Scandal (5 page)

He pulled over a straight back chair and straddled it. "She never had a wedding ring, you
know. Mom didn't." I thought of his tangled childhood, living with his father, David, David's wife,
Amy, and David's other love, Sophie, Sam's mother. He was only two when Sophie left him to be
raised by Amy and his father. Sam took a deep breath, went back to his tale of fidelity, taking pride, I
think, that he'd been a faithful husband.

"Never even wanted to, though some fine women came to the cabins. Temptations. I know
that a couple, or more, were looking for a fling and..." He trailed off, his arms wrapped around the
back of the chair, his eyes on the quilt, watching me separating the unfinished quilt top from the
ship, making one pile of ship pieces, another of connected and loose squares of cloth.

I'd thought this was a completed top, just not yet finished into a quilt. "Ouch," I yelped and
pulled a pin away from my finger, sucking at the welling of blood.

"Gotcha, did she?" said Sam. "Gone, but not forgotten."

As I continued, carefully, taking the squares apart I found that few of them were sewn
together, leaving more loose ones than I'd thought. To make room, I moved the ship pieces into the
model box, set it on the floor. I spread the quilt pieces on the top.

The deep maroon pieces were velvet, lovely to pet. My fingers massaged the nap.

Sam picked up another piece of velvet, ran his hand back and forth, watching the color
change from dark to light as he flipped the nap, smiling. Sewn to some of the velvets were squares
of light brown corduroy, the same size, printed with small flowers. I made a pile of loose, leftover
squares, wondering if there were enough to finish the top.

In the middle of the bundle was a piece of notebook size paper. On it Aunt Sophie had
drawn the plan for the quilt. "Well! This will help."

"Sure would be nice to see it together," said Sam. He'd picked up the ship and I thought he
meant that. But he put out his free hand and, again, stroked the velvet.

I just stared. How was I to make any order of this mess?

"I'll help you with quilting, if you want," I remembered Magda saying at the fair. I'd said
"No" at the time, being sure I didn't want anything to do with this. Now, I was wondering, just what
would it look like if it was all put together?

I said nothing more to Sam about the quilt, but put him onto setting out the ship pieces on
Roger's work table. "Look, here in this drawer are his glue and modeling things." He was easily
diverted and spent much of the day working on the ship. I was happy that he was doing it, but
watching him handling the pieces was unsettling. I left him to it. It was the next week before I
discovered that Sam had taken it home with him. It was a relief.

I must be out of my mind.
"One of the Willamina quilters said she'd help me put it
together, if I want. In fact, she gave me her number."

Sam looked at me, as if it all seemed simple to him. "So, call her."

"I've got a lot of things to do."

"And all the time in the world." He rolled his eyes. "I'd sure like to see it done," implying
that it was the least I could do for my old cousin.

"Now," he said. "Call her now."

On her answering machine I heard the strong voice I'd first heard behind me in the crush at
the Bug Exhibit. Sam leaned to the phone to listen. "Hello, Magda here. Today I'm at the Fair so if
you leave your name and number, I'll call you back. Meanwhile, keep stitching." Her laugh ended the
message.

At the beep I did as instructed, and said, "I met you at the fair. You wanted to know about
my aunt's Cannon Beach quilt. So call me." Sam glowered at me until I added, "And maybe I want
you to help me with one of her other quilts."

I hung up and said, "Maybe. But don't count on it."

"What a good voice." Sam wasn't referring to mine. There was a light in his eyes that
disturbed me.

"Sam, what's going on?"

"Nothing. I forgot to tell you that Magda stopped by our bugs booth when you weren't
there. We discovered that we knew each other from way back, when Sue and I were doing Sophie's
Cabins. So, we're old friends. That's all."

I considered. "Sam, I think Magda is married." I didn't mention the age difference, and I
didn't know her marital state but I'd seen her plain wedding band. I noticed things like that.

"So?" He stepped back. "Her voice reminds me of Sue. Strong like. Not many women speak
like that. And what if she is married, what's that got to do with me?" He ducked as I passed the
phone close by his ear to smack the receiver into the cradle.

"Sorry," I fibbed. "Just don't be trouble."

