The Giving Quilt

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  “Would you want to be friends with Brenda if you weren’t members of the same quilt guild?” Ray asked her not long after her first anniversary with the guild passed, a milestone Pauline had hoped would lead to some softening of Brenda’s standoffish manner.

  “I really doubt it.” After so many slights and rebuffs, Pauline would not have persisted in trying to win over Brenda except that her unfriendliness was the only flaw that kept the Cherokee Rose Quilters from being, for Pauline at least, absolutely perfect.

  “Can you still work with her even if you’ll never be best buds?” Ray asked.

  “I’ve been able to all this time,” Pauline replied. “I guess I can keep it up.”

  And so she decided to abandon her dogged quest to get Brenda to like her. Pauline had admired the Cherokee Rose Quilters for too long to let one person prevent her from enjoying a group that otherwise meant the world to her. It was her refuge from her demanding, stressful job and her cherished but often overwhelming role as a wife and mother. She could not let one disappointment, however glaring, ruin it for her.

  She had almost resigned herself to Brenda’s indifference by the time she took over the office of guild treasurer. Pauline relished the opportunity to contribute more to the success of the group that had given her so much pleasure and inspiration. In her first month in office, she overhauled their accounting system, entered all their paper records into the computer, and linked to their bank accounts online, earning praise and heartfelt thanks from the others, who had discussed the upgrade for years but had been reluctant to take on such an arduous task. She paid their bills on time and met with their portfolio manager to be sure their investments were on track. It was the sort of task-oriented, attention-to-detail work she excelled at, and she thoroughly enjoyed it, except for one important but nagging duty she was required to complete every few months: collecting fees from her fellow guild members.

  Upon joining the guild, every member was informed of the various financial contributions that would be expected of her, from annual membership dues to donations to the president’s thank-you gift fund. It was the treasurer’s responsibility to announce upcoming deadlines, calculate the required fees, and collect payments. Most guild members paid promptly and without complaint within days of receiving Pauline’s reminder e-mails, and a few paid ahead of time. Inevitably, some members forgot until the due date arrived, and Pauline would field a flurry of apologetic e-mails and phone calls assuring her they would send her a check the following morning.

  And then there was Brenda.

  She never paid on time—not her annual dues, not her nominal year-end donation to the museum endowment, not her contribution to the supplies fund, which they used to buy cones of thread and batting for their charity quilts. Pauline found herself nudging Brenda nearly every month for one outstanding bill or another. The first time Brenda missed a deadline, Pauline paid for her and sent her a cheerful e-mail assuring Brenda that she could reimburse her at their next meeting. Two weeks later, Brenda instead mailed her a check, without a word of thanks or explanation. After a few more missed payments, Pauline began to wonder if Brenda and her husband had fallen upon hard times like so many other folks, and she considered offering to pay Brenda’s guild debts until they got back on their feet. Fortunately, before she could figure out how to delicately propose an arrangement, she overheard Brenda discussing the new car she was buying with her husband’s annual bonus, sparing Pauline from offending Brenda beyond redemption by offering unnecessary charity. If money wasn’t the issue, Pauline wondered, why wouldn’t Brenda just pay up on time like everyone else?

  As the months passed and stretched into years, Pauline retained the position of treasurer, a time-consuming post that no one else especially wanted and everyone—except Brenda—agreed she handled with aplomb. She hoped she would become accustomed to Brenda’s quirks and more patient in dealing with them, but instead she only became more practiced at concealing her annoyance. She vented to Ray, but she couldn’t bring herself to complain to Jeanette, the guild president, or any of her other close friends in the guild. As far as she could tell, everyone else liked Brenda and considered her a valued member of their circle, whereas sometimes, even after five years in the guild, Pauline still felt as if she had to prove herself worthy. And so, in the interest of maintaining peace and harmony, she kept her frustrations to herself, gritting her teeth every time she sent Brenda one courteous e-mail reminder after another, paid Brenda’s overdue fees, and awaited reimbursement rather than let the guild’s accounts slip into the red.

  She should have known that approach would work only so long.

  Eight months before Quiltsgiving, when the Cherokee Rose Quilters had recovered from the previous year’s charity fund-raiser retreat but weren’t quite ready to begin planning the next, the catering manager of the Château Élan phoned Pauline with an enticing offer. In appreciation for their longstanding relationship, the Château Élan offered to reduce their usual fees by 25 percent if the quilt guild would pay half up front at least six months before the date of their event.

  The offer was enticing. The Cherokee Rose Quilters could contribute the money they saved on resort expenses to the home-less shelter, or the museum endowment fund, or additional supplies for their charity quilts, or scholarships to defray the costs of their retreats for quilters facing financial hardship, or any number of good works. But could they pay half up front as the Château Élan required? Usually the guild paid a nominal fee when they booked their reservation, followed by a larger percentage of the total cost after registration fees began coming in, about three months before the retreat. They had already paid that year’s booking fee, but half up front would be a rather considerable sum, more than what remained of their annual budget.

  Pauline promised to get back in touch with the catering manager as soon as she discussed his proposal with the rest of the guild.

