Read Online 1 The Underhanded Stitch by Marjory Sorrell Rockwell - Free Book Online
Authors: Marjory Sorrell Rockwell
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Maddy’s SUV. The big man called after them: “If you find that ring, remember it’s mine.”
As she slid behind the wheel of the Ford Explorer, Maddy replied primly, “No, Paul, it’s not. You sold it to my husband for a thousand dollars.”
Chapter Fifteen
Dangers of Quilt-Making
W atermelon Days was coming up. That meant the Quilter’s Club had to finish their sewing projects. Quilts of local design were always displayed at the Grange Hall during the festival days.
Maddy’s watermelon appliqué quilt was nearly completed. Lizzie had finished hers – a design based on rows of corn – and was helping Agnes make her sandwich with the batting and backing now that she had her nine squares all sewn together. It had taken every minute of her spare time since she started. Maddy’s granddaughter had picked a mix of solid and printed colors for her nine-patch. The way she put them together didn’t exactly coordinate all the colors, but somehow it still worked. Her finished quilt would be really unique.
Bootsie had chosen a complicated design that she’d found on the freepatterns.com website, intricate briars and brambles called “Rose Red.” It featured a brilliant red rosebud in the very center of the quilt.
Cookie was coming along just fine, taking her own sweet time. Historians don’t like to be hurried. Her brick-like design in a variation of a log cabin motif reflected the façade of the local Town Hall, sure to be a crowd-pleaser.
“That looks really cool,” ten-year-old Agnes complimented the older woman, sensitive to Cookie’s being a widow and all.
“Thank you, my dear. But it’s nowhere near the workmanship we saw on that quilt displayed over Tall Paul Johnson’s fireplace. Those old-timey quiltmakers certainly knew how to sew.”
“The Town Hall on that quilt looked different than yours.”
“Remember, I told you the original Town Hall was wooden. But after Ferdinand Jinks burnt it down, they rebuilt it out of bricks.”
“Sounds like The Three Little Pigs,” giggled Agnes. “Brick to keep Big Bad Mister Jinks from huffing and puffing and blowing it down.”
“Something like that,” Cookie admitted. “But he used matches.”
“Did they have matches back then?” asked Lizzie, looking up from her stitching. She was a fast sewer, and Agnes’ hodgepodge design was starting to look passable.
“Yes, indeed,” replied Cookie. “Matches were developed in China in 577 A.D. But modern, self-igniting matches were invented by a Frenchman in 1805.”
“You’re a font of knowledge,” said Bootsie, but it wasn’t clear whether this declaration was meant as a compliment or not.
“The point being, it wasn’t particularly hard for Jinks to burn down the Town Hall. A few matches and a little kindling, then – whoosh! – the rickety old building goes up in flames.”
“The fire station’s just on the other end of Main Street,” noted Maddy. “Wonder why they didn’t put out the fire before it engulfed the whole building?”
“The fire engine – it was horse-drawn back in those days – had a broken axel. At least, that’s what the newspaper account says.”
“Do you think Jinks sabotaged the fire engine?” asked Bootsie, always looking for conspiracies. She was convinced the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King had been a joint effort of the Ku Klux Klan, the CIA, and the Knights of Columbus.
Cookie shook her head. “There was a mention of the fire engine breaking its axel trying to cross the Wabash River to get to a house fire in Burpyville. So I’d expect it was either just a coincidence or Jinks taking advantage of an existing situation.”
“ Ow-w-w ,” said Agnes, pricking her finger. She hadn’t quite mastered the needlework yet. And the basting of her sandwich was a lot harder than she thought.
“You okay, dear?” asked her grandmother.
“Uh-huh, it doesn’t hurt bad.” The girl sucked on the tip of her
As she slid behind the wheel of the Ford Explorer, Maddy replied primly, “No, Paul, it’s not. You sold it to my husband for a thousand dollars.”
Chapter Fifteen
Dangers of Quilt-Making
W atermelon Days was coming up. That meant the Quilter’s Club had to finish their sewing projects. Quilts of local design were always displayed at the Grange Hall during the festival days.
Maddy’s watermelon appliqué quilt was nearly completed. Lizzie had finished hers – a design based on rows of corn – and was helping Agnes make her sandwich with the batting and backing now that she had her nine squares all sewn together. It had taken every minute of her spare time since she started. Maddy’s granddaughter had picked a mix of solid and printed colors for her nine-patch. The way she put them together didn’t exactly coordinate all the colors, but somehow it still worked. Her finished quilt would be really unique.
Bootsie had chosen a complicated design that she’d found on the freepatterns.com website, intricate briars and brambles called “Rose Red.” It featured a brilliant red rosebud in the very center of the quilt.
Cookie was coming along just fine, taking her own sweet time. Historians don’t like to be hurried. Her brick-like design in a variation of a log cabin motif reflected the façade of the local Town Hall, sure to be a crowd-pleaser.
“That looks really cool,” ten-year-old Agnes complimented the older woman, sensitive to Cookie’s being a widow and all.
“Thank you, my dear. But it’s nowhere near the workmanship we saw on that quilt displayed over Tall Paul Johnson’s fireplace. Those old-timey quiltmakers certainly knew how to sew.”
“The Town Hall on that quilt looked different than yours.”
“Remember, I told you the original Town Hall was wooden. But after Ferdinand Jinks burnt it down, they rebuilt it out of bricks.”
“Sounds like The Three Little Pigs,” giggled Agnes. “Brick to keep Big Bad Mister Jinks from huffing and puffing and blowing it down.”
“Something like that,” Cookie admitted. “But he used matches.”
“Did they have matches back then?” asked Lizzie, looking up from her stitching. She was a fast sewer, and Agnes’ hodgepodge design was starting to look passable.
“Yes, indeed,” replied Cookie. “Matches were developed in China in 577 A.D. But modern, self-igniting matches were invented by a Frenchman in 1805.”
“You’re a font of knowledge,” said Bootsie, but it wasn’t clear whether this declaration was meant as a compliment or not.
“The point being, it wasn’t particularly hard for Jinks to burn down the Town Hall. A few matches and a little kindling, then – whoosh! – the rickety old building goes up in flames.”
“The fire station’s just on the other end of Main Street,” noted Maddy. “Wonder why they didn’t put out the fire before it engulfed the whole building?”
“The fire engine – it was horse-drawn back in those days – had a broken axel. At least, that’s what the newspaper account says.”
“Do you think Jinks sabotaged the fire engine?” asked Bootsie, always looking for conspiracies. She was convinced the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King had been a joint effort of the Ku Klux Klan, the CIA, and the Knights of Columbus.
Cookie shook her head. “There was a mention of the fire engine breaking its axel trying to cross the Wabash River to get to a house fire in Burpyville. So I’d expect it was either just a coincidence or Jinks taking advantage of an existing situation.”
“ Ow-w-w ,” said Agnes, pricking her finger. She hadn’t quite mastered the needlework yet. And the basting of her sandwich was a lot harder than she thought.
“You okay, dear?” asked her grandmother.
“Uh-huh, it doesn’t hurt bad.” The girl sucked on the tip of her
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