Scandal

by Patsy Brookshire

  "Good. Because I do have a need to know. Willamina? I think they're doing the afternoon demonstration in the County Quilt Booth. Wanta go talk to them?"

  "Yes!" Lord, this man is a treasure trove of info. "Where's the booth?"

  He led me back inside, past the cake decorating and the vegetable displays, past the lace making, to the County Quilting Booth. It was near the Authors Booth and had a rotating display of quilt making put on by different state counties. He told me these next couple of hours belonged to Yamhill County, represented today by Willamina. I could hear it before I saw it. Women's voices, giggles and loud laughter.

  One woman's voice rose above the rest. "Come to the Willamina Quilt Show. Best little quilt show in Oregon." I recognized her voice from yesterday. Magda. She was standing inside an enclosed square bordered by piles of quilts, handing out an information sheet. Inside the square, several women were sitting around a quilt stretched taut on a frame, their hands busy pulling thread through the cloth with tiny needles. It looked for all the world like a 1900's quilting bee.

  I took one, glanced at the map on it, and then at her.

  Her body was sturdy and her face, with half glasses resting on her nose, was happy. I immediately liked her.

  "When is it and where? I mean, of course it's in Willamina, but when?"

  "Oh, honey, it's in November," she said. "See the date here? If you want to enter our Challenge we have a section open to people not from Willamina. You have lots of time."

  "How do you know I'm not from Willamina?"

  "Sweetheart, I know every quilter in Willamina. There's not that many of us."

  "How about me?" Len said.

  "You? Well, I'm sure I don't know what about you." She moved so she was standing opposite him, with the piled-up quilts between them. "You want to enter our Challenge?" She was staring at him over her eyeglasses, challenging him. "You can, you know. We welcome men. Some of our best quilters are men, but right now we don't have any. I'm surprised at the wonderful work you guys can do. After all, men aren't much into detail and quilting is all detail and patience, and--"

  "You bet I quilt! Doesn't everybody?"

  "Maybe not 'everybody'. Some of us might have other things to do," I said, feeling defensive, excluded. I stood straighter, wiped the churlishness from my tone. "I think it's great that you quilt, Len. Just not my thing."

  A tall thin woman came to stand by Magda. "This guy giving you trouble?" Her hair was a perfect coif, a sausage roll like I'd not seen outside of photos of women from the Forties, a smooth folding of hair that framed an angular face. These women appeared to be of my generation, which made me wonder just when and how they'd started quilting.

  The desire to quilt had certainly passed me by. It was something old people did. Wasn't it? I remembered why I'd wanted to talk to these women.

  "...trying to get into our show."

  "Well, we just might let him," the thin one said, "but he's got to show us what he's got, first." She tilted her head flirtatiously.

  I didn't care much for this flirting. "I have a question. Magda?"

  "Yes, I'm Magda Buler. This is Lena Veil."

  "I hear that you have a quilt of Haystack Rock."

  They looked at each other.

  What was that about. Maybe they don't understand what I'm referring to? I clarified my question. "At Cannon Beach?"

  At that another woman came from the center of the square. "What do you know about a Cannon Beach quilt?" She pursed her mouth at Magda and Lena, and they both stepped back.

  "Hey, Sunshine, we didn't say anything," Magda said.

  I said, "I'm sorry if it's a secret. Yesterday while working on the Bug Exhibit, I heard a couple women mention a quilt about Cannon Beach and I have reason to wonder what it looks like. I thought it sounded like your voices."

  They both laughed and relaxed a bit.

  "Okay." Sunshine said to me, "We'd appreciate it if you didn't spread it around, but it's not a big secret. We just don't like the competition to know too much before the show." With that she went back to the side of the quilt frame.

  Secrets? I wondered what the big deal was. A quilt's a quilt, isn't it?

  "How does the competition work?" Len said. "Do you have to be a member of your Quilt Guild to enter? Or," he added, his manner unusually humble, "a woman?"

  Why, I wondered, did he want to know?

  While Lena dealt with his question, Magda took me aside. "You say you don't quilt, but I think you have a question. What is it?"

