The Quilting House

by Elizabeth Bromke

  “No,” he answered, his stare narrowing tighter on her, as he released his arm from her waist and moved both hands. Their hands found each other. “I’m going to Louisville. I wasn’t, before. When you ended things, I applied to the UofA, ASU, New Mexico—anywhere that wasn’t here. But then I did a lot of thinking and I remembered what you said.”

  “What did I say?”

  “You said you wanted to get of town, but not for good. That you’d stay here and open a business, and now look at you, Gretchen.”

  “What?” She wished she could look at herself. She’d scarcely had time to put on makeup before Mass. Her reunion with Theo was unexpected, and her attention was split between that and finding Liesel and pinning her down before she could run off to Michigan without that quilting lesson.

  “You’re opening a business,” he said.

  At that, Gretchen frowned deep. “I mean,” she started, blinking, “I want to, but that doesn’t mean all that much.”

  “But—”

  “Theo. Gretchen.”

  Liesel’s voice startled them both, but Gretchen saw Theo turn slightly pale. He cleared his throat and hooked a thumb at Miss Liesel. “I’ll um…” his eyes darted from Liesel to Gretchen twice, settling at last on Gretchen, whom he pecked on the cheek. “I’ll go get us each a slice of pie. Pumpkin, right?”

  He knew her well. Her lips pricked into a smile and she nodded at him.

  “I have an idea,” Liesel said to Gretchen when they were alone together.

  Chapter 16—Liesel

  It was a wild idea. But it was a good one. What’s more? It’d force Liesel to have roots somewhere. Roots of her own. Roots she could share with another soul on this earth, too.

  She had the money. Her mother’s. She had the time. Plenty.

  She just needed the inspiration.

  But it was a big offer, and it was an offer she didn’t care to enter lightly into. So, instead of first approaching Gretchen, she went to Maggie, tugging her away from Rhett and into the hall at the Inn, a private conversation among adults concerning another, emerging adult.

  With Maggie’s blessing, Liesel next went to Theo. She could see plain as day the boy’s plan, and if this might interfere, then she’d drop it.

  He swore up and down that it wouldn’t, though. And so, after talking to him and running some figures through her head—Liesel knew her own finances well—she stole a moment alone to compose her thoughts. She’d missed Luke’s dessert spiel and had precious little time before they’d set off for the lighting.

  She’d been in the hall that stretched from the foyer to the little closet beyond the front desk, and so when she overheard Theo start to reveal her inquiry, she darted out as fast as Santa flew down chimneys.

  “Idea?” Gretchen asked, her cheeks pink, though whether from the weather, or Theo, or even Liesel, it was hard to tell.

  “Your crafting store idea. I want to help you.”

  “You’ll teach me to quilt, then?” Gretchen asked, her eyes sparkling.

  “I’ll teach you, yes. But also, I’ll invest. I’ll—I’ll help you finish the barn and convert it however you see fit. Is that where you’d like to have the shop?”

  Gretchen was processing the offer, that much was clear. Her eyebrows fell low down to her eyes, her mouth twitched. “Invest… you mean, like, you’ll help me get started?”

  “In every way I can, yes,” Liesel confirmed, smiling. “From the ground up. We’ll order inventory. Decorate together. I’ll help you host your first quilting class, too.”

  “Oh, Miss Liesel, but… but Michigan? And… Little Flock and everything else you do. What about Tabby? And Luke and Greta? Your time and money are surely better spent on them.”

  “It’s an investment, not just a gift. We’ll do this together, Gretchen. Anyway, I was looking for a new project to sink my needles into.” She winked at Gretchen and pulled the slender girl in for a tight hug.

  “We can call it L&G Crafts and More.”

  “I think,” Liesel replied, “if you don’t mind, I have a better name.”

  Before she could divulge it, however, they were interrupted.

  “Liesel?”

  She whipped around to find Mark Ketchum standing there. His Christmas sweater a deep burgundy wool thing. His slacks, pressed to within an inch of their starch-stricken life, a harsh line dragging past each of his knees. He looked itchy. And nervous. And out of sorts. And… adorable.

