The Quilt | Mark W. Lewis

The Secret of the Quilt

The Secret of the Quilt

Mark Lewis

and Laughing Moon Productions LLC

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Dedication

Everyone who is brave enough to give permission to their Imagination!

Chapter 1

The Trunk

"Grandma's trunk is here!” shouted Ashley as Dad’s car shushed over the gravel of the driveway. She had been keeping a constant lookout on the front lawn since the morning and ran up the front steps into the house, her duty accomplished. “Come on!”

The whole family came scrambling out to the driveway and crowded around as Dad lifted the old box across the tailgate of the station wagon. Ashley’s brothers helped him grasp the leather handles and carry it into the house as Mom came from the kitchen, wiping her hands with a cotton dish towel. She watched as Dad set the trunk down in the middle of the living room while the rest of her brood gathered around.

Dad had been cleaning out the last things from his Mother's house, finding old memories in the dust-free corners and taking care of all the final preparations for the evening’s memorial service. He was tired. Well, “weary” was the word that his Mother would have used to describe how he felt. The memory made him smile. They had always been close and he remembered many of the words and sayings she used. He would never forget her voice.

Exactly like Grandma had been, the trunk was beautiful in its old age. The sturdy wood and the iron bandings smiled as the children ran their hands over every inch of the top and sides.

Finally, Dad took the engraved key that had been hiding in a small, yellowed envelope in Grandma's jewelry box and slipped it into the patent padlock. He gave it a twist and turn. The lock obediently relaxed and, with a sigh, the trunk lid was pulled up and back.

Instantly the scent of Grandma filled the room and everyone felt the peace that she brought to any situation, a soothing harmony of lavender and spice with a hint of mothball.

The open lid revealed that the trunk was filled to gospel-measure with the things that Grandma had collected during her love-filled lifetime. Also tucked within were the family treasures that were her duty to hand down, as had been done before her.

In the lid of the trunk, amidst a family of old letters, a sealed note was thumbed-tacked to the petite-print paper liner. Breaking the wax seal, Dad opened the note and read the contents out loud to the waiting family.

It was a list. In perfect cursive, the note announced what items were to be given to whom. Ashley’s eldest brother was gifted the ancient platinum pocket-watch and the lapis lazuli cuff links. The eldest granddaughter was bequeathed Grandma’s wedding dress and diamond earrings and so it went down to the very youngest. At the bottom of the letter, in Grandma's antique hand, was a poem she had composed. The poem cleared its throat and called out through Dad’s deep voice:

Come and take a healthy bite of yesterday.

Leave the past as cluttered when you're through.

The image still holds true about that old cliché,

“Don't ever bite off more than you can chew."

Ashley’s younger brothers and sisters laughed at the poem, imagining a mouthful of yesterday.

“Can we see more?”

Everyone was anxious to see what treasures lay buried in the trunk. Dad vaguely nodded his head, then looked away for a moment.

While the children crowded around, Mom quietly brought a cup of coffee and handed it to Dad, then sat down cross-legged beside where he knelt. She knew that the last couple of days had been hard on him and she wanted to be close if he needed her. With a quiet sigh and a little kiss from Mom, Dad slowly started to remove the contents of the trunk.

The smallest children vibrated with Christmas-like anticipation as each new treasure was set before them: Grandpa's old lead soldiers – the ones he had cast and painted as a boy; postcards and spoons from a trip around the world; the lovely lace wedding dress; yellowed pages from the Ladies Home Journal with N. C. Wyeth illustrations on them; a box of buttons; Grandpa's World War I uniform, baby pictures and travel souvenirs; the watch with the stag and hound engraved on the cover; the lapis cuff links and more – each item blinked in the light as it was liberated from the trunk! The layers of Grandma's passing years unfolded before everyone's eyes.

Thumbing through the photographs, Dad found one of himself taken when he was just seven and stared at it while the chatter of everyone else turned into whispers. He was standing with his parents at the County Fair, grinning and excited, while a Ferris wheel hovered over them in the background. Dad unfolded himself, got up and walked over to the front window muttering, something about "...must be something in my eye."

