The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club (14 page)

“I … I doubt it. Chocolate’s hard to get out, and it’ll probably leave a nasty stain.”

“If it does, you can buy a new blouse.”

“No, I can’t. This was the last one they had in my size in this style.”

“Then buy one in another style.”

She shook her head. “I like this one. Besides, I’m not like you. You’d be happy if the baseball cap, faded jeans, and red-checkered flannel shirt you wear so much of the time were the only pieces of clothing you owned. Don’t you ever get tired of wearing those things? Wouldn’t it be nice if just once in a while you’d dress in clothes that are a bit more tasteful—especially when we go someplace together?”

“You’re exaggerating, Pam. I don’t wear a flannel shirt and ball cap all the time. I sure don’t wear ‘em to work.”

“Don’t you realize how embarrassing it is for me when you dress like a slob?”

“It’s all about you, isn’t it?” Stuart slashed back. “Did it ever occur to you that I just might be comfortable in these clothes? Or should I say
rags
, which is probably what you think of them anyway. Now buckle up. We’re heading home.”

Pam said nothing as he started the engine and pulled out of Emma’s yard. What was the point? She was sure her blouse was ruined and equally sure that Stuart didn’t really care. He didn’t care about his sloppy appearance either.

They rode in silence until they were almost out of Shipshewana; then Stuart looked over at Pam and said, “This isn’t working out. I want—”

Pam’s heart hammered and her mouth went dry. “A divorce? Is that what you want?” She knew they were just holding on by a thread.

“Whoa! Who said anything about a divorce?”

“You said things aren’t working out, so I assumed you meant—”

“I was talking about the stupid quilting class.” He gave the steering wheel a whack. “I’m bored with the class, I’ll never catch on to sewing, and I’m getting sick and tired of hearing you talk about me to anyone who’ll listen. You make it sound like I’m the world’s worst husband, and you’re saying it to a bunch of people we don’t even know.” He groaned. “Why do you always have to make me look bad? Is it so you can make yourself look good?”

“Certainly not.” She folded her arms and stared straight ahead. “You’re just too sensitive, that’s all.”

For a few seconds, their conversation ebbed as traffic came to a halt in both directions. Pam watched as a mother duck, followed by seven scurrying ducklings, crossed the road in front of them to get to the area where water had formed a small pond after the recent rain.
If only life were as simple as crossing the road to get to the other side, where something good awaited you
.

Picking up their conversation as if they’d never seen the ducks, Stuart continued talking as traffic moved once again. “Humph! You think I’m too sensitive? You’re the one who lost it when I bumped your arm and the chocolate milk spilled on your blouse. It’s not like I did it on purpose, you know.”

“So you said.”

“Look, Pam, this whole quilting thing is only adding more stress to our marriage, and it’s sure not helping our relationship any. I think you should go without me next week.”

She sat quietly for several seconds, letting his words sink in; then with a quick nod she said, “Okay, I’ll go by myself, and you can stay home and watch the kids instead of asking our neighbor girl to babysit them.”

“Why can’t Cindy watch them again? She said she’d be available to sit with the kids for all six weeks.”

“It would be a waste of money to pay her when one of us isn’t going.”

A muscle on Stuart’s right cheek quivered, the way it always did whenever he was irritated with her. “Fine then. I’ll watch the kids!”

Pam was pretty sure Stuart wanted to do something else next Saturday—probably go fishing with one of his buddies. Well, that was too bad. If he wasn’t going to keep his promise and take the quilting class with her, then he could stay home and deal with the kids.

She leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to drift back to her childhood. Back then, the only thing she should have been worried about was having fun with her friends—deciding what to do for the day and what games they would play. Those should have been days filled with mindless entertainment, doing things kids enjoyed, like lying in the grass with no cares in the world and watching the clouds overhead form into all sorts of characters and shapes. It was a phase in her life when time schedules shouldn’t have been that important yet. Unfortunately, Pam’s childhood wasn’t that simple. As far back as she could remember, she’d felt like she had the weight of the world on her back. She’d never had those carefree days of youth. Instead, Pam constantly had her nose in a book and strived to be a straight-A student so Mom and Dad would be proud of her and say something that would let her know they approved. The hope of gaining their approval gave Pam the determination and drive to keep striving for perfection.

School books make lousy friends
, she thought. Even with all the studying Pam had done, none of it seemed to have really mattered to anyone. The good grades were rewarded, but with money or clothes, not words of affirmation or a loving hug.

During Pam’s childhood, she’d never even had a close friend. Heather Barkely, whom she’d met at aerobics class a few years ago, was the first real friend she’d ever had.

What was worse than not having any close friends, and the one thing she’d really despised about school, was going back in the fall after summer vacation. When the teacher would ask if the students wanted to share their summer adventures with the rest of the class, Pam envied hearing about the family outings most of them had. Sure, her parents had given her many things, and she’d learned at a very young age how to put on a good front. Pam had been clever about fooling her parents and others when she’d pretended to be pacified with the so-called treasures they’d bought for her. And she appreciated that she’d been given nice clothes. At least that was something she was complimented for during her teenage years—that, and her good looks—especially from the boys.

