The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club (5 page)

“Sure thing.” Terry put on his signal and turned into the store’s parking lot. “Guess I’ll go with you, get some water, and see what I can find to snack on.”

“I’ll grab us the waters while you look for whatever you wanna munch on.”

“Okay. Thanks, bud.”

When they entered the store, Jan went to the cooler and grabbed two bottles of water. As he waited for Terry, he studied the bulletin board on the wall near the front entrance.

His gaze came to rest on a handwritten notice offering quilting classes. Learning to quilt would sure be creative, and it might even help him relax. Jan had never admitted it to anyone, but he’d done a bit of sewing in the past and had even embroidered a few pictures he had hanging in his bedroom where no one else could see them.

He pulled off the section of paper with the phone number on it and stuck it in his shirt pocket. He didn’t know if he’d take the quilting class or not, but he’d give it some thought.

I
still think this is a really dumb idea, and even though I agreed to come here with you, if this class is boring, don’t expect me to do anything but sit and listen,” Stuart mumbled as he pulled his black SUV onto the graveled driveway leading to a large white farmhouse on the outskirts of town.

Pam wrinkled her nose. “That’s not fair. I shouldn’t need to remind you that I went fishing with you not once, but twice.”

“That was different.” He scowled at her. “It’s easy to fish, and it’s something both men and women do.”

“Some men sew, and some men cook. We’ve been through all this before, Stuart.”

“I cook every time you want something barbecued.”

“That’s not the same thing, and you know it.”

“It is to me.”

“By the way, have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“Yeah, this morning when I was brushing my teeth. Why?”

“Well, you didn’t look close enough, because you obviously forgot to shave.”

Stuart rubbed his stubbly chin. “Guess I did.”

“I’m not real pleased with your choice of clothes, either. You could have worn something more appealing than that stupid red baseball cap, faded jeans, and a red-and black-plaid flannel shirt. Oh, and I hope you won’t tell any corny jokes today. We’re here to learn how to quilt, not put on a show or try to make people laugh.”

When Stuart and Pam had begun dating and he’d joked around, she’d thought it was funny, but not anymore. Now it irritated her—not to mention that when he did it in public, she was embarrassed.

“All right, already! Would you stop needling me?” Stuart yelled.

Pam frowned. They sure weren’t starting off on the right foot today. She hoped Stuart didn’t humiliate her during the quilting class. Since he didn’t want to go, no telling what he might say or do.

“It looks like you’re not the only man here,” she said, motioning to an attractive-looking Hispanic man with a dark-haired, rosy-cheeked baby exiting the silver-colored minivan parked beside Stuart’s SUV. Although he was dressed in a casual pair of jeans, his pale blue shirt looked neatly pressed. That was more than she could say for Stuart.

Stuart grunted. “The guy’s obviously not with his wife. I wonder what’s up with that.”

“Maybe she couldn’t come today. Maybe he cares about her so much that he’s willing to take the class in her place.”

“You think so?”

“I guess we’ll soon find out.” Pam opened the passenger door and stepped down, being careful not to let her beige-colored slacks brush the side of their dusty vehicle. It really needed a good washing.

She’d just closed the door when a blue, midsize car pulled in. A few minutes later, a middle-aged African-American woman stepped out of the vehicle. “Are you here for the quilting class?” she asked, smiling at Pam.

“Yes, I am,” Pam replied, admiring the pretty turquoise dress the lady wore. “I’m eager to learn how to quilt, and being taught by an Amish woman is a good guarantee that I’ll be taught well. From what I understand, most Amish women are expert quilters.”

The woman nodded. “That’s what I’ve heard, too.”

Pam glanced over at Stuart, thinking he might be talking to the Hispanic man, but no, he stood in front of their vehicle with his arms crossed, staring at the ground.
Maybe I made a mistake forcing him to come here, she thought. I probably should have come up with something else I wanted to do that he would enjoy, too. Well, it’s too late for that. We’re here now, so we may as well go in
.

Pam went around to the front of the car and took hold of Stuart’s arm. “Are you ready to go inside?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he muttered.

“Well, hold that thought,” she whispered, again hoping he wouldn’t embarrass her during the class.

They started for the house, and as they stepped onto the porch, a small red car in dire need of a paint job pulled in. When a slender young woman dressed in a pair of black suede boots, black jeans, and a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over her head climbed out of the car and headed their way, Pam couldn’t help but stare. The girl didn’t seem like the type who’d want to learn about quilting, but then neither did the Hispanic man. She guessed everyone who’d come must have their own reasons, and she hoped Stuart would now see that quilting wasn’t just for women.

Pam was about to knock on the door when Stuart nudged her arm. “Look who’s joining us now.” He motioned toward a tall, burly-looking man with a short brown beard, riding in on a bicycle, of all things! He wore blue jeans; a tight white T-shirt; and a black leather vest. A black biker’s bandana was tied around his head, and his brown ponytail hung out from the back of it. The man had a mean-looking black panther tattooed on his left arm and the name
Bunny
on his right arm. He wore black leather boots—the kind motorcyclists wore—and looked like he belonged on the back of a Harley instead of on a beat-up blue and silver bike.

When I signed us up for this quilting class
, Pam thought,
I certainly never expected there would be such an unusual group of people taking the class
.

