Edna cast him a withering look.
Ginny was finding it difficult to feel inspired, too. All she could think about was Adrian’s wink and what it meant. Did he like her photograph, want to chat with her or something more? His attention made her feel excited and nauseated at the same time.
Edna held up a series of rectangles she’d already stitched together. “Today we’re going to create blocks to add to my quilt, or you can start your own project.”
“Blocks?” Curtis asked.
Edna nodded. “You create an image or scene on your fabric, using embroidery, appliqué or fabric paint. It’s a bit like collage and should represent something important to you.” She tapped her forefinger on the table as if readying herself to share something more personal with them. “I call this piece my memory quilt.”
“I’d prefer a fluffy feather duvet,” Curtis quipped. He looked around and grinned, inviting the others to join in.
Edna fixed him with a stare. “Please stop thinking about yourself, it’s most unbecoming. Most of us are here because wewantto feel better. This is my project and you’ll get your own turn to choose something.”
Curtis pulled the peak of his baseball cap lower. “Okay, sorry Edna.”
“I’ve cut out some shapes to get you all started.”
Ginny examined a piece of fabric. It was pigeon-gray with tiny white flowers and didn’t spark anything in her imagination. “I’ve never really sewn anything before,” she said.
“Have you got anything more cheerful?” Heather asked. “Perhaps something with sequins?”
Edna worked her jaw and her eyes turned steely. “If you don’t want to do this, just say so,” she snapped. “I don’t want to waste my time.”
Ginny placed a hand on her arm. “We all want to do this, Edna. We’re just inexperienced, that’s all.”
“Quilting virgins,” Curtis added.
Edna’s face remained sour. “The extra fabric I bought in the village is in my room,” she said. “You may retrieve it, if you wish.” She took her key out of her pocket and slapped it on the table.
Ginny picked it up and was glad to escape the spiky atmosphere.
On Edna’s bedside table, she found a clear bag stuffed with remnants of fabric, including some brightly colored pieces. It sat beside a photograph of two women and she couldn’t help glancing at it. Edna was holding hands with a younger, much smaller woman who wore a gray dress printed with flowers. The words engraved on the photo frame read,Daisy—Always in My Heart, 1970-2020.
Peering a little closer, she saw the two women had similar eyes and smiles, and she recognized the floral print fabric from Edna’s patchwork pieces. “Edna and her daughter?” Ginny whispered to herself. Her throat tightened when she imagined how losing a child might feel and she hugged the bag of fabric to her chest.
She now understood the pieces Edna was sewing together weren’t just random scraps. The older lady was crafting something full of history and emotion, in memory of her daughter.
It made Ginny think about her other guests, too. Maybe hiking didn’t cancel out Eric’s grief, but helped him to reflect upon and live with it. Was Heather’s cheerfulness disguising her pain? She supposed, in the past, she’d offered up one-size-fits-all solutions to solve heartache. As soon as she’d learned about people’s problems onJust Ask Ginny, she promptly conjured up answers and didn’t tap into her true empathy. It had become a job or habit, and it had taken Adrian walking out on her for Ginny to discover her true compassion again.
She didn’t just want to help out Edna, Eric, Curtis and Heather in order to feel better about herself, but because she wanted to get to know them better and to hear their stories. Even if they brought on difficult emotions, it’d be better than the feelings of numbness and shock Adrian had thrust upon her.
Ginny carried the bag downstairs and sat back down beside Edna, seeing her in a different light, as deeply lonely rather than fussy. “This is pretty material,” she said, picking up the gray floral piece from her pile. “Where did it come from?”
Edna’s eyes dipped and her voice was evasive when she spoke. “It’s from one of my daughter’s dresses. She was called Daisy and she’s departed now, as well as my husband, Desmond.”
Ginny swallowed. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” She stroked the fabric, taking a few moments to ease Edna into their conversation. “I’ve been here less than a week and already miss my daughter so much. I’d love to know more about Daisy. Did she like to sew, too?”
Edna moved a few fabric pieces around, her hand shaking a little. “She struggled to do a lot of things,” she said, snipping off a length of cotton. As she began to stitch, the rhythm of the needle feeding in and out of the fabric seemed to make her breathing grow calmer.
Ginny watched patiently until Edna was ready to speak again.
“She liked to watch me sewing,” the older lady said. “Daisy loved anything to do with fashion. One of her favorite pastimes was to look through magazines and circle the dresses she liked. We’d go shopping and choose fabric together and I’d try to recreate the patterns. She was attracted to gray things for some reason, maybe because pigeons, elephants and dolphins made her smile. I loved making her clothes and it kept me connected to the profession I had to leave behind, when she was born.
“Daisy could be rather difficult at times. Her food had to be presented in a certain way and she refused to eat anything green. She adored some people and vehemently took against others. When she died, I thought my life might return to normal.” Edna humphed. “Except shewasmy normal. Losing her was like an eclipse of the sun. Everything fell dark and now my days seem never-ending. Sometimes, there doesn’t seem much point in anything.” Her gaze drifted toward trees in the distance and stayed there.
Ginny silently gestured for Eric, Heather and Curtis to move closer. They huddled around Edna’s small table to offer their support.
The elderly lady surveyed them warily at first before clearing her throat. “You may think we’re sitting here sewing for no reason, but it helps me to celebrate my daughter.” Her lips trembled. “I have no use for Daisy’s old clothes and can’t bring myself to throw them away. They help me feel close to her. I once watched a TV program about people making memory quilts to commemorate their loved ones and it seemed like a decent way to pass my time.”
