The Healing Quilt Page 3

  “Phyllis Barstow. It’s nice to meet you. Shall we go inside and see who else came?”

  “Hello everyone,” Emma said as she and Lamar stood in front of the table where their six students sat—five in the folding chairs she’d provided, and the teenage girl in her wheelchair. “I’m Emma Miller, and this is my husband, Lamar.”

  Lamar stepped forward and smiled. “It’s nice to have all of you here.”

  Everyone nodded—everyone but the teenage girl, that is.

  “Why don’t you take turns introducing yourself?” Emma suggested. “Oh, and please tell us the reason you signed up for this class. We can start with you,” she said, smiling at the petite blond-haired woman sporting a nice suntan.

  “My name is Kim Morris, and I’m taking this class to make some new friends and do something creative.”

  “Thank you, Kim.” Emma motioned to the next person, who happened to be the only man. In the past, there had been at least two men in Emma’s classes.

  The man, looking more than a bit uncomfortable, said in a gravelly sounding voice, “My name is B.J. I’m an artist, and I thought it’d be fun to learn about the color and design of quilts. I may try to paint a picture of one as well.”

  “Lamar is an artist, too,” Emma said. “He’s designed a good many quilts.”

  Lamar’s cheeks reddened. “I don’t really consider myself an artist. I just enjoy coming up with various designs that depict many things.” He motioned to the older woman who sat next to B.J. “Now it’s your turn.”

  She rubbed her hands briskly together, as though eager to speak. “My name is Noreen Webber, and like Kim, I’m taking this class to make some new friends.”

  Emma was surprised that the woman made no mention of wanting to learn how to quilt. If she came here only to make friends, then she probably wouldn’t get much out of the class. She could have made friends just as easily by doing something else.

  “Guess I’m next,” the young pregnant woman with long black hair and dark brown eyes, spoke up. “My name is Jennifer Owen, and I’m here because someone graciously paid for me to take this class.”

  “That was nice. Was it a friend or relative?” Kim asked.

  Jennifer shrugged. “I don’t know. My husband’s a cook, but he lost his job awhile back, so I’d given up on the idea of taking this class. Then, two days ago I found an anonymous note in my mailbox, saying I was signed up to take the quilt classes and that they had been paid for.” Jennifer paused and rubbed her stomach. “I’m expecting our first child in seven weeks, and I would love to know how to make a quilt for the baby.”

  Emma smiled and nodded. “Lamar and I are glad you’re here.” Then she motioned to the middle-aged woman with shoulder-length auburn hair, sitting across the table. “Would you please tell us your name and why you signed up for this class?”

  “I’m Phyllis Barstow, and I’m eager to learn something new. My husband has a charter fishing boat service, and since he’s out on the water so much, it leaves me a lot of time to explore some creative things. I’ve done some sewing and several craft projects over the years, so I’m looking forward to learning how to quilt.”

  Emma glanced at the teenage girl in the wheelchair. “What is your name, dear?”

  The girl mumbled something in a voice barely above a whisper.

  Emma leaned closer. “What was that?”

  “I said my name’s Erika. Erika Wilson.”

  “And what brings you here?” Lamar questioned.

  She turned her head to look at him. “I don’t wanna be here, but my dad made me come.”

  Emma cringed, remembering how Anna Lambright’s mother had forced her to take Emma’s quilting classes last fall. The young Amish woman had made it clear from the start that she didn’t want to learn how to quilt. If Erika was here against her will, she might not learn a thing.

  Perhaps I should speak to her father when he comes to pick Erika up after class, Emma thought. If I’m unable to find a way to make Erika enjoy the class, maybe she shouldn’t be here. But it’s not my decision to make. Her father paid for the class, and he obviously thinks this is something his daughter needs, so I’ll do my best to teach her.

  “Should I go ahead and explain about the history of Amish quilts now?” Lamar asked, breaking into Emma’s thoughts.

  “What? Oh yes, why don’t you do that?” Emma’s face heated, and she took a seat beside Kim as Lamar began to talk.

