The Anna Quilt

By Donna Bender Hood

When Gus Compton dies, he leaves behind an unbreakable trust regarding the old Compton house, the surrounding land, and the beautiful lake. The Anna quilt has hung in the house for so many years that no one remembers Anna or when the quilt first arrived. Besides, it is old, poorly stitched, and really rather ugly. The death of Gus Compton and the reading of his unusual trust brings out assorted family members, both bad and good. And as Gus's good friend Reese Trainor said, "Gus probably laughed all the way through the Pearly Gates."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503552197

Donna Bender Hood

Donna Bender Hood is the author of nine other books, all of which are light fiction, romance, and evildoings. Besides writing, she enjoys gardening. Donna is also a twenty-year quilter and is active in a local quilt group that raises funds for their volunteer fire department by hosting a quality outdoor quilt show every September.

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Copyright © 2015 by Donna Bender Hood.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2015904043

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5035-5217-3

                Softcover        978-1-5035-5218-0

                eBook             978-1-5035-5219-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/13/2015

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

The Disappointment

Chapter 2

The Stories

Chapter 3

Noah

Chapter 4

The Six

Chapter 5

Lara

Chapter 6

Diane

Chapter 7

The Compton Five

Chapter 8

Surprises

Chapter 9

A Frying Pan and a Coffeepot

Chapter 10

The Bomb

Chapter 11

Dingle Berries

Chapter 12

Pumpkin Head

Chapter 13

Another Letter

Chapter 14

Gifts

Chapter 15

Roseanna

Other Books by Donna Bender Hood

The Bennington Trilogy

Asa

The Double B

Bennington House

Women from Silver Bend

Flint Mesa

Thank you, Berta.

PROLOGUE

A drianna Rosario Smithhart had been missing for three weeks. When the news that her smashed and burned-out car had been found, the information hit all the news outlets. It was more than because she was the wife of State Senator Herbert. H. Smithhart. She was well liked by just about everyone, not only because she was beautiful and charming, but also because she came across as caring and was always dressed as if she respected her husband and the people he was supposed to represent.

The press loved her because she was always gracious even when some of the questions were cutting. The fact that Herbert was old enough to be her father was old news. Somehow, she rose above the crude comments written in the gossip magazines. It was often said she would make a great first lady. No one ever said Herbert Smithhart would make a good governor.

Her disappearance had garnered a lot of interest, but the investigation had gone nowhere. Per the tearful housekeeper and the equally distraught personal secretary, Mrs. Smithhart had left their house midmorning to drive to a favorite dress shop in order to pick up a gown, which had been altered in preparation for a party planned for the following weekend.

Any one of the staff could have done it, but she had happily waved off the suggestion, saying it was a beautiful fall day. She was looking forward to the drive even if it was short, and she didn’t need anyone to go along with her. Everyone knew she loved to drive her little sports car. Adrianna Smithhart never arrived at the shop and was never seen again.

Weeks later and over three hundred miles away and in a very remote area, deer hunters discovered the smashed, completely incinerated car. Removing the wreck and doing all the investigation took longer than it should have in some people’s minds. Few people understood that was because the car contained no human remains. This resulted in a massive, thorough search of the woods surrounding the crash site. The search had revealed nothing. The one thing certain was that the car had been doused in gasoline before it was apparently pushed off the cliff near the small remote summer community named Dunkirk.

The senator was deep in grief, waiting for a ransom note that never came. He appeared on TV pleading for Adrianna’s safe return with no results. He failed to complete his reelection campaign, and some people said it was because of his grief. Others said it was because he was losing in the polls. Despite a bump in the polls as a result of his missing wife, it was not enough. It was a graceful way out.

On election night, he appeared briefly on TV, congratulating the winner. He looked old, haggard, and worn. It didn’t take long for the senator to disappear from the media and only a little longer for people to lose interest in the missing wife.

Only former State Senator Smithhart himself knew that besides missing his wife, he was also missing a very large amount of cash from the safe in their home office. He could say nothing. The money was dirty. In the empty box where the cash should have been, he found his wife’s wedding ring.

