The Healing Quilt Read online

  Mike pulled his fingers through the ends of his dark, wavy hair. “You worry too much, Phyllis. I’m not gonna get stranded.” He finished his pancakes, pushed away from the table, and stood. “I need to get going. See you this evening, hon.” He gave Phyllis a quick peck on the cheek, grabbed the lunch she’d packed for him, and raced out the back door.

  Phyllis sighed. Mike had become a workaholic. His charter fishing boat seemed to be his life these days, and his relationship with her was no longer at the top of his list. Even though she went on the boat with him sometimes to help out, it wasn’t the same as spending time alone with her husband, since Mike was busy with the people who paid him to take them fishing.

  Ever since their twin girls, Elaine and Elizabeth, had gone off to college, Phyllis had been trying to get Mike to pay more attention to her. But work always came first. She was forty-five and he was forty-six, and since they weren’t getting any younger, she hated to see him pulling away from her—especially when a boat and fish were what seemed to be coming between them.

  Phyllis reached for her cup of coffee and drank the last of it. What I need is something fun and creative to do that won’t leave me smelling like fish. She tapped her fingers along the edge of the table. Maybe I should take that quilting class I read about on the bulletin board at the supermarket the other day. At least it would be something to look forward to, and it would give me the opportunity to be creative.

  She reached for the phone. Think I’ll give the teacher a call and see if she has room in her class for one more student. This will certainly be an adventure…something I’ve never done before.

  As Noreen Webber drove home from her hair appointment, a sense of satisfaction welled in her soul. She had wanted a red sports car since she was eighteen years old and had finally purchased one last week, on her sixty-fifth birthday. The car not only looked cute, but it had all the bells and whistles. She’d waited a long time to have the car of her dreams, and just sitting in the vehicle, not to mention driving it, caused her to feel like a teenager again. So much so, that it made her wish she was young again and could flirt the next time she saw a good-looking guy.

  Better get my head out of the clouds and come down to earth, because I think my flirting days are over. Noreen glanced in her rearview mirror to see if her hair looked as good as she hoped. Yes, every hair was in place, and Noreen’s stylist had done a good job with the new cut and style. She knew it was vain, but if she was going to drive a sports car, then she wanted to look as young as possible.

  At least I can enjoy driving it for a few good years—until I’m either too old, or the desire to own a sporty-looking car passes, she told herself. In the meantime, I’m going to dress and think as young as I can. Who knows, maybe some nice-looking man will ask me out. I’m not looking to get married again, but it might be kind of fun to start dating. If I were to find the right man, I might even consider marriage again.

  Noreen, a widow for the last five years, had retired from teaching high school English two years ago. She’d been married to her husband, Ben, for forty years, until he died unexpectedly from a heart attack. The first couple of years after his death had been hard, but Noreen’s job kept her going. Now that she was retired, she felt like a fish out of water, and always seemed to be searching for something meaningful to do. Her only child, Todd, whom she and Ben had adopted, was married and lived in Texas, so Noreen only saw him a few times a year. Todd’s wife, Kara, had been previously married and had two young boys, whom Todd was helping her raise. They’d invited Noreen to move to Texas, but she liked the warmer weather in Florida and preferred not to move.

  Noreen often filled her lonely hours walking on the beach. She also volunteered a few days a week at a local children’s hospital and took as many creative classes as she could, just to have something fun to do, and so she could be around people. This morning, Noreen had seen an ad in the local newspaper about a six-week quilting class being offered by a woman who lived in the village of Pinecraft. She was seriously considering signing up for it. Quilting was one thing Noreen hadn’t tried yet, and she was sure it would be interesting.

  A horn honked from behind, pulling Noreen out of her musings. “Don’t be in such a hurry,” she mumbled. “The light hasn’t been green that long. People shouldn’t be so impatient.”

  The car behind her sped up, and as it came alongside her on the right, the horn tooted again.

