Mally the Maker and the Queen in the Quilt

by Leah Day

  She pulled a pink and brown scrap basket over and began digging down to the bottom. The top fabrics were dusty and Mally sneezed as she took out a long green strip. She pulled out more scraps, trying to pick colors she thought Audrey would like. Now that she had her sewing box, she and Audrey could begin sewing costumes together.

  When she’d filled her sewing box with scraps, she snapped the latch shut and hugged it to her chest. It felt darker in the sewing room and less energetic. As if Grandma was what added the light and color to the room, not the sunny windows.

  She spotted a quilt spread out on the cutting table and walked over, sitting her sewing box on the edge. It had been so long since she’d come in this room, she didn’t recognize the quilt at first. Looking closer, she realized it was a landscape quilt Grandma had been working on for more than a year.

  Mally touched the fabrics lightly with her fingertips. Rolling green hills filled the bottom of the landscape up to a row of angular purple and blue mountains. A dark brown tree rose below the mountains and she could remember watching the day Grandma had carefully pressed it in place.

  The quilt top was spread out flat on the table and it was clear Grandma had only just added two new borders to the sides. A pressing cloth was still spread out on top of the right block. Mally moved it so she could see the entire quilt.

  On the left, brown, black, and silver fabrics were pieced to resemble a closed door on top of a purple rectangle. Mally leaned close and could see Grandma’s tiny stitches running along the edges of each piece. A silver button embossed with a simple leaf design served as a door knob. A blue checkerboard block was pieced above the door, blending in with the sky fabric on the landscape.

  On the opposite edge of the quilt, another door had been pieced with bright red, blue, green, and yellow fabrics, but it looked very different. This block was pieced with triangles to make the door appear like it was opening inward. Bright light spilled out from the green frame as if someone had just left the room and forgotten to shut the door. The pieces were sewn together messily and long thread tails still hung off the edges.

  A black and white checkerboard block rested below the door. Grandma must have been in a very big hurry stitching that block because very few of the seam lines matched up between the pieces.

  Mally let her eyes travel over the quilt and frowned. It looked unfinished, as if Grandma had planned to stitch more quilt blocks to the top and bottom edges. Something about the sky was off too. She ran her fingers over the surface and found little holes in the fabric, as if the stitches had been ripped out and pieces removed.

  Thinking back, Mally could have sworn the sky had been filled with brightly colored rays of sunshine. Now a flat expanse of blue stretched over the upper part of the quilt with a single reddish orange circle in the center for the sun.

  That’s weird, Mally thought as she looked closer at the largest purple mountain in the center of the quilt. It could possibly be a trick of the light, but she thought she saw a thin spider web stitched along the side. I don’t remember Grandma stitching that.

  She did remember Grandma stitching all sorts of special threads and thick yarns over the rolling hills and the big tree. She had set the quilt up in a small frame in front of the window and sat with the sun shining on her back as she worked. Mally had watched, entranced as Grandma’s wrinkled fingers had added the texture of tree bark and the soft fuzz of grass, one stitch at a time.

  While she worked, Mally had imagined a special knot on the side of the tree that could open a door to the Best Treehouse in the World. It would be a beautiful place with a spiral staircase and special nooks to sew and read and even a swing covered in quilts to sleep on. She’d drawn pictures of the rooms and imagined what it would be like to climb up the spiral staircase to the very top of the tree and look out at the pretty world Grandma had created.

  She leaned back and gazed at the quilt. Grandma would never be here to finish it. Whatever she planned to add to this quilt would never be stitched. Mally ran her fingertips over the surface once again, loving the feel of the fabrics and occasional bump of decorative threads. She felt a hard lump under her fingers – it was the silver button on the quilt block that looked like a closed door. Mally rubbed her fingertips over the button and sighed.

  “Where did you go, Grandma?” she whispered. “Why haven’t you come back?” The same question she’d been asking over and over for months. No one had seen or heard from Grace Wright since last April. Mama had searched and searched and even she seemed to have given up hope.

