The Name of the Quilt: Tales of Patchwork, Mayhem, and Murder

by Carolyn McPherson

  There was much laughing and eye-rolling under the klieg lights in Spotsburg High's parking lot that night, as the treasure seekers surveyed each other's get-ups. Ruth Wallace went just long enough to survey the crowd, and returned to give us her lucid report.

  Notable among the treasure hunters were Bill Shumaker, who's a loan officer at the bank and was dressed as Scrooge McDuck. (Ruth said a number of people were having a good laugh at Bill's expense about what kind of literature he reads.) Lloyd Price, City Council President, was Napoleon (War and Peace), thereby unintentionally reinforcing the notions many of Spotsburg's citizens harbor about Lloyd's city management style.

  Dear, quiet, conservative Parson Dargan Scott was startling as the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland: he kept looking at a huge pocket watch, blinking his eyes and saying, "I'm late!" in a querulous voice. And Hilda Cooper (president of the Historical Society, who teaches high school history and civics, and is renowned for her barking voice, authoritarian manner, drab tweed suits, and stout brown orthopedic oxfords), stunned the assembled multitudes by arriving in a daringly low-cut, hoop-skirted gold brocade dress, elegant satin high heels, and towering white wig, and announcing loudly to one and all that she was Louis XIV's mistress Louise de la Vallière. "From what book?" I asked when Ruth told me this (I was feeling contrary), but I was certainly amazed. I could easily picture Hilda costumed as an Amazon or valkyrie, her helmet and breastplate glinting in the moonlight. Heck, behind her back some people even call Hilda Brunhilda. But Hilda in a low-cut brocade dress? And mind you, NONE OF THESE PEOPLE HAD HAD ANYTHING TO DRINK!

  So twelve teams of four people received their clues at 8:15 p.m., dashed to their cars (where they sat for a few moments and read the clues), and roared off. The exception was Hilda. Hilda and her La Vallière get-up, with its immense puffy panniers at the hips, could not be pushed, stuffed or otherwise shoehorned into Parson Scott's tiny Volkswagen Beetle, and so she was traded off to Jim Brewster's team, who had foresworn their Sons of Sasquatch furs for the evening and arrived in a big new Buick in various states of Biblical undress, including loincloths and sandals.

  I, as I've said, was not involved with this part of the hunt. I was setting tables at the treasure hunt's final destination, the basement of the Masonic Temple. (The clues were supposed to yield M-a-s-o-n-i-c.) The basement was selected because it is a large (albeit drab green) interior space and has no windows that might possibly suggest to passers-by that there was something going on inside.

  I think I've mentioned Edna McCoy before. She nearly broke down my front door during the Lincoln Deathbed Quilt mania in an attempt to get my (free) advice regarding the quilt she'd discovered in her attic, a ratty red-and-white checked Lindy's Plane, which she was determined must have great Civil War significance. (It didn't, obviously.)

  Edna is abrupt, bossy, and rude, and considers herself a major luminary of the Spotsburg social scene. She and her husband Alvin (who sells insurance) are tolerated by the rest of the community because in a city of 4,000, everyone has to pull their weight, and everyone has to get along, and Edna and Alvin do work hard, even though they work hard obnoxiously.

  And that is how the treasure hunt clues got so badly messed up, and why it ended in disaster. Edna and Alvin were the two responsible for writing the clues, and they couldn't maintain the spirit of objectivity that's absolutely essential to such a creative endeavor.

  Edna felt her Lindy's Plane quilt had not received its due as a Great American Art Treasure and Historic Relic, and so she determined to publicize it further via the treasure hunt. To do this, she talked Janine Runyon (who owns the fabric store, Sew and Go) into hanging her (Edna's) quilt in the fabric store's front window. Furthermore, she (Edna) secretly convinced several other ladies of Spotsburg to hang their quilts out on their clotheslines the night of the hunt; those quilts were supposed to be red herrings. Edna's plan might have worked except, as those of us who stalk antiques and rummage sales say, "One man's treasure is another man's trash."

  I, as I've already indicated, was sequestered (with Ruth and some others) in the ever-so-lovely cinder block basement of the Masonic Temple, arranging plates, silverware, and candles on the tables, receiving the hot dishes as they were delivered (the entrée was a delicious oven-barbecued chicken Shirley Moray prepared in her own kitchen), and checking out the desserts to make sure they were fresh.