"Don't you worry, sweetheart." He laughed. "Frankly, I think we could both use a little spice
in our lives." Whatever did he mean by that?

I spent the rest of the day catching up on laundry, playing with Prince Charming, leaving
Sam to himself. After dinner we watched TV for a while, the cat curled up beside him, then I said,
earlier than usual, "Time for bed. We gotta get up early if I'm to get you to your lady friend by
noon."

"Yes, indeedy. And maybe we'll get a phone call."

While getting ready for bed, I pondered his use of, "We." Was that the royal 'we', or, did
Sam have plans that might embarrass me?

Wednesday morning I woke to the smell of coffee and toast. Above it all floated the aroma
of bacon frying. Bed to bathroom to kitchen. An easy track. My kitchen is U-shaped. At the open end,
below the multi-paned window, is a table. Sam was setting plates as I came in. "What a treat!" I
said.

He went back to the kitchen for the coffeepot and cups. "We'll see if it's fit to eat," he said,
as he came back with a cup in one hand and coffee pot in the other. "Coffee, Madam?"

At my grateful assent he poured a cup.

"Cream, madam?"

"Sam, you are just a little too silly. No." I waved off the offer. "We don't have any
anyway."

"I couldn't find eggs either," he said as he set our plates before us. He had found the almost
empty jar of orange marmalade that I hid from myself, to be used in emergency.

"It appears that you are my emergency." I folded a piece of toast over a couple of the slices
of bacon and bit into the sandwich, alternating with gulps of the coffee.

"Not sure what you mean by that," he said, while putting marmalade on his toast, "but
we've sure enough got urgency, this morning."

I waited. Everything seemed to be right in my world. He kept smearing marmalade onto
every bit of toast surface.

I caved first. "What urgency? The toilet, or the shower? Oh, please, I just can't stand to hear
that anything is leaking. Or worse." It had been a summer of plumbing problems, but I'd had
everything fixed.

He wasn't talking about plumbing.

"Willamina. We're going to Willamina. Today is perfect. Look out the window." He pointed
to the gorgeous scene just beyond the window. A light mist was rising from the river as the cool
water from the mountain met the warm morning air. I slid the bottom part of the window open to
take in the misty breath of the river. It was invigorating, carrying a hint of autumn.

Sam stood up, empty plate and drained cup in his hands. "Whaddaya say?"

I closed the window. He was right, it was perfect weather for a day trip. But I thought he
had other plans. "You want to take a country drive today? You've got your friend Kit to visit,
remember?"

"I've taken care of that, talked to her this morning. We'll visit Kit tomorrow, or Friday, if
you've got the time."

"Oh, heck! I've got more than enough time. Why are you so hot to go to Willamina? "

"Magda's expecting us."

"Expecting us?"

"She said today about noon would be good."

He took my cup and plate, put them in the dishwasher. "So, hop to it. You get your shower
and dressing out of the way."

He closed up the dishwasher. "Why waste time?"

I couldn't believe he'd already talked to her. But he had and he'd scheduled my day. Maybe
bringing him home with me wasn't a good idea. Action, he's always been about action and was
dragging me into his plan.

Funny thing, I was ready to go. The events of the last few days had wakened me. I thought,
if going to see a quilter was exciting, I could increase my thrill--I have Len's number, too.

It didn't take me long to get ready, but Sam was ahead of me. When I opened the car door
he was already in the passenger's seat. He was wearing a blue checked shirt that I'd not seen before,
paired with his khaki pants. His hair was combed, not something we always saw. His silver hair was
his true crowning glory, full and abundant and usually flyaway. Today he was looking spiffy.

"Hey," I said, "You're looking good."

"Oh, you say that to all your old cousins. People always tell me that I'm looking good,
nobody ever says I'm good looking." He settled into his seat, pulled his seat belt snug.

My jeans and thin rust-colored sweater and new tennies looked dowdy beside his glamour.
I'd pulled my hair back into a short braid at my neck.

My reluctance to leave my wooded home was strong as usual, I like to nest once I'm there,
but Sam's nagging got us on our way. By eleven-thirty, temps in the Willamette Valley were
climbing. I had the air-conditioner on until we were past the humps of the Coast Range,
approaching the Willamina turnoff.