  “The existence of quilts among the Amish began as early as the 1830s, although the quilts back then were much plainer than those being made now,” he explained. “During that time the Amish used quilts as simple coverings for their beds.”

  “That’s right,” Emma agreed. “In the early days, most Amish made their quilts using simple materials from one color. Later, they began sewing several colored pieces of cloth into a variety of patterns.”

  “The earlier designs were basic rectangles and squares, but as time went on, more colorful, bold patterns were used,” Lamar put in. “An older Amish quilt can be identified by its simple design, with less decoration than the Amish quilts that are made today.” He continued to talk about the variety of colors and numerous designs in Amish quilts, and ended his talk by saying, “The Amish not only make quilts for their homes, to give others, or to sell, but they often donate quilts to be auctioned at local benefit events to help those in need. It’s a gift of their time, and by giving, a demonstration of their love for others is shown. Owning an Amish quilt has a special meaning, reminding us that since the beginning of our church, we’ve been taught the same priorities: God first and family second.”

  Lamar picked up one of the quilts on display. “This one I designed myself. I call it, ‘Pebbles on the beach.’”

  “That’s beautiful,” Phyllis said as Lamar brought it closer to the table. “I’ve always enjoyed living near the water, and I guess that’s a good thing, since my husband fishes for a living.”

  “My wife has a few other quilts she’d like to show you,” Lamar said.

  Emma stood, and with Lamar’s help, held up the first quilt. “Here’s another pattern that reflects the beauty of the ocean. It’s called, ‘Ocean Waves,’” she explained.

  “I really like that one.” Kim smiled. “My dog, Maddie, loves to frolic in the waves.”

  “What kind of dog do you have?” B.J. questioned.

  “Maddie is a German shepherd, and I think she loves the beach as much as I do.” Kim chuckled, her laugh lines deepening. “Her favorite thing is chasing seagulls, but she also enjoys prancing through the waves and playing fetch with whatever I throw her.”

  Everyone smiled. Everyone but Erika, that is. She just sat with her arms folded, looking bored with it all.

  “What’s that pattern called?” Jennifer asked, pointing to a quilt Emma had draped over a wooden rack.

  Emma smiled. It was good to see her students taking an interest in the quilts. “That one is the dahlia pattern. As you can see, it has a three-dimensional effect from the gathered petals surrounding the center of each star-shaped flower.”

  “I think I’d like to try painting that quilt,” B.J. said. “I like the unusual design and muted fall colors.”

  “Now that Lamar has explained the history of Amish quilts, and we’ve shown you several quilt designs, I’ll explain what we’re going to do with the quilted wall hangings you’ll be learning to make.” Emma motioned to the bolts of material stacked on the table. “As you can see, I have lots of fabric to choose from, and I always ask my students to begin with a simple star pattern for their first project.”

  Noreen frowned. “I thought we were going to learn how to make a full-sized quilt. I want one to put on my bed.”

  “You need to become well-acquainted with the basics of quilting first,” Lamar said.

  “That’s right,” Emma agreed. “By the time you finish these classes, you’ll know the basics of quilting, so you should be able to make a larger quilt if you want. Of course, you ma
y use whatever colored material you like for your wall hangings, which will make each of them distinct.” She held up a smaller quilt with various shades of green. “I wanted to show you what your quilted wall hangings will look like when they’re done. You’ll begin today by choosing the colors you want and then cutting out the log cabin squares and the points for the star.”

  “Before we do that, why don’t we take a break for some of the tasty cookies Emma made this morning?” Lamar suggested. “When we’re finishing eating, everyone can choose their material and cut out the patterned pieces.”

  Kim smacked her lips, while patting her stomach. “That sounds good to me. I’m always ready for a snack.”

  Everyone but Erika nodded. The girl sat with a scowl on her face.

  Dear Lord, please show me how to get through to her, Emma prayed. I believe this young girl needs to know how much You love and care for her, and maybe that will be revealed to her during one of our classes.

