The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club - 02 - The Tattered Quilt (32 page)

Terry grimaced as he watched Cheryl leave her car parked in Emma’s driveway and get into Blaine’s SUV. It was hard to see her go off with Blaine when he wished she was leaving with him. He consoled himself with the thought that he’d see Cheryl tomorrow at church and then they’d spend the afternoon together. Right now he needed to head over to Selma’s and take a look under her house. After that, he was anxious to take a ride on his Harley. He’d been struggling with an urge to smoke all morning and hoped that getting out on the open road might clear his head. Some days, Terry wondered if he’d ever lick his smoking habit, but because of Cheryl, he had a reason to conquer his addiction. She was a positive influence on his life in more ways than one. He actually found himself saying a little prayer that it would all work out.

C
HAPTER
28

A
fter Emma and Lamar finished eating their lunch, she returned to her quilting room to work on the quilt for Cheryl’s grandma. Taking a seat in front of her quilting frame, she studied the colorful quilt. A lump formed in her throat as she thought about the gift of love Cheryl wanted to bestow on her ailing grandmother. Emma hoped she could get it done in time for Cheryl to take to Oregon for her grandmother’s birthday.
I wish I could be there to see the look of surprise on the old woman’s face when Cheryl presents her with the quilt
, she thought.
If Oregon wasn’t so far away, I’d ask if I could accompany Cheryl to the nursing home where her grandmother lives
.

“Are you sure you should be working on that quilt right now?” Lamar asked when he entered the room.

Emma peered at him over the top of her glasses. “What do you mean?”

“You look tired. I think you’ve been doing too much lately.” Lamar grabbed a chair, pulled it close to Emma, and took a seat. “I don’t want you to get sick or end up with a case of the shingles like you had a year ago in the spring.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Emma said sweetly, “but I’m just fine. If I get tired, I’ll go take a nap.”

“I have a better idea,” Lamar said. “Why don’t the two of us take a ride to Lake Shipshewana? We can either walk around for a bit or just sit on a bench and watch people fish. It’s a bit chilly outside, but not too cold yet, so it should be just right for a little relaxation together and a chance for some fresh air.”

“Wouldn’t you rather go alone, so you can fish?” she asked, knowing how much her husband enjoyed his time at the lake and the opportunity to bring home his catch for supper.

“That’d be nice, but I’ve made plans to go fishing with Blaine after class next week, so I can wait till then.” Lamar leaned over and kissed Emma’s cheek. “I’d like to spend this afternoon with you. It’s a good day to be out among nature.”

Emma smiled. “A trip to the lake does sound nice. I’ll set the quilt aside for now, and return to it after we get back. Why don’t I fix a thermos of hot chocolate and take along some of those kichlin I baked yesterday?”

Lamar smacked his lips. “That sounds
wunderbaar.”

As Terry lay on his back under Selma’s house, he noticed a large rip in the foil-wrapped ductwork. He shined his flashlight around, wondering how the ductwork had gotten torn. Then he noticed several paw prints on the ground. They didn’t look like those made by a cat, so he figured a family of raccoons might have been under the house and torn the ductwork open for warmth. Of course, Selma’s cat had probably taken advantage of it, too, and found a way to get inside.

Terry crawled back out, went into Selma’s house, and told her what he’d found.

“Can it be fixed?” she asked, scrunching up her face with a look of despair.

“Yeah, but I’ll have to run to the hardware store to get some duct tape and aluminum wrap.”

“I hate to put you to all that trouble,” she said.

He shook his head. “It’s no trouble, and it won’t take me long. I’ll just hop on my cycle and be back in a flash.”

Selma opened her purse and handed Terry a fifty-dollar bill. “Will this be enough?”

“Yeah, that’s plenty. I’ll bring back the change.”

“While you’re gone, I’ll fix some lunch,” Selma offered.

“There’s no need to do that,” Terry said, shaking his head. “Don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“It won’t be any trouble at all, and it’s the least I can do to repay your kindness,” she insisted.

Terry shrugged. “Okay, if you insist.”

When Terry returned from the hardware store, he went back under the house and fixed the torn ductwork while Selma scurried around the kitchen, setting the table and putting things out to make ham-and cheese sandwiches. It wasn’t often she had anyone to share a meal with in her home, so she looked forward to visiting with Terry as they ate lunch together.