  "I had an aunt who lived at Cannon Beach and made a quilt featuring Haystack Rock. 'Applique,' she called it."

  "When was that?"

  "Right after the first World War. I was wondering what your quilt looks like."

  "It's not my quilt. I'll tell you this much. One of the other gals has something. If you want to see it you'll have to come to our show."

  "Look, we don't have time today, but I'd like to know more about this quilt."

  We were getting off my question about the mystery quilt, but I didn't notice, not then.

  "Is it still around? Could I see it?" said Magda.

  "Sure. I'd like to show it to you." I'd have to get it from Sam. That wouldn't be a problem. I knew he liked to show it off.

  "And I think there is maybe more you have to ask?"

  I nodded. Could she read my mind?

  She reached into her back pants pocket and pulled out a card. "Here. All my info is here. I teach quilting, and I also authenticate quilts."

  At my questioning look she pushed her card into my hand. It had a quilt design on it. "Just call. Part of authenticating is registering with the state. A quilt like that needs to be recorded."

  I tucked her card into the side pocket of my purse, an innocent enough act.

  As we were leaving I noticed that Len was holding a piece of paper. "What's that?"

  "While you were gabbing I entered a quilt in their show."

  "What quilt?"

  "Tumbling Blocks. You were looking at it when I found you."

  "You made that?"

  "Hey! Your family isn't the only one that quilts, you know. And yes, I am proud of it."

  I said, "You should be. Boy, you are a surprise! Now, maybe, I'll have to go to the dang thing."

  Hard to imagine Len as a quilter. The little I knew of quilting led me to think it required, above all, patience. Even Magda had mentioned it. He'd always been short on that.

  But then, people do change. I sighed to myself with relief, thinking of our distant past. I was going to count on it.

  Chapter 5

  Sampson Speaks

  I didn't expect to live this long, not this long without Sue. She was the light of my life and sometimes I think this dark is going to last forever. Gotta say, though, I have found ways to get through, to be happy in this time without her. I know, things change.

  Like me. I've had to adapt. People in the old days had to learn new stuff, trains, phones, all that. I'm making my way. When the kids presented me with the idea of using a computer, I balked, but they brought the dang thing right in the house with us and so, I got curious.

  Learned it, although one day when it came up with some message about me committing some Fatal Error, I got on the horn and called Dave up at work. Luckily he was in the office and not out driving the truck or I'd'a said a couple things to Teri that a woman doesn't need to hear.

  "Kid! If you don't get home pretty damn quick here and help me with this thing I'm gonna take a hammer to it. Then I'm goin' on to Walker's computer next door, smash it, and then wherever. This crap has gotta stop!" I meant it, too. I was so mad!

  Dave told me to take a walk on the beach until they could get home. So they got me on board with it all and now I help other people. Like my friend Kit in that care center where I'm going next week. I'm over eighty but I'm not done yet.

  Something Annie doesn't know about yet. I met Magda at the Fair. In truth, I met Magda some years ago when she was at Sophie's Cabins
, probably about 1980. About the time I met Annie.

  I liked her then, but I was married and I didn't fool around. Besides, she was at least twenty years younger than me. She was married too.

  Maybe she flirted with me then because of my blue eyes. Like Paul Newman, I'd like to think I'm more than a pair of eyes. She did flirt with me though, not seriously, but enough so that when she showed up at the Bug Exhibit looking for Annie we sort of recognized each other.

  "You look familiar," she said.

  "Oh, you say that to all the bug guards," I teased, and then reminded her of her beach visit about thirty years ago.

  "I can't believe it! You remember me after all these years? I don't even look the same! I was skinny." Her voice boomed, making the bugs jump.

  She does look different, has put on a few pounds. Looking good. I shook my head at her, and said, "Still look the same to me. Better. I like a woman with a bit of meat on her bones. Bones are for a dog, the meat is for a man."

  That stopped her in her tracks, for a minute, and then she laughed.

  That was what had attracted me way back when, the boom of her laugh. The bugs didn't like it, I could see them getting nervous. I took her elbow and moved her away from the cages, over to a bench by the open doors.

