Scandal (7 page)

I quailed at being dragged into this world of quilting. But, my ego wouldn't let me hand this
over, either. I equivocated. "No, wait! It's all too tricky."

Magda put her hand on my shoulder. "Not 'tricky', Annie. A little hard to begin with, but
once you get on to it you'll see it's wonderfully easy and so relaxing. You'll never know all the
problems I've solved just by sewing them away."

Magda said to us both, "I trust you brought your mat, grid rulers, and rotary cutter with
you?" I stared at her, then at Sam, whose mouth dropped open.

"Uh, what?" he said.

"Your tools! Quilting tools. It's no matter, I have plenty here, just that some people like to
use their own supplies. I bet you forgot your sewing machine, too."

I turned on him, accusingly.

"I figured you'd have needle and thread and scissors. What else could she need? I never
even heard of those other things, whatchamacallits, and, rotary cutters? None of this is for me, it's
for you, Annie." Sam turned to me, as if eager to put this all back on my plate, even though he'd
started the ball rolling by bringing Sophie's unfinished quilt.

"Well, no matter. Let's see what we have here and what we need to do." Magda's matter of
fact manner relaxed that ache between my shoulders.

"If you'll help me I'd like to get it finished." I said. In response she handed me a round,
flattish bowl with a magnetic center. In it were long pins with flat yellow heads. Easy to grab and to
pin with.

All my quilt pieces were there and already cut.

Magda smiled at me. "I knew you had the makings of a quilter!" Her hands were slapping
the pieces around in different configurations, when her fingers seized on the old piece of brown
notebook paper printed with gridded squares, the paper that I'd found when I had first looked at
it--Sophie's diagram of the quilt. I'd forgotten it. Written across the top in Aunt Sophie's careful
penmanship was
Sam's wedding quilt.
I'd missed that in my initial, quick inventory.

In pencil she had labeled the simple drawing of the triangles and squares of her design with
the kinds of fabrics to be used: "velvet, corduroy, cotton", and named the colors: "purple, flowers",
and so on.

Magda, examined it. "This is certainly going to help," which is what I'd said when I first
found it. Using Aunt Sophie's pattern, we laid out the pieces on the large table.

"What size do you want this to be?" She smoothed out the pieces. "Perhaps you want a
sashing between these blocks?"

At this Sam started inching away. "Uh, I'll just be outside. Want me to pick up some more
apples, Maggie? Maybe move the table?"

She stopped smoothing. "Hold her Newt! Young man, this is your project as well. You're
gonna help here."

"Oh, Magda," I said with a laugh, "I don't think Sam knows much about this business."

"It's high time he started taking responsibility for finishing what he starts."

I wondered if she was just talking about quilts, but let it slide when he reeled back into the
room as if she had a string on him.

"What do you want me to do? I can wield scissors with the best of them!"

"Twin, queen, king?" She nudged me. "Bed size, Annie. What size do you want this quilt to
be?" She walked around the table. "Sophie was just working it out herself. Discovered she didn't
have enough fabric. You want a wedding quilt to be large enough to fit on a double bed, or a
queen."

She pulled a small chart from a drawer "Okay. Your first decision. What size?" I took the
chart from her, looking at numbers that meant nothing to me. I knew my bed at home was a queen,
and picked the numbers under that heading. "Eighty-four inches by ninety-two inches."

Magda was still talking to herself, but listening to me. "So she switched to another style that
she must of had enough fabric for."

I went to hand the chart back to her.

"Keep it. You're going to need it at the fabric store." She went back to shifting the pieces
around. "This is going to be complicated because I don't have any of this velvet or corduroy fabric.
She bought them to match but didn't get enough. The whole thing got unwieldy."

She led us back to the first room, gestured at the shelves of fabric lining the walls. "We'll
see if I have what you need. Let's start here. Are we going to sash it, or add the width and length to
the outer edges?"

She explained sashing. "Each square is framed by one connecting fabric. Brings it all
together."

