The Healing Quilt

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I brought a full carton of gallon Ziploc bags and the diagram for piecing each square.” Sue held up the box.

  “What if we get someone who can't sew well?”

  “Anyone can sew a quarter-inch seam.”

  “Don't count on it. That's why we make up some extra bags.” Kit set the enlarged diagram she'd drawn on a thirty-inch pad of paper up on the easel. The pieces were numbered in sew order, which to sew to which. “Just like the handout you have, right?”

  “Sure. I sewed several to make sure this was the easiest way.” Sue laid out her completed squares, done in leftover bits and pieces to use as examples. “I'm going to turn these into potholders when we're done.” She flipped the diagram sheets to show a ten-inch square in a heavy outline. “After they've pressed them, they lay their finished pieces on this to make sure they've sewn it all to scale.”

  “I'm impressed. Good thinking. You really think we'll get someone showing up who can't sew? After all, the articles read ‘all quilters.’ ”

  “Better safe than sorry.”

  As the women talked they set out patterns, quilting squares, rotary cutters and cutting mats.

  “Those who aren't experienced with these things”—Kit held up a rotary cutter—“we'll set to pressing fabric and filling the plastic bags.”

  “Sorry, I'm late.” Teza breezed in and set down her carry-all with quilting supplies. “Here.” She handed Kit a plastic bowl. “I brought apricots for a snack.”

  As more women filed in, the tables gradually filled, and the noise level rose in proportion.

  At Kit's insistence, Teza stood at the front of the room, and when the chattering continued, she clapped her hands to get their attention.

  “Welcome, welcome, ladies.” She waited before continuing, then spread her arms wide and embraced them all. “As my mother always said, many hands make light work’, and with all of you willing to participate, why, we'll have this quilt finished in no time. As you know, we have chosen to make this quilt”—she pointed to the large colored-in picture of the finished quilt—“to earn money for a new mammogram unit for the hospital. We need to give Kit Cooper credit for the idea.” She pointed to Kit and everyone clapped. “But all of us will now have a part in making that dream come true. The quilt will fit a king-sized bed, so we won't bother to count all the stitches it will take.” At their ripple of laughter, she smiled back. “At this point, since I see some new faces here, I'd like everyone to stand and introduce yourself. I'll go first since I'm already standing. I'm Teza Dennison, and I've been quilting longer than some of you have years. I have no idea how many quilts I've made or helped with.” She pointed to Kit, who stood as commanded.

  “I'm Kit Cooper, and while I haven't been quilting as long as Aunt Teza, she taught me, so I learned from a master.”

  At Teza's nod Beth stood. “I'm Beth Donnelly, and I'm new in town. My husband is Pastor Garth Donnelly of the Jefferson City Community Church. I've been quilting for five years or so, but this is my first time on a community project like this.” She sat down and smiled back at Aunt Teza.

  The woman next to her, as dark as Beth was fair, stood and flashed a smile around the room. “I'm Elsie May Sojourner, no relation to the famous one, and I learned quilting at my grand-mammy's knee, where if you didn't do it right, you kep’ redoin it until you did. I wore out more than one piece in the learnin.” Her rich voice matched the twinkle in her dark eyes.

  “Welcome, Elsie May. Haven't seen you for a long time.”

  “Well, I had to go on down home and take care of my mother. She died a month or so ago from breast cancer.” Her voice cracked in the telling. “That's why I want to do anythin I can to help fight this vicious disease. My mama didn't deserve to die so young.”

  “Uh, Elsie May, I'm so sorry to hear that.” Teza nodded to the next woman.

  “I'm new in town too. My name is Dawn Engels, and I have one question. I can sew my square on the machine, can't I? My hand stitching is for the birds.”

  “That's right, machine stitching for the piecing and hand quilting when we have it all together.” Teza smiled at the newcomer. “Welcome to Jefferson City.” She smiled at the woman at the end of the table. “Mrs. Giovanni?”

