Beyond the Storm: Quilts of Love Series

by Carolyn Zane

  “Danny liked to tell everyone he had the world’s smallest family. We think he did that to get sympathy from old ladies and my sister.” Laughter rippled. “But, if being an only child means not having brothers and sisters, then I’d like to refute his claim with a little slideshow from my childhood.”

  The lights dimmed and a picture of a family at Christmastime was projected on two huge screens on either side of the podium. “This,” Brett turned toward one of the screens, “is Christmas at our house in 1970.” Using a laser pointer, Brett pointed at a kid under the tree. “This is me. This one is Jen. The rest of the kids are our siblings. This here is Mom. And Dad. And wait a minute . . . could it beee . . . Danny? Yes! See there? We’re seven. Wearing matching sweaters? Yeah. Gifts from my Aunt Marge.”

  The next photo was also of Christmas. “Here we are in 1971. See the sweaters? There’s Danny, under the tree. Those are my Lincoln Logs. I think he sawed several of them in half, sort of foreshadowing his lumberyard thing. And here? In ’72? Yeah, uh . . . there he is. We’re nine. Matching sweaters, thanks, Aunt Marge. He’s holding my Hot Wheels? Never saw those again. 1973 . . . let’s see . . . oh, right, that’s us. More matching sweaters? Marge? Please? This was the year of the G.I. Joe. Look at Dan’s ’fro.” The laughter was regular now as every single Christmas featured Danny in the middle of Jen’s huge family wearing one of Aunt Marge’s specials.

  “Here we are at Yellowstone on a family vacation. Danny is the one in the swim trunks. He had great legs. Us at Disneyland. Danny and me on the Matterhorn. Thanksgiving. Danny is the turkey on the left. This is our family at Easter. That’s Danny with the full basket of eggs. And that kid next to him there with the mouth open and the empty basket? That’s Jen crying.”

  Dozens of pictures spanned the years and Abigail hadn’t laughed so hard in months. After Brett had finished and the lights were still dimmed, a musician friend of Danny’s stood and introduced the music video he had written and produced.

  It seemed that Danny was renowned for his love of motocross. Apparently, he was equally renowned for his many and painfully splendid wipe-outs. The first familiar notes of the famous Irish song, “Danny Boy” accompanied some of Dan’s more spectacular accidents. The lyrics had been changed to suit the topic. “Oh Danny boy, the bikes, the bikes are calling, From glen to glen, and down the mountainside. The summer’s gone, and off the bike he’s falling. ‘Tis you, ‘tis you must go—UH-OH— and I must ride.” The song went along in that vein for a number of nutty verses and eventually ended in thunderous applause and laughter and the overhead lights coming back up.

  One after another, people offered heartfelt tributes, some funny, some poignant, all acknowledging Danny’s passion for the Lord. When at last it was their turn, Abigail’s knees were knocking as she headed to the podium with the rest of her and Selma’s storm family. Justin and Bob Ray carried the quilt to the stage in a box, took it out, and unfolding it, stretched it up and over a frame they’d built and assembled for the occasion.

  Abigail nervously cleared her voice. Lord, she prayed, please don’t let me cry and ruin this. As she began speaking, a peace seemed to descend and her knees stilled. “Today, we have all heard how Danny was the only child of only children. So, not only did Daniel Strohacker have no siblings, he had no aunts and uncles, no cousins nor second cousins once removed.

  “His parents were older when they had him so he also had no grandparents. In the ’70s, when he was only thirteen, Danny’s father passed away from a heart attack. Four short years later, when he was seventeen, he lost his mother to ovarian cancer.

  “From outward appearances, it would seem that Daniel Strohacker was doomed to be alone. But as we have already heard today, nothing could be further from the truth. Danny was a family man, and right now, this room is filled with his family.” A smattering of applause quickly grew into a roar.

  “Most of you probably can’t say that you ever saw Danny without this.”

  Abigail picked up the laser pointer that Brett had been using earlier and pointed out the center square. “This is the fabric from Danny’s brilliant red Bible cover and the heartbeat of this quilt. It is the bloodline through which we are all related, in one way or another, to Danny. And this beautiful quilt, unfortunately, only illustrates a small fraction of Danny’s massive family. To do it justice, the quilt would fill the parking lot and beyond. And so we are limited today to this quilt, built from pieces of the lives of Danny’s brothers and sisters, his aunts and uncles, his grandparents, his cousins, and his sons and daughters. And of the storm that finally took his life.” Abigail moved the beam across the rows of fabric that she and Justin had gathered the night of the storm.

  “Growing up, I always told people that I could identify with Danny because he was an only child. So was I, said I. We were loners in a lonely world. But this storm proved me wrong about so many things. Danny wasn’t an only child. And neither was I. It took an EF5 tornado to point that out to me, and for that, I am truly thankful.”

