Beyond the Storm: Quilts of Love Series (21 page)

Abigail shivered and glanced at Bob Ray and then at Justin. They were listening to Selma with rapt attention. As if Justin felt her watching, he glanced up and smiled.

“The day they died, the roof had collapsed in one of the tunnels and injured several of the guys. Word went out that they needed rescue help, and Robert and Paul were the first to volunteer. What they hadn’t heard was that a small explosion had caused the accident. They were also unaware that methane gas had been building up in an adjoining section. If Paul and Robert had stayed topside, only the two men crushed in the roof collapse would have died that day. But, because of some communication glitches, twenty-eight men, all eager to dig out their co-workers, perished that day in an explosion that could have—should have—been avoided if the company officials had taken care of all of the safety violations on time. And if communication had been clearer.”

“I’m so sorry, Aunt Selma,” Abigail murmured as she stared at the quilt spread on the table with a new appreciation.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Me, too. Anyway, when the big explosion was ignited by some high voltage electrical equipment, it sent a ball of fire rolling through the tunnels, looking for a way to the surface. Paul and Robert didn’t race away from the danger, but toward it, because I am told, miners have a creed; when trouble happens, you save your brothers first and then you save the mine.”

“Man,” Justin shook his head. “That’s rough.”

“It was even worse than losing everything back in the tornado of ’66. Because then, I just lost stuff. In the mining accident—” Selma turned her liquid gaze on Robbie, “—I lost my baby.”

“I’d have died,” Bob Ray blurted out and cuddled his son close.

“I was pretty close,” Selma said. “By this time in my life, I was what you’d call a church lady. Thought I had the tiger by the tail so to speak. My act was together.” Selma pulled a comical face and rolled her eyes. “You could say I was sure I was so blessed because I was such a good Christian. Then, Paul died and it felt like the rug had been yanked out from under me again.”

Abigail’s chair creaked as she leaned back, but that and the ticking of the wall clock were the only sounds. Selma’s voice held them all captive, rapt, waiting for her to continue. Even young Robbie sat quietly in his father’s lap and listened.

“I was devastated and angry. I wondered how God could let something like that happen to me.”

Abigail felt color flare in her cheeks.

“I used to be so glib,” Selma said with a heavy sigh. “I had never experienced this kind of pain . . . because I was a good person. I went to church. I tithed. I prayed for Paul every day. I was the best wife and mother I knew how to be. And yet, my beautiful son was taken from me, before he ever had a chance to find a bride and give me grandchildren.

“And so I went into a deep depression,” to Abigail she said, “—maybe even worse than after the tornado—” and then turned her gaze to the quilt. “My faith was seriously tested. For a long time, I couldn’t even set foot in a church. I couldn’t see what good it would do. After all, I’d done everything right and still I suffered. My dear Clyde was the one who helped me see. He started asking questions. And he was good at talking things out. And the more he got to know the families of the men who’d died in the mining accident the more he began to understand how Paul had affected their lives.”

Hand’s trembling with age and emotion, Selma smoothed the fabric beneath her fingertips. “So, I made this quilt here, after he died. As a matter of fact, it’s the whole reason I got interested in quilting. I remember thinking that tragedy is like a quilt before it is put together. Fragmented, chaotic, in pieces. Putting the pieces of the quilt together helped me make sense of the devastation. And the loss.”

Selma pointed to the center of the quilt. “This square represents Paul. This piece here? It’s from his LKM jacket. See the name, embroidered there?” Smiling, she traced the words,
Paul Tully
with her fingertips. “And this was from his high school basketball jersey. That part is a little bit of his number. And here . . . some of his favorite pajama bottoms.”

Moving around to stand behind Heather, Selma pointed out the square next to Paul’s. “This square here? Bob Ray’s dad. See?
Robert Lathrop
. This is his LKM shirt. And this is a bit of satin from his mother—Rayne’s—wedding gown. And this is a piece of Bob Ray’s baby blanket.” A big smile lit her eyes and smoothed the wrinkles from her lips. “Bob Ray’s daddy is in heaven with Paul today, because Paul invited Robert to Sunday school, when they were kids, and Robert gave his heart to Jesus.”

