Authors: Judith Pella
Defiantly, as if she were actually threatening her mother, Maggie said, “I’ll do a nine-patch.”
“You most certainly will not!” Mama said unequivocally. “You can do better than that, and you will.”
“She could have done better if she hadn’t put it off,” Ellie said.
Maggie picked up the pincushion to throw at her sister’s smug face.
“Don’t you dare!” warned Mama, who seemed never to miss anything.
Reluctantly Maggie put down the pincushion, and her goal became to choose something that looked spectacular but was incredibly easy to make—if such a pattern existed. She also wanted to make sure that whatever she chose already had templates made. She’d never get it done if she had to make those, as well. She looked for nearly an hour—what with several distractions pulling her away. Eventually she narrowed it down to two: a Grape Basket pattern that was pieced with all triangles, which were irksome to make but within her ability to do so, and a Grandmother’s Fan pattern. Setting the curved fan into the background piece would be tricky, but she thought she could manage it. She’d always liked the various basket blocks best, so the decision was hard to make.
When Mama came to the kitchen table where Maggie was sitting with a dozen patterns spread out in front of her, she pointed at the fan. “I think you should do that.I heard both Louise and Polly are making baskets.”
So, with Mama having made the decision for her, Maggie went to the scrap box. And there she still was a couple of hours later, surrounded by piles of scraps, not that she had spent the whole time looking for fabric. She’d been distracted by the seed catalog, had raided the cookie jar, then spent some time searching for a hair ribbon she remembered she’d lost. Another time she jumped up thinking she heard a bird hit a window. She went outside to see if the poor animal was in the dirt, which it wasn’t, but their dog Gypsy came up with a stick, wanting to play. Maggie tossed the stick a few times until Gypsy lost interest. Maggie hurried back into the house when she thought she heard Mama coming. I t turned out to be just her imagination.
Mama and Ellie had gone to the garden to work. Mama was giving Maggie incredible leeway in her chores, a fact that drew more than one dirty look from Ellie. After all, Ellie had made a beautiful block and finished it in plenty of time while not missing any of her chores.
“Oh, Maggie! What a mess!” groaned Mama when she finally did come in to punch down the bread dough.
“I can’t find enough blues,” Maggie complained. She was going to use a muslin background but wanted to make each fan blade a different blue. She needed seven, but just when she thought she’d found the right scrap, it was too small. Mama’s scraps were just that—leftovers from other quilt projects or salvageable pieces from old clothes and such. Any larger lengths of fabric, a few store-bought goods or some of the finer bits from old clothes, were put on a separate shelf and touched only at one’s peril.
Mama washed the garden dirt from her hands and then went to where Maggie was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Mama knelt down beside her. “Here’s an idea,” she said. “Do the third blade in from each side in a dark navy and you won’t need so many different blues. I ’ll give you a bit from the material we bought at the dry goods store for the sashing. Then it will tie the block to the sashing. Doing that, you’ll only need five blues.”
Maggie had the five blues. “That would work.”I t amazed her how in five minutes her mother could solve a problem that had stymied Maggie for hours.
“Could I have a little more of the navy for the fan base?” she asked.
“Then it would be lost in the sashing. Why not make the fan float on the background?”
When it came to quilting, Mama could be ever so resourceful and creative.
“I’ll cut what you need off the sashing material.L uckily I have it here, since I bought it.”
“You bought new material?” This was a rare occurrence for Mama, as well as for the other ladies, and Maggie was again impressed as to how special the Circle considered the quilt.
“Everyone will reimburse me.I t won’t even put a dent in our egg money,” Mama said, taking a length of dark blue material from a shelf in the cupboard where her sewing things were stored. She cut from this a thin strip that would be exactly enough for the two blades. “Now, take care with this, Maggie. It’s all I can spare.”
Maggie had never used new fabric in a quilt, so it was with great reverence that she took possession of the small bit of material.
“Before you get started on that, we need your help in the garden,” Mama said. “Clean up the rest of the scraps. Put the pieces you’re going to use in my sewing basket, then come outside.”