  First she examined their accounts to see what she had to work with. By taking a little from this fund and a little from that, and shifting some surplus from here to there, she figured they could scrape together enough cash if each guild member contributed an additional two hundred dollars. It could be considered an early payment of their annual membership dues, and when the retreat tuition checks began rolling in, they could replenish the guild’s account. No one would have to pay a dime more than usual; they would simply have to pay earlier.

  Pauline knew that some of the Cherokee Rose Quilters were quite well off; others, like herself, belonged to households that managed to get by fairly comfortably on two modest incomes. A few struggled, supporting themselves on their artist’s commissions without the benefit of a spouse’s salary. Pauline realized that especially for these few, an early payment of their annual dues might not fit within their tight budgets, and she was tempted to forget the whole plan rather than ask anyone to pay more than they could afford. But when she thought of all the good they could do with that 25 percent savings, she knew it was her responsibility to tell the guild about the Château Élan’s offer and what they needed to do to accept it.

  She outlined her proposal in an e-mail, which she sent out to the guild’s mailing list. Within minutes, several members replied to the list, agreeing that the challenges of paying their dues earlier than usual were outweighed by the benefits of saving such a large sum. A casual vote conducted by e-mail a few days later was unanimously in favor of accepting the catering manager’s offer. No one abstained from the vote, not even Brenda, who typically did not bother to respond to any of Pauline’s messages.

  The day after the vote, Pauline called the catering manager to confirm and sent out another e-mail to the guild asking them to pay her at the next meeting. Nearly everyone remembered, and of the three that forgot, two apologized and promised to put a check in the mail the next day. The third was Brenda, who looked past Pauline’s shoulder, shrugged, and said, “Oh, I’ll get it to you in time. Relax.
You’re fine.”

  Pauline felt her hackles rise, smiling through clenched teeth as Brenda turned and wandered off. Nothing was less likely to make her relax than Brenda’s command that she do so, and she was definitely not fine. “In time” meant at that meeting, not some vague date of Brenda’s choosing in the distant future. The resort had set a deadline, and if they didn’t have all the money by then, they wouldn’t receive their savings.

  Checks from the other two forgetful members arrived within days, but Brenda sent nothing. A week after the meeting, Pauline e-mailed her a cheerful reminder, to which, not unexpectedly, she received no reply. Another week passed without a word, so Pauline sent another, considerably less cheerful e-mail. The third week brought more silence and yet another reminder, and before Pauline knew it, a month had gone by. Pauline had hoped that Brenda would slip her a check at the guild meeting, but Brenda didn’t so much as glance in Pauline’s direction by the time the evening wrapped up and the quilters headed out to their cars.

  Pauline steeled herself and hurried to catch up with Brenda before she could drive away. “I guess you haven’t been getting my e-mails,” she began, managing what she hoped was a cordial smile.

  “Oh, yes, those.” Brenda shifted her purse on her shoulder and glanced at her watch. “I got them.”

  “Oh, good. I was worried. So, did you bring a check?”

  “No, not tonight. I said I’d pay you in time and I will. Relax.”

  There was that word again. “Brenda, it’s already past time to be ‘in time.’ Could you write me a check tonight so I can pay the resort, please?”

  “I don’t carry a checkbook. I do all my checks on my computer.”

  Or not at all, as it suited her. “Okay, then when can I expect to receive it?”

  “Soon.” Brenda’s SUV chirped as she pressed a button on her key fob. Pauline stepped out of the way as she opened the door and climbed aboard. Without another glance in Pauline’s direction, Brenda drove off, leaving Pauline dumbfounded and fuming in her wake.

  Pauline could have paid Brenda’s share as she had many times before, but Ray didn’t like it and Pauline wasn’t especially thrilled with shelling out so much money with no idea when she might be reimbursed. But it wasn’t just about what Pauline could afford or couldn’t. A principle was at stake. Brenda had voted in favor of the plan, she had agreed to pay, and her salary was at least twice Pauline’s, so she could certainly afford it. She was just being stubborn. She just didn’t like Pauline telling her what to do.

  Pauline waited four days, long enough to be sure that if Brenda had mailed the check the day after the guild meeting, it would have arrived. And then, with the resort’s deadline swiftly approaching, she composed an e-mail to the guild, the usual weekly summary of their accounts, income, and expenditures. In a postscript, she noted that the resort’s deadline for securing their discount was only two weeks away. “Almost everyone has paid,” she added, “so, Brenda, if you could please get that check to me immediately, I’d really appreciate it.”

  The first response was from the guild president addressed to the entire list, thanking Pauline for the detailed update.

  The second response was from Brenda, and it was sent privately.

  From: Brenda.Hughley@peachmail.com

  To: pauline.e.tucker@monroecty.ga.gov

  Subject: Your e-mail

  Pauline:

  Thanks for the oh-so-thoughtful reminders about the payment. FYI, I already have a mother, but if you would like the job I can definitely tell you where to go to apply.

  I will tell you yet again to RELAX. I have been a Cherokee Rose Quilter for much longer than you and have always paid my fees. I told you I would take care of it and I will. If the treasurer job has become too stressful for you, maybe it is time for you to let someone else take over.

