The Quilt by T. Davis Bunn Page A

Mary said.
    â€œCan we get you something?” Lou Ann asked.
    â€œNot a thing, thank you. You just sit there and think on what this child has told you.” Mary let herself be half-led, half-carried through the silent room. When she was in thedoorway leading to the back hall she turned and said to them all, “And finish what you’ve started.”

    That afternoon Mary had not risen from her bed, and her color did not look good, so Jody decided it was time to listen to sense and not to Mary’s protests. She called the doctor, and when he heard who it was he promised to stop by on his way home.
    Dr. Horace Martin had the sort of bedside manner that made most people want to get well just to make him happy. And those who couldn’t will themselves well were grateful for his care. His eyes held the light of somebody who was just waiting to hear the punchline of a really good joke, and even on the coldest days his hands somehow stayed warm. He had forgotten more secrets than most people ever knew, and came close to matching the minister for hearing out people’s troubles.
    But his face was serious and his eyes grave when he finished Mary’s examination. He folded up his stethoscope and put it back into his little black bag before saying, “Miss Mary, I think maybe I oughtta call us a car to take you over to the hospital.”
    Jody felt that little cloud of fear that had been hovering around her all day densify into a solid lump of ice that settled in her belly. She reached out and grasped the doorjamb for support.
    Mary did not need to raise her voice to get the message across. “Horace Martin, you are going to do no such thing.”
    â€œIt’s just a few tests, Miss Mary, there’s nothing—”
    â€œDon’t be silly, young man.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her gaze still brooked no back talk. “What on earth do I need tests for? I’m old and I’m sick. There. I’ve just saved us both a lot of trouble.”
    Dr. Horace Martin knew Mary well enough to quit whilehe was able. He gave her hand a little pat, smiled in defeat, stood, and signaled for Jody and Lou Ann to follow him out.
    Once the door was closed, Jody had to fight to keep her voice steady as she asked, “Is she going to be all right?”
    There were some things that Horace Martin had never become comfortable with. His eyes said one thing while his voice said another. “She’s old but she’s strong. Why don’t we give her a couple of days and see how it develops.”
    Jody was too numb to wring her hands. “Should I try to talk her into going to the hospital?”
    It showed the kind of man Dr. Horace Martin truly was when he fought down his first reaction and said instead, “Maybe the best thing for her right now is to stay where she’s most comfortable.”

    By mid-morning of the next day, Mary’s front sitting room was jammed. Lou Ann had been there since letting the kids off at school, granting Jody a chance to go home and get a few hours sleep. Voices were even more hushed than usual.
    Just before lunch Lou Ann went back to find Mary’s eyes open. “Are you all right, Momma? Can I get you something to eat?”
    Mary motioned toward the glass on her bedstead. When Lou Ann had helped her drink, she asked, “Are they working on my quilt?”
    The question caught Lou Ann by surprise. “Why, yes, ma’am, that is—”
    â€œYou march right back out there and tell them to remember what I said.” Mary’s voice carried surprising strength for being so soft. “Not a stitch is to be sewn without a prayer of thanks.”
    â€œYes, Momma, I will. But don’t you want—”
    â€œRight this instant, young lady,” Mary said, and set her mouth in firm lines. When Lou Ann was by the door sheadded, “And you might just call Preacher Louis and ask him to stop by