Scandal (25 page)

"Whoops, the doors are open. Here they come."

I watched as several of Magda's friends read the info on our quilt. Some were surprised to
learn of her and Sam. A couple were quietly disapproving, and whispered, "Not married. I just don't
think what she's doing is right. So soon." But most demanded to meet this Sampson person, and
congratulated them. She ran the gauntlet of the town's thoughts with few scratches. No
scandal.

The morning's biggest source of excitement was Lena. Most people who came in were
looking for quilts, but an enthusiastic number of them were looking for "That woman, Lena."

I must have had a look of authority because one of them, a sweet young thing with dyed,
bright red hair, wearing a black tee covered with sequins and holey jeans with crazy quilt patches
came up to me and asked, "Could you tell me where Lena's quilts are? Is she here?"

"Sure. Follow me." I took Dan's hand to lead us through the crowd to where a line had
formed in front of her quilts.

From our place a row over I could hear what they were saying.

"Can you believe?"

"She killed her friend's husband, you know."

"Don't forget the bear!"

"In self-defense. The man, not the bear."

"Lethal Lena."

"When will she come in?" Apparently none of them realized they had already seen her at
the door.

I decided to warn the women at the cash table about what was going on. Heads began to
turn as Lena's name began to sound above the crowd noise. I looked to where the buzz was loudest
just as Lena and Big Juan strolled into the room, arms linked.

They were wrapped up in each other, and didn't notice the attention they were drawing.
She led Juan to the first row of quilts, which happened to be where Dan and I were standing. She
took a moment from her absorption with Juan to say hello to us, then went back to the reason she'd
brought him here, to show him the finer points about quilting. She pulled one out to show him the
stitching.

I realized she wasn't aware that the crowd was closing around them when I heard her say,
"Here, count these. Mariah has a deft hand, no fewer than ten stitches to an inch, ever. We put her
right here in the first row. She and I are the only ones to do all our stitching by hand--well at least
sewing together the quilt sandwich. Remember what I told you, how it's not a quilt if it doesn't have
the three layers?"

He nodded, as if he was hanging onto her every word.

The attention of the crowd was beginning to alarm me. Lena let go of the quilt to put her
hand in Juan's, still talking as they edged on to the next piece.

"...unless it's an Art Quilt. We have different qualifications, there."

I moved with the crowd, right behind the red haired girl who was so close to Lena that she
was mashed against her back. Juan gave Red Hair a
Back off
look while Lena said, "Excuse
me," to her, and gave her a small push.

Turning back to Juan she went on. "Now this one is by my dear Magda. See how cleverly
she has matched and contrasted the colors? This is called Log Cabin." She put an arm out to stop
Red Hair and her friends who were crushed so close that Lena and Juan could barely move. "It's an
old fashioned pattern with several variations on how it's put together."

I was finally close enough to reach over and tap Lena on the shoulder. She looked up and
saw me waving my hand to show her the crowd closing in on them. She said to him, "Fans, Big.
Look, you've gathered a crowd."

His chest puffed up. "It's usual. Comes with the territory." He turned to the man nearest
him. "I'd prefer to not give autographs right now, I'm with my lady."

The guy gave him a funny look. "I don't know who you are. I just want to talk to her."

"Me? Whatever for?" Lena was clearly baffled and stared at him, her eyes big.

"If you'd just sign this I'd appreciate it." He held out a small autograph album and a
pen.

I could only stand and watch, astounded.

She shrank closer to Juan, "Whatever for? Are you crazy?"

One of the women behind her said, "No, honey. We just appreciate you. You're a hero."

"What?"

"I read about you in the paper." She held out a page of newsprint, pointed at a photo of
Lena coming from the courthouse with her lawyer. "The way you took care of that man who was
attacking you. That took courage. I'm sure you weren't the first one he's tried to hurt."

Another woman said, "The whole story's on the Internet. You took care of that bear, too.
Nobody better mess with you." She pulled a notebook from her purse. "Could I have your
autograph, too?"

Lena clung to Juan's arm. "I don't think so. I mean, that's kind of you to want me to sign
your little book, but, you're mistaken. I'm not a hero."