  C

  HAPTER 5

  When Emma and Lamar returned from the kitchen with a plate of cookies and a pot of coffee, B.J.’s stomach growled. He hadn’t felt up to eating breakfast, but now he was actually hungry.

  When he’d been taking chemo, he’d had no appetite, and often got sick to his stomach. Then there was the hair loss and the unrelenting fatigue. He could handle being bald, since many men his age shared that condition. But between being nauseous and feeling so tired he could barely cross a room, he had concluded that the treatments were worse than the cancer itself.

  Then B.J. had been told that his cancer was beginning to spread. He’d decided to quit chemo and live out the rest of his life trying natural alternative treatments that would hopefully strengthen his immune system. He knew taking supplements and eating right probably wouldn’t cure his illness, but they might make him feel better and possibly give him a little more time on earth. Even if they didn’t, it was his body and his life, and he planned to die his way, without family members or doctors telling him what to do.

  “These are really good cookies. What do you call them?” Kim asked, bumping B.J.’s arm as she reached for another one from the plate in the center of the table. “Oops! Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay. No harm done,” he replied.

  “They’re raisin molasses,” Emma said, pushing a stray piece of gray hair back under her head covering. “They were my favorite cookies when I was a girl, and my mother taught me to make them as soon as I was old enough to learn how to cook.”

  “Well, they get my vote,” B.J. said, licking his lips. “Haven’t had cookies this good since my wife died five years ago.”

  “So you’re a widower?” Noreen’s question sounded more like a statement. Then she quickly added, “Isn’t that a coincidence? I lost my husband five years ago, too.”

  “Sorry for your loss,” B.J. mumbled around another cookie.

  “What did your wife die from?” Jennifer asked.

  B.J. clenched his fingers. He didn’t want to talk about this, especially with people he’d only met. “She had a heart attack a few days after her fifty-fifth birthday.”

  “My husband, Ben, died on the operating table,” Noreen said, dropping her gaze to the table. “He, too, had a heart attack, but the doctors couldn’t save him.”

  Feeling the need for a change of subject, and realizing that all eyes and ears seemed to be focused on him, B.J. looked at Lamar and said, “Would you mind if I stayed a few minutes after class and photographed some of your quilts?”

  “The Amish don’t like people to take their picture,” Erika spoke up, glaring at B.J. as though he had said something horrible.

  “I wouldn’t be taking their picture,” B.J. countered. “Only the quilts.”

  “I have no problem with that,” Lamar said. “And just to be clear, here in Pinecraft some Amish, especially the younger ones who haven’t joined the church, don’t seem to mind if someone snaps their picture, although most won’t actually pose for a photo.”

  Erika folded her arms. “Well, I think it’s rude to take pictures of people who are different than you.”

  “We’re not really so different,” Emma spoke up. “We just dress modestly and live a different lifestyle than some people.” She motioned to her plain green dress.

  B.J. wondered if Erika’s remark had more to do with herself than Emma or Lamar. He had a feeling the young woman felt self-conscious about being in that wheelchair. He was tempted to ask how she’d lost the use of her legs but thought better of it. Just as he didn’t want to talk about his cancer or his wife’s death, Erika might not like talking about her disability.

  “If everyone has finished their refreshments, I think we should get back to our quilting lesson,” Emma said. “I’ll demonstrate how to use a template, and you can begin by marking the design on your pieces of fabric, using dressmaker’s chalk or a pencil. When that’s done, you’ll need to cut out your patterns.”

  “What will we do after that?” Phyllis questioned.

  “In the next step, called piecing, you will stitch the patterned pieces together onto the quilt top, which will also need to be cut,” Emma explained. “Now, the quilt top is usually pieced by machine. Then later, the backing, batting, and quilt top will be layered, put into a frame, and quilted by hand. Of course, we won’t do all that in one day. It will be spread out over the course of six weeks.”

