The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club - 02 - The Tattered Quilt (19 page)

Terry’s hands shook as he climbed into his truck and turned on the ignition. He hadn’t had a cigarette since yesterday morning, and he struggled with the temptation. Besides being shaky and irritable, he’d had a hard time sleeping last night. What he wouldn’t give for a smoke to take the edge off. He’d made sure to use mouthwash and splash on some cologne this morning, hoping to erase any telltale signs of cigarette smoke from the day before. He’d even dressed a little nicer today, choosing some khaki slacks and a beige button-down shirt, instead of his usual jeans and T-shirt. If all went well, he planned to ask Cheryl if she’d go bowling with him tonight.

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if I just took one drag,” Terry said aloud, as though trying to convince himself that it was okay. He opened the glove compartment and removed a pack of cigarettes, then fished around and found a book of matches under an assortment of maps and other things that had been jammed in there. At least his truck wasn’t as filthy as Jan’s. It just needed a little reorganizing. Terry’s rig was old, but he kept it halfway tidy on the inside, and tried to keep the outside clean, too.

Striking the match, and then lighting the cigarette, he sat there awhile, letting the engine idle as he took a drag.

Ahhh…that sure feels good
. Terry inhaled the air of the cab as it filled with more smoke. Feeling kind of drowsy, he leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes, hoping his urge for a cigarette would ease.

Suddenly, Terry’s eyes snapped open. There was a different kind of smoke filling the inside of his truck now. “Oh no!” Terry hollered, turning off the engine and looking down at the seat. A thin pillar of smoke spiraled up from where the smooth vinyl once was. In its place was a hole the size of a quarter, darkened around the edges from the hot ashes still burning in the stuffing of the truck’s seat.

Immediately, Terry unbuckled his seat belt, spotted a half-full water bottle that he’d left in the truck, and dumped the water onto the smoldering seat. It did the trick. “Guess that’s what I get for taking a drag,” he mumbled, rubbing his hand over the gaping hole. Looking at his cigarette pack, he was tempted to throw it out the window. But that would be littering, and with his luck, a cop would probably see him do it, and he’d end up with a fine. He’d toss the cigarettes as soon as he found a garbage can.

“Can’t believe this happened,” he muttered. Now he’d either have to get the seat re-covered or have the whole thing replaced. Not only that, but he probably smelled like the dickens, too. He really did need to quit smoking.

Terry got out of the truck and walked around for a bit, hoping the fresh air would get rid of the smoky aroma that might be lingering on his clothes.

Getting back into his truck, and sniffing the arm of his shirt, Terry knew if he didn’t get going, he’d be late for class. The last thing he wanted was a tongue-lashing from Selma, like she’d given Blaine last week when he’d walked in late. “Well, here goes nothing,” Terry said, pulling out into traffic as he popped a piece of peppermint gum in his mouth.

Selma peered into her canvas satchel, checking to make sure she had everything she’d need for the quilting class today. Scissors, seam ripper, tape measure, thread, pins, needles, and thimble. Yes, it was all there. Of course, Emma had each of those items available for her students to use, but Selma preferred her own things. She’d even thought about bringing her portable sewing machine along but knew that wasn’t possible since Emma had no electricity in her home. Besides, last week Selma had used Emma’s old treadle, and she’d enjoyed the sense of nostalgia from days when her grandmother was alive.

Emma had told them that this week they’d continue to sew the pieces they’d cut out the previous week. Selma looked forward to seeing the wall hanging take shape and couldn’t wait for its completion. There was a sense of gratification that came from sewing, just as there was with floral arranging. Selma sometimes missed her position at the flower shop she used to manage, but continuing to work with flowers at home since her retirement three years ago had helped fill the void. Most of the bouquets she put together were for herself, but once a week when the flowers in her yard were blooming, Selma made lovely arrangements for the church she attended. It made her feel good to add some beauty to the table in the entrance; although she wasn’t sure how much it was appreciated by others in the congregation. No one except for the pastor’s wife had ever said anything to Selma about the flowers she brought.

Pulling her thoughts aside, Selma slipped into her sweater, picked up her satchel, and opened the back door.

Meow!
The scraggly gray cat had returned once more, and he darted into the house before Selma could stop him. “Come back here, Scruffy!” she shouted, chasing after the cat as it raced into her kitchen.

The determined feline zipped around the table a couple of times, made a beeline for the hallway, and dashed into Selma’s bedroom.

She moaned. If she didn’t catch the critter soon, she’d be late. Aggravation tugging at her, Selma set her satchel on the table and headed down the hall. When she entered her bedroom, she gasped. The mangy animal was lying in the middle of her bed, curled up as if he thought he belonged there!

Selma’s first instinct was to holler at the cat. But if she did that, he might run, and she’d be on another merry chase. Instead, she tiptoed quietly to the bed, slowly reached out, and scooped the furry cat into her arms. Selma wrinkled her nose, watching as clumps of cat hair floated through the air and onto her clean bedspread.

Prrr…Prrr…Prrr…
The cat went limp the moment he was picked up, and nuzzled Selma’s neck with his warm nose.

