“Is that so?”
“Yes, and if I’m able to take the quilt class, which starts today and ends in six weeks, I’m sure I’ll have a good story.”
“Well, it better be, because the paper can’t afford to send reporters on wild goose chases—especially for that length of time.”
“I don’t think it’ll be a wild goose chase, Mr. Lawrence.”
There was a long pause. Then, “Okay, if you think you’re going to need six weeks, that’s fine. Just make sure you come back with a top-notch story.”
“Thanks, I’ll do my best. Good-bye, Mr. Lawrence.” Carmen hung up, drew in a deep breath, and stepped back into Emma’s house.
“It’s all set,” she said, smiling at Emma. “Just tell me how much I’ll owe for the classes, and I can get started today.”
Once Emma discussed the price, Carmen turned to Paul and said, “I know you have other things you need to do today, so you can just leave me here and pick me up when the class is over.”
Paul stared at her with a look of disbelief, but finally he nodded.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Blaine mumbled as he parked his SUV on a graveled driveway where a white minivan was about to pull out. If he just hadn’t lost that bet with Stuart when they’d gone fishing last Saturday. Blaine had been so sure he would catch the biggest fish that he’d stupidly agreed to take a six-week quilting class if he lost the bet. He’d never expected Stuart to pull a twenty-eight-inch largemouth bass from Lake Shipshewana. If he hadn’t actually seen Stuart land the fish, he wouldn’t have believed it, but even before his friend pulled the fish out of the water, Blaine knew it was going to be big. It had practically bent Stuart’s fishing rod in half, and surprisingly, it didn’t break.
Inwardly, Blaine had hoped the fish would roll and detach itself from the hook, but that didn’t happen. Why would it? The week had been rotten. Earlier, he’d almost caved in when he’d been forced to give the fly-fishing demonstration to a large group of people. Somehow, dry mouth and all, Blaine had managed to get through it without letting on how uncomfortable he’d felt. And now he was stuck going to a quilting class of all things!
The fish Blaine caught had only been twenty-two inches long. What a disappointment that had been, especially when Stuart looked at Blaine’s smaller fish and grinned at him in a teasing way.
Sure wish I could get out of taking this class, Blaine thought. Maybe I could go inside, sit through the first few minutes, and then develop a sudden headache.
Blaine was about to get out of his vehicle when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and saw that it was Stuart. Oh great. What’s he doing…calling to check up on me?
Blaine was tempted to let his voice mail answer the call, but changed his mind. If he didn’t answer, Stuart would probably think he’d chickened out and wasn’t going to take the class after all.
He snapped open his cell phone. “What’s up, Stuart? Are you calling to check up on me?” Blaine’s tone was harsher than he meant it to be.
“Hey, man, don’t get so defensive,” Stuart said. “I just wanted to make sure you were able to find Emma’s house okay.”
“Yeah, I found it. I’m sitting in her driveway right now.”
“That’s good. I’ll be anxious to hear how your first class goes. I’m sure it’ll be a walk in the park.”
“I’ll bet.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Blaine glanced at his watch. “I’d better go. It’s almost ten o’clock, and I sure don’t want to be late for class.”
“Okay, see you Monday morning.”
“’Bye, Stuart.” Blaine clicked off his phone and climbed out of his vehicle. He’d just started for the house when an older model Chevy rumbled into the yard. A few minutes later, an elderly woman stepped out. She wore baggy gray slacks, a green turtleneck sweater, and a floppy beige canvas hat. She glanced at him briefly, stuck her nose in the air, and tromped up the porch steps.
“Terrific,” Blaine muttered under his breath, running his fingers through his thick, wavy hair. “I’ll bet she’s here for the quilt class. This is going to be anything but a walk in the park!”
CHAPTER 5
Selma was surprised when a gray-haired Amish man with a long, full beard answered her knock. She’d expected a woman. “Is this the home of Emma Miller?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
He offered her a cheery smile. “That’s right. Emma’s my wife, and I’m Lamar. Are you one of her quilting students?”
