Tattered & Torn

by Carol Dean Jones

  Interrupting his reading, Sarah asked, “Mr. Simpson, could you tell me where you actually found it?”

  “It was bundled up in brown paper and stuck up in the attic along with lots of other junk in this row house we pulled down. One of those old dilapidated places over on Second Street. I think they said it used to be public housing. Probably run by the Housing Commission.”

  “Is there any way you might be able to identify which house it was?”

  “What good would that do you? House is gone now.”

  “I might be able to find the person that lived there.”

  “Aren’t you afraid they’ll want it back?”

  Thinking the man still had dollar signs bouncing around in his head, Sophie spoke up and said, “No problem. If they want it, they can have it. It’s junk.”

  He sighed and picked up his newspaper again. “That whole block is mostly demolished,” he said without lowering the paper. “But I’m working over there tomorrow. I’ll see if the foreman has any kind of address or lot number.”

  “We’d appreciate that, Mr. Simpson. Thank you for helping us.”

  “No problem. The wife will give you a call.” As they were leaving, Sarah gave Mrs. Simpson her phone number and turned to admire her garden. They spent a few minutes discussing a local dogwood blight and left with Sarah thanking her for her time.

  On their way home, Sarah stopped by Running Stitches to catch Ruth up on the quilt saga and to buy a border for Jimmy’s quilt. “I think I want something plain, perhaps a tone on tone in blue, but not too fussy. It’s for a ten-year-old boy.”

  “I have just the thing,” Ruth responded, “but would you consider green?” She led them to the shelf under the window where she had her environments, as she called them: fabric with trees, grass, rocks, sand, water, skies, and anything found in nature other than animals which she had in another section. She pulled out the fabric with the grass design. “How about this?”

  “I love it,” Sarah responded excitedly. “Where there are boys and sports, there’s usually grass.”

  “I like these rocks,” Sophie said.

  “Hmm. Now I’m wondering. Ruth, what do you think?”

  “I can only point you to the collection. This has to be your choice,” she responded. “I think a boy would like any of these and especially with the sports fabrics you purchased. Is that what this is for?”

  “One and the same. Let’s go with the rocks. I wouldn’t want that myself, but it has a real boy look to it, and it won’t detract from the sports blocks.”

  “Still no word from Timmy,” Sophie murmured on the ride home.

  “Nor Martha,” Sarah responded.

  “Tomorrow is day three.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll know something soon.”

  “Yes.”

  They remained silent the rest of the way home, each lost in her own thoughts. As Sophie was getting out of the car, she turned and said, “Sorry about my meltdown yesterday. Even if they got married, it’s their business. I don’t want to be that kind of mother-in-law.”

  “Neither do I, Sophie. Neither do I.”

  “Call me when you hear from the Simpsons,” Sophie called back as she closed the door and headed up the walk. Sarah could see Emma with her head under the curtain panting with joy at the sight of her favorite person returning home.

  * * *

  “Mrs. Parker? This is Claudia Simpson.”

  “Good morning,” Sarah responded cheerfully. “I’m glad to hear from you. Did your husband have any luck?”

  “No one knows the names of the residents in that old area, but Thomas got the lot number for you, and he said for you to contact the Housing Commission. His foreman said for you to ask for Sonya Blackwell because she’s the caseworker in charge of alternative placements for those folks and she’ll probably know who lived there.”

  “Excellent,” Sarah said excitedly. “She might even know where the people are now as well.”

  “Good Luck,” Mrs. Simpson said as they hung up.

  Once Sarah called Sophie with the update, she dialed the number Mrs. Simpson had given her and her call was answered by Ms. Blackwell herself.

  Sarah explained what she was trying to do, and Ms. Blackwell was immediately interested. “My mother was a quilter,” she said, “and so was my grandmother. I know how special these old quilts can become. Let me check my computer and see if I can give you a contact for the family that moved out of that unit.