Maybe this is why it bugs me so much about the way Stuart dresses, she thought. I just want him to look as nice as I do so people will be impressed
.

Stuart hadn’t been such a slob before he’d married her. What had happened between then and now to make him change in his appearance?

Focusing on the scenery as they continued the drive home, Pam kept all those forgotten feelings from the past to herself. If she told Stuart any of this, he wouldn’t understand. He didn’t seem to want to communicate with her on any level these days.

Star noticed that as soon as Stuart and Pam stormed out of Emma’s house, the sewing room had become so quiet she probably could have heard a needle drop on the floor. Even Ruby Lee, who was usually quite talkative, sat drinking her coffee with a strange-looking stare.

Emma, looking more flustered than she had when the man with the doughnuts came by, stood near the window, looking out at her yard.

Star watched outside as a wasp flew around the overhang above the window, no doubt trying to find a place to build its nest.

Several more minutes went by; then Jan leaned close to Star and said, “I can’t say as I care much for know-it-all Stuart, but that wife of his is sure one whacked-out chick. You know what I’m sayin’?”

She gave a nod, glad that Jan saw things the way she did—at least where prissy Pam was concerned.

“I guess she had a right to be upset, but I’m sure Stuart didn’t bump her arm on purpose,” Paul spoke up. “Although I think she could have been a little more understanding when he said he was sorry.”

Would you have been understanding if someone had spilled chocolate milk all over your clean shirt?
Star thought, although she didn’t voice the question. Seeing the way Pam and Stuart argued only confirmed in her mind that she was never getting married. Most of the men she’d known had been jerks, and even though Star didn’t care for Pam’s uppity ways, she’d actually felt a bit sorry for her when she dashed out of the house in tears.

“Women like Pam Johnston are never understanding; they’re just high maintenance,” Jan muttered. “Believe me; I know all about whacked-out, high-maintenance chicks.”

“Biker babes?” Star asked.

“Some yes, some no.” Jan reached for a doughnut and took a bite, followed by a swig of coffee. “The first biker babe I ever met was probably the most whacked-out chick of all.”

“In what way?” Star asked, her curiosity piqued.

“She could never make up her mind. One minute she wanted to get married; the next minute she didn’t.” A pained expression crossed Jan’s face as he slowly shook his head. “She took off one day without a trace—just like my old man did after my mom died.”

“How old were you when that happened?” Star questioned.

“I was seventeen when Mom died from a brain tumor.” Jan went on to tell that his drunkard father had split a year later, and then he’d lit out on his own. “I eventually learned the roofing trade and ended up in Shipshewana, where I started my own business,” he said.

“Losing your mother, and then having two people you loved run away must have been very painful.” Ruby Lee reached over and touched Jan’s arm. Her eyes, the color of charcoal, looked at him with such compassion that it made Star feel like crying.

It wasn’t bad enough that the burly biker had lost his mother, but then some fickle woman hurt him so badly that he still carried the scars of her rejection. To top it all off, having his dad take off had probably left Jan feeling a lot of animosity. Star could sure relate to that, since her own dad had done the very same thing. The only difference was Jan had known his dad for seventeen years, whereas Star had never known her dad at all.

“Yeah, it was all very painful, but I learned how to cope.” Jan swiped some crumbs from the front of his T-shirt. “You know Bunny was the only girl I ever really loved.” He pointed to the tattoo on his right arm. “I even had her name put here. But of course, that was when I thought she was gonna marry me. Now I realize what a jerk I was for believin’ her. Shoulda never got involved with her in the first place.”

Guess I’m not the only one in this room with hurts from the past, Star thought. It’s too bad people have to disappoint each other. If everyone had a heart of love the way Grandma did, the world would be a better place. I’m thankful I had her, even though we didn’t get to spend nearly enough time together
.

Emma turned from the window and joined them at the table again. “No one is perfect. We all make mistakes, but we have to forgive and move forward,” she said.

Star grimaced. That’s easy enough for you to say. You’ve probably never made a mistake in your life. Well, walk in someone else’s shoes for a while, and then see what you have to say about forgiveness
.

A
s Jan pedaled home from the quilting class, he thought about his comments concerning the woman he’d once loved and wondered if he’d said too much. The way everyone had looked at him made him wonder if they thought he was some dumb guy who’d never gotten over his first crush. Or maybe they’d felt sorry for him because he’d been jilted. Either way, he figured it would be best if he didn’t say too much more about his personal life during the quilting classes. It was bad enough that during their first class he’d told them about his DUI. He’d signed up to learn how to quilt, not spill his guts about the past and hash things over that couldn’t be changed. Looking back on it, he figured he’d blabbed all that because he’d been uncomfortable the first day, unsure of what to expect and a bit embarrassed because he didn’t know how people would respond to a guy like him taking a quilting class.

Jan knew that he needed to quit worrying about what others thought. He also needed to forget his former life and look to the future. He’d been doing a pretty good job of that until he’d started blubbering about Bunny.

“Yikes, I’d better watch what I’m doin’,” he muttered, nearly losing his balance as he caught sight of some pretty azaleas blooming in a yard along the way. “Better pay closer attention to handlin’ this stupid bike and quit gawkin’ around, or I might end up on my backside.”