Fields Of Gold by Marie Bostwick Page A

for wanting too much, especially on such a beautiful night, when things were going so well. Times were good. The crop was in, and my son was healthy, happy and smarter than any four-year-old I knew. Slim had popped into my life for an instant and disappeared, but at least I’d had an instant. Some people never even got that. I had my beautiful boy, loving parents, and a good home for us all. And as if that wasn’t enough, now it seemed that my quilting hobby was about to become a real little business.
    One day, while I was studying some photographs of Monet’s paintings in one of Papa’s books, I got the idea you might make a quilt the same way, blending small splashes of color into a larger, richer scene. I dug though dozens of scraps of blue, aqua, turquoise, sapphire, cobalt, and teal until I had enough cloth to design and piece together a watercolor lily pond of my own. Morgan and I gave it to Ruby for Christmas.
    When Ruby’s rich Aunt Cora came visiting from Dallas, she made the biggest fuss over the quilt and wanted to buy it. Ruby explained it was a gift and not for sale, but she introduced us, and Aunt Cora ordered another one “just like it.” The fussy old lady said she’d pay me fifty dollars! I accepted her offer but explained I couldn’t make it exactly the same as Ruby’s.
    â€œQuilts are like names, Miss Cora. It’s important they match the personality of the person they belong to. Otherwise, they’ll never quite fit, no matter how pretty they are. You let me think on it a bit. I’ll make a quilt just with you in mind, and if you don’t like it, you don’t have to take it.” She agreed, and I worked hard and finished the quilt in two months.
    It was a garden scene, with bougainvillea and gardenias and hibiscus, flowers I’d never seen except in books, but as I cut and stitched and pricked my fingers I could smell a sweetness in the air that seemed to float in from far-off trade winds. When it was finished I embroidered my name and the date on the back in purple thread and shipped it off in the mail.
    About two weeks later, I received a manila envelope from Dallas, fat with checks and a letter from Ruby’s aunt.

    Dear Miss Glennon;
    I can’t tell you how happy I am to have received my quilt at long last. It is more beautiful than I could have imagined. You were right to insist on designing one just for me even though I pressed you so to make a copy of dear Ruby’s. I have always loved gardens and flowers. There is nothing that brings me as much peace as kneeling in my flower beds, working the earth and finally seeing the fruits of my labor in full bloom. How did you know I raise gardenias? How beautifully you’ve captured them in color and cloth! Now I shall sleep surrounded by elegant white blossoms even in winter. Thank you so much.
    I have enclosed letters from three of my friends, Mrs. Pryor, Mrs. Byrd and Miss Shelton, who would also like to commission quilts from you. Please find enclosed three checks for $25 (as a deposit) along with a $50 payment for my own quilt. At my suggestion, the ladies have sent photos of themselves and letters to give you a bit of information about their backgrounds so you can “think on” the type of quilt you want to design for them. I told them not to expect the finished product for at least six months as I know how many hours you put into each creation. Several other friends have also expressed interest, but I have suggested they wait until these first three are finished so you are not overwhelmed by the work.
    Please give my regards to dear Ruby and to your family. Thank you again, Miss Glennon, for your beautiful work. You wield your needle like an artist’s brush.
    Affectionately,
Mrs. Cora Shaw Daniels

    Personally, I thought she went a bit overboard with the “artist’s brush” comment, but I was flattered by her praise and only too happy to make some money of