  Sarah was put on hold for so long that she was beginning to think they might have been disconnected. “Sorry about the delay,” Ms. Blackwell finally said. “I was checking with the welfare office to see if they had anything on this woman. Unfortunately, neither of us have a forwarding address. Her name is Maud Templeton. She was living there with her mother, but I remember that the older woman died some time ago. I don’t know what might have become of Maud once the city started demolition. She was pretty low functioning, and I suppose she could have ended up in one of the shelters. I doubt that she had the resources to leave town. I was her caseworker and met with her every six months while she was living there, but once the development was closed down, I didn’t hear from her again.”

  Sarah listened silently to the very disappointing report. “That’s discouraging,” she responded once Ms. Blackwell was finished. “What happens to these people who have been displaced?”

  “We’re able to find housing for some. I offered to help Maud, but she never returned to my office once she was evicted. I just assumed she’d moved in with someone, but now that I look at her record, I’m reminded that she didn’t have much in the way of family. Her daughter died some years ago, and two of her grandsons, Jerome and Darnell, were in prison when I last saw her. I think there was one more boy, but I don’t even have his name. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

  “I appreciate all you’ve done. At least I have a name, and that’s a place to start.”

  “Let me know if you find her and she wants help,” Ms. Blackwell added. “We’ve developed several new resources for the displaced tenants.”

  “I sure will, and thank you, Ms. Blackwell.”

  Sarah picked up the phone and dialed Sophie to tell her what she had learned, but before she could say a word, Sophie blurted out, “They’re home, and I’m on my way to see that son of mine.” Sophie hung up before Sarah could say another word.

  Chapter 5

  Sarah and Charles were sitting in the living room sipping coffee and watching their favorite morning news channel when there was a knock at the door, followed immediately by the door swinging open and Sarah’s daughter, Martha, bursting into the room.

  “Mom, I’m so sorry,” she cried. “Sophie told me how frantic and upset you were when you couldn’t find me. I never intended to cause you such…”

  Sarah laughed and got up to embrace her daughter. “Martha, calm down. I wasn’t frantic at all. I was concerned and maybe a little annoyed, but I certainly wasn’t frantic.”

  “But Sophie said…”

  Charles chuckled at that point and said, “I know what happened. Sophie took it very hard, and you got her version of how your mother reacted, right? The only frantic person was Sophie.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that,” Martha responded, looking somewhat calmer. “But still, I’m really sorry. We should have talked to both you and Sophie. It’s just that, well, I guess we just wanted to keep it between the two of us. I guess we just weren’t ready to talk about what we were planning.”

  Charles saw a flicker of concern cross his wife’s face. Could Sophie have possibly been right? they were both thinking as they shared a pondering look.

  “Let me put a fresh pot of coffee on,” Sarah said as she stood, “and let’s sit down in the kitchen and talk about this.”

  “Shall I let you girls talk privately?” Charles asked, not sure whether to follow them.

  “I’m not sure…” Sarah responded, not knowing just what Martha wanted.

/>   “It’s fine, Charles,” Martha said, walking over and giving him a hug as he stood up. “This involves the whole family.”

  Once they were seated around the table, each with a cup of coffee and a slice of the coffee cake Sarah had baked earlier that morning, Martha sighed and said, “Well, to begin with, you both know that Tim and I were contemplating marriage last year.”

  “Sophie was sure you had eloped,” Sarah said, and saw an odd look on her daughter’s face which caused Sarah to add, “Is that what you want to tell us?”

  Martha laughed and responded, “No, thank goodness, because it sounds like Sophie was planning to make us pay dearly if we had done that. But Tim and I did talk about it, and we both knew that wasn’t the right thing to do for a number of reasons. But our primary concern was getting past some of the issues that have come up since Tim moved back here.”

  “So you decided to go away together and talk about it?” Sarah asked.

  “No, we thought that going away together would just muddy the waters and make it even harder to know what we wanted.”

  “So where have you been?” Charles asked, unable to wait patiently until Martha got to the point.