A few years later, the former senator passed away from a heart attack. Nothing in the various articles regarding his passing mentioned his one-time wife. It would be years before anyone thought about Adrianna Rosario Smithhart.

CHAPTER 1

The Disappointment

P arked in front of her little garage, Lara Winslow sat quietly in her car. If she was going to put away the car, she had to get out and open the garage door. Like her house, the garage was old, and the garage door was not automatic. However, she was not thinking about her car or the garage. She was lost in thought about what happened today. Why didn’t she just learn to say no, thank you or just plain no .

Right after the lunch when the quilters of the Cider Hill Quilt Group were packing up the covered dishes from the potluck lunch and hauling their sewing machines and quilting tools and projects back out to their cars, Marnie Lawson had practically cornered Lara against the front steps railing at the entrance of the meeting hall. As usual, she was talking fast and with her hands. You have to come. You really should come. I know you want to see the quilt. I can’t believe you’ve never seen the Anna Quilt. It will be fun.

Marnie had clapped her hands together and rushed on. Next Monday. Leave your car at the Bull Frog Diner. I’ll drive. I’ll take Luke to school and drop the baby off at day care. Then I’ll pick you up. Now Marnie was happily ticking the time off on her fingers. An hour to drive to the house … an hour to see the quilt and the windows. Oh, don’t forget the windows … an hour to come back. You can take pictures. Maybe even win another award. I’ll buy lunch.

By this time, Marnie finally stopped talking. Lara thought Marnie sounded as if she was almost pleading, and Lara had a flash of insight. Marnie Lawson was lonesome. Lara understood loneliness or feeling lonesome. For the first year after Bob ended their marriage, loneliness had been a constant companion, but Marnie was married and had two children. She was a member of the quilt group and worked at the day care, so how could she be lonely? Lara didn’t bother to try and think it over. She had said yes to the invitation to go visit the old Compton house. She would see the Anna Quilt and the famous beautiful stained glass windows the following Monday.

Oh well, Lara sighed and studied her little yard. The grass that had been early summer green only a few weeks ago now had an edge of brown to it, and even last night, a serious-faced man on the local news had warned that fire season was just around the corner.

Saturday, the grandson of her landlord would come mow both lawns. Greg was a nice young man, and his grandparents, Edna and Peter Brown were a cute elderly couple and the perfect landlords. Lara knew that Peter Brown thought it was his duty to look out for her. He had mentioned more than once that a pretty, young woman living alone needed looking after. From Lara’s perspective, she believed she was keeping an eye on them, especially Peter since he sometimes seemed a little fragile but refused to admit it.

Again Lara thought about the coming Monday. She would take her camera. Maybe the quilt would be worth a picture. Now that she thought about it, the few people who she knew had viewed the quilt had not raved about it. Mostly, it sounded as if the family valued the quilt because of its age. Or maybe it was just an important piece of Compton family history. The quilt still hung in the Compton house, which was supposed to have been built in the early 1900s. It was a local landmark.

Lara believed the home was empty now, but still the building itself might offer some photo possibilities. And then as Marnie had said, there were the stained glass windows. Lara had heard compliments on those windows. Perhaps on the drive to the house there would be late spring or early summer wildflowers along the way. Lara sighed. She would take her camera just in case.

The following Sunday, in preparation for the trip, Lara packed her camera bag, all the while hoping that Marnie would call and cancel. It was a possibility because according to the weather forecast, there could be thundershowers Monday afternoon. Marnie did not call.

Monday morning exactly at nine o’clock, Lara sat in the parking lot of the Bull Frog Diner and waited. Marnie was going to be late, it appeared. It was an accepted practice that local women who were driving alone and had to leave their car parked it at the Bull Frog. It was a popular place to eat and right across the street from the sheriff substation.

