Quilt or Innocence (3 page)

Beatrice was alarmed. “They ride motorcycles?” The mental image of straitlaced Savannah on a Harley popped unbidden into Beatrice’s head. She could picture it: cigarette dangling from her thin lips, skull and crossbones barely visible on her thin shoulder. Beatrice shuddered.

“No, just regular bicycles. They ride them almost everywhere. Sometimes they scare me to death on those curving mountain roads. I’ll be driving around a curve and suddenly there’s Savannah, sitting straight up and pedaling furiously, and I have to swerve out of the way. She seems to think she’s on the same footing as cars. Honestly, I’m not even sure Savannah knows
how
to drive a car; I only ever see her on her bike. Georgia drives herself to school sometimes, though, if she has a lot of supplies to carry in.”

“How remarkable,” said Beatrice drily.

A handsome older man with twinkling eyes and silvery-streaked hair greeted everyone as they came through the door. “A male quilter?” Beatrice murmured.

Piper gave a soft laugh. “He’s the minister.” At her mother’s look of disappointment, she added quickly, “He doesn’t thump Bibles, Mama, I promise. He’s a perfectly lovely man. I’ll introduce you.”

Piper introduced Beatrice to the minister, Wyatt. He gave her a kind smile, and Beatrice felt her crabbiness at nearly having been run over melt away a little.

“Welcome to Dappled Hills. Piper was so excited you were moving here.”

Beatrice felt a little tongue-tied. “Mmm. Yes.” She reached up a hand to smooth some wayward strands of hair from her face, then worried she might have lipstick on her teeth.

Piper shot her an amused look. “Mama’s had a whirlwind of activity since she’s moved here. Meadow kidnapped her yesterday afternoon and made her go to the guild meeting.”

Wyatt’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “A trial by fire, then.”

“S-sort of,” she stammered, before Piper pulled her into the church’s dining hall, where a dozen or more women were gathered, chatting and busily organizing supplies. Sewing machines lined one wall, and bags of batting and half-finished quilts lay everywhere. Irons and ironing boards were set up along another wall. Several tables had been pushed together to form a large surface holding cutting boards, rulers, and rotary cutters.

Piper told Beatrice, “I want to introduce you to Amber. She was one of my first friends in Dappled Hills. She loves going out at night or going on road trips over the weekend. I keep telling her I’ve got papers to grade, and she practically yanks me out the door.” Piper laughed.

Amber didn’t sound like the best influence in the world.

Beatrice squinted at a figure across the room. “I’m guessing the woman over there must be the infamous Judith,” she said in a low voice, pointing to a woman in a bright pink pantsuit with bright red hair.

“Is it?” Piper peered doubtfully at the woman. “Wow, it
is
her. What’s she done to her hair? It was a perfectly normal shade of basic brown yesterday. Her hair is even redder than Daisy’s.” She knit her brows at Beatrice. “How’d you know it was her? Especially since her back is to us.”

“Just a hunch. Those women standing around her all have their hands on their hips or arms crossed and they’re looking pretty tense.”

“I’m sure we’ll be hearing what
that
was all about later. Oh, here comes Daisy. Remember, she was the one I said would be able to help introduce you to the town.”

A plump, redheaded, middle-aged woman wearing a very short skirt, heels, and a silky shirt with a plunging neckline came toward them, beaming.

“Piper, I see your precious cargo arrived safe and sound in Dappled Hills,” said Daisy with a smile in her voice. She held out a hand, with several diamond rings on it, to clasp Beatrice’s. “I can tell you’re Piper’s mother—you look so much alike. I’m Daisy Butler. Welcome to Dappled Hills!”

Actually, she and Piper didn’t look very much alike at all, although they did have the same eyes. Maybe that’s what Daisy was referring to. Piper was smiling at both of them delightedly, as if she were sure they were going to be the best of friends. “Nice to meet you, Daisy.”

“Mama arrived in town only two days ago, but Meadow’s already signed her up for the quilting guild,” said Piper.

Daisy nodded. “Wonderful! That will be a great introduction to Dappled Hills for your mother. The Village Quilters guild is the finest and oldest organization in town. Quilting is part of the mountain heritage, you know. There are quilters here who are fourth and fifth generation. I sort of fell into quilting myself. My family is from Charleston and quilting doesn’t figure into the culture there quite as much.” Daisy tilted her head and looked thoughtfully at Beatrice. “Maybe you’d be a good candidate for the Women’s Auxiliary, too. It’s a lovely group of women and does a lot of good in the community.”