  Elaine stood and smiled around the room. “I'm Elaine Giovanni and I've been sewing since I was old enough to hold a needle but unable to thread it. I haven't done many quilts. Pillows are my specialty. I'm hoping we can get more than just this group working to raise money for the mammogram unit. Ladies, we need better medical care in this town, and I believe it is up to us to let our needs and demands be known.”

  Applause ricocheted around the room as she sat back down.

  Two more stood before Teza continued. “I thank you all for coming, and now we'll let Kit lay out the plan for the day.”

  Kit stood beside the easel and flipped to the diagram. “I'm going to walk you through the piecing as a refresher, and then we'll all split up to work on whatever section you'd like, probably trading off so the cutters don't get sore muscles. If you brought your own equipment, make sure you have your name on it.”

  Within a few minutes three people were standing at the ironing boards, and others had lined up to pick up the sturdy plastic patterns for the pieces they would cut.

  Teza made her way to Beth's side. “Hi, Beth. I'm so glad you joined us the other night. How have you been?”

  “Fine. I even managed to get my sewing machine set up.” Beth's smile wore trembles of hope.

  Teza looked into her soul and saw sorrow. “Good for you. I would be lost without mine. Beth, I was wondering… After the blocks are done, would you like to be one of the hand-quilters on this masterpiece? We might be doing that here, but I have a feeling the quilting frame will be set up at Kit's. You saw her nice big living room, and it isn't being used for much right now.”

  Beth gripped Teza's hand as though she'd caught a lifeline. “Oh yes, oh yes, I would love to. I mean you haven't seen my work yet or anything but…”

  “You'll do wonderfully, I can tell.” The urge to take the young woman in her arms made Teza give her a slight pat on the shoulder. “You take care now, you hear?”

  “Yes, of course.” Beth nodded and loosed her hand.

  Like an animal retreating into its den, Teza thought. Something is definitely wrong here, but there is nothing I can do at this point. Oh, wait, there is. “Do you and your husband like apricots?”

  “Of course.”

  “Perhaps you'd like to come out to my place and pick some. They are just coming on.”

  “You have an orchard?”

  “Oh my, yes. Come and see.”

  “I'll ask him.”

  “Good.” Teza pointed to Harriet Spooner standing at Beth's side. “I think she wants to talk with you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Those eyes, dear Lord, what is it this child needs?

  Teza continued on around the room, stopping to talk with each woman, most of whom she knew to varying degrees.

  “Hi, Teza.” Elaine looked up from where she was cutting deep burgundy triangles, her rolling blade sharp against the heavy plastic ruler.

  “Good to see you again. Thanks for helping choose the fabrics.”

  “You're welcome. Anything to get us a new mammogram unit.” She made another cut. “Have you thought of marketing possibilities yet?”

  “No, not really. That is more in Kit's line. You should talk to her.”

  “Oh, I will. I've been thinking how this group, the guild, and anyone else we can rope in could all work together. We can make big things happen that way.”

  “I'm sure. I stopped by the guild booth at the Fourth of July. Your pillows are true works of art.”

  “Thank you. I do love to make them.” Elaine stared down at her hands. “Must be that Puritan ethic, got to keep one's hands busy.” She moved her plastic quilting square. “Isn't there an old saw about empty hands being the devil's workshop?”

  “Something like tha
t.” Teza looked up when she heard Kit call her name. “Excuse me.”

  “Hobnobbing with the hoi polloi, I see.” Kit stopped in her rush to make sure someone else had the supplies she needed.

  “I think we should ask Elaine if she'd like to be one of the hand-quilters.”

  “Elaine Giovanni?” Kits right eyebrow flirted with her bangs.

  “I think she needs us.”

  “Like another hole in the head.” Kit paused. “You're serious, aren't you?”

  “Very much so.”

  “If you want to, go for it, be my guest, whatever.”

  Some chose to work right on through lunch, while others broke to eat with the usual senior crowd. Through the afternoon, helpers came and went as they had time. By four o'clock, the last of the Ziplocs was sealed and distributed. Each woman signed her name, address, and phone number on the checkout sheet.

