Sisters of the Quilt

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Sick of pain and death, Matthew motioned toward the house. “I better go in and see Mamm.”

  The fires brought her, and fire will keep her.

  The words tapped a rhythm inside Sarah’s brain. She left her scooter near the side of the road and climbed over the cattle gate at the back of Mrs. Waddell’s property. A Holstein bull grazed in the adjoining pasture, so she ran full speed across the field. If he saw her and had a mind to, he might come right through that fence that needed mending.

  The fires brought her, and fire will keep her.

  She opened the gate that led to Mrs. Waddell’s yard and went straight to the barn. Looking around the place, she spotted a can of gasoline. Isn’t gas what people said caused the fire in the attic of Matthew’s shop?

  She spread the liquid over some bales of hay, realizing how beautiful the powerful stuff was. Fascinated, she poured it across the dirt floor as she walked out of the barn. Covering her shoes and the ground with the golden fluid, she found beauty in the swirling little pools as rainbows of colors floated and shifted around. She set the nearly empty can beside her.

  “Mrs. Waddell,” she called. “Mrs. Waddell.” When she didn’t come to the back door, Sarah called again.

  Paul came out the back door.

  “Fire brought her, and fire will keep her. Ya?” She pulled the box of kitchen matches out of her pocket.

  He ran toward her. “Sarah, what are you doing?”

  She put the head of a match to the side of the box. “I told you she’d come back, but she’s going to leave again if I don’t do something. We can’t let that happen.”

  “Sarah, no.” Paul stopped. “Your shoes and the hem of your dress are soaked in gasoline. Don’t strike that match.”

  “I want Hannah to stay and help me find her baby.”

  “Sarah, give me the matches.” He stepped closer.

  She ran the match down the side of the box, and a few sparks zipped around, but it didn’t light. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Okay, okay. Tell me what you want.”

  “Hannah to stay.”

  A girl came out the back door. “What’s going on?”

  “Dorcas, you remember Sarah. She’s going to give me the matches and come inside so we can talk.”

  Dorcas came closer. “Hi, Sarah. Wh-why don’t you come on inside? We’ll visit.”

  Sarah lifted the box and match at her threateningly. “I want Hannah!”

  Paul stepped forward, but Sarah knew what he was thinking. She held the match against the side of the box, ready to light it.

  “Okay.” Paul stopped cold. “Dorcas, bring me the cordless and the phone number Hannah left for Gram.”

  “A phone number?”

  “I saw it lying on Gram’s table. I’m hoping it’s to her cell and that she has it with her.”

  Dorcas ran inside.

  “Sarah, move the match away from the box, and I’ll call.”

  Sarah did as he asked, cradling the match in the palm of her hand while pulling out more matches. Dorcas brought him the phone and paper.

  Paul took the items from her. “Dorcas, I want you to go inside. If she so much as causes a spark, the fumes will explode, and the gas can will ignite too.” He punched numbers on the phone, how many Sarah wasn’t sure. “I want you safe. Please.”

  Dorcas nodded and went inside.

  “Hannah, this is Paul. Sarah’s at Gram’s barn, and she’d like you to come here. It’d be best if you wasted no time, please.” Paul paused and then disconnected the call.

  “What’d she say?”

  “She said okay.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “No, but I’m sure she’ll be here shortly. May I have the matches now?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Not yet.”

  Hannah closed the phone, wondering how to handle this. All her hopes of what she might accomplish by staying calm and respectful with her Daed mocked her. Clearly, getting him to agree with her on anything would take more than politeness.

  He gestured toward her phone. “Can’t go anywhere without being attached to that thing? The whole churchgoing world spends more money on fancy gadgets in a month than they offer to God in a year.”

  “That can be true of some, I’m sure.” She slid her phone into her pocket, chafing at the constant negativity that flowed from her father. “Daed, that was Paul. Sarah’s at Mrs. Waddell’s.”

  He startled, looking about the place. “Ruth!” He headed for the house. Luke and Mary came out of the carriage house.