  “I told Tim I wanted for the two of us to go talk with Pastor John.” Pastor John was not the family’s current pastor but rather the pastor of the church the children had grown up in when their father was living. “You know how I feel about him,” she added.

  “I think that was an excellent idea,” Sarah responded with a barely visible sigh of relief. “Was he able to help?”

  “He sure was, Mom. He told us about a couples retreat over on Peoria Lake, and we decided to go. We attended workshops on communication and group discussions on marriage. They also had some recreational activities. We enjoyed the nature trails and even took a horseback ride.”

  “That’s over by the Illinois River, isn’t it?” Charles asked.

  “Yes, there’s a retreat complex there with cabins, a lodge with a dining room and large rooms for workshops. It was a beautiful setting, particularly at night.”

  “And did you two find it helpful?” Sarah asked, joining her husband now in wanting to get to the bottom line.

  “More than helpful, Mom. We were able to talk about our feelings and our concerns privately and with other couples. And I think we both have a better understanding of what we’ve each been grappling with.”

  “I’m glad, Martha. Communication is always the key.”

  “I know that now. I told Tim things that he wasn’t aware of like my fear of parenting at this stage of my life. We agreed that we’re in this together.

  “And the future?” Sarah asked cautiously.

  “We’re going to be just fine, but I know that Tim wants to be with me when we make any announcements about our future. I won’t say anything now except to tell you that we’ve come to grips with the problems we had.” Winking at her mother, she then added, “And we’re excited about our future.”

  Sarah and Martha stood up at the same time and walked into each other's arms, both beginning to tear up. Charles stood as well but appeared uncomfortable by the women’s emotional outpourings until Martha turned and hugged him as well.

  “Have you explained all this to Sophie?” Sarah asked as they were walking toward the front door.

  “Tim is there now. I’m heading over there as well. Hopefully, it’s going well. When she exploded into Tim's house yesterday, she wouldn’t listen to a word we had to say. She was furious with both of us.”

  “She was worried, Martha, and hurt because Tim didn’t tell her he would be away. You know, she’s been without a family for many years, and suddenly she has a son, a granddaughter, a potential daughter-in-law, and a dog. She’s still trying to catch up with her own emotions.”

  “We’ll never do that to her again. Or you either. It was thoughtless.” She kissed them both goodbye and hurried out to her car.

  When Sarah knocked on Sophie’s door a few hours later, she wasn’t sure what she would find. She had hoped Sophie would call after Tim and Martha left, but when she didn’t hear from her, Sarah decided to stop by and get the histrionics over with. Much to her surprise, however, Sophie opened the door with a cheerful greeting and invited her into the backyard where she had been sitting with Emma and drinking lemonade. “I’ll grab a box of cookies,” Sophie said as they passed through the kitchen.

  Once they were settled in their favorite chairs chatting amicably about the weather, the dogs, and the proposed outdoor community swimming pool, Sarah decided to open the topic of the elephant in the backyard. “So you talked with Tim?”

  “I did,” she responded calmly. “I wish they had told us before they left and saved us all that worry, but it was good news. I’m very proud of them for taking this route, and I’m sure there’ll be a wedding before too long. He said they weren’t ready to make an announcement, but he had a twinkle in his eye which told me it's not far away.”

  The two friends sat quietly for a few minutes sipping their lemonade. “So,” Sophie began, totally changing the subject, “what did you learn from Sonya Blackwell?”

  Sarah brought her up to date, and they discussed where they might go from there. “Let’s check out the shelters and see if they know Maud,” Sophie suggested. “How many shelters are there?”

  “Well, I only know of the one run by the city, but I’m sure there are a number of different shelters run privately, probably by the local churches. We could probably ask at the city shelter. They might know how to find the others.”

  “Good idea,” Sophie responded, “and why don’t you ask Charles to see what he can find out about shelters on the internet.”

