The Friendship Star Quilt

by Patricia Kiyono

  “Paid? Don’t be ridiculous. I never get the chance to fuss with little girl things.” Her voice threatened to crack at the thought of what might have been, but she struggled past the moment. “Jennie is an amazing little girl, Brad.”

  A look of pride touched the harried father’s features. “I think so, too. But I might be just a tad bit prejudiced.”

  “Not at all, I enjoy spending time with her, too,” Anne said then grinned as an idea popped into her head. “Brad, why don’t you let Jennie stay here during your band practices? The shop isn’t terribly busy in the late afternoons, and if I have to wait on customers, Jennie can do her homework or color at one of our work tables.”

  “Anne, I can’t impose on you. You’ve already done so much for Jennie and me.”

  “Oh, stop it. It’s no imposition. Consider it my bit of community service since the band will represent all of us in the parade.” She tapped her lip thoughtfully as another idea occurred to her. “You know, Myra mentioned she wants me to add some children’s crafts to our inventory in the spring. Jennie can help me test some simple projects.”

  “Well, if you’re sure…”

  ****

  “What’s this? It looks like a purple star.”

  Anne glanced up from the sewing machine where she was working on Brad’s flags to find Jennie studying a quilt block in various shades of purple. Stopping the sewing machine, Anne asked, “Now where on earth did you find that?”

  “In the bottom of your basket,” the youngster replied, pointing to the plastic tote where the supplies for the flags had been stored.

  “I wonder how it got in this tote. It’s a square I made for a quilt I’m making.”

  “I like all the purple flowers,” the little girl said, studying the various calico prints in the block. “Purple is one of my favorite colors.”

  “Mine, too,” Anne agreed. “And you’re right. It is a star. In fact, this pattern is called a Friendship Star. But the block should be in my work tote with its brothers and sisters not in this one with the band flags.”

  “Do you want me to put it away for you?”

  “Why, thank you. That would be very helpful. It goes in the tote on the bottom shelf of the cupboard. I would wonder why I was short one square when I started putting my quilt top together.”

  “And Daddy would wonder what flag the star went on,” Jennie said with one of her rare giggles. She carried the block to the storage cupboard and carefully placed it in the proper container. When she finished, she came back to watch in fascination as Anne maneuvered a piece of blue silk beneath the swiftly moving needle of the sewing machine.

  “You sew so pretty. Can you teach me how to do it, too, Miss Anne?”

  “Oh, sweetie, I wish I could, but the law says you have to be eighteen or older before you’re allowed to use any of the shop machines.”

  Seeing the child’s disappointment, Anne offered a compromise. “But I could teach you something else. Would you like to learn how to sew something by hand? It’s how my grandmother taught me when I was about your age. Grams sewed all her beautiful quilts by hand, too.”

  Excitement briefly lit up the little girl’s features, but it quickly faded. “I don’t have any material to sew.”

  “Not a problem, we can easily fix it,” Anne assured the child and switched off her sewing machine. “The ladies from our quilt group always toss leftover fabric into a scrap bin when they are here. That way anyone who needs a piece can just search in there. We make a lot of quilts for the nursing home with the scraps, too.”

  “Will they mind if I take some?”

  “Heavens, no.” Anne pulled a large storage tub from under the work table and lifted the lid. “Sharing is part of the magic of quilt-making, Jennie. You get to take leftover fabric from other people’s quilts—some people even cut up favorite clothes they’ve outgrown—and you re-use the leftovers to make something brand new. We all share our scraps. There are always lots of pretty patterns, so I know we can find something you’ll like.”

  It took several minutes for Jennie to admire all the fabric in the big tub and find her “absolute most favoritest” patterns. When she’d finally narrowed the choices to a half dozen, Anne spread the fabric on the work table then measured and cut several four inch squares from each print. With Jennie watching every move, Anne marked a straight line along the sides of two contrasting squares and explained it would be a sewing guide. Then she fastened the two pieces together, using small safety pins instead of the usual quilt pins to prevent Jennie’s little fingers from being accidentally pricked. Next, Anne threaded a needle with a length of plain white thread and had Jennie sit beside her.

  “Are you ready to start sewing the squares together?” Anne asked. The little girl nodded eagerly, so Anne demonstrated how to make a simple running stitch along the line she’d marked on the fabric. After taking a few stitches, she handed the piece to her eager student. “Your turn. Try to stay on the line.”

  The child bent over the blocks, her face screwed up in concentration. Her first stitches were crooked and huge, but she bounced in her seat with excitement. “I did it, Miss Anne. Look! I sewed them.”

  “Yes, you did, sweetie. Congratulations. Now, let’s go all the way to the end then I’ll add another square, okay? Try to keep your stitches nice and straight and small. It will make your sewing extra pretty.”

  Jennie nodded and bent over her fabric again. Her brow wrinkled as she took slow, deliberate stitches.

  The bell above the door tinkled.

  Anne glanced up as Ellen’s husband, Gene, entered the shop. The quilter often asked her hubby to swing by on his way home from their book store to pick up thread or other supplies Ellen needed for a project. In fact, Gene was in the shop so often, he teased he knew where to find things better than his wife did. Now, he called a greeting and headed straight to the thread display.