  She sat down. I sat right beside her so I could hear her over the noise of the carnie rides outside the door.

  She didn't move away. "I'm sorry," she said. "Your name? It's been a long time." I started to tell her, but she put her hand on mine where it was resting on my leg.

  "No, let me guess. It's unusual, but not."

  I kept my hand right where it was, didn't want to waste the moment. It's been a while since I've felt the warmth of a flirty hand on mine. I watched Magda's face twist comically.

  "Joe? No, common, but not." Her brows folded, before she smiled widely. "Sam! For Sampson! The guy with the hair! The strong guy."

  I put my other hand over hers, squeezing gently. "Well, I'm older but I'm still strong. Strong enough for normal purposes."

  "Oh, Sam." She'd pulled her hand from mine and was now pushing my chest with it, soft like. She even colored a bit. "Uh, how's Sue? Isn't that your wife's name, Sue?"

  "Yes. It was. I mean, she's been gone for a long time now. Died some years ago."

  "Oh! I'm sorry, Sammy. I liked her. She was a jolly soul. Made our time at the cabins really nice."

  That reminded me that she'd not been alone on that vacation, but not with a husband, but her husband's sister. Joan, that was her name.

  "So, how is Joan?"

  Her eyebrows rose. "You remember her name?"

  "I didn't forget yours, Magda. So how's her brother? The guy who picked you girls up?"

  She laughed again. "You sly dog. You are still so cute. My husband Tommy?" She pushed her hair off her forehead and ran her fingers over the top of her head. "Wow, warm isn't it!" She straightened, leaning her head away from me. "Aw, he's okay. He's gone a lot. I quilt a lot. We get along okay."

  "Well, I'm sorry to hear it. Where does he go?" I couldn't help grinning.

  "He's a fishing nut. All the time. We have a boat. I sometimes think the boat has him. He doesn't even like to eat fish. He just fishes. Whatever's running, he's out there chasing it."

  "You get lonely?"

  "Just cut right to the chase, eh?"

  "Sounds like you're alone, but not? Does he have a gun? Do you play around?"

  Magda stood and held out her hand to me as if to give the old guy a helping hand up, if he needed it.

  I didn't. My turn to laugh. "Just thinking of your options. Quilting's great. Mom Sophie made her living quilting, but I always thought she needed a boyfriend. You know, to take jars off lids, and stuff."

  "If I remember right that was the name on the cabins, but seems to me that your mother's name was Amy?"

  Before I could answer, she continued. "Tommy is a good guy. He's just not there. Never has been. About a year ago he took off on that boat with a friend of his. They went to Mexico to fish and are still there. He's not much on phoning. Heard from him on New Year's Eve. He was drunk. Lord! No, I'm not lonely. I have my quilt friends. I'm busy. And for the most part, happy."

  This was a funny conversation to be having by the open door of the Jackman Long Building. I brought it back to why she'd come over to the Bug Exhibit in the first place. "Weren't you looking for my cousin, Annie?"

  "Annie's your cousin? What a coincidence. Maybe that's why she seemed familiar to me. You do share a slight family resemblance." She stared at my face. "In the cheekbones. Kinda Nordic, or is it way back Indian?"

  Lord, she was starting to go woman on me, wanting to examine the details. "I don't know. We can talk about it later, if you want. Right now I need to get back to my Bug Protecting Detail. Some of us have to work, you know." I broke us a path through the mess of people heading out the door. "About Annie. You want me to give her a message?"

  "No, I'll call her. I have her number. We have a quilt to talk about."

  "I'll be staying with her next week, so perhaps we'll meet again." I wasn't going to let her slip away from me twice. The other time had not been a possibility but, now, here, I sensed something. "Maybe you could give me your number? Do you ever come to the coast, anymore?"

  "I live in Willamina. Quite a ways from Cannon Beach, but not so far, if a person wants to swing by."

  I didn't like to have to say this. Dammit, I hate getting old! "Look, the fact is, I don't drive anymore." We moved through a clot of people. I was glad for the diversion.

