Mally the Maker and the Queen in the Quilt

by Leah Day

  Mally scooped up the pieces and stomped over to the green chair. Why is she being so mean? she thought, pulling more thread off the spool with a jerk. I just want to make Ms. Bunny a quilt and we could have it already done if she’d let me use that machine.

  She threaded her needle, managed to knot the end and tried stitching the pieces together again. She instantly made another mess of the thread and fabric. It was like she had three thumbs. She couldn’t seem to hold onto everything without something slipping off her lap or falling out of her hand. It had been a relief when the truck horn sounded outside, signaling it was time to leave.

  Mally had stuffed the remains of Ms. Bunny’s quilt into the bottom of an empty drawer and hurried outside. Days later, she found the strips neatly folded around her needle and spool of thread. Grandma had set it in a corner of the windowsill so she could return to her project.

  But she never did. It was too hard, and her hands were just so clumsy. It was so much easier to play pretend or watch Grandma than try to make something herself.

  * * * * *

  For the first time since that day, Mally’s fingers itched to hold a needle. Maybe it was being inside this impossible quilt land, or seeing the seams holding hundreds of fabrics together. Suddenly, she wanted to sew. She ran back to the door barefooted and picked up her sewing box. Propping the door open with her knee, she dug out a pack of needles and blue thread. She let the door close against the box and returned to her spot next to the stream.

  She remembered how to thread the needle and tie a knot in the end. She picked up the blue strip and looked at it closely. Maybe I could stitch something smaller, like a butterfly.

  With a little “snick” she tugged out the scissors from her necklace and cut the strip of blue fabric into two short lengths. Holding them together firmly, she began stitching along the edge. Her thread snarled up as it had done with Grandma before. She tried to take another stitch and a large knot formed, locking her needle in place.

  “No, not again!” Mally tried to pick out the knot, but it was too tightly tangled.

  “You’re not very good, are you?” the cat’s voice called from behind.

  Mally glared at him. “This is only my second time stitching anything.”

  “I can tell,” he said, padding over to watch. “Clip that and start over. Don’t waste your time trying to pick out that knot.”

  “Fine.” Mally followed his instructions and pulled out a fresh length of thread. “I can never hold the fabric right and the needle feels weird in my hands.”

  “How many stitches have you made in your life?”

  “I don’t know. Ten?” Mally guessed. She inserted the needle along the edge of the fabrics.

  “Ten stitches does not a Maker make. It’ll start feeling comfortable around a thousand stitches.”

  “One thousand stitches? It would take months to stitch that much!” Mally nearly dropped the blue scraps.

  “It adds up quick if you stitch every day,” the cat said and Mally paused. She could have sworn that was something Grandma said but couldn’t be sure.

  She didn’t have a ruler to mark the stitching line this time so she just had to eyeball it. Thankfully her thread didn’t knot up as she stitched along the edge, but the line was far from straight.

  “Have you been drinking, little girl?” the cat asked.

  “What? No!” Mally said, tying a knot on the end of the seam.

  “I can’t think of another excuse for such huge, sloppy stitches.”

  Mally ignored him and bent to root around in the stream, running her hand through the cool water fabrics until she located the perfect color – white with streaks of silvery gray on the surface. She pulled the fabric out and cut circles to stitch on her butterfly.

  Mally had no idea how to stitch the circles on properly, and one ended up much bigger than the other. She trimmed the blue fabric down until the shape roughly resembled a butterfly.

  “What in the world are you making anyway?” The cat just couldn’t seem to leave her alone.

  “I’m making a butterfly, thank you very much. A pretty blue butterfly to enjoy this pretty dream, or whatever this is. Oh!” Mally gasped as the fabric butterfly lifted off from her hand. It was moving! The creature rose several inches into the air, its wings fluttering erratically.

  “How is it doing that?” Mally exclaimed.

  Before her eyes the stitches holding it together widened. Gaps appeared in the middle of the butterfly’s body. Snap! The threads broke, and the blue fabrics fell silently back into her hands.

