The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club - 02 - The Tattered Quilt

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  “It is time-consuming to quilt,” Emma said, “but it’s well worth the effort. Nowadays, the patterned pieces are usually pieced by machine instead of by hand.”

  “That’s a relief,” the Hispanic woman at the end of the table said, heaving a sigh. “I can’t imagine having to do everything by hand.”

  “I’m sure I could do it,” Selma spoke up. “I’ve had a lot of experience mending things by hand.”

  Selma was the only one Terry knew by name, although he’d never spoken to her before. Most times when he’d gone over to Jan’s, the nosy old woman was busy outside, pulling weeds, watering the flowers, or picking up things she didn’t think should be in her yard. Terry had noticed that as soon as he pulled into Jan’s yard, Selma would suddenly appear in her yard. She always acted as if she was busy with something but kept glancing their way, like a neighborhood snoop. After hearing some of the stories Jan had shared about Selma, Terry had decided it was best to give her a wide birth.

  “Mending’s not the same as quilting, though,” Emma’s husband, Lamar, interjected. “I’m sure everyone will find it much easier to use one of Emma’s sewing machines.”

  “I don’t know about that,” the cute little blond said with a shake of her head. “I’ve tried using my mother’s sewing machine several times and have never gotten the hang of it.”

  “You look like the type of woman who can do anything she sets her mind to,” Terry said, leaning close to her.

  She wrinkled her nose, leaned away, and reached for a piece of chalk Emma had placed in the center of the table.

  Terry grimaced, while tactfully straightening in his seat. Do I have bad breath or something? Stupid me, I shoulda put a breath mint in my mouth before I came in here.

  Turning his head and trying to remain inconspicuous, he cupped his hand over his mouth and cleared his throat. For the life of him, Terry couldn’t remember what he last ate. Taking a quick glance around at everyone, he was glad Emma still had their full attention. So far so good. No one seemed to be looking at him. Hoping to remain unobserved, Terry expelled a little air into the palm of his hand. Cupping his hand over his nose, he inhaled deeply, and quickly lowered his hand before anyone noticed what he’d done. Naw, don’t think so. My breath smells okay to me. Maybe it’s my body that stinks. I could be pretty ripe from cleaning up those shingles. I’ll never get to first base with this gal if she won’t even talk to me.

  “What will we do after our pieces have been sewn onto the quilt top?” the Hispanic woman asked, giving Terry a sideways glance and raising her eyebrows.

  “Then the backing, the batting, and the quilt top will be layered, put into a hoop, and quilted by hand,” Emma replied.

  Perspiration beaded on Terry’s forehead and upper lip. He really had bitten off more than he could chew. If he tried sewing anything, he was sure he’d look like a fool.

  “When that step is done, the binding will be put on and your wall hangings will be done,” Lamar interjected.

  Emma nodded. “You should be able to complete the project in six weeks.”

  Six whole weeks? Terry groaned inwardly. Short of a miracle, it would probably take him a year to make a quilted wall hanging—if he could make one at all.

  Cheryl tried to concentrate on what Emma was telling the class, but it was hard to focus when the red-haired fellow sitting beside her kept saying things to her, while checking her out. At least she thought that was why he kept staring at her and taking every opportunity to lean in closer. Between the two men sitting at the table, the scruffy-looking fellow beside her was the least appealing. Not that Cheryl was looking for another man. But if she was, the nice-looking guy across the table seemed to be more her type. Of course he hadn’t said or done anything to make Cheryl think he was interested in her. It was just as well. She didn’t need the complications, and she was here for only one reason—to learn from Emma and see that Grandma’s quilt got repaired.

  They all worked silently for a while, cutting out their squares and points for the stars. Then, reaching into his shirt pocket, Terry pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

  Emma’s mouth dropped open, and Lamar’s bushy gray eyebrows shot straight up.

  “Hey, now don’t go lighting up in here. You ought to have more respect for Emma than that.” The clean-cut guy across the table leveled the redheaded man with a look that could have halted a runaway freight train.

