Scandal (6 page)

Tommy says I'm fanciful.

My husband, Tommy, is a charmer, and so busy. He built the table to give himself a place to
work on his gear when he wanted to be near me, but after a while he couldn't stand the quilting
anymore. I couldn't get anything done with him in the house and he was just about nuts with my
fabric everywhere and the occasional stray needle in a chair.

He hated that. Well, who can blame him? So we came up with two solutions, my sewing
studio here in the woods, and his boat.

He's older than I, enough that he's completely retired and can fish as much as he wants.
Okay with me.

He's always checked in with me every month, but I haven't heard from him for more than
two. My calls to his cell went to voice mail for a while, but now it doesn't connect at all. So he's
either gone to Mexico and got himself a Mamacita or gone to Davy Jones. I say "was" because I think
the boat has gone down. The Coast Guard hasn't reported any sunken boats, or sightings of
anything like oil slicks or debris.

Been near a year since I've seen him. Doesn't make that much difference, sorry to say, in
my life. He's either here or not. I've learned to take care of myself. But yes, I'm lonely.
Companionship would be nice.

Magda said, "Before we sit, I have something I want to show you." We followed her to a
large room, a sewing studio. On the far side was a tall window, illuminating the opposite wall.
Sitting by that wall was a quilt on a simple frame. An old quilt was laid over the top of it, to protect it
I supposed, from dust and the wide beam of light. The light brightened the opposite and side walls
that were lined with shelves filled with bolts of cloth, full of color and bold print. Tiny flowered
print. Stripes of all colors and widths. Solid shades of the rainbow and the artist's palate.

"I've never seen so much material in somebody's house before!"

Magda gave me a funny look. "It's fabric."

"What?"

"The material. It's 'fabric'."

I wanted to say, 'Well, la de da. Forgive me for being so old fashioned,' but I realized from
her smiling expression that she was explaining, not mocking.

Sam walked over to the frame. "Do you mind if I look?" He began to lift the old quilt off the
one being worked on.

Into the room strode a woman with a cup in her right hand. It was Sausage Rolls Hair, from
the Fair. She shoved his hand away from the frame. "Whoa! Wait a minute there. Unhand my
quilt."

I couldn't tell if she was mad or joking.

"Lena! It's okay. He's not hurting anything." Magda said.

Sam bristled. "I wasn't gonna hurt the damn thing. Just wanted a look. Who are you? Is this
yours?"

Magda said, "Let him see it. He's not going to hurt Judy's quilt." To Sam and me she said,
"This is Lena. We share the shop, we work here, together. It belongs to me." She hesitated. "To
Tommy and me."

"If you say so." Lena set the cup down on a small table nearby and began peeling the old
quilt off the frame.

"I'm confused. Magda, you said it's Judy's quilt, but you..." I nodded to Lena. "...say it's
yours?"

"Lena is quilting Judy's beach quilt here for the show. Lena, I met Annie and Sam at the
Fair."

Lena held the old quilt rolled in her arms. "You," she said to me, "I remember from the Fair.
You were awfully interested in a Cannon Beach quilt. Somebody tell you about it?"

I laughed. "No. Remember, I heard Magda talking about it with one of your other quilters?
That's why I came over to talk to you."

Magda took the old quilt from Lena and motioned her into a chair, "Sam, here, is from
Cannon Beach. That's why Annie wanted to know about it."

"There's more to it than that," I said, while Sam stood staring at the quilt on the frame.

"It's The Rock!" He reached out to touch it.

Lena reached to push his hand away. "Don't you know better than to touch a quilt?"

He jerked his hand away, saying, "Don't touch a quilt? How you gonna put it on your bed?
What if the cat jumps on the bed, or, heaven forbid, your dog?" He was winding up. Lena and he
were like electric hot wires, flashing off each other. I thought of the effect she'd had on Len.

Len. I wanted to call him. But I didn't have a reason why. Not one that sounded plausible.
Not one that wouldn't sound like I was fishing for more than just a chat.

"I don't have a dog. My cat is a Hairless Sphinx. I don't have hair in my house, and I
certainly don't have good quilts lying about on the bed. If you were to come to my house, which isn't
likely, you'd see my Specials on the walls. Or rolled and wrapped in old sheets for storage, as should
be."

