The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club - 02 - The Tattered Quilt (6 page)

“Are you kidding me? I sent you there to get a story, not spend your time with a needle and thread.” Mr. Lawrence’s voice raised a few notches. “This is not a vacation, you know.”

“I—I realize that, sir, but the quilting class is held in an Amish woman’s home, and I think if I can get acquainted with her, I might be able to find out what I want to know about rumschpringe.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and if I’m able to take the quilt class, which starts today and ends in six weeks, I’m sure I’ll have a good story.”

“Well, it better be, because the paper can’t afford to send reporters on wild goose chases—especially for that length of time.”

“I don’t think it’ll be a wild goose chase, Mr. Lawrence.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Okay, if you think you’re going to need six weeks, that’s fine. Just make sure you come back with a top-notch story.”

“Thanks, I’ll do my best. Good-bye, Mr. Lawrence.” Carmen hung up, drew in a deep breath, and stepped back into Emma’s house.

“It’s all set,” she said, smiling at Emma. “Just tell me how much I’ll owe for the classes, and I can get started today.”

Once Emma discussed the price, Carmen turned to Paul and said, “I know you have other things you need to do today, so you can just leave me here and pick me up when the class is over.”

Paul stared at her with a look of disbelief, but finally he nodded.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Blaine mumbled as he parked his SUV on a graveled driveway where a white minivan was about to pull out. If he just hadn’t lost that bet with Stuart when they’d gone fishing last Saturday. Blaine had been so sure he would catch the biggest fish that he’d stupidly agreed to take a six-week quilting class if he lost the bet. He’d never expected Stuart to pull a twenty-eight-inch largemouth bass from Lake Shipshewana. If he hadn’t actually seen Stuart land the fish, he wouldn’t have believed it, but even before his friend pulled the fish out of the water, Blaine knew it was going to be big. It had practically bent Stuart’s fishing rod in half, and surprisingly, it didn’t break.

Inwardly, Blaine had hoped the fish would roll and detach itself from the hook, but that didn’t happen. Why would it? The week had been rotten. Earlier, he’d almost caved in when he’d been forced to give the fly-fishing demonstration to a large group of people. Somehow, dry mouth and all, Blaine had managed to get through it without letting on how uncomfortable he’d felt. And now he was stuck going to a quilting class of all things!

The fish Blaine caught had only been twenty-two inches long. What a disappointment that had been, especially when Stuart looked at Blaine’s smaller fish and grinned at him in a teasing way.

Sure wish I could get out of taking this class
, Blaine thought.
Maybe I could go inside, sit through the first few minutes, and then develop a sudden headache
.

Blaine was about to get out of his vehicle when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and saw that it was Stuart.
Oh great. What’s he doing…calling to check up on me?

Blaine was tempted to let his voice mail answer the call, but changed his mind. If he didn’t answer, Stuart would probably think he’d chickened out and wasn’t going to take the class after all.

He snapped open his cell phone. “What’s up, Stuart? Are you calling to check up on me?” Blaine’s tone was harsher than he meant it to be.

“Hey, man, don’t get so defensive,” Stuart said. “I just wanted to make sure you were able to find Emma’s house okay.”

“Yeah, I found it. I’m sitting in her driveway right now.”

“That’s good. I’ll be anxious to hear how your first class goes. I’m sure it’ll be a walk in the park.”

“I’ll bet.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Blaine glanced at his watch. “I’d better go. It’s almost ten o’clock, and I sure don’t want to be late for class.”

“Okay, see you Monday morning.”

“’Bye, Stuart.” Blaine clicked off his phone and climbed out of his vehicle. He’d just started for the house when an older model Chevy rumbled into the yard. A few minutes later, an elderly woman stepped out. She wore baggy gray slacks, a green turtleneck sweater, and a floppy beige canvas hat. She glanced at him briefly, stuck her nose in the air, and tromped up the porch steps.

“Terrific,” Blaine muttered under his breath, running his fingers through his thick, wavy hair. “I’ll bet she’s here for the quilt class. This is going to be anything but a walk in the park!”

C
HAPTER
5

S
elma was surprised when a gray-haired Amish man with a long, full beard answered her knock. She’d expected a woman. “Is this the home of Emma Miller?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He offered her a cheery smile. “That’s right. Emma’s my wife, and I’m Lamar. Are you one of her quilting students?”

Selma gave a quick nod, thinking he seemed nice enough. “My name is Selma Nash, and I came prepared.” She lifted the canvas satchel she’d brought along and gave it a confident pat. “I have everything right here that I’ll need to make a quilt.”

“Oh, there was no need for you to bring anything,” Lamar said. “Emma has all the required supplies. If you’ll follow me, I’ll lead the way to her quilting room.”

Selma clutched her satchel as she walked with Lamar into the next room. Despite what he’d said, she was sure she’d be able to use most of what she had brought along.
Maybe they’ll be impressed with all the research I’ve done beforehand about quilting
, she thought.