Marnie arrived at 9:20 a.m. full of apologies and worried that Lara would not want to go. As she put her camera bag and purse in Marnie’s car, she assured Lara that they had still had time. Once on the road, however, Lara wondered if Marnie was trying to make up for time and if she drove at these speeds with her children in the car. Going around some corners was turning into white-knuckled times, but Marnie didn’t seem to notice, and they arrived at the Compton house just a little after ten o’clock.

Leave your purse. Take your camera, directed Marnie in a fluster, and then she herded Lara up the front steps and through the front door. Lara would like to have studied the outside of the house. There was some interesting gingerbread trim on the structure, but apparently the quilt viewing had to come first.

As Lara was hustled through the large but almost empty front room, she had a glimpse of an old sofa, one overstuffed chair under plastic next to a native stone fireplace. There were stained glass panels on either side of the fireplace, but she only saw them long enough to know they were beautiful. In the dining room, there was no furniture at all, and Marie stood at the foot of a staircase flipping the light switch off and on. Nothing was happening. She stared into the upstairs gloom and frowned.

Both women jumped when a deep male voice said, Oh, Marnie, it’s you. I wondered who was in here. Lara and Marnie both turned to face a door that probably led to the kitchen. The speaker was a tall man and proportioned to his height, so he rather filled up the doorway. If this man was Uncle Reese, he was a surprise.

He was dressed in faded jeans with a denim work shirt open in the front with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had well-muscled forearms and apparently a nice chest. The worn leather tool belt riding low on his hips contained serious-looking tools. He was smiling.

Marie was embarrassed. Oh, Uncle Reese. I guess I forgot to call.

His smile widened. That’s OK. None of the others are here today. It was an odd exchange, and Lara wondered if maybe she should not be here. Uncle Reese was now looking at her.

Marie spoke, recovering her manners. Uncle Reese, this is my friend Lara. She is a photographer. She’s won awards, and she wants to take pictures of the Anna Quilt.

Inwardly, Lara groaned. She was not a photographer. Taking photos was a hobby. She had won one award last year just because she happened to be in the right place at the right time, and her camera was ready. The resulting award-winning photo was just pure luck. Marnie was making her into something she was not.

Before she could speak, Uncle Reese smiled, nodded, and explained, I have the power off. Give me fifteen minutes to finish my work, and then you can go up and see the quilt. He turned as if to leave then turned back again. The coffee in the pot should still be hot. Help yourselves. Maybe Miss Lara would like to see the windows while you wait. He gave them a big smile, and then he was gone.

A few minutes later with coffee in foam cups, Lara and Marnie stood in the living room and studied the fine stained glass panels flanking the fireplace. They were rather large, perhaps three feet by five feet. Each depicted a figure standing on rocks surrounded by the ocean.

In the panel on the left, the figure was a well-muscled, nearly naked man with seaweed in his hair. He was standing on rocks in the midst of the sea. In his uplifted right hand, he held a trident, and the waves appeared to be recoiling away from him. That’s Poseidon or Neptune, explained Marnie.

The other panel on the right could be the same rock, but the man standing on the rock was fully clothed in a flowing dark brown robe. In his hand, he held a cross. Lara waited for an explanation, but Marnie remained silent.

Who is that?

Marnie sighed. No one can agree. Some family members say it is Moses parting the Red Sea. Others say it can’t be Moses because he wouldn’t have had a cross. Still others say it is supposed to be Jesus because there is a halo around the figure’s head. Someone else suggested it is probably some little known patron saint of lost sailors.

"Well, whoever they represent, the panels are exquisite, but shouldn’t they be protected?

Marnie looked surprised. Protected? Like how?

Marnie, these are works of art. Shatterproof glass on both sides is one idea.

Marnie brightened. Uncle Reese will know. As she said that, they both heard music from the direction of the kitchen. Power must be back on. Marnie led the way back into the dining room and the stairs where they met Uncle Reese.

Lara noticed his shirt was now buttoned, and the tool belt was gone. He started to say something, but the Star Spangled Banner blared from Marnie’s overly large shoulder bag. She looked embarrassed again as she fumbled around in the bag’s interior, looking for her phone. Staring at the number, she stated, I have to take this. She walked quickly to the kitchen. Both Reese and Lara looked after her. Although they could not hear the exact words, they could determine from her tone that the call was some sort of bad news.