  “Why did you leave me?” Mally asked and as if it would somehow provoke a response, she gave the button a sharp twist. A sudden wind blew her hair back and Mally pitched forward over the quilt, face to face with the patchwork door.

  The sewing box clanged loudly against her elbow and reflexively she snatched it up in her free hand. The sound echoed unnaturally, gaining in volume until it seemed to vibrate through her whole body. She tried to pull her hand free from the quilt, but she couldn’t let go of the silver button.

  Then she heard a little “click” and the fabric door pieced on her Grandma’s quilt slowly opened before her eyes.

  Chapter 2 - Welcome to Quilst

  Bright light flooded out of the door frame and Mally squinted, barely able to see as the wind grew stronger, whipping her hair across her face.

  She kicked out as she felt her legs lift off the ground, struggling against the invisible forces pulling her closer to the quilt. Her fingers were still glued to the tiny button and she tried to shake free, but she couldn’t let go. White light wrapped around her until it was the only thing she could see.

  Then just as quickly as it had started, everything stopped.

  Mally blinked a dozen times. She closed her eyes and counted to three, then opened them again. Nope. It’s still there, she thought, gazing out at a lush green landscape stretching out to the horizon.

  Not just any landscape. It was the landscape. Somehow, she was standing inside Grandma’s landscape quilt!

  Rolling green hills stretched out for miles in every direction, but unlike the quilt top, they were broken up with large rocks, small glittering streams, and a variety of trees from scrubby bushes to massive oaks. Everything appeared to be made from fabric, yarn, and decorative threads. Long green yarn grass waved in the breeze nearby, and what looked like a stream rushed around a little hill carrying strips of blue fabric.

  Her hand gripped the silver button that had been stitched to the door block. It had transformed into a full-sized door knob with a leaf shape engraved in the center.

  What in the world just happened? Mally thought. She still clutched her sewing box in her right hand and her silver scissors were safe around her neck. I must be dreaming. I must have fallen asleep back in Grandma’s sewing room with my head in a fabric basket or something. Or maybe this whole day has been a dream?

  But the door knob felt so real in her hand. She turned and looked behind her but could see nothing but empty white space filling the door frame. She felt a gentle tug in her stomach that mirrored the feeling when she’d twisted the button on the quilt.

  “If this is a dream, why does it feel so real?” Mally wondered aloud.

  She took a cautious step forward. The door was set on top of a purple rectangle, exactly as it had been stitched in the quilt. Mally looked closely at the individual threads of fiber woven together to create the black fabric of the door frame. Each seam was outlined with tiny white stitches. She leaned further out to get a better look at the millions of strands of green yarn forming the grassy landscape. Her hand slipped off the door and it began to swing closed.

  “Oh my gosh!” She scrambled to catch it. The soft fabric pulled against her grip, as if it wanted to close. She set her sewing box on the ground and wedged it in place so the door couldn’t shut. Then she cautiously walked around the door frame, trailing her hands along the fabric. S
he peeked her head around the back side and gasped. She’d been expecting to see a tunnel or pipe. Something to explain how she’d traveled here. Instead the back of the door was a flat black rectangle of fabric. From this side it looked like a scary modern art sculpture perched on top of a purple platform.

  Mally backed away quickly and checked that her sewing box was still holding the door open. It was exactly as she’d left it and a small strip of light glowed from the opening in the door. Taking a deep breath, she walked to the edge of the purple rectangle and bent down to run her hands through the grass. The fibers tickled her fingers. It felt overwhelmingly real.

  “Where am I?” Mally said, tugging on a strand of green yarn. “Is this a dream, or am I dead?”

  “This place is a little empty for the afterlife, don’t you think?” a voice spoke behind her. “I’d expect Heaven to be quite a bustling place these days.”

  Whirling around, Mally found an orange cat leisurely stretched out on a nearby rock. He closed his eyes lazily, clearly enjoying the warm sunshine.