Selma shuffled over to stand behind Elsa. Resting one hand on the girl’s shoulder, she smoothed her silky hair and pointed with the other.

“And this square here? It’s for Paul’s good friend, Adam. When they were kids, Adam fell out of the back of a moving pickup truck and went into a coma. See? Here is some of the hospital gown. Paul sat with him everyday in the hospital. Never gave up on Adam. Read to him, prayed over him. Eventually, Adam was released from the hospital, but he was never the same. But Paul was steadfast and hung in there with Adam through physical therapy and beyond. When Adam finally died of a brain hemorrhage some years later, Paul was there for his parents. A surrogate son for them. These are their squares.”

As Selma spoke, goose bumps roared up the left side of Abigail’s body and down the right. Paul’s life had such a powerful reach. Even today, as Selma told his story to the next generations, she could see the ripple effect. Absently, she watched as Robbie’s eyes began to slide closed.

“Each of these squares, around Paul’s center square, represents a person who was profoundly affected by my son. And changed, for the better, because of his life. God set him down here on this earth for a reason. And for a season.”

Selma picked up the cover to Danny’s Bible and smoothed it between her hands.

“Clyde finally helped me understand that a season is just that. A period of time. And how long that time lasts is not up to us. But up to the one who put us here in the first place. Paul’s life, as I see it here, was perfect. He, like the apostle Paul of the New Testament, fought the good fight. And, at the end of the race, I am convinced that he stood before the Lord and heard, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant.’ ” Selma held up the scrap from the cover to Danny’s Bible.

“And, I know Danny has, too.”

T
hat evening, after the sun had set, everyone gathered around the kitchen table. Selma reached for Abigail’s hand on one side and Guadalupe’s on the other and, in her spunky style, requested that they all join her in giving thanks.

“Father, it is such a blessing to have these precious faces seated around my kitchen table bringing so much life back into this house. It does my heart good to enjoy the fellowship of old family,” she squeezed Abigail’s hand, “and new. Thank You for Your gracious bounty and the tender mercy You have bestowed on us all. In Your name—” Before she could sum up and say Amen, Bob Ray jumped in.

“And, Lord, hi there, it’s me, Bob Ray. I just want to give thanks for answering my prayer and keeping Heather and Robbie s . . . safe,” his voice cracked with emotion, “even though I have been kind of a loser. But I want to be a good husband and man like my father was, but I need help, and I’m really sorry . . . and I want to change—”

While he was praying, Abigail peeked over at Bob Ray’s face. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, and Heather was smiling to beat the band. Abigail felt her throat close at their sweet expressions. Sensing someone else’s gaze, she darted a glance at Justin. He, too, was grinning and shot her a quick wink before he bowed his head again.

When Bob Ray was done, Heather started in. “And thank You, Lord, for Ms. Selma Louise Tully. Because without her, none of us would be together at all. Please bless her generous heart.” Next, Elsa’s sweet young voice offered prayers for Nick’s family and for Brooke and Isuzu and their family. And, while Guadalupe haltingly remembered those who’d lost loved ones, Abigail cried. Their bittersweet prayers and their affection for each other touched her to the marrow.

So much liquid poured from her face, Abigail was beginning to fear she’d eventually just float away. By the final ‘Amen’ she was nothing but a soggy, gooey puddle of pudding. Her sinuses were killing her, but the load on her mind was lightening.

Something was happening in her heart. Something agonizing. Miserable. And more than just the ravages of the storm. Something she hadn’t even been aware she needed to address was there, festering, clamoring for attention. And whatever it was, she suspected it was going to take a while to work through. Abigail pressed her aunt’s precious hand—joints swollen with arthritis, skin spotted and paper-thin—to her lips. The kiss was warm and lavender-scented, wet with hot tears and oh, so healing. Lips trembling, she returned Selma’s sympathetic smile. Selma understood.

