Scandal

by Patsy Brookshire

  "Hey! Just in time," Dan said. A small crowd of the Guild women and their helpers gathered around us. The doors had yet to open.

  I held up my hand. "I have something special here to add to the info about who made it, and all. It doesn't belong to me anymore, don't know if it ever did. Magda and Sampson, this is my present to you." I took out the piece of paper I'd printed up. Dan stood by me as I fished out tape and attached it the sheet.

  "Sam, you come over here, by Magda." I read while they listened.

  This quilt, Sweethearts, belongs to

  Sampson Smithers and Magda Buler,

  to honor their relationship. Gifted to them

  by its makers: his mother, Sophie Elm,

  and their friend, Annie Elm Straw. November 2012

  Magda listened with her hand over her mouth. Sam held her other hand like he wasn't quite sure what to think, to do.

  When I finished, they were grinning ear to ear. I took a nice photo.

  "Gosh," said Magda, "I guess the secret's out now!"

  "As it should be." Sam gave her a quick kiss on her blushing cheek. He kissed my cheek, too. First time ever. "Thank you so much, Annie. I never guessed."

  "Me neither," said Magda. "So we can take it home when the show is over?"

  "Yes indeed. It's yours."

  "Guess you'll have to make one for your bed, now." She gave Sam the clips to attach Sweethearts to the line. "Next time you make a quilt for show, you must sew a hanger on the back of it to slide a roller through.

  "Whoops, the doors are open. Here they come."

  Chapter 41

  Lethal Lena

  I watched as several of Magda's friends read the info on our quilt. Some were surprised to learn of her and Sam. A couple were quietly disapproving, and whispered, "Not married. I just don't think what she's doing is right. So soon." But most demanded to meet this Sampson person, and congratulated them. She ran the gauntlet of the town's thoughts with few scratches. No scandal.

  The morning's biggest source of excitement was Lena. Most people who came in were looking for quilts, but an enthusiastic number of them were looking for "That woman, Lena."

  I must have had a look of authority because one of them, a sweet young thing with dyed, bright red hair, wearing a black tee covered with sequins and holey jeans with crazy quilt patches came up to me and asked, "Could you tell me where Lena's quilts are? Is she here?"

  "Sure. Follow me." I took Dan's hand to lead us through the crowd to where a line had formed in front of her quilts.

  From our place a row over I could hear what they were saying.

  "Can you believe?"

  "She killed her friend's husband, you know."

  "Don't forget the bear!"

  "In self-defense. The man, not the bear."

  "Lethal Lena."

  "When will she come in?" Apparently none of them realized they had already seen her at the door.

  I decided to warn the women at the cash table about what was going on. Heads began to turn as Lena's name began to sound above the crowd noise. I looked to where the buzz was loudest just as Lena and Big Juan strolled into the room, arms linked.

  They were wrapped up in each other, and didn't notice the attention they were drawing. She led Juan to the first row of quilts, which happened to be where Dan and I were standing. She took a moment from her absorption with Juan to say hello to us, then went back to the reason she'd brought him here, to show him the finer points about quilting. She pulled one out to show him the stitching.

  I realized she wasn't aware that the crowd was closing around them when I heard her say, "Here, count these. Mariah has a deft hand, no fewer than ten stitches to an inch, ever. We put her right here in the first row. She and I are the only ones to do all our stitching by hand--well at least sewing together the quilt sandwich. Remember what I told you, how it's not a quilt if it doesn't have the three layers?"

  He nodded, as if he was hanging onto her every word.

  The attention of the crowd was beginning to alarm me. Lena let go of the quilt to put her hand in Juan's, still talking as they edged on to the next piece.

  "...unless it's an Art Quilt. We have different qualifications, there."

  I moved with the crowd, right behind the red haired girl who was so close to Lena that she was mashed against her back. Juan gave Red Hair a Back off look while Lena said, "Excuse me," to her, and gave her a small push.

  Turning back to Juan she went on. "Now this one is by my dear Magda. See how cleverly she has matched and contrasted the colors? This is called Log Cabin." She put an arm out to stop Red Hair and her friends who were crushed so close that Lena and Juan could barely move. "It's an old fashioned pattern with several variations on how it's put together."

