around in a turn. He nodded at both of them and
gave a perfunctory wave.
Smiling and waggling
her fingers back at him, Petra murmured,
“Drummond creeps me out.”
As Suzanne sped away,
she happened to glance in her rearview
mirror. “I see what you mean.”
“Hmm?” said Petra.
“Because he’s still
watching us.”
Chapter Ten
“I really adore the
idea of the oversized quilt squares,” said Petra. “They’re just so perfect.”
“A new kind of X
marks the spot,” agreed Suzanne.
Twenty-eight
hand-painted blocks, six by six feet in size and mimicking a quilt square
pattern, now dotted the land-scape of Logan County. Each marking a designated historical
site on the Quilt Trail map.
“The first one’s easy
to find,” said Suzanne, as she goosed her Taurus across a narrow bridge that
rattled beneath her tires. “I’ve been by it a hundred times.”
“But have you been in
it?” asked Petra.
“No,” said Suzanne.
Number one on the
Quilt Trail was an old log cabin built by Christian Schmitt, one of the first
settlers in the area. Over one hundred years since its inception, the cabin fit
so naturally into its woodsy surroundings it appeared to have grown directly
out of the pine and hardwood forest.
“Look at this,” Petra
exclaimed, as they ducked through the doorway and surveyed the tidy little
cabin. “Can you imagine living here?”
The log cabin,
constructed of hand-hewn logs and shake shingles, was small and cheery, with a
fire hissing and crackling in its small stone fireplace.
“Welcome,” said the
guide. She was dressed in long denim prairie skirt, blouse, and bonnet. “Make
yourself at home.”
“Tiny,” murmured
Suzanne. The home was only ten logs high and the ceiling seemed to press down
on her.
“Oh, but there’s a
sleeping loft,” the guide told her. “Climb up there if you want.”
“I’m sure it’s very
cozy,” said Suzanne.
The second quilt
square marked a round, red barn that had been constructed in 1912. Old-timers
believed that a round barn was more efficient for housing cattle, though it was
also rumored that many round barns were built out of superstition. Apparently,
an old wives’ tale claimed that the circular shape provided no corners for evil
spirits to lurk!
“Logan County is just
rich in history, isn’t it?” Petra exclaimed, as they pulled away from the third
site, the slightly down-at-its-heels Pine Grove Spiritualist Church.
“The history is
amazing,” Suzanne agreed. “But I’d take this drive just for the scenery.” The
black asphalt road they were speeding down was winding and narrow. Red and gold
trees lined both sides as they traversed wooden bridges and wound their way
deep into gullies.
A barrage of red and
gold leaves streamed down and fluttered against Suzanne’s windshield. When she
flipped on her wipers, they flew away.
“It’s raining
leaves!” Suzanne exclaimed.
“The weatherman’s
predicting three inches,” Petra joked back.
The wind continued to
swirl and whistle and more foliage fell on the car in a colorful kaleidoscope
of red, orange, yellow, and rust.
Rolling down the
passenger side window, Petra stuck out her head and let the wind restyle her
mop of salt-and-pepper hair.
“Enough.” Suzanne
laughed, as a couple of red leaves sailed in. “We’re getting blown to bits!”
“But isn’t it fun?”
said Petra.
Twenty minutes later,
Petra had checked off eight sites on her Quilt Trail map and the sun was
sinking rapidly, barely an orange glow on the horizon.
Still they kept
going. The ribbon of road was hypnotic and the dark trees and fields of dry
cornstalks seemed to hold wonderful secrets.
“Hungry yet?” Suzanne
asked.
“Starving,” Petra
admitted.
“What’s the next
place?”
“Cappy’s General
Store,” Petra announced, with some delight in her voice. “So... perfect
timing.”
Cappy’s was a
family-run grocery and deli that could have been a stage set
gave a perfunctory wave.
Smiling and waggling
her fingers back at him, Petra murmured,
“Drummond creeps me out.”
As Suzanne sped away,
she happened to glance in her rearview
mirror. “I see what you mean.”
“Hmm?” said Petra.
“Because he’s still
watching us.”
Chapter Ten
“I really adore the
idea of the oversized quilt squares,” said Petra. “They’re just so perfect.”
“A new kind of X
marks the spot,” agreed Suzanne.
Twenty-eight
hand-painted blocks, six by six feet in size and mimicking a quilt square
pattern, now dotted the land-scape of Logan County. Each marking a designated historical
site on the Quilt Trail map.
“The first one’s easy
to find,” said Suzanne, as she goosed her Taurus across a narrow bridge that
rattled beneath her tires. “I’ve been by it a hundred times.”
“But have you been in
it?” asked Petra.
“No,” said Suzanne.
Number one on the
Quilt Trail was an old log cabin built by Christian Schmitt, one of the first
settlers in the area. Over one hundred years since its inception, the cabin fit
so naturally into its woodsy surroundings it appeared to have grown directly
out of the pine and hardwood forest.
“Look at this,” Petra
exclaimed, as they ducked through the doorway and surveyed the tidy little
cabin. “Can you imagine living here?”
The log cabin,
constructed of hand-hewn logs and shake shingles, was small and cheery, with a
fire hissing and crackling in its small stone fireplace.
“Welcome,” said the
guide. She was dressed in long denim prairie skirt, blouse, and bonnet. “Make
yourself at home.”
“Tiny,” murmured
Suzanne. The home was only ten logs high and the ceiling seemed to press down
on her.
“Oh, but there’s a
sleeping loft,” the guide told her. “Climb up there if you want.”
“I’m sure it’s very
cozy,” said Suzanne.
The second quilt
square marked a round, red barn that had been constructed in 1912. Old-timers
believed that a round barn was more efficient for housing cattle, though it was
also rumored that many round barns were built out of superstition. Apparently,
an old wives’ tale claimed that the circular shape provided no corners for evil
spirits to lurk!
“Logan County is just
rich in history, isn’t it?” Petra exclaimed, as they pulled away from the third
site, the slightly down-at-its-heels Pine Grove Spiritualist Church.
“The history is
amazing,” Suzanne agreed. “But I’d take this drive just for the scenery.” The
black asphalt road they were speeding down was winding and narrow. Red and gold
trees lined both sides as they traversed wooden bridges and wound their way
deep into gullies.
A barrage of red and
gold leaves streamed down and fluttered against Suzanne’s windshield. When she
flipped on her wipers, they flew away.
“It’s raining
leaves!” Suzanne exclaimed.
“The weatherman’s
predicting three inches,” Petra joked back.
The wind continued to
swirl and whistle and more foliage fell on the car in a colorful kaleidoscope
of red, orange, yellow, and rust.
Rolling down the
passenger side window, Petra stuck out her head and let the wind restyle her
mop of salt-and-pepper hair.
“Enough.” Suzanne
laughed, as a couple of red leaves sailed in. “We’re getting blown to bits!”
“But isn’t it fun?”
said Petra.
Twenty minutes later,
Petra had checked off eight sites on her Quilt Trail map and the sun was
sinking rapidly, barely an orange glow on the horizon.
Still they kept
going. The ribbon of road was hypnotic and the dark trees and fields of dry
cornstalks seemed to hold wonderful secrets.
“Hungry yet?” Suzanne
asked.
“Starving,” Petra
admitted.
“What’s the next
place?”
“Cappy’s General
Store,” Petra announced, with some delight in her voice. “So... perfect
timing.”
Cappy’s was a
family-run grocery and deli that could have been a stage set
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