…at the Alabaster County Ladies’ Sewing Circle and Patchwork Society
by Fred Warren
Sadie shook her head sadly. “Tsk. It’s a shame, I tell you. Laura Parsons had her whole life spread out before her, and to lose her head over some young scoundrel . . . scandalous, simply scandalous.”
“As if you didn’t partake in your share of youthful indiscretions,” said Nora, from across the table. “I seem to remember a Navy lieutenant, quite a dashing fellow. You were utterly taken with him.”
“He was a lieutenant commander, and I knew full well that sailors couldn’t be trusted. It was a little spring fling, nothing more. You’ve dropped a stitch there, dearie.”
“Fiddlesticks,” Nora muttered, pulling out the errant thread. “You changed your hair color for him.”
“That was a strategic move on my part. Men of every ilk prefer blondes.”
“So they say, though my Wilmer has never complained about my auburn tresses in twenty years of marriage. That’s lovely work you’re doing over there.”
“A henna rinse does work wonders. And thank you. I expect I’ll be able to tie this off and begin on the next piece in twenty minutes or so. I’ll need to pause for a cup of tea, though.”
Nora ignored Sadie’s little barb. Henna rinse, indeed, she thought. Spoken like a true peroxide blonde. She sighed. “Me too. These old eyes aren’t what they used to be. I swear, this is our finest project yet. Perhaps we should enter it in the fair this fall.”
The two old ladies cackled at their private joke. The Alabaster County Ladies’ Sewing Circle and Patchwork Society met every other Thursday, and these projects were strictly charity work. The idea of winning a prize for their artistry was, to their minds, completely absurd.
“Excuse me, trying to focus here.”
They glanced down the table at Marybeth, who was in her own little world, frowning intently as she concentrated on her piece of the puzzle. “How’re you doing, sweetheart?” Sadie inquired. The girl looked a bit frazzled.
“What? Oh, okay, I guess.” She leaned back, pushing a stray lock of curly brown hair from her eyes. “Sorry for grouching. It’s just such a big project. I’m probably making a total wreck of things.”
Marybeth had joined the Circle a couple of months ago. She was their youngest member, a shy little thing in her twenties, but quite skilled for her age. The older ladies privately admired her ability and were pleased that the upcoming generation was taking an interest in their art. Sadie and Nora were grateful for her help this day. The other regulars were helping out another group in Jonesburo, which left them shorthanded.
Sadie left her station and moved around the table to get a closer look at Marybeth’s handiwork. “That’s lovely, my dear. You’re doing very well. Just pull that stitching a little more snugly where the two patches meet…it’ll be less visible that way.”
“Yes, I see. Thanks, Sadie. Could you…” Marybeth paused, considering her words. “You seem to know a lot about what happened to Laura Parsons. I never heard the whole story.”
Sadie smiled. “Certainly. That’s half the reason we’re here, isn’t it, Nora? For the gossip.”
“Darn tootin’,” Nora replied as she tied off another thread.
“Let me get back to my sewing,” said Sadie, “I always think better when my hands are busy.” She adjusted her glasses, their jeweled neckchain tinkling with the movement. “My, it’s hot in here. Could somebody turn the fan on?” she called over her shoulder.
A cool breeze moved through the room, wafting a welcome scent of gingerbread through the air. Sadie’s fingers slid gossamer thread in and out, in and out and around. “Laura was an intelligent, practical girl, until she started her junior year of high school. A new student caught her eye, a ne’er-do-well transfer from Randallsburg.”
“Never anything good came out of Randallsburg,” growled Nora.
“Hush, dear,” Sadie hissed, “I’m trying to tell the story. He was a rough young man, rode a motorcycle, skipped class constantly, smoked…you know the type. Laura thought him rugged and mysterious. She started seeing him on Saturday nights, and they began playing hooky together. Something must have gone wrong then. One day, they didn’t come back at all. Even the police aren’t certain what happened. I’m of the opinion he made an ungentlemanly advance upon her modesty, and she rejected him, but he may have simply been disordered in the head. Laura’s parents were devastated…the authorities searched for nearly a week, even called in the National Guard.”
“And then they found her,” whispered Marybeth.
“Yes, dear, they found her,” Sadie sighed. “In pieces. They were able to restore her life, though of course she won’t remember any of what happened to her…”
“That’s God’s mercy,” added Nora.
Sadie glanced sharply at her friend. “…and she’ll never be quite right again. But if we do our job properly, the only scars anybody will notice will be the ones inside her.”
“Even in this day and age,” observed Nora, “there’s no substitute for fine needlework.”
Sadie surveyed the ravaged body of the girl on the operating table, reaching out to gently touch the delicate stitching that would make it whole again. “It’s scandalous that such a thing could happen in Alabaster County,” she murmured, remembering her own dalliance, so very, very long ago. “Simply scandalous.”
© 2009 Fred Warren
Original fiction debuting at Residential Aliens.
Tags: flash fiction, Fred Warren, speculative