The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club (17 page)

Pam shook her head. “I doubt he’d go for that.”

“Well, you won’t know if you don’t ask. A little time alone might do wonders for your marriage.”

Pam sighed deeply. “That would be nice, but it would have to be on a weekend, and with the quilting class taking up most of my Saturdays, we couldn’t even think about going away by ourselves until the last class is over.”

Heather gave Pam’s arm a gentle pat. “Well, my good thoughts are with you, and remember, I’m here anytime you need to talk.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“Is everything okay?” Blaine Vickers, one of Stuart’s employees, asked as he joined Stuart in the break room. “You’ve been looking kind of stressed-out all day.”

“I am stressed,” Stuart admitted.

“Did something happen here at work?”

Stuart shook his head. “Everything’s going along fine here in the store. What has me stressed is what’s going on at home.”

“A little trouble in paradise?”

“More than a little; and our home is anything but paradise these days.”

“I’m a good listener if you want to talk about it,” Blaine said.

“Pam and I started seeing a counselor about a month ago, but it’s not helping. Things just seem to be getting worse.”

Blaine gave Stuart’s shoulder a light thump. “Well, give it a bit more time. There’s never been a city built in a day, you know.”

“I don’t think any amount of time will make Pam enjoy the same things I do.” Stuart scrubbed his hand down the side of his bristly face. He really should have shaved this morning. It wasn’t good for business to have the store manager looking scruffy, but he’d been upset with something Pam said and left the house in a hurry. Pam was always nagging him about the way he looked and dressed, and even though he knew she was probably right, it irritated him to have her telling him what to do all the time. He had to admit at times he deliberately wore clothes she didn’t like just to get back at her for harassing him.

“Maybe if you did more things your wife enjoys, she’d be willing to do some things you like to do.”

“I doubt that’s ever going to happen, but I did try something she wanted me to do.”

“What was that?”

“You’re probably not gonna believe this, but Pam actually talked me into going to some quilting classes with her.”

Blaine’s dark eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline. “Are you kidding me?”

Stuart shook his head. “She promised to go fishing with me four more times if I attended the six-week quilting class.”

“I can’t believe you’d agree to that. You’ve got more guts than I do.”

Stuart thumped the side of his head. “More to the point, I think I was just plain stupid.”

“So you’re actually going to learn how to make a quilt?”

“Well, I was supposed to be making a quilted wall hanging, but—”

“What will you do with the wall hanging when it’s done?” Blaine asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“If I were to finish mine, it would probably look so horrible I’d end up throwing it in the garbage.” Stuart grimaced. “Pam’s such a perfectionist; hers will probably be good enough for any wall in our house. You know, I thought at first that quilting would be easy, but after the second lesson, I realized there’s a lot more to it than I’d expected.”

Blaine sat staring at Stuart, slowly shaking his head. “You must love your wife a lot if you’d be willing to sit through six weeks of classes, playing with a needle and thread.”

“We made an agreement that I’d take the quilting classes with her, and then she’d have to go fishing with me four more times, but I—”

“That sounds tough. Besides the sewing thing, which I could never do, I’m not sure I could sit with a group of people I don’t even know while they carried on about material and quilts all day.”

“The class is only two hours every Saturday, and after the way things went last week, I decided I don’t want to go back.”

“So you’re reneging on your promise to Pam?”

Stuart shrugged. “If you want to call it that, then, yeah, guess I am.”

Blaine shook his head. “Oh boy, no wonder your marriage is in trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means if I’d made a promise to Sue and backed out, she’d never let me hear the end of it.” Blaine took another swig of coffee. “Was it really that bad sitting in class with a bunch of women?”

“This may surprise you, but I wasn’t the only man in the class.”

“Now that is a surprise. How many other men were there besides you?”

“Two. There’s this big biker fellow who likes to throw his weight around and a young Hispanic schoolteacher whose wife recently died. There are also three women taking the class: Pam; Ruby Lee, an African-American woman who’s a pastor’s wife; and Star.”

“Star?”

“She’s a young woman with a nose ring and an attitude that reeks of defiance.”

“Wow! Sounds like you’ve gotten yourself hooked up with quite an unusual bunch of people.”

“Yeah. That little quilting club is pretty unique.” Stuart lifted his coffee mug and took a drink. “And from what I could tell, almost everyone there has some sort of problem.”

“Problem with quilting you mean?”

“Nope. A problem with some issue in their life.”