Behind him he could hear Maggie pleading, “Daddy, how does this work?” as she unwound the thick cord of an ancient curling iron that winced as it straightened out. But Dad was far away -- out the window, through the woods, across time and town, to the empty fairgrounds and cotton candy and holding his parents' hands.

Mom walked over behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his ear. She held him closely and whispered, "I know, I know."

When Dad finally turned around he did a double-take. Charles had Grandpa's uniform on and like a camera coming into focus, Dad could suddenly see an eerie resemblance to the photo that had been found in the pocket. It had been taken of Grandpa when he was eighteen years old in France. Charles’ image was identical and everyone looked at the photo. Then everyone looked at Charles. Looked at the photo. Looked at Charles. While they shared their amazement, Dad took a deep breath and continued his task. The piles outside of the trunk grew taller while the trunk itself felt light and free for the first time in many decades.

Once nearly everything had been distributed with much ceremony and legend-sharing, all that remained in the bottom of the trunk, under some books of poetry and fantasy, was an old quilt. The top layers of the cloth were dull and had absorbed their years of solitude with patience.

Mom took out the dusty quilt and let it fall to the floor. She stacked the books, then carefully felt along the very bottom of the trunk with her hand. There she found a postcard of Pompeii; the missing fob for the watch; a few hatpins and, turning over a faded paper, she came face to face with Grandma's and Grandpa's wedding portrait. Mom smiled as she handed it to her husband.

Everyone gathered around and was "oohing" and "ahhing" at how beautiful Grandma had been and how dashing Grandpa had looked in his hat.

Ashley was on her way to look and "ooh” too when she felt a tugging on her right foot. She looked down and saw that the quilt had warmly wrapped itself around her ankle and seemed to be holding her in a soft embrace. She picked the quilt up, brushing away the throwaway papers in which the spoons had been wrapped, sat down and pulled it up into her lap.

Now, the sun had just dropped into four o'clock and a beam of light dodged around the neighbor's weather vane, ducked under the fern hanging in the side window, ran across the living room rug and danced around the spot where Ashley and the quilt were sitting. Surrounded by shimmering light, Ashley was wrapped in a feeling that whispered, “This is meant for you.”

Mom was now picking up and straightening out the living room. Dad was sitting by the front window looking through the shoebox that held his Father's war souvenirs. The other kids were gathering up their valuables and disappearing into their respective rooms. Mom had all of the spoon wrappings "mushed up" into a ball and was reaching for the Quilt.

"Mom," Ashley said, "Mom … I want this more than anything else. May I have it? Please?”

Mom looked at her and was about to make some statement about "...that musty old blanket?" when she noticed the seriousness in her daughter's eyes. Mom was good at seeing inside to where you sat thinking.

"OK love," she said with a sigh and shook her head as Ashley gathered up "her" Quilt and ran out of the living room.

Chapter 2

The Quilt

Ashley turned the corner from the hallway and danced up the stairs to her room. She had been given the "garret” room at the very top of the house and felt lucky every time she skipped up the stairs. From her window she could see up and down the street, and trace the tops of the trees all the way to where the church steeple and the courthouse tower stuck their heads toward each other in checkmate above an ocean of green.

In one corner there was an old four-posted canopy bed, so high up she had to use a stepping stool to climb into the sheets. Her dresser with the tippy mirror had come from her other Nanny's attic a long time ago. On the opposite wall, her desk had turned legs and a top that folded up and a writing place pulled out to give you more room. The inside wall held her closet with the brass knobs that were always cold.

To Ashley, however, the best part of the room was a bookcase filled with all kinds of stories that filled an entire wall. You see, the man who had built the house had been a writer and, as the story went, this room was the place where he did his reading to recharge his "word batteries."

The writing desk nestled in a warm nook where the chimney came through the floor and carried smoke up through the roof. The walls around the desk created a continuous collage of magazine pictures, prints, postcards, poems and letters - anything that Ashley wanted to remember or wanted to share ended up affixed here. She was very pleased with the place where she slept because, as she liked to say, “Here I can be surrounded by me".