Selma gave a quick nod, thinking he seemed nice enough. “My name is Selma Nash, and I came prepared.” She lifted the canvas satchel she’d brought along and gave it a confident pat. “I have everything right here that I’ll need to make a quilt.”
“Oh, there was no need for you to bring anything,” Lamar said. “Emma has all the required supplies. If you’ll follow me, I’ll lead the way to her quilting room.”
Selma clutched her satchel as she walked with Lamar into the next room. Despite what he’d said, she was sure she’d be able to use most of what she had brought along. Maybe they’ll be impressed with all the research I’ve done beforehand about quilting, she thought.
As Selma entered the room, she noticed that the inside of the house was as tidy as the outside. She detected a scent of lemon in the air. An older Amish woman sat at the table with a young Hispanic woman, whom Selma assumed was also here to learn how to quilt. But it seemed strange that there were no other students in the room.
“This is Selma Nash,” Lamar said to the Amish woman. “She’s one of your quilting students.”
The woman stood and shook Selma’s hand. “I’m Emma Miller, and I’m pleased that you’ve joined our class.” She gestured to the other woman. “This is Carmen Lopez. She’s here to learn how to quilt as well.”
“Are we the only two people in the class?” Selma asked, feeling rather perplexed as Emma motioned for her to sit in one of the extra chairs.
Before Emma had a chance to respond, the young man Selma had seen outside shuffled into the room. He looked uncomfortable, like he might want to turn and run.
“You must be Blaine Vickers,” Emma said, extending her hand.
He gave a brief nod.
“Welcome to our quilting class.” Emma motioned to Carmen and then to Selma. “This is Selma Nash and Carmen Lopez, and we’re waiting for Anna Lambright to arrive. As soon as she gets here, we’ll begin.”
Blaine’s eyes widened. “So I’m the only guy in the class?”
“You’re the only male student,” Emma said, “but Lamar will be with us. In fact, he’ll be helping me teach the class.”
Lamar motioned to one of the quilts in the room. “I’ve designed many quilts, and I also know quite a bit about the history of quilts.”
“I’ve studied up on them, too,” Selma interjected, rather proudly. “As soon as my neighbor, Jan, said he’d paid for me to come to this class, I went straight to the library and checked out a book on Amish quilts.” Selma reached into her satchel and pulled out the book. “See, this one is a Dahlia pattern,” she said, flipping through the pages and pointing to one of the pictures. “I love flowers, so that’s the kind of quilt I would like to make.”
“Perhaps you will someday,” Emma said, moving to stand at the head of the table. “But during the next six weeks, I’ll be teaching each of you how to make a quilted wall hanging with a simple star pattern combined with Log Cabin quilt blocks with an Eight Point Star layout. The finished square hanging will measure thirty-five inches.”
Selma frowned, feeling her forehead wrinkles deepen. “I don’t care for that idea. Can’t we make the Dahlia or some other floral pattern?”
“Those would be too difficult,” Lamar spoke up.
“Well, I’m confident that I could handle any pattern at all, because I’m a proficient seamstress.”
“I’m sure Emma has a reason for choosing the simple star pattern,” Carmen spoke up. “Since she’s the te
acher, she obviously knows what’s best for us.”
Selma glanced at Blaine to see if he was going to comment, but he just stared at the table. He obviously didn’t want to be there. His wife probably forced him to come, Selma thought. But then, I wonder why she didn’t sign up to take the quilting classes herself.
“Actually, I chose the pattern for two reasons,” Emma said calmly. “First, because it’s a bit different from other star patterns. And second, because it will be easy to make. But we’ll get into all the details about making the quilt after my other student has arrived.”
Selma grunted and folded her arms. “Seems to me if people are going to sign up for a class, the least they can do is be here on time.”
“It was the young woman’s mother who signed her up,” Emma explained. “And I’m thinking perhaps—”
“Maybe she didn’t want to come,” Selma cut in. “Some daughters can be stubborn like that. They just don’t appreciate their mothers.”
