The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club - 02 - The Tattered Quilt (13 page)

When Selma entered the quilting room, she found Emma sitting at the table with her head bowed. Was she praying or sleeping? Selma waited several seconds, then cleared her throat real loud.

Emma lifted her head and smiled. “Oh, good morning, Selma. I was just getting my thoughts together before teaching the class. How are you today?”

Selma shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” She motioned toward the window. “Your husband’s outside chasing after one of your goats.”

Emma rose from her seat and hurried to the window. “Oh dear, I’ll bet it’s Maggie again. I hope that critter isn’t causing any trouble. She can be an escape artist when she wants to be.”

“Lamar said he thought he’d left the gate open when he fed the goats this morning,” Selma said, taking a seat at the table.

Emma sighed. “I hope he doesn’t have any trouble catching Maggie. She can be a frisky one at times. Do you have any pets, Selma?”

Selma shook her head. “And I don’t plan on having any, either.”

“Are you allergic to most animals?”

“No, not really. I just can’t be bothered with the messes they make.”

“Oh, but think of the company a cat or dog offers.”

Selma brushed the idea aside.
“Puh!
A barking dog or a yowling cat isn’t the kind of company I need. I’d rather be alone than have some animal leaving hair all over my house and making little messes. I just happened to shoo a scraggly-looking cat off my porch this week. You know, once you feed them, they never leave.”

Emma opened her mouth, then closed it and looked back out the window.

Selma glanced at the clock on the far wall. It was almost ten o’clock. Were the others going to be late? If so, she would let them know what she thought about that. Like a thorn in her side, tardiness had always been an irritation for her.

Cheryl had just gotten out of her car when a truck pulled into Emma’s yard. Terry stepped out, puffing on a cigarette.

“Oh great,” she mumbled under her breath. She was hoping he might not show up today.

“Are you ready for another lesson?” Terry asked as he approached her.

She took a step back, hoping to avoid the smoke from his cigarette, but it was no use. The smoke wafted up to her nose. She sneezed and coughed at the same time.

“Have you got a cold?” Terry asked, with a look of concern.

She shook her head, while hurrying along. “I’m allergic to cigarette smoke.”

“Oops. Sorry about that.” Terry dropped the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. “So how’d your week go?” he asked, following as Cheryl hurried toward the house.

Before Cheryl could respond, an energetic goat zipped right between them.
Ba-a-a!

“Come back here, Maggie,” Lamar panted, red-faced, as he ran after the critter. He looked exhausted, like he might fall over any minute.

“I’ll get her!” Terry shouted, tearing across the yard after the goat.

Cheryl stepped onto the porch and watched in amusement as Terry skirted back and forth across the grass in hot pursuit of the lively animal. Lamar stood by watching and catching his breath.

Terry, on the heels of the goat, raced through the front yard, then the side of the house, and back again. It didn’t take long for Terry to grow winded as well.
If he didn’t smoke he might not be so out of breath
, Cheryl thought.

As she continued to watch, Cheryl knew she would have given up on catching the goat long ago. But Terry was persistent, even when a coughing fit sent him into spasms. Back and forth he and Maggie went, like they were playing some unending game of tag. Finally, as the ornery animal got closer, it seemed that Terry was about to outwit her.

Cheryl’s mouth dropped open when Terry took a flying leap, as if he were about to make an impressive tackle, and missed grabbing Maggie’s back legs by mere inches. Covering her eyes with her hands, Cheryl peeked through her fingers just in time to see Terry land facedown in a patch of mud.

C
HAPTER
11

A
s Blaine’s SUV approached Lake Shipshewana, he fought the urge to stop. The lake was home to native bass and had been named after the chief of a small group of Potawatomi Indians who had used the location for their main camp. It was one of his favorite places to fish, and today the air was crisp yet calm—perfect for fly-fishing. Blaine had seen it many times—those still waters mirroring the azure sky.

