardage requests from half-yard pieces to two and three yards and occasionally taking the entire bolt. She’d found a line of gorgeous batiks at 40 percent off.
Even though she’d already made a baby quilt for her granddaughter Lindsay Belle, Anabelle found and purchased several adorable panels for children's quilts. Plus she’d found a clearance area where she’d found fabric for one to two dollars a yard. If she ended up not using them for her own family, she’d make more quilts for charity.
From the cutting station she proceeded to the checkout area and stepped into another long line where customers waited to have their purchases rung up. She saw Elena duck into the coffee shop, but there was no sign of Genna. Anabelle hoped her friend would be on time as she’d worked up quite an appetite.
As the salesgirl rang up the total price, Anabelle's mind wandered to that morning's discussion of her son's mysterious dinner guest. Why had he smiled like that? Just who was he planning to bring? For Anabelle's ever-curious mind, Sunday couldn't come fast enough.
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