Grandma's Wedding Quilts_Prequel

by Kate Cambridge

  “Hannah, what’s going on?” Dr. Wagstaff reproached her.

  “I'm… I’m sorry, Doctor, I don't know what came over me.”

  “You know better than to touch artifacts with your bare hands.”

  “I do, I'm so sorry. I guess I got caught up in the moment,” Hannah offered. It sounded lame even to her ears, and she bit her lip at the look of consternation directed at her from Dr. Wagstaff.

  “In this case, it’s not… critical, it's not as if they are going on display. But please, Hannah, be more careful. Not following protocol is grounds to be terminated, and I would truly hate to lose you.”

  Her cheeks burned as she endured the criticism. Hannah knew that she was right; she’d made a foolish mistake. The thought of disappointing Doctor Wagstaff left her embarrassed and full of regret.

  She'd admired Dr. Wagstaff's work at the museum ever since she was a young girl; her parents had brought her regularly to see the exhibits, and that influence was unmistakable in her life. During college, it became her dream to work for the museum, and in particular to work with Dr. Wagstaff. She couldn't believe she'd put it all at risk with something even the most novices in her field would avoid. What was she thinking?

  “I'm very sorry, Dr. Wagstaff. It won't happen again.”

  “Please be sure it doesn’t. You must be tired. Why don’t you go home, and we’ll get a fresh start tomorrow.”

  It was a statement, not a question. “Yes, of course.”

  She hurried past the doctor before Dr. Wagstaff could see the tears forming in her eyes. Hannah knew it wasn't just her mistake that upset her, it was the sensation of the quilt under her fingertips. It stirred something in her, something that she couldn't explain.

  * * *

  She woke early feeling exhausted after a restless night of tossing and turning from dreams that seemed vivid and real, yet just out of reach when she startled awake.

  She chalked it up to worry. Would Dr. Wagstaff really forgive her for her mistake? Would it change how she respected her as an assistant, or impact her future at the museum? Why in the world had she even touched the quilt with her bare hands? She was always so careful and had never made a foolish mistake like that before.

  It was as if something about the quilt made her mind so foggy that she didn't even hesitate to touch it. Maybe there was some kind of mold on it that she had inhaled? Maybe the scent that she breathed in so deeply had some kind of impact on her brain chemistry?

  As much as she wanted to blame her actions on something else, deep down she knew that there wasn't any real explanation for it. She had felt drawn to touch the quilt with her bare hands from the first moment she saw it—but why?

  She was practically addicted to investigating old things, and had a knack for research and finding the truth and story behind the items she connected to, but this was the first time an object had influenced her this deeply.

  As she prepared to leave for work, her anxiety turned to excitement; she could hardly wait to contact Audrina Bell and dig deeper into the history behind the quilts. She was a professional, and good at her job, and she wasn’t going to let a momentary lapse shake her confidence. She decided to use the drive into work to try to think through her options, and by the time she arrived at the museum, a plan was beginning to form. She would begin by finding out what she could from Audrina, a thorough list of questions forming in her mind. She needed to find out as much as she could, or she would never be able to let go of the fascination she had with these quilts.

  As soon as she was in her office she set her things down and picked up the phone to call Audrina. After the third ring, a frail voice answered. “Hello? Who is this?”

  “Hello. My name is Hannah Quinn. I work for the Nelson-Atwell Museum, and I am trying to reach Audrina Bell. Is this Ms. Bell?”

  “Yes, it is. But I don't have any money to donate, I'm sorry.”

  “Oh, I'm not calling for a donation. I'm calling about some items that were donated to the museum. They belonged, I believe, to your sister.”

  “I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean. My sister just passed away.”

  “Yes, and her daughter donated some of her things to the museum. An old trunk to be specific.”

  “What? She donated her trunk?” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “How could she do that? Was it empty?”

  “I assure you, everything was legal about the donation.”

  “I imagine it was, but Delores should know better. Her mother would be heartbroken if she knew. That trunk was meant to stay in the family.”

  “I'm so sorry, Ms. Bell, but it was hers to donate, and she did. We found two quilts inside, and that’s what I’m calling about.”

  “Yes, of course you did,” her voice weary, resigned.

  “Would you like me to look into whether you could claim the donation?” Hannah frowned. The last thing she wanted was to give up the quilts, but it was clear this woman was distraught that Delores donated them without thought.

  “No, there's no reason for that. I don't have much longer on this earth myself, and I… well, I have no one to pass them down to. Will your museum put them on display?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but I do know they will be well taken care of, if that is any comfort.”

  “Yes, it is, thank you. They belong somewhere safe.”

  “Could you tell me a little bit about the quilts?”

  “I don't know all there is to know, to tell you the truth. All I know is that they were handed down to my mother, and she told each of us that no matter what happened in our lives, they were to be kept safe and to be cared for.”

  “Did she make them?”