  Liesel tugged discreetly at the neck of her own sweater. “Mark, hi.” She flicked a glance to Gretchen. “Were you looking for… Theo? Or Luke?”

  He shook his head and licked his lips. “Um.” Then, he cleared his throat before dropping his voice. “No. I’m looking for you.”

  Liesel reddened as Gretchen excused herself, slipping into the rest of the party like a partridge in a pear tree. Liesel watched her go, desperately hoping she’d turn around and drag Liesel away with her.

  No such luck.

  “Sorry if I’m bothering you?” It was more a question than an apology.

  Liesel felt compelled to offer him assurance. “Oh, of course not.” It had been ages since she’d chatted with Mark. Truly chatted. In fact, the last time she could remember was years back, when her mother was still alive, at that Community Christmas Dinner.

  Her gaze fell to his hand from which a bag hung. Brown paper. A red piece of yarn was tied neatly, in a small bow around the handles.

  He lifted the bag. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to get this to you for a while now.”

  Her brows fell in, but a smile played on her mouth. “A while, huh? What is it?”

  Something deep inside told Liesel he hadn’t necessarily intended to exchange gifts with her.

  “It’s yours,” he said. “And it’s time it found its way back.”

  He passed her the bag, and their fingertips brushed.

  Liesel didn’t have to open it to know what was inside. She didn’t even have to peek. She handed it back. “No, it’s yours,” she said, her stare intent on him. His on her, too.

  Mark cocked his head. “How do you know what it is?”

  Liesel closed her eyes for a moment, pressed her hand to her head then looked at him again. “I made that quilt for a reason. And it was meant for you, Mark. Still is.” Inside, she wondered, though, if this wasn’t her quilt’s special journey. Its way back to her. Her face froze as she studied the bag in her own hand now. She lifted it back towards him. “Please.”

  “Well,” Mark answered, accepting the bag and dropping his chin, “maybe we can share it? Tonight, at the tree lighting? I’m taking my truck over, and I could use a good blanket to sit on.”

  Step 7—Finish the Quilt

  “Let me get this straight,” Liesel said to her mother as she set up the sewing machine, “we’ve patched nine blocks together, added batting and backing, and we haven’t made a quilt yet?”

  “Well, we’ve been quilting, yes. We’ve been making a quilt, that is,” her mother replied, lining up two markers—one in front of each of them.

  “We’ve been quilting this whole time, but we don’t have a quilt yet?”

  “No, Liesel,” her mother answered. “It’s not a quilt until you quilt the quilt. Until then, it’s a blanket.” She laughed, that warm, buttery laugh, soft and sweet and low. Liesel couldn’t well be mad at the woman now. They’d come this far.

  Still, she couldn’t imagine spending another day on the project. “Let’s just leave it as a blanket,” Liesel suggested.

  Her mother frowned and dismissed the notion without hesitation. “Where’s the fun? Where’s the artistry?”

  “The magic,” Liesel whispered.

  Her mother’s face pulled serious, and she nodded. “Now, you get it.”

  It took them another few days to finish the final sewing, pretty patterns for Liesel to play with, before it was time for the quilt to head out on its journey. A journey that Liesel couldn’t well predict. Who knew wha
t would become of Little Fern? Or Liesel’s mother, or Liesel even, for that matter? Or Little Flock?

  Liesel and her mother laid the finished quilt across the kitchen table. It had been a while since the Hart family had enjoyed supper there together, and the boys were starting to get cranky about it.

  But now, looking at the nine blocks—three rows stacked neatly with that precious, simple shoo-fly pattern—Liesel didn’t much care what the boys were cranky about. She was proud. Prouder than she’d ever been in her life. Proud of herself and, strangely, proud of her mother. Seeing the woman through this light—as an intimate teacher, a leader, and a mentor… but also as an artist… it was moving. So moving, indeed, that Liesel felt a bit emotional to give the thing away at all.

  “Maybe we should keep it.”

  Her mother smoothed her hand down the center of the quilt then looked at Liesel. “You’ll make more.”

  “It’s my first one,” Liesel argued.

