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Morningshine

By Karen Gass

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Carrie Barrister took the wicker laundry basket from the back porch into the yard. Taking clothespins from the cloth bag hanging on the line, she hung up shirts and blouses, nightgowns and underwear, jeans and Joe’s work clothes. They stretched the length of the clothesline, one after the other, snapping in the breeze.

It was a late spring day, and she was glad to be hanging clothes on the line again, after a cold winter. In the soft spring air the scent of line dried clothes was irresistible. Birds happily built nests and a lawnmower rumbled in the distance. A bee buzzed lazily by in search of a flower.

Today was quilting day, the first one of the year to be held on the porch, and there was still a lot to do before everyone arrived.

Breakfast dishes had to be done, and the living room floor needed the carpet sweeper.

As Carrie reflected on her love of her home and her life, she realized, again, how blessed she was and wondered what she had done to deserve it. As much as she tried not to think about it, she knew it was still there. ‘The’ secret -- hidden away and locked into the smallest room of her heart. How could God have blessed her – when she kept this secret, even from her husband, whom she loved with all her heart? Her burning ambition was to make up for ‘the’ sin, and make things ‘ok’. It was a mystery, why God had blessed her so abundantly, when she was such a liar.

After their daughter Abby had left home, the house was quite empty. Their house which had been so happily noisy for many years was now silent and devoid of a child’s clutter. Some days it was hard to face.

Carrie kept busy with housework and some volunteer work at the hospital. She was the coordinator of Grandma’s Arms, a program for cuddling and holding drug addicted newborns. Being so close to a big city had its advantages, as well as its disadvantages. One of the disadvantages was the number of babies born to drug-addicted women. Some of those mothers were in jail, and some simply left the hospital after giving birth, never to be heard from again. These sweet babies were fragile and vulnerable. They were fussier than a baby born to a clean mother. Carrie had put together a program for volunteers to come and sit in rockers, holding and cuddling these babies, giving them the human contact they so desperately needed. The babies thrived and blossomed, and the cuddling made the withdrawal they went through easier.

While Joe and Carrie’s house was on the old and perhaps even shabby side, they loved it. The neighborhood had once been a pretty ritzy place to live. Anyone who was anyone could proudly say they resided on Spring Street. The houses were large and set back on their generous lots, with an abundance of green grass and large gardens. Most were two story and some, although not theirs, had small guesthouses. But time had moved on, and the rich and well to do had moved to other neighborhoods, leaving this one to “regular people”. As far as Carrie knew, there was only one original resident, Mrs. Reginald Truesdale, and she never talked to any of the ‘newcomers’, even though her house was in much the same state as Carrie’s.

The two story house where they had lived for the past twenty five years was five years from being paid off, with lovely big windows, delightfully proportioned. Their house’s claim to fame was a large front porch. It stretched the entire width of the house and was deep and wide. They had bought this house as a young couple, newly married, feeling it was big enough for the children they planned to have. They had hoped to have more children, prayed for them, but they had never come. However, the three of them had enjoyed this house, laughing and loving in it, until Abby had gone away.

Inside, Carrie cleaned quickly, giving most of it a lick and promise. Today was quilting day and she didn’t want to waste any more of it with cleaning. She swept the front porch clean. After a long winter, its corners were filled with dried leaves and a few dead bugs. This was their meeting place, for quilting and conversation. What a lovely thing to be sitting on the front porch, stitching and quilting and visiting. There were only 6 of them, ladies who had stitched together for the past 20 years or so. And always on Carrie’s front porch.

The house and porch needed painting, but then they would lose that soft mellow gold color that she had come to love. And it wasn’t peeling so very badly. Some years ago the house had been a deep rich gold, but she far preferred this. It was so comfortable. The porch had a large round table, and mismatched chairs placed around it, with comfy cushions, and a few extra pillows to add support to aching backs. She shook out all the cushions, ridding them of any unwelcome visitors...like that earwig that just fell to the floor. She stepped on it quick, before it got away. Earwigs made her shudder.
All the quilters lived on Spring Street. They had no formal name, and just referred to Thursday afternoon as quilting day.

