Maid Mary Anne
Page 10
You’ve probably guessed what happened next. Before long, Buddy and Nicky were as involved as everyone else with the quilt.
“Listen, you guys,” I said to the boys, trying to sound casual. “Why don’t I divide up my section and you two work on it. That way, I can help everybody out and sort of keep an eye on things.”
“Well,” said Nicky.
“You’d be helping me out,” I said.
A few minutes later I looked over the bent heads of Buddy and Nicky as they helped finish the quilt. Claudia met my eyes and gave me a small, very discreet thumbs-up signal.
Nicky and Buddy were back. And I knew they’d show up for the last sewing class.
The quilt was finished. Almost. It would have to be stretched on a frame and the front and backing quilted together, but the blocks had been sewn together. And each person had picked a favorite block and embroidered her or his name and date on it.
Buddy and Nicky had shown up for the last class — and they’d surprised me. They’d each made a block of their own: Nicky had finished his spider. And Buddy had made a cactus.
“They’re beautiful,” I said and I meant it.
“Will they fit in?” asked Buddy anxiously.
“Sure,” I said. “We’ll substitute your blocks for two of mine.”
And that’s what we did.
I could hardly wait for Mrs. Towne to see the quilt. Keeping it a secret during my sewing lessons with her was harder and harder. Of course, it helped that Mrs. Towne knew so many embroidery stitches and smocking techniques that it made my head spin. But I was learning them, gradually. And I was enjoying every minute of every class.
Finally the afternoon came when we’d decided to present Mrs. Towne with her quilt. We met at my house, where we packed the quilt carefully in a large box with lots of tissue paper. Then we carried it down Burnt Hill Road to Mrs. Towne’s house.
I’d called Mrs. Towne earlier to ask her if I could stop by. She’d sounded pleased at the suggestion.
Buddy skipped up the steps ahead of us and rang the doorbell. A moment later, just as we’d lined up on the porch, Mrs. Towne opened the door.
“Well, what is all this?” she said.
“It’s a surprise,” answered Charlotte.
“Really? For me?”
“It sure is,” I said.
“Come in, come in,” said Mrs. Towne, stepping back.
I realized as I followed everyone through the door, that Mrs. Towne was walking without her cane.
I congratulated her. “Yes, isn’t it wonderful? I’m so glad to get that cast off. My old ankle is as good as new, the doctor said.”
“That’s great, Mrs. Towne.”
Since there were so many of us, Mrs. Towne led us into her living room. “Won’t you sit down?”
We all did, except me. I handed Mrs. Towne the box. “You inspired us,” I said. “So we made this for you.”
“It’s a get-well present,” Becca added. “And I guess it worked, because you’ve already gotten well!”
When Mrs. Towne lifted the quilt out of the box, she gasped. “It’s just beautiful,” she said. “Oh, it is so beautiful. You really made this for me?”
“Yes. It’s a garden quilt. Because of your garden,” Vanessa replied.
“And we each put our names on one of the blocks,” said Becca. “See, there’s mine.”
“And mine,” said Charlotte, jumping up. Of course everyone else jumped up, too, and soon Mrs. Towne was surrounded as each person pointed out his or her squares, and told stories about how they chose each flower and made each block.
At last Mrs. Towne laid the quilt carefully back in the box.
“I love it,” she said. “I’ll treasure it always and forever. It’s the most beautiful quilt I’ve ever seen.”
Vanessa wasn’t fazed by the high praise Mrs. Towne had just given us. She nodded. “Thank you,” she said.
We laughed then, and Mrs. Towne wiped her eyes. “What about some lemonade and cookies, everyone?” she asked.
Six voices, said, “Yes, please.”
I said, “Mrs. Towne, could I have some tea?”
Mrs. Towne smiled at me. “You certainly can, Mary Anne. You stay right there. I’ll fix everything and bring it out.”
* * *
That night, after dinner, I took full advantage of the free time I suddenly had. Logan and I had made plans for the next day, I had a baby-sitting job lined up for Friday night — and in between I had nothing but free time to do anything — or nothing in.
“What are you smiling at?” Dawn asked, stopping in the open door of my room.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m smiling at a whole lot of nothing. Come on in.”
A few minutes later we were still gossiping and hanging out. It felt great. And before long, I found myself confiding in Dawn about everything that had happened with Mrs. Towne.
“I didn’t want to be selfish,” I concluded. “I wanted to be less self-centered. But I was trying to please everyone else. And it was making me miserable.”
Dawn nodded. “I don’t think you’re selfish or self-centered, Mary Anne. I think it is important to try to consider other people, but you have to consider yourself and your own needs, too. Otherwise, anything you do for anyone else, you can’t do freely and unselfishly.
“You’re right, Dawn,” I replied gratefully. “That’s exactly it.”
Dawn nodded again, and then said slowly, “That’s why I’ve been thinking about California lately. I miss my dad and Jeff and I can’t ignore these feelings.”
I sat straight up. “Oh, Dawn. I’m sorry!”
“Thanks,” Dawn answered softly. “You know, having someone who understands helps. Talking helps, too. I’m glad I’ve figured out I don’t just have to be miserable and miss my father. I can do something about those feelings.”
Somewhere inside, I’d known Dawn was missing her father and brother a lot. I’d just tried to pretend that all her references to California were casual.
But I’d sensed they weren’t, even if I hadn’t wanted to admit it.
That had been selfish. And self-centered.
So I took a deep breath. “I’m really, really sorry I didn’t listen sooner, Dawn. But I’m here now and I do understand.”
“Do you?” said Dawn, looking at me.
I felt tears welling in my eyes, but I gave her a watery smile. “I do.”
“Oh, Mary Anne,” wailed Dawn.
“Oh, Dawn,” I said, the tears beginning to slide down my cheeks.
And then I gave my sister and my best friend a big, long hug.
“It’ll be okay,” I said. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.”
And I knew it would.
* * *
Dear Reader,
In Maid Mary Anne, Mary Anne learns about sewing and needlework from Mrs. Towne. I was very excited to finally be able to write a book about my passions: sewing and needlework. I was seven when my mother taught me how to needlepoint. And I was eight when my grandmother taught me how to knit. I’ve had a love affair with needlework ever since. When I was a little older, I became interested in sewing, and my mom let me use her old sewing machine, which was old back then and is an antique now. So by the time I was fifteen, I decided I wanted my own sewing machine, a new one. I baby-sat all summer and saved my money, and at the end of the summer, I brought a new Sears Kenmore, which I still have and still use. For a long time, I sewed a lot of my own clothes. But when I got older, and my friends and cousins started having babies, I turned to sewing for children. This led to learning different sewing and needlework techniques, such as smocking, ribbon embroidery, and heirloom sewing. In fact, sewing has become so important to me that recently I declared Mondays to be sewing days instead of writing days.
Happy reading!
* * *
The author gratefully acknowledges
Nola Thacker
for her help in
preparing this manuscript.
; About the Author
ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.
There are currently over 176 million copies of The Baby-sitters Club in print. (If you stacked all of these books up, the pile would be 21,245 miles high.)In addition to The Baby-sitters Club, Ann is the author of two other series, Main Street and Family Tree. Her novels include Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), Here Today, A Dog’s Life, On Christmas Eve, Everything for a Dog, Ten Rules for Living with My Sister, and Ten Good and Bad Things About My Life (So Far). She is also the coauthor, with Laura Godwin, of the Doll People series.
Ann lives in upstate New York with her dog and her cats.
Copyright © 1993 by Ann M. Martin.
Cover art by Hodges Soileau
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First edition, August 1993
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e-ISBN 978-0-545-76813-9