It softened Selma just a bit, but she wouldn’t give in. This persistent critter had to go out!

“Why do you keep coming back here when you know you’re not welcome?” Selma mumbled after she’d taken the cat outside and placed him on the grass. “Now go back to wherever you belong and stop coming to my house.”

The cat looked up at Selma, as if to say, “You know I’ll be back.” Then it trotted down the driveway with its fluffy tail held high.

I can’t figure out why Scruffy doesn’t get the hint
, Selma mused as she made her way back to the house to get her sewing satchel and use a lint roller on her clothes. She made a mental note to run the vacuum cleaner when she returned.

Does the cat think if he keeps coming around I’ll eventually take him in?
She shook her head determinedly.
That’s never going to happen
.

“Everyone and their horse was at the bakery this morning, and look what I came home with,” Lamar announced when he entered the quilting room, where Emma was busy getting things ready for her third class.

She looked up and smiled when she saw the box of doughnuts he held. “What’d they have on sale today?”

Lamar’s green eyes twinkled as he grinned at her. “Maple bars and chocolate doughnuts, with vanilla-cream filling.”

Emma smiled. “Two of your favorites.”

“That’s true,” he admitted, “but they’re not all for me. I plan on sharing.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I might like at least one of those tasty-looking maple bars.”

“You can have as many as you like, Emma. What I meant to say was, they’re not all for us. Thought I’d share them with the quilting class when it’s time to take a break today.”

“That was thoughtful of you,” Emma said. “Especially since all I have to serve are some of the sugar kichlin I made two days ago. I’ve been busy repairing the quilt for Cheryl’s grandmother and haven’t had time to do any more baking.”

Lamar smacked his lips. “We can have some of those sugar cookies, too.”

Emma motioned to the kitchen. “Why don’t you put the doughnuts away until it’s time to share them with our students?”

“That was my thought exactly, because if I leave them setting out, we’ll be tempted to start eating right away, and no one will get much sewing done.” Lamar started out of the room, but turned back around. “Isn’t it amazing how we often think alike, Emma?”

She nodded. “I’m thankful for that.” Emma knew that not all married couples were as compatible as she and Lamar. She felt grateful that God had brought such a kind, loving man into her life. Even though she hadn’t planned to remarry after her first husband, Ivan, died, she’d never regretted her decision to marry Lamar.

When Cheryl pulled into the Millers’ yard and saw no other cars in the driveway, she figured she must be the first one to arrive. That was unusual, but it was fine with her. She hoped this would give her some time to visit with Emma alone. From the first moment Cheryl had met Emma, she felt comfortable with her. Emma was so kind and easy to talk to. Cheryl felt relaxed around her—almost like she’d known Emma all her life. Maybe that was because, like Cheryl’s grandma, Emma was easygoing and didn’t just talk about herself. She seemed interested in others.

Not like Mom
, Cheryl thought.
Everything always revolves around her job and social activities. Mom could learn a lot if she spent time among the Amish. Maybe she wouldn’t be so focused on worldly things
.

Finished with her musings, Cheryl stepped out of the car and headed for the house. She was greeted at the door by Lamar, wearing his usual friendly grin. He, too, made Cheryl feel at ease and welcome in their home.

“Am I early, or is everyone else late today?” Cheryl asked, stepping into the house.

“You’re a few minutes early, but I’m kind of surprised some of the others aren’t here yet—especially Selma. She’s usually the early one.”

Cheryl couldn’t argue with that. If there was one thing she’d learned about Selma Nash, it was that she liked to be punctual.

“Cheryl’s here,” Lamar announced as he and Cheryl entered the quilting room.

“Oh good.” Emma smiled and motioned for Cheryl to come over to the table. “I did some work on your grandmother’s quilt this week, and I want to show you how it’s shaping up.”

A sense of excitement welled in Cheryl’s chest when she took a seat and watched as Emma spread the quilt on the table.

“See here,” Emma said, pointing to one section of the quilt, and then another. “I’ve replaced some of the tattered pieces of material with new ones.”

“They look new and yet old. How did you do that, Emma?”

“I used some old pieces of material I had that were still in good condition,” Emma explained. “I want to make the quilt look like it did when it was originally purchased.”

Cheryl smiled. “It definitely does, and the quilt’s taking shape quite nicely. I’m sure Grandma will be pleased when she sees it.”

“Will you be going to Oregon to give it to her?” Emma asked. “Or will you mail it and ask your mother to take it to your grandmother?”

“I have some time off from work coming the middle of November, so I’m hoping to take it there myself,” Cheryl replied. “I want to give the quilt to Grandma on her birthday.” She sighed deeply. “I can’t count on Mom to do it. She’s always so busy with her job and extracurricular activities. She doesn’t even have time to talk to me for more than a few minutes whenever I call. And when I ask about Grandma, Mom either says she’s doing okay or that she hasn’t visited her in a while.” Tears pricked the backs of Cheryl’s eyes, and she swallowed around the lump stuck in her throat. “Wouldn’t you think she’d want to visit her own mother as often as possible? And I don’t understand why she can’t take the time to really talk to me.”