"Do ya mind if I turn this off?" Sam's fingers were hovering over the AC switch.

"Heck, no. Open your window."

He did. "Oh, gosh. This feels better. Okay, slow down, you're gonna make a left right up
here."

I'd seen the sign. I'd forgot how irritating a back seat driver can be, no less so just because
he's sitting right beside you.

As I drove into Willamina I felt like I had dropped back in time. Just beyond the turn were
several huge piles of logs, bark still attached, and beyond that about twenty empty log trucks side
by side, their log beds doubled back in park position, like grasshopper legs.

Sam had been quiet since he'd seen the frown on my face when he'd directed me where to
turn. "That's where Dave bought their first truck, got a good deal on it, too." Seeing the trucks
reminded me of my ride on a log truck with my Uncle Ray. "We were coming down from the far hills
below Mt. Hood where the snows drain into the Clackamas, to a mill in Estacada.

"Whew-ee! That was quite the ride. I was nine or ten. I'd been out in the woods with my
best friend, Dorothy, where her dad and his crew were building roads in the backcountry. He was a
Cat driver.

"But that ramming ride down the mountain, twisting around the trees alongside that gravel
road, with Uncle Ray blowing his horn before corners, but not slowing down any--I was holding
onto my teeth the whole way, let me tell you!"

As I was speaking, we passed a lumber mill, surrounded by stacks of logs, with red
numbers painted on their ends. Beyond them were tall, neat piles of cut lumber, ready for shipping.
And hovering over it all was an orange mountain of sawdust.

"Now that's some sawdust!" said Sam. "Did I ever tell you how Sue grew up with a sawdust
furnace in her basement. She'd fill the hopper before going to school in the morning and all day feel
the sawdust itching down her neck."

Willamina's a true lumber town. The restaurants all have a lumberjack theme to them. No
tree-hugging signs here to suggest a green park from which to take a life-restoring walk in the
forest. I laughed to myself.

"Where do I turn, now?"

"You're gonna like this. Take a left here, we're going into the country."

"We're already in the country."

"Straight ahead. At this next fork, now, turn right. Uphill here. Past these black and white
cows, just like she said. Keep going. Then these horses. Whoa! Slow down here."

I wasn't going fast.

"Yup, here's Quilter's Lane. 'Spect she named it herself, you think?"

Speaking of gravel roads, some crazy man on a Cat had carved this one out of the forest.
Sliding off the road and getting stuck out here with an old man was not in my plan. Who would
push? I was getting heartburn. "Sam, in the glove box. Get me a Tums."

He found them, fished out a couple. "This do ya?" I ignored him beyond a 'thanks', chomped
it down. A little ways on I was reassured to feel the gravel become solid macadam. We came around
a little bend in the road and there it was, a Hansel and Gretel house. Or the Witch's--but made of
wood. Gingerbread would be goo in Oregon rain. Cute as could be. Flowerboxes below the two front
windows, overflowing with nasturtiums. Yellow mums filled the flowerbeds at the skirt of the
house, with blue and yellow violas at their base.

I parked in front of the garage. Out the front door came Magda, smiling broadly, barefooted
and glorious in a yellow blouse that reached to her hips. Under that she wore close-fitting tight
black stretch pants with thin black lace at the hem.

"Well, howdy," she hollered, "I wondered if you'd find the place. Hi, Sam. Miss Annie, isn't
it? Glad you brought her."

"Oh, heck, Maggie, your directions did the trick."

"Maggie"?

His step was firm as he took her outstretched hand, gripping it longer than I thought need
be.

She let go of his hand and reached out to give me a gentle hug.

"Come on in! We'll have some tea and talk. It's been a long time."

With that we walked into a quilter's paradise.

I love my studio. It's a place of refuge where any interruptions are planned by me. Once in a
while something happens outside, like the bear at the apple tree last night, but that I'm tickled by. I
expect some wild animal behavior up here. It's one of the reasons I picked this place.

This morning I saw mess around the tree, mushed apple remains and the ground torn up
where he sharpened his claws on the trunk. I expected to see bear butt marks on the seat of the
picnic bench where he'd sat while he finished off an apple. The image of the bear leaning back
against the table with his legs crossed, flipping the core into the trees, made me grin.