"A Hairless
what
? Maybe, lady, you need a dog. Your attitude could be useful. You
could take that stick outa your butt and throw it."

Magda stepped between them. "My Lord, it's a quilt, not a gauntlet.

"Sam, take a look at this. Lena is the best hand quilter I know. Check out these stitches." She
motioned to me. "Annie, come here."

Only part of the quilt face showed. Most of the top and the last bit of bottom were rolled
under so that Lena was working on two and a half feet of quilt. The top of Haystack Rock was rolled
under but the base with the tide halfway around it was still recognizable as one my favorite places
in the world to walk and breathe and listen to the birds squawk at each other fighting over bits of
clam or crab.

"Sam, you could stand to learn a thing or two and become humble, at least about what you
don't know. Quilt humble."

We both looked to where she was pointing to the stitching around the base of the Rock.
Tiny stitches.

"See, count them." She pulled a small ruler from the deep pocket at the hem of her shirt and
laid it on the material--uh, fabric. "Twelve stitches to the inch. Perfectly outlining the base of the
rock where it rises from the sand, suggesting that the water is moving."

We looked. The stitches were so small as to be nearly invisible, pulling just enough at the
cloth to bring suggestion of movement to the piece.

Sam reached to trace the stitching, but Magda's hand stopped his, gently, as Lena said,
"Don't touch!" He pulled it back but without the anger that her remark alone might have
spurred.

"It's nice. You do good work. I gotta admit it." Sam said.

All I could think was, how does she do this?

At Sam's compliment Lena's feathers laid right back down again. Her moods appeared to
change quickly.

"Oh, it's nothing. You could do it, if you wanted."

"And I don't!" he said, laughing.

Magda said, "Would you like some apple pie? I made one up this morning from that tree out
there. That dang bear didn't get them all. He sure tore up the ground, though, where the kids next
door moved the table. They got some apples for their mom and left a tubful for me, so I made a
pie."

"Sounds good to me," said Sam, "Miss Prickly here could use some sweetening."

Before Lena could answer, Magda took his hand and he followed her out of the room.
"Coming?" she said over her shoulder at us.

"I want to look at this. Be right there. Lena, how do you do this?"

"Carefully, one stitch at a time. But it's not so hard, I've been doing this since I was a child.
My grandma lived with us and she taught me. She was the best quilter in the state!"

"Looks to me like you must be that, now."

"I do my best." she said.

"Could you teach me?" What was I saying?

"Not me. But that's why you're here to see Magda, isn't it? She's a natural at it. If you got
something to learn about quilting, Magda's your teacher."

Is that why I'm here? Or am I parting romantic waters for Sam?

We sat around the kitchen. The apple pie was possibly the best I've ever eaten.

Magda said, "When I was growing up I made pies for my mom's restaurant downtown. It
seemed to be the only talent I had. These are fresh apples and a tad overripe. I let myself go on the
sugar with a good dollop of nutmeg and cinnamon mixed with butter. The sugar, spices and juice
mix to make a lovely sludge. Of course I can't tell you the secret of the crust." She rolled her eyes to
the garbage where she'd tossed the pre-made pie crust wrapper, and let out that laugh again that
gurgled up from her tummy.

Sam joined her. I was laughing with them when Lena came in.

"Oh, whew!" Magda slowed her laughter.

Sam said, "Oh, boy! Nothing I like better'n a woman who knows how to cook old fashioned.
Here, sourpuss." He pushed out the chair beside him, "This pie will sweeten you up."

Lena glared at him but set herself down. She cut a slice of pie and slid it onto the dessert
plate Magda handed her.

"Coffee, Lena? Fresh from the Thermos. Made it this morning." Lena started to rise.

Sam put his hand on her shoulder and got up instead. "I can do that. I'd like some too.
Cups?"

Magda pointed to the open cupboard and he took down two cups. "Annie?"

I wanted tea so Magda put on the teakettle.

"Did you say a bear'd been at the apples this morning?" Sam said.

"Boy, howdy, yes! I think I just missed him, musta run off when I slammed the back door.
The pile he left for me was still steaming."

"Oh, Mag, we're eating here!" said Lena, but the pie was doing its work. The corners of her
mouth were twitching upwards. She took another bite of pie, "Pretty good pie even though it's
almost too sweet for me."