For once, to show her appreciation of her mother’s patience, she did as she was told. But spending the rest of the afternoon in the garden put her seriously behind in her work on the block. She didn’t get back to it until after supper. When the table was cleared, she laid out her scraps of material and the templates, got a pencil from Dad’s writing desk, and began the task of tracing the templates onto the material. She tried to be so careful in her work that the concentration began to give her a headache, made worse when remembering she had only tomorrow to stitch the thing. Her eyes were getting sore and blurry from the dim light of the kerosene lamp. She glanced toward her sister, who was stitching another quilt top she’d put aside when they started the welcome quilt. Ellie was pointedly ignoring her.
Maggie was near to tears by the time she finished cutting out her pieces. “Mama,” she whined, “I’ll never finish this tomorrow!”
“Ellie and I will do your chores for you—”
“Mama!” Ellie protested. “That’s not fair!”
“Your sister is doing her best.”
“She wouldn’t be in this pickle if she hadn’t put it off to the last minute. She’ll never learn her lesson,” Ellie argued in a most high-and-mighty tone.
“I don’t need anyone’s help!” snapped Maggie. “I’ll get the block done and do my chores, as well. So there!”
Dad, who was sitting by the hearth sharpening his belt knife, grunted. Mama shot him a meaningful glance, though Maggie wasn’t sure what it meant until Dad quietly said, “I told you this quilt was going to cause trouble.”
“It is not the quilt,” Mama countered. “It is these two girls who have forgotten their Christian values. ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you!’ ” She swung her gaze toward Ellie.
Ellie never liked to be reminded that she was less than the most perfect Christian around. She seemed to shrink visibly. “I guess I can do a few extra chores,” she mumbled.
“That’s better,” Mama said.
Maggie wanted to insist that she could do it all but knew better than anyone just what hogwash that was.
The next day, after pricking her finger a hundred times and ripping out stitches more often than she felt necessary because Mama kept saying she could do better, she finished the block. She decided she was going to rename it The Stupid Fan. Mama turned the block over and examined the back with a critical eye. When she pronounced it acceptable, Maggie knew she’d meant “acceptable for Maggie.” The stitches were not of a uniform size, and in a couple of places she’d veered off her guideline, causing a bit of a pucker. With great magnanimity Mama said of those less-than-perfect places, “They’ll quilt out.”
Maggie breathed a sigh of relief that she was not going to have to rip out any more stitches.
Ellie complimented the block, too, and sounded sincere. She was not really a vindictive girl. Maggie said she would do extra chores to make up for the last two days.
Mama laid the three blocks out on the table. She had done the Bowtie pattern, since the quilt was for a man.I t had a very simple look, but Maggie knew its set-in seams could be difficult, though not for Mama, of course. I t was obvious she had purposely chosen a plain block so that Ellie’s would shine all that much more. Which it did. The house really looked like the Newcomb house, with whitewashed sides and everything. The sky was blue, and there were two birds done in a darker blue. The willow tree was breathtaking. She’d done the trunk in several different shades of brown, so it had depth and looked real. Ellie had appliquéd green leaves on the tree, at least a dozen of the tiny things. Had Maggie done the scene, she would have made it in winter in order to eliminate the extra work of the leaves. Ellie had even put in the swing that hung from one of the stout branches. The final touch was a tiny version of their dog, Gypsy, prancing across the green grass.If this were a contest, Maggie thought Ellie would win hands down.
Ellie seemed to sense what her sister was thinking. “Mama, it’s too much, isn’t it?I went too far.I didn’t think I was so vainglorious.I shouldn’t have used green. That makes it stand out all the more.”
“Don’t you worry, Ellie,” Mama cooed. “We never said only blue was to be used. Just that it had to be the predominant color. And your sky is definitely the main color. I happen to know Mary Renolds is making a brown and green Tree ofL ife against a blue background. Now, don’t worry so.”
The next day the three Newcomb women took the wagon into Maintown, only a mile away, to the schoolhouse. Today, the Sewing Circle was welcoming all female church members who had wanted to participate in making the quilt. There were a couple of women who were not stitchers but had been invited to make blocks with the help of the Sewing Circle. That brought the grand total of blocks to twenty, which would make a very ample-sized bed quilt.
When the Newcombs arrived, the place was already a buzz of activity, but no one had revealed their blocks yet because Mrs. Stoddard wanted to wait until everyone had come. As usual, the last to get there were Florence Parker and her daughter, Mabel.
