The Healing Quilt (4 page)

B.J. felt a sense of apprehension as he drove along Bahia Vista Street in the convertible he’d rented, following his GPS to the address of the quilting class he’d signed up for after arriving in Sarasota. Although he was interested in the design of Amish quilts and thought he’d like to create a painting of one, he was sure he’d be the only man in the class and would probably feel foolish.

Well, what does it matter?
he asked himself.
I don’t have long to live, so I may as well enjoy whatever time I have left and do the things I want to do, no matter how ridiculous I may look or feel
.

B.J.’s thoughts turned to his daughters back home. They knew he was here, but he’d only told them that he was going to Florida to enjoy the beach and warm weather and hoped to get some painting done. Neither Jill nor Robyn had any idea he was taking a quilt class. He still felt guilty for not telling them his cancer had returned, but he’d convinced himself that for now, at least, it was for the best.

As B.J. turned up the street leading to Emma and Lamar Miller’s house, he made a decision. If he was able to learn how to quilt, he would make Diane, his ten-year-old granddaughter, a quilted wall hanging so she could remember him after he was gone.

When Noreen pulled her sports car in front of the house where the quilt class was supposed to take place, she spotted a silver convertible with the top up, parked in the driveway.
Well, someone here has good taste in vehicles
, she thought.

She’d just opened her car door when a baldheaded man, who looked to be in his early sixties, got out of the convertible. He glanced her way and nodded. “Are you here for the quilting classes?”

“Yes, I am, and I’m really looking forward to it,” she responded.

“Same here.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You want to learn how to quilt?”

“That’s right; I’m an artist, and because of all the unusual designs in the quilts I’ve seen, I’m hoping to paint a picture of one.” The man’s voice was deep and sounded a bit gravely, but he had a pleasant smile.

Noreen still thought it was a bit strange that a man would want to learn how to quilt, even if he was an artist, but she figured,
Each to his own
.

“Shall we go inside and meet the teacher?” he asked, moving toward the house.

She gave a nod.
Having a man in the class should make things interesting
.

P
hyllis Barstow had just stepped onto the porch of a small Amish home in Pinecraft, when a noisy motorcycle pulled up to the curb. She frowned.
What’s a biker doing in a place like this? I’m sure he’s not planning to take the quilting class
.

Phyllis shook her head, glancing at the other cars parked in the driveway.
There won’t be any men in this class—just a bunch of women like me, looking for something fun and creative to do. The biker’s probably lost and asking for directions
.

Watching as the biker climbed off the cycle and removed his helmet, Phyllis was surprised to see that it wasn’t a man at all. The thirty-something woman pulled her fingers through the ends of her wavy blond hair, grabbed a satchel from the back of the bike, and started up the walk leading to the house. Removing the elastic band that held the rest of her hair back, she gave her head a good shake, and more waves fell into place. When the young woman reached the porch, she smiled at Phyllis. “You here for the quilt class?”

Phyllis nodded. “Are you?”

“Sure am, and I’m glad the classes are being held on Saturdays, ’cause right now I have the weekends off.”

“Where do you work?” Phyllis asked.

“At the restaurant a few blocks up on Bahia Vista Street.” The young woman extended her hand. “I’m Kim Morris.”

“Phyllis Barstow. It’s nice to meet you. Shall we go inside and see who else came?”

“Hello everyone,” Emma said as she and Lamar stood in front of the table where their six students sat—five in the folding chairs she’d provided, and the teenage girl in her wheelchair. “I’m Emma Miller, and this is my husband, Lamar.”

Lamar stepped forward and smiled. “It’s nice to have all of you here.”

Everyone nodded—everyone but the teenage girl, that is.

“Why don’t you take turns introducing yourself?” Emma suggested. “Oh, and please tell us the reason you signed up for this class. We can start with you,” she said, smiling at the petite blond-haired woman sporting a nice suntan.

“My name is Kim Morris, and I’m taking this class to make some new friends and do something creative.”

“Thank you, Kim.” Emma motioned to the next person, who happened to be the only man. In the past, there had been at least two men in Emma’s classes.

The man, looking more than a bit uncomfortable, said in a gravelly sounding voice, “My name is B.J. I’m an artist, and I thought it’d be fun to learn about the color and design of quilts. I may try to paint a picture of one as well.”

“Lamar is an artist, too,” Emma said. “He’s designed a good many quilts.”

Lamar’s cheeks reddened. “I don’t really consider myself an artist. I just enjoy coming up with various designs that depict many things.” He motioned to the older woman who sat next to B.J. “Now it’s your turn.”

She rubbed her hands briskly together, as though eager to speak. “My name is Noreen Webber, and like Kim, I’m taking this class to make some new friends.”

Emma was surprised that the woman made no mention of wanting to learn how to quilt. If she came here only to make friends, then she probably wouldn’t get much out of the class. She could have made friends just as easily by doing something else.

“Guess I’m next,” the young pregnant woman with long black hair and dark brown eyes, spoke up. “My name is Jennifer Owen, and I’m here because someone graciously paid for me to take this class.”

“That was nice. Was it a friend or relative?” Kim asked.

Jennifer shrugged. “I don’t know. My husband’s a cook, but he lost his job awhile back, so I’d given up on the idea of taking this class. Then, two days ago I found an anonymous note in my mailbox, saying I was signed up to take the quilt classes and that they had been paid for.” Jennifer paused and rubbed her stomach. “I’m expecting our first child in seven weeks, and I would love to know how to make a quilt for the baby.”