  “No, Grandma Mary did. She wasn’t my direct grandmother, but that is how my mother always referred to her, so that was how we all thought of her. All I really remember hearing is that she made them as wedding gifts for her grandchildren, and I believe there were a dozen or so. I wish I had paid more attention to the exact details, but my sister and I were young girls when she passed away. We didn't care about quilts back then; we just wanted to honor her wishes.”

  “Did she ever tell you stories about them, or how they came to be?”

  “Just that one quilt told the whole story, the sampler, and the other one was a piece of it. We always thought that there was some deeper story behind it, but neither of us ever had time to dig into it. However, I do know for certain that there are more quilts, and each mirrors one of the pieces from the sampler quilt.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “One night, I was dreadfully sick. We lived on an isolated farm, and we got hit with an awful storm. There was no way to get me to the doctor or the hospital until the morning. Mother wrapped me up in the sampler quilt, and she told me that each one of the patches would give me the strength to get better. She said that even though my whole family couldn't be there to help me, I could still feel their love through the piece of the quilt that was theirs. I asked her what she meant, and she said that each piece represented another part of our family. At least, I think that was what she said; I was so ill, I couldn't think clearly. But that quilt made me so warm, and comfortable. I fell right to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I was much better.”

  “What an amazing story. I would truly love to know more about the quilts. Do you know of anyone else I can reach out to?”

  “Perhaps you can do what we never had the chance to, and find the other quilts that were made. Maybe you can figure out the story behind them, and how they came to be passed down through our family. Beyond that, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “Would you like to help me do that?” Hannah asked.

  “I'm afraid I can't. I'm too weak these days to do much of anything. But if you come across anything, I would love to know about it. Just promise me that you will take care of the quilts.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. The museum will take excellent care of them.”

  “No, I'm asking you, Hannah. These quilts have been passed
from mother to child for generations. Unfortunately, my niece is not interested in family, and I have no one to give them to. I know I've never met you, but the quilts came to you for a reason. I'm asking you... will you please take care of them?”

  “I will,” Hannah whispered. Her heart ached at the loneliness in the woman's voice. “I will let you know as soon as I find anything out.”

  “Wonderful. Thank you so much. If there is anything else you think I can help you with, please feel free to call.”

  “Thank you.” Hannah hung up the phone and grabbed a tissue to wipe her eyes. What was it about these quilts that made her so emotional? She’d been accused by past boyfriends of being too distant and detached, but for some reason, this woman's story moved her to tears.

  * * *

  Hannah knew she had to do whatever necessary to try to find all of the quilts. Perhaps if the story was intriguing enough, or if she could craft a story that was captivating enough, it would warrant putting them on display in the museum. That thought was all of the motivation she needed to get to work right away.

  Her work as a curator meant she often had occasion to connect with genealogists. She sent an e-mail regarding the quilts to a friend from college, Callum Jones. Callum was an exceptionally good genealogist and detective—so good, in fact, that he often worked with different branches of the government on cases that warranted his expertise.

  Next Hannah began researching databases on the two names she had. As she dug into Audrina Bell’s past, she discovered her sister's name was Elizabeth. Their parents’ names were Benton and Gretchen. Gretchen had a sister, named Marie, but that's where her tracking came to a stop. She couldn't find any record of Gretchen and Marie's parents or any additional siblings they might have had.

  After hitting a roadblock with the names, she decided to study the embroidery on the large quilt instead. In the processing room, she took several pictures of each of the symbols on the quilt. Then she took a photograph of the symbol on the smaller quilt. As she worked, her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to find a message from Callum.

  Found some interesting history on your names. Lunch?

  Sounds good, where?

  He responded before she could put her phone down, the caf. my office.

  Hannah hesitated. She didn’t want to take up ten minutes of her lunch break on the walk to Callum’s office, but she also didn’t want to appear ungrateful, and she was more than a little curious. Sounds great. See you in an hour.

  Hannah began to pace; physically moving her body seemed to help her put the pieces of her research puzzles together, but every time she walked by the quilts, her fingertips ached to feel the naked material beneath them again.

  She grabbed her gloves and stood before the quilts, admiring them, willing them to help her find their story. She placed a gloved hand on each quilt, but the gloves seemed to block the sensations that almost vibrated from the material yesterday when she touched them with her bare hands, and although she knew she could not do that again, it was difficult to resist.

  When she returned to her office, she uploaded the pictures of the embroidered sections on the quilt from her camera to her computer. Using the same program she used to analyze different languages, images, and artifacts, she ran the images. To her surprise, the program didn't find a single result. She decided to try to enhance the picture itself. Perhaps there was something more to be seen than the frayed surface of the quilt offered her. When she enhanced the picture, she discovered that what she thought were symbols, in some cases, actually appeared to be words. Due to the fraying, however, she found it impossible to piece together what the words were.

  She bit her lower lip and sat back in her chair. Hitting roadblocks was one of the most frustrating things that she experienced in her work. The Internet had revolutionized the way research was done in the modern world, and more often than not she expected answers to be right at her fingertips. When they weren't, she grew both impatient and more intrigued. After more searching led to more dead ends, she glanced at her watch and realized that it was time to meet Callum. She grabbed her phone and walked through the museum toward the side exit.

