The Healing Quilt (5 page)

Kim smacked her lips, while patting her stomach. “That sounds good to me. I’m always ready for a snack.”

Everyone but Erika nodded. The girl sat with a scowl on her face.

Dear Lord, please show me how to get through to her
, Emma prayed.
I believe this young girl needs to know how much You love and care for her, and maybe that will be revealed to her during one of our classes
.

W
hen Emma and Lamar returned from the kitchen with a plate of cookies and a pot of coffee, B.J.’s stomach growled. He hadn’t felt up to eating breakfast, but now he was actually hungry.

When he’d been taking chemo, he’d had no appetite, and often got sick to his stomach. Then there was the hair loss and the unrelenting fatigue. He could handle being bald, since many men his age shared that condition. But between being nauseous and feeling so tired he could barely cross a room, he had concluded that the treatments were worse than the cancer itself.

Then B.J. had been told that his cancer was beginning to spread. He’d decided to quit chemo and live out the rest of his life trying natural alternative treatments that would hopefully strengthen his immune system. He knew taking supplements and eating right probably wouldn’t cure his illness, but they might make him feel better and possibly give him a little more time on earth. Even if they didn’t, it was his body and his life, and he planned to die
his
way, without family members or doctors telling him what to do.

“These are really good cookies. What do you call them?” Kim asked, bumping B.J.’s arm as she reached for another one from the plate in the center of the table. “Oops! Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. No harm done,” he replied.

“They’re raisin molasses,” Emma said, pushing a stray piece of gray hair back under her head covering. “They were my favorite cookies when I was a girl, and my mother taught me to make them as soon as I was old enough to learn how to cook.”

“Well, they get my vote,” B.J. said, licking his lips. “Haven’t had cookies this good since my wife died five years ago.”

“So you’re a widower?” Noreen’s question sounded more like a statement. Then she quickly added, “Isn’t that a coincidence? I lost my husband five years ago, too.”

“Sorry for your loss,” B.J. mumbled around another cookie.

“What did your wife die from?” Jennifer asked.

B.J. clenched his fingers. He didn’t want to talk about this, especially with people he’d only met. “She had a heart attack a few days after her fifty-fifth birthday.”

“My husband, Ben, died on the operating table,” Noreen said, dropping her gaze to the table. “He, too, had a heart attack, but the doctors couldn’t save him.”

Feeling the need for a change of subject, and realizing that all eyes and ears seemed to be focused on him, B.J. looked at Lamar and said, “Would you mind if I stayed a few minutes after class and photographed some of your quilts?”

“The Amish don’t like people to take their picture,” Erika spoke up, glaring at B.J. as though he had said something horrible.

“I wouldn’t be taking their picture,” B.J. countered. “Only the quilts.”

“I have no problem with that,” Lamar said. “And just to be clear, here in Pinecraft some Amish, especially the younger ones who haven’t joined the church, don’t seem to mind if someone snaps their picture, although most won’t actually pose for a photo.”

Erika folded her arms. “Well, I think it’s rude to take pictures of people who are different than you.”

“We’re not really so different,” Emma spoke up. “We just dress modestly and live a different lifestyle than some people.” She motioned to her plain green dress.

B.J. wondered if Erika’s remark had more to do with herself than Emma or Lamar. He had a feeling the young woman felt self-conscious about being in that wheelchair. He was tempted to ask how she’d lost the use of her legs but thought better of it. Just as he didn’t want to talk about his cancer or his wife’s death, Erika might not like talking about her disability.

“If everyone has finished their refreshments, I think we should get back to our quilting lesson,” Emma said. “I’ll demonstrate how to use a template, and you can begin by marking the design on your pieces of fabric, using dressmaker’s chalk or a pencil. When that’s done, you’ll need to cut out your patterns.”

“What will we do after that?” Phyllis questioned.

“In the next step, called piecing, you will stitch the patterned pieces together onto the quilt top, which will also need to be cut,” Emma explained. “Now, the quilt top is usually pieced by machine. Then later, the backing, batting, and quilt top will be layered, put into a frame, and quilted by hand. Of course, we won’t do all that in one day. It will be spread out over the course of six weeks.”

“Now using the templates,” Emma continued, “I’d like you to begin marking the patterned pieces on the back of your fabric. When you’re done, you’ll need to cut out the pieces of material you’ll be working with.” Emma smiled. “Next week, you can sew the pieces you’ve cut.”

Perspiration beaded on B.J.’s forehead. Maybe he was in over his head. If he tried using one of the sewing machines, he’d probably end up making a fool of himself.

“What will we do during our last class?” Kim asked.

B.J. rolled his eyes. Talk about skipping ahead! Couldn’t the little blond take the classes one at a time without having to know what was coming next?

“You’ll put the binding on, and then your wall hangings will be done,” Lamar responded.

Everyone worked silently until it was time to go home. When Erika’s father came to pick her up, he asked how things had gone, and B.J. overheard Erika whisper, “I’m not coming back next week.”

It’s just as well
, B.J. thought.
She obviously doesn’t want to learn how to quilt
. B.J. reached for his camera bag.
I, on the other hand, want to know everything I can about quilts
.

When Phyllis arrived home that afternoon, she was surprised to see her husband lying in the hammock on their porch.

“What are you doing home so early?” she asked, taking a seat in the wicker chair across from him.