  “True,” her mother answered. Then she smiled. “It’s your decision.”

  “When can I start on the next one?” Liesel asked.

  Her mother laughed. “I thought you were burnt out?”

  Liesel shrugged. “I’m addicted, I think.”

  “You can start as soon as you’d like. Though, you’ll need more fabric, and to get more fabric, you’ll need money.”

  Sighing, Liesel stared hard at the quilt. The first she’d ever made. With her mother’s help, but still…

  “I’ll give this one to Fern. They need it for the Nativity anyway. And as for fabric, well, I’ll… I’ll take on odd jobs.”

  “I can pay you to turn beds. Same as I pay the other housekeepers.” Her mother had offered Liesel this part-time job over and again, although it never sat quite right with her. Then again, previously, Liesel hadn’t cared to make any money. Money, to her, was simply for covering the necessities.

  Now, it would appear, fabric had become a necessity. “I’ll turn beds and do whatever I need to,” Liesel answered determinedly.

  “Remember how I told you that some ladies will send their quilts out for binding and even the final sewing?”

  “Yes.” Liesel waited with bated breath for her mother’s next great idea.

  “Do you know ol’ Miss Devereux, the seamstress?”

  “Of course. She’s running the Nativity.”

  “She used to do that. She used to take in other ladies’ quilts and finish them. Up there in that barn next to her house on the edge of town. She called the place The Quilting House.”

  Liesel’s eyes grew wide. “The Quilting House. Just like our house, here!”

  “That’s the last rule of quilting, Liesel,” her mother said. Her tone was serious and deep and her eyes hard on her daughter. She grabbed both of Liesel’s hands. “We might be artists. And there might be magic. But the fact is, Liesel, we don’t create these quilts.”

  Confused as ever, Liesel gave her mother a skeptical look. “We don’t?”

  Her mother shook her head. “Only God creates. The rest of us? We’re just kicking around great ideas, inspired by our mothers and our mothers’ mothers and all the other great women we know. Each in our own Quilting House. Each with our own patterns, stitched together like patchwork.” She smiled and curled her finger beneath Liesel’s chin. “Just like you and me.”

  Chapter 17—Gretchen

  As soon as they arrived at Miss Fern’s house on Pine Tree Lane, Gretchen felt magic in the air. She always did, at every tree lighting every year, but she’d been worried about this one. Having it on Christmas Eve, as opposed to weeks earlier, as was tradition, had felt off. Rushed. Wrong, even. Why Miss Fern made the change was beyond Gretchen’s knowledge. Beyond anyone’s it seemed. Her mother didn’t know. Rhett didn’t. Neither did Becky or Liesel. All they knew was that they’d be rushing around all day until that very night.

  And still, despite the rushing and the business of the day, magic hung in that twilit sky above Hickory Grove, the North star shining particularly bright, Gretchen noticed, despite the matching glow of the great big Christmas tree, anchored centrally on the front yard and peopled on all sides. The merriness and cheer were palpable as people sang Christmas carols and bubbled over.

  Some folks stood near a roaring bonfire off to the side. Some lingered near the hot cocoa station, manned by Gretchen’s two little brothers, impossibly. She grinned.

  Then others backed their trucks onto the edge of the grass near the street. Too far to be close enough to partake in the sweets and carols, but close enough to get a piece of the Christmas action—to see the lights but to mind their own.

  Gretchen and Theo were the latter. They parked his truck, and he unfolded a thick flannel blanket, spreading it on his tailgate.

  “I’m going to get us a couple of cups of cocoa,” she told him. “Want to come?”

  Theo fumbled in his reply. Maybe his lips were numb from the cold. Or he was tired. She sure was, after all. “Um, oh. Right. Um. Just—yeah, go ahead. Or, wait. I’ll come, too.”

  “Okay,” she smirked and laughed to herself but took his arm. He walked her up the drive, freshly shoveled and coated in rock salt for just this occasion. Their breath came out in frosty pillows on the air, and Gretchen peered hard through the crowd to spot her mother or Miss Liesel. Anyone, really. Anyone to smile and nod to.

