Patchwork Connections

by Carol Dean Jones

  “Well, he’s still young,” Sarah responded. When did I start thinking of fifty as young, she wondered.

  The two had dinner in Sophie’s kitchen while Sophie told tales of Timothy’s exploits in Alaska. She read Sarah two of his letters written in the mid-1980s describing the hardships at that time. “He’d only been there a couple of years and was very young. He never questioned his decision, though. This work was his life’s dream!”

  Around 8:00, Sarah announced that she should be trudging on home. “… before our street looks like Alaska!” she added. The snow had started up again, and the path Andy had dug for them was no longer visible. “Looks like Andy has his work cut out for tomorrow,” she chuckled as she carefully picked her way across the street.

  Not wanting to go back out, she opened the kitchen door and pushed a reluctant Barney outside for his final outing of the day. Watching him plow his way through the deep snow, she thought about Timothy Ward and wondered what his life had been like. She was glad she would have a chance to hear about it.

  Chapter 9

  “Remember that serious talk we were going to have?” Sarah and Charles were sitting at the Bedford Lodge outside of town. The waitress had seated them by the window, looking out over the rolling fields covered with glistening white snow. The boughs of fir trees in the distance were weighted down. The snow drifted against the outbuildings and fences. It was barely dusk, and the waitress lit the candle on their table. Simultaneously, someone switched on the outdoor spotlights, giving the grounds a dreamlike appearance.

  “Yes, I remember,” Sarah said dropping her eyes.

  Does that look mean she doesn’t want to talk about it? Has she changed her mind? Or is she simply looking coy? Charles sighed. He found it exasperating to try to interpret all the many looks this lovely woman had at her disposal. He had never been good at the subtle, unless of course, it was the subtleness of a criminal attempting to look innocent. That he could interpret immediately. He had to admit, however, that it was always the male criminal he was able to read. Not the females. He had a partner who handled the women. Charles had been married for many years to the same woman and, until the day she died, she said what she meant and was never subtle.

  Sarah looked up and responded saying, “I guess we need to talk, Charles. I know there are things you want to say. I’m just …”

  “Hesitant?” he suggested after a short pause.

  “Hesitant? Yes, I guess that’s the word. Maybe. It’s just that I’ve been so happy the way things are. I haven’t been this happy for years. I guess I’m worried about ruining that.”

  “Do you think marriage would ruin that?”

  “Marriage!?” she almost choked on her drink, then looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Lowering her voice, she responded, “I didn’t know we were talking about marriage. I must admit that I thought you were talking about …” she paused.

  “Sex?” he suggested, again helping her get the words out. She looked around again, hoping no one was paying attention.

  “Look Sarah,” Charles continued. “I’m an old-fashioned guy. I know it’s not popular these days, but I just believe in certain things, and marriage is one of those things.”

  At first Sarah felt relieved. She still hadn’t resolved her feelings about becoming intimate with Charles. But marriage? She definitely didn’t know how she felt about that. She loved her life and her independence. She loved her little house and being her own woman. She loved the fact that she never had to explain or account for her actions to someone else. Or do I just find all those things safe? she often wondered.

  Again, Sarah had a look that Charles didn’t understand. Is she upset by the thought of marriage? Confused? Totally against the idea? Charles knew he had to stop second-guessing and simply ask. It frightened him to do it since he would have to accept her response even it was not what he wanted to hear.

  “What are you thinking, Sarah?”

  Sarah remained quiet for a long moment, and then began talking. She told him about her devastation when her husband died suddenly and the months of rebuilding her life. She told him about returning to her job and later moving to the retirement village. She talked about living on her own for the first time and how she had learned to enjoy her freedom and independence.

  “Marriage scares you,” he responded simply.

  “Yes, it scares me.”

  “It scares me too,” he responded, “but life without you scares me even more.”

  They both sat quietly looking into each other’s eyes. The waitress had left menus earlier but, noticing that they laid untouched, she hadn’t interrupted the couple again. Sarah’s mind went to their last night on the cruise as they stood looking at the moon while the ship sliced its way through the dark waters. She remembered the warmth of his arms and the desire.

  Charles interrupted her thoughts saying, “Sarah, I want you to be my wife. I don’t want to rush you, and I certainly don’t want to lose you. If marriage isn’t what you want, we’ll work it out.”

  “I love you, Charles,” she said simply. Tears were standing in both their eyes. He reached across the table and gently touched her cheek.

  “To be continued,” he said gently with a loving smile as he picked up his menu.

  * * * * *

  It was three days after their dinner at the Bedford Lodge, and Sarah’s head was still spinning. She hadn’t told anyone about their conversation but had decided to talk about it with Martha. She thought Martha might understand her reservations, although she had to admit that she didn’t understand it herself. Charles was a good man, a gentle and kind man, and he loved her.

  “And do you love him?” Martha asked.

  “Of course, I do, but it’s a comfortable love, not the kind you see in the movies. And the idea of being a seventy-year-old bride concerns me,” she told Martha.

  “Why is that?” Martha asked, looking confused. “You would make a beautiful bride.” Martha was beginning to think that her mother was coming up with excuses to avoid marrying Charles. “What’s really bothering you, Mama?”