"But you are." A third woman stepped close, causing Lena to clutch Juan's arm tighter.

Juan instantly became her Protector. "Back off, people! You're scaring her."

The man was still holding out his album, open to an empty page. "I don't think she scares
easily. Won't hurt her to sign my book."

I saw the crowd surge with him as he took a step toward her.

"Hey! Didn't you hear me? I said 'Back off!'" Juan's hand shot up, flat palm out. He shoved at
the guy's shoulder.

The autograph book flew one way, the pen the other. The man stumbled backwards,
banged into the woman close behind him. She crashed sideways into Sam and Dan, who'd just
walked up. Sam grabbed onto a pole for support and it held long enough for him and the woman to
gain their feet, then it went over. Dan grabbed at it, but too late. The pole, which was supporting a
whole row of quilts, fell.

The room went still. That got the attention of the Guild women. Gretchen was first there.
She steadied Sam. "Now look here." She glared at the crowd, and then at the pile of color and fabric
on the floor. "See what you've done!"

Sam stepped out of her grasp, "No problem. I'm okay."

"It's these crazed fans of my sweet one," Big Juan growled. "They tried pushing her around.
Won't happen while I'm here."

Gretchen wasn't listening. "Gotta get these up." She took hold of the pole that had taken the
quilts to the floor. "Come on, you men. Be of use here, I can't do this by myself."

Other Guild members were bumping into each other, flustered. I saw Mariah pick up a quilt,
look around, and holding tight, refuse to let go when one of the men tried to take it from her. Her
white-haired sister rescued a different quilt, when someone grabbed its other end. In the tugging it
fell to the floor. Someone shrieked, "You stepped on my quilt!"

Dan's voice cut through the chaos. "Okay, folks, let's get a plan here. Sam, you down at this
end, on this pole. Juan, you at the support on the other end. You--" He pointed at the man who'd lost
his autograph book, and set off the whole debacle. "What's your name?"

"Carl."

"Carl, you get in the middle here, grab this pole. You ladies space yourselves along the
sides, opposite each other. And you Lodge guys." Some men from the VFW had joined the party
"Grab hold. These quilts are heavy."

We all followed his orders, mostly with a minimum of fuss.

"Good. Now, when I say lift, everybody lift. Got that?"

Juan started to lift.

"No, Juan, wait until I say, 'Lift!'" Lena had placed herself near Juan, I stood opposite her. I
noticed her fans were close by, eyes gleaming while they watched their heroine.

What an opportunity, almost better than an autograph.

All of us bent over, ready.

A light flashed.

I looked up and there was Len. His radar was deadly. I resisted the impulse to let go of my
hold on the pole and snatch the camera away from him.

He must have seen my anger, because he pointed the camera right at me and snapped off
another shot.

I glared at him but didn't let go.

"Now! Lift!" As we all lifted Dan came to our end and helped Juan set his pole upright. One
of the men from the Lodge did the same at the other end, while Carl stayed steady with his center
support. Other people moved in and adjusted the quilts so that all were even.

"All right!" Dan stepped back.

People began to clap.

He laughed. "Hey, we all get by with a little help from our friends, right?"

The men shook hands all around, except Len who stayed off to the side, taking pictures.
Juan and Carl dropped their macho stance now that they had worked in unison.

It was obvious to me that Len didn't feel a part of the team. He didn't know what to do with
his feelings, so he used his camera as a shield. I almost felt sorry for him.

As we walked away from the scene of the excitement, I remembered the initial reason I'd
been interested in the Willamina Quilt Show, and told Dan. "There's a special quilt I must see, that
Judy has made. Of Cannon Beach. She told me about it at the quilting bee. A smaller version of one I
saw at Magda's studio."

I'd learned at the quilting bee who'd made it. Judy. I found her at the pay table, and asked
her where it was.

"I'll show you. Magda told me your aunt's story and that you saw my larger 'Haystack' at
her studio. This came out of that one. It's an art piece."