  “Now using the templates,” Emma continued, “I’d like you to begin marking the patterned pieces on the back of your fabric. When you’re done, you’ll need to cut out the pieces of material you’ll be working with.” Emma smiled. “Next week, you can sew the pieces you’ve cut.”

  Perspiration beaded on B.J.’s forehead. Maybe he was in over his head. If he tried using one of the sewing machines, he’d probably end up making a fool of himself.

  “What will we do during our last class?” Kim asked.

  B.J. rolled his eyes. Talk about skipping ahead! Couldn’t the little blond take the classes one at a time without having to know what was coming next?

  “You’ll put the binding on, and then your wall hangings will be done,” Lamar responded.

  Everyone worked silently until it was time to go home. When Erika’s father came to pick her up, he asked how things had gone, and B.J. overheard Erika whisper, “I’m not coming back next week.”

  It’s just as well, B.J. thought. She obviously doesn’t want to learn how to quilt. B.J. reached for his camera bag. I, on the other hand, want to know everything I can about quilts.

  When Phyllis arrived home that afternoon, she was surprised to see her husband lying in the hammock on their porch.

  “What are you doing home so early?” she asked, taking a seat in the wicker chair across from him.

  “The motor on my boat gave out. Had to have the boat towed to shore, and now it’s outta commission till the motor can either be fixed or replaced.” Mike groaned. “This is not what I need right now.”

  Phyllis’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh Mike, if it can’t be repaired, can we afford a new motor?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I need the motor to run the boat, and I need the boat to take people out fishing. The boat will be dry-docked for several weeks, so I may as well make the best of it.” He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Haven’t you been saying I work too hard and you wanted us to take a vacation?”

  She pursed her lips. “If you’re out of work, we can’t afford a vacation. Besides, I’ve already paid for the quilting class, and I’m committed to finishing it.”

  “If we’re not gonna take a vacation, then I guess I’ll get caught up on my sleep, ’cause I’ve been pretty tired lately.” Mike closed his eyes and clasped his hands behind his head. “Wake me when supper’s ready.”

  Phyllis groaned inwardly. Mike finally had some time off, and now they couldn’t afford to go anywhere. She wished she hadn’t signed up for the quilting classes. Well, I’ve already paid for the class, and it’ll only tie me up one day a week
, she reminded herself. Maybe the rest of the week Mike and I can find something enjoyable to do that doesn’t cost any money. If nothing else, we can spend some time on the beach.

  “How’d the job hunting go?” Jennifer asked just as her husband, Randy, said, “How’d the quilting class go?”

  She giggled. “Should I answer your question, or do you want to go first?”

  Randy bent to kiss her, his light brown hair falling forward and brushing her cheek. “Your face is glowing, Jen. Does that mean you had a good time today?”

  “Oh yes,” she said sincerely. “Emma and Lamar Miller are the nicest couple, and they have the cutest little house. I even saw an orange tree in their backyard.” She touched his arm. “Oh, and I learned a lot about the history of Amish quilts.”

  “Is that all? I thought you went there to make a quilt.”

  “We did begin working on our wall hangings, but Lamar thought it would be good if we understood a bit about the background of Amish quilts.” Jennifer flipped the ends of her hair over her shoulder and started pulling it up to make a ponytail. “It was really quite interesting—almost as intriguing as the people who are taking the class with me.”

  “What do you mean?” Randy asked, taking a seat on the couch.

  She tucked in beside him, securing the rubber band around her ponytail. “Well, besides me, there were three other women: Kim, Phyllis, and Noreen. Then there was a teenage girl in a wheelchair. Her name is Erika, and she had a negative attitude. There was also a man who’s an artist. I’m not sure what his real name is, but he introduced himself as B.J.”

  Randy’s mouth opened slightly. “I’m surprised a guy would want to learn how to quilt.”

  “He said he’s interested in painting a picture of a quilt, and he even stayed after class to photograph a few that Emma and Lamar had on display.”

  “What about the girl in the wheelchair?” Randy questioned. “What was she doin’ there?”