  First, they happened upon Theo’s mom and Zack Durbin. Instead of a greeting, Becky sort of hissed through the night to her son, “Well?”

  Theo froze up all over again and shook his mom off, apologizing to Gretchen for her being weird, although Gretchen was entirely too preoccupied with spotting Miss Fern and Stedman, greeting people as they entered the hot cocoa line.

  “How’s it going, Theo?” Fern asked pointedly. Gretchen glanced at him, and again he sort of shook his head and shrugged, short-circuiting.

  Gretchen whispered, “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” he answered. “Just, nothing.”

  They grabbed their drinks and made their way back toward the truck, where she looked forward to cuddling and sipping and cuddling some more. But then she spied Miss Liesel.

  “Oh, shoot,” she murmured beneath her breath.

  “What is it?” Theo slowed for her, and together they looked on as, miracle of miracles, Liesel held the arm of none other than Coach Ketchum as they walked up the drive toward the cocoa station.

  Gretchen couldn’t contain the overweening smile that filled her face. “Miss Liesel,” she said, all but giggling. “Coach Ketchum. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” the two answered in tandem, effectively solidifying their status as a couple on a date.

  “We’ll have to talk soon, right?” Gretchen added when they slowed in passing. “About the quilting investment. The business name?” She was trying to stall the woman to further assess them but also jog her memory about where they’d left off.

  “Yes,” Liesel answered. “We’re partners now. We’ll have to meet up at ol’ Marguerite Devereux’s shop. You know where it is. I think she was your great aunt, after all.” Liesel winked at a befuddled Gretchen, and off she went, on the arm of a dashing local man. Someone who maybe, just maybe, Liesel had something in common with after all. Even if it was just a thread.

  By the time Gretchen and Theo made it back to his truck, her fingers and toes had grown numb, but blood was coursing through her body, warming her chest and limbs well enough that she managed to hop onto the tailgate and nest herself into Theo.

  “Do you know why they moved the tree lighting to tonight?” Theo asked her as “O Come All Ye Faithful” drifted from the caroling crowd. They’d start any moment now. Fern would count down, and there would be a cheer and flash, the star at the top of the Christmas tree would come to light. Couples would kiss. Children would squeal—the first hint of what was in store in their stockings later that night.

  “No. No one knows,” Gretchen answered, sipping her drink carefully so as not to burn her tongue
. She’d hate to have a burned tongue on Christmas Eve. With Theo there. She twisted to look at him, but he was staring off, his question irrelevant or random. She frowned and leaned away. He glanced down at her. “Theo? Do you know why Fern moved it to tonight?”

  He drew his finger to his lips, quieting her as the song pulled to a low murmur and Fern began her countdown.

  She got to one, and the star lit up, brilliant against the white blanketed earth and huddled masses. It almost appeared as though half the crowd sort of turned and looked toward the street, at Gretchen, even. But that couldn’t be.

  Theo popped off the tailgate, despite the fact they’d only just gotten comfortable.

  About to ask if he was okay or where he was going, Gretchen was silenced by a mounting pressure—the air, warmer for some reason and suffocating, almost. Theo grabbed her hands and pulled her off the tailgate, too. And then they were standing together, there, at the edge of Fern’s tree lighting, right by his tailgate, where that heavy flannel blanket draped so comfortably. Were there pillows in the back of the truck? Was Gretchen seeing things?

  Faces appeared in the near-distance behind Theo. All familiar. Each aglow with a single white candle stick floating beneath it, like a Christmas choir out for Christmas carols and then—

  Theo lowered to the ground. One knee. Deep, deep in the snow, almost like he was sinking, but he wasn’t. He was twisting away to retrieve something from his coat pocket.

  A gold box. As if in slow motion, Gretchen saw it all—she saw him remove a second box within—this one white velvet. And then he returned his attention to Gretchen and lifted the white box, opening its lid. Inside, a glimmering solitaire diamond protruded from a dark gold ring. Unconventional for the modern age, but familiar. Beautiful and familiar and antique.

  “Gretchen Engel,” Theo whispered, nearly a dozen candles burning in the background, “will you marry me?”