When we got to the side wall where it hung, I stood stunned. An appliqué piece
about three feet square. A mix of images sewn onto a back piece of brown that made a frame. The
scene depicted in fabric and embroidery was the interior of a cabin with log walls. On a simple chair
sat a woman with her back to us, looking out a window at Haystack Rock. It could have been
Sophie.

The tag showed the title:
At Peace
. Beside the title tag hung the round medallion of a
blue ribbon winner: Best of Show. The price was three hundred dollars.

I'd been driven by this mystery quilt to start the journey I was now on. "It's perfect. I have
to have it. Consider it sold. Thank you."

Puzzled at my thanks, she answered, "I'm glad you like it, so, sure. It's yours. But let me
thank you."

It had been a long morning. Dan and I left to eat at a local church advertising lunch. We had
soup and sandwiches, cinnamon rolls, all handmade and served by the church women. Then we
walked and drove the whole of the Art Tour, signing up at every shop or venue, hoping to win a
prize. We got back just before Len's talk at two. I wouldn't miss it.

He'd set up the framed-in-glass parka on an easel. He had a good audience, including Sam
and Magda. We sat in the chairs they'd saved for us. I thought I saw the woman who had been in his
car this morning in the front row, but since I'd only seen the top of her head, not her face, I wasn't
sure. The crowd got too big for the seating, and while someone was bringing in more chairs Len
began his speech.

"The Inuit--Eskimos, to you..." He went on about their hunting culture, and how they had
expanded to the sea. "They invented the kayak to get them onto the ocean where they could
harpoon the big fish, seals, walrus, whales for life sustaining blubber. Beyond calamari, or
tenderized clams in butter sauce."

A few people laughed politely. "But, if the water of the Arctic, or Bering Sea splashed them
they would freeze to death in minutes. So, the women made this protection, a Kamleika, cut from
many pieces of seal or walrus intestine, finishing the overlapping seams with hundreds--thousands,
of tiny stitches. Waterproof. The hunter put it on over his warm parka. The bottom of the jacket
flared to a wide, finished hem.

"Now, for the genius. The kayak had a skin covering that was wide and loose around the
cockpit. When he was in, his wife stitched him into his kayak, joining the hem of his Kamleika to the
wide skirt of the cockpit. Her stitches made the waterproof seal. Brilliant.

"True life and death stitching. Any questions?"

From a man in front, "Where did you get this Kamleika? You're not an Eskimo."

"My wife's sister married into a tribe up there and when we were visiting one of the men
gave it to me. Someday I'll give it to a museum."

A woman in the back asked, "How'd you learn about all this?"

"Honey, there's lots of information on the Internet. Parkas like this are in several museums.
Plus, the man who gave it to me shared some of it."

He looked over the crowd, as if seeking more questions. He was looking toward one side
when he suddenly appeared spooked. His eyes opened wide and his head reared up.

If I hadn't been looking at him I wouldn't have seen his reaction, because it all happened so
quickly.

He took the frame from the easel, set it on the floor. "All the time I have now, folks. Thanks
for listening." He stashed the easel under a nearby table, picked up the frame, and left, followed by
the girl friend.

I heard someone say, "And just when I had something to ask him."

Marge came up with a woman I didn't know. "Annie, I want you to meet Katie Heap. You
two have something in common. Katie, this is Annie who's been asking us about your T-Bird."

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure, Annie. You want to know about my 'Bird, or Thunderbirds,
in general?"

"Yours. I understand you're a friend of Len's?"

"Bolder?"

"Yes."

"I'm a friend of Len's wife, Linda. Len comes with the deal, but we're not particularly
friends."

"She's his ex-wife."

"She's his wife."

My head was reeling. "So he lets you borrow his car?"

"This is a confusing conversation. It's not his car, it's mine. Who are you?"

"Well I used to be a friend of Len's. An old friend. I met him again at the State Fair. Later he
gave me a ride in his Thunderbird."

"His car? The 'Bird?" She repeated, "That's my car. I have another one so I loaned it to him
while he was at the Fair, selling his book."

"He was also showing his quilt."

"I didn't know he had any of his quilts at the Fair."

"The same one is here, in the back. He's also been taking pictures, and he just gave a talk on
the Kamleika that he brought to display. But he left rather quickly."