  “What is your problem?” Noreen glanced over at the driver, and her face warmed when she realized it was Tina, one of the nurses at the hospital where she volunteered. Tina pointed at Noreen’s car and mouthed, “Nice. Is it new?”

  Noreen smiled and nodded. She’d obviously misjudged the horn honking. Tina had simply been trying to get Noreen’s attention.

  Tina waved and moved on up the street in her minivan. Noreen looked forward to telling Tina, as well as the other nurses, about her new car when she went to the hospital next Monday morning. At least it would give her something exciting to talk about. Maybe she would mention the quilt class she was thinking about taking, too.

  As Jennifer Owen sat on a wooden bench, waiting for the bus, she watched the traffic go by and thought about the situation she and her husband, Randy, were in. They’d been having a tough time since Randy lost his job, and she worried that if he didn’t find something soon they wouldn’t be able to keep up with their monthly bills. And in nine weeks, their first baby was due, but they didn’t have any health insurance.

  Jennifer, a hairdresser, had wanted to find a job at one of the local hair salons, but she’d had morning sickness during the first half of her pregnancy and knew she’d never make it through a workday without getting sick, so Randy had insisted she not work at this time. That had been before he’d lost his job working as a cook in a local Italian restaurant. It wasn’t that the owner was displeased with Randy’s cooking; the business was struggling and had to close. So for the last two months, they’d been living on Randy’s unemployment checks and what little they’d managed to put away in their savings.

  Jennifer tried to remain positive for Randy’s sake, but she was scared. If Randy didn’t find a position in one of the local restaurants soon, they might not be able to continue paying the rent on their small, two-bedroom home.

  Today, like every other day since Randy lost his job, he’d scoured the want-ads and checked at the local unemployment office for a cook’s position. Then he’d gone out looking for work. Since Randy’s older model pickup was in for some repairs, he’d taken Jennifer’s car. That left her to take the bus to the nearest pharmacy and pick up a few necessary things.

  Jennifer felt fortunate to have a husband like Randy, who wanted to provide for his family. Her sister, Maggie, wasn’t that lucky. Maggie’s husband, Brad, sat around the house all day, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes, while his wife went to work cleaning people’s houses. Well, at least Maggie wasn’t expecting a baby, and they only had two mouths to feed.

  “Would you mind if I sit here?” a young Amish woman asked as she approached.

  Jennifer smiled. “No, not at all.”

  “Have you been waiting long?”

  Jennifer looked at her watch. “Oh, five minutes or so.”

  They sat silently for a while; then Jennifer asked, “Do you live around here?”

  “No, I live in Pinecraft, but I came over to this area early this morning to do some shopping. How about you? Do you live close by?”

  Jennifer nodded. “Our house is right there—the white one with blue trim across the street. I don’t normally take the bus, but my husband needed my car today so he could look for a job.”

  “What kind of work does your husband do?” the young woman questioned.

  “He’s a cook.”

  “It must be kind of scary to be unemployed, especially when you’re expecting a baby,” she said, glancing at Jennifer’s stomach.

  “Yes,” Jennifer admitted. “We have some money saved up, but it won’t last long if he d
oesn’t find a job soon.” She folded her hands across her stomach and gave it a gentle pat. “I saw an ad in the paper this morning, placed by a woman who lives in Pinecraft. She’ll be teaching some quilting classes in a few weeks, and if I had extra money right now, I’d take the classes. It would nice to make a special quilt for our baby.” She sighed. “Unless Randy gets a job in the next week, I can’t even think about taking that class.”

  The bus pulled up. Jennifer thought she might continue talking with the Amish woman once they got on the bus, but there were no seats together. So she made her way down the aisle and took a seat beside an elderly woman, eager to get off her feet. She was glad she didn’t have to take the bus on a regular basis, but if things didn’t change, she and Randy might have to sell one of their vehicles.