“Grab a plate and eat up, because I have a quilting project that needs to be accomplished in a timely manner,” Selma announced to the group. “Right after dinner, I want us to begin work on Danny’s quilt. And I know some of you are probably thinking,” she glanced at Abigail, “why on earth should we stop and make a quilt now? And my answer to that is because you need to begin putting the pieces together.”

For the first time in her life, Abigail finally understood.

That evening, over a hearty plate of Selma’s famous beef stroganoff, they all discussed the day’s events. Bob Ray and Justin told of the horrors and triumphs of digging people out from the rubble, and they each found scraps to add to the quilt. Assisting a neighborhood rescue crew, they’d uncovered a mother and her weeks old infant who—aside from being shaken up and hungry—were fine. Another heroic digging effort yielded three generations hiding in a wine cellar, all fine. There were other finds, some tragic, some with life-threatening injury. Justin and Bob Ray had worked feverishly together, carrying the wounded on a pallet they’d fashioned from a door and some long boards.

As they relived the day, Abigail was touched by the respect and affection that Bob Ray was developing for Justin. It was obvious in the way the young man regarded him with awe and regaled them with tales of Justin’s bravery and quick thinking.

“I never would have thought of carrying that one guy out on the door like that, but Justin ripped it off the frame and used a rock, man,
biff, biff, biff
and straightened out some nails and busted some boards and cobbled the thing together, it was awesome!” He held his hand up to high-five Justin, who was shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “We loaded that guy up and he was on his
way
, man!”

“Yeah, yeah. Give it a rest,” Justin said, and waved his palms at Bob Ray.

“Aww, dude is bashful! But seriously, guys, he was a superhero today. I was just the sidekick. Did Superman have a sidekick? I guess I was like Robin, man.”

Heather threw back her head and laughed and Bob Ray grinned at her in delight. Their mood was contagious, and Abigail felt a reprieve from the day’s depression bubble up into her throat and spread to her lips in a smile.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed, Abigail was enveloped in the warm, wonderful bosom of family. How had she not seen what she’d been missing, living alone and working her life away? The laughter, the camaraderie, the empathy and concern was so sweet . . . no wonder Selma had wanted a big family. Abigail angled a quick peek at Justin’s smiling face as he razzed Bob Ray. She couldn’t think of a single place in the whole world she’d rather be at the moment than crowded around Selma’s battle scarred table with each of these people. Not even time spent in her beautiful salon or in her breezy apartment or in LA with a high-paying client could trump what was happening right here. The odd thought stunned her as she glanced from face to sweet face. Strange how things that had seemed so important only a week ago paled in light of what they’d all just gone through. This, she was beginning to see, was what was important.

Relationship. With each other.

And—she acknowledged the niggling thought—God.

The raucous noises of a family docked in safe harbor continued while Guadalupe whipped up a batch of triple chocolate brownies. They ate those with ice cream after the last of the stroganoff had been polished off.

“How is Jen?” Justin was the one to finally put voice to the question that had been haunting them all. He glanced at Heather before his gaze settled on Abigail.

Abigail and Heather exchanged sober glances. “She’s . . . coping.” Abigail filled her chest with air and slowly let it escape. “I think she’s doing a whole lot better than I would be in her shoes. What do you think, Heather?”

“I agree.” Heather stood and went to the sink for a cloth to wipe Robbie’s face and hands of the noodles and applesauce he’d smeared on himself and his high chair tray. “We couldn’t stay too long because her entire family was starting to arrive and trying to get at her, but she made time for us.”

“Uh-oh!” Robbie shouted and hung over his high chair, staring after the spoon he’d just dropped.

Abigail picked up the spoon and handed it to Robbie to pound on his tray. She spread a napkin out to quiet his racket. “She was amazing. Exhausted and grieving, but there was also some joy, I think.”

“Mm. And she said some things that were so . . .” Heather rinsed the cloth with steaming hot water and then squeezed it out in the sink, “. . . so profound. Jen has always been a rock for me. And when we went in today,” she darted a quick smile at Abigail, “I thought we’d be a rock for her, you know? But she ended up cheering
us
up. Can you believe that? And Bob Ray,” Heather paused and pressed the cloth to her mouth for a second, using it to stave off the tears, “she doesn’t blame us.”