  Hannah heard the gas-powered wringer washer turn off.

  “Ruth!” Her father yelled again.

  Her mother ran outside and paused when she saw Hannah. A look of pleasure graced her face. “Good morning.”

  “Hi, Mamm.”

  Daed waved his hand through the air. “Isn’t Sarah inside? You’re keeping a watch on her, right?”

  Terror filled Mamm’s eyes. “The last I saw her, she was with you. Has she gone missing?”

  Daed opened his mouth, but Hannah interrupted him. “No, she’s at Gram’s with Paul. I need to go.”

  “I’m going with you,” Daed said.

  Mamm wiped her hands on her apron. “Should I come too?”

  Daed headed for the car. “You stay here and watch the children.”

  Her father climbed into the passenger’s seat and closed the door.

  Hannah turned the key, starting the engine. “You didn’t want her to see whatever it is we’ll see, did you?”

  He shook his head. “It’s too hard on her.”

  She backed out of the driveway and headed for the paved road that led to Gram’s. “Harder on her than waiting at home?”

  He stared out the window. “Your ways of questioning every decision a man makes is wrong.”

  Resolved that she’d never really connect with her father, Hannah shifted gears. “And you’re right just because you have title of being head?”

  “You’re talking women’s feminism stuff. It’s an abomination, and you know it!”

  “More than you seeing me minutes after the rape and later deciding I’d lied?”

  Her father crossed his arms over his chest and sulked. That worked just fine for her. She carried plenty of wrongs in what’d happened, but she wouldn’t bear his share simply because he held the position of head of the household.

  She stepped on the accelerator, allowing her father to ride in silence. She pulled into Gram’s driveway and up to the house and stopped the car. Running across the yard and to the barn, Hannah wondered what her sister was up to.

  Paul came into view but not Sarah.

  Hannah slowed. “Where is she?”

  He nodded in the direction of the barn.

  With a gas can at Sarah’s feet and her skirt hem wet, it didn’t take Hannah long to put it all together. Having no idea what to say to her sister at this moment, she looked at Paul. Daed came up behind her, breathing hard from hurrying across the yard.

  “Those are matches in her hands.” Paul spoke softly. “If I can get close enough, I’ll tackle her and take them, but at this distance she could cause a spark while I’m running toward her. It’s the fumes of gasoline that are explosive. If she lights a match—”

  “No soft voices!” Sarah yelled. “I hate all the murmuring that goes on behind my back! It’s everywhere I go—even in the house.”

  Paul turned his attention to Sarah. “Okay, we won’t whisper. Can we move in closer so we can talk without yelling?”

  “A little.”

  The three of them eased forward.

  “Stop right there.”

  Hannah took a few more steps. “Sarah, what’s all this about?”

  “I want to know what you did with the baby.”

  “I explained all that. Can’t you believe me?” Hannah inched forward. “The night after being accused of wrongdoing in front of Daed and the church leaders, I gave birth too early, and the baby died. I’m not lying.”

&nb
sp; Daed removed his hat. “Are you saying it’s my fault you went into labor that night?”

  Sarah’s pale face made her dark eyes stand out even more. “No! The baby isn’t dead! It isn’t!”

  Paul took a few steps forward. “Sarah, everyone here knows what happened. What will it take for you to believe us?”

  “You only know what she said, and so does Daed.”

  Hannah stepped closer. “The baby died in my arms. She lived long enough for me to name her, fighting for a breath her lungs weren’t mature enough to take. I cried until I thought I’d go crazy. But then the tears had to stop, and I had to find what was left of me and move forward.”

  Paul inched toward Sarah again. “What do you need from us, Sarah?”

  Sarah pressed four matches against the striking surface. “Then it’s my fault!”

  He stepped in front of Hannah. “Why is it your fault?”

  She stepped to the side of Paul, removing him as her shield. “I’m not sure you want to go down that volatile path. Not now.”