Everyone looked at Selma with curious expressions, and the room got uncomfortably quiet. Had she said something wrong? Should she explain about her relationship with Cora? No, it was best to leave that alone. After all, it wasn’t in her nature to talk about her personal life to a bunch of strangers.
Emma cleared her throat a couple of times, and then she looked over at Lamar and said, “Since Anna’s not here yet, why don’t you go ahead and share some things about Amish quilts?”
“I’d be pleased to do that.” Lamar joined Emma at the head of the table and proceeded to talk about the history of Amish quilts. “Quilt patterns are a reflection of our daily living and can sometimes resemble things found in nature or on the farm.” He pointed to one of the quilts on display. “This one I designed myself, and I call it simply, ‘Horseshoes.’ As you can see, the shape of a horseshoe is patterned throughout.”
“How about that one?” Blaine asked, pointing to the quilt closest to him.
“I designed it, too, and it’s called ‘Pheasant Trail,’ ” Lamar replied.
“If you ask me, it looks more like ‘chicken scratch,’” Selma said with a snort. “Can’t you show us some pretty floral designs?”
The room went quiet again, and everyone stared at Selma as if she had pointed ears. What was wrong with these people, anyway? Didn’t they want to see something beautiful, or were they content to look at quilts with bland and blah colors?
“You don’t have to be so rude,” Carmen spoke up with her hands on her slender hips. “I think Lamar’s designs are quite unique.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Blaine agreed. “You shouldn’t be putting them down.”
Selma’s face heated. She had a notion to gather up her things and head out the door. But if she did that, she’d miss out on learning how to make a quilt. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean that the quilts weren’t nice. I’d just prefer to see something more to my liking.”
“The thing about Amish quilts,” Emma explained, “is that there’s a variety of patterns, which means there is something to fit everyone’s taste.”
“That’s right,” Lamar agreed. “Some people prefer the more traditional patterns, like the Lone Star, and some enjoy making something unusual like my Pheasant Trail or Horseshoe pattern.”
“When did quilting first begin?” Carmen asked.
“In a traditional sense, not until the 1870s,” Lamar replied.
“At first the fabrics were solid and dark, much like our plain choice of clothing.” Emma smiled, as she pointed to another quilt made with maroon, brown, and off-white colors. “But later, pastels and whites were added to many of our quilts.”
“Do all Amish women quilt?” Selma asked, realizing she’d better stay low-key.
Emma shook her head. “Many do, but some women keep busy with other things and don’t have time to quilt.”
Selma was about to comment, when the door to the quilting room swung open, and a young, auburn-haired Amish woman rushed in. Her long green dress had several splotches of dirt on it, and there was a large tear near the hem. The stiff white cap on her head was askew, and her cheeks were red as a ripe cherry. “S–sorry I’m late,” she panted. “I had a little accident on my bike.”
Emma was relieved that Anna had made it to class, but she felt concern seeing the state of disarray the poor girl was in. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Were you hurt?”
Anna shook her head as she reached up to push her head covering back in place. “I think my knees are scraped up a bit, but I’m okay.”
“How’d it happen?” Lamar questioned. “Did you spin out in some gravel, or what?”
Anna frowned. “When a stupid black dog started chasing me and tried to get a hold of my skirt, I got scared and pedaled faster to get away. That’s when I lost control of the bike and ran into a ditch beside the road.”
“What happened when you fell?” Emma asked. “Did the hund bite you?”
“No, but I was afraid he might. Some English man pulled up in his car to see if I was all right, and when he hollered at the dog, it took off like a shot.”
“Why don’t you go down the hall to our bathroom and make sure you’re not bleeding,” Emma suggested, noticing the look of embarrassment in Anna’s light brown eyes. “Washcloths are in the cabinet, and the bandages are in the medicine chest by the sink.”
“I’ll do that right now.” Anna scurried out of the room, muttering something under her breath.