  “Don’t worry, Anne,” Jennie whispered, ducking her head. “I can go sit in the bathroom and be quiet as a mouse while you’re with your friend. He won’t even know I’m here. I promise.”

  “That’s not necessary, sweetie. You’re fine right where you are. You just stay here and work on your seam while I help Mr. Wheeler find whatever he needs. I’ll be right back.”

  The child’s comment puzzled her. Why on earth would Jennie think she needed to hide? Then she remembered Tee’s comments about seeing the late Mrs. Carmichael at clubs with another man. Surely, the woman wouldn’t have entertained him when her daughter was home, would she?

  Brushing aside the horrible thought, Anne hurried to the front to assist Gene with his purchase.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brad rinsed the dishes from their dinner and put them in the dishwasher. Thanks to one of his band students’ moms, he and Jennie had enjoyed a home-cooked meal for Wednesday night’s dinner. It had been a rare treat.

  The woman had arrived at his office after school, balancing a slow cooker filled with savory beef stew and a container of homemade rolls. Her story about making too much for her family’s meal had seemed a bit far-fetched. After all, how could anyone accidentally make an extra slow cooker of food? She’d probably done it as a guilt offering for turning him down when he needed help sewing the band flags and another time when he’d called to ask her to chaperone the trip to the parade. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t about to refuse such a windfall. It would be wonderful to feed Jennie something other than take-out food or a thrown together meal. So, he’d happily accepted the meal for his daughter’s sake.

  Besides, he admitted, it had smelled delicious.

  He chuckled as he rinsed another glass. Things were certainly considerably better than a few weeks ago when he’d been making all those frantic calls. The flags were finished. Anne had given them to him, along with her invoice, when he’d picked Jennie up at The Stitching Post after practice that evening. He didn’t know how she’d managed to get them sewn so quickly, but he was very grateful for it. It would give the girls in
the color guard a little over a week to get familiar with handling the weight and size of the new flags before marching with them in Royal Oak.

  The issue with chaperones had been resolved, too. A few parents had volunteered to ride on the bus, but the administration had flatly refused to allow the use of a school vehicle without a staff member aboard. He’d explained he had plans to stay at his aunt’s home in Highland Park after the parade, but they wouldn’t budge from their decision. Then, this past Monday, two experienced school aides had volunteered to accompany the band.

  “Molly and I don’t mind chaperoning on the bus,” Jill King said, facing him across the desk in the band office. The long-time office aide impatiently tucked an escaped strand of graying hair back into her no-nonsense bun. “But why aren’t more parents helping out, Mr. Carmichael? You shouldn’t have to worry about arranging for chaperones.”

  Brad shrugged. “I sent home notes with the kids and even called all the parents. But a lot of them weren’t able to come.”

  Jill leaned back in her chair and regarded him over the top of her wire-framed glasses. “Hogwash, and you know it. These are their kids, and it’s the weekend. You’d think they’d jump at the chance to see their children perform.”

  “I thought so, too. But the majority of parents had excuses why they couldn’t.”

  “Hmm. Maybe you should have told them their kids wouldn’t be able to participate without them chaperoning or helping with the equipment.”

  “You think threats would work?”

  “It’s not threats.” Jill paused, tapping a finger against her lip as if considering how to best phrase it.

  “Call it parental involvement,” her co-worked offered. “That’s how the ski team, debate team, and science group handles all their competitions. The parents help by chaperoning, getting supplies together, and setting up.”

  “I didn’t realize that.”

  The women both nodded, sagely.

  “You’ve put a lot of hard work into the music program since you’ve been with the school, Mr. Carmichael, and it shows. Our band has earned a lot of recognition this year, and parents are proud of the kids. If you say the band can’t go to a competition or a parade if the parents don’t step up to the plate, believe me, you’ll get the volunteers you need.”

  “And the principal will back you up,” Molly added. “Mac believes education has to be a partnership between school and home in order to work properly. Talk to him. He may have some other suggestions for you as well.”

  Brad mulled over the women’s words. It would be nice to have help. But could it be as easy as threatening to take away participation in the extra activities? He made a mental note to talk to the principal about it. Meanwhile, he was grateful to the aides for volunteering and was relieved the school board had approved them as an acceptable solution for the parade trip. Now, he was free to drive his own vehicle so he and Jennie could enjoy the weekend with family.

  The morning of the parade, he would have the band and their parents meet at the high school to get checked in. Once everyone was accounted for, the bus and equipment vehicles would caravan to Royal Oak. His aunt and uncle would meet him at the staging area for the parade. Jennie would go with them — and possibly his parents if they decided to drive up from Dearborn — to watch the parade, and he’d march the route with the band. After the parade finished, Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Ted would take Jennie home with them while he verified all the students were either with their parents or back on the bus with the aides. As soon as he’d seen them safely on their way back to Grandville, he’d be free to spend the weekend with his family.

