Tracie Peterson (9 page)

Deirdre looked a bit hesitant. “We go to the casino. But before you say anything against it, just know that we do it only for fun. I take an allotted amount of money and never spend past that. Sometimes I win and sometimes I lose, but it’s nothing more than a game.”

“Did I say it was?” Mattie asked, knowing that she had always spoken against gambling in any form.

“Well, I just remember how you always put it down and told us our money and time were better spent elsewhere.”

“So you were at least listening,” Mattie said, rather amused. Deirdre smiled. “I was listening. I just wasn’t sure it could be all that bad.”

“Well, I suppose you know best for yourself,” Mattie said, adding bread and silverware to her tray.

Just then Ashley and Brook came in through the screened porch. “Oh, good,” Mattie declared. “You’re just in time to help.”

Chapter 8

The next morning the skies rumbled with thunder. Mattie awoke slowly, and upon realizing the tone set for the day, she snuggled deep into the comfort of her quilts. She didn’t mind the rain. Her gardens loved the watering and nothing fed them so well as rainwater. She didn’t even mind that she’d have to stay indoors. She had her quilting and crocheting, not to mention just visiting with her granddaughters. Smiling at the thought of them all spending the day inside, Mattie threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m getting old,” she murmured at the aching in her hips and lower back. “Sometimes it doesn’t seem like I should be this old, then other days I feel like an eternity has been spent on this earth.” She got to her feet and stretched.

Lightning flashed, drawing Mattie’s attention to the window. She went to stand and watch the storm move in. You could never tell what you might get with a Kansas spring storm. Tornadoes, lightning, hail—it was all part of living in the Sunflower State. In the distance a line of heavy black clouds churned with the rumbling of the thunder. It looked like heavy rain, maybe even a little wind and hail. Mattie prayed there wouldn’t be anything more severe.

Going to her vanity, Mattie sat down and began to brush her short gray hair, each stroke bringing back a memory. How many times had she brushed and styled the girls’ hair when they were little? How many times had she done the same for Rachelle?

Rachelle.
Mattie could still see her child lying so still and silent in the coffin.
Why did you leave me without letting me know if you’d made your peace with God?
she silently questioned. Mattie feared the answer was found
in the probable fact that Rachelle hadn’t found any peace with her Creator. But no mother liked to contemplate her child spending an eternity separated from God and those who loved her.

“I wish the girls could have loved you,” Mattie murmured. “I wish you could have loved them. They are so like you. Especially Connie. Sometimes I look at her and I see you.” Mattie ignored the tears that fell. All she had ever wanted was to be was a wife and mother. It was all she had wanted to be good at . . . and it was the one thing she had failed at.

Well, in truth, she hadn’t had much of a chance with Edgar and Robbie. They were a part of her life for such a short time. But Rachelle had remained, and Mattie’s inability to instill in the child a sense of belonging and contentment weighed heavy on her heart.

Mattie dried her eyes and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back had known great grief, and no one understood the pain of separation she was feeling. Rachelle might have been one of the most sought-after actresses in the world. She might have dined with kings and queens and danced with presidents and other world leaders, but she would forever be Mattie’s little girl.

“Sorry I’m so late,” Mattie announced, coming into the kitchen to find Connie on the telephone rapidly jotting something down on paper. The clock pointed to eight-forty, a time of day when Mattie was usually pausing to take a break in her chores rather than just getting out of bed. She glanced to the kitchen window. At least the rain had stopped.

Deirdre stood over the stove, fork in hand, bacon sizzling on the stove. “Sleep late and there’s always someone trying to move in on your territory,” Mattie teased, reaching for her apron.

“Now, you just put that apron back and sit down. I wanted to bring this to you in bed, but since you’re here, I’ll just set you a place at the table.”

Mattie laughed as Erica popped in from the screened porch with
a daffodil in a small vase. Raindrops still clung to the yellow petals. “Oh no!” Erica declared. “You aren’t supposed to be in here. You’re spoiling our surprise.”

“So I heard,” Mattie said, watching as the vivacious redhead carefully placed the vase on the table. She had pulled her hair into a ponytail, and the curls bounced and danced as she turned to retrieve something else from the counter. Mattie thought how much like a teenager Erica seemed. So youthful and happy. So unscathed.

Erica brought a glass of orange juice to the table just as Deirdre announced breakfast was ready. To Mattie’s surprise, she placed a white china plate in front of her. Four strips of bacon were joined by thick slices of tomato and two pieces of lightly buttered toast. It was Mattie’s favorite breakfast.

“You remembered,” she said, feeling almost emotional about the moment. How silly that something so simple could move her so deeply.

“Who could forget?” Deirdre replied. “You are the only one I’ve ever seen eat tomato for breakfast.”

“Then you just didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the world,” Mattie said with a smile.

At this, they all heard Connie hang up the phone. “You aren’t going to believe this,” Connie said, bringing a piece of paper to Mattie. “This man wants to buy some quilt you have. He’s offering twenty thousand dollars. I had to ask him three times to make sure I had the amount right.”

“Twenty?” Erica questioned, adding, “Thousand?”

“That’s right. He wants some quilt Grammy showed off last year at the fair. He called it ‘Piece Work,’” Connie said, looking at her note.

“Could a quilt really be worth that much money?” Deirdre questioned.

Mattie laughed. “I suppose so. Although to me it’s worth much more.”

“More?” Connie questioned. “How so?”

