The Healing Quilt

by Lauraine Snelling

  She stared at the screen. Wonder why I did that?^Wiui a shrug she left it as is and added, “With love, Mom. P.S. I'll try to remember to log on more often.”

  “Okay, dog. I'm going outside to work in the garden for a bit. You can drool over the birds or stay inside, your choice.” An ear-ringing bark was her answer.

  On her way out the door, Kit snagged her clippers and gardening gloves from the shelf and stuck the green stretchy tape in her pocket. It had replaced worn-out pantyhose as plant ties sometime earlier.

  She went down the flower beds deadheading the roses, checking for aphids, and pulling the few weeds that managed to sneak through the mulch. After fetching bamboo stakes from the gardening bench, she tied up the glads before they grew leggy enough to tip over and snipped dead blossoms off the late-blooming anemones and irises. Missy rolled over and wriggled around, scratching her back on the grass, her front feet flopping, back feet kicking the air. When she snorted and lay there, looking up at Kit as if saying, “Come on, get with the belly rubs,” Kit laughed and complied. Sinking down on the grass, she rubbed Missy's belly, watching a hummingbird visit the Apple Pink penstemon, hovering and drinking from each tubular blossom. When her fingers slowed, Missy kicked her feet, rolled back right up, and crawled up into Kits crossed legs.

  “You silly girl, you're too big to be a lap dog.” With both arms around the dog's neck, Kit rested her chin on Missy's head and watched the blackbirds ferrying food to their growing brood in the birdhouse on the top of a pole stuck in the dahlia bed. While she kept the bird feeders empty of seeds at that time of the year, every once in a while, a sparrow or house finch would light and check it out.

  “How do you suppose he can bear living in hotels all the time when he enjoyed our yard as much as I do?” She shook her head. “I just don't get it.”

  A snore from the dog in her lap made her look down. Missy lay on her back, head tipped over Kit's thigh and two broad paws flopped on her chest. Perfect trust in picture form. A picture of herself climbing up into God's lap zapped through her mind.

  “No!”

  Missy jerked awake, scrambling to her feet, her head swiveling around to see what was wrong. She woofed, halfheartedly, in case there was something going on she didn't see.

  “Don't mind me. I just got blindsided by a memory. God, I'm not doing that anymore. I told you that. I can't trust you anymore.”

  Can't or worit?

  “And I'm tired of those voices too.” Kit took the clippers and attacked a euonymus, whacking the straggling branches back as if they were poison ivy or oak.

  “I'm not doing that anymore. I'm not, I'm not.”

  She stomped across the grass to the garage and brought out the orange construction-sized wheelbarrow, threw the rake in, and stomped back across the yard to clean up her mess.

  That done, Kit headed for the lower level where the compost heaps awaited her. Throwing the trimmings in a pile that she'd chop by running over it with the lawn mower, she took the pitchfork stuck in the pile that needed turning and went at it as though she were attacking an invading army.

  Dig…shove the fork deeper. “No more.”

  Lift…strain. “Mark, you're a jerk.”

  Dig. “No more.”

  Lift. “Who needs…”

  Heave. “You.”

  She dug, lifted, and heaved until her shoulders ached, until sweat and tears ran down her face and chest. Kit was puffing so hard she could only mutter her diatribe. Gasping, she leaned on the pitchfork handle and stared at the now empty bin. Empty, just like her.

  She stared at the three three-sided composting bins Mark had built especially for her. She could add boards to make them higher or dismantle the whole thing to move it to a different area if she so desired.

  Kit wiped her face with her shirttail and, after sucking in as much air as her chest could hold, released it all and felt the last vestiges of anger disappear on the slight breeze. She stabbed the fork back into the top of the heap she'd turned, “/need you, that's who.”

  She wiped her eyes again and headed for the house.

  The message light was blinking when she glanced at the phone. She punched the button and heard Teza.

  “I thought you were coming out to pick cherries. I sure could use some help.”

