Chapter 33
Jeanie
“Even the sharpest scissors can’t cut open a closed heart.”
—Eloisa Hobby
Jeanie bustled into Artie’s hospital room, carrying a tote bag with the lap quilt she’d finished just in time for the contest this weekend, along with a box of snickerdoodles from Breaking Bread bakery.
Things were looking up for her family. Artie was on the mend. The doctors were amazed at the progress she’d made, and they planned to discharge her tomorrow. Artie would be back on Hobby Island in time for the competition. Luna seemed more relaxed and open than she’d been in . . . well, forever.
Jeanie didn’t know what had caused the shift, but her daughter had changed for the better. Laughing more, smiling often, worrying less, and not letting the little bumps ruin her day. And Jeanie was convinced that the quilt she and Luna had created together and finished in the wee hours of the morning would win the grand prize. She couldn’t wait to show it to her daughter and granddaughter.
“How’s my brave girl today?” Jeanie beamed at Artie, who was sitting up in bed with her leg encased in a black cast signed by the nurses in white marker.
“Gran!” Artie grinned as Jeanie leaned over to kiss her forehead and settled the box of cookies in her lap. “I’ve been texting up a storm. I sure have missed social media!”
“Glad you’re back in the saddle, Pumpkin Pie.” Jeanie turned to Luna, who stood up from her chair beside Artie’s bed and gave her a big hug. “How are you holding up?”
“Much better now that the worst is over. The nurses are saints. They brought me pillows and blankets and showed me how to turn this lounger into a bed.”
“I can stay the night,” Jeanie offered, as she had every night.
“No need. It’s only one more night. This one is healing at lightning speed.” Luna leaned over to ruffle Artie’s hair. Her kid was busy thumbing the keyboard on her phone and didn’t look up.
“Will you be able to attend the art competition on Saturday?” Jeanie asked.
“We’ll have to see if she’s up to it,” Luna said, giving Artie a soft smile.
“I’ll be up to it,” Artie said. “Orion put the final additions on our project. I’d show you guys the pic she just sent me, but I want it to be a surprise.”
“We’re looking forward to seeing it.” Luna opened the cookie box, took out two snickerdoodles, gave one to Artie, and kept one for herself. “Mom, you want a cookie?”
“I had two on the ferry over. You enjoy. I finished our quilt, and I’d love to get your opinion on it,” Jeanie said.
“Yes.” Luna’s eyes lit up. “Let’s see.”
Jeanie pulled out the small quilt in the coastal palette required by the rules. “Here it is . . . our Hobby Island quilt. What do you think?” Jeanie watched Luna for her reaction.
“Oh, Mom!” Luna gave a little gasp. “This is absolutely perfect. You took my design and ran with it.”
Jeanie nodded. In the center square, she’d re-created the chapel in Crafters’ Corner where she and Luna had their showdown. From fabric scraps, she’d crafted a mother and daughter sitting in a pew, holding hands and talking.
Around the focal panel Luna had designed, she’d sewn four smaller squares on each side, depicting the journey the three of them had taken together. The squares along the top featured their arrival—the ferry, Marshmallow Landing, the jacaranda trees, and Eloisa knitting atop her unicycle.
“Ooh, Gran. Smart move. Sucking up to Eloisa.” Artie let out a laugh.
“That doesn’t help us,” Jeanie said. “Eloisa’s not judging. Besides, I was simply following your mother’s design and cataloging our time on Hobby Island. Eloisa’s been a big part of our journey.”
The east side of the quilt represented their first week on the island—the quilt shop, the Nestled Inn, and scooters with names. Along the bottom of the quilt, the panels contained places and sights they’d seen—the beach, the butterfly hatchery, the turtle preserve, and Prism Pavilion.
On the west side of the quilt was the deepest part of their pilgrimage—dinner at the French restaurant, the lighthouse, and a collage of Dot, Vivian, and Clare sewing around the table.