“Show me someone who doesn’t have problems, and I’ll show you someone who’s no longer livin’ on this earth,” Blaine said with a snicker.

“Yeah, you’re right, but some problems are more serious than others.” Stuart groaned. “I’m just afraid if Pam and I don’t get our problems solved soon, we might be headed for a separation—or worse yet, a divorce.”

Shipshewana

“You can just drop me off here,” Jan told Terry as they approached his driveway late Friday afternoon. “Need to check my mail, and since I know you have a heavy date this evening, you can just be on your way.”

“It’s not a heavy date. Dottie and I are going bowling and out for pizza.” Terry thumped Jan’s shoulder. “Want us to fix you up with Dottie’s friend Gwen? I think you’d really like her.”

“Not tonight, man,” Jan said. “I’ve gotta work on my wall hanging.”

Terry looked at Jan with disbelief. “I can’t believe you’d pass up a night of bowling and pizza with a fine-looking chick to stay home and keep company with a needle and thread.”

Jan shrugged his shoulders. “What can I say? Think I’ve found my creative self, like my probation officer said I should do. And you know what—it’s actually kinda relaxin’ and fun.”

Terry snorted. “I can think of lots of other creative things to do besides prickin’ my finger with the sharp end of a needle.”

Jan chuckled. He didn’t figure Terry would understand. “I’ll see you on Monday mornin’. Have a good weekend, bud.”

“Yep. You, too.”

As Terry’s truck pulled away, Jan headed for his mailbox by the side of the road. He’d just taken out a stack of mail when Brutus bounded up, wagging his tail.

Jan frowned. “You’re out again? How in the world are you doin’ it, Brutus?”

Woof! Woof!
Brutus’s fast-moving tail brushed Jan’s pant leg.

“Well, come on. Let’s see where you dug out,” Jan said as he tromped up the driveway with the dog at his side, tongue hanging out. He could have sworn Brutus was smiling, but then, somehow the dog always looked like he was grinning about something. He was one of those dogs that panted no matter what the weather was like. Even on the coldest days of winter, his tongue would often be hanging out the side of his mouth.

When Jan reached the dog pen, he discovered a hole where Brutus had obviously dug his way out. He shook his finger at Brutus. “Bad dog!”

Brutus lowered his head and slunk through the grass until he reached the house; then he leaped onto the porch with a grunt and a thump. When Jan caught up to him a few seconds later, he discovered a canvas gardening glove lying on the porch near the door.

“Now where’d this come from?” he muttered. “Brutus, did you steal this glove from one of our neighbors?”

The dog’s only reply was another deep grunt as he flopped down and rolled onto his back.

“This has gotta stop,” Jan said with a disgruntled groan. “Before I do anything else, I’m gonna dig-proof your dog pen.”

Goshen

“Where are you going, Beatrice?” Mom asked when Star entered the kitchen wearing her favorite pair of jeans and black hooded sweatshirt.

“I’m goin’ to the music store to get some new strings for my guitar; then I’ll grab a bite to eat someplace and head over to the coffee shop.” Star frowned. “And would you please stop callin’ me Beatrice?”

Mom emitted a disgusted sound as she lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “Can’t you find something else to do on a Friday evening besides hang out with a bunch of wannabe musicians?”

“I wish you’d get off my case. It’s what I enjoy, it’s the way I am, and it’s better than hangin’ out here all evening watching you act all sappy when Mike shows up.” Star paused and cleared her throat. “I sure wish you’d dump that creep.”

“Mike is not a creep.” Mom’s nose crinkled as she scrutinized Star. “Don’t you want me to be happy?”

Star groaned. “I don’t see how you can be happy with a guy like Mike.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“For one thing, whenever he comes over here, he just makes himself right at home. Either heads to the kitchen and helps himself to whatever he wants or expects you to wait on him hand and foot. It irritates me when he starts hollering, ‘Hey, Nancy, would you get me a beer?’” Star lowered the pitch of her voice to imitate Mike. “‘Oh, Nancy, my shoulders are all knotted up. Could you rub ‘em for me, huh?’”

Mom opened her mouth as if to defend her man, but Star cut her off.

“Oh, and don’t forget how Mr. Wonderful flops on the couch to watch TV. The guy acts like he owns the place.” Star frowned deeply. “And he’s always tellin’ me what to do, like I’m a little kid and he’s my dad.”

Mom shook her head. “Oh, come on, Beatrice; it’s not that bad.”

“Yeah it is.”