  “Oh, drat and blast. How could I forget something like that so quickly?” Kit checked the time. Almost two. Amazing how time flew when you were having fun. She washed her hands, made a peanut butter and jam sandwich, called Missy in, and with sandwich and can of soda in hand, tucked her purse under her arm and headed for the car. She'd eat on the way.

  Dusk fell too quickly as the clouds came up in the west, growing darker in spite of the sun.

  “The rest of those cherries will just have to take their chances,” Teza said with a head shake. “If they split, they split.”

  Kit set her bucket on the wheelbarrow. “There aren't many left at least.” She stretched her hands above her head and twisted from her waist, trying to pull the kinks out of her shoulders. “Besides, since when are the weatherman or even black clouds necessarily on the nose with rain?”

  “True.” Teza grasped the handles of the wheelbarrow and with a grunt began pushing the load up to the barn.

  “Here, let me do that.” With a grin Kit shouldered her aunt out of the way and pushed the load onward.

  Once the cherries were in the cooler, Kit rinsed her hands in the sink Mark had plumbed out there for just that purpose and wiped her hands on a towel. “How about coming over for dinner with me, and lets finish designing the cancer quilt? I've been playing with it in my mind, but I need to get it down on paper and have you look it over.”

  Teza made a moue. “I should do those cherries that are really ripe…” But then she shrugged. “They'll wait until morning. You want me to bring anything?”

  “No thanks. Just your brain and experience.”

  “Well, 50 percent isn't bad.” Teza reached up to pull the counter window down and flinched in the process. After throwing the bolts, she rubbed her shoulder.

  “What's wrong?”

  “Either I pulled a muscle the other day, or else all the cherry picking is getting to me.”

  “You're sure that's all?”

  “Kit, I'll see you at your house.”

  Once home and cleaned up, Kit took strips of cooked chicken out of the freezer and thawed them in the microwave while she filled two bowls with mixed salad greens she'd picked that morning. By the time Teza arrived, the salads were ready and the muffins just out of the oven.

  “Poppy seed dressing or roasted garlic?”

  “Either.” Teza bent down. “Yes, Missy, I see you. I just needed to put my things down before I could pet you.” She took care of those obligations and sat in the chair that Kit indicated.

  “I thought we'd eat out on the deck, but the wind came up too much. Iced tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee would be fine.”

  When seated, Kit picked up her fork, then waited while Teza bowed her head. Saying grace was another of those things she'd put aside for quite a while…or forever.

  “My, this is good.” Teza broke open a muffin. “Cranberries?”

  “I tossed a handful in. Thought it would go well with the chicken.”

  “It does. Interesting meeting this morning, don't you think?”

  “That's for sure. Never dreamed Elaine Giovanni would show up like that.”

  “I'm glad she came. Did you notice the look on her face when you introduced her?”

  “No, why?” Kit stopped chewing.

  “Your comment about ‘token woman on the hospital board?”

  “Oh.” Kit tightened her lower jaw in a flinch. “It just slipped out. I didn't mean anything by it.”

  “She covered well, but…”

  “But I stuck my foot in my mouth and now I have to chew?”

  “Something like that.”

  Kit groaned when the phone interrupted them but rose to answer it anyway
. “What a dumb thing to do. Hello.”

  “Kit, this is Beth Donnelly.”

  “Well, hi, what a nice surprise. I'm sure glad you came today.”

  “Me, too. I was wondering, I mean I had an idea for the quilt and I…”

  “Interesting. Teza is here and we are going to work on the designing tonight. You want to come over?”

  “Really? I mean I wouldn't want to put you out on the spur of the moment or anything.”

  “No chance. Come as soon as you can.”

  Kit hung up and turned to smile at Teza. “Beth Donnelly is coming to help us.”

  “Good. I'm looking forward to getting to know her better.”

  An hour later the three of them were studying the picture of the quilt the group had chosen to use.

  “My grandmother always said she chose colors by their meaning and what she wanted the quilt to say. She said blue is the color of truth and red is for life and passion.”