Ashley entered her room and pulled the door closed behind her. Dropping to her knees, laid the Quilt out on the floor. As she carefully unfolded it, the Quilt seemed to sigh and stretch as each long-creased section was once again able to breathe deeply. The under-layers were still fresh and had retained their original colors. Ashley traced them reverently with her fingers. The old books that had set on top of the old Quilt in the trunk had let their knowledge seep down in to it during the many silent years. But along with the wisdom had come the perfume of the old books -- the scent that young books try to achieve and old librarians know and remember.

It didn’t take long for Ashley to notice that the pattern of the Quilt was similar to a type of labyrinth. Ashley had learned about labyrinths in her mythology book. This one was a circular pattern with one “entrance.” In truth, there were seven circular paths with the newer patches making up the edges of the pathways with the oldest pieces near the center. The outer ring was composed of fabric pieces of every dress, shirt, or apron that Grandma had ever sewn in her lifetime and it had been added onto the even older patches.

Ashley sparkled with excitement as she sat at the Quilt's edge and looked more closely. The swirls of the paisley print sort of spun into the green velvet forest piece next to it, which bumped up against the blue calico patch. The calico, in turn, moved out in four different directions and pushed the red-checkered section right over the edge. And this was only one corner on this map of colors and textures. Ashley's eyes caught and held the colors of the sunset waving goodnight at the window and then reflected them onto the patterns dancing in front of her. Sunset was her very favorite time of day, now Ashley had made it part of the warmth of the Quilt forever.

Ashley looked even more carefully and noticed that there was one patch -- at the very center of the quilt -- that was "extra-ordinary." It was shaped and embroidered to look like a door, a door made of cloth. The door stood about seven inches tall and someone had taken a lot of time to stitch the wood grain into the fabric. Ashley moved closer to see that it had small, stitched hinges and a tiny, faceted, crystal button, attached as a doorknob. It looked just like all of the doors at Grandma's house! There was even a threshold and everything!

Ashley made a decision. She gathered up the Quilt and spread it out on the roof outside of her gabled window to let it get to feel the breezes again. As she was smoothing it out over the semi-circular shingles she took an even closer look at the door patch in the center and reached out her hand.

She tried to turn the knob but it was sewn tightly to the quilt. Nothing happened.

Then never at a loss for an idea, she gave three tiny knocks on the door, just for the silliness of it, imagining that she was coming for tea.

Ashley's eyes opened wide as something amazing happened!

A breeze silently slipped into her garret and whispered around the room as a shaft of the setting sun fell fully through the window, bathing everything inside with a soft, golden light. Her ears thought that they heard the echo of her knocks run away into a hollow space behind the door!

"How peculiar...?" she said out loud. Ashley suddenly slipped her hand up over her mouth to catch a giggle! "How peculiar..." was one of her Grandma's favorite sayings and it always made Ashley laugh whenever Grandma said it.

Carefully, Ashley touched the button-knob of the patch. This time it turned! The little flap of the patch-door opened!

Behind it was another patch - soft gray in color and kind of "feely" in one direction and smooth in the other. It reminded her of the soft, underbelly of a mouse. She decided that she liked this patch best of all and stroked it with one finger again and again.

Too soon, Dad called upstairs and said, "It’s almost time to go to the services," and "Please hurry, everyone." Ashley changed into her church clothes and walked back to the window. She touched the Quilt one more time before going downstairs and said softly, 'I'm glad you're here with me."

She turned and then walked down and out to the waiting car in the driveway.

Chapter 3

The Surprise

The curtains moved as he watched her drive away. He sighed a sigh full of anticipated relief and whispered, "Ah yes, she is the perfect one! I shall wait until I am called again.' and the button on the little door latched with a "click'!

Chapter 4

The Secret

By the time the family returned home, the moon was already combing out her long white hair across the evening sky. Dad and Mom were sitting close together at the kitchen table and were very quiet. The other kids were starting to sit down for supper. Ashley had been out back finishing her chore of feeding the cats and dog. She sailed through the screen door and didn't even stop at the table. She ran up the staircase and the banister smiled as she kissed it with her hands, secure in its occupation.

