by Mary Marks
His face relaxed in a smile. “I’m getting exactly what I want. Life has never been more complete than it is with you. I don’t care about the details.”
“This is why I’ll always be in love with you,” I said. “I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but marrying you is not one of them.”
Giselle cleared her throat for attention and shoved a bouquet of white roses in my hands. “Just follow us toward the other end of the ballroom, Sissy, and try not to trip and fall.” She smiled and winked. “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
Fanya pressed a small leather bag into my hands. “A segulah. For luck.” Then she joined the procession of matrons and man of honor.
Fanya’s amulet fit inside my dress between my breasts. I clutched the bouquet in one hand and hung on Crusher’s arm with the other. We walked slowly toward the front of the ballroom, where nearly one hundred guests stood waiting and watching. My navy-blue Crocs squeaked on the wooden floor, but I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned, we were walking on air.
The first person I saw in the crowd of smiling faces was my uncle Isaac. His smile was eclipsed only by the happiness on his new bride’s face. How odd that he had to wait until late in life to find his beshert. But once I got over my initial shock, I saw what he saw in Hilda: A noble, honest, compassionate woman who loved and admired him as much as he loved and admired her. I believe he saw her as a tabula rasa, a clean slate waiting for him to write their own brief love story.
I had insisted that my one-year-old granddaughter Daisy be allowed to attend our nighttime wedding. I spotted her as she giggled in her father’s arms, dressed in a tiny version of the dresses Jazz had made for the wedding party. I knew that somewhere in this huge estate, a little Maltese, also dressed in green, would find her way to the dinner and party afterward. As soon as she saw us walking in her direction, Daisy reached out her arms and grinned. “Baba!”
I waved back and threw her a kiss.
All of my attendants formed a semicircle around the chuppah, the cloth canopy under which Crusher and I would recite our vows. The chuppah was fastened at each corner to a pole, and the four poles were held by our friends: Hector “Malo” Fuentes, our neighbor and Crusher’s colleague; Harold Zimmerman, my sister’s fiancé; Ray Mondello, Lucy’s husband; and (big surprise) John Smith, director of counterintelligence at the FBI.
When Crusher and I stepped under the chuppah, my best friend, Lucy, pointed to the cloth over our heads. “Look.”
I craned my neck back to see the surprise my quilty friends must have sewn in secret. The chuppah was a small quilt pieced in the Double Wedding Ring pattern with blues and greens on a field of white. I recognized Birdie’s careful handiwork in the colorful flowers and leaves she’d appliquéd around the borders; blues and greens mostly, with soft yellow and lavender. The center of the middle ring featured our names and the date embroidered on white cotton with a blue satin stitch.
I looked at the faces of my friends, all carrying proud smiles. “It’s gorgeous!” I could scarcely breathe. “I’m so lucky to have such wonderful friends.”
“Fanya!” I leaned toward her and whispered, “Did you remember to put salt into the corners of this room?”
She nodded. “It took me the good part of an hour to get to all the rooms on this floor alone.”
I smiled at Crusher, my heart fluttering in my throat. “I guess this is it, Yossi. This is where we make it legal. Unless. . .”
He frowned. “Unless what?”
“Unless you have more wives you haven’t told me about.”
He let out peals of laughter. “And this, babe, is why I’ll always be in love with you.”
HANDY HINTS FOR HAND QUILTERS
In this age of longarm machine quilting, fewer and fewer quilts are stitched by hand. Let’s face it: We can get beautiful and rapid results using the machine as opposed to the dozens (or hundreds) of hours necessary to complete a quilt by hand. Many quilters object to taking that much time, saying, “I don’t have the patience.”
I get it. I have more unfinished quilt tops than I can possibly finish by hand in this lifetime. But I suggest there is great satisfaction in picking up a needle, biting into the layers of fabric, and letting your mind ramble and roam free. Hand quilting can be a form of meditation or devotion. Most of my finished quilts were given to family and friends. And almost every project was made with someone specific in mind. As I hand quilted, I poured into it my love and concern for that person. And more than once, I was told, “I sleep so much better with your quilt.”
So to encourage quilters to try hand quilting, I offer the following hints.
THINGS YOU NEED
• Package of “betweens” needles (The larger the number, the smaller the needle; the smaller the needle, the smaller the stitch.)
• Needle threader
• Grooved thimble that will hold the end of a needle
• Quilting thread with coating to prevent tangles
• Thread cutter
• Hoop or frame that will hold the quilt taut
• Good light
THINGS THAT SLOW YOU DOWN AND TIRE YOU OUT
• Fabric density
• Batting consistency
• Seams and multiple layers of fabric
• Dull needles
• Wrong thimble
• Tangled thread
• Uncomfortable posture, seating
THINGS THAT HELP YOU FOCUS
• Make sure the portion you are working on is clearly marked.
• Give yourself a treat while quilting (i.e., favorite TV show, videos, audiobooks, good music).
• Set achievement goals for each quilting session.
• Try to set aside a regular time each day for quilting.
THINGS TO REMEMBER
• It is not the length of the stitch so much as the consistency and even spacing that makes for pretty quilting.
• Stitching has its own rhythm that will carry you along. Develop a rhythm and you will develop even, fast stitches.
• Stop and admire your work often. Close your eyes and run your hands over the texture of the quilted fabric. It will inspire you and make you feel good to know that you put that texture there with each loving stitch.
Now go forth and quilt. And don’t forget that emergency package of M&M’ S.