  “Now remember,” Kit repeated again, “these have to be returned to me by August second. We want to hang this for display as close to the first of October as possible.”

  If she heard “no problem” once, she heard it fifty times. Some women took one or two squares and others ten, but all promised to have them completed within the allotted time.

  “The sooner the better.” Kit's response came automatically.

  “Are you sure you really want me to help hand quilt?” Beth stopped beside Teza at the table.

  “Of course, my dear. And I do hope to see you out at Bit of Heaven Farm. Just go out Old River Road. You can't miss it on the left.”

  “Thank you.”

  Teza watched as Beth left the room, her plastic bags clutched in one hand. She glanced down to see that Beth had taken five and promised to take others if someone got in trouble with meeting the deadline.

  “Thank you all for your help.” Kit turned from loading her ironing board into the van while the others also packed up their things.

  “You are most welcome. It will indeed be a beautiful quilt.” Sue kneaded her back. “I need to learn to cut sitting down.”

  “Or raise the tables.”

  “That's what I did at home. Followed that extension woman's advice and made my machines, tables, chairs, and everything ergonom-ically correct for me. Cut back on my chiropractor calls fifty percent.”

  “Really?” Kit pulled the rear van door down and slammed it shut.

  “You should have Mark raise your sewing table up tall as you are.”

  “Good idea, I'll suggest that.” If and when he ever comes home.

  TWENTY

  “Can Missy come out and play?”

  Kit looked down at the dog dancing at her feet, then out to the boy. “Do you think she wants to?”

  Missy yipped, but before she could get her front feet up on the screen door, Kit opened it and out she went. Her deep bark played counterpoint to Thomas's little-boy giggle. When she charged him, he fell back on the grass and threw his arms around her neck, both of them rolling and making all the noises small boys and dogs are supposed to make.

  Kit watched for a few moments then headed back to her sewing room. The ringing phone stopped her. She snagged the phone as she went by. “Hello.”

  “Kit, this is Beth Donnelly. Sorry to bother you but.

  “No bother at all. How are your squares coming?”

  “That's my problem. I guess something happened to my sewing machine in the move. It isn't working right at all, so I had to take it in to the repair shop.”

  “To Barnaby?”

  “Yes, he said he can have it back to me in a week, but that doesn't give me any time to sew them.”

  “I have an extra machine here. Why don't you come on over, and we can have a sewing party, you and me?” Kit glanced out the door where dog and boy were mashing the grass.

  “Really?”

  “Of course. Half an hour?”

  “I'll be there as soon as I can. Thanks.”

  Kit hung up and continued to the stairs. Something puzzled her about Beth's voice, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Up in the sewing room she cleared away the red, white, and blue pieces that would be a quilt for Ryan—his Christmas present—so Beth could use that machine. She'd done one for Jennifer's first Christmas away from home, and now she should have all kinds of time to make Ryan's— should being the operative word. She glanced up to a framed cross-stitch piece she kept at the top of her cork and peg board: “Thou Shalt Not Should Upon Thyself.” She'd bordered it with red hearts and a twining vine. So many shoulds. She should go help Aunt Teza. She should make more of an effort to help Mark. While she had no idea how to help him, she knew she should be doing something. She should go out and mow the grass. She should go back to church, but why? All she did was cry through the service, which made everyone around her uncomfortable, and then they didn't know what to say—so to make it all easier for everyone, she stayed home.

  Besides, why should I praise you when you let me down?

  In everything, praise ye the Lord.

  “That's not fair. I memorized Bible verses when I was a kid, and now you bring them back to me. I don't want them, can't you tell?”

  Her eyes filled and she sniffed back the tears. Far as she could tell, God didn't play fair at all.

  I will never leave you nor forsake you.

  “See, that's what I mean.” She finished sewing the first two pieces of each block, as if stringing one bead after another. Now to cut them apart and press the seams flat. She stood and took her long string of pieces to the ironing board, where she had a cutting mat, rotary cutter set up, and the iron ready to steam.