Inside her room, Ashley swung her door closed, lighted the old oil lamp that sat on her dresser and hurried over to the open window where she pulled the Quilt in from the rooftop. The antique smell had run away with the evening breeze, being old friends, and the Quilt filled the room instead with the scent of moonlight.

Ashley carried the Quilt with its moonlight cobwebs nearer to the lamp, where she took the stopper out of a small, dark, blue bottle. The wisps of the moonlight noticed the yellow glow of the lamp and, thinking it to be morning, seeped into the bottle like the smoke from a just-snuffed candle, only in reverse. She quickly replaced the stopper. She was saving moonlight for some time when she might really need it.

Ashley laid the Quilt on her bed and got out her flannel pajamas (you know ... the ones with the feet in them). As she slipped into them she noticed the Quilt seemed to glow as it snuggled amidst the stuffed menagerie on her bed. Before she climbed in for the night, Ashley took the small whiskbroom out of the drawer of the three-legged table near her bed. She walked around and whisked all of the ceiling comers, eaves and nooks of her room. You see, her Grandma had told her, one smooth summer evening, about the magic of a 'garret-room" and the secret of this chore. Grandma had said,

"Ashley love, always dust the top corners of your garret room before you get into bed. Because, all of the love, all of the magic, and all of the creativity that goes on in your house during the day drifts and seeps up into the highest room where it gets caught in the corners. If you stir up these feelings before you take your rest they will settle down into as you sleep. These are the grapes that make the wine for your imagination to drink.”

Ashley stuck the broom back into its drawer and pulled out her grandma’s thimble, setting it on the corner of her bedside table. It reminded her of Grandma’s kiss. She then put out her lamp, and clambered up into bed.

As she pulled the Quilt up to her chin, she felt the warmth immediately fill her from ear to heel. All of the strange, sad feelings left over from the funeral crawled out of her and a soft relaxation took over. Losing your grandma is hard for anybody, let alone a bright girl of ten.

She let her fingers stroll over the Quilt to memorize the patterns. She toured the textures and then reached the door patch in the center. Ashley pulled at the handle and tried to open the door, but it was closed tightly and seemed to be locked.

"That's strange ...and very peculiar," she said to her stuffed bear, "because it was open this afternoon and I don't remember closing it before I left..." She lit a candle to help her continue her search. Thinking back to what had happened before, she pulled the quilt up higher and was about to knock on the door when, to her amazement, a knock sounded from inside the door!

With a taste of trepidation, she reached down and carefully opened the door.

A breeze filled with long-forgotten wishes and secrets brushed softly by her cheek and wafted around the room. Everything seemed to sparkle for a moment, and then all was as it had been before.

"Things are very different this evening,” she said as she brushed away a stray wisp of hair that had fallen into her face from the strange breeze. She looked down into the open door and discovered that the soft, gray patch from within was not there! She was a wee bit disappointed because it was her favorite patch.

"I know you're here somewhere,” she said out loud as she searched the Quilt. "It's no use trying to hide.” Her head bent low over the labyrinth.

"Here I am! I kneel to do your every bidding, Lady Ashley of the Laughing Eyes!" came a man's voice from the corner of the room by the door!

Ashley jumped, pulled the Quilt up to her chin and held out the candle to see from where and from what the voice had come.

The candlelight tumbled down from the dresser and ran over to the corner where it revealed an oddly dressed man kneeling on one knee. His forehead and shoulder-length, soft, brown hair were nigh on touching the floor, as his hands swept downward. He stood and smiled at Ashley.

With a wave of his hand, her candle suddenly and miraculously brightened, chasing away the shadows of the room and bringing him into full light. Ashley could tell from his smiling eyes and his swirling beard that he meant no harm.

As he gazed at Ashley, a tear formed in the corner of his eye and then trickled down his cheek.

“Why are you crying?” she asked in simple wonder, looking into his face.

“Because you remind me so much of her…” he said, wiping away the tear. “…at your age …”

Ashley thought for a moment as she looked at him. “My Grandma told me about you…” she said.

“Yes, she did.” he added with a smile of knowing.

