Arlene Sachitano - Quilt As Desired

"The tractor that is supposed to pull Momma's casket up here broke down,” she said loudly enough for the group to hear. “They are going to have to carry her up.” She plopped in her chair in a distinctly unladylike manner.

The crowd was growing restless by the time Harriet spotted the casket, carried by Avanell's sons, her brother and three men from the funeral home. The chaplain followed, and began a prayer as soon as the casket was in place at the front of the group of mourners.

Avanell was lowered into the ground, and family members each rose and one by one threw either a single rose or a handful of dirt on the casket. Harriet saw Mavis dab at her eyes with a tissue. She looked away and caught a brief flash of motion at the tree line.

She turned and surveyed it. Misty stood beside the trunk of a large maple.

"I'm going to go find something to drink,” Harriet said and rattled the bottle of pain pills that were in her pocket. She turned toward the church, and Darcy drifted over to a group of women Harriet didn't recognize.

Harriet circled back and moved silently toward the path and the tree beyond.

"Misty,” she whispered. Then, when she was away from the group, she said it again louder. “Misty? It's okay if you came to Avanell's funeral. Can I talk to you? I can help.” She kept talking. The woman had to be on the other side of the tree. “I have some fabric at my house for your baby's quilt. And I can help you get your medicine."

"I don't need medicine” came from behind the tree.

"I can help you make a quilt for your baby.” She tried to sound soothing. “You must have liked Avanell. I know she liked you."

"She said Tony shouldn't fire me,” Misty said. “She said I wasn't stealing.” She began to sing. “Hush, little baby, don't say a word…"

"Misty, did you go back to the factory after Tony fired you?"

"Mama's gonna buy you a mockin'bird…"

"Misty, this is real important. Were you at the factory when Avanell got hurt?"

Misty's eyes got big, and she started making a noise that sounded like hum-mum , repeated over and over. She turned and ran down the path into the woods.

Harriet debated following but didn't want to draw attention to the woman. She returned to the mourners.

"How are you holding up, honey?” Mavis asked.

"My head hurts, but no worse than it did this morning."

"If you want to leave, just say the word."

"I sort of told Harold I would go get coffee with him after this. I told him I had to get Lauren's quilt first."

"I can get the quilt, but are you sure you should be going out?"

"He promised me Death by Chocolate."

"What on earth is that? It sounds dangerous."

"I hope so. It's a dessert experiment by his friend James, the chef."

"Let's go eat our cookie and drink some tea and then you can get on to your ‘chocolate death’ or whatever it is."

The Loose Threads reassembled and returned as a group to the church reception. The tea was weak and the cookies doughy, but it was a kind gesture by the women of Avanell's congregation. Lauren had been one of the drivers, so she got the quilt from her trunk and brought it in to Harriet.

"Here,” she said and thrust it into Harriet's hands. “When can I get it back?"

Harold chose that moment to join them. “Do you need more time?” he asked.

"Just let me put this in the car,” she told him then turned to Lauren. “I should have it done sometime this evening. I'll have to see how much area has to be done before I can be more specific. I'll call you when I get it on the machine."

Lauren walked away without so much as a fare-thee-well. Harriet hadn't expected a thank-you but the woman could at least have been civil.

Lauren reminded her of a girl named Jeanne she'd gone to school with when she'd been dropped here in junior high. Harriet knew now that Jeanne had simply been protecting her territory-she had the other girls in their class convinced she was the most sophisticated, cutting-edge seventh grader Foggy Point had ever seen. She'd studied French the whole summer prior, and she would break into the language whenever a cute boy was in sight.

On her first day, Harriet made the mistake of responding to one of her comments, also in French. It was automatic. She hadn't done it on purpose. She hadn't been there long enough to realize that French was reserved for Jeanne and the boys, and no one else. Jeanne never spoke to her again, and for the rest of the year, no other girls did, either, if Jeanne was in the room.

Her problem with Lauren was that she hadn't done anything to the woman. There was no reason for her to be the focus of Lauren's anger. She hadn't destroyed anything. Lauren should be grateful she had been at the show and able to bring the damaged quilt back right away. She was going to point that out when Lauren came to pick it up.

"Here, honey, I'll take that,” Mavis said when Lauren was out of earshot. “You know you shouldn't be working, with your head and all."

"Is something wrong?” Harold asked.

"Nothing a little chocolate won't help,” Harriet replied.

"I'll go get the car and pull it up front."

He left, and she saw Aiden standing across the room, picking at a cookie. She walked over to his side.

"I'm really sorry about your mother,” she said.

Tears filled his pale eyes. “It really sucks,” he said.

Her heart went out to him, but she couldn't help but wonder just how far a brother would go to help his sister.

"You want me to get a movie and bring it over to Mavis's later?"

She didn't reply. Her pulse raced as she rapidly tried out and then rejected methods of ditching Harold. Could she drop to the floor in a fake faint? No, they might try to take her to the hospital. She couldn't plead a headache; she'd already said chocolate would help her headache. Her head throbbed.

"What?” he asked. “You have a hot date or something?"

"I have to fix Lauren's quilt,” she said. She saw Harold's El Dorado pull up in front of the fellowship hall. Aiden's gaze followed hers.

"Is he waiting for you?"

"He asked me to go for coffee, and I said yes. His friend is a chef and is making a special dessert."

"You sound like you know the guy. Have you been out with him before?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, we went to dinner."

"The Chamber meeting, right?” he said.

"No, dinner."

"So… what? You're dating Harold?"

She could see the disbelief in his eyes.

She put her hand on his arm. “It's just coffee."

He was still staring at her when she turned, walked out the front door and got into Harold's waiting car.

"Is the boy all right?” Harold asked.

"He's upset about his mother. Do you have any idea what form Death by Chocolate takes?

"Let's go find out,” he said, and turned his car toward Smuggler's Cove.

The dessert experiment turned out to be a smashing success. The concoction was a layered affair; the main sections were somewhere between really rich cake and a dark chocolate fudge, with the filling layers a heavy chocolate ganache. James drizzled raspberry sauce onto the chilled plates before arranging the perfect chocolate wedges on top.

"That was a nice service. Didn't you think?” Harold said when they had finished the dessert and were sipping cups of dark coffee.

"I don't think it's possible to have a nice funeral service. Maybe if you die at home at the age of a hundred and five. But I'll bet your children are still sad."

"Your children will be in their eighties by then, and their sadness will have more to do with what implications your death has for their own mortality."

Harriet actually smiled at this. “Good point."