Beyond the Storm: Quilts of Love Series by Carolyn Zane Read Free Book Online Page A

some pretty emotional stuff, what with waiting so long for your baby and everything.”
    “I think every marriage ebbs and flows. Yours will, too.”
    “Yeah, but how have you done it? I mean, what is the secret behind staying happy through the rough patches?”
    Jen exhaled slowly as she mulled her answer. “You already have the two most important ingredients. Number one, your marriage will be a triangle—God at the top, you and Chaz at the corners. That is a very strong shape for any marriage. And number two, you guys can make each other laugh. Hang on to that wonderful sense of humor and you’ll be just fine.”
     
    11:45 a.m.
     
    “Ron, Julie and I were wondering if you could take a minute out of your busy schedule and tell our listeners what’s going on out there today with this horrible heat and any ideas when it might lift?”
    “Well, Mike, in layman’s terms, I can tell you that we’ve got some hot, wet air trapped down here by a layer of colder air coming down out of Canada.”
    “Sounds like tornado weather.”
    “Hard to say. It’s true that when two air masses like these begin to move, they cause a friction that literally begins to roll the air into a cylinder. Rolling air charged with energy like that is called a supercell. Supercells are the formations that lead to twisters.”
    “Ron, for a couple of months now, seems like we’ve been preparing for tornados that just don’t happen. Do you think people might be getting immune to the warnings, the ‘Cry Wolf’ syndrome, if you will?”
    “No doubt about it, Mike. Aside from the actual twister, complacency is probably the most dangerous thing of all.”
     

     
    12:34 p.m.
     
    Selma’s Quilty Pleasures simply oozed charm. Aside from absolutely everything a serious quilter could ever dream of needing, there were knickknacks and ornaments and aprons and hot pads and more—all quilted and stitched together with love. If it could be quilted, a customer could be certain that Selma carried it in her shop. Abigail had grown up with the scents of potpourri, candles, new fabric, and orange-oiled wood; and—though she wasn’t into quilting herself—nothing filled her with contentment faster than a lunch hour with Aunt Selma in her homey shop.
    In her aunt’s cluttered quilting classroom Abigail was finishing the last of the sub sandwich that she’d shared with Selma while she listened to her pitch some ideas for her speed quilting theme.
    “So, you’re saying ‘no’ on the candy theme, ‘no’ on the pumpkin theme, ‘maybe’ on the wedding ring theme, and a ‘don’t-make-me-barf’ on the baby animal theme, right?”
    “Eh,” Abigail said and shrugged. “Auntie Sel, I’m the wrong person to ask. Don’t hate me, but I just don’t see why people get so excited over a blanket made out of a bunch of scraps when you can just go to the store and buy a comforter already made.”
    Selma stared at her. “And you came from my sister’s daughter’s loins? You come from generations of quilt masters, and yet, you don’t appreciate the wonder and beauty of telling a story and painting a picture with fabric? Who
are
you?”
    Abigail leaned back and hooted at the fierce expression on Selma’s face. “I like to tell a story with hair?” she offered as an olive branch.
    It was Selma’s turn to laugh. “What would you think about a quilt called ‘hairstyles through the ages’?”
    “I’d
love
it!” Abigail sat up at that idea. Now Selma was speaking her language. “I might even buy a bunch of those raffle tickets! I might even,” the creative wheels were suddenly turning in her head, “have some sketches of hairdos you could copy—”
    A ruckus out in the store interrupted her train of thought. There was a whole lot of giggling going on out there. “To be continued,” she called after Selma, who’d gone to see about the noise. Curious about the laughter echoing from out front, she gathered up her paper plate and napkins,