“… but,” Ashley continued. “… she made it sound like you were a part of a story …

“I am a part of your story…” he smiled.

“That’s what she said you’d say!” she giggled.

“How peculiar …” he said with a wink.

“YES!” laughed Ashley and she clapped her hands in delight. “This makes my heart smile!”

“Just like your Grandma would say.” he said.

Ashley pulled the quilt up and snuggled down into it. She could almost feel grandma’s presence in her room around her. She took a closer look at The Man in the Mouseskin Jerkin.

The man wore a strange but beautiful costume. Over his torso he wore a buff, earth-colored shirt with bloused sleeves which were gathered and buttoned at his wrists. The shirt was tucked into brown, leather britches - laced up the side to the knee which were, in turn, tucked into big black riding boots with tops that folded down three times. His pants were held up by a wide belt of black leather, fastened with a large silver belt buckle. Colors swirled around on the buckle - iridescent and pastel - that constantly changing color as they echoed his thoughts. Hanging from his left hip was a pouch that closed with a clasp of bone and a wooden-handled dagger.

A lute slung across his back, an old soprano recorder was stuck in his belt, and a Griffin's claw hung by a thong of braided leather under his right arm. Over the wide end of the claw was a Griffin's head worked in silver, as a cap. The claw was as large as a bull's horn, for Griffins, although few in number, are very large. Over his shirt and pants, the man wore a sleeveless gray tunic made from the same material as the missing patch-piece from inside the door on the Quilt. Holding the tunic together at the front were four pewter buttons with faces on them.

The visitor rose to his feet and, with panache; put on a brown renaissance hat that had long gray plume, extending down to the small of his back.

“How did you do that? She said, looking from the candle and back to him. “And who are you?”

He walked up to the foot of Ashley's bed, smiled a grin of time and said, "I am first-born son of the Moon and master story weaver of the Sun's palace. They call me 'The Man in the Mouseskin Jerkin.’"

Ashley sat up and held the candle in her right hand. She stared at him wide-eyed, her chin almost touching the blankets. If you looked close enough, you could see the people inside her head trying to record, shuffle and catalogue all that was happening.

You know, of course, about the people inside your head. There are two scribes who sit behind your eyes and watch all that goes on in front of them. They write everything down and then file it away in its proper place. Depending upon how organized of a person you are, these men have their working area clean and orderly. As you are falling asleep each night, they open up all of the drawers in your brain so that your dreams can come in and select what they need for each night's adventure.

When the man first spoke, Ashley jumped so hard that everything inside that the scribes been working on and all of the contents of all the open drawers were thrown about the desks and floors! Even now there were pieces of paper floating down from above. Everything felt a-jumble. Finally the "inside-hers" found the loose cord and plugged-in her voice. But the only thing that came out was an unintelligible “mumblization” of "Ws" which sorted themselves out into"...W-w-w why?"

The Man in the Mouseskin Jerkin reached over and took the candle from Ashley's numbed hand just before the wet wax ran over and placed it in the antique-brass candlestick on the table by her bed.

"I've been sent to show you,” he said with a smile in his eyes at her loss for words.

“Ummm ... Ah ... w-what?" she asked, slowly regaining control of her faculties.

The Man in the Mouseskin Jerkin winked at her, hardly able to control his own excitement. He motioned with his outstretched hands to the Quilt before her and said, "Ahh, pick a patch!"

Chapter 5

The Story

His excitement reached across the foot of the bed and ignited a sparkle of wonder in Ashley. She sat up higher in bed and pulled her knees up to her chin. But then, a tiny cloud of hesitation trickled over the horizon of her eyes and settled on her brows.

"Yes....?” he said patiently.

“How does it work?” she asked, still wide-eyed.

"Simply choose one..." he said

"I don't know ... " her voice trailed off as her eyes searched his face.

The Man in the Mouseskin Jerkin laughed again and spoke, "See this green one here?"

"Uh huh,"she said with a nod.

"Watch..." he said and touched the patch with his finger.