  Cheryl felt relief. Earlier, when Terry first sat down, she’d noticed a stale cigarette odor on his clothing, and again, on his breath when he’d move in closer to speak to her. With the allergy she had to smoke, the last thing Cheryl needed was someone blowing smoke in her face.

  “Sorry. Guess I wasn’t thinking.” Terry rose from his chair. “I’ll go outside for a smoke.”

  “Why smoke at all?” Selma asked, wrinkling her nose. “It’s a nasty habit, not to mention bad for your health.”

  “Yeah, well, I enjoy smoking. Besides, it’s my health I’ve gotta worry about, not yours,” Terry retorted.

  “You don’t have to be so rude,” Selma huffed, crossing her arms. “A guy like you doesn’t even belong in this class.”

  Neither does a busybody like you, Cheryl thought, watching as Terry hurried from the room.

  Emma knew she’d have to do something soon with this class, or things would get out of control. She remembered back to her first quilting class, when Jan and Stuart had nearly gotten into a fight because of their hostilities. She couldn’t let that happen again.

  After Terry returned, Emma remembered that proper introductions hadn’t yet been made. “Why don’t we start at this end of the table and each of you can share something about yourselves—where you live and anything that might help us get to know you better. After all, we will be spending the next six Saturdays together.” She motioned to Carmen. “Would you like to go first?”

  Carmen moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “My name is Carmen Lopez, and I live in Los Angeles.” She hesitated a minute, looking a bit anxious. “I’m visiting my brother-in-law, Paul Ramirez, and his little girl, Sophia. I’m taking the quilt class because it seems—uh—interesting.”

  Emma nodded. “Paul was part of my first quilting class, and we’ve become good friends. It’s always a joy when he stops by with his little girl.” She touched Carmen’s shoulder. “Is there anything else you would like to share?”

  “I think that’s all,” Carmen replied, staring down at the table. She appeared to be a bit uncomfortable all of a sudden.

  Emma motioned to Anna. “It’s your turn.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” the young woman mumbled. “My name’s Anna Lambright, and I live in Middlebury. I came to the quilt class because my mom signed me up, but I really don’t want to be here.”

  Emma was stunned. She hadn’t expected Anna to be so blunt.

  “Blaine, why don’t you go next?” Lamar suggested, as though sensing Emma’s discomfort.

  “My name’s Blaine Vickers. I work at a sporting goods store in Mishawaka.” A patch of pink erupted on Blaine’s cheeks. “I’m here because I made a bet with my friend, Stuart, about who could catch the biggest fish. I lost, so now I have to learn how to quilt.”

  There were a few murmurs from the ladies, and a snicker from Terry, but before anyone could say anything, Emma moved on. “Selma, you’re next.”

  “My name is Selma Nash, and I live here in Shipshewana. I’m here because my neighbor, Jan Sweet, paid for me to take the class. I thought I’d better take advantage of it, because I doubt something like that will ever happen again.”

  Emma glanced at Lamar, to get his reaction, and he gave her a quick wink. They’d both gotten to know Jan rather well since he’d taken the quilt classes, and they knew that despite his rough exterior, he was a kind, generous man.

  Emma then asked Cheryl to introduce herself.

  “My name is Cheryl Halverson, and I live in Goshen.” She motioned to the tattered quilt she’d brought along. “
At the suggestion of my pastor’s wife, I brought my grandma’s old quilt to Emma for repair. After I got here, I decided to take the quilting class.”

  “Guess it’s my turn.” Terry spoke up before Emma had a chance to say he was next. “I’m Terry Cooley, and I also live here in Shipshe.” He grinned at Cheryl. “In case you didn’t know it, Shipshe’s what many of the locals call Shipshewana. Oh, and I’m a roofer by trade.”

  “What made you decide to join our quilting class?” Lamar asked.

