RUNNING STITCHES:
A Quilting Cozy
Carol Dean Jones
Dedicated with love to
Barbara, Forester, and Gweneth
Prologue
There was no trial. Andy agreed to a plea bargain and was sentenced to five years in the local minimum security prison farm. It was clear to everyone that Andy was no criminal. He killed his brother in the equivalent of a bar fight which took place in Andy’s living room. George had burst in, belligerent and angry, and they’d fought as they had since they were young boys.
It was an accident, and Andy probably wouldn’t have been charged if he hadn’t left town. But he returned home and was arrested. Andy was sorry about killing his brother, but he was mostly sorry that they’d never resolved their differences. He missed his brother, or maybe he just missed the idea of a brother. Andy was a kind and caring man.
No one expected that Andy would escape, but that’s exactly what he did.
Chapter 1
“It’s spectacular!” Sarah exclaimed as Ruth and her daughter Katie hung the quilt behind the cash register. “I’ve never seen a quilt like that! What’s it called?” Sarah was a new quilter and had limited exposure to the world of quilts.
“This is called a sampler. We used fabrics from the civil war reproduction collection and these are all blocks that were popular during the mid-1800s,” Ruth explained.
Katie spoke up saying, “It’s possible that some of these blocks were used by the Underground Railroad as secret codes to communicate with runaway slaves.”
“Fascinating!” Sarah said. “I’d love to know more about that.”
“We’ll be talking about all this in our next class,” Ruth responded. “In fact,” she added as she stood back and admired the quilt, “this would be a good quilt for you to make, Sarah, since you would learn all these different techniques.”
“I love it,” Sarah exclaimed.
Ruth Weaver owned The Running Stitch, or as her customers fondly called it, Stitches. Ruth and Katie, her twenty-year old daughter, provided a wide range of high-end quilting fabrics, all the necessary tools and implements, and an endless supply of books and patterns. The walls of the shop were covered with quilts made primarily by Katie who, along with her mother, taught classes for both the advanced quilter and those with nothing more than a desire to learn.
Sarah had been in that last category. After her husband died, she had saved his ties, hoping to use them to make a quilt for her daughter, Martha. Unfortunately, Sarah had no idea where to start and came to Stitches as a novice. Ruth and Katie had patiently guided her through the fundamentals and, as a result, Sarah had become quite proficient.
“Wouldn’t this be too advanced for me?” Sarah asked.
“No. I’m calling this an advanced class, but I’ll be teaching the simplest blocks first and, by the time we get to the more difficult blocks, you’ll be ready.”
Sarah examined the quilt more closely. “I bought many of these fabrics for the quilt I was planning for Charles.”
“Have you used those fabrics yet?” Ruth asked.
“No,” Sarah responded, thinking about the quilt she was planning to make for her friend, Charles. “Maybe I’ll sign up for this class and make this one for him instead. It’s historical, and I think he would like that.”
Sarah and Charles had met many years before she moved to Cunningham Village; he was the policeman who came to her door almost twenty years ago to inform her of the accident that had taken the life of her husband, Jonathan. Despite the anguish of that day, the kindness of this gentle man stood out. After she moved to the Village, they met again. He was retired, as was she, and both were starting a new chapter of their lives.
“He’s smitten,” her feisty friend, Sophie, had said the day she met him. Sarah was not at all ready for smitten and tried hard not to give Charles any encouragement. But she liked him and he’d become a very special friend.
Sarah had moved to Cunningham Village the previous year at the insistence of her daughter, Martha, and against her own better judgment. But as it turned out, Martha was absolutely right.
Cunningham Village was a retirement community with independent villas, a center with all the recreational and educational services a person could want, and a continuing care component which was available to seniors who needed more care.
That was Sarah’s original objection – the concept of a retirement village made her feel old. Or maybe, in her late sixties, it was just a reminder that old was a state rapidly approaching. But once she made the move, got to know her neighbors, and got involved in the activities, she quickly adjusted to her new life. Quilting had become an essential part of that new life.
After signing up for the class and buying a few more fabrics from Ruth’s civil war collection, Sarah drove home, again turning her thoughts to Charles. They were clearly becoming close, but she wasn’t sure just where she wanted it to go. But, wherever it was headed, she knew she wanted it to go there slowly.
Jonathan had been her first and only love and, for some reason she couldn’t explain, her growing relationship with Charles was causing her to feel disloyal to Jon’s memory. She felt that Charles would understand. He had lost his wife many years ago and still looked wistful when he talked about her.
All of Sarah’s concerns vanished when she opened her front door and was met by the enthusiasm and love of her precious dog, Barney. Barney ran in circles and snuggled in close to her with every muscle trembling in an attempt to keep from jumping up on her. “Good boy, Barney!” She told him, appreciating his effort. “Let’s go for a walk.” Barney ran to the hook and tugged on his leash, dragging it to her and dropping it at her feet. “Good boy,” she repeated, clapping her hands. Barney smiled.