  C

  HAPTER 3

  Two weeks later

  There’s something I forgot to tell you,” Lamar said as he and Emma sat across from each other at the kitchen table Saturday morning.

  “What’s that?” she asked, reaching for her cup of tea.

  “Yesterday, when I met Amos Troyer for coffee at the restaurant up the street, Anna Lambright was our waitress.”

  “Oh? How’s she doing?”

  “Seems fine. Said she really likes it here.” Lamar added a spoonful of sugar to his coffee and stirred it around. “It’s good that she’s keeping in contact with her folks, though. I hope they’ve finally accepted the fact that she wants to try living in Sarasota.”

  Tapping her fingers absently against her chin, Emma stared out the kitchen window, gazing at the oranges hanging on the tree in their small backyard. “Looks like the Honeybells are about ready to be picked,” she mentioned. “Maybe we can offer some to those who attend our quilt class.”

  “That’s a good idea, Emma,” Lamar said. “The neighbor next door said those oranges are good eating in January, and I’m sure we’ll have more than enough to share with our students.”

  Emma nodded as she continued to stare absently out the window, tapping her fingers.

  “Are you naerfich about today’s quilting class? You seem kind of stressed this morning,” Lamar commented.

  “I’m not really nervous,” she replied. “Just a little concerned.”

  “About what?”

  “Whether teaching quilting classes here in Pinecraft is a good idea.”

  Lamar’s thick gray eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “Why wouldn’t it be? It didn’t take long for six people to sign up for the class, so there must be some interest.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Emma agreed, “but our home here is much smaller than our place in Shipshewana, so we’ll be a bit cramped. We barely have room for the table our students will sit at, and the two sewing machines we bought, plus the one I borrowed, take up even more space in our small dining room.”

  “It’ll all work out, you’ll see.” Lamar left his seat and patted Emma’s shoulder affectionately. “I have a feeling that, just like all our other classes, God has directed these six new students to our home for a special reason.”

  She smiled and relaxed a bit. “You’re probably right, Lamar. I hope and pray we will not only be able to teach each of our new students how to quilt, but that God will give us the wisdom to meet their needs.”

  Erika Wilson folded her arms and stared out the side window of her father’s van. She couldn’t believe he had signed her up to take a quilting class, and without even asking if she wanted to go. Now they were heading across town to Pinecraft, and she had no say in it. Truth was, Erika hadn’t had much say about anything since her accident. Dad made all the decisions, and she was stuck in her wheelchair, forced to do whatever he said. It wasn’t fair! Life wasn’t fair—at least her life.

  If her legs weren’t paralyzed, she would be able to do all sorts of fun things with her friends. Now, whenever Lynne and Becky came over to see her, all they could do was sit and talk, watch TV, or play a computer game. No more swimming, bike riding, water skiing, dancing, roller boarding, or cheerleading—all the things Erika used to love to do. She’d practiced so diligently, hoping it would help when the time came for cheerleader tryouts. But that, as well as everything else, had been squashed from her life. She’d tried to be happy for her friends when they told her they had been picked for the squad, but that made it even harder to be around them lately. Erika’s fun, teenaged years had been stolen from her, and there was no way to get them back.

  How does Dad think me learning to quilt can make up for all the things I can’t do? I hate the idea of quilting. It’s for old ladies, not someone like me. Erika swiped at her cheeks, her fingers wet with salty tears. I feel like an old lady, stuck in this chair. Dad may as well put me away in a nursing home, because I’m not good for much of anything but sitting around, staring out the window, and wishing I could turn back the clock to the minutes before I stupidly got on that diving board.

  “You’re awfully quiet back there,” Dad called from the front seat of their van.

  Erika continued to stare out the window, feeling sorry for herself. She noticed some birds fly past the van and was envious because they were free.

  “I know you’re not thrilled about going to the quilting class, Erika, but I think if you give it a chance, you’ll have a good time.”

  “I doubt it,” she muttered.

  “Don’t be so negative.”