  Terry scooted around in his chair, giving his ponytail a quick twist. Then he blew out his breath in a noisy, almost snort. “Well, uh…I just thought to myself, if Jan could take the class and like it, then maybe I would, too.” He glanced over at Cheryl and grinned. “Thought it might be a chance to make a few new friends as well.”

  No words were needed as the rhythm of Cheryl’s nails clicking on the table spelled out her annoyance with Terry.

  Oh dear, Emma thought, seizing the moment to glance out the window, then turning to look at Lamar. His gentle-looking eyes reassured her, even though she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Emma didn’t want to feel discouraged, but she couldn’t help wondering if this was going to be another challenging class. If so, Lord, please give me the right words to help these students.

  CHAPTER 8

  How’d things go with the quilt class?” Jan asked Terry as they headed to Emma and Lamar’s Monday morning to begin putting on the new roof.

  “I would have told you on Saturday if you’d come back to get me,” Terry muttered, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes.

  “I couldn’t help it. When Star called and said one of her tires went flat, I had to rescue her. I tried calling, but you didn’t answer your cell phone, so I left a message.”

  “I didn’t realize my phone was turned off. Then when I did turn it on, the battery was dead. Selma saw me walking home, so she stopped and offered me a ride.” Terry groaned. “It was nice of her to drive me home, and it sure beat walking, but that woman nearly drove me nuts with all her snide remarks about nearly everyone in the class. She even had something mean to say about Cheryl.”

  “Who’s Cheryl?” Jan asked.

  “That hot-looking blond I plan to take out,” Terry proclaimed, blowing rings of smoke.

  Jan cranked his head as they drove past the parking lot of the local grocery store.

  “Hey! You’d better watch where you’re going!” Terry shouted.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. I was checking out that Harley in the parking lot back there.”

  Terry glanced back at the cycle. “It’s a nice one, all right.”

  “About that date,” Jan said, “did you get anywhere with it?”

  Terry shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Did she show any interest in you at all?”

  “No, and I don’t wanna rush it. Just give me a chance to work my charm on her.”

  Jan shook his head. “I still say she’s not your type, and I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “Well, you know what they say…opposites attract.” Terry swallowed as he flicked what was left of his cigarette out the window. “She sure is pretty and seems really nice, and I’m definitely attracted to her.”

  “You know, I do have an ashtray,” Jan muttered.

  “I didn’t think there was room in there. Not with all the gum wrappers and stuff you have jammed inside. When was the last time you cleaned out this truck anyways?” Terry asked.

  “Been awhile, I guess.”

  “Been awhile?” Terry looked at Jan, raising his brows and pointing at the dashboard. “I’ll bet I could tell you every burger joint you’ve stopped at within the last month by all the Styrofoam cups and wrappers you have stuffed up there. It looks like you’ve been living in this truck.”

  “S–weet, isn’t it?” Jan snickered. “This rig is sorta like my man cave, you know.” He poked Terry with his elbow. “Anyways, back to this Cheryl gal. What if the interest you have in her ain’t mutual? Then what are you gonna do?”

  “Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

  “Sure, whatever. Why don’t you tell me about Selma? How’d she do at the quilt class?”

  Terry grunted. “I don’t even know why she came. She already knows everything about making a quilt.”

  Jan’s eyebrows furrowed. “She does? Then why she’d agree to take the class?”

  “Maybe she didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Or maybe she really doesn’t know much about quilting and was just trying to act like she does.”

  Jan gave his index finger a quick pop before grabbing the wheel again. “You know, I’ll bet that’s it. It don’t surprise me, neither. Selma probably acted like a know-it-all to cover up for what she doesn’t know. She’s one complicated woman.”

  Selma set her plate of scrambled eggs on the kitchen table and heaved a sigh as she took a seat. Another day of having breakfast and wishing she had someone to share it with. She missed her husband and daughter so much. She couldn’t bring John back from the dead, and she’d all but given up on ever seeing Cora again. Selma attended church on a regular basis, yet she had no real friends. Everyone had their own families, like she’d had once, and what would anyone want to do with a lonely old woman?