At his touch, the patch sparkled and began to spread across the quilt. As it grew larger, miniature leaves of grass, the same color as the patch, began to sprout and grow before her eyes! Tiny flowerbeds sprang up and blossomed in the folds of her blankets. They began to sway, as a soft breeze began to blow across her bed. From behind her headboard, a sun rose and the patch world rejoiced in the dawn of a new day!

Laughing out loud this time, the man said, "Each patch on this quilt is a different story!"

Ashley smiled with delight as the magic unfolded there before her. He then clapped his hands and the tiny landscape retreated back into the green patch.

"All you need do is choose."

Gently biting the end of her finger, Ashley said over and over out loud, "What to choose? ... what to choose…?" Her eyes danced over the multitude of patches on the quilt. As her gaze caressed each new piece, the colors and textures of that piece would brighten and whisper, “Me! Me!"

The Man in the Mouseskin Jerkin grinned as he watched her. It was always the same for the “next-one's” first time.

His musings were interrupted by Ashley's excited shout, "This one I choose!"

He looked to see her pointing to the door-patch at the very center of the quilt. All of the other patches seemed to radiate out from this one patch - or in to it depending on how you were looking at it.

"An excellent choice, my lady. ‘Always start at the beginning,’ says I. You do have the wisdom of the ages all about you.”

Ashley' face glowed, a flicker of shyness showing around the edges of her wonderment.

"Go ahead..." he whispered. "Make the magic happen ... Choose it!"

Ashley looked at him with a taste of apprehension in her eyes, gently bit her bottom lip and gingerly reached out to the patch.

As her finger touched the door, a chord of music danced into the room and her curtains swayed in the melody of it, though not a breath of air stirred outside on this magical night!

The Man in the Mouseskin Jerkin leaned back his head and inhaled the music, which filled him down to his soul. Ashley followed his lead and the melody flooded into her with its color.

Then, right before her eyes, a wondrous light welled up out of the door! The music she had heard grew louder and each patch began to glow as the light flooded out across the quilt.

Ashley stared wide-eyed as the light reached all the way up to where she sat and lapped at her fingers! The melody swirled through her and she felt as if Grandma was there in the room with her.

"Oh, this is wonderful!" she cried.

"Yes, it is.' replied The Man in the Mouseskin Jerkin with a knowing nod. "Look into the door!'

Ashley leaned down into the light. There she saw a tiny, shining book!

"Open it!" he whispered.

She did and found that there were tiny words embroidered across the pages of the miniature book. They were so small that she could barely read them.

"It is The Story of Word Pictures!" he said, reading her thoughts. "The heart of all of the tales I have to tell and the soul of the Quilt.'

"Tell me the story," she asked with a tremble flickering in her voice at the edges of her wonder. “Please, please tell me!"

Chapter 6

The Poem

The Man in the Mouseskin Jerkin closed his eyes, took a deep breath of the music and held it within himself for a moment. Then he opened his eyes, his mouth, and his soul -- and sang,

Sit down beside me

I'll tell you a story

Of beautiful women

And men who are bold.

The kind of a story

To help you remember

The wonder of childhood

Before you grew old.

A Story of Word Pictures.

Of sulphur and tin.

Of fern banks and forests

That you can hide in.

Of little brown people

As tall as your knees,

Who walk very quickly

Through doorways in trees.

Spires of moonlight,

Shells on the beach.

The soft, silent sermons

The butterflies preach.

A small, Elfin maiden

In a spiderweb gown,

Goes gliding right past you,

One foot off the ground.

The old learned Wizard,

Whose mist-shrouded tower

Watches his watches

Chime hour on hour.

And wait for the wind

To come running up fast,

And watch as his footprints

Go past in the grass.

So think of a feeling

From when you were younger.

Now, give it a color

Or call it by name.

Then pull up the covers

And keep your head under

And smile at that darkness

And know who's to blame!

So, if you can gather

The pictures I scatter,

Like daisies in sunlight

You weave into chains...

Then we'll be the ones

Who will look for the rainbows

While others think only of clouds

When it rains!

He turned to ask for her next selection, but she was already cuddled into the arms of Morpheus - her favorite bear - and both were smiling, softly asleep.

The End of Book One

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