Carrie would make ice tea, Martha would bring her raisin cookies, and she supposed Gert would bring her mud cookies, so named for their mud like appearance. In truth they were supposed to have a rich velvety texture and creamy chocolate goodness that was to die for. However, in Gert’s case, they did taste exactly like mud. Gert was sure that everyone loved her mud cookies, but really no one did. They were dry and tasteless and were only eaten out of politeness. Some things you just have to live with. Gert was their friend and if eating a few muddy mud cookies could cement a friendship, well then, it was a small sacrifice. The saving grace was that Gert was frugally minded and made small batches of small cookies.

Sometimes Martha’s sister, Esther, would bring her chocolate cake, which was moist and delicious and tasted slightly of coffee. They shared a house, now that both their husbands had passed away.
Carrie ate a quick lunch of leftover vegetable soup and a few crackers. She changed her by now, dusty clothes for a fresh plaid blouse woven in the colors of the rainbow, a soft blue denim skirt and tennis shoes. She ran a comb through her graying hair, fastening it in a ponytail to keep it out of her face as she worked and then ran downstairs as the front door knocker sounded.

“Hi Gert! I’m on my way down, come in and help me carry out the ice tea!” Carrie called.

“Hello?” Gert stuck her head through the door. “Carrie, are you here? Oh, there you are!” Gert came in, carrying her quilting bag. She took the pitcher of ice tea Carrie handed her and they both went out onto the front porch.

“How’s your garden coming? Did you get it planted?” Carrie asked.

“Yeah, I got it planted. Then that durn dog next door got loose and trampled through the whole thing,” Gert snorted. “Now all the seeds are willy nilly, and who knows what’s gonna come up where!!!”

Carrie hid a smile at the thought of the Jumble Garden .

Gert, now 63 yrs old, was a sparse woman and mostly colorblind. It was a good thing she cared naught for fashion, as her clothes were mismatched in color as well as texture and design. She thought nothing of wearing an orange skirt with a pink T-shirt that said, “Gus’ Bowling Alley – Knock A Few Down!’ printed on it, with an over shirt of green plaid. Her socks were often different colors, and one time she had worn two different shoes to the market. She was very opinionated and it never occurred to her that those opinions might sometimes be hurtful or taken the wrong way, as she really did have a heart of gold, and wanted, for the most part, to do what was right.

Martha was on her way up the walk with a plate of raisin cookies and Esther was a step behind, but carrying no cake.

“Hi you two!” Carrie smiled, “Come on up...isn’t it a beautiful day?”

They each picked out their favorite chair and settled their quilting bags on the table.
Martha smiled, “Oh yes, it’s a gorgeous day! I just love spring. I’m so glad to be done with shoveling snow.”

Esther nodded in agreement.

“Hi Connie!” Esther called, as she saw Connie coming up the walk. “Do you see Eleanor coming down the street?”

“She’s on her way,” Connie said as she settled into a chair. “I saw her come out of the drive a few minutes ago.”

“Gert just told me her neighbor’s dog got into her freshly planted garden, and now she won’t know what’s coming up where!” Carrie said.

“Oh no!!!” Martha, who was not an animal person, screwed up her mouth in disgust. “I guess there’s no way to fix that is there? Did you go over and give them a piece of your mind???”

Gert snorted out a laugh, “Haven’t got much left to give!!” Clearly, she was tickled with her joke.
Eleanor arrived to hello’s, and a few seconds later Lydia arrived, and all the ladies got out their thread and thimbles, and blocks they were working on. Stitching began in earnest.

“Anything new?” Esther asked, carefully holding her needle up to the light, so she could see it for threading. It was time Esther got new glasses, but she wouldn’t spend the money just yet.

They began to share their news, each one having something to tell. Connie told of her teenage boys’ baseball games, so far they were first in their league. Martha told of the door to door salesman who had come by trying to sell household cleaners. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. She had ended up shutting the door in his face. Esther told of the sale on cupcake holders at the market. Summer was nearly here and it would be time for bake sales to raise money for any number of church activities. Lydia told about their new computer and how she was learning to email.

“Lydia , who are you going to email? Do you know anybody who has email?” Martha peered over her glasses.

“Well, not now I don’t. But I’ve heard there are all kinds of places to go on the internet to meet people. I might just go exploring!” Lydia looked adventurous.

