Writing stories
Rosalee’s Quilt-by R
“Is that from one of your old prom dresses?”
“It is. It was Rosalee’s first, though. Since we were the same size, I always got her hand-me-downs.”
It was quiet for a few moments as needles deftly wove an intricate pattern on the quilt top.
“Not that I minded, you know.”
I knew different, though. As the youngest, Lucy had resented being the recipient of our used clothes. I reminded her that she was the prettiest of us, and made those gowns shine like new.
“Well, I don’t know about that.”
I could tell this pleased her.
“I’m amazed Rosalee kept that old trunk Daddy made for her wedding. Every one of the children’s christening gowns was in there. Mamma’s aprons she sewed for herself and Daddy’s handkerchiefs, too. Look at that one.”
Barbara pointed to a red scrap of bandana, worn thin and faded, in the center of the star.
“She’s always been the sentimental one. Me, I can’t see a reason for holding on to the past.”
Barbara had no children to tempt her with the nostalgia of crayon drawings or baby shoes. I supposed this pragmatism might hide deeper feelings she did not want to explore.
“That lace from the gowns sure is pretty around the edges.” Laura spoke softly. Her eyes were big behind her glasses. She nearly had to touch her nose to the quilt to see the lines we’d drawn, but she wanted to be included. We ignored her inconsistent stitches.
I let out a small chuckle. “There’s a piece of that old green apron Mamma had. Remember? There were dishes and such on it with faces that scared the bejeesus out of me.”
“She thought they were cute, though.” Laura said.
Everybody laughed. It was good we could come together like this. Time and distance had robbed us of our old familiarity. I missed it.
“I recognize those.” Lisa pointed to squares in the corners. “Rosalee sewed some little overalls for Henry Jr. when he was two. Embroidered chickens on them.”
“I remember.” Laura’s eyes misted over. “Such a sad thing to lose a child. No one should have to endure that.”
We were all lost to the memory for a few moments, then Barbara commented, “She sure could sew. Just like Mamma. I believe she made all her girls’ school clothes.”
We saw evidence of young girls’ dresses among the scraps forming the star’s points.
“There’s some of Henry Senior’s Hawaiian shirt. How he loved that thing! I believe that was the only real vacation they ever had. Probably the only place outside the state he’d ever been!”
“She should have buried him in it!”
It felt good to laugh. The day was slipping away by the time we were done. Finally, Barbara removed the quilt from the frame and we laid it across the back of the couch.
“Well, girls, shall we go?”
The four of us loaded into her van and drove the few miles to Cedars Senior Care. The head nurse, Annie, called the staff to come see the beautiful lap quilt.
“She made the top herself, years ago.” I told them. “We thought perhaps it would bring some comfort if we finished it for her.
We found Rosalee at the window of her room, gazing at the sunset. Sunsets were one of her favorite things and she rarely missed one. Barbara had made sure the view faced west.
“Hello, Sister.” Barbara laid a hand on Rosalee’s arm. “We brought you something.”
Rosalee looked up at us with a pleasant expression on her face. I laid the quilt on her lap and put her hands on top. Gently, she traced the designs with trembling fingers. A smile came to her lips and, as she settled into her memories, we quietly left, one by one, kissing the top of her head.
