The Wandering Quilt

Renée T. H. Patterson, Dawn D. Bennett-Alexander

Description

An avid quilt collector snags a thrift store that sends her on a determined quest into the past to uncover its mysterious history.
Looking for a great read? Love a good—no, GREAT—cozy mystery? Ever tried one without a traditional murder at its center? Love a great romance? Love history? Love a comfy cozy quilt? Love learning without even realizing it because you’re so involved in an edge-of-your-seat suspenseful mystery? Never seen all of this together in one place? Welcome!
In the first book of the series, The Wandering Quilt, stitches on a lovely quilt Camille finds in a thrift store keep mysteriously coming undone, much to the horror of Camille and her family. Is a spirit undoing the stitches? Is it trying to tell them something? In attempting to track down the mystery, Camille is unwittingly caught up in a totally shocking historical event of huge proportions, that has serious present-day implications. Drama, edge-of-your-seat mystery, and interesting history, all wrapped up in a cozy quilt! And let’s not forget the romance, comedy, love and fun along the way! A great read that is sure to please—and teach!

Sujets

• historical
• Thrillers
• Suspense
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: iUniverse
• Date de parution: 02 novembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781663243973
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

THE WANDERING QUILT
 
 
THE QUILT JOURNEYS MYSTERY SERIES
 
 
 
 
 
DAWN D. BENNETT-ALEXANDER RENÉE T. H. PATTERSON
 
 
 
 
 

 
THE WANDERING QUILT
THE QUILT JOURNEYS MYSTERY SERIES
 
Copyright © 2022 Dawn D. Bennett-Alexander & Renée T. H. Patterson.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
 
 
iUniverse
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.iuniverse.com
844-349-9409
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6632-4396-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-4398-0 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-4397-3 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022915157
 
 
iUniverse rev. date: 11/02/2022
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Afterword
Acknowledgements
 
Dedication
To:
The Ancestors
I cannot thank you enough for trusting me.
Renée Tracy Harris Patterson
whose boundless creativity and imagination finally found a true purpose.
Brian Alzue Thompson
Thanks for holding my hand—without even knowing it.
Now are you sure this is actually dedicated to you since your entire middle name is there? ;-)
Sonia Choquette
I can’t believe you knew this in 1994. You really are incredible.
DDB-A
To:
God
Thank you for continuing to cultivate all iterations of me.
Mommy and Daddy
You both allowed me to pursue my creativity no matter how many times I reinvented myself.
Auntie Dawnie
You ALWAYS knew me. Working with you is a private dream I am living out loud!
To the largest minority in the world I now call my community: the disabled. I endeavor to enable us all.
RTHP