When Marie returned, she looked worried. That was the school. Luke fell and hit his head. He is at the hospital. Jack is on his way. I have to go. As she spoke, she was again digging around in her bag as she inched toward the living room and the front door.

Lara spoke. Marnie, if you are looking for your keys, you left them in the car.

Marnie stared at Lara as if she had just discovered that Lara was in the room. I … I can’t take you home, she stammered. The hospital. It is in the other direction.

Reese replied, I can take Lara home. Turning to Lara, he asked, Do you have anything in her car?

Purse and camera bag, she replied.

The three of them walked to Marnie’s car. Lara retrieved her items and watched as Uncle Reese place his hands on Marnie’s shoulders just before she got into her car. His voice was serious, even a little hard. Marnie, pay attention. I want you drive safely. Luke is at the hospital. He is being cared for. Just like you, Jack is on his way. You won’t help matters by having an accident of your own. Do you understand?

Lara thought she could see some of Marnie’s tension drain away. She took a big deep breath, mumbled OK, and got in her car. Both Reese and Lara watched as she tightened her seat belt and, at a reasonable speed, drove out of sight down the road. Reese spoke softly. That woman has to be one of the worst drivers I have ever seen.

Lara laughed, Tell me about it. I rode up here with her.

Reese gave her an understanding grin. Well, since you are here, I can show you the quilt. It is in the upstairs hall, and the light is not great, but I know nothing about cameras. He offered to carry her camera bag, and together they walked back to the house.

Lara thought Uncle Reese was definitely a surprise. She had expected some gray-headed, old duffer, not a rather handsome, pleasant man about her own age. They both noticed the growing thunderheads in the east and made casual comments on the weather.

Going up the stairs to the second floor, Reese let Lara go first and tried not to notice her nice little rear end as she climbed the stairs ahead of him. He concentrated on how she was dressed: casually in nice jeans and a tee shirt with sunflowers on the front and shoes decorated with little flowers he thought were supposed to be sunflowers. On the landing, he stopped and pointed down the wall to the quilt. That’s it, he announced, stepping back to let her approach the quilt.

Lara moved toward the quilt, which was hanging on the wall. She was surprised that it was not larger. It was even an odd design. Lara felt a wave of real disappointment. It was truly ugly.

CHAPTER 2

The Stories

L ara tried to judge what she was seeing. The quilt consisted of nine twelve-inch squares made up of almost odd pieces. Each square contained only shades of one color, all orange in one, all green in another, all blue, etc. It was almost a crazy quilt pattern but not quite. Overall, it was a strange arrangement, and the more Lara looked at the quilt, the more something looked wrong. It was no traditional pattern that she knew of. Slowly she asked, Have you ever had a quilt historian or a fiber expert look at this quilt?

She did not see the expression on Reese’s face change. His friendly smile changed to a look of suspicion. No. Should we?

Lara did not reply but looked more closely at the quilting stitches. It was stitched by hand. That was obvious, but it was uneven and sometimes even crude, almost as if different quilters in a hurry had done the work. The quilting pattern was even ordinary, not a recognized pattern, just straight lines done in rough 3 x 6 rectangles. Nothing fancy. Lara moved closer and studied the fabric used in the odd quilt pieces. When did you say this quilt was supposed to have been made?

Reese’s expression darkened even more as he understood the possible meaning of her question. He answered carefully. Depending on which family member you ask, between eighty and ninety years ago. Why? Do you think there a problem?

Lara had moved closer to the quilt but refrained from touching it. Without turning, she said, I think some of these fabrics are not right for eighty or ninety years ago.

In what way? he asked, moving quietly to her side.

Lara was deep in thought and unaware of the continued suspicion in his voice. Very slowly, she said, I have been around quilters and quilting all my life, but still I am no expert, but I do feel something is very wrong. Let me show you.

Reese leaned forward