The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club (3 page)

“That’s right,” Maria agreed. “And can’t you see you’re embarrassing our girls?”

“Aw, they shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of their uncle Paul,” Hosea said with a chuckle.

Maria handed him a platter full of enchiladas, and he placed it on the table.

“You know, Paul, you’re absolutely right about Maria bein’ a good cook. She’s always liked spendin’ time in the kitchen, so I knew soon after I met her that she’d make a good wife.” Hosea winked at Maria, and she playfully swatted his arm.

“Lorinda enjoyed cooking, too.” Paul’s throat tightened. Watching Hosea and Maria together and thinking how much he missed his wife made him almost break down in tears. Even during a pleasant evening such as this, it was hard not to think about how Lorinda had died after a truck slammed into their car. Paul had only received minor bumps and bruises as a result of the accident, but the passenger’s side of the car had taken the full impact, leaving Lorinda with serious internal injuries. She’d died at the hospital a few hours later, leaving Paul to raise their daughter on his own. Fortunately, the baby hadn’t been with them that night. Maria had been caring for Sophia so Paul and Lorinda could have an evening out by themselves. They’d eaten a wonderful meal at Das Dutchman in Middlebury and had been planning to do a little shopping on their way home to Elkhart. That never happened.

“Paul, did you hear what I said?” Maria gave his arm a gentle tap.

“Huh? What was that?”

“I asked if you’ve talked to any of Lorinda’s family lately.”

“Her mama called the other day to see how I’m doing, and said she’d be sending a package for Sophia soon,” Paul replied. “Ramona sends a toy or some article of clothing to Sophia on a regular basis. I know it’s hard for her and Jacob to be living in California, with us so far away, but they’re good about keeping in touch, same as our folks do.”

“Yes, but Mom and Dad only live in South Bend, so you get to see them more often,” Maria said.

“That’s true.”

“Are Lorinda’s folks still planning a trip here sometime this summer?” Maria asked.

Paul nodded. “As far as I know.”

“That’ll be nice.” Maria smiled. “It’s good for Sophia to know both sets of her grandparents.”

“What about Lorinda’s sister? Have you heard anything from her since the funeral?” Hosea asked.

Paul shook his head. He wished Carmen’s name hadn’t been brought up. “I doubt that I’ll ever hear from her again,” he murmured.

“Well, that’s just ridiculous! That young woman’s confused, and she’s carryin’ a grudge against you for no reason.” Hosea shook his head. “Some people don’t know up from down.”

Paul went to the sink to get a glass of water, hoping to push down the lump that had risen in his throat. “Can we talk about something else—something that won’t ruin my appetite?”

Maria’s eyes brightened as she leaned against the counter and smiled. “I saw an interesting ad in the newspaper the other day.”

“What was it?” Paul asked.

“It was put in by a woman named Emma Yoder. She’s offering to give quilting lessons in her home in Shipshewana.”

“What got you interested in that?” Hosea asked. “Is my pretty little
esposa
plannin’ to learn how to quilt?”

Maria shook her head, causing her short, dark curls to bounce around her face. “You know your wife doesn’t have time for that. Not with my part-time job at the bank, plus taking care of our girls.” She winked at Paul. “I was thinking you might want to take the class.”

Paul’s eyebrows shot up. “Why would I want to take a quilting class?”

“Well, Lorinda liked to sew, and since she started that pretty pink quilt for Sophia and never got it finished, I thought maybe—”

Paul held up his hand. “It would be nice to have the quilt done, but I sure can’t do it. I can barely sew a button on my shirt, and I’d never be able to make a quilt.”

“But you could learn, and it might even be fun,” Maria said.

“Huh-uh. I don’t think so. Besides, I have enough to do with my teaching job and taking care of Sophia.”

“Say, how about this?” Hosea thumped Paul’s shoulder. “Why don’t you let Maria sign you up for the class? Then when you get there, you can see if the Amish woman, or maybe one of her students, might be willing to finish the quilt Lorinda started.”

Paul rubbed his chin as he mulled the suggestion over a bit. With a slow nod, he said, “I’ll give it some thought, but right now I’m ready to eat.”

Goshen

Star Stephens sat at the kitchen table, staring at the words of a song she’d begun working on earlier this week.
Can’t seem to look behind the right door; maybe that’s ‘cause I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. Can’t seem to shake the hand that I’ve been dealt; a road of bitter regret, headed straight to hell. And it doesn’t really matter to those who really matter…
.

Star tapped her pen as she thought about her life and how she and Mom had left their home in Minneapolis and moved to Goshen, Indiana, six months ago. Mom needed to take care of Grandma, who’d been having health problems because of emphysema. From what Mom had told Star, Grandma had been a heavy smoker for a good many years. As time went on, Grandma got worse, and two weeks ago she’d passed away, leaving her rambling old house and all her worldly possessions to Star’s mom, her only child. Star had never met her grandfather, whom she’d been told had drowned in a lake when Mom was three years old. Grandma never remarried. She’d raised her only daughter alone and supported them by working at a convalescent center as a nurse’s aide. Star hadn’t met her own father either. All she’d ever had was Mom to rely on, and their relationship had never been all that good. They’d moved around a lot during Star’s childhood, and Mom had held more jobs than Star could count. She’d done everything from waitressing to hotel housekeeping but never kept one job very long or stayed in one place more than a few years. Mom seemed restless and had drifted from one boyfriend to another. She’d also been self-centered and sometimes had lied to Star about little things. Star had learned to deal with Mom’s immaturity, but it irritated her nonetheless.