  “Wow! I had no idea that would happen. Will everything I make become real here?”

  “So it seems,” the cat said, a slight frown wrinkling his fabric forehead. “Have you ever made anything before?”

  “No, I’ve never done anything like this before.” Mally looked down at her hands in wonder. “This is amazing!” She gripped the scraps of cloth and was suddenly sure this was the same blue fabric she’d picked for Ms. Bunny’s quilt last winter. She looked over the stream at the rolling hills rising to mountains in the distance.

  Grandma made this quilt. This was her fabric and her stitching, Mally thought as she reached out to stroke the chunky threads that added texture to the ground.

  What if…? It was such a dangerous, delicious, wonderfully exciting thought, Mally almost stopped herself from thinking it. What if Grandma wasn’t missing or dead or kidnapped or any of the crazy theories Mama had come up with months ago. What if she was here, in this quilt? What if I can find her?

  “Has anyone else come here?” Mally asked the cat. “An older woman, maybe?

  “Makers come and go all the time,” he said, standing and stretching his front paws with a shrug. “All quilts connect to Quilst one way or another.”

  “Quilst?” Mally liked the odd word.

  The cat arched one eye as if to say, “Where you are right now.”

  “So Grandma could be here? Have you seen her? She’s about my height with white hair and she usually wears a bright scarf. We think she was wearing a red quilted jacket the day she went missing. It was her favorite and Mama could never find it in her house or car.”

  The cat flopped back down on his side, clearly unimpressed. He caught his tail with his front paws and looked more interested in that twitching appendage than her story.

  Dream or not, Mally was about done with this snarky cat, but she couldn’t seem to stop the flood of words streaming out of her mouth

  “Her name is Grace Wright. She made this quilt. So that makes her a Maker, right? I saw this fabric in her sewing room and stitched it with her. Have you seen her? She went missing six months ago and no one has seen her since. No one saw her leave the house and the police haven’t found anything. It’s like she disappeared into thin air. Poof!” She threw up her hands and her fabrics went flying.

  “Great Maker, what did I do to earn this penance?” the cat replied, eyes rolling to the heavens as Mally scrambled to retrieve the scraps. “Just a few minutes ago you were convinced you were dead or dreaming. Now you’ve decided your missing Grannie is vacationing here of all places? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He rose as if to walk away and Mally panicked.

  “No! Don’t go! Please help me!” She dashed forward, her hands outstretched, but he disappeared with a flick of his red tipped tail. She fell to her knees on the ground and began to cry. “Please! I need your help!”

  She clutched the blue cloth to her heart as tears coursed down her cheeks. She blubbered on, hoping the cat was still listening. “I really, really need to find my grandma. She’s been missing for so long and now something is wrong with Mama and it’s all messed up. Everything is awful and it would all be better again if Grandma could just come home. Please help me!”

  Her words dissolved into a simple chant, “Please help me. Please help me.” Mally wra
pped her arms around her chest and rocked back and forth. “Please help me. Please help me.”

  “Is this what you usually do when things don’t go your way? Sit down and cry about it?” The cat asked from behind. Mally whipped her head around and found he was now perched on the hill between the stream and the door.

  “I don’t know what else to do.” Mally sobbed. “Can’t you help me?”

  “You know, I might’ve heard a story about a Maker hanging around, but if you’re just going to sit there and stain the fabric of Quilst with your tears, I’m not sure I should bother.”

  “I’ll stop crying. I’ll do anything, just please help me!” Mally scrambled to dry her face. She considered using the cloth she’d pulled from the stream and thought better of it. She scrubbed her face with the sleeve of her shirt instead. Face clear, she stood up, tucking the precious blue scraps into her back pocket. “I’m Mally Spencer,” she added with a shaky breath. “And you are?”

  “Very nice to meet you, Mally Spencer,” the cat said with exaggerated politeness. “My name is Patch.”

  “Patch the cat?” Mally asked, cocking her head to one side.

