Running Stitches

by Carol Dean Jones

  Sarah knew Andy would contact her eventually, but she dreaded seeing him. Her alliances were torn between Andy and the detectives. She liked Amanda and felt they were developing a special friendship. Amanda was a quilter, although she was usually too busy to enjoy it. She occasionally attended the Friday Night Quilters, a group that met weekly at Ruth’s shop to share their love for quilting.

  Sarah had promised to let Amanda know if Andy were to contact her. On the other hand, Andy was her friend and she owed him her loyalty. She had no idea what she would do when she heard from him. And she was sure she would hear from him. She tried to turn her attention back to the class.

  The other students had arrived and there were four that Sarah hadn’t met. As they drank coffee and talked, she learned their names and a little bit about their quilting experience. Delores was a seasoned quilter but was taking the class with her granddaughter who was excited about learning to quilt. Sarah had seen Delores’ work at the county fair where she often won ribbons.

  Delores’ granddaughter was only fifteen and a freshman in high school. She was spending time with her grandmother while her military parents were temporarily deployed out of the country. Delores felt that the sampler quilt would give her granddaughter a variety of experience with different designs and techniques.

  Sarah figured that Delores must be in her late sixties, about her own age. “Do you live in Cunningham Village?” Sarah asked her.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. I just moved there. And you?”

  “Me too. Have you been to the community center yet?” Sarah asked.

  “No, actually I haven’t been anywhere yet. I’m eager to learn my way around.” Sarah made a mental note to get Delores and Sophie together. Sophie had been instrumental in getting Sarah integrated into the community. She knew everyone and was eager to help the newbies get acclimated.

  “This is my granddaughter, Danielle,” Delores added putting her hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder to guide her closer to Sarah. “…and this is Sarah Miller. She lives in the Village too.”

  “Hi, Danielle. I’m glad you came. This should be a good class.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Miller.”

  “Just call me Sarah if it’s okay with your grandmother. We’re very informal here.”

  “Okay, I will. But please call me Danny. I’ve never liked being called Danielle.”

  “I don’t see why not,” her grandmother huffed. “It’s a perfectly good name, and it was sure good enough for my sister.” The two got into a good natured squabble. It sounded like it was not the first time this issue had come up. They went back to their seats arm in arm; Sarah knew all was forgiven.

  Delores and Danny. Sarah made a mental note of their names; it was getting harder to remember people’s names, especially now that she was meeting so many new people. She kept hearing that it was perfectly normal to be forgetful, but after a certain age one couldn’t help but worry. She had seen the forlorn folks in the nursing home suffering from various forms of dementia and was determined never to join them.

  The other two students were sisters, Christina and Kimberly. The two women were in their late forties and had never married. They explained that they lived on the edge of town in a Sears Roebuck Catalog Home which had been left to them by their family. Sarah was fascinated by the homes and asked when it was built. Christina said their grandfather had ordered their ready-to-assemble home as a kit from the Sears Roebuck catalog in the mid-1930s. Her grandfather had told her it was delivered by boxcar, and he and his brothers had assembled it!

  “That’s incredible!” Sarah said. “And it’s still standing!”

  “Not only standing, but improved!” Kimberly added proudly. “Granddad was able to buy the add-on kits in the 1940s: electricity, plumbing, central heating. My father did a lot of improvements too. My parents lived there with grandmother until she died in 1991. Granny couldn’t do the steps, so dad added a bedroom and bath on the first floor for her. Our parents both died a couple of years ago, and Christina and I moved in. It’s a terrific little house with lots of history.”

  “That’s just fascinating,” Sarah said. “I’d love to see it sometime.”

  “Maybe we can get together to do some sewing on our sampler once we know what we’re doing. We’d love to have you come over,” Christina offered.

  “Sounds like fun!” Sarah responded. Christina and Kimberly. Sarah added their names to her memory list.