Bob Ray stood and, quickly crossing the room, swept Heather into his arms, and rocking her back and forth, buried his face in her neck.

“She said it wasn’t our fault.” Her words were muffled by sorrow and the cotton of Bob Ray’s shirt. “It wasn’t our fault . . .”

Abigail swallowed at the lump that surged into her throat as she listened to Heather, remembering the poignant scene of Jen, holding her tiny baby and bravely facing a life without Danny.

“Oh,” Heather said, leaning back in her husband’s strong arms and dabbing her eyes with the washcloth, “and she wants a simple burial as soon as the funeral home can arrange it. They’re swamped now, and it’ll be family only, but she hopes that we’ll all help her plan a really special memorial service for Danny. In a few weeks. You know . . . after the dust has settled around here and everyone can come.”

“Many hands make light work, and the same goes for quilting. That’s why, in the olden days, women would gather together for quilting bees. So you are all now part of my tornado quilting circle.”

“Whoa,” Bob Ray joshed, “I think my biceps just shriveled up and died.”

“Did she say
man
hands make light work?” Justin grinned as the entire household gathered around the kitchen table to help Selma with her project. Behind them, the dishwasher sounded like a monster truck rally, and the smells of pine cleaner radiated from the still damp floor.

“Welcome to the quilting bee, my man.” Justin and Bob Ray tapped their knuckles together across the top of the table. The women all just sat there and rolled their eyes, feigning long-suffering forbearance at their tomfoolery.

“We know you are looking forward to this enriching experience,” Guadalupe deadpanned and eyed each one in turn with a quelling stare.

“I’m here for the party,” Justin said. “Show me the bee and I’ll quilt it.”

“Okay, boys, I’m grateful for your willing hearts. Remember, this is a labor of love for our dear friend, Jen Strohacker.” Selma grabbed a shoebox from tonight’s laundry basket. “Pass these scissors out, if you will, Justin. And, Bob Ray, give everyone one of these pieces of cardstock.”

As the guys did her bidding, Selma began to explain. “I found a pattern for our quilt,” she announced. “I figured since most of you are new to quilting, it should be something simple, and you’ll never believe what I found.” She held up a pattern. “This one is called ‘Storm Signal.’ See how the triangles and squares are light and dark and it sort of resembles a lighthouse beam? That was Danny, don’t you think? Like a beacon. You could always see the light of the Lord just beaming on his face.”

There were murmurs of agreement as everyone inspected the pattern.

“I’ve given each of you a piece of cardstock, printed with the pattern. Go ahead and cut it out and write your names on the back. And, while you are doing that, I want each of you to think about the bits of fabric you want to include in your square. I think this piece,” Selma held up the woven bit that had been part of Danny’s Bible cover, “will be part of the center square and will represent Danny. The surrounding squares will represent the lives that Danny influenced. Kind of like a pebble dropped in calm water, the squares will ripple outward. I have already spoken to several other friends of Dan and Jen’s who want to contribute squares. The fabric that Abby found the night of the storm will be used both in the squares and in the border. I’m hoping to complete the project in time to present it to Jen, from all of us, at the memorial service.”

Brow puckered, Abigail stared at the pattern and thought about all the lives that Danny had touched. This quilt could be huge. But it would be beautiful. She looked up to see the tops of heads as everyone bent over their scissors, and a giggle squeaked from between her lips, surprising her.

“What are you laughing at,” Justin asked, suspiciously.

“This reminds me of kindergarten,” she admitted.

“If we were in kindergarten, I’d have cut my bangs off by now,” Heather said.

“I seem to remember that look,” Bob Ray mused. “It was very sexy.”

The silly conversation continued as they worked. When they’d finished their patterns, Selma showed everyone how to select the colors to best highlight the design. They all sorted through her remnant basket and looked for ideas. Justin got the shirt that he’d worn the night Jen had the baby and cut a big chunk out of the center of the back.