  “Yes, it’s unfortunately unoriginal. A friend gave it to me, and I didn’t want to be impolite.” He looked away quickly and shrugged. “A name is a name after all. Who would I be without it?”

  Mally looked closer at his body and noticed he was pieced from a variety of orange, yellow, and red fabrics cut in irregular sizes and shapes. None of his seams lined up and some of them looked like they’d been stitched backwards, with the edges of the fabric fraying on the outside of his body.

  “Well, Patch, can you help me now? Do you know where my grandma is?” Mally asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I believe I do, but I think it’s best to leave that story until tomorrow.”

  “What?! No!”

  “Patience, little Maker. You might want to think about taking yourself home. If your grandmother has been gone for months, time has most certainly been passing in your world.”

  “How much time? How can you tell what time it is here?” Mally asked, looking up at the sky. The sun hadn’t moved from its position directly overhead.

  “More than enough time for you to be missed, I’d guess.”

  “Oh no!” Mally scooped up her belongings and hurried up the hill to the door. She didn’t think Rose would notice if she disappeared, but she didn’t want to give Dad anything else to worry about.

  “What about Grandma? Where is the Maker you were talking about?” she asked, shoving her feet into her shoes as she stuffed her socks, pack of needles and spool of thread into her pockets. Patch followed at a slower pace, his tail twitching slowly from side to side.

  “Come back tomorrow and meet me there.” He pointed at a spot in the distance. Mally could see a gray path at the base of the closest mountain. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “You promise to be there?”

  “I swear on every stitch that holds me together.”

  “Let’s shake on it,” Mally said, reaching out her hand. The cat stared at her with an odd expression. Slowly he padded forward and extended a soft yellow paw which Mally shook once.

  “I’ll come back as early as I can tomorrow. Thank you, Patch!” Her eyes filled with tears, but for the first time in a long time, they were tears of joy. “Just think – by tomorrow evening I could bring Grandma back and then everything will be back to normal again.”

  She stepped onto the purple platform and pulled open the door. Bright light spilled out and a sudden wind blew against her back, pulling her towards the portal. Mally picked up her sewing box and clutching it to her chest, she took one last look over the beautiful landscape.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Patch! Thank you!” Mally called, then she turned and disappeared into the light.

  * * * * *

  The return journey was just as odd and unsettling as before. Mally wished her hands were empty so she could grip her head as the wind swirled and a great ringing echoed through her ears. She closed her eyes tight as the light grew blindingly bright. Then just as quickly as before, it all stopped.

  Mally blinked and found herself sitting on the floor next to Grandma’s cutting table.

  Whoa, she thought. Did that really happen? Or was that all a dream? She dug into the pockets of her jeans and breathed out a sigh of relief as she pulled out her socks and the scraps of blue fabric from the stream. It wasn’t a dream! It was real!

  Mally sat and stared at the fabrics, her heart and mind racing at the possibilities. Grandma was alive! She was inside the quilt and Mally just needed to find her and bring her home.

  “MAL-LY! MALLORY LAUREN SPENCER WHERE ARE YOU!?” Mally let out a little shriek as Dad’s voice reverberated through the house. He was shouting loud enough to wake the dead and Mally could hear his heavy footsteps stomping up the wooden stairs.

  “I’m here. I’m sorry!” She scrambled to her feet and snatched the sewing box off the floor. She flung open the door. “Oh my gosh, I have the most amazing thing to tell you!”

  Then she came face to face with Dad and Rose at the end of the hall.

  “Where have you been?” Dad demanded. “Rose said she looked everywhere and couldn’t find you.”

  “She must have missed me. She might not have been looking very hard.” Mally smirked but she lost her smile quickly as she caught her sister’s eye. Rose’s face was very pale, and she was staring at Mally like she was seeing a ghost.

  “I checked every room and you weren’t anywhere,” Rose said. “Where did you go? Where have you been? It was like Grandma all over again.”