  What a blessing to have everything come together this well. Band practice that evening had been the best one so far. The kids had mastered the new arrangements, and most of them had their footwork memorized, too. Of course, there were always the one or two who needed a bit more practice, but he still had a little over a week to work with them.

  Tomorrow, he’d give the color guard the new flags so they could start practicing their routines and get used to handling them. He’d peeked in the package when he got home and was pleased at how much the white wavy line resembled a flying seahawk. The simple design could easily be seen from a distance, and looked sleek and modern. He could hardly wait to show the flags to the girls. They’d be so excited.

  Brad closed the dishwasher and set the dial to wash. Thanks to the unexpected supper offering, he actually had time this evening to spend with Jennie without dozens of other chores clamoring for his attention. He couldn’t remember the last time it had happened.

  Life didn’t get much better than this.

  ****

  “Mr. Carmichael, can we talk to you?”

  Brad glanced up from the lunch he was eating in his office to find the girls from his color guard at his door, crowded behind Lexi Arnold, who seemed to be their spokesperson. Wondering why the girls appeared so glum—they’d been all smiles and excitement just a few hours ago when he’d presented them with their new flags—he motioned them inside.

  “What’s up, girls?” he asked, searching one solemn face after another. “Is something bothering you?”

  Their red-haired spokesperson stepped forward. “It’s about the flags, Mr. Carmichael.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Anne flipped through a new quilt magazine by the register counter and half-listened as Courtney and a customer discussed their weekend plans. For some reason, she felt at loose ends in the afternoon. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but wondered if it had something to do with Jennie.

  The week had been so much fun. She’d enjoyed spending time with the youngster every day during Brad’s band rehearsals. Jennie was a delight to be around. Anne marveled at how quickly the six-year old had grasped the basic techniques of hand sewing. She hadn’t grown bored with it or wanted to do something different. Instead, each afternoon, when she finished the day’s schoolwork, Jennie had gotten her “work tote” — a small shoebox Anne had found in the back room — from the cupboard and sat beside Anne to stitch another seam on her project. While they worked, Jennie would tell Anne about her day at school and share funny incidents. However, Jennie wouldn’t be coming to the shop that afternoon. She’d announced the day before that her friend Callie had invited her to come home with her after school.

  Anne wondered if the child’s absence was the reason she was feeling out of sorts. Could she miss Jennie this much after only a week of spending time with her? Or did not getting to see the child’s dad have something to do with it? Anne frowned. She could no longer deny her growing attraction to the gentle-spirited band director. Every time she saw him, he seemed to chip away another piece of the thick wall she’d erected around her emotions. It was nothing Brad consciously did. In fact, he seldom talked to her about anything except Jennie or business. She doubted he had any inkling of her feelings towards him.

  If he suspected, would Brad Carmichael run to the nearest exit?

  As if she had conjured him from her thoughts, Anne saw Brad open the front door. He paused in the entrance and scanned the shop until he spotted her by the register. Then, he waved and headed her way.

  “Hello, Mr. Carmichael,” she greeted. “I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

  “Please. It’s Brad, remember? We’re not at school, and you’re definitely not a student.”

  “No, of course, I’m not,” she replied. She wasn’t quite sure how to interpret his comment but didn’t want to ask and seem stupid, so she kept the question to herself. Instead, she pasted an interested expression on her face. “How can I help you today, Brad?”

  He dropped his gaze then shifted from one foot to the other. “The color guard loves the flags you made.”

  “But?”

  He quickly glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when someone starts out like you just did, it’s usually followed by a disclaimer,” she replied. “So what’s up?”

  He fidgeted a moment then t
ook a deep breath. “The girls love the flags, but there’s a problem.”

  “With the flags? What’s wrong? Did one rip? You know I’ll be happy to fix it for you.”

  “No, no. It’s not the flags,” he reassured her. “They’re working out well, and they handled great during the guard’s maneuvers.”

  Anne rested a hip against the counter. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “It’s the girls. They’ve informed me the new flags make their outfits look—” He paused and drew air quotes with two fingers on each hand. “Dorky.”

  “And are they—” She imitated his air quotes. “Dorky?”

  He shrugged. “Probably. Up until now, the girls have just worn modified band uniforms. But we’ve been to a few competitions, and they’ve seen what other schools wear. And now that we have our beautiful new flags, the girls want costumes, too.”

  He paused again and puffed out a breath. “Good grief, Anne. It seems like I’m always in here asking you for favors. You must want to hide every time I walk in the door.”

  “I haven’t heard you ask for anything yet, so I think you’re safe,” she teased then gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “How can I help you, Brad?”

  Her mouth went dry as he rested his elbows on the other side of the counter and leaned toward her. This close to him, she noticed the amber flecks in his chocolate eyes and the strands of gold threading his hair.

  “Well,” he began, “I wondered if there was any chance you could work with the girls to come up with an idea for the parade that would be easy to do and not cost an arm and a leg.”

  “I could try, but I’m not sure what you need. It would help if I knew what the color guards at other schools wear.”

  He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and set it on the counter. “I thought you might need to see that sort of thing, so I gathered some pictures. One of the girls’ moms took them at a competition.”