  I was finally close enough to reach over and tap Lena on the shoulder. She looked up and saw me waving my hand to show her the crowd closing in on them. She said to him, "Fans, Big. Look, you've gathered a crowd."

  His chest puffed up. "It's usual. Comes with the territory." He turned to the man nearest him. "I'd prefer to not give autographs right now, I'm with my lady."

  The guy gave him a funny look. "I don't know who you are. I just want to talk to her."

  "Me? Whatever for?" Lena was clearly baffled and stared at him, her eyes big.

  "If you'd just sign this I'd appreciate it." He held out a small autograph album and a pen.

  I could only stand and watch, astounded.

  She shrank closer to Juan, "Whatever for? Are you crazy?"

  One of the women behind her said, "No, honey. We just appreciate you. You're a hero."

  "What?"

  "I read about you in the paper." She held out a page of newsprint, pointed at a photo of Lena coming from the courthouse with her lawyer. "The way you took care of that man who was attacking you. That took courage. I'm sure you weren't the first one he's tried to hurt."

  Another woman said, "The whole story's on the Internet. You took care of that bear, too. Nobody better mess with you." She pulled a notebook from her purse. "Could I have your autograph, too?"

  Lena clung to Juan's arm. "I don't think so. I mean, that's kind of you to want me to sign your little book, but, you're mistaken. I'm not a hero."

  "But you are." A third woman stepped close, causing Lena to clutch Juan's arm tighter.

  Juan instantly became her Protector. "Back off, people! You're scaring her."

  The man was still holding out his album, open to an empty page. "I don't think she scares easily. Won't hurt her to sign my book."

  I saw the crowd surge with him as he took a step toward her.

  "Hey! Didn't you hear me? I said 'Back off!'" Juan's hand shot up, flat palm out. He shoved at the guy's shoulder.

  The autograph book flew one way, the pen the other. The man stumbled backwards, banged into the woman close behind him. She crashed sideways into Sam and Dan, who'd just walked up. Sam grabbed onto a pole for support and it held long enough for him and the woman to gain their feet, then it went over. Dan grabbed at it, but too late. The pole, which was supporting a whole row of quilts, fell.

  The room went still. That got the attention of the Guild women. Gretchen was first there. She steadied Sam. "Now look here." She glared at the crowd, and then at the pile of color and fabric on the floor. "See what you've done!"

  Sam stepped out of her grasp, "No problem. I'm okay."

  "It's these crazed fans of my sweet one," Big Juan growled. "They tried pushing her around. Won't happen while I'm here."

  Gretchen wasn't listening. "Gotta get these up." She took hold of the pole that had taken the quilts to the floor. "Come on, you men. Be of use here, I can't do this by myself."

  Other Guild members were bumping into each other, flustered. I saw Mariah pick up a quilt, look around, and holding tight, refuse to let go when one of the men tried to take it from her. Her white-haired sister rescued a different quilt, when someone grabbed its other end. In the tugging it fell to the floor. Someone shrieked, "You
stepped on my quilt!"

  Dan's voice cut through the chaos. "Okay, folks, let's get a plan here. Sam, you down at this end, on this pole. Juan, you at the support on the other end. You--" He pointed at the man who'd lost his autograph book, and set off the whole debacle. "What's your name?"

  "Carl."

  "Carl, you get in the middle here, grab this pole. You ladies space yourselves along the sides, opposite each other. And you Lodge guys." Some men from the VFW had joined the party "Grab hold. These quilts are heavy."

  We all followed his orders, mostly with a minimum of fuss.

  "Good. Now, when I say lift, everybody lift. Got that?"

  Juan started to lift.

  "No, Juan, wait until I say, 'Lift!'" Lena had placed herself near Juan, I stood opposite her. I noticed her fans were close by, eyes gleaming while they watched their heroine.

  What an opportunity, almost better than an autograph.

  All of us bent over, ready.

  A light flashed.