  “Mrs. C?”

  She turned to smile at Thomas. “What can I do for you?”

  “Can I take Missy for a walk?”

  “Sure you can, but don't be gone too long.”

  “Down to the park?”

  “Okay, but don't let her off the leash. And I never tie her up anywhere either.”

  “Okay.” He leaned against the doorjamb. “What are you doing?”

  “Sewing pieces of fabric together for a quilt.”

  “Who's the quilt for?” Hands in his shorts pockets, he ambled across the room to study the ironing board and all its paraphernalia.

  “We re going to auction it off to make money for a new machine for the hospital. Are you hungry or thirsty?”

  “You got any Popsicles?”

  “No, but I have cookies.” She reminded herself to add Popsicles to the grocery list.

  “Okay-Back down in the kitchen, she held out the cookie jar. “Peanut butter all right?”

  Thomas nodded and helped himself to two. “Thank you.” He started for the door, then turned to look at her. “You coming?”

  Well, I wasn't phnning on cookies right now but I guess so. “Okay.” So much for sewing pieces together. She followed him out to the deck, where she took one Adirondack chair and he the other. Missy flopped on her side, one long ear covering her eye.

  “When is your boy coming home?”

  “Another couple of weeks.”

  “Does he like school?”

  “Sounds like it. He won't get much of a summer vacation this year.”

  “Your dad coming home too?”

  “My dad? Oh, you mean my husband?”

  “Uh huh. What's his name?”

  “Mark Cooper. Our sons name is Ryan.”

  “My middle name is Mark.”

  “Are you named after your dad?”

  “Nope. So when is he coming home?”

  I wish I knew. Why do you have to ask so many questions? “You ready for another cookie?”

  He nodded. “Ill get it.”

  The screen door banged behind him as he returned and handed her one. “What kind of cookies did Amber like?”

  “Chocolate chip. Jennifer.

  “That's your biggest girl.”

  Than my only girl now, at least the only one I can still talk with. “Yes, she liked peanut butter best, and Ryan loves Oreos.”

  “My sister like
s Oreos best too.”

  Ah, something about your family. “What's her name?”

  “Lindsey.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Fifteen. She likes to watch soaps. Ugh.”

  “Ugh is right. Well, I better get back to work.”

  “I could help you.” He fingered a frayed edge on his shorts.

  “Ah, okay. I thought you wanted to take Missy for a walk.”

  “She's too tired.” He nodded at the softly snoring dog, who hadn't moved from her original position.

  What can I have him do? “Sure, come on and help me.” Where's his mother? Did she die? But wouldn't he have told me when we were talking about Amber?

  “You ever pitted apricots?”

  “What are apricots?”

  “Sort of like peaches but smaller.” Pleased with her idea she led the way back into the house. “You can pit them, and I'll cut them up.”

  She pulled the produce drawer clear out of the refrigerator and set it on the table. “These are apricots.”

  “Can I eat one?”

  “Yup.” She took out another bowlfull. “You get those two big plastic bowls out from under there”—she pointed to a cabinet door— “while I get the knives. You like it?”

  He shrugged. “Okay.”

  Once they had the supplies set up on the picnic table, she demonstrated how to hold the apricot with one hand and slice it in half. “The pits go in this bowl and the fruit in that one.” She watched him as, tongue between his teeth, he did exactly as she had shown him, except for the pit that went thumping onto the desk. “Wheeoo.”

  “You might want to point them into the bowl. If Missy finds them, she chews on them and might crack her teeth.”

  “Oh. Are apricot pits harder than bones?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Well, bones don't crack her teeth.”

  “True, but if she cracked an apricot pit, the inside seed might not be good for her.” Is it poison?

  “I dont know.”

  “If a new apricot plant comes from the seed, how can it be poison?” All the while he plied her with questions, he continued slicing apricots, as if he'd been doing so for years.

  “You know, you learn fast how to do things. Are you sure you are only seven?”