When Terry returned to the house a short time later, she motioned to the table. “Like I promised, I have everything ready.”

Terry grabbed the end of his ponytail and twisted it around his fingers a few times as he leaned against the counter in her kitchen. “I really don’t need any payment for doing a good deed, but since I am kinda hungry, I’ll be glad to take you up on that offer.”

Selma smiled and gestured to the hallway outside of the kitchen. “You can wash up in the bathroom at the end of the hall.”

Terry gave a nod and hurried down the hall.

Selma went to the refrigerator and took out mustard, mayonnaise, and pickles. By the time she’d placed them on the table and added a bag of potato chips, Terry was back.

“That’s a nice picture of you I saw sitting on the bookshelf just inside the living room,” Terry said. “How long ago was it taken?”

“That’s actually my daughter, Cora, and the photo was taken some time ago,” Selma said. “Would you like a bowl of soup to go with the sandwiches? I have some leftover chicken noodle soup in the refrigerator I can heat up.”

“Thanks anyway, but a sandwich will be plenty for me.” He grinned and pointed to the chips. “I might have some of those, too.”

“Take all the chips you want.” Selma gestured to the chair at the head of the table. “Have a seat, and I’ll get you something to drink. Would you like coffee, milk, or apple cider? I don’t have any soda pop.”

“A glass of milk would be great,” Terry replied, taking a seat at the table.

Selma poured Terry’s milk and a glass of cider for herself. Then she took a seat across from him and opened the bag of chips. While they ate, they discussed the quilting class.

“I think everyone’s wall hanging but mine will turn out good.” Terry moaned. “I stink at sewing.”

“It takes practice and patience,” Selma said.

“Yeah, well, I probably won’t sew another thing after the classes are done.” Terry reached for his glass of milk and took a drink. “Don’t even know what I’m gonna do with the wall hanging.”

“Maybe you could give it to someone—your parents, perhaps?”

Terry shook his head. “Nope. My folks split up a few months ago, and I doubt either of ’em would want the wall hanging.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m glad my husband stayed true to me right up till the day he died.” Selma sighed. “I wish I could say the same for my daughter, though.”

“Did she separate from her husband?” Terry asked.

“Cora’s not married. She left home several years ago, and I haven’t seen her since my husband died.”

“That really stinks.” Terry took a bite of sandwich. “I can sorta relate to what you said, though. I have two sisters—Faye and Jenny—but rarely see ’em.”

“Do they live out of state?” Selma questioned, adding a few chips to the inside of her sandwich. It was the way she’d been eating them since she was a girl.

“Naw. Faye lives in LaGrange, and Jenny lives in Goshen. They’re too busy with their own lives to pay much attention to me.” Terry’s forehead wrinkled. “’Course they don’t care for the way I look, so that might be part of the reason they don’t come around much.”

“Maybe it’s your long hair your sisters don’t appreciate.”

“My hair ain’t that long.” Terry gave his ponytail a flip. “It’s only shoulder-length when I’m wearing it down.”

“Have you ever considered cutting it?”

“Never gave it much thought.” Terry grabbed a few more chips. “Why, do you think I should?”

Selma shrugged. “I don’t know; maybe.” Truthfully, she’d never been fond of long hair on a man. Anything past the ears seemed too long to her. But then she was a bit old-fashioned. At least that was what Cora had always said.

“Maybe I will cut my hair someday,” Terry said, reaching for another piece of bread, “but right now I like it this way.”

“What about Cheryl? Does she like the way you wear your hair?”

Terry blinked a couple of times. “Uh—I’m not sure. What made you ask?”

Selma lifted her gaze toward the ceiling. “It’s fairly obvious that you’re smitten with her.”

“So tell me about your daughter,” Terry said. He obviously didn’t want to talk about Cheryl. “How come she doesn’t make contact with you?”

“We don’t see things the same way.” Selma’s voice dropped to a near whisper. Whenever she looked at Cora’s picture, her beautiful brown eyes seemed to bore right through her. But Selma couldn’t get rid of the photo. It was all she had to remind her of the little girl who used to live here, whom she still loved but couldn’t reach. “Cora has never liked me telling her what to do,” she explained. “So she takes the easy road and avoids me.”

“Guess we have something in common then,” Terry said. “We both have family members who want nothing to do with us.”