Irresistible Finds [FICTION]

I can’t resist a yard sale. I am not sure if my mother passed it via the same genes that gave me dark hair and even darker eyes or if she trained it into me with many summer Saturdays spent picking through other people’s castoffs. Either way, I find myself enjoying another mild Saturday morning as I wait for the owner of the house with the yard sale sign to come out and pull the sheets off of todays’ trash and treasure. A formidable, older woman eyes me suspiciously as she gets out of her car, sizing up the competition and finding me unthreatening. Her shoulders lower slightly and she pays no more attention to me as she focuses on the sheets. I can see her assessing the size and potential nature of each shape.

Soon the homeowner opens her door and lets out a stifled exclamation to find two potential purchasers already waiting on her lawn. “Just a minute. It isn’t quite 7 yet.” She calls out quite loudly.

I soon realize why when two teenage boys peek out the door with a hulking man close on their heels. The boys part like the seas and the man steps out onto the porch, pulling a heavy wooden chair closer to the stairs as he sits down and trains his eyes on myself and the old woman. I smile at him and lean back against my car, waiting patiently.

“No worries. Take your time.” I offer the woman a friendly wave.

The old woman scowls at me and goes back to eyeing the tables. Her eyes widen a little as the homeowner unveils the hidden shapes. As the last sheet comes off, she steps toward the stairs. She makes it to the bottom stair before the hard look on the man’s face brings her to a stop.

“Hold up now. Mother didn’t say she was ready for you to start pawing through everything.”

Mother? I take a closer look at the homeowner who I assumed was the man’s wife and realize that she is much older than I had first thought. 

“Come on up, dear.” The woman waves me forward, holding up her hand to the other woman. “Not you. Just the polite one.”

Her son nods in agreement. I step past the older woman, ignoring the rude words she mutters under her breath.

“Take your time, dear.” Mother pats my shoulder as I walk past.

I glance at her and see that she is giving a warning glare to the older woman. I walk slowly down the row of tables, glancing at the items carefully arranged before me. Nothing catches my eye until I reach the last table. A wooden box rests against the wall of the house. I peek inside and see a folded blanket.

The woman steps forward to see what has caught my eye. “Oh, that wasn’t supposed to be out here to be sold.” She glances over her shoulder at her son.

He shrugs and rises from his chair, shaking his head as the anxious shopper steps forward for a better look. “You heard mother. You have to wait.” He narrows his eyes as she glares at him. “Or you can go be rude to someone else.”

The woman huffs and puffs but maintains her spot at the bottom of the stairs. She cranes her neck to peer at the blanket. The homeowner pulls it out and unfolds it so I can get a better look. 

Pinwheels of assorted colors nest among strips of white and cream. At the center of each pinwheel, a flower had been carefully embroidered. “I love you” has been quilted into each edge of each pinwheel.

‘Wow. That’s beautiful!” I sigh as I take it in.

“I know. My mother made it for me.” She presses it to her cheek.

“I’ll give you fifty dollars.” The man jumps as the woman basically screams her offer in his ear and then falls down even though he doesn’t touch her.

He reaches down to help her up.

She brushes his hand away and stands up, “That’s assault.”

“Excuse me?” He asks.

“No one even touched you.” I declare at the same moment.

“He did. He knocked me to the ground and he has been threatening me since I got here.” She eyes the quilt greedily.

As understanding of her play hits him, the son looks to his mother questioningly. “Should we inform this lady who she is trying to con, mother?”

She folds the quilt lovingly and holds it close to her chest. “What do you mean dear. People don’t remember who Willie Blue is anymore.”

The name strikes a chord, but until the other woman’s face fades to three shades lighter than when I first set eyes on her, I can’t dredge up the memory. I whistle. The son giggles.

“That’s right. I used to be the number one district attorney in this town and gave it up to be a respected judge. And if you count heads around here, there are four witnesses here that will not perjure themselves so you can steal from an old woman. This young lady already told you what she saw, would you like to hear what the boys saw.”

The teenagers look up from their cell phones at her words. One of them holds his out.

“I love to hear you talk about great gram’s quilt,” he says, “I was recording it.”

The other woman scowls at us and stomps off of the porch, clearly uninjured. Then she turns to me, “I’m sorry I can’t sell you my quilt, dear, but would you like to hear more about it.”

I nod my head and follow her over to the where a rocking chair sits on the porch. She settles in and begins to speak in a soft voice infused with love and longing. “When I was little, we didn’t have a television set, so when my mother sat down to make this quilt for me, I watched her. She let me choose the fabrics. She let me watch her sew each triangle with so much love that it made my hear ache to see it…”

~~Sorry I didn’t think ahead and plan a terrifying post for Friday the 13th. I hope this small offering brightens your day anyway. A quilt is a beautiful gift. I hope my daughters know how much love I sewed into each square or hexagon I pieced together as I waited to see their beautiful faces. At the very list, they shouldn’t be cold.~~