  Selma took a bite of her scrambled eggs and tried not to let images from the past clog her brain like they’d done so many times before. The last thing she wanted to do was stir up old memories. All it did was make her yearn for the past. And she knew all too well that the past was the past, and there was no getting it back.

  She glanced at the calendar on the wall near the sink. Well, at least I have another quilting class to go to. I just wish I didn’t have to wait until Saturday.

  Selma had all of her squares cut out and couldn’t wait to start sewing them together. If she weren’t afraid of her teacher’s reaction, she’d use her own sewing machine and sew them this week instead of waiting to do them during class.

  A thump on the back porch drove Selma’s thoughts aside, and she pushed away from the table. Since the thump wasn’t followed by a knock on the door, she figured it wasn’t someone coming to visit. Don’t tell me one of the neighbor kids threw something on my porch.

  Draping a sweater around her shoulders so she wouldn’t get chilled, she opened the door and was surprised to see a mangy-looking gray cat staring up at her. Meow!

  “Go away. Shoo!” Selma clapped her hands, but the cat didn’t budge. “Go on now, get!” She stamped her feet and reached for the broom leaning against the wall near her door. “Go back to wherever you belong!”

  The cat hissed and bounded off the porch. Selma stepped back inside and slammed the door. “Stupid neighborhood pests,” she mumbled. “You’ll never catch me owning a cat or a dog!” Shuffling her slipper-covered feet back to the table so she could finish her breakfast, Selma realized that the cat didn’t have a collar. Maybe it was just a stray. Well, she hoped it didn’t come around her place again!

  Mishawaka

  “How’d things go at the quilting class?” Stuart asked when Blaine arrived at work Monday morning.

  Blaine frowned. “Let’s just say that I’ve had more fun sitting in the dentist’s chair than I did during those two grueling hours. And that’s saying a lot, because I hate going to the dentist.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  Blaine nodded. “No wonder you dreaded going to that class.”

  “I did at first,” Stuart admitted, “but after I got to know everyone, they kind of became my friends. At least most of them did. I never got that close to the biker or his newfound daughter, though.”

  “Well, I doubt anyone attending Emma’s class will ever be my friend. There were too many people eyeballing me, and it made me sweat.”

  Stuart’s eyebrows lifted. “How many people are taking the class?”

  “Six, counting me.”

  “That’s the same number that were in my class. You shouldn’t feel nervous around that small of a g
roup. It’s not like you’re teaching the class or anything.”

  “I know, but it wasn’t just the amount of people there.”

  “What was it then?”

  “I felt some sort of undercurrent going on, and you know I don’t like conflict—even when I’m not personally involved.”

  “What kind of conflict?” Stuart wanted to know.

  Blaine leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “Let’s see now…this white-haired lady, Selma, acted like she knew more than Emma. She was a bit snippy, too. Oh, and the young Amish woman who came in late obviously had a chip on her shoulder and even said she didn’t want to be there. Then there was the Hispanic woman who seemed kind of nervous. Oh, and the redheaded roofer was obnoxious and kept trying to hit on the pretty blond woman, who clearly didn’t like him or his ashtray aroma.”

  “So the guy’s a smoker, huh?”

  “Yeah. He actually tried to light up in Emma’s house, but I put a stop to that. He ended up going outside for a smoke, and I was hoping he wouldn’t come back.”

  Stuart laughed. “Sounds like another group of challenging characters for Emma and Lamar to deal with.” He gave Blaine’s arm a reassuring tap. “Just relax and enjoy the ride. By the end of the six weeks, you might feel differently about things. Believe me, I never thought so at first, but it does get better.”

  “I doubt that,” Blaine muttered. “And I probably won’t know any more about quilting than I do right now.”

  Goshen

  Cheryl gripped the steering wheel tightly as she headed for work. She’d awakened with a headache and had thought about calling in sick. But she wasn’t going to give in to it. She’d taken an aspirin with a strong cup of coffee and told herself that she could get through the day. Maybe by the time she got to the office, the aspirin would take effect.