  I looked up and there was Len. His radar was deadly. I resisted the impulse to let go of my hold on the pole and snatch the camera away from him.

  He must have seen my anger, because he pointed the camera right at me and snapped off another shot.

  I glared at him but didn't let go.

  "Now! Lift!" As we all lifted Dan came to our end and helped Juan set his pole upright. One of the men from the Lodge did the same at the other end, while Carl stayed steady with his center support. Other people moved in and adjusted the quilts so that all were even.

  "All right!" Dan stepped back.

  People began to clap.

  He laughed. "Hey, we all get by with a little help from our friends, right?"

  The men shook hands all around, except Len who stayed off to the side, taking pictures. Juan and Carl dropped their macho stance now that they had worked in unison.

  It was obvious to me that Len didn't feel a part of the team. He didn't know what to do with his feelings, so he used his camera as a shield. I almost felt sorry for him.

  As we walked away from the scene of the excitement, I remembered the initial reason I'd been interested in the Willamina Quilt Show, and told Dan. "There's a special quilt I must see, that Judy has made. Of Cannon Beach. She told me about it at the quilting bee. A smaller version of one I saw at Magda's studio."

  I'd learned at the quilting bee who'd made it. Judy. I found her at the pay table, and asked her where it was.

  "I'll show you. Magda told me your aunt's story and that you saw my larger 'Haystack' at her studio. This came out of that one. It's an art piece."

  When we got to the side wall where it hung, I stood stunned. An appliqué piece about three feet square. A mix of images sewn onto a back piece of brown that made a frame. The scene depicted in fabric and embroidery was the interior of a cabin with log walls. On a simple chair sat a woman with her back to us, looking out a window at Haystack Rock. It could have been Sophie.

  The tag showed the title: At Peace. Beside the title tag hung the round medallion of a blue ribbon winner: Best of Show. The price was three hundred dollars.

  I'd been driven by this mystery quilt to start the journey I was now on. "It's perfect. I have to have it. Consider it sold. Thank you."

  Puzzled at my thanks, she answered, "I'm glad you like it, so, sure. It's yours. But let me thank you."

  It had been a long morning. Dan and I left to eat at a local church advertising lunch. We had soup and sandwiches, cinnamon rolls, all handmade and served by the church women. Then we walked and drove the whole of the Art Tour, signing up at every shop or venue, hoping to win a prize. We got back just before Len's talk at two. I wouldn't miss it.

  He'd set up the framed-in-glass parka on an easel. He had a good audience, including Sam and Magda. We sat in the chairs they'd saved for us. I thought I saw the woman who had been in his car this morning in the front row, but since I'd only seen the top of her head, not her face, I wasn't sure. The crowd got too big for the seating, and while someone was bringing in more chairs Len began his speech.

  "The Inuit--Eskimos, to you..." He went on about their hunting culture, and how they had expanded to the sea. "They invented the kayak to get them onto the ocean where they could harpoon the big fish, seals, walrus, whales for life sustaining blubber. Beyond calamari, or tenderized clams in butter sauce."

  A few people laughed politely. "But, if the water of the Arctic, or Bering Sea splashed them they would freeze to death in minutes. So, the women made this protection, a Kamleika, cut from many pieces of seal or walrus intestine, finishing the overlapping seams with hundreds--thousands, of tiny stitches. Waterproof. The hunter put it on over his warm parka. The bottom of the jacket flared to a wide, finished hem.

  "Now, for the genius. The kayak had a skin covering that was wide and loose around the cockpit. When he was in, his wife stitched him into his kayak, joining the hem of his Kamleika to the wide skirt of the cockpit. Her stitches made the waterproof seal. Brilliant.

  "True life and death stitching. Any questions?"

  From a man in front, "Where did you get this Kamleika? You're not an Eskimo."

  "My wife's sister married into a tribe up there and when we were visiting one of the men gave it to me. Someday I'll give it to a museum."

  A woman in the back asked, "How'd you learn about all this?"

  "Honey, there's lots of information on the Internet. Parkas like this are in several museums. Plus, the man who gave it to me shared some of it."