“What are your plans for today, Beatrice?” Mom asked when she entered the room wearing a faded pink bathrobe and a pair of floppy, lime-green bedroom slippers that were almost threadbare and should have been thrown out months ago.

“My name’s Star, remember?”

Mom blinked her pale blue eyes as she pushed a wayward strand of shoulder-length bleached-blond hair away from her face. “I know you’ve never liked the name Beatrice, but I don’t see why you had to change your name to Star. Couldn’t you just be content with being called Bea for short?”

Star shook her head determinedly. “For cryin’ out loud! I’m twenty years old, and I have the right to do as I want. Besides, I like the name Star, and that’s what I want to be called—even by you.”

Mom scrutinized Star and then slowly shook her head. “You need to get over the idea that you’re going to be a star, because that’s probably never gonna happen.”

Star’s jaw clenched as she ground her teeth together. Mom had never understood her desire to sing or write songs. In fact, she’d actually made fun of some of the lyrics Star had written, saying she should get her head out of the clouds and come down to earth. Well, what did Mom know about all that, anyway? She could barely carry a tune and didn’t care for the kind of music Star liked. Other than appreciating the roof over their heads, the two of them really had very little in common.

Mom stared at Star a little longer. “I wish you hadn’t gotten that stupid star tattooed on your neck. It looks ridiculous.”

“I like it. It’s who I am.”

“And I suppose you like those ugly purple streaks in your hair?”

“Yep.”

“What about that silly nose ring? Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Nope.”

Star could see that Mom was about to say something more, so she grabbed up the notebook and headed for her room, stomping up the stairs and slamming the door. She tossed the song lyrics on the dresser and flopped back onto the bed with a groan. As she lay there, staring blindly at the cracks in the ceiling, she thought of Grandma and all the times Mom had brought her here to visit. She’d say she was leaving Star at Grandma’s for a few weeks because Grandma had asked her to, but Star had a hunch it had been more for Mom’s benefit. She figured Mom had just wanted her out of her hair for a while so she could be with whichever boyfriend she had at the time. A woman as pretty as Mom never had any trouble finding a man, and it was no surprise when she’d married Wes Morgan shortly after Star turned eight. Tall, blond-haired, good-looking Wes had turned on the charm and promised everything but the moon.

Star clutched the edge of her bedspread tightly between her fingers.
I hated that man, and I’m glad he’s dead!

Tears stung her eyes as she thought back to the times she’d spent with Grandma, which she now realized had been the happiest days of her life.
Oh Grandma, I miss you so much
.

Grandma had been pretty ill the last two weeks before her death, and it had grieved Star to watch her suffer. But at least they’d been able to share some special moments, talking about the past and the fun times they’d had. Star had even shared with Grandma her dream of getting some of her songs published, and Grandma had never once put her down. She missed the words of encouragement Grandma had offered, even in her weakened condition. She longed to see Grandma’s cheerful smile and be held in her loving arms.

Three days ago, Star had been looking through Grandma’s room, searching for Grandma’s old photo album. She remembered it being filled with pictures of Mom when she was young and a few older photos of Grandma and Grandpa when they were newly married. There’d also been some pictures of Star from when she’d come to visit. Star had finally found the album in Grandma’s dresser, and when she’d opened the drawer, an envelope had fallen out. Written on the outside in Grandma’s handwriting was Star’s name. Grandma had never hesitated to call her only granddaughter
Star
, because she knew how much Star disliked her given name.

Inside the envelope, Star had found a note stating that Grandma had paid for a six-week quilting class in Star’s name. It had puzzled Star at first, but then she’d read the rest of Grandma’s note and realized that since Grandma had always enjoyed quilting, she wanted Star to learn how to quilt as well. She’d even said she hoped if Star learned to make a quilt that she would think of her and remember all the happy times they’d had together.

At first Star thought learning to quilt was a dumb idea, but after contemplating it for a while, she’d decided to give it a try. Maybe Mom would appreciate her quilting instead of nagging all the time about Star needing to do something sensible with her life. Not that Mom had ever done anything levelheaded with her own life. It seemed as though Mom was always searching for something she couldn’t find.

As Star shook her negative thoughts aside, a few more song lyrics popped into her head. She leaped off the bed, grabbed her pen and notebook, and took a seat at the desk.
I’ll never give up my desire to become a songwriter
, she thought.
And someday I’ll show Mom that I can be a real star
.

L
ook over there, Stuart! Do you see that colorful Amish quilt hanging on the line in the yard across the road?” Pam Johnston nudged her husband’s arm.

“Don’t poke me when I’m driving. You might cause an accident,” he grumbled, adjusting his baseball cap.

Pam wished he hadn’t worn that ugly red cap today. It looked ridiculous! Of course Stuart didn’t think so. He wore the dumb thing a good deal of the time. She was surprised he hadn’t tried to wear it to work. Truth was the only time Stuart dressed halfway decent anymore was when he was at work, managing the sporting goods store in Mishawaka.

“I really wanted you to see that quilt,” Pam said, rather than bringing up the subject of Stuart’s baseball cap.

“Yeah, it was nice.”

“How would you know that? You didn’t even look when I called your attention to the quilt, and now we’ve gone past it.”