  (On this subject: one of the things I don't understand is why so many of today's pies don't cut well. I'm sure you know what I mean. You cut a slice and maybe the knife isn't sharp enough, because it makes a raggedy edge and you have to clean up the pie's edges. Also, today's brownies don't slice the way they used to, and you have to keep disposing of the crumbs.)

  Anyway, as we performed our tasks that evening, the treasure hunt was swirling above us. I've pieced together other people's accounts (not quilts this time), to give you an approximate idea of what was happening.

  One of Edna and Alvin's ridiculous clues read: "This gorgeous quilt (it's Spotsburg's best) is colored ____ and ____. Look through the glass, FIRST WORD, THIRD LETTER, and the booby prize you'll shed." No doubt Edna thought all Spotsburg's citizenry would trot straight over to Sew and Go, gape through the window, and exclaim, "Gee whillikers! Spotsburg's best quilt!!!"

  But there were several things wrong with that clue. For one thing, as my English professor at nursing school used to write in my margins with annoying frequency, this clue was "AMBIG!!!" Meaning, of course, it was ambiguous, and that ambiguity certainly confused Lloyd Price/Napoleon and his teammates and henchmen (dressed as the pirate crew from Peter Pan), because they were driving toward Spotsburg Cemetery in search of a different clue (something written on a tombstone), when they saw Doris Nelson's quilt draped (at Edna's request) over her clothesline, and Lloyd et al came to a screeching halt and jumped out of Lloyd's car and ran into Doris's back yard, piratical swords clanking and swashbuckles swashing, and stood there in the moonlight, studying her quilt. Doris, inside, had heard them approaching, had turned off her lights, and was hiding next to her open upstairs window, chuckling quietly.

  You can fairly picture the men's conversation.

  LLOYD/NAPOLEON: Avast! A quilt!

  OTHERS/PETER PAN PIRATES: Yo-ho-ho!

  BRAD TILLSTROM/PIRATE WITH AN EYEPATCH: Say, Napoleon, read us that quilt clue again. Not the one about the airplane or still waters running deep. The other one.

  LLOYD/NAPOLEON (fumbling with his flashlight which, it turns out, doesn't work, and the envelope of clues): Here it is. Hmmm. I think it says, "This gorgeous quilt (it's Spotsburg's best) is colored ____ and ____ . Look through the glass, FIRST WORD, THIRD LETTER, and the booby prize you'll shed."

  BRAD TILLSTROM/EYEPATCH: What does "Look through the glass" mean?

  (All stand there baffled.)

  FRED MURPHY/PIRATE WITH FAKE STUFFED PARROT ON SHOULDER: Well, mateys. Maybe we're supposed to look at this through our telescopes. Wasn't "glass" another word for telescope in the old days?

  LLOYD/NAPOLEON (Attempting a French accent, and failing): Blimey! You're right. So we're supposed to look at the colors through telescopes and—

  JEFF SESNO/PIRATE WITH NO FRONT TEETH AND A VERY REALISTIC AND GRUESOME SCAR DOWN THE LEFT SIDE OF HIS FACE (He's usually very quiet): One of the colors in the clue must be red.

  LLOYD/NAPOLEON: Sure and begorra! (Scratching his head in perplexity.) How'd you figure that out?

  JEFF/NO FRONT TEETH, ETC.: From the rhyme. Read the clue again.

  LLOYD/NAPOLEON: Um, "This gorgeous quilt (it's Spotsburg's best) is colored ____ and ____ . Look through the glass, FIRST WORD, THIRD LETTER, and the booby prize you'll shed."

  FRED/FAKE STUFFED PARROT: Is this Spotsburg's best quilt?

  LLOYD/NAPOLEON (Ignoring Fred's excellent question): "Shed" rhymes with "red"! The second color must be red! Righty-O, Jeff! And so the other color is—

  I think I mentioned to you in "The Lincoln Deathbed Quilt" that the quilt Doris Nelson br
ought me to examine (which was the quilt she hung out for treasure hunt, the very quilt the men were looking at at that moment) was three colors: blue, purple and a funny pinkish-colored putty. In other words, another chance for Edna and Alvin's clue to go seriously astray.

  What happens to colors when it gets dark? It's not just that they're hard to see. When the lighting is poor, they're also very difficult to distinguish from each other. (Do this little experiment. Take a multi-colored shirt or dress into a dark closet and try to correctly identify the colors. It's hard, isn't it?)

  And so Napoleon and the pirates, standing in Doris's back yard, studying her three-colored quilt by the light of the moon and broken flashlights, and hoping to find a two-colored quilt, had no idea what colors they were actually looking at. ("Bunch of dumb men," Shirley said afterwards, when she heard about this from Doris.)