  “I don’t want to give up my independence,” she responded, looking away.

  “Well, mother, I guess this is something only you can answer. He’s a good man. My brother and I think he’s good for you and an incredible addition to our family; in fact, Jason said it would be great to have another man in the family!” In a more serious tone, she continued, “but only you can decide if you want to be married. I know what you’re saying about your independence. I’ve been alone as long as you have and I’m sure it would be hard for me to allow someone into my life.”

  “You understand what I’m dealing with here,” Sarah said, glad to finally be heard. Sophie had been telling her she was crazy.

  Martha continued, “But I think there is a middle ground that a couple can find. We should be able to be as independent as we wish and yet enjoy the comfort of having someone to depend on when we need it.”

  “The other side of that coin, I suppose,” Sarah said thoughtfully, “is that the other person would be depending on us some of the time as well.”

  “Yes,” Martha responded. “The give and take of a good relationship! That’s what it’s all about.”

  Sarah mulled this over for a while as she and Martha restacked the fat quarters into their appropriate bins and returned bolts of fabric to the shelves. “Maybe my concern is not just the concept of my independence, but maybe what I fear would happen with Charles.”

  “What’s that?” Martha asked, stopping to give her mother her full attention.

  “As an ex-cop, he’s accustomed to always being on the lookout for danger. I’m constantly reminding him to step back and let me take care of myself. Sometimes he makes me feel like a child who needs adult supervision!”

  Martha laughed. “How did you get to be such a liberated woman?”

  “Is that liberated? It just feels like common sense.”

  “Charles is an old-fashioned kind of guy
, Mother. He opens doors for you and picks up the check on your dates. He likes to think he is doing the manly thing. I don’t think that means he would take away your independence or ever treat you like a child. He clearly respects and loves you for the woman you are. I just think he’s in his seventies and sees his role from that perspective.”

  “Hmm,” Sarah responded sounding rather noncommittal.

  “Also,” Martha added, “as a cop, it’s second nature for him to be watchful.”

  “There’s something I haven’t told you,” Sarah began in a lowered conspiratory voice. “The first night that I stayed at Stitches during the evening, he was lurking up the street.”

  “Lurking?” Martha responded with surprise.

  “Well, he was parked up the street watching until I got into my car.”

  “Then what did he do?” Martha asked with mounting concern.

  “Went home, I guess. I don’t know.”

  Martha suddenly realized what Charles had been doing. She laughed and said, “Mother! Lurking? He was just looking out for you. He didn’t take away a bit of your independence. But if there had been a problem, he would have been there to help you. I think that’s sweet.”

  “How did you get to be such an old-fashioned girl?” They both laughed, and Sarah gave her daughter a hug.

  “We’ll figure this out together, Mama, I promise.”

  Chapter 10

  Sarah was finishing her fourth week at Stitches and was feeling very comfortable with her new role. A new quilter had come into the shop that morning feeling overwhelmed by her project and asking if she could return her unused supplies. She was ready to give up quilting.

  Sarah took her into the classroom and gave her a cup of tea. The woman introduced herself as Cindy and said she was just too frustrated to make sense of the instructions. Sarah looked over the project, and within an hour she had sorted out the problem and demonstrated the steps Cindy needed to take in order to complete one block.

  Cindy felt comfortable with that and asked about the next step after the blocks were finished. Sarah suggested she bring her blocks into the shop, and she would help her put them together and add borders.

  “Borders?” the woman exclaimed. “I forgot about borders. Should I buy those now?”

  “Let’s wait until we get the blocks together, and then we can walk through the shop and audition possible border fabrics.”

  “Audition?” Cindy repeated. “I like that!” Before she left the shop, Cindy asked about classes and Sarah recommended one of the beginning classes Ruth would be offering in the spring.

  On her way out the door, Cindy turned and said “I would love to make that wall quilt hanging behind the cash register. It would look really nice in my house.”

  Cindy had entered the shop looking discouraged and ready to give up quilting. She left the shop excitedly talking about her next project. A new customer for Ruth! Sarah thought with a smile. I can do this!

  “And did you enjoy teaching?” Ruth asked when she called later that day.

  “Yes! I loved it. I think I would like to design a beginning class. Would that be okay? You don’t have to pay me. I just think it would be fun.”

  Ruth laughed and said, “Oh, you’ll get paid. We’ll charge the students, and you can have whatever they pay. They’ll be buying their fabric from me, so we’ll both be winners!”

  They continued to talk about the shop and about Ruth’s mother. The previous week Ruth had felt her mother was rallying, but this week she had been in and out of consciousness. “Or maybe she is just sleeping, we can’t really tell. At least she’s peaceful,” Ruth had said. “How’s the Friday night club coming along? Do you have a project?”

  Sarah was caught off-guard with the question and stumbled somewhat with her answer. “Well, Anna’s handling all that,” she said desperately searching for the right words. “Oh! I wanted to tell you,” quickly changing the subject, “Caitlyn is coming this week. She has agreed to give the club a try. I know she’s young, but …”

  “Never too young!” Ruth interjected. “I’m so glad. Bring Barney along too just in case she gets bored.” After they hung up, Sarah straightened up the shop and locked the door.

