Promise Lodge by Charlotte Hubbard Page A

while she and Phoebe straightened the colorful coverlet to get a better look at its oddly shaped pieces. “What are these? Why did you cut the fabric skinny at one end and pointy at the other?”
    Rosetta smiled. “Those are neckties that English men wear for dress-up,” she explained. “I cut them in half and then positioned them with the narrow end of one against the wider end of another one.”
    â€œAnd then you sewed them onto long fabric panels and joined the panels with this bright blue fabric,” Laura said. “Where did you get so many neckties? There must be dozens of them here, with so many colors and patterns my eyes don’t know where to focus first!”
    â€œ Jah, it was a fun quilt to put together. I was still in my rumspringa, so Mamm allowed me to have a gut time with it—especially since the ties didn’t cost me a cent,” Rosetta went on. “Somebody English dropped bags of neckties into the thrift store’s collection box and the lady who ran the place had no idea what to do with them all. She said they were so out of date, nobody would ever buy them.”
    â€œI like it!” Phoebe declared.
    â€œI’m glad you’re getting your pieces out and using them,” Laura said. “These rooms will look really special with your quilts and embroidered pillowcases—and who knows? Maybe some of the ladies who rent your apartments won’t have much bedding or furniture to bring with them.”
    â€œI thought I’d be ready to provide anything some of them might not have,” Rosetta replied with a nod.
    â€œAnd maybe you’ll want to use these, too.” Phoebe fetched the dark wooden plaques she’d left in the other room. “We found a whole bunch of them in the closet we’re cleaning out.”
    Rosetta’s eyes widened. “Kids must’ve made these while they were attending camp,” she speculated. “Think how much time it took to spell out the Lord’s Prayer with alphabet soup letters, and then glue on the words and the macaroni trim around the edges!”
    â€œAnd this one is the Twenty-Third Psalm,” Laura said, holding another plaque so Rosetta could see it. “We found plaques made with different colors of dried beans and corn, too.”
    â€œPictures of chickens and roosters and flowers,” Phoebe elaborated, “along with a really large one of the Last Supper.”
    â€œAnd we found a big angel hanging that somebody crocheted with tiny white thread, but it’s got some brown spots. Mamm thought they might be water stains.” Laura’s whole face lit up with her smile. “We threw away a lot of dried-up glue and melted crayons and faded construction paper, but finding the plaques and pictures was even better than discovering some of the stuff in our attic when we were packing to move here.”
    Rosetta smiled as she imagined the items the girls had described. “Let’s go downstairs and take a look at those pictures. Wouldn’t it be fun to display them in some of the common rooms or hallways? Maybe we can soak that crocheted angel in some vinegar water to remove the stains.”
    As the three of them left the room, Phoebe paused in the doorway for one last look at the necktie quilt. “I bet it took some nerve to get out the linens you’d made for when you got married, Aunt Rosetta,” she said softly. “I’m glad you showed them to us and explained about why you’ve stayed a maidel . I’ve never believed you didn’t have guys wanting to court you—”
    â€œBut now that I know you chose not to marry,” Laura chimed in, “the whole picture of your life makes more sense. You’ve been piecing your path together the way you wanted it, like you did with your unusual quilts.”
    The whole picture of your life . . . piecing your path together ...
    Rosetta hugged her nieces’ shoulders.