“Ahhhh, you better be careful of that internet,” Gert scowled, “It’s full of bad stuff. Nothing good will ever come of it.”

“Oh, I don’t know Gert, I’ve been to a couple quilting places on the internet. They seemed really nice. I emailed to one lady, and she told me about a nice Christian place where they give prayer requests and talk with each other about the Lord. I haven’t had time to go there yet, but I will,” Lydia said, smiling.
Gert snorted.

“Eleanor,” Carrie asked, “Anything new with you? How’s your husband?”

Eleanor startled, and looked up, timid as a mouse. “Oh, he’s fine. There’s not much new with me.” Returning to her stitching, she preferred to listen instead of participating in any conversations.

“Have you noticed that house lately? Did you see that baby running around in nothing but a diaper, early the other morning? No sign of his mother around,” Connie said, clearly disgusted.

They all agreed, that house was the limit. Each of them had seen something shameful going on there at one time or another. At the very end of the street was the smallest and shabbiest house on the block. It was owned by a realtor and rented out to anyone who could afford $150 a month, which Carrie privately thought, was an exorbitant rent for such a place.

“I just don’t see why they can’t keep it at least picked up around there, the yard is full of trash and the weeds don’t even dare show their faces in that yard! And Lord knows they could manage to put some clothes on those children if they didn’t spend so much on beer and cigarettes.” Gert was on a roll. “Do you think they’re selling drugs?” she asked abruptly, after a moment of silence.

“Oh my goodness, Gert!! I’m sure they aren’t selling drugs!! Where would you ever get an idea like that?” Carrie half laughed.

Gert mumbled under her breath.

“Look!” whispered Martha, “here comes Mrs. Truesdale. She won’t even look over here, you know, she’s so snooty!”

They all looked and sure enough, here came Mrs. Truesdale, dressed very neatly in a light blue suit, black pumps, and little white pillbox hat, with a veil even! She walked by Carrie’s house without even turning her head the teeniest bit.

“See?” Martha said smugly, “She’s as snooty as they come!”

Martha cleared her throat, “So, do y’all think the blocks will be ready by next week? Can we plan to put the top together?”

Each lady agreed they would be ready; they were almost done now.

“Good!” Martha smiled, “then let’s plan to complete the top next week, and then the next week, it’ll go in the frame.” Martha liked things to be planned and to go according to that plan.

The ice tea pitcher was empty, as was the cookie plate. Even the mud cookies were dutifully eaten.
Carrie stood up and stretched. “Well, I’m going to save the rest of my blocks to work on when Joe goes to his bowling league tonight. That will give me something to look forward to while he’s gone. Besides, my hands have had it for now!” She stretched out her fingers, flexing her wrists.

All their quilts were hand stitched and hand quilted. They had been stitching together since they were young brides, and through the ages of time, no one could tell Gert’s stitch from Carrie’s or vice versa. The quilts looked as consistent as if they had been made by one person, from seams to a hand quilting stitch at a fairly constant 9 stitches per inch. They didn’t go in for fancy new patterns, they much preferred comfortable, easy-to-piece older quilt patterns, which had certainly been good enough for their grandmothers and were good enough for them as well. They went to the fabric shop together and split the cost of the materials evenly. After the first few years of quilting together, each member of the group had several quilts in her own home due to the efforts of each lady. Not wanting to give up their quilting afternoons, they had decided to give the rest of them away as gifts. There was no rhyme or reason to the deciding factors as to who got a quilt, it always simply turned out that while they were hand quilting, a lucky new winner had always been selected. The system worked and the guiding philosophy was, “if it isn’t broken, then let’s not fix it.”

Connie put her work down on the table. “I’ve got to get going home too, the boys are each bringing a friend home for dinner, so…” She looked helpless and a bit overwhelmed at how much food she had to fix.

Eleanor said a quiet “Goodbye, I’ll see you next week.” And she quickly walked down the street.
The other ladies gathered their things together, giving good-byes and a few hugs.

“Hey, don’t forget that we have Women’s Club next week. We have that special speaker from Indonesia …you know, the missionary,” Lydia reminded everyone.

All the ladies returned to their own homes; another quilting day had passed into history.

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