  “Even better idea,” Sarah replied. “Are you free Wednesday? I thought perhaps we could spend the day looking for Maud Templeton.”

  “Free as a breeze. Let’s do it.”

  * * *

  “I’m excited about our adventure tomorrow,” Sophie was saying as the two women pulled up in front of Stitches later that day. The Tuesday Night Quilt Club began at seven after Ruth closed the shop, but several familiar cars were already parked along the street.

  As Sophie was getting out of the car, Ruth opened the door to the shop and called to Sarah, “Hurry in. I have found some fabulous information for you.”

  When Sarah entered the shop a few minutes later, Ruth led her directly back to the storeroom where she had an old fabric sample book. “Look, isn’t this fabric in your quilt? And this one? And maybe this one?” Ruth excitedly pointed to five or six different fabrics.

  “Maybe,” Sarah responded. “I’m not as good as you are at remembering patterns, but they look familiar. Why do you ask?”

  “Because the fabrics illustrated in this book were produced by a textile mill in England between 1810 and 1825 using cotton produced in this country. If these fabrics are in your quilt, that will help us to date it and prove its authenticity. Did you bring the quilt?”

  “I did, but I locked it in the car. I wasn’t sure what was on our agenda tonight.”

  “I’d love for us to talk about your quilt with the group tonight if you’re willing,” Ruth responded.

  “I’d like that too,” Sarah replied, eager for an opportunity to share her treasure with her quilting friends.

  Once everyone was congregated around the work table, Ruth asked Sarah to tell the group about her exciting find. Sarah proudly lifted the tote bag onto the table but didn’t take the quilt out immediately. First, she talked about how she happened to find it and a little about what she’d learned so far. She then carefully removed the quilt and, with Ruth’s help, spread it out on the table and stood back to watch their reaction.

  “As hard as it will be,” Ruth interjected, “please don’t touch the quilt. It’s extremely fragile as you can see.”

  “This is spectacular,” Delores muttered. “Just spectacular.”

  “Does it have a label?” Allison asked.

  Ruth sighed and looked at Sarah. “No,” Sarah
responded. “But the quilter had embroidered what we think is the word Memories on the back.”

  Delores, the oldest member and most experienced, was visibly awed by the quilt. “This is the oldest quilt I’ve seen outside of a museum. It’s an incredible treasure, Sarah,” she said, speaking barely above a whisper as if she’d been transported to the museum. “Too bad there’s no label,” she added.

  “How old do you think it is?” Ruth asked Delores, hoping to confirm her own ideas.

  “My guess would be at least 130 years old, probably even older,” Delores responded. “I’d say this was probably made before the Civil War.”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking.” Pointing out the binding on the fourth side, Ruth expressed her idea that it might have originally been a bed quilt that was divided to make two cot quilts.”

  “What’s a cot quilt?” Caitlyn, their youngest member, asked.

  Sarah spoke up and explained about the Sanitary Commission’s request for long narrow quilts for the soldiers’ cots during the Civil War. She refrained from mentioning that many soldiers were actually buried in their cot quilts, not wanting to detract from the excitement in the room. Several others had questions about the cot quilts but soon got back to examining Sarah’s quilt more closely.

  “What do you call this pattern?” Allison asked. Allison was a young mother and new to quilting.

  “This is a very old pattern,” Ruth responded. “It’s a slight variation of the Grandmother’s Flower Garden. These hexagon quilts started in England in the 1700s, but in the 1830s the pattern and directions for making it appeared in a newspaper in this country. It’s been very popular since then.

  “Why do you say it’s a variation?” Allison asked.

  “A Grandmother’s Flower Garden usually has one hexagon in the middle which is surrounded by six more in a circular fashion. Then there are another twelve hexagons around that row, forming a large colorful rosette.”

  “And you have a garden path running between them all,” Delores added. She pulled a magazine out of her tote bag and opened it to a picture. “Like this one,” she said passing the magazine to Allison, pointing to the white hexagons between each complete flower.