The Healing Quilt (24 page)

“Can Missy come out and play?”

Kit looked down at the dog dancing at her feet, then out to the boy. “Do you think she wants to?”

Missy yipped, but before she could get her front feet up on the screen door, Kit opened it and out she went. Her deep bark played counterpoint to Thomas's little-boy giggle. When she charged him, he fell back on the grass and threw his arms around her neck, both of them rolling and making all the noises small boys and dogs are supposed to make.

Kit watched for a few moments then headed back to her sewing room. The ringing phone stopped her. She snagged the phone as she went by. “Hello.”

“Kit, this is Beth Donnelly. Sorry to bother you but.

“No bother at all. How are your squares coming?”

“That's my problem. I guess something happened to my sewing machine in the move. It isn't working right at all, so I had to take it in to the repair shop.”

“To Barnaby?”

“Yes, he said he can have it back to me in a week, but that doesn't give me any time to sew them.”

“I have an extra machine here. Why don't you come on over, and we can have a sewing party, you and me?” Kit glanced out the door where dog and boy were mashing the grass.

“Really?”

“Of course. Half an hour?”

“I'll be there as soon as I can. Thanks.”

Kit hung up and continued to the stairs. Something puzzled her about Beth's voice, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Up in the sewing room she cleared away the red, white, and blue pieces that would be a quilt for Ryan—his Christmas present—so Beth could use that machine. She'd done one for Jennifer's first Christmas away from home, and now she should have all kinds of time to make Ryan's—
should
being the operative word. She glanced up to a framed cross-stitch piece she kept at the top of her cork and peg board: “Thou Shalt Not Should Upon Thyself.” She'd bordered it with red hearts and a twining vine. So many shoulds. She should go help Aunt Teza. She should make more of an effort to help Mark. While she had no idea how to help him, she knew she should be doing something. She should go out and mow the grass. She should go back to church, but why? All she did was cry through the service, which made everyone around her uncomfortable, and then they didn't know what to say—so to make it all easier for everyone, she stayed home.

Besides, why should I praise you when you let me down?

In everything, praise ye the Lord.

“That's not fair. I memorized Bible verses when I was a kid, and now you bring them back to me. I don't want them, can't you tell?”

Her eyes filled and she sniffed back the tears. Far as she could tell, God didn't play fair at all.

I will never leave you nor forsake you.

“See, that's what I mean.” She finished sewing the first two pieces of each block, as if stringing one bead after another. Now to cut them apart and press the seams flat. She stood and took her long string of pieces to the ironing board, where she had a cutting mat, rotary cutter set up, and the iron ready to steam.

“Mrs. C?”

She turned to smile at Thomas. “What can I do for you?”

“Can I take Missy for a walk?”

“Sure you can, but don't be gone too long.”

“Down to the park?”

“Okay, but don't let her off the leash. And I never tie her up anywhere either.”

“Okay.” He leaned against the doorjamb. “What are you doing?”

“Sewing pieces of fabric together for a quilt.”

“Who's the quilt for?” Hands in his shorts pockets, he ambled across the room to study the ironing board and all its paraphernalia.

“We re going to auction it off to make money for a new machine for the hospital. Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“You got any Popsicles?”

“No, but I have cookies.” She reminded herself to add Popsicles to the grocery list.

“Okay-Back down in the kitchen, she held out the cookie jar. “Peanut butter all right?”

Thomas nodded and helped himself to two. “Thank you.” He started for the door, then turned to look at her. “You coming?”

Well, I wasn't phnning on cookies right now but I guess so.
“Okay.” So much for sewing pieces together. She followed him out to the deck, where she took one Adirondack chair and he the other. Missy flopped on her side, one long ear covering her eye.

“When is your boy coming home?”

“Another couple of weeks.”

“Does he like school?”

“Sounds like it. He won't get much of a summer vacation this year.”

“Your dad coming home too?”

“My dad? Oh, you mean my husband?”

“Uh huh. What's his name?”

“Mark Cooper. Our sons name is Ryan.”

“My middle name is Mark.”

“Are you named after your dad?”

“Nope. So when is he coming home?”

I wish I knew. Why do you have to ask so many questions?
“You ready for another cookie?”

He nodded. “Ill get it.”

The screen door banged behind him as he returned and handed her one. “What kind of cookies did Amber like?”

“Chocolate chip. Jennifer.

“That's your biggest girl.”

Than my only girl now, at least the only one I can still talk with.
“Yes, she liked peanut butter best, and Ryan loves Oreos.”

“My sister likes Oreos best too.”

Ah, something about your family.
“What's her name?”

“Lindsey.”

“How old is she?”

“Fifteen. She likes to watch soaps. Ugh.”

“Ugh is right. Well, I better get back to work.”

“I could help you.” He fingered a frayed edge on his shorts.

“Ah, okay. I thought you wanted to take Missy for a walk.”

“She's too tired.” He nodded at the softly snoring dog, who hadn't moved from her original position.

What can I have him do?
“Sure, come on and help me.”
Where's his mother? Did she die? But wouldn't he have told me when we were talking about Amber?

“You ever pitted apricots?”

“What are apricots?”

“Sort of like peaches but smaller.” Pleased with her idea she led the way back into the house. “You can pit them, and I'll cut them up.”

She pulled the produce drawer clear out of the refrigerator and set it on the table. “These are apricots.”

“Can I eat one?”

“Yup.” She took out another bowlfull. “You get those two big plastic bowls out from under there”—she pointed to a cabinet door— “while I get the knives. You like it?”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

Once they had the supplies set up on the picnic table, she demonstrated how to hold the apricot with one hand and slice it in half. “The pits go in this bowl and the fruit in that one.” She watched him as, tongue between his teeth, he did exactly as she had shown him, except for the pit that went thumping onto the desk. “Wheeoo.”