  Amazingly, applause resounded throughout the building for a solid minute. Teary-eyed, Abigail continued. “Danny always lamented that he didn’t have a family of his own. But his legacy cries otherwise. And so, for my square, I chose mostly tattered bits of fabric I’d gathered in the storm. Disjointed pieces, like a family, coming together to form something that, to me, anyway, is beautiful. I think Danny would agree that family can come from unlikely places in unlikely circumstances.”

  Abigail stepped back and one by one, each square—as different and beautiful as the members of Danny’s family—was presented by its maker. Kaylee and Chaz presented their square together and spoke to the inspiring Strohacker marriage.

  “When Chaz proposed to me,” Kaylee said, “he said, ‘Kaylee, I want what Jen and Dan have,’ and so our square has pieces of our wedding clothes to symbolize how Danny’s love for Jen inspired us.”

  When it was Guadalupe and Elsa’s turn, Elsa operated the pointer and Guadalupe spoke. “Elsa’s Daddy, Miguel, is in Mexico. He was deported because of some problems with his green card. But he will be back here next month, if the Good Lord is willing. The day before he left us, Miguel tells Danny, ‘Please, take care of my little girl and do some things for her that I cannot do, while I am away.’ So, Jen loans Danny to us sometimes for bike-riding lessons, and then swimming lessons, and then math homework and youth group and finally . . .” she glanced at Elsa and they giggled. “Some terrible dancing lessons.” Guadalupe paused and looked at the floor, unseeing as she gathered her words in English. “He was a good father figure to my daughter when she needed a daddy, and I can never give these minutes back to Jen. But we give her the gift of knowledge.” She craned around and looked at Jen sitting in the front row. “Knowledge that Danny Strohacker was a fine daddy. And in Elsa he has . . . una hija. A daughter.”

  Next, Heather pointed out the square she made with the laser pointer. “My piece here looks really weird. I know. But even though it looks like an old washrag and some other scraps, it’s a symbol that probably only Danny would understand.” She cleared her throat. “The day Danny died, he was . . . he was . . . he was helping me. My baby stuffed a washcloth down the toilet and some towels into the tub and he flooded the house. Danny came over to help me unplug my drains and dry the house out. The washcloth might seem inappropriate to some people. But to me it symbolizes Danny’s willingness to help anytime . . . anywhere . . . anyone. That was Danny. Loving his neighbor. The washcloth also symbolizes forgiveness. This red velvet here is a bit of a baptismal curtain that protected me and my son the night of the storm. To me it says, my sins are washed away by faith in the Living Water, Jesus Christ. Danny taught me that.”

  The Nakamura family followed, Tyler on crutches, Brooke in a wheelchair, Isuzu speaking for them all, rousing the crowd to laughter and tears. After several others, Bob Ray was up next. “This is my square, over here.” He took the pointer and drew loose circles around it with the tiny red light. “It�
��s a little messy, but I’m still learning the finer points of needlework.”

  The laughter flowed in appreciative waves. “Selma here—” grinning, Bob Ray grasped the podium, leaned into the microphone, and nodded at the tiny woman at his side, “—her seam ripper was smokin’ sometimes while I practiced, but we finally got my patch right-side up. Anyway, in the rubble I found some clothes I wore to baseball games, back when I was in high school. The thing I remember most about Danny from those days is how he was never afraid to pray in public. And he never swore. And he always praised his team. And . . .” Bob Ray exhaled and blinked, “. . . if the other team did something cool, he’d cheer for them and no one ever thought he was like, a traitor, you know? Danny modeled what it meant to be a man. I learned a lot from watching him over the years, about being a good coach and a good husband and a good man. I hope to one day be all of those things and make him proud up there.”

  Finally, it was Justin’s turn. Slowly, looking up at the video screen as he walked, he made his way to the podium. He braced his palms on each side of the podium, gripping it, head down. Abigail thought for a moment he was praying. Finally, he shook his head, sniffed, and looked out over the crowd.

  “Danny would have laughed himself sick, to see me hunched over a sewing machine.” Amid hoots and catcalls and laughter, Justin glanced up at the ceiling. “I did it for you, big guy. And I want you to know I ruined a perfectly good shirt in the process . . . this here?” He picked up and pointed with the laser. “It’s the shirt I was wearing when I delivered Danny’s son right after the tornado, in the middle of a parking lot while being coached by a homeless man and a hairdresser with a flashlight.” He waited for the applause to die. “Yes, I have to say that was a moment I’d never anticipated enjoying, but it will go down in history as one of my all-time favorite experiences.”

  He moved the laser’s beam. “This is the material we wrapped the baby in that night. And this is a piece of the dog bed, you had to be there, and . . . this is a prayer pocket I made . . .” Justin had to stop and gather his wits for a moment. “Sorry,” there was laughter in his sob. “And I put a prayer in there for your son, big guy. And a promise to be there for him. The way you were always there for me.”

  He glanced at Abigail, and his smile said it all. He was staying.

  Tears gathering in her throat, Abigail’s heart threatened to pound out of her body as she stood, staring at him and smiling. When the lights came back up, the applause thundered, and Justin stepped into Abigail’s outstretched arms.

