The Quiltmaker -- Maggie ConnerTEACHER, DESIGNER AND QUILTMAKER If the creek don’t rise. Maggie Connor thought that was as good a sentiment as any today. Kathy Duncan had chirped it out as she rolled up her window and drove off. Maggie was bone tired, two full classes today with twelve women who ranged between totally inept with a sewing machine to Kathy (who, although a highly skilled seamstress, was an extremely bossy woman). Maggie had opened The Quilting School a little over an year ago, after much prodding from friends and the gals down at the Fancy Bunny Fabric Shop. (Maggie still didn’t understand why Jessie Daniels had chosen that name for her fabric shop. No bunnies in sight!) Sometimes Maggie just wanted her (quiet) time back to do her own quilting. Instead, she found herself run ragged with two classes a day, three or four days a week. Most of the people were beginners and needed the hands-on tutoring. But the days she had to deal with the likes of the Kathy Duncans of this valley, well... That was why she had always shied away from guilds and clubs. Maggie had her own pace of doing things and from years of trial and error, she had a good system figured out which worked extremely well. It was mostly that system which she taught in her classes and while the unskilled beginners benefitted from it, the ones like Kathy didn’t. In fact they often made the classes confusing for others with their comments on how they did this or that. But two years ago things began to change. First, she lost her husband of twenty-four years to a crazy car accident. Then by happenstance, she gained notoriety with her quilting by winning a best in show at one of the major national quilt shows. In effort to keep Maggie's mind off the car accident, (and Jessie's own desperation) Jessie dreamed up the idea of Maggie teaching some classes at her shop. They were such a hit, one class led to another until more room was needed for the classes. Now, between the quilting classes, queries from the various quilting magazines for articles, and a pending book deal; Maggie didn’t have time to think. On days like today, and after dealing with know-it-alls like Kathy, she just wanted to kick off her shoes and soak in the hot tub for about three hours.
“I was hoping I could call in a favor,” said Sheriff Hank Castle, old friend of Maggie's husband. “Since when do I owe you a favor?” “Since I called off the dogs, so to speak,” he countered. “That Animal Control Officer, what’s her name, oh yeah... Douglas. I told her to let you be. That you were a lot more responsible than the idiots who saddle you with them mama cats and kittens. Then I told her every cat you had was spayed or neutered, had their shots and was well fed so they were healthy and well cared for. When she still balked, I asked her exactly what she would do with those cats if Animal Control took them in and she wouldn’t say.” He lowered his voice and using the growl he was famous for, continued, “I informed her that they wouldn’t get any of those cats to kill!” Maggie knew Hank well enough to know that as tough as he came across to most everyone, he had a heart of gold when it came to animals. He’d always had a dog around, in fact right now he had three. But what surprised her in the last round of adoptions was he took a couple of the kittens. He had come by one day for some reason. Two little toms were playing together on the porch. They broke off their play to investigate the man’s trouser legs. After climbing up the man’s leg and settled on his lap, they promptly set up a stereo racket while he tried to talk over them. When it was time to go, he asked if they had homes yet. When she told him they hadn’t been spoken for, he told her to get them fixed (on him) and he’d make a place for them. He named the black one Spike (his “biker” cat—black leather sort of thing) and the orange tabby one Scotch (for his favorite drink). In his care they were already growing into big cats. Even with the dogs around, they ruled the roost. He soon became her biggest advocate for finding homes for the kittens. Unbeknownst to her, he had even began the paperwork to get her place set up properly with a big-time adoption agency. It wasn’t until the paperwork came that she found out just what he’d done. Her barn was now officially an extension of that group’s main office in town. Maggie laughed and said, “Okay, I give. That was a good one. Just having Officer Douglas curtailed is favor enough.” She then added, “oh, by the way, thanks for getting that adoption designation for my barn. Get a half a dozen calls a week now for dropping off cats to adopt. If it keeps up I’ll have to hire someone to deal with that!” “Sorry, didn’t mean to make more work. Just was trying to get you legal so Officer Smarty-Pants would leave you alone,” he said apologetically.
“So, what’s your favor?” “Well, remember when you helped us out a while back with that stolen blanket thing?” “You mean that priceless 100 year old Indian blanket that was stolen from the museum?” “Yeah, that one,” he said gingerly, “I was wondering if you could help us with that blanket Mary Jo was wrapped up in. That is, after the guys are through with it. I think it might tie in somehow.”
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