  LLOYD/NAPOLEON (Pointing to one of the darker-colored blocks): Sacre bleu! Is this red?

  JEFF/NO FRONT TEETH, ETC.: Looks kind of purplish to me.

  FRED/FAKE STUFFED PARROT: Kinda like two shades of purplish. And something light.

  LLOYD/NAPOLEON (Insistent): Gray! Guys, it's definitely gray!

  BRAD TILLSTROM/EYEPATCH: Wish the light was better. I think it's tan.

  Finally, Lloyd, who as City Council President, was used to having his opinions listen to, prevailed: the quilt was declared to be two colors, dark red and gray. Jeff, the pirate with no front teeth, almost got himself flattened when he quietly asked Lloyd if he was spelling gray gray or grey. But Jeff had a serious point: it made a lot of difference if you were counting the third letter.

  The damage caused by one wrong letter would have been minor if Edna and Alvin's other clues had been better. But Edna was so determined to cover herself with reflected quilt glory that she unintentionally misled the treasure hunters with most of the clues. (There's an expression we have about people who are obsessed with their houses: "house-proud." I think you could say Edna was "quilt-proud.")

  Another brilliant clue went thus: "While Lindy's Plane o'er town flies highest, Doris's is lovely, too. Observe the SECOND of the colors: purple and ___ and ___." Of course, by "Lindy's Plane," Edna meant her own quilt, which was a Lindy's Plane, but this clue went right over the heads of two of the treasure-hunting teams, who supposed the reference to Lindy's Plane meant they should drive to the nearest airport, in Jackson, thirty miles (of mostly back roads) away. They finally reappeared in Spotsburg the next morning at six.

  Those of us ensconced in the Masonic Temple basement began to realize something was amiss when midnight rolled around and no treasure hunters had appeared. Weak from hunger, weary from waiting, we helped ourselves to ample servings of the barbecued chicken, scalloped potatoes, cloverleaf rolls, tossed salad, and several desserts apiece. (It was easy to see the desserts were going stale. I thought it wise to move quickly and salvage as many as we could.)

  We didn't touch Shirley's magnificent molded Mile-High Tower of Ruby Jell-O, although I deduced from the little puddle of red liquid on the cake pedestal on which it stood that it was beginning to lose its oomph. While we were eating our second helpings of Ruth's Heavenly Chocolate Fudge Eclairs, the treasure hunt was in jeopardy, but not yet a total flop.

  HOWEVER, also at that moment, at the western edge of town, some students—variously described the next day as "high-spirited young bucks," "scalawags," and "heroes"—from State College decided this would be a great night for a prank.

  The two largest men's dorms, Wakefield and Morris Halls, had been in a state of intense competition since the beginning of the school year. Wakefield had won the Tug of War without cheating; Morris had won the Canoe Race with cheating; the two dorms had tied in the Snow Sculpture Contest (this decision came under heavy protest, but what can you do? The judges declared that Art is Art). And the entire campus was gripped with anticipation regarding the upcoming All-Campus Obstacle Course Run, scheduled for two weeks hence.

  Jay Allen told me afterwards that Wakefield Hall's residents are inclined to be brighter than Morris's, as many pre-engineering students are housed in Wakefield, and have a certain practical turn of mind. And so at half past midnight, the same night the rest of Spotsburg was being treated to the antics of the treasure hunters, a band of Wakefield men, disguised in sheets, sneaked into Morris Hall, and quietly and carefully removed all the handles from the Morris bathrooms: sink handles, toilet handles, shower handles, and doorknobs. And these they collected in two pillowcases and decided to hide somewhere in Spotsburg proper.

  At 1:30 a.m. I announced we must do something to acquaint ourselves with the progress—or lack thereof—of the treasure hunt. I volunteered to emerge from the Masonic basement and drive around town on a reconnaissance mission.

  Washington Street runs along the Masonic Temple, and if you drive out the Masonic parking lot and head south and the east, in two blocks you'll arrive at the town square. I only drove half a block, however, before I came upon a most interesting sight.

  Appearing in Eleanor Duffendack's back yard were: Hilda Cooper, stretched out flat on Eleanor's grass, her brocade gown and hoop skirt over her head; three men in Biblical loincloths (Jim Brewster and his buddies); four unhappy-looking young men, trussed up like mummies in white sheets; two lumpy-looking pillowcases; and Eleanor's husband Ralph, with a shotgun.