  “Who are you? Where am I? How did I get here?”

  It took her a second to realize she’d just asked a cat a question, but he couldn’t possibly talk back. She looked around, trying to find whoever it was who had spoken. The cat rolled over, drawing her full attention and spoke in a low, bored voice, “I think you already know the answers to two of those questions.” He rested his head on his paws, clearly dismissing her.

  “I think I’m inside my Grandma’s quilt talking to a very rude cat.” Mally shook her head, but she had to admit, it made this place a lot less scary to know she wasn’t alone. “Or maybe I’ve just gone crazy.”

  “Well, you can always go home and tell Mommy and Daddy all about it. I’m sure they’ll make it all better.”

  “Yeah, right.” She knew exactly what her parents would think if she told them about this place. “Imagination Mally,” Dad would chuckle, and Mama would tousle her hair and that would be the end of it. They would never believe her. Except now she doubted Mama would want to hear a fun story. She rarely left her bedroom, even for dinner, and Mally hadn’t seen her all weekend.

  Mally wandered down the hill to the little stream stitched into the landscape. Her heart rate had finally slowed and the water looked so inviting. She sat down and peeled off her socks and shoes. Sticking her feet into the water, she was surprised by the feel of dry fabric against her bare skin.

  I guess water isn’t wet here, Mally thought. It felt cool and refreshing, but when she pulled her feet out, they weren’t dripping. Instead a small strip of blue cloth dangled from one foot. She pulled it off and ran the soft fabric through her fingers. The edges were frayed slightly, and the color was mostly light blue with long streaks of lighter and darker shades. Something about that color brought back a memory of sewing with Grandma.

  * * * * *

  It was a crisp, cold December day and Mally was sitting in the window seat rummaging through Grandma’s scrap basket. She loved running her hands over the fabrics, searching for the perfect colors to knot together. Grandma had several baskets filled with scraps, and this one was made from a braided rope stitched with red and green thread like a Christmas cookie. Mally loved digging through this basket because Grandma had sewn a sachet of spices into the bottom so it always smelled strongly of cinnamon and nutmeg.

  Mally could spend hours playing with Grandma’s scraps. Sometimes she would braid them together to make a colorful rope necklace. Other times she’d knot the ends to make a chunky wig, so she could pretend she had long, thick hair like a princess.

  But on this particular day she wanted to try something new. She’d set Ms. Bunny on the windowsill and covered her lap with a large scrap of purple fabric, but the doll still looked cold.

  “Grandma, can I make a quilt for Ms. Bunny?”

  “Of course, Mally May.” Grandma looked up from her sewing machine. “Pull out the fabrics you like first, then we’ll cut them up and I’ll show you how to sew them together.”

  Mally selected her favorites from several scrap bins and carried them over to the cutting table. “Are you making a bed quilt or a doll quilt?” Grandma asked with a chuckle as she spotted the huge pile of fabrics.

  “Is this too much? How much do I need?”

  “It really depends on your design and how big the quilt is going to be. I think a nine by twelve inch quilt should be just fine for Ms. Bunny. Pull out your three favorites and put the rest back.”

  Mally did as she was told and after a quick lesson on starching and pressing the scraps flat, Grandma helped her cut the pieces into long, straight strips using her special cutter that looked like a pizza slicer. Mally arranged and rearranged the rectangles a dozen times until the order was perfect: a bright yellow strip in the middle with blue streaked fabrics on either side.

  “Now it’s time for the best part: sewing your pieces together,” Grandma said, sitting down in her green chair with a sigh. She pawed through the drawer of a nearby purple cabinet and pulled out a pack of needles and a small spool of blue thread. She held them up for Mally to see. “I think number nine sharps would be a good choice for your fingers and this thread matches that fabric, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, but…” Mally was looking over at Grandma’s sewing machine.