I found that I did have an opinion. "Oh, no! I don't want it broken up. I want Sophie's
original design to stay as it is."

"You're going to need to add fabric. Accept it." She led us to a colorful pile of bolts of cloth
on a shelf. Here, help me pull these down. Put 'em on the table." We worked free several bolts of
different shades of red and a multicolored cotton with tiny splashes matching the deep red in
Sophie's velveteen.

"The easiest way to lengthen this to a Queen is to put a large border around it, extending it
at the top and bottom."

"For interest and eye appeal, it's best to bring your contrast and color all the way to the
edge. It needs brightening up for a modern look. I like a splash of good color. Don't you,
Sammy?"

He looked at her, goggle-eyed, shrugged his shoulders.

She pulled out a pen, started calculating how much more fabric we would need. Math. My
stomach lurched. My brain was beginning to spin.

My cell phone rang. "I'll just take this outside," I said, but they weren't paying attention.
They were busy playing with fabric options, with numbers, with each other. I was glad for the
call.

"Hey, Sweets."

Len's old nickname for me. At his voice I felt a tiny glow start.

"I have news for you."

"Where are you right now?"

"In Willamina, working on Aunt Sophie's quilt."

"Willamina? Wait a minute, isn't that where those Quilt Guild women are from? Are you
hooked up with them? Honey, I can teach you whatever you need to know."

"About quilting?"

"Sweets, I can show you a lots of things I've learned since I saw you last." A low and teasing
tone.

Hmmm. Perhaps I should take him up on this.

"Well, even though I already know everything there is to know, perhaps even I could learn
something. About quilting." We set a time for the next day. I would take Sam to his date with his
friend at the care center, leave him there and meet Len at an old house he was remodeling.

"It's kinda rough, but I think you'll like the place. And I'll show you my etchings... I mean
quilt setup. I have some tricks that I'd love to teach you."

I could feel prickles of sweat pop out along my spine. He'd always had that effect on me. I
would plan to pick Sam up in a couple of hours. That would be plenty of time to feel Len out about
quilting, and who he'd become. Maybe learn something?

And I would have a reason to leave before I compromised myself. Maybe.

When I went back inside, Magda got right to the point. "Now Annie, I don't have a lot of
time, but you, and Sammy of course--I couldn't get used to "Sammy"--are always welcome here, and
we must get cracking on Sophie's wedding quilt so you can enter it in the Quilt Show."

"What quilt show?"

She laughed. "Our quilt show, of course."

"Oh, I don't think so, Magda. I don't know a lot about quilting but I know to be in a show a
quilt has to be just about perfect. And I'm certainly not going to hand quilt it." The Quilt Show was
in mid-November, part of a town-involved project, The
Coastal Hills Art Walk
, to kick off the
Christmas season. It sounded like fun, before I'd been told that I might be part of it.

I was both attracted and repelled by the idea. I certainly wanted to get the quilt done for
Aunt Sophie. Doing it was beginning to be attractive, a challenge that, maybe, I could do. If it didn't
turn out well, I could always refuse to let it in the show.

"Doesn't need to be hand quilted. You'll enter it as machine stitched. I'm on the committee,
it will get in. I'll make sure you do a good job."

On Labor Day we'd come for breakfast, on my way to taking "Sammy" back to Cannon
Beach. We'd set a time for my first lesson, then.

Sam was delighted. His few days with Cousin Annie was working out well for him.

I must admit, Sampson is appealing. Is it his hair?

I joke. I am a married woman. I need to control myself here. And for gosh sakes, he is an old
guy. Oh, but he does not look or act old to me.

As for Annie, she needs my help for sure, and there are few things I like to do more than
teach someone how to quilt. It is a skill that has strengthened me when nothing else could. Gives me
a challenge at the same time it soothes me.

I've needed it as Tommy has been a trial, this marriage was most likely a mistake but I
could not, would not be dissuaded when my mother warned me about his wandering ways and his
wandering eyes. He told me that only I could make him whole, settle him down. I did want to
believe him.

