Quilt or Innocence (4 page)

“Mama,” said Piper, “don’t you want to go ahead and get started? You’ll be fine.”

“You really can’t mess up,” said Meadow, reaching over to pat Beatrice on the hand. “Even if you
do
,
there are a dozen women here who can fix whatever you’ve done.”

So Beatrice threaded her needle, knotting the end in a quilter’s knot, which she’d looked up on the Internet before she’d left with Piper for the bee. She slowly slid the needle into the beautiful fabric—and stopped cold. Piper’s perfectly good block stared at her. Beatrice didn’t want to do anything to mess it up.

“You know, I think I’m just going to sit this one out. I’d rather practice at home on my own quilt instead of someone else’s.”

Meadow and Piper both made protesting noises, but Beatrice stood firm. This wasn’t the venue for picking up quilting. She’d end up stabbing herself with the needle and bleeding all over the block or making crooked stitches.

She sat back in her chair, pretending to watch Piper’s stitches, but really feeling very cross. Was being an art curator the only thing she knew how to do? It wasn’t the kind of thing that was actually
useful
. Now that life had slowed down to a crawl (although not for long, if the good ladies of Dappled Hills had any say), she was realizing that all of her basic life skills had gotten extremely rusty.

But after a few minutes, she forgot her irritation and found she was
enjoying watching
the quilting. The women sitting knee to knee, talking over familiar problems as they rhythmically stitched through the quilts, the irons steaming at the sides of the tables, the gentle hum of the sewing machines in the background, and the soft batting and fabrics on the tables all lent a relaxed, comforting feel to the dining hall. And the art—and it really was art—they were creating was truly breathtaking. The patterns coming together created a visual field trip.

Beatrice found that she was able to jump in and help out with other parts of the quilt assembly. She carefully ironed the quilts after they’d had their tops and borders sewn on. She tracked down and removed any forgotten pins. She helped layer the top, batting, and backing for the quilt on the floor, gently stretching out the backing to prevent wrinkles, in preparation for the quilters who basted the layers together.

Meadow helped her straighten the quilt layers. “You’d be the perfect adviser for the Village Quilters, Beatrice. With all your art-world experience, you’re exactly what we need. We’re wanting to enter more of our quilts into juried competitions . . . but some of us are better at coming up with original designs than others. I know you’d be great at quilt design.”

“Piper had mentioned something to me about possibly playing another role in the guild. I’ve just never done anything like that before. But I do love to draw. Would I draw a scaled template?”

Meadow nodded. “You could put together a four-patch quilt block or a nine-patch block pattern and sketch it out on graph paper. Easy peasy! And then cut it out and write the pattern name on the back of the template in case someone wants to use it again. We need fresh ideas! And I could use some help putting kits together for the quilters—cutting out all the pieces for the blocks and sticking them in zipper bags. And I need a quilting herder, too,” said Meadow, hooting with laughter. “Somebody to make sure they hand their blocks in on time for any group quilts we do.”

“Well . . . I’m not so sure about my cutting abilities. I’d have to practice or else you’d end up with a lot more scraps for crazy quilts than you’d planned on. But designing quilts sounds more up my alley than the quilting,” said Beatrice. She felt a quickening of interest at the thought of designing patterns. She definitely knew her way around a piece of graph paper.

“Great! Then you can help us out before our next bee,” said Meadow, beaming. “I’ll be sure to give you lots of notice.”

Savannah snickered. “Georgia
should
be able to come up with some ideas for our group quilt. She’s got five or six quilting-magazine subscriptions.”

Georgia looked reproachfully at her sister. “But there’s never more than one or two patterns that I want to make. So I almost
have
to subscribe to that many to get enough ideas.”

* * *

The quilting bee eventually broke up for the evening. More members came up at the end, introduced themselves and welcomed her to Dappled Hills. Felicity and Amber chatted with them for a few minutes, too.

Piper pointed at the paper shopping bag Amber held. “Is that the quilt you were telling me about yesterday? Can I see it?”

Amber placed the bag down on the hardwood floor and bent to pull the quilt out. “Well, sure. We’re glad to find a home for it, honestly. With Mother getting ready to move to a retirement home, we’re trying to get her downsized. And I don’t have room in my place for even my own stuff, much less Mother’s.” She unfolded the quilt halfway and showed it to the ladies.