  When the memorial service was finally over, the skies overhead were black and roiling and rumbling with the spirit of another supercell. Rain began to fall in earnest, driving everyone home as soon as humanly possible. No sooner had Abigail and Justin chauffeured their clan to Selma’s place in the new truck and the Olds than the newly replaced storm sirens began to wail. Another storm was on the way. What would it bring? Abigail wondered, reacting first with dread. And then fear. And then chagrin, as she parked the Olds and Justin parked his truck in Selma’s driveway. If they were all going to live in Rawston without sinking, the way Peter had, they needed to keep their eyes on the Lord in the midst of the storm. No matter how scary. Together, they hustled everyone into Selma’s storm shelter, lit the emergency candles, reached for each other’s hands and began to pray that their Creator would help them beyond every storm.

  Epilogue

  Good morning, Rawston, heart of the American Midwest! We’ve got 7 a.m. straight up on your Thursday, May 3rd, and you are listening to Mike and Julie on 101.5 K-RAW. Keep it right here for another installation of our special weeklong tribute: Rawston: One Year Later, featuring the guys from Dan the Handyman Lumberyard. Today’s special guests are co-owners, Justin Girard and Bob Ray Lathrop. Good morning, guys!”

  “Good morning, Mike and Julie.”

  “Let’s start off by having you tell us how your lives have changed since the storm. Bob Ray?”

  “This is gonna sound really weird, Mike, but in many respects, they’ve gotten better. For starters, my man Justin here is going to be getting married next month, to Abigail Durham, from the new Doo Drop In Hair Salon in Old Town.”

  “Congratulations, Justin!”

  “Thanks! We’re thrilled. And, Bob Ray should mention that he and his wife just welcomed a baby daughter into their family, Danielle Louise. And she’s a beauty. Looks just like her mama.”

  “I’d love to show you all pictures of her, but since this is radio . . .”

  “Speaking of babies, I hear that immediately after the storm, you delivered a baby, Justin! How is everybody doing today?”

  “As well as can be expected. Today, that baby is now walking and talking some. His father, my best friend, Daniel Strohacker, was killed in the storm, and we all still feel his loss. But we know that Danny would be happy to see the way his wife and baby are coping, and how the business at his lumberyard has flourished because of the massive rebuilding efforts.”

  “Bob Ray, is it true that you guys had to move into a group home of sorts?”

  “That was a total blessing, Julie. Justin’s fiancée’s great aunt— Selma Louise Tully—opened her home to a bunch of us right after the storm, and we’ve all been living together for a year now while we rebuild Justin’s house and Abigail’s business among other projects.”

  “You know, Mike and Julie, I think both Bob Ray and I can say that this time together as one big family has been one of the best times in our lives.”

  “Oh, yeah. Justin’s right. We’re really going to miss him and Abigail after the wedding. But the rest of us are staying put, for now. We all help each other out, and we’re in no hurry at the moment. In fact, my wife and I are in the process of buying Selma’s house and annexing off an apartment for her.”

  “So busy! You’ve both been instrumental in the rebuilding process here in Rawston. How’s that going, Justin?”

  “Everybody has been working like maniacs, and the results are impressive. The high school and hospital are bigger and better than ever, and Old Town is beginning to reemerge from the chaos. In fact, everyone is going to take the weekend off and celebrate at the annual Rawston Quilt-o-Rama in two weeks. We’ve got people coming in from all over to celebrate and to view the ‘Rawston Storm Quilt’ that the community put together this last year with some of the tattered fabric that was salvaged from the storm.”

  “Kind of a special symbol of rebuilding, huh, guys?”

  “Yeah, bit by bit, we’re putting the pieces back together. And it’s . . . beautiful.”

  Discussion Questions

  Abigail Durham seemed to be living the American dream, at the beginning of the book, as a young, successful business owner. How do you see that she needed God’s direction in her life?

  Some people would think that a storm would ruin your life forever. What were the positive things that came from the storm?

  How did Selma help Abigail deal with the losses that the storm brought?

  Quilting is not just Selma’s work—it is an activity that helps her make sense of chaos and stay centered on God’s sovereignty. What activity do you use to stay centered?

  Abigail is afraid to give her heart to Justin and find hope after the storm. If you knew Abigail, how would you help her learn to trust God? Have you ever experienced something similar? How did you cope? What did you learn?

  Jen Strohacker was widowed at a young age. Why do you think God would put two people together only to take one away?

  Have you lost someone you loved? How did you deal with the loss?

  Bob Ray seemed to change overnight. Do you think his changes were permanent? Why? Why not?

  Isuzu’s family lost their Olympic dream and suffered great loss. How, in the scheme of things, might this have been good for the children? For the parents?

  Do you think Dr. Bernard Blumenfeld was a real doctor? A homeless man with a real story? An angel unaware?

  What was the ripple effect of Danny Strohacke
r’s death? How do you see that his life might have been used? His death?

  Have you ever questioned God’s plan in the midst of a life storm? How have you come through and seen His hand on your life?

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