  About that time, Dottie joined the group. Sarah knew Dottie from previous classes and, as always, Dottie entered the room like a tornado with fabric dangling out of her tote bag and red curls escaping from her scrunchies. “Oh, those kids!” She said as she plopped down at the table, dropping her tote on the floor. Two spools of thread rolled under the table. “They’ll be the death of me yet,” she added.

  Dottie had two boys and a girl but, most likely, the problem was not the children but, rather, Dottie’s haphazard life style. She was always rushed, always late, always seeming to be in a dither about something.

  “Were we supposed to bring something tonight?” Dottie asked, looking at Sarah’s fabrics.

  By the time Ruth returned to the classroom, Dottie’s tote bag had fallen over, and most of its contents were strewn across the floor. She attempted to pull them closer to her chair so Ruth could get by.

  It turned out to be a successful class. Sarah felt totally confident making her first block for the sampler. In the spring, Sarah had made a throw using log cabin blocks, so she was comfortable with the technique.

  Sarah had decided to buy ten more fat quarters in the civil war reproduction line but in light colors, primarily tan and cream with small prints in pale blue, brown, or green. She used the light ones for the logs on one side of the block and an assortment of dark fabrics for the opposite sides.

  Sarah had planned to follow tradition and put red in the center to represent the fire burning in the center of the cabin, but she noticed that the log cabin block in Ruth’s sampler had a black center. “Why is the center of this block black instead of red?” Sarah asked.

  “I was just getting ready to talk about that, Sarah.” While the women worked, Ruth told the story of the Underground Railroad quilts.

  “Now, some people don’t believe these stories,” Ruth began. “There’s no written proof, but there have been many stories passed down through families about quilts being used to help slaves escape. Since the slaves weren’t permitted to learn to read, quilts may have contained coded messages about safe escape routes. For example, the block we’re doing today, the log cabin but with a black center instead of red, is said to have been hung outside of a house that was a safe house, a station along the escape route that would offer a safe place to rest or get food and clothing. Other patterns may have pointed out the safest route to Ohio or Canada which were the destinations for most of the runaway slaves.”

  The class was mesmerized by the stories as Ruth talked. Most of the class, except Dottie, had stopped working to listen while looking at the sample quilt that Ruth had moved into the classroom. Dottie was still going through her fabrics, looking for ones she wanted to use for the quilt.

  Kimberly raised her hand timidly, and Ruth immediately acknowledged her. “I think I’ve seen the center of the log cabin block done with yellow. Does that have any particular significance?”

  “Not in the stories about the Underground Railroad quilt, but in traditional log cabin quilts the center is sometimes yellow to represent a friendly light in the window.”

  Kimberly nodded her acknowledgement with a smile.

  “The bear paw pattern,” Ruth continued, pointing to the paw block, “may have told the runaway to follow the trail left by the bears as they crossed the mountains. We’ll be doing that block in a couple of weeks.”

  “And these Underground Railroad stories may not even be true?” Sarah asked.

  “We just don’t know, but there are so many stories passed down through the families of both the abolitioni
sts and the freed slaves that we can only assume there’s some truth to them.” Ruth continued to tell brief stories about the other blocks and added, “We’ll talk more about these as we make them.” She then went over the instructions and demonstrated the first few steps.

  Later Ruth walked around the room, looking at the blocks her students were working on. Some were beginning to sew their strips together, and others were still cutting. “Don’t forget the importance of a consistent quarter-inch seam,” she said. “That’s how you’ll ensure that your blocks come out the right size.”

  The class ran late, and it was dark when Sarah packed up her supplies. She was the last person to leave, following Ruth out as she locked up. “Do you need a ride?” Ruth asked, looking around and not seeing Sarah’s car.

  “No, I’m parked on the side of the shop,” Sarah responded. As she turned the corner and approached her car, she was aware of the darkness in the alley. I’m going to park on the street from now on, she told herself. Ruth had mentioned moving the class to mornings. Fumbling in the darkness, Sarah hoped that’s what Ruth would do. Sarah turned on the miniature flashlight attached to her key chain and guided the key into the lock.

  “Pssst.”