Emotion misted Luna’s eyes. “Mom, you outdid yourself. Your sewing skills are spectacular. It looks three-dimensional!”
Goose bumps of happiness spread up Jeanie’s arms. “I couldn’t have done it without your amazing design.”
“Yeah.” Artie dusted cookie crumbs from her fingers. “The center square leaps right out at you.”
“I want to touch it so badly, but I don’t want to get the oil from my fingers on the material.” Luna clasped her hands behind her back to resist temptation. “It’s stunning. I can’t stop staring at it.”
Jeanie flushed, absurdly pleased. She had poured all her hope, joy, and hard-won wisdom into every stitch. After a lifetime of shrinking herself small, her craft reflected her expanding spirit.
Even if she didn’t win, she’d already gained so much. A new closeness with her daughter and granddaughter and all the friends she’d made on Hobby Island. By starting over and pushing herself, she’d produced the best work of her life, and it was all thanks to Luna.
Of course, she still wanted to win, and she was pretty confident they could do it. Jeanie felt much gratitude that she’d been awarded that golden ticket. How lucky she was!
After visiting Luna and Artie a little longer and eating more of those yummy cookies, Jeanie carefully tucked their quilted masterpiece back into her tote bag and headed to catch the return ferry to Hobby Island. Saturday was the big day—their chance to win the prize money that would save their home.
* * *
The sun’s rays bounced off Prism Pavilion’s glitzy glass walls, casting rainbow snippets everywhere. Jeanie took a second to appreciate the hypnotic prisms before heading into the quilting exhibition area, carrying her entry carefully wrapped in brown paper and nestled in her tote bag.
The space looked a lot different than it had during the healing circle, but it was just as powerful in the daylight, if not more so with all the prisms alight and casting rainbows.
Practically everyone from Crafters’ Corner was there. People waved and greeted her, giving wings to her already high spirits. Jeanie soaked up their good vibrations. She needed all the positivity she could get.
It was Saturday, the big day. The day she’d been working toward ever since she accepted the golden ticket. And with Luna’s invaluable help, she’d gotten here.
One hundred thousand dollars—and the fate of her ancestral home—were on the line. Her family legacy hung in the balance. No pressure, huh?
Win or lose, Jeanie was proud of stepping outside her comfort zone. She’d put her soul into every stitch. Sewn herself into the seams. Just as Luna had put her heart and soul into the design. And if they lost, she felt confident that together, she, Luna, and Artie could move forward, with or without the house. Because that’s what families did.
That thought freed her.
But—Jeanie couldn’t suppress her grin—she was certain she and Luna would win. She hadn’t survived this long by thinking negatively. She fully planned on bringing in that cash. Vision board goals!
“There’s Gran!” Artie waved from her wheelchair near the entrance, her leg encased in the black cast that had now been artfully decorated by everyone who’d been present at her rescue.
Luna stood beside her, looking relaxed and happy.
Jeanie’s heart swelled at having her family here. “I’m so thrilled we’re doing this together.”
So much had changed in two short months. It was hard to believe how much.
Two men who’d arrived on the ferry from Everly that morning wore judge buttons on their lapels and were walking around, hands clasped behind their backs, studying the quilts as contestants hung them from display frames.
“Oh goodness, I’m so nervous,” Jeanie said. “Oh my gosh! The taller one is Michael Smith. He’s an icon in the quilting community! He’s a celeb.”
“Dot’s one of the judges too,” Artie pointed out. Indeed, Auntie Dot wandered behind the two men with a judge badge of her own.
“You and Mom are gonna be shoo-ins, Gran,” Artie said. “You got this.”
“Come on, Luna, let’s go register.” Jeanie beckoned her daughter to join her at the registration table to check in.
The brisk clerk checked their entry off the list and handed Jeanie a Tyvek number and a safety pin. “You’ll be displaying at station 137. Pin your entry number to your quilt.” The clerk pointed to their station. “Good luck!”