“Maybe after I settle in a little,” said Beatrice, as Daisy walked off to join Savannah. Dappled Hills might be a slower pace, but it looked like she could really keep busy if she wanted to. Not that she did. She was planning on spending her retirement buried in books in her backyard hammock. With the relaxing mint julep.

Piper said, “Here’s Amber and her mom, Mama.”

Amber was small, slim, and very blond, with a wide grin and a devilish look in her eye. “Mrs. Coleman? I’ve heard so much about you! All good stuff, of course,” she said with a grin, as Beatrice raised her eyebrows at Piper. “You’re amazing to retire and move here from Atlanta to be near Piper. Piper is really lucky to have you for a mom.”

Piper stuck her hands on her hips. “You’re not exactly unlucky yourself in the mom department!” she said as an older version of Amber joined them.

“True. And I’m not just saying that because she’s standing right behind me,” said Amber.

Piper introduced Beatrice to a very well-maintained lady who must have been in her early seventies—although she might not own up to it. She looked fantastic and wore a good deal of artfully applied makeup.

“Well, of course you’re Piper’s mama,” Felicity said, giving Beatrice a quick appraisal. Beatrice wasn’t sure how to take Felicity until she finally grinned and said, “She’s as cute as a button and you look just like her. You’re a quilter, too?”

Beatrice shook her head. “No, my quilting abilities have been vastly exaggerated, Felicity. In fact”—Beatrice lowered her voice and looked to make sure that Piper was safely engrossed in conversation with Felicity’s daughter—“I’m dying to escape. Messing up my own quilt is one thing, but messing up a
group
quilt is something else entirely.”

Felicity waved her well-manicured hand. “Pish! Who cares? The folks who get these quilts will be thrilled to bits and sure won’t be inspecting the stitching. If you don’t
want
to stitch, you could find something else to do, though. Different quilts are in different stages. Some are still in the piecing stage, some of the quilt tops need to be sewn together, and others just need batting and backing.”

“Maybe I can just be on pressing duty,” said Beatrice, looking at the row of irons. “I shouldn’t be able to destroy any quilts by ironing.” But she felt uneasy about doing even that. “Is there anything special to remember about pressing?”

Felicity said, “The only thing to mention about pressing is that it is pressing. We press the blocks instead of ironing back and forth. But I don’t want you to think that you have to do something boring like pressing, Beatrice. Besides, we picked one pattern to accommodate beginners—dark thread on dark fabric. And what a fabric it is!” She gestured eagerly over to the table. “Go ahead! Take a gander at it.”

So Beatrice did. And she was instantly smitten with the patterns and fabrics.

“These are wall-hanging quilts and they’ll go up for auction at the art festival. The money raised there will benefit the children’s hospital,” explained Felicity. She gave Beatrice a knowing smile. “What do you think of them?”

The quilts’ complexity and beauty were determined by the individual quilters in each group. Beatrice felt especially drawn to a couple of patterns. One quilt top had cheerful butterflies dancing around a flowered bush—the butterflies themselves looked appliquéd from a retro-looking fabric and really popped off the quilt.

The other was a medallion pattern of a graceful wreath of Southern flowers—magnolia, yellow jasmine and azalea with a hummingbird hovering at a blossom.

“They’re gorgeous,” said Beatrice without hesitation. She felt like she was back in the art museum. She reached out to run her hand over the soft fabric.

There were nearly thirty people in the dining hall now. Beatrice asked Amber, “Is this group all from the Village Quilters? There are so many women here!” She thought about her miniature living room with the gingham sofa and single chair. How would she ever be able to host this group? And how had Piper hosted it in the tiny duplex she rented?

“Actually,” said Amber, “we’ve got two guilds in town. The Village Quilters has been around the longest, but there’s also the Cut-Ups guild. Not everyone comes to every meeting, of course. And when we have a meeting, usually we’re doing lap quilting, so it’s not like the monthly bee where we have a bunch of sewing machines out and are assembling the blocks and batting. We might be hand-piecing or working on appliqués. Or we could even be embellishing a quilt with beads, buttons or ribbons.”

“How did you ever get interested in quilting, Amber? I’m guessing it’s not something that a lot of your friends were doing.” She remembered what Piper said about Amber’s longing for big-city life.