“The motor on my boat gave out. Had to have the boat towed to shore, and now it’s outta commission till the motor can either be fixed or replaced.” Mike groaned. “This is not what I need right now.”

Phyllis’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh Mike, if it can’t be repaired, can we afford a new motor?”

“Doesn’t matter. I need the motor to run the boat, and I need the boat to take people out fishing. The boat will be dry-docked for several weeks, so I may as well make the best of it.” He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Haven’t you been saying I work too hard and you wanted us to take a vacation?”

She pursed her lips. “If you’re out of work, we can’t afford a vacation. Besides, I’ve already paid for the quilting class, and I’m committed to finishing it.”

“If we’re not gonna take a vacation, then I guess I’ll get caught up on my sleep, ’cause I’ve been pretty tired lately.” Mike closed his eyes and clasped his hands behind his head. “Wake me when supper’s ready.”

Phyllis groaned inwardly. Mike finally had some time off, and now they couldn’t afford to go anywhere. She wished she hadn’t signed up for the quilting classes.
Well, I’ve already paid for the class, and it’ll only tie me up one day a week
, she reminded herself.
Maybe the rest of the week Mike and I can find something enjoyable to do that doesn’t cost any money. If nothing else, we can spend some time on the beach
.

“How’d the job hunting go?” Jennifer asked just as her husband, Randy, said, “How’d the quilting class go?”

She giggled. “Should I answer your question, or do you want to go first?”

Randy bent to kiss her, his light brown hair falling forward and brushing her cheek. “Your face is glowing, Jen. Does that mean you had a good time today?”

“Oh yes,” she said sincerely. “Emma and Lamar Miller are the nicest couple, and they have the cutest little house. I even saw an orange tree in their backyard.” She touched his arm. “Oh, and I learned a lot about the history of Amish quilts.”

“Is that all? I thought you went there to make a quilt.”

“We did begin working on our wall hangings, but Lamar thought it would be good if we understood a bit about the background of Amish quilts.” Jennifer flipped the ends of her hair over her shoulder and started pulling it up to make a ponytail. “It was really quite interesting—almost as intriguing as the people who are taking the class with me.”

“What do you mean?” Randy asked, taking a seat on the couch.

She tucked in beside him, securing the rubber band around her ponytail. “Well, besides me, there were three other women: Kim, Phyllis, and Noreen. Then there was a teenage girl in a wheelchair. Her name is Erika, and she had a negative attitude. There was also a man who’s an artist. I’m not sure what his real name is, but he introduced himself as B.J.”

Randy’s mouth opened slightly. “I’m surprised a guy would want to learn how to quilt.”

“He said he’s interested in painting a picture of a quilt, and he even stayed after class to photograph a few that Emma and Lamar had on display.”

“What about the girl in the wheelchair?” Randy questioned. “What was she doin’ there?”

“She said her dad made her come, and it was obvious that she didn’t want to be there.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Randy shook his head. “Most teenagers have other things they’d rather be doin’ besides sitting in a room with a bunch of women and one weird man, listening to the history of quilts.”

“B.J. isn’t weird,” Jennifer said protectively, although she had no idea why she felt the need to defend a man she barely knew. “If I had to wager a guess, I’d say that the reason Erika’s dad made her take the class is because he wants her to learn something creative.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Randy reached for Jennifer’s hand. “Now, in answer to your question about the job hunting, I had no luck at all today. None of the restaurants in Sarasota need a cook right now. I’m thinkin’ I may have to start looking in Bradenton or one of the other towns nearby.”

“Maybe we should go back to Pennsylvania and move in with one of our folks,” she suggested.

He shook his head vigorously. “No way! I like the warm weather here, and I sure don’t miss those January temperatures in Pennsylvania. Besides, we moved to Sarasota for a new start and to be on our own, and one way or the other, we’re gonna make it work.”

M
onday evening, B.J. sat in the living room of the small cottage he’d rented near the beach, looking at the pictures he’d taken of Lamar and Emma’s quilts after class on Saturday. He was pleased with how the photos had turned out and was even more impressed with the vivid shades and unusual designs. After B.J had taken the photos, he’d stayed awhile longer, visiting with Lamar and Emma. They’d even invited him to stay for lunch.

What a nice couple
, B.J. thought. They had a welcoming home that reminded him of his grandparent’s house, where tempting aromas used to drift from the kitchen whenever Grandma had spent the day baking.

B.J. had considered sharing his health situation with the Millers during lunch but decided there wasn’t much point to that, since they couldn’t do anything to change his situation. They’d probably pity him, and B.J. didn’t want that. Sympathy wouldn’t change the fact that he was dying, nor would it make him feel better. He just wanted to make whatever time he had left seem as normal as possible.

B.J.’s cell phone rang, pulling his thoughts aside. He checked the caller ID. It was one of his daughters. “Hey, Jill. What’s up?”

“Hi, Dad. I’m calling to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine. How are you and the family?”

“We’re all good. Kenny and Diane miss their grandpa, though. When are you coming home?”

B.J. chuckled. “I’ve only been here a few days, and the quilt class I’m taking is for six weeks, so…”

“You’re taking a quilt class?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not the kind of thing you’d expect me to do, huh?”

“It sure isn’t. What made you decide to take up quilting, Dad?”