  He looked over the crowd, as if seeking more questions. He was looking toward one side when he suddenly appeared spooked. His eyes opened wide and his head reared up.

  If I hadn't been looking at him I wouldn't have seen his reaction, because it all happened so quickly.

  He took the frame from the easel, set it on the floor. "All the time I have now, folks. Thanks for listening." He stashed the easel under a nearby table, picked up the frame, and left, followed by the girl friend.

  I heard someone say, "And just when I had something to ask him."

  Marge came up with a woman I didn't know. "Annie, I want you to meet Katie Heap. You two have something in common. Katie, this is Annie who's been asking us about your T-Bird."

  "Pleased to meet you, I'm sure, Annie. You want to know about my 'Bird, or Thunderbirds, in general?"

  "Yours. I understand you're a friend of Len's?"

  "Bolder?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm a friend of Len's wife, Linda. Len comes with the deal, but we're not particularly friends."

  "She's his ex-wife."

  "She's his wife."

  My head was reeling. "So he lets you borrow his car?"

  "This is a confusing conversation. It's not his car, it's mine. Who are you?"

  "Well I used to be a friend of Len's. An old friend. I met him again at the State Fair. Later he gave me a ride in his Thunderbird."

  "His car? The 'Bird?" She repeated, "That's my car. I have another one so I loaned it to him while he was at the Fair, selling his book."

  "He was also showing his quilt."

  "I didn't know he had any of his quilts at the Fair."

  "The same one is here, in the back. He's also been taking pictures, and he just gave a talk on the Kamleika that he brought to display. But he left rather quickly."

  "Oh, I did see him slither away. He was giving the talk about what?"

  "His Kamleika that he got from a friend of his wife's, in the Arctic."

  "Don't know about that."

  "Didn't you see his--I mean, your--car outside? He was driving it this morning."

  "I came with Linda in their Toyota. Left the 'Bird at their house. You saw it this morning?"

  I was slow answering because I was processing Len in a Toyota. One that belonged to him and his wife. I don't get involved with married men. NO. I shuddered to think I'd nearly stepped into that. "At my house. He stopped by to tell me he'd be here today." No need for me to mention the woman. Not my business.
"He told me he was divorced."

  "No. He's a womanizer. Linda knows that. But she says she loves him. You know how that goes."

  "I've heard. He'll be back tomorrow for his lecture again."

  "Okay, just might be here for that. We're in town for the whole two days. I never expected so many people. Cars are parked way up the street and around. Probably why I didn't see my 'Bird.

  "I think something besides quilts is fueling the interest here. The quilts are outstanding, but we have a celebrity among us."

  "A celebrity? Somebody famous?"

  "Depends on how you define famous. It appears that the story of Lena dispatching Magda's abusive husband made the papers and it's getting around, like, you know, on the Internet."

  "I always did think that gal was meant for stardom, but I thought it would be for having fifteen stitches per inch, not killing her best friend's husband."

  "She's around hanging on the arm of that wrestler guy with the orange pants. Big Juan."

  "I'll watch for her. I just hope to see Len again, talk to him about 'our' car. Divorced, huh? He makes a good first impression but it doesn't hold up.

  "Thanks for telling me about his quilt. Gotta see that. But first, I'm here to see the old quilt you and Magda finished."

  With that I directed Katie to Sweethearts, and left her.

  The crowd had died down from the crush and noise of people searching for Lena, and the small gathering for Len's talk. A gentle peace settled over the show, an easy hum with occasional exclamations and little squeals.

  I told him about meeting with Katie, it being her car, and that Len is still married.

  "The guy's a jerk. I'm don't know why you were ever with him."

  "I was young. And then, well...yes, he's a jerk." I let it go at that.

  Day one had been eventful way beyond what I'd expected. There was more on the night's menu. Dan and I went to our motel, "rested", and, after an early dinner, went back to the VFW building for the wrestling match. I could hardly believe we were there but was being supportive of Lena, and I must admit, too, to some curiosity.

  Magda and Sam also came.

  While Big Juan strutted around the ring prior to the start of the match, Lena joined his other fans in cheering him on, and put down his opponent.