  “We need to diffuse this so we can get the matches.”

  “I realize that, but …”

  “Maybe she knows things we don’t. I think she should tell us why it’s her fault.”

  “You’re opening Pandora’s box.” Hannah ground out the words.

  Ignoring her comment, he moved forward again. Sarah raised the matches and box. “No closer.”

  “Did you set E and L on fire?” Daed asked.

  Sarah squared her shoulders. “I did.”

  Her father moaned as he slumped.

  Paul pointed to the gas can. “Did you use matches or gasoline?”

  “ ‘The tongue is a fire, a world of evil … and sets on fire the course of life.’ It doesn’t need matches or gasoline.”

  Somewhat taken aback that Paul had managed to target the issue, Hannah thought maybe his other question had more merit than she’d given him credit for. “Why is the death of … my baby your fault?”

  “What’s her name?” Sarah asked.

  “What?”

  “The baby. You said you named her.”

  Except for the letter she’d written to Paul while on the train to Ohio, Hannah had told no one her infant’s name, and she wasn’t sharing it now with Daed standing here. She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Sarah screamed, like a child throwing a tantrum, as she joggled the matches against the strike plate.

  Paul held out his hand, calming her. “Rachel.”

  Sarah sank to the ground and began to rock back and forth. Paul knelt in front of her, and she held the box of matches out to him. Staring into his eyes without blinking, Sarah whispered, “Help me.”

  Paul took the matches and put them on the ground behind him, and then he clasped Sarah’s hands in his and whispered something that made tears roll down her cheeks.

  Hannah glanced to her Daed, who was walking off toward home.

  Paul stood and helped Sarah up. He then walked her to the back door, where Dorcas stood watching Paul’s every move.

  When Dorcas eyed Hannah, a thousand negative emotions roiled through Hannah, but she couldn’t voice her thoughts. Paul had once told her that Dorcas attended every family function and that she practically lived at his parents’ place half the time. She had positioned herself to be Paul’s girl before Hannah ever left Owl’s Perch. Hannah had no proof and yet no doubt that was what had happened. Still, she needed to keep this visit to its point and talk to Paul about Sarah, so she stepped forward and held out her hand. “Hannah Lawson.”

  Dorcas looked to Paul before shaking her hand. “Dorcas Miller.”

  Paul turned to Sarah, staring into her eyes. “I need to talk to Hannah, just while you get a shower and change clothes. Can you do that?”

  Sarah nodded. “Okay.”

  Paul motioned into the house. “Dorcas, Sarah needs a change of clothing. Can you find her something and stay with her while she showers? I’ll be right out here, well within earshot if you need me.”

  “Sure.” Dorcas flashed a condescending look Hannah’s way before the two disappeared into the house.

  Indignation at Dorcas growled, but Hannah ignored it. Suddenly the great outdoors didn’t seem large enough to hold the awkwardness between Paul and her.

  He slid his hands into his pockets. “What happened today with Sarah has been brewing for a long, long time. I’m sorry it happened, but I think it’s good you were here, and I think we just witnessed the worst of it.”

  The only comforting thought Hannah could find at the moment was gratefulness that Martin wasn’t here to see just how dysfunctional her family was. “Sarah needs to be checked into the mental health ward of a hospital. How do I go about doing that?”

  “That would be a huge mistake, Hannah.”

  “Could you do me a favor and not use my name like we’re friends?”

  Paul nodded. “Look, regardless of how you feel about me, the clinic I work at is a wonderful facility and can help her, but a hospital is a mistake for a lot of reasons. The coldness of an institution will push her closer to the edge, and they’ll start pumping meds in her left and right.”

  “Push her closer? Were you out here today?”

  Paul studied her. “Are sarcasm and anger your only ways of communicating nowadays?”

  To you? Yes.

  He stood calm and reserved, obviously waiting for her to give an answer he was willing to work with.

  After his help with Sarah just now, she should probably apologize for her tone. Bitterly opposed to that idea, she gave a nod. “Noted.” She drew a breath and willed herself to find her nice voice.