“You might want to point them into the bowl. If Missy finds them, she chews on them and might crack her teeth.”

“Oh. Are apricot pits harder than bones?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, bones don't crack her teeth.”

“True, but if she cracked an apricot pit, the inside seed might not be good for her.” Is it poison?

“I dont know.”

“If a new apricot plant comes from the seed, how can it be poison?” All the while he plied her with questions, he continued slicing apricots, as if he'd been doing so for years.

“You know, you learn fast how to do things. Are you sure you are only seven?”

“I'll be eight in October.”

“Oh, that explains it.” She kept the smile inside.

“ ‘Splains what?”

“How come you learn so fast.”

He shrugged. “I'm smart, too.” No hint of bragging, just a fact.

“How do you know that?”

“My dad says so.”

Ah, good for your dad.
“You think if I invited your family for dinner one night, he would come?”

“If he got home from work in time.”

“How about Friday?”

“We can ask him.”

“Good, I'll call him tonight.”

Thomas frowned. “Maybe I better tell him to call you.”

“Okay.” She held her dripping hands over the edge of the bowl. Cutting up apricots was not a job for one who wanted to keep her hands clean.

“Thanks for all your help.” She would put all the apricots in plastic bags in the freezer for now, then bake a pie when Ryan came home, but turn most of them into jam when she had more time during the winter.

“What time is it?”

She checked her watch. “Almost one.”

“I better go home.”

“Are you late?”

“Not much.” He picked up the bowl of pits. “In the trash?”

“No, over in the compost heap. The middle one of those three wooden bins down the bank there.” She pointed to the wooden structures.

“What's compost?”

“New soil for the garden.”

“And you make it?” His eyes grew round. “I didn't know anyone could make dirt.”

“You just dump the pits down there, and I'll explain how it works some other time.” She watched him trot dutifully down the slope, Missy right beside him. She picked up the fiill bowls of golden fruit and, stacking one in the empty crisper drawer, took them into the kitchen. While this wasn't what she had planned on for the moment, at least the apricots were ready to bag.

Thomas stuck his head in the back door. “I washed my hands at the hose. Did you know Missy likes to drink out of the hose? Bye.”

“Thanks for helping me,” she repeated.

“Welcome.” His voice came from beyond the deck.

She went to the door and watched as he carefully made Missy stay inside the yard and then locked the gate behind him.

“I think he's an old man in a boys body.”

The doorbell rang as she poured the last of the fruit into gallon-size freezer bags and sealed them. “Coming.” Wiping her hands on a dish-towel, she opened the front door. “Come on in, Beth. I have to put these apricots in the freezer, so you go on up. I cleared off the Singer for you.”

“Do you need some help?”

“No thanks. I'll bring up iced tea, too.” Kit motioned her guest toward the stairs and continued on her way to the kitchen.

She could hear the machine already purring away when she mounted the stairs, taking two glasses of tea along with sugar and sweetener on a tray. “You picked that up fast.”

“It's just like my machine, only a bit older. My mother gave me hers when she bought a new one. When it wouldn't run, I about panicked.” Beth laid her hands in her lap. “Not knowing where to go for anything in town can be so frustrating.”

“I really admire people like you who can move to a new town and settle right in. I've lived in this house ever since Mark and I married.”

“Did you grow up here too?”

“Yes, never have done much seeing the world.” Kit held out the tray. “I wasn't sure what, if any, you used for sweetener.”

Beth took the glass and waved away the sugar. “Hard to believe there really are people who've lived in one house all their life.”

“Other than college, I'd never lived in more than one house before either.” Kit sipped her tea and set it on a coaster on a cabinet beside her machine. “The iron is on. If you need anything, I'm sure its here.” She moved the ironing board so Beth could use it more easily too and began cutting her pieces apart and pressing the seams flat. As she finished each one, she set it on the growing stack at the end of the ironing board.

Two hours later, they'd sewn, pressed, and chatted more like longtime friends than just acquaintances when Beth asked, “Kit, how do you deal with missing Amber?”

“I don't.” Kit stopped. “No, I'd better rephrase that. I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and go on. Keeping on keeping on, I guess.”

“Do you get angry sometimes?”

“Oh yeah.”
More than I could tell you.

“I don't know which would be worse. Never knowing your baby or having her taken from you older.”

“I don't either, but I suspect the gaping wound is always there.” Kit stopped stitching and turned to look at her young friend.

Beth used a corner of a growing quilt block to wipe her eyes. “I want a baby so bad.”

The despair in those words brought Kit up out of her chair and across the short space separating them. She knelt in front of Beth and took her shaking hands. “Ah, my dear, when you are ready, there'll be a baby. You re young
yet”

“I'm so afraid there won't be.” She raised tear-washed
eyes
to look Kit in the face. “I… I think sometimes I am losing my mind. Garth is making me see a psychiatrist.”

“For depression?”

“How did you know?”

“Someone once suggested I do the same.”

“So did you?”

“No, but I haven't closed the door on the idea yet. I don't see anything wrong with getting help. Grief takes a real toll.” Kit sniffed and dug in her pocket for a tissue. Finding none, she stood and grabbed the box sitting on the shelf and held it out for Beth, too. “No sense drowning these pieces before they get to their right place.”

Beth dabbed her eyes and smiled in spite of her sniffing. “Sometimes I'm so afraid I'm going to cry forever.”

“I know. A friend of mine wrote me and said that God keeps our tears in a bottle. “
Where did that come from? I hadnt thought ofthat since I put the card away.