  What was that? She hurried to open the car door.

  “Sarah! Over here.”

  Sarah pointed her flashlight in the direction of the voice, but the light was too weak to shed light on the speaker. “Who are you,” she demanded in as confident a tone as she could manage. She tried to hold the flashlight steady.

  “It’s Andy,” the voice announced. “Let me get into the back seat, okay?”

  Sarah hesitated, but she was so eager to talk with him that she was willing to take the chance. In her mind, she could hear Detective Shields’ accusations of aiding and abetting, but she had to remind herself that Shields was long gone and unable to threaten her with prosecution as he did the previous year. “Get in,” she whispered, “and stay down.” What am I doing?

  Chapter 4

  “Get dressed fast. I’m picking you up in a few minutes,” Sarah announced as Sophie answered the phone.

  “Sarah, have you lost your mind? It’s nearly 10 o’clock, and I’m in my pajamas. Why do you want to pick me up?” Sophie asked with annoyance.

  “Just be ready and get into the car quickly without saying a word no matter what you see, okay? We don’t know who might be watching.”

  “Is it Andy?” Sophie asked.

  “Be ready!” Sarah retorted and clicked the cell phone off.

  A few minutes later Sarah pulled into Sophie’s driveway and stopped behind Sophie’s black Jeep. As Sophie locked her door and approached the car, Sarah could see her muttering to herself. Her clothes were askew, and her pink elephant pajamas were protruding from her pant legs. As she walked in front of the car and opened the passenger’s door, she glanced into the back seat. Her eyebrows shot up her forehead, and her eyes opened wide. “Not a word, Sophie,” Sarah demanded. “Get in and face front. Don’t look back.”

  Then she added, “Andy, stay on the floor and don’t talk.”

  “But…” Sophie began to object.

  “Okay,” came a small voice from the floor of the back seat.

  “Sophie, get in!” Sarah ordered impatiently. Sophie huffed but got in. Sarah backed out of the driveway and headed for the main gate. “Andy, stay down low. We’re passing the security gate.” Andy balled himself up tighter on the floor. As they drove past the gate and headed up the street, he rose up onto the seat but continued to stoop down low.

  “What’s going on?” Sophie asked, still staring forward as instructed.

  “Andy wants to talk to the two of us, and it isn’t safe for him to come into the community. The security guards have certainly been warned to watch for him.”

  Still staring straight ahead, Sophie quietly said, “Hi Andy.”

  “Hi Sophie,” a timid voice came from the backseat. “I’m sorry,” the voice added meekly.

  “We know,” Sarah said tenderly. “We know.” Turning to Sophie, Sarah said, “I’m thinking we could go down by the river. We can park along the road near the hobo camp. I think we’ll be safe there.”

  “Why don’t we park and go into the camp,” Sophie suggested. “The guys will be there and can act as lookout for us. I know they’ll want to see Andy. What do you think, Andy?” Sophie asked without looking back.

  “I think we should stay to ourselves. The less people who know about me the better,” Andy responded. “Let’s just park and talk in the car.” They found a secluded spot where they could pull off the main road.

  Sophie and Sarah turned in their seats so they could see Andy. “Okay, Andy,” Sophie demanded, “What in Sam Hill is going on with you?” She sounded angry but, in fact, she was simply worried about him. He’d been a close friend for many years, but he seemed to be digging a hole for himself which was getting deeper and deeper. “Why did you leave the prison?”

  * * *

  Sarah and Sophie got home after midnight and, without discussing it, both went into Sarah’s house. Sarah let Barney out in the back yard, and Sophie put the tea kettle on. “What do you have to eat?” Sophie asked as Sarah came back in.

  “I have the remains of Charles’ birthday cake,” Sarah responded as she headed for the fridge.” The two women were unusually quiet, each processing what she had learned from Andy in her own way.

  Finally, Sophie spoke up. “I think Andy’s plan is doomed to failure.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Well, I don’t see how he can be on the streets looking for Caitlyn without getting caught. And if he’s caught, he’ll be in prison for many years!”