“Oh, Mother got me into it, of course,” said Amber with a low chuckle. “She figured it would be a good way to keep an eye on me and keep me out of trouble. It’s a plan that’s met with limited success. But Mother can be very determined when she wants to be. I’ve enjoyed it more than I thought I would, though. Plus, Meadow’s been giving me tips, which is fun.”

Beatrice saw, with some trepidation, Miss Sissy hobbling over to the table, hunched over her wooden cane but still seeming surprisingly spry, considering her age. Her face was deeply creviced with wrinkles, and her hair, ostensibly in a bun, had so many wiry strands sticking out of it that she looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. Piper noticed Miss Sissy’s approach and hurried over to her mother, as if to run interference.

Miss Sissy, eyes set deep into hollows, looked directly at Beatrice. She shook an arthritic fist. “Road hog!” she bellowed.

Beatrice jumped, but Piper seemed very calm. “Miss Sissy, this is my mom, Beatrice. She moved here from Atlanta the day before yesterday.”

“Wickedness!”

“Miss Sissy,” continued Piper to her mother, as if nothing untoward had happened at all, “is one of the best quilters in the Southeast. She’s been quilting for—how many years, Miss Sissy? Sixty?”

“Seventy!”

“How amazing,” said Beatrice. She hazarded a smile at the cronelike woman, but it was returned with a fierce frown. Amber rolled her eyes at Beatrice to show her feelings about Miss Sissy. Beatrice actually found herself relieved at the sight of Meadow approaching their group, pulling a man in his early thirties along behind her.

“I went to school with Ash. I remember when he was just a ponytail-pulling kid who couldn’t color in the lines to save his own soul,” murmured Amber. “He sure has changed.”

Meadow bounced up, her arm around the man, and said proudly, “Hi, y’all! This is Ash. He’s officially the world’s best son for coming all the way from California to visit his mama.”

Ash leaned over and shook Beatrice and Piper’s hands, grinning. “I think I’m a
better
son for coming along with my mother to a quilting bee. I mean, who
does
that?”

Piper gave a gasping laugh as she took in with admiring eyes Ash’s tall figure and dark features. Now it was Beatrice’s turn to snicker at Piper, who finally found her tongue to say, “You should stick around and learn a little about your mom’s favorite hobby.”

Ash said, “I think I might pass for tonight. But I’ll admit I did have an ulterior motive for coming to the quilting bee. After Mother sang your praises to me, Piper, I wanted to ask you out for dinner tomorrow night, if you’re free.”

Piper flushed. “Sure, I’d love to.”

Meadow was hopping from foot to foot in her excitement.

“Great! Pick you up around six, then?” With that settled, Ash headed back out again into the gathering darkness.

Meadow looked smug. “I told you he was something special.”

“You did,” admitted Piper. “You’ll forgive me for thinking you might be slightly biased—being his mother and everything. But you were absolutely speaking the truth.”

Beatrice sadly looked on as Meadow gave more Ash propaganda to Piper. Yes, he was all that Meadow had said he was. But he lived on the other side of the country. Talk about a long-distance relationship!

“Someone new? In Dappled Hills?” said a dry voice behind Beatrice. It was the woman Piper had pointed out as Judith. In some ways, she looked very similar to Daisy, without the provocative clothing. She was middle-aged and on the heavy side, with bright red hair. Beatrice introduced herself and struggled to think of something to say. Judith didn’t seem to be much of a conversationalist. In fact, she kept looking around the room as if she’d prefer to talk to anyone else but Beatrice. Beatrice said, “It’s nice of the church to loan the guilds the space, isn’t it? It’s really a nice, large room.”

Judith raised her carefully arched eyebrows. “The church relies on us,” she said with a sniff. “Considering the fact that several improvements were made to the property as a direct result of the quilts and other crafts we sell at bazaars. Loaning us a room to craft quilts for charity is the very least they can do.”

Beatrice, relieved that at least there was a topic of conversation, was eagerly addressing this line of thought when Judith gave an exasperated sigh and briskly walked away, muttering, “Someone’s about to screw up a perfectly good quilt.” The unlucky recipient of Judith’s advice (or criticism) certainly didn’t look very grateful.

Savannah squinted at the wall clock, then shooed the ladies into their seats as beekeeper Meadow started the bee by talking about a past project and what they were doing for the children’s hospital. Several members showed off some completed quilts. Meadow mentioned a caravan they were planning to a nearby town for a quilt show. Then they started quilting. Beatrice held back for the first fifteen minutes, watching Piper and the other ladies make neat stitches as they connected their blocks and chatted.