Sarah adopted Barney from the local Humane Society the previous year. There had been a murder on her block, and she originally wanted him for protection, but they’d become fast friends. He was a medium-size dog of no particular, recognizable breed. He had big brown eyes, almost the color of his coat. He was ever so slightly cross-eyed. He had a long snout of a nose and rather longish whiskers that twitched when he opened his mouth. When Sarah first saw him, she thought he was undoubtedly the homeliest dog she had ever seen, but he was most certainly smiling at her. Sarah had looked at his short wagging tail, his straggly coat, and she smiled back. He looked at her with appreciation. They’d made an instant connection. She had to have him. He had to have her.
Together they went out into the brisk night air and strolled up the block. The homes on her block, as well as on most of the blocks in the Village, were one story villas attached in groups of five. As she passed Andy’s empty house, she thought about the tragedy that occurred there the previous year, resulting in Andy being sentenced to a few years in prison. She was eager for the day he’d be back home. She missed her friend.
“What’re you and that ugly dog doing out there in the middle of the night?” Sophie hollered from her door. She already had her pink elephant pajamas on and had her trench coat over her shoulders as she walked toward them.
“I could ask the same question of you. You look like you’re ready for bed,” Sarah responded, “…and Barney’s not ugly!” she added.
Sophie walked hurriedly toward Sarah and Barney. Sophie was a short rotund woman in her mid-seventies. She had an infectious laugh that could be heard up and down the block as she told her greatly embellished versions of the many happenings around the Village.
Sophie was also one of the kindest people Sarah had ever met. She took newcomers under her wing and helped them with what could be a particularly traumatic experience as they moved into a retirement community. She had been Sarah’s first friend and they’d remained close. Right now, h
owever, Sophie looked worried.
“I need to tell you something, and it’s not good news, Sarah.”
Sarah stopped walking and turned to meet Sophie. Barney stretched out on the sidewalk and rested his head on his front paws. “What is it, Sophie?” Sarah asked with apprehension.
“That young police woman called me today and asked if we’ve had any contact with Andy.”
“We talk to him every few weeks! Did you tell her that?” Sarah asked frowning. “Why does she want to know anyway?”
“I told her about our phone calls to the prison. That wasn’t what she wanted to know. She wanted to know if he has been around here.”
“Around here?” Sarah responded looking bewildered. “How could he have been around here? He’s in prison.”
"That’s just it,” Sophie said as she glanced down to hide the tears that were beginning to collect in her eyes. “He escaped, Sarah."
“WHAT?” Sarah cried out. “How could he do that?” Andy was scheduled to be released in a couple of years and, with good behavior, maybe sooner. “He’s ruined it for himself again! What’s wrong with that man?” Sarah was clearly upset and disappointed with Andy. She and Sophie had stood by him through his trial and tried to make prison life easier for him by writing and phoning often. “He hasn’t said a word that would suggest this was on his mind,” she added with a deep frown. “Why would he do it?”
“How well do we really know Andy?” Sophie asked rhetorically. “He’s been a great friend and neighbor, but there’s much about Andy we don’t know.” It was during the investigation that Sophie and Sarah had first learned about Andy’s history with alcohol. Then he ran off to Florida rather than admit to the fight he had with his brother that resulted in his brother’s death. “And don’t forget,” Sophie added, “he let us think he was dead for several months! That was not kind!” Sophie was obviously disappointed with Andy.
Sarah shook her head and sighed. “Let’s get some sleep, Sophie. We’ll talk tomorrow, and we’ll call that police woman. What was her name, Amanda? Amanda something?”
“Amanda Holmes. She’s still working with Detective Gabriel. Maybe we can go by and talk to both of them. This is just crazy!” Sophie said, shaking her head as she turned to leave. “Why would he do this?” she muttered to herself.
Sophie headed toward her house without saying goodbye. Sarah was confused by the news. At first, she felt angry with Andy but then realized there must be some explanation. She hoped she would find out soon. The previous year, she’d spent many weeks worrying about what had happened to Andy. She and Sophie even got involved in the investigation, much to the police department’s annoyance. She wasn’t eager to start worrying about him again. Sarah slowly headed for her front door. Barney got up, stretched, and lumbered after her.
Sarah turned and watched the house across the street as Sophie’s lights went off, one after the other as she made her way toward her bedroom. Sarah sighed and said, “Come on, Barney. Let’s get some sleep. I think tomorrow is going to be a long day.” Barney sighed and followed her into the house.
Chapter 2
Andy watched as the busload of prisoners approached. The gate opened, and the guard waved them through. Andy continued to watch as the men got off and lined up along the side of the bus. There were only eight. A Motley looking group, he thought. But he knew they weren’t hardened criminals. Evanston was a minimum security prison. He felt lucky to be there. He knew it could’ve been much worse.
The men walked single file toward the building and, one by one, disappeared inside. Andy focused on one, a guy with carrot-red hair and a gray beard. He looked familiar, but from this distance Andy couldn’t be sure.
Hours later the man approached Andy in the mess hall. A guard followed at a distance but kept an eye on him. They always watched the new guys. Some men were sent to Evanston who couldn’t handle the freedom. The guards identified them early on and shipped them out.
“Andy? Andy Burgess?” The man said incredulously. “What the heck are you doing here? I heard you quit drinking, cleaned up your act, and moved to some old folks home over in Middletown.”
