section.
“Roll out the barrel,” Rita muttered.
“I have an announcement to make,” I said, ignoring them both. I looked around the quilt at all my friends smiling at me, except for Agnes T. Ritter, who was being her ornery self and still sewing. I’d thought ahead of time how I was going to put it, and I said, “Our first square has been returned to us.” When everybody clapped, I got so excited that I forgot the nice way I’d rehearsed it, and I blurted out, “It was Janet Gaynor—can you beat it?—and she wrote, ‘Happiness to you’ on it. Now, isn’t that just like her!”
I took the square out of the envelope and passed it around so everybody could admire the handwriting and the sentiment. “Imagine that. The last person who touched this before us was Janet Gaynor,” said Nettie. “I wonder who’ll send the next one.”
“Zane Grey,” Rita said. “I forgot to tell you, Queenie. We got another one yesterday.” She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope.
“Lookit there. He drew a dog on it,” Ada June said when Rita handed her the muslin.
“That’s not a dog. It’s a coyote,” Agnes T. Ritter said, peering across the table at it.
“How can you tell?” Ada June asked.
“I expect I know the difference between a dog and a coyote.”
“Maybe Mr. Grey doesn’t,” Mrs. Ritter put in. “Rita, do you want to tell the rest of the news?” I didn’t know what that news was, so I turned to stare at Rita with everyone else.
Rita blushed a little, and I wondered if she was pregnant again, but somehow, I didn’t think that was it. Besides, having a baby wasn’t something you announced, even at Persian Pickle, until you showed. Rita strung us out just a minute before she said, “I’m going to write an article for the
Topeka Enterprise
about the Celebrity Quilt, and they might even send out a photographer to take a picture.”
“Oh!” we all said, and Opalina touched her hair as if she was already primping for the photograph.
“Naturally, they’ll have to see the article first. I mean, they might not like it,” Rita said, and Opalina took her hand down. Agnes T. Ritter smirked at that. Nettie wasn’t the only Pickle who was out of sorts that day.
“I’m sure they’ll buy it. Your story about the school-board election was about the best thing I’ve ever read, and it didn’t make a bit of difference that the names were mixed up,” Forest Ann said, and we all nodded. None of us mentioned Rita’d misspelled most of them, as well.
Even if some of the club members were off their feed that afternoon, quilting went fast. We had barely finished talking about the Celebrity Quilt when Opalina said it was time for refreshments. “I’ll put the kettle on. I’m serving scones,” she announced, as if it was a surprise.
“I’d hoped you would, Opalina,” Mrs. Ritter said.
I had hoped she would not, but fat chance. Opalina always served scones, just like Nettie always served fruitcake. The scones weren’t as old as the fruitcake, but they were just as dry, with none of Tyrone’s bootleg to help them go down,
I slid off my chair, scratching my legs, and went into the kitchen to help Opalina, since the big tin tray she used was the size of a kitchen table. Sometimes things slid off it, not that anybody would miss her refreshments. I made tea while Opalina piled the scones on the tray, dropping one on the floor. It chipped, but it didn’t break, and Opalina brushed it off and set it back with the others. Then she carried the tray into the parlor herself.
“Oh, Opalina, what a treat,” said Mrs. Ritter. I was amazed that she could be so enthusiastic about those scones, which she must have eaten for forty years. “Might you be English?”
“French. Dux is a French name.”
“Dux is Anson’s name. You were born a Cooper,” Agnes T. Ritter said.
“I became French when I married Anson. That’s the way it works. Don’t you know that Agnes?”
Rita winked at me
“Roll out the barrel,” Rita muttered.
“I have an announcement to make,” I said, ignoring them both. I looked around the quilt at all my friends smiling at me, except for Agnes T. Ritter, who was being her ornery self and still sewing. I’d thought ahead of time how I was going to put it, and I said, “Our first square has been returned to us.” When everybody clapped, I got so excited that I forgot the nice way I’d rehearsed it, and I blurted out, “It was Janet Gaynor—can you beat it?—and she wrote, ‘Happiness to you’ on it. Now, isn’t that just like her!”
I took the square out of the envelope and passed it around so everybody could admire the handwriting and the sentiment. “Imagine that. The last person who touched this before us was Janet Gaynor,” said Nettie. “I wonder who’ll send the next one.”
“Zane Grey,” Rita said. “I forgot to tell you, Queenie. We got another one yesterday.” She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope.
“Lookit there. He drew a dog on it,” Ada June said when Rita handed her the muslin.
“That’s not a dog. It’s a coyote,” Agnes T. Ritter said, peering across the table at it.
“How can you tell?” Ada June asked.
“I expect I know the difference between a dog and a coyote.”
“Maybe Mr. Grey doesn’t,” Mrs. Ritter put in. “Rita, do you want to tell the rest of the news?” I didn’t know what that news was, so I turned to stare at Rita with everyone else.
Rita blushed a little, and I wondered if she was pregnant again, but somehow, I didn’t think that was it. Besides, having a baby wasn’t something you announced, even at Persian Pickle, until you showed. Rita strung us out just a minute before she said, “I’m going to write an article for the
Topeka Enterprise
about the Celebrity Quilt, and they might even send out a photographer to take a picture.”
“Oh!” we all said, and Opalina touched her hair as if she was already primping for the photograph.
“Naturally, they’ll have to see the article first. I mean, they might not like it,” Rita said, and Opalina took her hand down. Agnes T. Ritter smirked at that. Nettie wasn’t the only Pickle who was out of sorts that day.
“I’m sure they’ll buy it. Your story about the school-board election was about the best thing I’ve ever read, and it didn’t make a bit of difference that the names were mixed up,” Forest Ann said, and we all nodded. None of us mentioned Rita’d misspelled most of them, as well.
Even if some of the club members were off their feed that afternoon, quilting went fast. We had barely finished talking about the Celebrity Quilt when Opalina said it was time for refreshments. “I’ll put the kettle on. I’m serving scones,” she announced, as if it was a surprise.
“I’d hoped you would, Opalina,” Mrs. Ritter said.
I had hoped she would not, but fat chance. Opalina always served scones, just like Nettie always served fruitcake. The scones weren’t as old as the fruitcake, but they were just as dry, with none of Tyrone’s bootleg to help them go down,
I slid off my chair, scratching my legs, and went into the kitchen to help Opalina, since the big tin tray she used was the size of a kitchen table. Sometimes things slid off it, not that anybody would miss her refreshments. I made tea while Opalina piled the scones on the tray, dropping one on the floor. It chipped, but it didn’t break, and Opalina brushed it off and set it back with the others. Then she carried the tray into the parlor herself.
“Oh, Opalina, what a treat,” said Mrs. Ritter. I was amazed that she could be so enthusiastic about those scones, which she must have eaten for forty years. “Might you be English?”
“French. Dux is a French name.”
“Dux is Anson’s name. You were born a Cooper,” Agnes T. Ritter said.
“I became French when I married Anson. That’s the way it works. Don’t you know that Agnes?”
Rita winked at me
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