  “We’re going to do this by hand first. There’s a lot more to it than you think and it’s easy to miss certain details when you’re just pressing a pedal on a machine,” Grandma said as her weathered hands pulled a needle from the paper packet. “Aside from that, I have a cathedral window on the machine right now and it’s not going anywhere.” She handed Mally the spool of thread and a small pair of scissors.

  “Pull out a piece of thread as long as your arm and thread your needle. Then tie the ends in a knot so they’ll stay together.”

  Mally followed her instructions slowly. The eye in the needle was tiny. She licked her fingertips and twisted the end of the string to make a sharp point and poked it through the hole. Then she tried to tie the thread tails in a bow like her shoelaces.

  Grandma corrected her, “Hold them together and tie an overhand knot like this.” She made a loop, then passed the thread tails through the loop.

  “Whew.” Mally wiped her sweaty hands on her pants. “This is more complicated than it looks, Grandma.” She picked up her fabric scraps and slid them together so the ends were lined up the way she’d seen Grandma do it before. She was impatient to begin stitching.

  “We’re just getting started. Quilting isn’t something to rush, Mally May. Now let’s mark the seam allowance on the edges so you have a line to stitch along.” Grandma spread out the middle yellow piece on the side table and pulled out a ruler and pen from the drawer. “We measure over from the side a quarter inch.” The pen made a scraping sound as she ran it along the edge of the ruler.

  “Now you’re ready to stitch. Hold the pieces right sides together so the edges are lined up.” Grandma pulled Mally down to sit in front of her on the green chair. Mally breathed in her familiar scent of cloves and lemon and felt surrounded by comfort. “Now you take the needle and start stitching right here.”

  Mally inserted the needle into the upper left corner on the line marked on the fabric. Grandma held the pieces flat in her wrinkled hands so it was easy to take the first few stitches.

  “Bring the needle up a little closer. There you go. You don’t want monster stitches, Mally May,” Grandma said. “If the stitches are too big, it will allow the batting to leak through.”

  “What’s batting?”

  “That’s the middle layer of the quilt. It makes it puffy and warm, but it’s not like fabric so it can come apart if you don’t make your quilt the right way.”

  Mally tried to be patient. She took one small stitch, then another. It was just starting to feel easy when Grandma let go of the fabric.

  “It’s going to f
eel different now because you need to hold it all yourself,” she said, giving Mally a little push in her back so she could rise from the chair. “Go slow. Just take one stitch at a time.” And with that, Grandma returned to her sewing machine and Mally was on her own.

  It was instantly impossible. Mally tried holding the fabrics together with her right hand, but the pieces kept shifting away from each other. The needle had felt comfortable in her fingers, but now it was like trying to wrangle a wet fish. Her thread tangled on one corner of the fabric and doubled back on itself creating a wadded mess on the end. She ignored the mess and tried to make a few more stitches, but it only made matters worse.

  “OUCH!” The needle jabbed her finger and blood welled. Mally wadded up the whole thing and threw it as hard as she could. The fabrics twisted in the air and landed in an ugly heap on the floor.

  The sewing machine stopped and Mally looked up to find Grandma squinting at her over the rim of her glasses. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

  Mally scooped up the fabrics, and sucking on her bleeding finger, brought them over to Grandma. “I can’t do it right without you holding it,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Yes, you can. It’s not going to feel easy, but you can do this,” Grandma said, looking at her messily stitched seam. “You just need to slow down and when stuff like this happens–” she indicated the tangled mess in the corner. “–you stop and pick that out before continuing.”

  Mally watched in horror as Grandma clipped off the knot and with a tug, removed all the stitches she’d taken. The thread pulled out and the fabrics fell apart. The blue streaked piece fluttered to the floor.

  “Why did you do that? I nearly finished that line!” Mally cried.

  “You’ve got to learn how to stitch properly, Mally. No shortcuts. No sloppy stitches,” Grandma said, sternly. “Women used to depend on their stitching for survival. It’s a skill to build and you must earn it one stitch at a time. Dry your tears now. There’s nothing to cry about. Tie another knot and try again.”