“I’m sorry I’m’m late,” Mrs. Parker said breathlessly. “My new sewing machine was delivered yesterday, and I thought I would just fiddle with it a little this morning. Before I knew it, Mabel was telling me it was time to go!”
Maggie’s gaze shot to her mother. Mama had been talking with Mrs. Donnelly, and suddenly her face froze. Maggie knew her mother had been saving extra egg money for a year in order to buy a sewing machine. I t just didn’t seem right that Mrs. Parker should get a new machine when she had a perfectly good one already. Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Renolds were the only ladies in the Circle with machines.
Maggie immediately wondered what Mrs. Parker would do with her old machine. Maybe Mama could buy that one?
All the ladies were asking Mrs. Parker about her machine. She invited them to visit anytime to try it out. Maggie didn’t think she was too awfully boastful until Mama asked what she would do with the old machine. Mama’s voice sounded funny as she asked, kind of strained and forced.
“Mabel has her eye on it,” Mrs. Parker said. “But—oh, Ada, I forgot. You’ve been saving your egg money ever so long to buy a machine, haven’t you? Maybe you could afford one now if you bought an old machine like mine.”
“I’m not interested in your old machine,” Mama said, her voice as frosty as her expression. She looked as if she was about to say more when Mrs. Donnelly broke in.
“Oh, Ada, can you help me a minute with this . . . uh . . . with my block? One of the seams is puckered.” Mrs. Donnelly nudged Mama over to a table where her sewing basket sat.
There was a little more conversation about the machine, but Mama added no more. She and Mrs. Donnelly looked absorbed in fixing Mrs. Donnelly’s block, but they were also whispering to each other. Maggie had the feeling Mrs. Donnelly was soothing Mama. Maggie remembered that when Mrs. Renolds got her machine, Mama was as happy for her as she would have been for herself. Mama couldn’t be jealous, then.I t must just be that old rivalry between her and Mrs. Parker.
For once Maggie was glad when Mrs. Stoddard took charge and steered the meeting to its purpose.
“Now for the moment we have all been waiting for!” she announced. “Let’s reveal our blocks.”
She had pushed aside all the desks and placed a large old quilt, made of a faded blue cotton, on the floor. I n an orderly fashion the women filed up and laid their blocks in rows on the quilt. Maggie was surprised at how beautiful the whole was and how uniform. No one block, not even Ellie’s, stuck out like a sore thumb.
After giving all the blocks a quick scan, Maggie began concentrating on the blocks made by her friends. Sarah’s was a Rose of Sharon, a pattern of laid-on work with four long stems and four shorter stems radiating out from a center flower shape, each stem also having a flower at the end. Her stems and leaves were green, the flowers in different shades of blue. The work was unquestionably fine, but Maggie had seen this pattern done before to better effect using red for the flowers. However, Maggie well knew she was not one to be critical.
Kendra Wallard, Nessa’s daughter, who was between Ellie and Maggie in age, had also done a block, but since Boyd was seriously courting her, she wasn’t interested in snagging the minister. She had made a L eMoyne Star, with each of the points alternating dark and light blue.I ris Fergus made a Bear’s Paw or, using the Quaker name, the Hand of Friendship. Finally, there was Mabel’s block. Surprisingly, she had not done laid-on work, which was probably the best way to set a block apart and emphasize a quilter’s skill. Her pattern, Sunburst, was probably the most difficult one of all, for it was a small sunburst inside a larger one, and each sunburst had two layers of points radiating from the center circle. There had to be thirty points in the smaller one alone!
Well, no question. Mabel won the prize and probably the minister, as well. Everyone else realized this, too, and were congratulating her. Maggie told herself that quilts don’t win husbands. But Mabel had more than fine stitching in her favor. Though not exactly beautiful, she had a way about her that made you forget her large nose and somewhat crooked teeth. She had beautiful auburn hair that was always fixed stylishly. And she never wore anything that wasn’t store bought. Which made it even more of an irony that Mrs. Parker had the best sewing machine around—she never sewed clothing. The Parkers were half owners of the sawmill, so they had money. Still, Florence Parker always looked frumpy and threadbare and their house was unkempt. All the family’s riches must have gone directly to Mabel’s closet. Not to mention that she had a brother in a fancy Eastern college.