Emma smiled and nodded. “Lamar and I are glad you’re here.” Then she motioned to the middle-aged woman with shoulder-length auburn hair, sitting across the table. “Would you please tell us your name and why you signed up for this class?”

“I’m Phyllis Barstow, and I’m eager to learn something new. My husband has a charter fishing boat service, and since he’s out on the water so much, it leaves me a lot of time to explore some creative things. I’ve done some sewing and several craft projects over the years, so I’m looking forward to learning how to quilt.”

Emma glanced at the teenage girl in the wheelchair. “What is your name, dear?”

The girl mumbled something in a voice barely above a whisper.

Emma leaned closer. “What was that?”

“I said my name’s Erika. Erika Wilson.”

“And what brings you here?” Lamar questioned.

She turned her head to look at him. “I don’t wanna be here, but my dad made me come.”

Emma cringed, remembering how Anna Lambright’s mother had forced her to take Emma’s quilting classes last fall. The young Amish woman had made it clear from the start that she didn’t want to learn how to quilt. If Erika was here against her will, she might not learn a thing.

Perhaps I should speak to her father when he comes to pick Erika up after class
, Emma thought.
If I’m unable to find a way to make Erika enjoy the class, maybe she shouldn’t be here. But it’s not my decision to make. Her father paid for the class, and he obviously thinks this is something his daughter needs, so I’ll do my best to teach her
.

“Should I go ahead and explain about the history of Amish quilts now?” Lamar asked, breaking into Emma’s thoughts.

“What? Oh yes, why don’t you do that?” Emma’s face heated, and she took a seat beside Kim as Lamar began to talk.

“The existence of quilts among the Amish began as early as the 1830s, although the quilts back then were much plainer than those being made now,” he explained. “During that time the Amish used quilts as simple coverings for their beds.”

“That’s right,” Emma agreed. “In the early days, most Amish made their quilts using simple materials from one color. Later, they began sewing several colored pieces of cloth into a variety of patterns.”

“The earlier designs were basic rectangles and squares, but as time went on, more colorful, bold patterns were used,” Lamar put in. “An older Amish quilt can be identified by its simple design, with less decoration than the Amish quilts that are made today.” He continued to talk about the variety of colors and numerous designs in Amish quilts, and ended his talk by saying, “The Amish not only make quilts for their homes, to give others, or to sell, but they often donate quilts to be auctioned at local benefit events to help those in need. It’s a gift of their time, and by giving, a demonstration of their love for others is shown. Owning an Amish quilt has a special meaning, reminding us that since the beginning of our church, we’ve been taught the same priorities: God first and family second.”

Lamar picked up one of the quilts on display. “This one I designed myself. I call it, ‘Pebbles on the beach.’”

“That’s beautiful,” Phyllis said as Lamar brought it closer to the table. “I’ve always enjoyed living near the water, and I guess that’s a good thing, since my husband fishes for a living.”

“My wife has a few other quilts she’d like to show you,” Lamar said.

Emma stood, and with Lamar’s help, held up the first quilt. “Here’s another pattern that reflects the beauty of the ocean. It’s called, ‘Ocean Waves,’” she explained.

“I really like that one.” Kim smiled. “My dog, Maddie, loves to frolic in the waves.”

“What kind of dog do you have?” B.J. questioned.

“Maddie is a German shepherd, and I think she loves the beach as much as I do.” Kim chuckled, her laugh lines deepening. “Her favorite thing is chasing seagulls, but she also enjoys prancing through the waves and playing fetch with whatever I throw her.”

Everyone smiled. Everyone but Erika, that is. She just sat with her arms folded, looking bored with it all.

“What’s that pattern called?” Jennifer asked, pointing to a quilt Emma had draped over a wooden rack.

Emma smiled. It was good to see her students taking an interest in the quilts. “That one is the dahlia pattern. As you can see, it has a three-dimensional effect from the gathered petals surrounding the center of each star-shaped flower.”

“I think I’d like to try painting that quilt,” B.J. said. “I like the unusual design and muted fall colors.”

“Now that Lamar has explained the history of Amish quilts, and we’ve shown you several quilt designs, I’ll explain what we’re going to do with the quilted wall hangings you’ll be learning to make.” Emma motioned to the bolts of material stacked on the table. “As you can see, I have lots of fabric to choose from, and I always ask my students to begin with a simple star pattern for their first project.”

Noreen frowned. “I thought we were going to learn how to make a full-sized quilt. I want one to put on my bed.”

“You need to become well-acquainted with the basics of quilting first,” Lamar said.

“That’s right,” Emma agreed. “By the time you finish these classes, you’ll know the basics of quilting, so you should be able to make a larger quilt if you want. Of course, you may use whatever colored material you like for your wall hangings, which will make each of them distinct.” She held up a smaller quilt with various shades of green. “I wanted to show you what your quilted wall hangings will look like when they’re done. You’ll begin today by choosing the colors you want and then cutting out the log cabin squares and the points for the star.”

“Before we do that, why don’t we take a break for some of the tasty cookies Emma made this morning?” Lamar suggested. “When we’re finishing eating, everyone can choose their material and cut out the patterned pieces.”