  Eleanor hadn't been involved in the treasure hunt at all. She'd simply failed to take her wash off the line and was awakened by the noise of three scantily-clad men and a hoop-skirted wench skulking around in her back yard, searching for Spotsburg's "most gorgeous quilt" by pawing through her old wool blankets and a chenille bedspread, not a quilt among them. ("Bunch of REALLY dumb men!" said Ruth and Shirley together after hearing this part.)

  Being the forthright person she is, Eleanor awakened Ralph and sent him out into the yard (with his shotgun) while she called the police. The sight of cantankerous old Ralph Duffendack with his shotgun startled Hilda/Louis XIV's mistress, and she lost her footing in Eleanor's rock garden, broke her dainty satin-clad high heel, badly wrenched her ankle, and collapsed in a heap on the grass. And onto this scene stumbled the four young college men disguised in sheets and carrying their two pillowcases, which the Biblical types assumed were Spotsburg valuables in the process of being stolen. The Biblical types overwhelmed the college boys, immobilized them with their own sheets, and stood at attention under the watchful eye of Ralph and his firearm (which I later discovered, to my intense relief, wasn't loaded), while awaiting Officer Ted Dancer, who arrived as I happened by.

  From the looks of things, Ted needed my help. I got out of my Studebaker, hurried over to Hilda, and knelt down beside her. It was almost impossible to get a good view of her face because the hoop skirt was in the way, and when I pushed it down, it bounced back up with a sproing! Hilda is (ordinarily) a rather tough cookie, so I treated her, in spite of her ridiculous get-up, as if she were an intelligent adult.

  "Trouble here?" I said.

  You never know what to expect when a person's sick or hurt. I've seen the meanest old coots whimper like babies from a tiny scratch. To her credit, Hilda was no complainer. "Yes," she said through gritted teeth. "I've done something to my ankle."

  I didn't need to touch it to know from its peculiar position she'd probably broken it. I called out to Ted, who was milling around the yard being useless.

  "We need a stretcher to carry her to your car," I said, "and then we've got to get her to Jackson Hospital. Pronto!"

  Ted, who'd obviously been asleep when roused by Eleanor's call, muttered, "But I've got some criminals here!" he said.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake!" I said, standing up and glaring in the "criminals'" direction. "Who are these desperadoes, anyway?"

  "I dunno," said Ted, gesturing in the direction of the breech-clouted Jim Brewster. "Jim can tell you."

  I‘m sure some of our Biblical patriarchs must have been paunchy and bald, and in spite of this were still revered by their followers. But Jim Brewst
er and his cohorts looked so ridiculous (perhaps it was paunches, breechcloths and watches that struck me as funny, although Alfred Pike—one of our most avid American Legionnaires—had also pinned a tiny American flag pin to his garment, and Lyle Schultz was wearing black socks with his sandals!!!), that the only thing that kept me from laughing hysterically was that Hilda was obviously in great pain, and something needed to be done for her as quickly as possible.

  I looked at the four young men tied up like cocoons. "And who are you?" I said.

  A cute kid with ash blond hair (who looked so much like my darling Steve that I did a double-take) said, "We're from campus."

  Jim Brewster said, "We've apprehended them in the act of stealing people's valuables!"

  "No worse than mucking up my washing with your grubby hands, Jim Brewster!" came Eleanor Duffendack's voice from somewhere behind a bedspread.

  "No, ma'am," said the boy who looked like my Steve. "If you look in the pillowcases, you'll see hardware."

  I'd been studying the boys' attire: i.e., the bedsheets, which looked like they might be useful.

  "Jim and you other guys," I said. "Untie these boys, and make a pile of their sheets. Knot the sheets at the corner, and we'll put Hilda on it—very carefully—and Ted, we'll rush her to the hospital. You can straighten out the rest of this mess when we get back."

  Ted tried to say something, but I cut him off: Hilda was white as a ghost. "Quick!"

  So we untied the four college students (who had clothes on underneath their cocoons), and while the men were knotting the sheets together, I was untying the hoop skirt, pulling it over Hilda's head and throwing it aside. She looked terrible and I hoped she would faint, which would make the thirty miles to Jackson easier for her.

  Then, under my unfailingly calm direction, the college boys very carefully and gently lifted Hilda from Eleanor's lawn onto the sheets. Gripping the corners of the sheets, they carried her to Ted's squad car, and we laid her out in the back. While we were accomplishing this, Jim opened one of the pillowcases.