I also chose not to pay attention to his drinking. My best girlfriend, Loyola, warned me.
"Maggie, he is not the same person when he's had a few. You know he flirts with all your girlfriends.
I fear the fights he gets into at the bar. For you."

"He won't be doing that when we are married," I told her. "He has promised me." I was only
eighteen and "ready for love," as they say. He was twenty-four and, he said, "Ready to settle down.
I've had my share of women and, yes, wine, but you and I together, we'll make a team that will keep
me on a steady course."

Loyola had just shook her head. "But what if he gets mad at
you
? His temper is
awfully quick."

I brushed that off with not even a thought. I wouldn't let it happen.

Our marriage worked for the first couple of years, with some, yes, crunchy times. I've since
learned with alcoholism, that was the best of times. Ever since it's been a struggle. The day came
when Tommy did hit me.

We were arguing, standing toe to toe. Both of us were shouting, I don't even remember
what about. He told me to shut up and I shouted back, "
You
shut up."

He raised his right boot and stomped down on my left foot. Hard. I thought he'd broken
something, it hurt so bad. I screamed, and it scared him, so he backed off.

I hobbled over to the phone and shocked us both by calling the police. One of the two
officers who came to the house that night was an old school friend of mine, Wish Kelly. That made
Tommy madder. He knew I'd dated Wish in high school. He tried to tell the cops that I'd hit him
first. I denied it and Wish believed me.

He said, "Tom, if I ever even hear of you hurting her again, you will go to jail. Magda, I'm
putting this on record of you filing a complaint. If this or anything like it ever happens again and I'm
not around, you make sure the arresting officer knows about this report. And Tom, listen up
scumbag. You better hope I never come here again because I can't promise you'll make it all the way
to jail."

After Wish left, all Tommy said was, "I told you to shut up." He never touched me again, but
that was really the end of our marriage. I didn't trust him. He tried to talk me into moving away,
saying us living in this place was like living in a fishbowl. My friends and family were always
interfering and as long as we lived here we'd never have a good marriage because of it. I'd think
about moving, and then I'd step wrong and my foot would hurt, and I'd remember.

We stayed together but with trust gone, it got so I didn't like him anymore. I was glad we
didn't have kids. We had a lot of years of living together but he went his way and me, mine. Way
back then everybody figured it was the woman's fault if her husband hit her. She wasn't doing
something right, and, besides, where was she going to go? It was ugly. It's better now, but still
hard.

For us, Wish stopped the violence right there. I guess being threatened by a man with a gun
was more powerful than anything else I could have done. And Tommy knew I'd call. He blustered a
bunch, but he always stopped when he saw the look in my eye.

Once he got the boat and started fishing, that helped. He's gone for months, and I'm glad of
it. Maybe he's dead. Wouldn't be a terrible thing. Sad, yes, but he's not been happy with life for
many years.

I probably should divorce him, but I just hate to give up. I miss the young Tommy, do have
hope he'll show up again. I miss his wry sense of humor, and our adventures together. I look at our
surfboards on the wall, and remember excellent times. Perhaps? If he quit drinking? I'm optimistic.
I did say, "For bettor, or for worse." But now, it's easier with him gone. Plus, our financial lives are
intertwined. We own the house and everything together. Selling the house and giving him half
would be good for him, but not for me. I could move into the studio, but I like having my home life
and my quilting separate. I have a peaceful life.

For now I've got this job of teaching Annie to quilt, and that will be a challenge. Such
resistance. And Sammy. Oh he's a handful! Yes, indeed, he is.

The quilt show is in November. We gotta get cracking. Time to put the needle to the
cloth.

Sam's first question the next morning at breakfast was, "What time are we going to Valley
Home? I need to give Kit a call."

"As I recollect, I'm taking you there for lunch, so yes, you'd better call her. I'll drive over to
meet Len and pick you back up about one-thirty."

"So he really is back in the picture, huh? Your picture. Not mine. Frankly, you know Mom
didn't much care for him. Was so happy when you settled down with Roger." He cleaned up the last
of his oatmeal.