Savannah and Georgia hurried up, Savannah puffing in her haste to see the quilt. “Is that the quilt that you’re giving Judith?” she asked.

“It’s beautiful,” said Georgia, reaching out and smoothing her hand over a few of the squares.

“Is it?” asked Felicity, squinting at the quilt doubtfully. “What I think it
actually
is, is very old and hogging space in my linen closet.”

“Mama’s house is jam-packed with quilts,” said Amber.

“You know, it used to pain me to even
think
about giving up my quilts. They’ve been around so long that they’re practically members of the family! But there are just so
many
of them that it’s not fair to Amber to unload them all on her. The women in my family have quilted for so many generations—and my mother didn’t help matters by collecting quilts from flea markets and yard sales. I’m not even completely sure which of the quilts were made by family members and which were made by strangers.” Felicity sighed. “When Judith visited me last week and offered to take this one off my hands, I can’t tell you how relieved I was. I cannot
wait
to move into a smaller place. Trying to keep up with a yard, dusting those empty rooms and cooking for one is absolutely killing me.” Felicity laid a blue-veined hand dramatically on her heart and winked, broadly, at Beatrice.

There was a flash of pink from the corner of her eye, and she turned. Judith was standing there staring at the quilt with quick interest.

“Is that my quilt?” she asked, reaching out and pulling it out of Felicity’s grasp. “Thanks for bringing it. I’ll hang it in a place of honor.” She gave a sort of phony smile.

Beatrice asked, “May I see it?” in a tone that allowed no disagreement. She pulled it gently from Judith’s grasp, into her arms and over to the group of long tables they’d spread the quilts over. Beatrice studied the quilt for a minute, then carefully but tenderly ran a hand over the closely woven, silky fabric. It was a double nine-patch quilt of white and crimson on an umber background. She gave Felicity and Amber a tight smile. “I know Judith is getting the quilt for free. But it’s very old.”

“It’s old, all right. I feel bad dumping it on Judith, but she’s kind enough to take it on. It’s true she’s not paying anything for the quilt. Maybe I should be paying
her
for taking it off my hands.”

Beatrice shook her head. “No. I mean, we all know it’s old . . . The stitching is raised because the batting has shifted. I’m sure the batting is cotton or wool—not polyester. The appliqués and piecework have clearly been hand stitched, and there’s no sheen at all to the quilt. One striking thing is the handiwork—this stitching is quite decorative, which is a little unusual for older quilts, which were ordinarily meant for a utilitarian purpose. It’s old. But it’s not
just
old. It’s antique. If I had to guess, I’d say this quilt dates back to the Civil War period. And it’s in amazing shape—there’s no fraying on the binding at all. It must have been carefully stored.”

Felicity and Amber could only stare at her.

“Um . . . did I mention that Mama was an art curator?” asked Piper in the silence.

Felicity frowned. “I thought it was just
plain
old.
Regular
old. So you’re saying, Beatrice, that it’s
valuable
old?” She gave the quilt an appraising look. “If it’s valuable, Judith, I’m going to have to rethink this. You know how I’m trying to build up my savings for the retirement home.”

Judith moved with lightning speed to snatch up the quilt, but Beatrice smoothly blocked her, carefully rolling the quilt and putting it back in the bag. She handed the bag to Felicity, who held it tightly against her. “The only thing to do,” said Beatrice briskly, “is to have Felicity reconsider the arrangement now that she knows the quilt’s value.”

Judith’s face was white with fury. “I’m sure you’re wrong about the quilt’s value. This is a reproduction of an antique quilt that’s cluttering up Felicity’s house. She’s trying to downsize and I’m doing her a tremendous favor by taking it off her hands . . . She told me so herself.”

Beatrice said, “If it’s not valuable, then you won’t mind if she thinks it over for a few days. Don’t kid yourself that you were trying to help Felicity unclutter her house. A real friend wouldn’t have been so quick to grab the quilt. I think you know exactly how valuable that quilt is—and were hoping Felicity and Amber wouldn’t realize it. No, you were
counting on
the fact that they wouldn’t.”