  Her last words came out in a whisper and Mally was shocked to see tears in her sister’s eyes. Rose had never seemed as sad about Grandma’s disappearance as Mally or Mama.

  “I was just…” Mally wondered if she should tell them about the quilt. Would they believe? What if they took the quilt away? Grandma could be in that landscape right now. It was the first clue they’d gotten in all the months she’d been gone. If the quilt was taken away, Grandma would never come back.

  Mally shrugged her shoulders, trying for nonchalance. “I fell asleep reading a boring book from the library. I couldn’t hear you all the way back here. That’s all.”

  “So you’ve been in the sewing room the whole time?” Rose asked. “Because I checked there too. Dad, I looked everywhere after you called.”

  Both sisters looked at Dad and Mally could see he still didn’t believe her. Time to pull out the big guns. Mally crossed her arms and glared at her sister.

  “Did you look for me before or after you made out with your boyfriend in Grandma’s kitchen?”

  * * * * *

  Sometime later Mally lay curled up on her bed, listening to the argument raging downstairs. Dad had blown his top when Mally spilled the beans that Rose had a boyfriend and he had come over to Grandma’s house. She hadn’t mentioned his car or Rose ditching her at school, but she figured all that would come out eventually.

  When they got home, Dad had thrown a frozen pizza in the oven and disappeared into his and Mama’s room. They had eaten dinner in silence, Rose glaring at Mally the entire time. When Dad reappeared, he’d ordered Mally to go upstairs and finish her homework. As soon as her door clicked shut the yelling had started.

  Mally sighed and pulled Ms. Bunny tighter into her arms. “I didn’t want to tell on her, I really didn’t, but Rose wasn’t going to let it go.” She threaded the rabbit’s soft cotton ears through her fingers as she told her stuffed friend exactly what had happened that day.

  “And I really think she’s there, Ms. Bunny! It makes sense. She disappeared, and no one saw her leave the house or anyone come by because she never left the house. She’s inside the quilt.”

  Her mind spun with the possibilities, but the gentle gaze of Ms. Bunny’s black eyes
always made her feel calm. She squeezed the doll a little tighter and felt the soft cotton squish against her face.

  “But why hasn’t she come back yet?” Mally asked. “I was able to come back easily. Just walk back through the door and come home. It doesn’t even hurt. You’d think it would hurt, wouldn’t you? I mean, it feels weird and it’s kinda loud, but it doesn’t hurt.”

  She lifted the doll into the air and imagined her flying like the butterfly she’d stitched. “I just have to find her, Ms. Bunny. I’m going back tomorrow, and I’m going to find Grandma and bring her home.” She set her friend down carefully on her pillow and was about to tell her about stitching the butterfly when she heard a low laugh from behind.

  “Talking to your stuffies again, baby?” Rose stood in the doorway, her thick arms crossed over her chest.

  “Go away!”

  Rose smirked. “No.” She sat down hard on Mally’s bed, making it clear she wasn’t going anywhere until she wanted to. The bed dipped and Mally scrambled off. She didn’t want to be within hitting distance of her sister. She had no idea what was coming but had a feeling Rose was looking to get even.

  Rose scooted forward to look at her closely. “So where did you really go today?”

  “What do you care? You were too busy dancing around for your boyfriend.”

  Rose narrowed her eyes. “Such a tattle tale. Jeez, when are you going to grow up, Mally?” She picked up Ms. Bunny and twirled the doll in her hands.

  Mally fought the instinct to snatch her best friend back. She hated seeing Ms. Bunny anywhere near her sister’s hands. As if reading her mind, Rose sat the doll on the bed and began sliding Ms. Bunny’s long ears through her fingers, exactly the way Mally liked to do.

  “Playing with dolls is just so childish. You’d better be careful your friends never find out. You’ll be the class baby. And talking to her? That’s just weird.” She picked up the doll by her ears and began to swing Ms. Bunny around and around, spinning her over her head like a lasso.

  Mally screamed, “No! You’ll hurt her!” But it was too late.