  “Besides that,” Sophie responded, “he doesn’t even know what she looks like! How can he possibly find her?”

  Earlier that night, parked by the river, Andy had done most of the talking. He told Sarah and Sophie about his ex-girlfriend and the fact that she had run off, leaving her husband, Buck, and her fourteen year old daughter.

  He told them that the daughter, Caitlyn, was, in fact, his daughter. Tears ran down his cheeks as he talked. “I left Hamilton after Catherine’s wedding before the baby was born. I’ve tried to forget about the little girl, but I haven’t been able to. Whenever I see a kid, I wonder how she is and what she looks like.”

  “You never saw her?” Sarah had asked.

  “No, not really,” Andy responded. “I went by the school once when she was about eight. I watched the kids in the playground, and I spotted a little girl that looked just like Catherine. Maybe it was her.” The tears flowed down his cheeks. “Maybe it wasn’t. I’m her dad, and I don’t even know what she looks like.”

  He still hadn’t said exactly why he left the prison, but they were getting the idea. “So, Andy. Did you leave the prison to try to find her?” Sophie asked.

  “That’s it,” he responded. “I’m no kind of a dad, but she doesn’t have anybody. And it’s dangerous out there.”

  “Out where?” Sophie asked, sounding confused.

  “Well, on the street, I guess. I’m just assuming she’s up in Hamilton; that’s where Catherine and Buck were living. And, unless she has friends that’ll take her in, I’m afraid she’s just living on the street. Maybe not, but I have to find out. I have to make sure she’s safe.”

  The city of Hamilton was only about thirty-five miles from Middletown. When Jonathan was alive, he and Sarah went from Middletown to Hamilton often, but since he died, and especially since moving to Cunningham Village, Sarah rarely went there. There had been nice shops in the downtown area but, with shopping malls so convenient in Middletown, there was no reason to make the trip.

  Hamilton had a decidedly ritzy side with big Victorian homes, but it also had the part of town that Sarah’s generation referred to as the other side of the tracks. In recent years, it wasn’t safe to go into the east side because of crime and drugs. Sarah was glad Middletown had remained a quiet little town. The thought of a fourteen year old girl trying to ma
ke her way in Hamilton was frightening.

  “How can we help?” Sarah had asked, gently reaching back to pat Andy’s hand.

  “I don’t want to involve you ladies,” Andy had responded. “I just wanted you to know the whole story. Please don’t be mad at me. I need to make sure my daughter is okay. She doesn’t have anyone right now.”

  Sarah and Sophie continued to sit at Sarah’s table thinking about their conversation with Andy. The chocolate cake sat untouched. Finally, Sarah spoke up.

  “Maybe we should check Andy’s tie quilt and see if there is anything hidden in it. If there’s any money, that would help Andy right now. I’m sure he can’t get to his bank account since the police will be watching for him.”

  “I have a better idea,” Sophie offered. “Let’s get some sleep and talk about this in the morning. Things always look clearer after a good night’s sleep and a fresh pot of coffee…and chocolate cake,” she added.

  “I agree. Come over when you get up and we’ll figure out just how involved we should get in this mess.”

  Sarah was exhausted and looked forward to crawling into her bed. “I need a quilt for my bed,” she realized. “That will be my next project.” Barney put his paws up on her bed and nuzzled her neck. She scratched his ears and said, “Good night, sweet dog. Get in your bed.” Barney sighed and got into his foam sided bed, scratched at the covers, made three clockwise turns, and curled up nose to tail. Sarah heard another deep sigh, and Barney was gone for the night.

  Sarah was not so lucky. Although she was extremely tired and had expected she would fall right to sleep, her mind wandered to Andy’s quilt. It was still in the wardrobe where she had stored it for him the previous year. She wondered whether there was anything of value inside it. Andy’s brother got himself killed over the possibility that something had been hidden in the quilt – something that could lead to a possible fortune. Sophie and I’ll take a look tomorrow, she decided as she finally drifted off to sleep.