Growing up in Canada, where lakes and streams were plentiful, Blaine had developed his love of fishing. He had many fond memories of his parents loading up the family car with picnic foods and fishing poles and taking him and his brothers for a day of fishing. From the first time Blaine could remember going fishing, he was hooked. Fly fishing was his favorite, but any type of fishing provided solitude. Like a true sportsman with heightened senses, nothing went unnoticed.

Blaine made his own lures and had pretty good success with them because they mimicked natural bait. There was nothing like having a pan of fresh-caught trout or bass frying up for dinner. But most times, Blaine just enjoyed catching and releasing, using barbless hooks, so as not to injure the fish. It was the thrill of feeling that tug on his line, reeling it in, and seeing his catch up close. Then, watching as the released fish gave a quick shimmer of its scales before the water swallowed it up in its depths.

Pushing the control to roll down his window, Blaine drew in a deep breath of air. Soon he’d be at the entrance to the turnoff for the lake, and the idea of forgetting about going to Emma’s grew more appealing. Would missing one class hurt?

“I’ll bet the fish are biting this morning,” he said aloud as he hit the button again to close the window. It wasn’t fair that he had to go to the stupid class. If he wasn’t worried that Stuart would find out, he’d skip it and go fly-fishing instead. But with his luck, Stuart would probably talk to Lamar or Emma this week, and the truth would come out.
I should have known better than to make that stupid bet
.

Blaine thought about the fishing gear in the back of his SUV. He kept it there most of the time so he could fish whenever he got the chance or was in the mood.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if I stopped and fished for half an hour or so
, he told himself.
I doubt that I’d miss out on much if I arrived at the Millers’ a little late
.

Bearing off the main road, Blaine turned his rig into the parking area and shut off the ignition. A few minutes sitting on the dock with his line in the water and he’d feel like a new man.

Terry clambered to his feet, embarrassed that he’d made a fool of himself in front of Cheryl. So much for trying to make a good impression. The worst of it was that he hadn’t even caught the stupid goat!

“Are you all right?” Lamar and Cheryl called in unison, as they made their way over to Terry.

“I’m fine. Not hurt. Just dirty and feeling a bit defeated.” Terry brushed at the mud on his jeans, wishing he hadn’t let his ego get the best of him. “Guess I must look like a real mess.”

“Don’t worry about that. I appreciate your help. Why don’t you go in the house and get cleaned up?” Lamar suggested.

“What about the goat?” Terry asked, unwilling to give up the chase. If he could capture the goat, it might impress Cheryl.

“There’s no need for that; looks like Maggie’s found her way back into the pen on her own.” Lamar pointed to the goat pen, where Maggie scampered about with the other goats. “I just need to go close the gate.”

When Lamar headed in that direction, Terry started for the house.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cheryl asked, catching up with him when he reached the porch.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a good thing my buddy Jan wasn’t here to see me make a fool of myself. He’d probably never let me live it down.”

“It was just an accident, and you were trying to help.” Cheryl offered Terry a sympathetic smile.

He grinned while opening the door for her. Even though Cheryl rolled her eyes, trying to squeeze past him, and then tripped over his big feet, at least she’d seemed concerned about him. Maybe he was making some headway with the pretty blond after all.

As Carmen neared Shipshewana, her thoughts went back to supper at Paul’s the night before. The meal was good, and she’d enjoyed getting to know Paul and Sophia better. This visit had been the best so far, being able to spend more time with her niece and not feeling like she had to rush off so quickly. The little girl had taken to Carmen right away and had spent most of the evening sitting on Carmen’s lap, while Carmen read from one of Sophia’s storybooks. When Paul said it was time for his daughter to go to bed, she’d cried and held her arms out to Carmen. Then Carmen had helped Sophia change into her pajamas, and afterward, she read the child a bedtime story.

Carmen smiled, reflecting on how she and Paul had tucked Sophia into bed and then spent the rest of the evening drinking coffee, while Carmen shared stories about when she and Lorinda were girls. It was bittersweet, talking about her sister to Paul, and seeing the sad look on his face, but she thought in some way it had brought healing to both of them. Lorinda had been a special woman, and Carmen knew she would always miss her. She was sure that Paul would, too.