Chapter One
Helen
MEMORY QUILT: Quilt made to remember people and/or an event significant in their lives.
May 17
My Dearest Darling Gia,
As I write this, I sit on the back veranda in my favorite Adirondack chair. Draped across my lap is the triple wedding ring quilt we started for Madison’s marriage. Pyewacket lazes at my feet, occasionally batting the seat cushion’s dangling tie. I watch the waves break against our stretch of shoreline and recall, in the misty way of old people, how everything fell apart.
It is a familiar spot. I’ve sat here countless times, inhaling the salt air, listening to the immutable lull of the rising tide, and fingering the raw edges of the unfinished quilt.
But today is different.
I remember too much, and yet, oddly, not enough. How we spent months collecting just the right fabric scraps from bits and pieces of clothing that meant something special to us. But then I forget where the pink seersucker came from. Is it from Shelley’s Easter dress, or your mother’s apron? Or is it a piece of the table runner from your sixth birthday? A tea party theme, I believe, but it could have been Holly Hobbie. You so adored that doll.
At my age, memory is unreliable, but in the files of my mind, I excavate a few treasures.
I see you flying your kite on the beach for the first time with Mike guiding you, your head thrown back, laughing so hard you shivered. Shelley giggling over her cold bottom as she sat on the old-fashioned ice cream freezer, so it wouldn’t walk off the porch as we took turns cranking the handle. Madison getting up early on Easter morning to hide the eggs she’d colored the night before for you and Shelley to hunt. The three of you in harvest season, picking lush, ripe Moonglow pears from our trees, then later, in the kitchen blasting music from the windowsill boom box and singing “Who Let the Dogs Out” at the top of your lungs while we canned pear preserves.
These are the things I miss. Laughter. Giggles. Singing. You girls lying on a quilt in the backyard underneath the stars, sharing your hopes and dreams. It seemed those lovely summer days would never end.
Sadness fills me now as I look back on what we’ve lost. Our sense of family. Our closeness. Evaporated like morning sea mist burned off by the sun.
You girls were my salvation in those dark days after your mother’s death, but in the end, I lost you three as surely as I lost Beth.
My hand caresses the edges of the unfinished quilt made for a wedding that never took place and my eyes well with tears, but I’m not writing for pity. I made my choices, some smart, some dumb, and I’ve found peace with how things turned out.
But I do regret what ruined your relationship with your sisters and I hope you will honor my wishes.
This quilt is important. Family is important. You are the heart of us, Gia. When I think of you girls and your personalities, I’m reminded of your beautiful kites. Madison is the solid anchor on the ground, Shelley is the high-flying kite itself, and you, my dear, are the string that keeps the two connected.
I hate to put this burden on your shoulders, but you are the peacemaker and the only one who can mend things. Please, come together. Finish the quilt. Repair the rift. Sew. Heal. Bloom. Grow. This is my last request. All I want in this world is to see the Moonglow sisters happy and whole again.
—With all my abiding love, Grammy
HELEN CHAPMAN FINISHED writing the letter, set down her pen, and turned to the white-haired woman sitting beside her.
Darynda Fox had once been a stunning beauty. Even now, in her midseventies, she was still striking. Tall. Fit from daily jogs on the beach and nightly yoga stretches. She possessed patrician cheekbones and piercing blue eyes that took Helen’s breath.
Silently, Darynda read the letter and when she looked up, a single tear slid down her cheek. “You should let me call them. You should tell them in person. They have a right to know.”
“It’s better this way.” Restlessly Helen folded the edge of the quilt inward.
“Better for whom? You are putting a lot on Gia’s shoulders.”
“She’s the only one who can do it and you know that.”
“I’d accuse you of taking the coward’s way out, but you are the bravest person I’ve ever known.” Darynda reached for Helen’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
“They must figure things out for themselves. I can’t spoon-feed them. If I could fix what went wrong, I would have done it already.”
Darynda held up the letter. “You think a letter is enough to change minds?”
“I’m hoping.” Helen crossed her fingers.
“Those girls can be stubborn.”
“I know. It’s why I’m doing things this way.”
“They’d want to be with you during the surgery. They’ll feel guilty that they weren’t there.”
“Maybe a little guilt is what they need to shake them awake. I hate to resort to manipulation, but I’ve stayed out of it for too long. It seems they can’t or won’t fix this unless I give them a push.”
“What if”—Darynda paused, gulped, lowered her voice—“you don’t come out of surgery?”
Helen smiled gently at the woman she’d known for fifty years. “At the very least they must deal with one another to handle my estate.”
“And if you make it?”
“Then perhaps the four of us can finish the quilt together.”
Darynda was full-on crying now, tears slipping down her face in a steady stream. “I hate cancer.”
“C’mon.” Helen patted her arm. “Don’t cry. You’ll stain the letter.”
Darynda heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh you, practical as always.”
Helen leaned over the quilt to hug her friend, the effort taking all her strength. “Call them when I go into surgery. Not a minute before.”
“They’ll be so mad at me.”
“Tell them it’s my wishes.”
They’d been going around and around about this since her family physician had given Helen the bad news. Darynda had wanted to call the girls immediately, but Helen knew her granddaughters.
“What if Madison doesn’t come?” Darynda fretted.
“She will.”
“What if we can’t find Shelley?”
“You will.”
“Are you sure?”
Helen met Darynda’s eyes. “You’ve never let me down. Not once.”
“I wish I had your faith.”
“Those girls are all so different, but they have one thing in common.”
“What’s that?”
“Chapman blood runs through their veins and Moonglow Cove is home. They’ll return.”
Darynda looked dubious, but said, “I’ve chosen to believe that you’ll pull through and assume you’ll be here to whip them into shape.”
“I like your optimism.” Helen cupped her friend’s cheek. “But just in case it all goes south, you know what to do.”
Then she sank back against the Adirondack chair, pulled the quilt to her chin, closed her eyes to the sound of the ocean, and dreamed of three little girls building sandcastles on the beach.
Chapter Two
Gia
STRAIGHT GRAIN: In quilting, the threads running parallel to the selvage in a woven fabric. Straight grain is the most stable with the least amount of stretch.