  “And since burgundy is a blued red, that will fit really well too.” Teza sat back. “We'll use the cream when we have some pieces with patterns, or cream on cream. That'll make the design much richer, too. See, here along the edge of the star, we're going to have to fill in with triangles to straighten the edge.”

  “What if we put the triangles in a blue print and that first border in either a solid blue or blue on blue?”

  Beth took her pencil and began drawing on her pad of paper. “We could do the corners like this.” She drew two squares, one a nine patch and the other another star with cream fill-in.

  “If we did the nine patch, we could do one border of blocks, say the same size as in the nine patch but only two blocks high.”

  The discussion continued until Teza sat back in her chair. “This will be a work of art, that is for sure.”

  “I love the colors. I can just picture it.” Beth studied the drawing she'd made.

  “You have a real talent for drawing, don't you?” Teza pointed to the pad.

  Beth looked from the pad to Teza and then to Kit, puzzlement creasing her forehead. “Not really, I mean this is just triangles and straight lines.”

  “All in balance and proportion,” Kit added.

  “I never thought of myself as an artist. I just make quilts and things.”

  “Fabric artist perhaps?”

  Beth sat as if caught in a children's statue game. Her lips parted on an exhale, her eyes widened, and the corners of her mouth tipped up just enough to brighten her eyes. “You really think so?”

  Kit and Teza swapped glances of delight—and nodded in perfect sync.

  “1… I guess I'll have to think about this… I mean, I'm not, uh, real talented, you know.”

  “Right.” Kit rolled her eyes. “Lets get some iced tea. I was hoping to get pattern pieces cut out tonight, but its getting late.”

  “Are you going to use the plastic template stuff?”

  “I think so, that way the cutters can work faster.”

  The three made their way down the stairs.

  “I love the way you have all your family pictures on this wall.” Beth stopped halfway down. “You have a beautiful family. What are their names?”

  Kit stopped, too, and pointed to each picture as she named them. “That's Jennifer, our eldest. She just started her career in public relations in Dallas. This is Ryan, the youngest. He's attending Wazoo, or rather Washington State University in Pullman.”

  “And this?” Beth pointed to the third picture.

  “That's Amber, she's…” Kit felt her throat close.

  “She's waiting for all of us in heaven.” Teza's soft words pooled in the silence.

  “Oh.” Beth swallowed and looked to Kit. “I'm so sorry. How can you stand it, I mean you are so…so…?”

  I can't stand it, I just keep ongoing. Kit sniffed and ignored the urge to weep.

  “How long ago?” Iwo years.

  “Does it get any easier?” Beth whispered.

  Three steps below the younger woman, Kit looked into Beth's eyes and understood. “How long ago was it for you?”

  “Seven months. Our little boy died before he was born.” She sniffed and chewed on her bottom lip, pools of tears darkening her eyes.

  Kit took her hand. “I think no matter how old they are, the hole is there—in our hearts.”

  “Does it ever heal?”

  “I hope so, Beth, I sure hope so.”

  “I…better be going, uh, its getting late and.

  “Iced tea won't take but a minute.” Teza put an arm around Beth's shoulders.

  “No, I… I'll… I have to go.” Beth broke away, and snatching her purse off the coffee table, headed for the front door. “Th-thank you.”

  “She's running even worse than you.” Teza dropped her hand on Kit's shoulder. “Poor child.”

  FIFTEEN

  “George, have you been listening to a word I've been saying?”

  “Of course. You are figuring ways to get money for the new mam-mogram unit, whether we on the board think that is the best thing for our hospital or not.” He picked up the book he'd laid in his lap and went back to reading. Or at least to turning the pages.

  “Whyever would it not? Don't you men understand how important this issue is? Just because you don't have breasts.

  George laid his book back down and looked at her over the tops of his half glasses. “Have you looked into how much money we lost in the last couple of years offering mammograms?”