The young woman wearing the hooded sweatshirt barely looked at Pam as she stepped up to the door and knocked before Pam even had a chance to lift her hand. A few seconds later, a thirty-something Amish woman answered the door. She wore a very plain dark blue dress and a stiff white cap perched on the back of her dark brown hair, which had been parted in the middle and pulled into a bun at the back of her head. The woman stood staring at them with a strange expression. After several awkward moments, she said she was Emma Yoder’s daughter, Mary, and then she led the way into an unexpectedly large room, which she told them was where the quilt class would be held.

Pam tried to take it all in with one swooping look. The room held a long table, several folding chairs, some wooden racks with colorful quilts draped over them, and three sewing machines. One of them was a treadle and appeared to be an antique. The four gas lamps flickering overhead completed the picture of plain, simple living.

“If you’ll all take a seat, I’ll get my mother,” Mary said before hurrying from the room. The poor, red-faced woman looked about as uncomfortable as Pam felt right now.

Pam and Stuart quickly found seats, and everyone else did the same. Stuart turned to Pam and glared at her. “Why didn’t you tell me it would be like this?”

“I didn’t know.” She glared right back, grabbing Stuart’s ball cap and plunking it in his lap. Didn’t he have any manners at all? Between the angry look on Stuart’s face and the stony expression from the biker, as well as the young woman dressed in black, the room seemed to be permeated with negative vibes.

Pam glanced over at the dark-skinned woman and was relieved when she smiled. At least someone in the room seemed friendly. She couldn’t tell much about the demeanor of the Hispanic man, because he was occupied with his baby.

They all sat quietly for several minutes until a slightly plump, rosy-cheeked Amish woman with gray hair peeking out from under her stiff white cap and wearing a plain rose-colored dress and a pair of metal-framed glasses, entered the room. She looked a bit overwhelmed as she stood beside the antique sewing machine, gripping the edge until her knuckles turned white. Maybe she, too, hadn’t expected such an unusual group.

Emma released her grip on the sewing machine and took a deep breath, hoping she could find her voice. When she’d placed the ads and bulletin board notices for the quilting classes, she hadn’t expected those who came would be from such varied walks of life. And she certainly hadn’t figured any men would attend her classes! No wonder Mary had looked so worried when she’d come to get her.

Thinking back to the phone calls she’d received, there had been one from a man, but he’d said he wanted to make a reservation for Jan. Emma had assumed it was for the man’s wife or a friend. And come to think of it, another woman who’d called had said she wanted to reserve a spot for her brother; although at the time Emma had thought maybe she’d misunderstood and that the woman had said, “her mother.”

“Hello,” she said, smiling despite her swirling doubts and the reeling in her stomach from the nervousness she felt. “I’m Emma Yoder. Now would each of you please introduce yourself, tell us where you’re from, and state the reason you signed up for this class?” Maybe the introductions would put them all at ease.

The English woman with golden-blond hair hanging slightly below her shoulders was the first to speak. “My name’s Pam Johnston. That’s Johnston with a
t
. I enjoy sewing and have always wanted to learn how to quilt.” She turned in her chair and motioned to the man with thick brown hair sitting beside her. “This is my husband, Stuart, and we live in Mishawaka. Stuart manages a sporting goods store, and I’m a stay-at-home mom to our children: Devin, who’s eight, and Sherry, who is six.” Pam wore an air of assurance, but Emma sensed it might be just a cover-up for a lack of self-confidence.

Stuart gave a nod in Emma’s direction then glanced at his wife as though seeking her approval. “She’s the one who actually wanted to come here. I just came along for the ride.”

“That’s not true.” Pam shook her head. “My husband also wants to learn how to quilt.”

“Yeah, right,” Stuart mumbled. His tone was clipped, and the look he gave his wife could have stopped any of Emma’s clocks from ticking.

Emma quickly turned to the African-American woman wearing a full-length turquoise dress with a loosely knit brown sweater. “What’s your name, and what brings you to my class?”

“I’m Ruby Lee Williams, and I live in Goshen, where my husband pastors a church. We have twin sons who are twenty and attending a Bible college in Nampa, Idaho. Of course, they’ll be out of school for the summer in a few weeks, but they’ve both founds jobs there, so they won’t be coming home until Christmas.” She grinned, looking a bit self-conscious. “I guess that’s a lot more than you asked me to share.”

“No, that’s okay,” Emma said. After all, Ruby Lee really hadn’t shared any more than Pam. “Would you mind telling us why you’re taking this class?”

“I came here to learn how to quilt because I thought maybe—”

“What church does your husband pastor?” Pam interrupted.

“It’s a community church,” Ruby Lee replied.

Pam gave a brief nod. “Oh, I see.”

“So what brought you to my class?” Emma asked Ruby Lee.

“Well, I just thought it would be kind of fun and that maybe I could make something for our new home or perhaps a quilt for someone I know.”

Emma smiled and turned her attention to the young woman wearing black jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt, which she kept firmly in place on her head. It was really too warm to be wearing a sweatshirt—especially indoors. “Why don’t you go next?”

“I’m Star, and I also live in Goshen. My grandma used to quilt, and before she died, she paid for me to take this class because she wanted me to learn how to quilt, too.”

“You have a very pretty name.” Ruby Lee smiled at the young woman. “What’s your last name, Star?”