“He’s talking about a quilt I made and entered into competition last year. I’ll show it to you if you’d like. It won several competitions locally, then went on to win other competitions nationally. Pretty soon I found folks asking to buy it, photograph it, and show it. I just got it back, in fact, from an art gallery in Texas.”

Connie sat down at the table as though the wind had been knocked out of her. “I’ve never heard about any of this.”

“Me either,” Deirdre admitted. “Do you get many calls?”

Mattie took a bite of the sandwich she’d made and shrugged. “Some,” she finally managed to say.

“But what’s so special about this quilt?” Erica asked.

“A lot went into it,” Mattie replied. “I spent hundreds of hours on the hand quilting alone.”

“When can we see it?” Deirdre asked.

“Just as soon as I finish this great breakfast.”

The girls hung around the kitchen almost nervously as Mattie completed her meal. She had nearly asked Deirdre to make her a bowl of oatmeal, but seeing the anxious looks on their faces, Mattie figured she’d just grab a snack later if she needed more food.

Pushing her plate back, Mattie got to her feet and smoothed down her soft denim skirt. After methodically washing her hands at the kitchen sink, she turned and smiled. “All right. Come with me.”

She led the girls out of the kitchen and into the hallway toward the south wing of the house. Here her own bedroom and a small den were located, as well as a large sewing room. Opening the doors, Mattie flipped on the light and stood back. “Well, there it is.”

On the interior wall she had mounted the quilt for display. Each of the girls gasped at the sight of it.

“Oh, Grammy!” Erica said in reverence for what her grandmother had accomplished. “This is wonderful.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Deirdre replied. “Look at all those tiny stitches.”

“It’s incredible,” Connie admitted, coming close to touch it. She reached out, then stopped, remembering Grammy’s admonitions
for clean hands when handling her sewing projects. Looking down at her fingers, Connie glanced up to meet Mattie’s watchful eye.

“It’s okay,” Mattie assured her. “If you want to touch it, go ahead.”

“Hey, where is everybody?” Ashley called from the kitchen.

Mattie leaned out the door. “We’re back here in the sewing room.”

In a few moments, Ashley and Brook made their entrance.

“What’s going on—oh wow!” Ashley’s tone said it all.

“That’s really beautiful, Grammy,” Brook said, giving Mattie a kiss on the cheek. “When did you make this?”

“She finished it last year,” Connie interjected. “And someone wants to pay her twenty grand for it.”

Mattie smiled at Brook’s and Ashley’s looks of disbelief. She went to the quilt and studied it for a moment. The quilt’s background was a soft white, and in every available space Mattie had intricately hand-quilted designs to enrich the piece. She had basically taken six individual squares, each square measuring 30″ x 30″, and sewn them together. The entire quilt measured 60″ x 90″. But it was those individual squares that added the color and ornamentation for the work. Within each one were six perfectly matched circles, intertwined in an array of colors and materials. At the small center where all the circles met, there was just enough room for Mattie to embroider the initial of each girl’s name. The last square was given an
M
for Mitchell. And around each gathering of circles, Mattie had appliquéd material in a ribbon-like effect to frame each square.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Ashley commented.

“Nor will you again,” Mattie replied. “If you look closely, you can see that each of the circles contains materials saved from outfits I made for you girls when you were younger. That’s why this quilt is special to me.”

“So you don’t plan to sell it?” Connie questioned.

“No,” Mattie answered flatly.

“You aren’t even considering it?” Brook asked. “I mean, twenty thousand is a lot of money.”

“I don’t need it. Your grandfather had plenty of insurance when he died. I’ve never had to worry about money.” She turned away from the quilt to study the girls. “I couldn’t sell it. It’s too much a part of me—of you. No, this quilt will stay in the family.”

She turned back to the quilt. “See here? This square is for Ashley. There is an
A
in the center and the rings are made from something special that each one of you wore. See the blue circle in each square?” They nodded. “That’s from Ashley’s sixth-grade graduation dress. This green circle is for Brook. And here is her square,” Mattie said, pointing out the square with an embroidered
B
. “Each girl has a square with her initials, but each is joined to the others within the connected circles.”

“But what about the sixth square?” Erica asked. “Is that you? There’s an
M
there.”

Mattie smiled. “That’s for Mitchell.”

The girls fell silent as they continued to study the work. Mattie felt an overwhelming love for each of them as she continued. “The circles show how we are all joined together—no beginning, no ending. Just like the love we have for one another. It’s a blend of all of us, and I spent four years laboring in love to create it. I couldn’t even think of selling it.”

“What will you do with it?” Connie asked, appearing almost startled that she’d spoken the words out loud.

“I suppose I’ll use it. I’ll wrap myself up in the memories and cherish the love I’ve known with each of you. On those days when I feel sorry for myself because you haven’t come to visit or call,” Mattie said with a grin, “I’ll take it up and tuck it around me and tell myself what a silly old woman I am for doubting that you care.”

Mattie realized she hadn’t meant to say exactly those words. She certainly didn’t want to lay a guilt trip on her granddaughters. But the words were true. She missed them more than she could put into human language. She comforted herself with things that reminded
her of them. That was one of the reasons she left their rooms exactly as they had always been.

Feeling almost ashamed of her words, Mattie turned to leave. She paused at the door, however, and looked back at them. “Family is important, girls. We were given to each other for a reason. Rachelle is gone and in fact was never really a part of your lives,” Mattie said softly. “But the rest of us are still here, and you girls are what remain of her—and of me. It may be a slender thread, but it connects us nevertheless.”

Chapter 9