  “So money is more important than women's health?” She could feel her jaw tightening, along with the back of her neck. She rolled her head from side to side and consciously relaxed her mouth.

  “That's not the point.”

  He'd assumed his doctor-lecturing-a-dim-patient demeanor, which always made her want to snap back. She controlled the urge and smiled instead. “Then tell me what is the point.” Oh, Doctor, god of us all.

  “If we don't keep within the budget, we won't have money to keep the doors open, and then no one will get help of any kind. We haven't invested heavily in other new diagnostic equipment for the same reason.”

  “No, we invested in a new entry, new carpets, new furniture…the list goes on.”

  “You know that Jefferson insisted on all that and put up a good portion of the finances. After all, it was his money, and an overhaul of the entire complex was long overdue.”

  “And went way over budget.”

  “I can't be held responsible for that.” He rubbed a hand back over his thinning hair. “If you hadn't missed those meetings, you'd have understood all that.”

  “Oh, I understand all right.” I'm not stupid, you know. “And I know that Medicare cut back on the amounts they pay for mammograms—”

  “And for reading the results. David Ashley doesn't work for nothing either. Although the way things are going, we'll all be working for next to nothing pretty soon. We're being regulated to death, and between the government and the HMOs, we're not allowed to treat patients like they should be or like we think they should be.”

  “George, I know all that.”

  “But you think we're taking it out on this one area of the hospital. Talk to the other departments, and you'll hear the same thing.”

  “So I'd think you'd be glad to have some outside help.”

  “Fine, you get the machine. Who's going to pay to operate it and read the results, let alone maintain the beast?” He kept his place with one finger and waved the book at her. “You have to look at the whole picture.”

  “Then recommend we close down the entire department and send our women to Olympia or Tacoma or even Seattle. Half of our older ladies have no way to get that far, and the other half will be screaming bloody murder, which they are going to do anyway if more studies show that the power lines are causing a cancer cluster in our area.”

  “I wish it were that easy, but that's why we've chosen to partially subsidize the mobile mammogram unit.”

  “Which is broken again and unable to travel.”

>   “How do you know that?”

  “Heard two people discussing it somewhere.” Elaine's jaw was beyond relaxing now. Why couldn't they just talk without falling into an argument?

  “I still think if it were the men getting squeezed and…”

  “Oh, give it a rest, Elaine. That claim is an old boat that won't float.” He set his book on the round table beside his leather chair and stood. “I'm going to bed.”

  At the sound, Doodlebug raised his head from the pillow where he'd been sleeping on the corner of the couch and yawned. He watched George exit the room before deciding to stay where he was.

  Oh sure, just walk out. As usual, nothing is resolved. Even the Bug knows better than to go with you. Elaine watched George's stiff shoulders and rigid back as he strode out the French doors that closed off the library. Going after him would be a waste of time. He'd disappear into the bathroom, emerge sometime later, and crawl into bed, falling instantly asleep, all without glancing at her, as if she weren't even there. He'd perfected the routine to the point she knew he could practically do it in his sleep.

  She picked up her glass of Chardonnay from the side table and sipped, staring out to the deck overlooking the lighted pool and on to the evergreens lower on the hillside. There had to be a way around this. Money was usually the way. Who in town might want to donate appreciable sums of money? The county? What about the power company? The oncologists? Having state-of-the-art diagnostic equipment here would keep the treatments closer too. Jefferson City was just too remote to require everyone to run to Olympia or Tacoma for diagnosis and treatment. The money was out there. She would just have to find it.

  She stood and crossed to her cherry wood filing cabinet, pulling out the drawers one at a time, looking for all the grant materials she'd gathered over the years. Perhaps all the money needn't be raised locally. Perhaps the mammogram unit was just the beginning of an entire breast cancer specialty for Jefferson City. If you build it, they will come. That famous line regarding a baseball field in the middle of a corn patch was surely applicable here. Or was the adage “if life gives you lemons, make lemonade” even better? The women of Jefferson City were certainly being given lemons.