The Quilt

One day my sister, who was expecting a baby, brought me a partly finished baby quilt-top and said, "Velda, will you take this quilt and never let me see it again. Every time I start to sew on it I get so sick at my stomach I just cant finish it!" And indeed it might. The pieces were of outing flannel pIaid--the ugliest I ever saw. She was trying to make them into an "improved nine patch pattern" quilt for her expected baby.

In a few days I made an attempt to fInish the quiIt top she had started but I too was almost nauseated at its ugliness so I put it all in my big trunk for some other day. The pieces became submerged and forgotten.


Years passed and in 1960, my husband and I were called on a mission to the Apache Indians, a reservation about 50 miles from Thatcher. We took only our necessities as we would live in a church owned house by the church.

I did take my large trunk because it contained many things I might need. As I was repacking it, in the bottom I found that ugly, long forgotten, partly finished baby quilt-top my sister had given me many years before. It was just as ugly as I remembered. I was amused to see it for the baby for whom it was intended was now a grown man. I would take it along for perhaps some lndian might need it.

In a few months the right chance came. An unmarried Indian girl had a new baby and needed clothes for it.  I would finish that quilt and give it to her. I did and to my surprise it turned out very pretty when finished.

We were going to Thatcher and I was tempted to take it and show it to my sister.  She would be amused and surprised to see it after so many years.

So I gave it to the Indian girl for her baby. In aboot a month the baby died. As you know, when an Indian dies all his worldly possession are buried with him. So I am quite sure my sisters desire never to see that quilt again was assured.

by Velda Hancock