  * * *

  When Hannah stepped inside the cafeteria, she spotted Callum right away. He was hard to miss with his thick red hair and broad shoulders; even sitting down he had a presence that was unmistakable. He seemed immersed in studying the papers splayed across the table in front of him.

  Hannah paused, wanting to take him in for a few minutes, but he looked up and met her eyes—she felt a zing go right to her core, and when he smiled and waved her over, her stomach did a flip-flop. Her best friend Jessie told her that the reason she never truly warmed up to any of the other guys she dated was because of her crush on Callum, but until now, Hannah had always dismissed her teasing.

  Although they shared several classes in common in college, their friendship had always remained just that—a friendship—and Callum had never indicated a desire for anything more.

  When Callum cocked his head sideways and raised his eyebrows, Hannah tried to breathe through the butterflies and focus on the task at hand, the quilts.

  “Hi, Callum,” she greeted as she sat down across from him, and smiled as his sea-green eyes met hers.

  “Hannah Quinn, you've brought me yet another challenge. I'm going to have to start charging you double.”

  “But you don't charge me at all,” she grinned.

  “Then double that. I mean it,” he mocked in a gruff voice, moving his papers aside and grabbing the iPad off to his left. “I keep thinking that one of these days, you and I are just going to spend an afternoon hanging out, and doing zero research.”

  “Really?” Hannah asked, intrigued, deciding to play along. “You mean you actually have downtime between your full-time job and your consulting with the feds?”

  “See, that's exactly what I mean.” He smiled. “Maybe if we took our nose out of things long enough, we'd discover… the sky again.”

  She felt his eyes seeking hers, but she didn’t dare to meet them, instead, she fumbled with her camera and joked, “What? Are you telling me you’ve got an additional side-gig as a meteorologist? Do I sense a lecture on cloud formations coming?”

  “Is that what you think? That I'm a know-it-all?”

  “I hope that's what you are, because if I don't figure out this mystery, I'm going to lose my mind.”

  “Hmm, Hannah Quinn unhinged—now that's something I might want to see.”

  She should resist, really she should... “Why is that?”

  “You're always so calm, so rational, Hannah. I can't quite imagine you otherwise.”

  “Ha, you've never seen me try to parallel park.”

  “Good point.” He chuckled. “Let’s get some food first, because neither of us is going to want to stop once we get started.”

  “I'm not hungry,” she replied, reaching for his tablet.

  “Watch it.” He tugged it out of her grasp. “You have to eat, you know.”

  “I will, but right now I really just want to know what you’ve found.”

  “Okay, you take a look at this, and I'll grab us some food. Any preference?”

  “You know what I like. Thanks.” She risked eye contact and was rewarded with a dazzling smile that reached from his eyes, across the space between them, and all the way down to her toes. He slid the tablet over to her side of the table and walked away.

  Breathe, just breathe, Hannah. Keep it cool.

  As she began to go through the family tree he'd created on the tablet, she saw exactly what he found so interesting. Although there were several branches, there was a large gap in detail exactly where she was stuck. However, there were notes on the margin of the screen.

  “The absence of records indicates that there may have been some scandal connected to this family.”

  Hannah jumped, unaware he had walked up behind her.

  “Jeez, Callum. Give a girl some warning next time. So, what
kind of scandal?”

  “Oh, sorry.” He set a plate with a veggie sandwich down, along with a bottle of orange juice, and sat beside her rather than across from her. “Well, I'm not sure yet. During this period, there was a lot of flawed record keeping. However, sometimes people used that to their advantage. If, let’s say, a child was born out of wedlock, that child may not have ever been documented, and in a sense, may not exist at all. But that child may still go on to create a family line of his or her own, with no roots to connect them back to an earlier time.”

  “So, you're saying that's what might have happened here?”

  “I don't really know yet. That's one possibility. Your best resource, in this case, is going to be talking to descendants if you can.”

  “But I don't have that option. The last woman to possess the quilt passed away just days ago, and her sister doesn't have any more knowledge than I've given you. The daughter wants nothing to do with any of it.”

  “What a shame.” He shook his head. “It's hard to see family lines end like that.”

  “Do you really think we’ve hit an end? I find it hard to believe, in light of all the information available today online. How can we both hit a dead end?”

  “Well, you’re right, it is rare to truly hit the end of a family line, but, yes, it can happen. In some cases, it only ends because the extended family has become so disconnected, they have no idea about one another. In that case, it's not so much that it's ended, as it is, but that it's forgotten.”

  “Like mine.” She stared down at the tablet.

  “What do you mean?” His eyes bore into hers when she glanced up.

  “I don't have a family line.”

  “Hannah, what do you mean? I traced it for you in college, remember?” His brow furrowed as he took a bite of his sandwich.