“Yeah, well, some habits die hard,” Andy responded not wanting to say too much.
The carrot-topped man was Bryce Silverman. Andy knew Bryce fifteen or so years before during his heavy drinking days. They didn’t have much to talk about now.
“Really, man,” the guy asked again. “What’re you in for?”
“I got in some trouble,” Andy responded vaguely.
A tall lanky guy with a pock-marked face was standing nearby. With a cigarette dangling from his dry lips and a wicked smile, he interjected, “Come on, man, you don’t know?” He sneered and dropped his cigarette to the floor. “This guy offed his own brother!”
“George?” Carrot-top asked, looking surprised. “You killed George? I thought George was in prison for life!” Then he added with a chuckle, “Short life, I guess.”
Andy didn’t want to tell his story. He didn’t even want to think about it. It was an accident. He knew it. The judge knew it. But all that was in the past. As far as he knew, the guys here didn’t know anything about him. But, in fact, rumors spread fast.
“You see any of the old gang?” Andy asked, not actually caring but, at least, it changed the subject.
“Nah. Most of the old bunch has scattered.” Then he added with more enthusiasm, “I did see your old girlfriend a couple months ago before she ran off.”
“Catherine?” Andy said with surprise. “What do you mean ran off?”
“You know she married ol’ Buck, right?”
“Yeah,” Andy replied, looking down at the food remaining on his plate in order to avoid carrot-top’s eyes. Finally, without looking up, Andy repeated, “So, Bryce, what do you mean ran off?”
“She just up and left. Buck was fighting mad, but he didn’t seem to care where she went. He just wanted to find the guy.”
“What guy?” Andy asked, still not looking at Silverman.
“She’d been hanging out with this guy. No one knew his name or where he came from, but they hung around the bar together when Buck was working the night shift. Sometimes they would leave together. We all suspected the two of them took off, but no one told Buck anything. You know Buck’s temper. No one wanted to hassle with him.”
“Hmm.” Andy added, trying to seem only mildly interested, “What about the kid?”
“Catherine’s kid? Hell, I don’t know. Last I heard she took off, too.”
“With Catherine?”
“No. It was a month or so later. We figured Buck drove her off. He was drinkin’ more than usual and fightin’ mad all the time. She probably couldn’t take it.”
“…only fourteen,” Andy muttered. “…where would she go?”
“To the streets, I guess,” Bryce responded, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s where most girls go.”
* * *
Andy lay in his bunk. It was late. No clocks were around, so he didn’t know how late. It had been dark for hours and he laid there trying to keep his mind a blank slate. He didn’t want to think, but as his eyelids drooped he became less able to control his thoughts. He could see Catherine clearly to this day, fifteen years later. She would have been a beautiful woman if her life had gone another way. But she had been on the streets too. She ran off from home when she was thirteen and supported herself with what she could get from men. Andy hung out with her for a while, but it never was serious. His wife had died, and he was mourning. Probably still was, for that matter.
He remembered the last time he saw Catherine. “Andy, I don’t want to marry you. Thanks for offering. You’re a real standup guy, but you’re much too old for me. You’re older than my dad!” she had said, giving him a playful slap on the arm. Then in a more serious tone, she added, “Buck wants to marry me, and he thinks the baby is his. I didn’t tell him any different.” She looked away and added, “We’re getting married next week.”
Andy kne
w it was his baby. He even knew the night she was conceived. But he didn’t argue. If she wanted to marry Buck, so be it. He heard she named the girl Caitlyn.
“Caitlyn,” he said her name aloud.
He wondered where she was right now. He would find her. He was her dad, and she needed him.
Andy was trusted by the prison guards. Two guards had even been sitting in on his computer class. Administrative staff joked with Andy and had told him that he would, most likely, be paroled at his next hearing. No one paid attention to him in the yard.
The next morning he simply walked off the grounds while the guards were busy assigning work detail.
Chapter 3
Sarah sat in Ruth’s sampler class waiting for the other students. She glanced down the class list and only recognized one name, Dottie Ramsey. Ruth was still working out front, waiting for her daughter, Katie, to arrive and take over the shop. Ruth was, however, in and out of the classroom. She handed out the instruction sheet for the first class which was the log cabin block. “Please read the instructions and help yourselves to coffee and cookies,” she called back as she was leaving to take care of a customer.
Sarah knew she was going to have trouble concentrating on the class. She was worried about Andy. A week had gone by since she learned that he’d left the prison but still no word from him. She and Sophie had stopped by the police station to see Officer Holmes. Amanda was not in the office, but Detective Gabriel spoke with them.
Detective Gabriel had met with the prison staff, and they were all stunned that Andy had left the grounds. Andy’s mood had been upbeat and he had recently volunteered to teach basic computer skills to a group of inmates. He seemed to be enjoying the class and was looking forward to his first parole hearing.
Sarah and Sophie got to know Detective Gabriel the previous year and liked the man. Known as Gabe to his friends, Detective Gabriel had a kindness about him that caused Sarah to wonder how he could do police work, but often his pleasant approach worked to his advantage.
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