Ada Unraveled Read Free

the darkness.
    As I usually do around dinner time, I
pre-screened calls for annoying telemarketers. I didn’t speak. I
stood silently waiting for a human voice instead of a machine hum
and click. The children know I do this. My good friends know I do
this. All others are selling or begging or politicking and they
don’t belong on my phone.
    “Is this Rachel Lyons?” a chocolate voice
finally asked in answer to my subconscious hello.
    “Yes, who’s this?”
    “I’m Hannah Lilly. You don’t know me however
it’s come to our attention that you’re looking for a group of
hand-quilters to join. We--that is, my quilting group and I--would
like to invite you to our next bee.”
    Her voice was soothing and strangely
familiar. But the thrill of excitement quickly morphed into mild
anxiety as I wondered how anyone would have known. I couldn’t think
of any case when I’d spoken of this idea. Perhaps I’d let it slip
at the Cleveland Conservators.
    “We meet once a month on the first
Saturday,” she continued after a short pause. “We take turns
supplying a quilt to sew which usually works out to one every eight
months.” Absorbed, fascinated by the sound of her deep voice, I
mostly listened. So there must be eight in the group?
    “Are you still there?”
    “Yes, yes of course. I’m just surprised. How
did you know...?”
    Hannah Lilly continued, not hearing my
question, her voice changing subtly to something more reserved.
    “One catch though, our gatherings begin
after six in the evening, always on a Saturday, and we sew until
it’s done, so you should wear comfortable clothes for naps. And
when it’s your turn to host, we sew your quilt and in return you
supply us with snacks. You should understand that we will keep
sewing until the quilt is done.” Her lyrical voice halted
momentarily. “Probably all night.”
    “Oh, really.” What on earth was this? I
wasn’t looking for a cult. “What I mean is, yes. I mean, I realize
that’s how quilting bees were sometimes done a long time ago. I
don’t know if I expected that to be the case today, however…staying
up all night…” I was stammering like an idiot.
    Again she interrupted. “Well, so many women
work now, it’s the best way we can do this. In fact two of our gals
work on Saturdays. But also, this group has a history of sewing all
night that goes back years. And, we don’t quilt in the summer, in
fact we’ve just started up again…this month, in September.”
    Okay, this sounded really bizarre. I found
myself wondering if I had the stamina to sew all night long. I was
really an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of person. She continued
to talk through my musings, offering up a little more information
with each halting sentence.
    “Our group is made up of women of different
ages, including a couple well into their eighth and ninth decades.
We pace ourselves, sleep occasionally, and eat tons of sugar.”
    Eighth and ninth decades? Was she trying to
make me feel silly about the all-nighter thing? But I began
wondering how Matt would take this. Glancing back toward the
kitchen and the sounds of the weather channel changing to the
history channel, I thought he might not even notice I was gone. He
probably thought I was already in bed, reading instead of risking
being eaten by a stray pack of hyenas out on our side deck.
    No, that would only be my worry. Wisdom had
finally roused himself enough to come join me. Our old shepherd was
on guard duty. I stroked the fur behind his ears as I listened.
    “You must have quite a time finding new
members with the all night thing,” I said.
    Matt probably wouldn’t even miss me if I
left for a night, would spend the night channel surfing in his
sleep, I mused. Good grief. Was I talking myself into this
idiocy?
    The voice on the other end of the phone
sighed, and said, “You have no idea how hard it is to find new
members, Rachel. Actually it was while talking to someone else,
attempting to convince her it was