  Paul shifted. “Look, I shouldn’t have said that about your dad and you earlier. And you have every right to be angry with me.”

  “Contrary to how I sound, I’m really not interested in venting my anger. All I want to do is help Sarah and get out of here, but you had no right to pass my number to anyone without asking me first.”

  “Your dad sent word through Luke that they wanted to locate you and had received a letter when your aunt died that gave him an idea where you were. Since I knew how to take that bit of piecemeal info and find you for them, I did.”

  She blinked. “My Daed?”

  Paul nodded. “I was surprised too. Look, I was wrong to leave that night without hearing you out. I’m asking you to forgive me.”

  She shrugged. “Until arriving back here, I thought I had. But now it seems none of the prayers covered actually having to see you.”

  “I did come back for you.”

  “Don’t.” She held up her hand. “If you came back, you came back too late.”

  They stood in Gram’s yard looking at each other as if they were strangers—no, it was worse. She saw a man she’d once thought was worthy of her giving up everything just to be with him. There was no telling what he was thinking, but if love was blind, what was happening between them now was more like a piece-by-piece dissection under a high-powered magnifying glass.

  He pulled out his billfold and passed her a business card. “I have a counseling license and work at the Better Path. It offers an array of helps for people.”

  “You’re a counselor?” She narrowed her eyes, trying not to gape at him. “This is the more suitable career that your church agrees with? You delved further into psychology, and they agreed with it more than social work?” The last time she’d tried to make contact with Paul, some young woman, maybe even Dorcas, told her that he had to make a career change to please the church leaders. The disbelief in her voice mocked his choice of a profession, and she didn’t even try to cover it.

  Paul shook his head—a slow, resigned type of shake—as if she were too much of a pain to deal with. “You know, I really am trying—” He stopped short when her phone rang.

  She pulled it out of her dress pocket. The caller ID said it was Martin. Ignoring Paul, she pushed the green icon. “Hello.”

  “Hey, sweetheart, I thought of the solution to
all our problems. Have you figured it out yet?”

  Warmth and comfort slid up Hannah’s spine, and she held the phone tighter. “Not a clue.”

  “We shouldn’t have ever had sisters.”

  A burst of laughter broke through her current misery, and a tear trickled down her face. The tenderness in his voice made her ache to tell him the horrors of her day, of her own misbehavior of lashing out at Paul … of wanting to lash out even more.

  She saw a half smile break through Paul’s reserve before he grabbed the gas can and moved it into the barn, giving her privacy.

  She walked to the knoll, gazing out over the peaceful fields. “I’ve been so wrong today. You wouldn’t even recognize me. I’ve ripped people apart, and the thing is … I had no idea that kind of anger and bitterness lurked inside me.”

  “Phone girl, give yourself some room here. It’s okay to lose it a few times with people who said they loved you and then didn’t even throw you a life preserver when you were drowning.”

  Another tear slid down her cheek. She drew a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  “I’m really sorry for the other night.”

  “I know, but this isn’t a good time to talk, so I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Sure. No beating up on yourself, and we’ll talk soon.”

  “Bye.” She closed the phone. Walking to the barn area, seeing Paul, being here—it seemed impossible to process it with any sense of reality. “I … I’m off the phone.”

  With a pitchfork in hand, he tossed the gasoline-soaked hay into a huge metal bin. He glanced up. The lack of condemnation, disappointment, or anger on his face was disconcerting. Was he the jerk who’d abandoned her, taken her portion of their money, and refused to return her call—or not?

  He gathered more hay on the tines and pitched it into the bin. “I didn’t mean to break a confidence by sharing the baby’s name.”

  Wishing she knew what to believe about this man in front of her, she did her best to temper her answer. “I guess I should have just told her when she asked. I tend to be a little stubborn about things at times.”

  Paul didn’t nod or sneer or even crack some smart remark.

  “That’s your cue to say, ‘You think?’ ”