As Selma entered the room, she noticed that the inside of the house was as tidy as the outside. She detected a scent of lemon in the air. An older Amish woman sat at the table with a young Hispanic woman, whom Selma assumed was also here to learn how to quilt. But it seemed strange that there were no other students in the room.

“This is Selma Nash,” Lamar said to the Amish woman. “She’s one of your quilting students.”

The woman stood and shook Selma’s hand. “I’m Emma Miller, and I’m pleased that you’ve joined our class.” She gestured to the other woman. “This is Carmen Lopez. She’s here to learn how to quilt as well.”

“Are we the only two people in the class?” Selma asked, feeling rather perplexed as Emma motioned for her to sit in one of the extra chairs.

Before Emma had a chance to respond, the young man Selma had seen outside shuffled into the room. He looked uncomfortable, like he might want to turn and run.

“You must be Blaine Vickers,” Emma said, extending her hand.

He gave a brief nod.

“Welcome to our quilting class.” Emma motioned to Carmen and then to Selma. “This is Selma Nash and Carmen Lopez, and we’re waiting for Anna Lambright to arrive. As soon as she gets here, we’ll begin.”

Blaine’s eyes widened. “So I’m the only guy in the class?”

“You’re the only male student,” Emma said, “but Lamar will be with us. In fact, he’ll be helping me teach the class.”

Lamar motioned to one of the quilts in the room. “I’ve designed many quilts, and I also know quite a bit about the history of quilts.”

“I’ve studied up on them, too,” Selma interjected, rather proudly. “As soon as my neighbor, Jan, said he’d paid for me to come to this class, I went straight to the library and checked out a book on Amish quilts.” Selma reached into her satchel and pulled out the book. “See, this one is a Dahlia pattern,” she said, flipping through the pages and pointing to one of the pictures. “I love flowers, so that’s the kind of quilt I would like to make.”

“Perhaps you will someday,” Emma said, moving to stand at the head of the table. “But during the next six weeks, I’ll be teaching each of you how to make a quilted wall hanging with a simple star pattern combined with Log Cabin quilt blocks with an Eight Point Star layout. The finished square hanging will measure thirty-five inches.”

Selma frowned, feeling her forehead wrinkles deepen. “I don’t care for that idea. Can’t we make the Dahlia or some other floral pattern?”

“Those would be too difficult,” Lamar spoke up.

“Well, I’m confident that I could handle any pattern at all, because I’m a proficient seamstress.”

“I’m sure Emma has a reason for choosing the simple star pattern,” Carmen spoke up. “Since she’s the teacher, she obviously knows what’s best for us.”

Selma glanced at Blaine to see if he was going to comment, but he just stared at the table. He obviously didn’t want to be there.
His wife probably forced him to come
, Selma thought.
But then, I wonder why she didn’t sign up to take the quilting classes herself
.

“Actually, I chose the pattern for two reasons,” Emma said calmly. “First, because it’s a bit different from other star patterns. And second, because it will be easy to make. But we’ll get into all the details about making the quilt after my other student has arrived.”

Selma grunted and folded her arms. “Seems to me if people are going to sign up for a class, the least they can do is be here on time.”

“It was the young woman’s mother who signed her up,” Emma explained. “And I’m thinking perhaps—”

“Maybe she didn’t want to come,” Selma cut in. “Some daughters can be stubborn like that. They just don’t appreciate their mothers.”

Everyone looked at Selma with curious expressions, and the room got uncomfortably quiet. Had she said something wrong? Should she explain about her relationship with Cora? No, it was best to leave that alone. After all, it wasn’t in her nature to talk about her personal life to a bunch of strangers.

Emma cleared her throat a couple of times, and then she looked over at Lamar and said, “Since Anna’s not here yet, why don’t you go ahead and share some things about Amish quilts?”

“I’d be pleased to do that.” Lamar joined Emma at the head of the table and proceeded to talk about the history of Amish quilts. “Quilt patterns are a reflection of our daily living and can sometimes resemble things found in nature or on the farm.” He pointed to one of the quilts on display. “This one I designed myself, and I call it simply, ‘Horseshoes.’ As you can see, the shape of a horseshoe is patterned throughout.”

“How about that one?” Blaine asked, pointing to the quilt closest to him.

“I designed it, too, and it’s called ‘Pheasant Trail,’ ” Lamar replied.

“If you ask me, it looks more like ‘chicken scratch,’” Selma said with a snort. “Can’t you show us some pretty floral designs?”

The room went quiet again, and everyone stared at Selma as if she had pointed ears. What was wrong with these people, anyway? Didn’t they want to see something beautiful, or were they content to look at quilts with bland and blah colors?

“You don’t have to be so rude,” Carmen spoke up with her hands on her slender hips. “I think Lamar’s designs are quite unique.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Blaine agreed. “You shouldn’t be putting them down.”

Selma’s face heated. She had a notion to gather up her things and head out the door. But if she did that, she’d miss out on learning how to make a quilt. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean that the quilts weren’t nice. I’d just prefer to see something more to my liking.”

“The thing about Amish quilts,” Emma explained, “is that there’s a variety of patterns, which means there is something to fit everyone’s taste.”