  “Kids my age don’t learn how to quilt.”

  “I’ll bet Amish girls do,” he countered.

  Erika grunted. “I’m not Amish.”

  “Well, just give it a try, okay?”

  “Do I have a choice? You’re the one in control these days.”

  Dad thumped the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “I don’t like your attitude, Erika, or your tone of voice. Now I want you to go to that class this morning with a smile on your face. Is that understood?”

  Erika frowned. “Don’t see why I have to smile about something I don’t wanna do.”

  “I’m not asking you to smile about the quilting class. I just want you to be pleasant and try to have a positive attitude. Can you do that for me, Erika?”

  “I–I’ll try,” she murmured. But I don’t have to like it.

  B.J. felt a sense of apprehension as he drove along Bahia Vista Street in the convertible he’d rented, following his GPS to the address of the quilting class he’d signed up for after arriving in Sarasota. Although he was interested in the design of Amish quilts and thought he’d like to create a painting of one, he was sure he’d be the only man in the class and would probably feel foolish.

  Well, what does it matter? he asked himself. I don’t have long to live, so I may as well enjoy whatever time I have left and do the things I want to do, no matter how ridiculous I may look or feel.

  B.J.’s thoughts turned to his daughters back home. They knew he was here, but he’d only told them that he was going to Florida to enjoy the beach and warm weather and hoped to get some painting done. Neither Jill nor Robyn had any idea he was taking a quilt class. He still felt guilty for not telling them his cancer had returned, but he’d convinced himself that for now, at least, it was for the best.

  As B.J. turned up the street leading to Emma and Lamar Miller’s house, he made a decision. If he was able to learn how to quilt, he would make Diane, his ten-year-old granddaughter, a quilted wall hanging so she could remember him after he was gone.

  When Noreen pulled her sports car in front of the house where the quilt class was supposed to take place, she spotted a silver convertible with the top up, parked in the driveway. Well, someone here has good taste in vehicles, she thought.

  She’d just opened her car door when a baldheaded man, who looked to be in his early sixties, got out of the convertible. He glanced her way and nodded. “Are you here for the quilting classes?”

  “Yes, I am, and I’m really looking forward to it,” she responded.

  “Same here.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “You want to learn
how to quilt?”

  “That’s right; I’m an artist, and because of all the unusual designs in the quilts I’ve seen, I’m hoping to paint a picture of one.” The man’s voice was deep and sounded a bit gravely, but he had a pleasant smile.

  Noreen still thought it was a bit strange that a man would want to learn how to quilt, even if he was an artist, but she figured, Each to his own.

  “Shall we go inside and meet the teacher?” he asked, moving toward the house.

  She gave a nod. Having a man in the class should make things interesting.

  C

  HAPTER 4

  Phyllis Barstow had just stepped onto the porch of a small Amish home in Pinecraft, when a noisy motorcycle pulled up to the curb. She frowned. What’s a biker doing in a place like this? I’m sure he’s not planning to take the quilting class.

  Phyllis shook her head, glancing at the other cars parked in the driveway. There won’t be any men in this class—just a bunch of women like me, looking for something fun and creative to do. The biker’s probably lost and asking for directions.

  Watching as the biker climbed off the cycle and removed his helmet, Phyllis was surprised to see that it wasn’t a man at all. The thirty-something woman pulled her fingers through the ends of her wavy blond hair, grabbed a satchel from the back of the bike, and started up the walk leading to the house. Removing the elastic band that held the rest of her hair back, she gave her head a good shake, and more waves fell into place. When the young woman reached the porch, she smiled at Phyllis. “You here for the quilt class?”

  Phyllis nodded. “Are you?”

  “Sure am, and I’m glad the classes are being held on Saturdays, ’cause right now I have the weekends off.”

  “Where do you work?” Phyllis asked.

  “At the restaurant a few blocks up on Bahia Vista Street.” The young woman extended her hand. “I’m Kim Morris.”