Amber glared at Judith through narrowed eyes. “So you were going to cheat Mother out of her quilt. I was wondering why you’d suddenly do something nice. It was completely out of character for you to actually act human. What were you planning on doing with the quilt? Selling it to the highest bidder on eBay? Or did you already have an interested buyer?”

Judith smirked. “What do you
mean
, what
was
I planning to do with the quilt? I’ve
still
got plans for the quilt. After all, it’s mine. It’s gorgeous and historic and was given to me, fair and square, by the owner herself.”

“But it’s not in your possession,” said Amber with a short laugh. “And I hear that possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

Judith said, “I’m sure the quilt will end up with me, though. Your mother isn’t someone to go back on her word, is she?”

“No,” said Felicity in a firm voice, standing stiffly. “No, I’m not. But I won’t be taken advantage of, Judith. I’ll sleep on it and then we’ll work out what to do with the quilt tomorrow. I didn’t know its value and I can use the extra money.”

Judith looked scornfully at Felicity. “I should have known you’d go back on your word. And stop acting like a hard-luck case by moaning about needing money. The reason you don’t have any money right now is because you don’t have any money sense at
all
. I know you lost all your money to some con artist with a pyramid scheme.”

Posy said quietly, “There’s no point in getting ugly about it, Judith. It’s a gorgeous quilt, but I’m sure you don’t want it under these circumstances.”

Judith snorted. “Posy, you’re stirring up trouble because you’re upset at losing your shop.”

Beatrice heard a startled cry of consternation from the quilters. Posy’s face turned white. “Judith, you said we’d talk about it.”

Judith raised her hand peremptorily. “I’m all done talking. I’m a businesswoman, Posy, and I’ve got to think about my business instead of giving friends charity. I’ve got a tenant who is interested in moving into the space and is willing to pay me more rent for it. It’s time for you to start looking for a new location for the shop.”

Daisy, the doctor’s wife, said tightly, “So it’s all about
money
and
greed
, isn’t it, Judith? When it comes down to money, friendship gets tossed aside every time.”

“I think it’s all about
money
and
greed
for you! Daisy Butler isn’t everything she seems to be,” said Judith with a short laugh. “And what you
are
is soon to change, too.”

Daisy’s face flushed to match her hair. She looked like she was trying to string words together but could only stutter like an old car engine trying to turn over on a cold morning.

Georgia jumped in. “Posy’s Patchwork Cottage is a second home to Savannah and me. We
rely
on it. All the quilters do.” Her low voice quavered and she seemed to be steeling herself, fists clenched to handle confrontation.

“You and Savannah rely on the shop to get supplies?” Judith said, sneering. “Well, maybe you do, Georgia. But I know how
Savannah
gets supplies.” She gave a sly smile.

Georgia gave a strangled cry, and Savannah stepped protectively in front of her. Her smile was icy, but her fierce expression indicated that she was at a boiling point. Beatrice made a mental note not to ever get on her bad side. “Don’t talk to Georgia like that, Judith. Or you’ll be sorry.”

Judith snorted. “Shoot, I’m already sorry. Sorry I wasted my time here tonight. And sorry I took Felicity at her word to give me the quilt. She looks like such a sweet little old lady.” The well-preserved Felicity flinched.

“Pride!” bellowed Miss Sissy from the back of the group. “Wicked pridefulness.” Beatrice wasn’t sure if that non sequitur meant Miss Sissy was on Judith’s side or Felicity’s.

Meadow’s expression was thunderous and she displayed a temper that seemed quite at odds with her usual peaceful air. “A quilting bee,” she said in a sonorous voice, “promotes harmony of thought and purpose. You’ve destroyed that harmony, Judith—and you need to leave.”

Judith shrugged. “Sorry you feel that way, Meadow,” she said in a cutting voice. “But you don’t have to kick me out, because I wanted to leave, anyway. I’m going to change into walking clothes, head out to the park, and take a walk—I need some fresh air after all this childishness. Thanks for nothing, Felicity,” she said, her lips twisting. She disappeared into the darkness outside the door.

There was a moment of silence—and not the reverent kind—after Judith stormed out.

Daisy’s face was still mottled with anger. “Well, I certainly hope I don’t run into Judith again tonight. I was planning on taking a stroll tonight myself, since Harrison has got ER duty. I guess if I see Judith on a walk, I’ll head off in another direction.”