  Brenda

  Pauline felt as if the air had been squeezed from her lungs. Hands shaking, she scrolled back to the top of the e-mail and read it again. Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself out of her chair, paced to the window, and forced herself to sit down and read the message again.

  It was no better on the third reading than it had been on the first.

  Pauline sat back in her chair, wondering what to do. She wanted to call Ray, but she hated to bother him at work. She wanted to call Jeanette, but she and her family were spending the weekend at their cabin in the Chattahoochee National Forest. So instead she forwarded the e-mail to Jeanette, adding only a single word as preamble: “Wow.”

  She doubted that Jeanette would have e-mail access even on her phone, so she wasn’t really expecting a response. When Ray came home from the office, she promptly dragged him off to the computer and showed him the e-mail. “Maybe you should apply for the mother job,” he mused, peering at the screen. “You would have brought her up to take care of her responsibilities.”

  “For all we know, her mother tried her best, but Brenda wouldn’t listen.” Pauline paced back and forth. “What should I do? I have to respond somehow.”

  “Don’t do anything yet.” Ray wrapped her in a hug and pulled her close to his burly chest. “Sleep on it, and write back when you’re calm and collected. You can’t unsay something once it’s said.”

  Wearily, Pauline agreed.

  That night she slept poorly, and the next morning she felt far from calm and collected. She picked at her breakfast before realizing she had no appetite, so she sat down at the computer to compose a response before sending the kids out to the school bus and heading off to work. The words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t think of what she could possibly say to defend herself, to get Brenda to pay up, and to make peace between them. Perhaps that was too much to ask of a single e-mail. With time running out, she instead wrote to Daria, the previous guild treasurer.

  From: pauline.e.tucker@monroecty.ga.gov

  To: stitcherdaria@georgiapostal.com

  Subject: Fwd: Your e-mail

  Hi, Daria. I apologize for dragging you into this, but after discussing this upsetting e-mail from Brenda with Ray, I wanted to ask your advice as the person I inherited this job from. My only intention was to make sure we met the resort’s deadline and secured the reduced rate, but Brenda has clearly taken offense. I’m willing to step down as treasurer if you think that’s appropriate.

  Thanks,

  Pauline

  She didn’t realize she was considering resigning from office until she wrote the words.

  She sent a similar e-mail to Jeanette, with apologies for interrupting her vacation with such ugliness, and then she left for work. When she returned home later that afternoon, she hoped to find supportive responses full of wisdom and sympathy in her in-box, but neither Daria nor Jeanette had replied, leaving her feeling more alone and lost than ever. Pauline was reluctant to write back to Brenda without first consulting another member of the guild, but she worried that Brenda would interpret silence as cowed acquiescence. So, with a little editorial help from Ray, she responded and hoped for the best.

  From: pauline.e.tucker@monroecty.ga.gov

  To: Brenda.Hughley@peachmail.com

  Subject: Re: Your e-mail

  Hi, Brenda.

  I regret that my reminders offended you. All I wanted was to get us that discount and to save us some money that we could put to good use, but that’s clearly not how you took it.

  From my point of view, though, your response was unnecessarily hostile. If you think I’ve treated you inappropriately or unfairly, you should feel free to tell me in a frank, constructive manner.

  I hope we can clear the air, since we may be working together as members of the Cherokee Rose Quilters for quite some time.

  Thanks,

  Pauline

  The next day, Brenda wrote back.

  From: Brenda.Hughley@peachmail.com

 
To: pauline.e.tucker@monroecty.ga.gov

  Subject: Re: Your e-mail

  Pauline:

  I did not feel that you handled things in a nice, appropriate manner. Since you are not my mother, you did not need to repeatedly remind me after I told you in person that I would pay on time. If you couldn’t resist, you should have (1) been nice about it and (2) told me privately instead of dragging the whole guild into it.

  The way I see it, you started the snippy comments and when I called you on it, you did not like the results. What did you expect? You ought to know to treat others as you would like to be treated.

  That said, I do not hold a grudge against you. I just did not feel that the snide comments were appreciated or necessary.

  Brenda

  Pauline read the message twice through before sitting back in her chair, utterly bewildered. Which of her comments, either spoken or written, could be construed as snide? How was it snippy to remind Brenda her payments were overdue? Pauline knew snide and snippy, and if she had wanted to be either she could have piled on the snide and snippy as thick and searing as a can of tar on an open fire in the Mojave.

  “How big of her, not to hold a grudge against you for doing your job,” Ray remarked later when she showed him Brenda’s latest missive. “Sounds like she has some mother issues too.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that.” Pauline sighed heavily. Her head ached and her heart hurt. “I also noticed that she seems completely unaware that she said anything wrong, she doesn’t acknowledge that she should have paid up by the deadline, and—and this is key—she doesn’t mention anything about finally getting me that stinking check.”

  Ray snorted. “I wouldn’t count on getting one cent from her. She’s dug in her heels, and now she’s stalling just to spite you.”

  But it wasn’t only Pauline she was spiting. If they didn’t pay the resort on time, the Cherokee Rose Quilters would lose the reduced rate, and they wouldn’t have that tidy sum of money to put toward other causes.