I swear she simpered at Sam. What was with this woman? Five minutes ago she was glaring
at him.

The whistle of the tea kettle interrupted this sudden coziness. Magda poured hot water into
the teapot, let it steep for a few minutes, and filled my cup.

Sam had watched Magda's movements in the tea process. "Could we go out and look at
your orchard? I'd like to see where the bear was, and to have a gander at your yard."

I thought that he'd also like to be alone with Magda.

"Just a minute. I'm almost done here." Lena shifted in her chair as if she was ready to get
up.

"You just take a rest here, we'll be right back." When she threw a questioning look at him,
he winked. "Oh, Sweet Pea, I'm sure you don't want to see bear shit."

"Oh. Yeah." She settled back in her chair. "Not finished with my coffee yet, anyways. You
two be careful where you step. I noticed earlier that the boys used the table to pick the apples. That
will need to be moved back to where it was."

They didn't hear the last part because they were going out the back door. Magda was
laughing at Sam, who'd said something about the bear fertilizing the lawn.

While Sam and Magda walked around the back yard, we could hear their muted voices
through the screen of the open kitchen window, see Sam leaning against the table while he watched
Magda pick up apples and put them in the tub the boys had used.

Lena and I cleared the pie things, and she took me into the master bedroom that I'd seen on
the way to the ocean quilt. I thought I knew what the large contraption in the middle of the room
was. "Is this another quilting frame?"

"Yes, a longarm, for machine quilting."

"Machine quilting? I've heard of it, but this is huge. Is this yours or Magda's?"

She had just answered, "Magda's," when Sam and Magda came in. She asked him, "Did you
put the picnic table back where it belonged?"

Magda answered her, "Oh, we forgot. It's okay the way it is. Oh, good. Annie, you've seen
what we'll probably end up doing your quilt on."

Lena said to herself, "No matter. I'll do it myself. Later."

"Huh?" was all I could say.

"Sam told me about you finding a quilt of his mother's that you need to finish."

I continued to stare at her, and then snapped my mouth shut, opening it only to say,
"Sam!"

"He's out in the car, bringing it in so we can get started on the plan, see what we will need
to do to finish it."

I didn't know we had the quilt with us. That Sam can be a sneaky sort.

"News to me. Why am I always the last to know? And I don't think this is going to happen. I
don't quilt." I heard the car door slam and lickity split Sam was back in the room with us, holding a
large paper tote with "Cannon Beach Groceries" printed on it. The very one he'd been using for his
dirty clothes.

"Here we are." He was smiling ear to ear, pleased with himself. "A surprise for you, Annie,
my girl. Magda's gonna help us."

"Us?"

"Yah, you'll finish the quilt."

"And you're going to do what?"

"Watch. Encourage. Be happy when I see Mom's quilt done."

Magda said, "You could enter it in our quilt show." Those two were off and running.

"Have you two been drinking out there under the apple tree? I thought there was a process
involved to get hard cider!"

They ignored me. "Here, Sammy..."

"Sammy?"

"Put it here on this table, let's have a look."

He upended the tote onto the table, spilling out the pieces of velvet and corduroy. Magda
began squaring them up, sorting the material into like piles. "Nice. Oh this will be interesting to
make up." She looked at me, surely noting my twisted mouth. "You are going to have such fun. And
with these heavy fabrics you will be better off machine quilting it."

"Me? Machine quilt it?"

She was ignoring me. "Oh, I like these flowered prints. Corduroy. Haven't seen such for
years. You know, fabric runs in fads, like clothing styles."

"Before anybody quilts this you must teach me." I spread my hands over the spilled cloth,
suddenly feeling proprietary over the pieces.

"Don't worry, honey, I'll do it with you. Sammy here can help us."

I remembered my one sewing class in high school Home Ec and my frustration as the
teacher had, over and over, said, "Annie, you must rip that out."

I'd made an apron and a blouse and a simple dress. All had been so painful with the amount
of ripping out and re-sewing that I'd not sewn much since. At Christmas I get inspired to make
simple gifts, pillowcases and placemats and such, but I'd found someone who I could pay to do our
mending and Roger had been okay with it.