Jeanie’s eyes widened and she whipped her head around to shoot Luna jazz hands. “Did you hear that? Number 137! The same number that was on my golden ticket. It’s our lucky number! The universe has spoken. We’re going to win.”
“Would you like me to carry the quilt, Mom?” Luna offered.
“No, no, I’ve got it.” Clutching the quilt in the giant tote bag, Jeanie navigated their way through milling artists and spectators to station 137 tucked in a far corner. Jeanie stopped to study the milling throng.
“You okay?” Luna asked, touching her elbow.
“Oh my, it’s so overwhelming.” Jeanie splayed a palm to her chest.
“Here, let me unwrap the quilt.”
“I can do it. You go get Artie settled and then come back for the judging.”
“Are you sure?”
Jeanie nodded and held her breath, savoring the suspense of unwrapping the quilt for all to see. This was it. Time to share their creative vision with the world.
Winning the grand prize would solve everything. Her palms were slick with anticipation, and her heart fluttered. She rubbed her hands together, trying to dispel her case of nerves.
She took the quilt from the tote bag and slowly unwrapped the brown butcher paper. Finally, the last of the paper fell away and . . .
It took a few seconds for Jeanie’s brain to register the carnage. It looked like something out of a horror movie—weeks of work gutted without mercy.
Jeanie staggered back with a strangled cry, hands flying to her mouth.
No . . . it couldn’t be. Their beautiful quilt—the one she and Luna had poured their hearts and souls into—was utterly destroyed.
Jeanie couldn’t comprehend it. Her mouth dropped open, and she couldn’t get her breath.
The material was slashed to ribbons, batting erupting from numerous vicious gashes. Jeanie fell to her knees, her hands grasping helplessly at the tattered remains scattered on the ground. Weeks of meticulous hand-stitching had been shredded by hateful sabotage.
Hot tears flooded Jeanie’s eyes, but she blinked them back, desperate not to make a scene. How could someone be so cruel? Who would do such a thing?
Footsteps approached, and a lilting voice exclaimed, “Oh my stars! What’s happened to your lovely quilt?”
Through a watery film, Jeanie looked up to see Eloisa Hobby standing over her. She wore a powder blue caftan and a matching top hat with a white carnation anchored to the brim. Shock and dismay were written large on her gentle features.
“I-I-I don’t know,” Jeanie stammered. “It was fine when I wrapped it up after I came back from visiting Artie in the hospital. Now it’s just . . . savaged.”
Eloisa knelt down and placed a comforting hand on Jeanie’s shoulder. “This wasn’t an accident, my dear. Someone did this intentionally.” Her normally musical voice hardened.
“But why?” Jeanie asked, her heart breaking. “Why would someone destroy all my hard work?”
“Jealousy can drive people to cruelty,” Eloisa said, sorrow in her voice. “I fear it might be one of your competitors. But don’t despair. We’ll find who’s responsible and make sure they don’t profit from this malicious act.”
Jeanie could only nod mutely, the glittering pavilion swimming around her. Eloisa helped her to her feet. Could one of her fellow quilters, the women she’d sat around a table with and shared laughter, food, and stories for weeks on end, actually have ruined her quilt to take her out of the running?
She hated to believe it, but who else would have done it?
“Let’s take this away from prying eyes,” Eloisa said. With great care, she wrapped up the shredded quilt and guided Jeanie out the side door.
As the kind woman tended to her, Jeanie’s fog of shock lifted enough for red-hot fury to break through. For the first time in her life, she felt an urge to confront and punish whoever had callously demolished her quilt.
Hands curling into fists, she turned to Eloisa. “I need to find who did this. Please, will you help me?”
Eloisa nodded, her eyes flashing like an avenging goddess. “Of course, my dear. You have my word. This won’t go unpunished.”
“But we can’t prove anything.”
“You leave that to me.” With an encouraging wink, Eloisa disappeared into the crowd.