Poor girl. She’s probably self-conscious. Emma turned her attention back to the class, although she wondered how much information she would get through to her students today. They’d gotten a late start, and with Selma’s know-it-all attitude, this might be a difficult class to teach. I’ve never had one like her before, Emma thought, cringing inwardly. Of course it can’t be any harder to teach this class than it was my very first one, when I had such a mix of unusual characters. Emma remembered how surprised she’d been that first day when a young English woman with a sour attitude; a preacher’s wife with church problems; a man and his wife struggling with marital discord; a Hispanic teacher, recently widowed; and a tattooed biker on probation had showed up at her door. If she could teach them how to quilt and deal with some of their personal problems, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to work with this group of people. At least she hoped that would be the case. After all, there were just four students. Surely they couldn’t all have issues.
I’ll need to remind myself to take one week at a time and just do my best, she told herself. With God’s help, nothing is impossible.
CHAPTER 6
Sure wish we didn’t have to work today,” Terry complained as Jan pulled his truck and utility trailer into Emma’s yard. “I’d rather be out riding my Harley.”
“Same here, but we can’t leave those shingles we tore off the Millers’ roof yesterday lying in the yard.” Jan popped all five fingers on his right hand—a habit he’d started lately. “When we show up here on Monday morning, I want to be able to start on the new roof right away. Of course if we had a gofer things would move along faster.”
Terry scratched his head. “A gopher? What are you talking about?”
“You know. Having another guy to take care of the odd stuff, like picking up the old shingles, instead of us having to do it,” Jan explained. “Someone who’d bring us stuff when we’re working on the roof. Tools and such. Like I said, a gofer.” He grinned. “They’d go fer this and go fer that.”
Terry chuckled. “Oh yeah…that kind of gopher.”
Jan thumped Terry’s arm. “Well, since we don’t have one, I think we oughta get these old shingles picked up.”
“Guess you’re right. I’ll just have to make plans to go riding next Saturday. Do you and Star want to go along?”
Jan shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll have to wait and see what she’s up to. She may have to work, or she could be in Fort Wayne, visiting her mom and stepdad.”
“Do you ever wish you and Bunny could’ve gotten back together?”
“Sometimes.” Jan sighed. “But I guess it’s better this way. There was a certain kind of chemistry between me and Bunny when we were teenagers, but after Star was born, her mom changed. She couldn’t have really loved me back then if she could just run away and take our baby without looking back or letting me know where she was going. Even if Bunny had tried to start something up with me after Star came back into my life, I don’t think I could have ever trusted her again.” He groaned. “I’m not sure marriage is even right for me. Think me and my dog, Brutus, are better off without a wife telling us what to do.”
“I know what you mean.” Terry slapped his knee. “Don’t think I’ll ever tie the knot.” He slowly shook his head. “Not with the way things turned out for my folks.”
“It’s a shame they split up after being married so many years,” Jan said, running his finger over the film of dirt clinging to the dashboard of his truck. “Figured after they’d gone to see a counselor that things might get better.”
“Yeah, me, too. They were doing better for a while, but then Dad started drinking pretty heavy, so Mom kicked him out.”
Jan gave the fingers on his left hand a good pop. “Life is full of disappointments, ain’t it?”
“That’s for sure. Sometimes it stinks.”
“But some things we just can’t change, and right now we’d better quit yammering and get to work.” Jan opened the truck door and stepped out.
Terry hopped out, too, and went around and opened the back of the utility trailer. The sooner they got the shingles picked up, the sooner he could return to the single-wide trailer he rented from his uncle Ted. Not that there was anything great waiting for him there. It would just be nice to flake out for the rest of the day. Sometimes he wished he had a home of his own—maybe a log cabin surrounded by trees.
Maybe I oughta look into buying a small piece of land, Terry thought. Then I could start building a cabin during my free time. He grabbed some shingles and pitched them into the trailer. Well, I can’t think about that right now. I’ve got work to do.
The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club - 02 - The Tattered Quilt Page 4