  Two hours later, she was back and unlocking the door. Caitlyn and Barney were eager to get in out of the cold. Just then Kimberly pulled up to the curb and hopped out of her car. “Where’s Christina?” Sarah called to her as she approached the door.

  “The technician who services our long-arm machine is at the house. She sent her blocks with me, and she’s hoping to get here later.”

  As the group pulled the tables together to make one large work area, they pulled out their squares. Anna had made twenty blocks and had sewn them together so the group could see what the quilt was going to look like. She held it up and the group expressed their approval.

  “Oh …”

  “Beautiful!”

  “I love it!”

  They put all their blocks on the table and organized them by color. “I think we need about fifty more blocks,” Anna said. “What colors do we need more of?”

  “If we want to accent black, I think we need more blocks with black. Maybe black with purple or maybe with blue,” Delores volunteered. Delores had taken classes the previous year with her granddaughter, Danielle. Later she had joined the Friday Night Quilters, but Danielle, now fifteen, wasn’t interested. Sarah looked at Delores and wondered if Danny might be willing to come now that Caitlyn was coming. She made a mental note to discuss it with Delores after the meeting.

  Caitlyn proudly placed her fifteen blocks on the table and the group praised her work, causing her to blush. Sarah smiled like a proud grandmother. The group decided to make the additional blocks during the meeting. They set up two sewing machines and two ironing boards and started cutting strips. The strips were passed to Kimberly for pinning and on to one of the sewers. Sarah took up her post at one of the ironing boards, and Anna ran around overseeing the project.

  Within an hour, they had finished and were ready to put the blocks together in rows. With everyone working, they pinned, sewed, and pressed until the top was finished. “It’s almost 10:30, girls,” Anna called. “Let’s clean up.” By 11:00, they were ready to leave. Their meeting had run an extra two hours, but no one seemed to mind. They were excited about having completed the quilt top so quickly.

  “I’ll take it home and put the borders on, okay?” Anna suggested.

  “Do we need to pick out border fabric?” someone called out.

  “No. It really should be black in order to be traditional. I’m thinking about doing a thin black border first, then a slightly wider turquoise border, and finish with a wider black.”

  “Striking!” Sarah responded. “Are we going to hand quilt it?”

  “Let’s not be that traditional,” Kimberly called out. “I would be happy to quilt it on my long-arm machine.” Everyone agreed, and they headed for the door chattering excitedly.

  “Wait!” Kimberly called out suddenly. “Anna, what would you think about having the group meet at my house next week? We could go through the patterns and chose a quilting pattern, and we could even get the quilt on the machine, and I could run a couple of rows so everyone could see the machine in action.”

  “Fantastic idea! What do you think folks?” Everyone agreed, and Kimberly promised to email directions to her house the next day.

  “Well, Caitlyn, how did you like that?” Sarah asked as they were driving home.

  “I loved it! Can I come next week too?”

  “You sure may, young lady,” Sarah responded with a loving smile. “You sure may.”

  Chapter 11

  Martha continued to enjoy having Alan Fitzgerald in her department. He was an excellent employee, requiring little or no supervision and had taken much of the routine burden from her shoulders, enabling her to concentrate on her own management issues. She was in the process of reorganizing the department and was meeting with Alan daily to discuss the va
rious functions and identify staff for each unit. She had decided to promote Alan to a management position overseeing the new units. She knew he could handle the responsibility, and it would enable her to concentrate on her own research and to pursue new contracts.

  Martha tried not to notice how attractive Alan was but found it difficult. His subtle cologne wafted past her many times a day as he walked by her desk en route to the lab. She wondered about his wife and wished she had married a man like Alan instead of Greyson. But then, Greyson had fooled her into thinking he was someone else. She thought about her mother’s hesitation about making a commitment to Charles and could understand how hard it must be for her to consider changing the very comfortable life she had created for herself. It’s all so hard, she told herself as she turned to her microscope, appreciating the predictability of her work.

  Leaving early that night, she stopped at a local sandwich shop where she picked up the “to go” order she had placed before leaving the office. As she approached her house, a car was just pulling away from the curb. She wasn’t expecting anyone and figured they were visiting one of her neighbors.

  As Martha walked toward her front door, she noticed an envelope sticking behind her mailbox. She grabbed the envelope and then reached inside the box to remove the other mail. Laying the envelope and the mail on the table in the foyer, she removed her boots and placed them aside to dry. As she was hanging up her coat, she began to wonder why the envelope wasn’t in the box with the other mail. She picked it up again, and this time with mild trepidation, noticing that it was not addressed nor stamped. Opening it, she found a handwritten letter. She quickly dropped down to the signature and was surprised to see that it was from Derek Kettler, the employee she had fired.

  Martha went into the living room, turned on the light, and sat down to read the one-page letter. She quickly scanned the entire letter, then went back to read it more carefully. The letter left her feeling confused. Why did he write this?

  Dear Martha,