WITH THAT MOON LANGUAGE
Admit something:
Everyone you see, you say to them,
“Love me.”
Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise
someone would call the cops.
Still though, think about this,
this great pull in us to connect.
Why not become the one who lives with a
full moon in each eye that is always saying,
With that sweet moon language,
what every other eye in this world is dying to hear?
14 th century Persian Sufi poet, Hafiz
CHAPTER 1
“U nbelievable!!!” Camille sighed forcefully.
“Excuse me?” said the startled browser a few feet away.
“Oh! Did I say that out loud? Sorry!” laughed Camille.
“No problem.”
“I just get kind of carried away. I was admiring the handwork on this quilt. It is incredible,” Camille gushed.
“Yes, it’s quite beautiful.”
“I quilt. In fact, I am an avid quilter. And collector!” Camille said with obvious relish. “This is not just beautiful. It is incredible. So many pieces to deal with, such tiny, uniform stitches, so much detail that, as a quilter, I know took extra time, effort and energy. I know how much less work this quilt would have been if they had not made some of the choices that took it from gorgeous to extraordinary. That makes me appreciate it even more.”
“Oh! Well I’m glad you told me that. I just saw it as a nice quilt. What you’ve told me makes me admire it even more. Thank you.”
The shopper took the opportunity to move away to view other items in the pleasantly crowded little shop as Camille held part of the quilt nearer to her face for a closer look at the stitching and details.
Camille picked up the quilt, folded it back up neatly, took it in her arms, and nonchalantly meandered toward the counter, stopping briefly along the way pretending to look at this and that. She was relieved that the person behind the counter had not been nearby when she was gushing over her beautiful find. If he knew how she felt about the quilt, he might hike the price up on her. It was a tiny town and, from the looks of it, it seemed pretty obvious that she was not from around here. She had to remain calm and casual. Just because she found it in a rather charming little thrift store in rural South Carolina didn’t mean that the owner was an uninformed hick who didn’t know the value of what he was selling. The internet was the great equalizer. All the information you wanted and more, right at your fingertips.
She had no idea who the person behind the counter was, how much he knew about quilts or the shop’s inventory, or his relation to the store, so she needed to play it cool to neutral. As an avid quilter and quilt collector, she probably knew more than he did, selling everything in the little thrift shop from used iron skillets to the spinners kids were crazy for a few years ago, resulting in them being banned from many schools. But that didn’t mean he did not know, or could not quickly discover, the value of the quilt she held in her arms.
Camille knew that her best hope was that this little shop, well off the main roads, in the rural area of this southern state, was just rather glad to have a customer, and likely didn’t think the quilt was a big deal since so many people in this rural area probably still quilted. As was her usual practice when on the hunt for great quilts, she also dressed down so that sellers did not take one look at her and think she was some high falutin’ money bags willing to pay whatever crazy price they asked for some “quaint” find.
Camille actually had on a pale blue, cotton blend shirtwaist dress with a matching fabric belt. She knew it looked borderline crazy, fashion-wise. She knew she looked like something out of a 1950’s or early 60’s TV show like June Cleaver, the mother in “Leave it to Beaver.” In today’s time, it was rather like the equivalent of wearing a turn of the 20 th century bustle dress with whalebone stays.
She’d found the dress once when scouring the finds during one of her omnipresent flea market or thrift store shopping trips and knew it would be just the thing for just such occasions. Who in the world wore shirtwaist dresses anymore? Didn’t they even stop making them in the 1960s, at the latest?
But this was a great find, in just her size. In fact, there were three of them in perfect condition in pale blue, pale pink and pale green. Camille had bought all three. She knew she would buy even more if they’d had them. Of course, she’d gotten them for a steal because again, “Who in the world wears shirtwaist dresses anymore?” But, she knew that the dress was so unassuming, so casual-yet-informal formality, that it would put any seller at ease, even as she approached.
Camille casually made her way over to the counter, still glancing around at the wares, and put on a studied pleasant smile of interest once there. It was a smile that revealed beautiful straight, white teeth and a warm, unassuming disposition. A look that conveyed that butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“Hi! Are you the owner?” Camille asked pleasantly.
The man behind the counter was looking through what was obviously an outdoor sports magazine featuring things like fishing and hunting. Dressed in a pair of clean, loose-fitting overalls, with one of the chest straps undone, and a clean cotton shirt about the color of Camille’s shirtwaist dress, Camille instantly knew she would be able to deal with him in a way that would make them both walk away happy.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he said with a chuckle. “Although sometimes I feel like the shop owns me rather than the t’other way around. Keepin’ it goin’, gettin’ up early to open up, wantin’ to make sure I have enough of what I’m sellin’, keepin’ things in stock, findin’ just the right thing I want to sell, it’s a lot,” he said with a careworn but friendly smile and decidedly southern accent.
“Well, I’ve got something I’d like to take off your hands if we can come to an agreement on a decent price for it,” Camille said lightly, with a shy-ish, side-glance smile.
“Is that it in your hands?” he asked, looking from Camille’s face to the quilt she clutched to her chest.
“Yes. I have a room I think it might look good in; but since it is just a guest room, I can’t afford to pay too much for it.”
“Wellllll…..” he said, looking steadily at the item and giving it some thought. “Would $150 be too much?” he finally asked.
Camille nearly fainted. She tried hard to keep a straight, neutral face as she said hesitantly, “Well…. Ummm…. if that’s the best you can do.”
The owner then hesitated, as if thinking it over. Finally, he said, “Well, since you seem like such a pleasant lady, I might be able to let it go