  "Okay." She smiled, and when we got to the Bugs, she gave me a hug. "I think we can figure out a way to meet up again. I'll be calling Annie. You tell her I was here. This is for you." She gave me her card. "You will hear from me."

  She walked away and I stood there, by the bugs.

  Hmmm. Did what just happened, really happen? Is she still flirting with me, after all these years? I walked over to a couple looking at the Exhibit. "These are Hissing Madagascar Cockroaches, you know," I told them, feeling like I needed to talk to someone, tell them something. I'd liked feeling important even if it was only for a few minutes.

  When they walked away, looking at me like I was a little strange, I decided it was time for me to go to my camper and start packing, check my wardrobe. I've got a nice blue shirt that I know the ladies like.

  Wonder if I brought it along.

  Chapter 6

  Me and The Trunk

  On Monday I played the afternoon away with Dave, his wife, Teri, and their grandchildren. The fair was more fun with the kids, Amber and Krysta. By the end of the day we were all hot, and sticky with their cotton candy, and yes, we'd shared one deep-fried Twinkie. The girls judged it, "All right." No one needed another. It was a fun afternoon. Sam, who had spent much of that time at the camper, packing, and I left in the early evening for my home on the Clackamas River. As much as I love traveling, I treasure even more coming home to the forest and the river.

  The river is a dramatic backdrop to the backyard of my home. It's why Roger and I bought this property and put our dream house here. It's a wild river, full of life, despite a dam upriver. Clear water scrambles over large and small rocks, foaming white as it drops into small pools. At the river's edge the water swirls around low-hanging branches, twisting and tearing off leaves and pine needles as it ambles here, speeds there, moving freely on. All of it pleasant to look at and listen to.

  From my back porch or from windows that I open on warm nights, I hear the river wending its way to the Willamette. The sounds are calming and yet stimulating. Now, as we near Autumn, the slowed splash from the lowered water level helps to cool my fevered mind. This business of meeting up with Len had me in a spin. And that unfinished quilt of Aunt Sophie's nagged at me in a way I hadn't expected. Something had to be done with it, but what? I didn't know which was troubling me more.

  After a good night's sleep, the week with Sam had an interesting twist, causing me to wonder if my aunt was haunting
me. She was with me more than I'd felt in many years, because of Sam? He was a greater spur with the quilt than I'd expected, starting with asking about Roger's ship models.

  Tuesday morning I told him I'd come to terms with letting go of Roger's ship models, but that I had a problem with one of them not being done. "I hate to just throw it away." I said.

  "Can I have a look at it?" He said. "I haven't done one of those in years, could be fun to finish it for you. Or him."

  We spent the morning in Roger's room. Sam patted the trunk. "Mom's old trunk. I'm glad you have it." I lifted the lid and he stared at the maroon and green quilt wrapped around the unfinished ship. He took a sharp breath.

  "I remember this quilt. Mom started to make this for our wedding, when Sue and I got married. But she never finished it. Don't know why. She made a traditional Wedding Ring instead."

  Before I could stop him Sam bent down and wrapped his hands around the clumsy bundle. I needn't have worried. His touch was as gentle as if he was lifting a newborn baby. Underneath was the original box that the model had come in. I took it out and closed the trunk so Sam could set the blanket-wrapped ship on the lid. He stepped back to let me unwrap it.

  "She made our Wedding Ring with Sue's color scheme of orange and gray. I think she said this one just didn't go. Sue used to kid me that as long as my mother's Wedding Ring covered us I'd never stray."

  He pulled over a straight back chair and straddled it. "She never had a wedding ring, you know. Mom didn't." I thought of his tangled childhood, living with his father, David, David's wife, Amy, and David's other love, Sophie, Sam's mother. He was only two when Sophie left him to be raised by Amy and his father. Sam took a deep breath, went back to his tale of fidelity, taking pride, I think, that he'd been a faithful husband.

  "Never even wanted to, though some fine women came to the cabins. Temptations. I know that a couple, or more, were looking for a fling and..." He trailed off, his arms wrapped around the back of the chair, his eyes on the quilt, watching me separating the unfinished quilt top from the ship, making one pile of ship pieces, another of connected and loose squares of cloth.