The Quilt Read online

  The Quilt

  By Rochelle Carlton

  What possessed me to write a book? It wasn’t the most impulsive thing I have ever done, but as I progressed I did question if it was one of the most naive.

  You see, I already had a full and busy life on a small farm just out of Auckland City; I help with our manufacturing business and was trying to navigate my way through the often turbulent dramas of two teenage children and their various challenges and dilemmas.

  I found out very early on that in order to travel the path of my characters I had to step out of the realities of my own real life. I also found out that often, when I most wanted to work on this story, I had horses to feed, mares to scan, sheep and cattle to move, dogs to walk and a family that needed a meal prepared for them or a listening ear. I thank you my family for your patience.

  My laptop together with Joanne, Paul, Jean and Sean accompanied us on business throughout the Pacific, Europe, the UK and the USA. I have now written those significant words “the end”. If anyone chooses to travel the journey of the Clarke family then it has been worth the effort.

  All of the characters and events portrayed in “The Quilt” came to life in my head. They are fictitious and not intended to portray actual people either living or dead. Any resemblance is purely coincidental.

  I thank Dylan Horrocks for being my “reader”, Marie Johns for “proof reading” and Christine for answering my endless medical questions.

  I love and miss you, my special Joanne. We should all have the privilege of meeting and sharing our life with someone just like you.

  THE QUILT

  “True Friendship Is Found In The Person That Never Left Your Side. It Can Not Be Measured In Days or In Years”

  Prologue

  SECTION 1 “PAUL”

  Chapter 01 Paul and Leslie

  Chapter 02 Paul & Leslie Clarke

  Chapter 03 Twin Pines

  Chapter 04 Anne & Allan Clarke

  Chapter 05 Sean Clarke

  Chapter 06 Jean and Sean Clarke

  Chapter 07 Jean, Sean & Paul Clarke

  SECTION 2 “JOANNE”

  Chapter 08 Joanne Stephen & Sandy

  Chapter 09 Joanne and Sandy

  Chapter 10 Joanne

  Chapter 11 Joanne and Stephen

  Chapter 12 Joanne

  Chapter 13 Lucky Lady

  Chapter 14 Sandy

  SECTION 3 “PAUL”

  Chapter 15 Paul

  Chapter 16 Changes

  Chapter 17 Decisions

  SECTION 4

  Chapter 18 Reality

  Chapter 19 Blake and Caroline Shaw

  Chapter 20 Joanne

  Chapter 21 Marinella, Sid & Mari

  Chapter 22 Sandy

  Chapter 23 Finding Direction

  Chapter 24 As One Door Closes

  Chapter 25 Chloe and Geoff

  Chapter 26 Sandy

  SECTION 5

  Chapter 27 Joanne, Paul & Simon

  Chapter 28 A Matter of Privacy

  Chapter 29 Christmas

  Chapter 30 A Time for Choice

  Chapter 31 A Time to Decide

  Chapter 32 Can There Be Closure?

  Chapter 33 Miscommunication

  Chapter 34 The Way Forward

  Chapter 35 The Mural

  Chapter 36 Edge of the Cliff

  Chapter 37 The Stranger Within

  Chapter 38 Summer is Ending

  Chapter 39 Jazz and Wine

  Chapter 40 A Mothers Lesson

  “Epilogue”

  PROLOGUE

  Jean Clarke shuffled uncomfortably under the heavy weight of the patchwork quilt. Her eyes strained and her arthritic fingers struggled to complete a tiny delicate stitch in the latest segment of her ornate work.

  She moved the bulky soft mass aside pausing to gently touch a neat square segment. It depicted a pretty rural farming scene similar in landscape to the King Country area of New Zealand. It was here that she had experienced the foundation of her life and it was here that she had become a member of the complicated Clarke family. A family haunted by tragedy and hardened by struggle.

  She smiled, her lined face crinkled into the texture and appearance of a well-used brown paper bag. Oh, how her life could have been different. It could have been a safe and secure walk through varying shades of beige.

  Her fingers travelled to another patch. This time it represented a chapter she had attached reluctantly to the fabric diary of their life. Two giant pine trees stood stark and symbolic. She felt the familiar crawl pass along her spine and run in tiny goosebumps down her arms.

  Jean was born into security, a place where one day of routine was followed by another. Where the future was mapped out and predictable and where life was accepted just the way it was, like morning after night. How things had changed when she had married into the Clarke family! A roller coaster chased by a turbulent past, embedded in the rich soil of the New Zealand High Country. A family plagued by the anger, blood and the tragedy of those that went before. A family that she ultimately hoped would be healed as the questions were answered and the burden could be shed by the younger generation.

  Years had passed since she had hand sewn that first little square. It was a memoir of the family’s pioneering spirit. It depicted the struggles, deceptions, the loss and the heartbreak. It told the story of an unprecedented love born through horrific circumstances. Of a passion that could not be denied. But was it strong enough to heal the jagged scars, survive adversity and restore lost trust? Would her only son find contentment and peace by shaking off the expectations of others and discovering a road he truly wanted to travel? Would his love be resilient enough to endure unimaginable loss so that he did not have to travel that road alone?

  She settled back against the old chair that was well worn into the shape of her body. Yes, life has many unexpected twists and turns. Along the way you can choose to learn from the mistakes of those that went before. Or you can carry their load like a heavy smothering quilt until that weight becomes impossible to bare.

  Again, Jean reached over to lovingly finger the soft material. A life and history told in detailed pictures. Pictures that she intended to pass down to future generations. An illustration of where they came from and what went before. What helped to mould them into the people they would be. Perhaps it would be a small part of the jigsaw that would guide and tether their path to a better future.

  Would she have been wiser to translate the well-worn diaries and her family’s reluctantly unlocked memories into a book, into the simple written word? Again, the wrinkled brown paper bag features crumpled to form a smile. Yes, maybe, and perhaps one day she would. But that would have to wait until she had sewn the last little squares into the quilt.

  She sighed and looked towards the carefully arranged pile of remaining fabrics. The ones that illustrated reclining mermaids, fine wine, small dogs and stark paw prints that led to no-where in the sand.

  THE QUILT

  Section one PAUL

  Chapter one “Paul and Leslie”

  Evening was falling and the mountains had turned to a pale apricot in the slowly setting sun. Shadows played lazily across a distant stand of soft green bush and the shrill warbling of Tui’s carried on a gentle breeze as they darted in and out of the bright yellow flowers of the Kowhai trees. Dragonflies, oblivious to the drama unfolding nearby, flicked erratically across the mirror-like surface of a large man-made pond beside which the young couple sat.

  The location was perfect, private, romantic and surrounded by beauty. It was one of the many tranquil areas lovingly planted years beforehand in stands of oak, claret ash, maple and elm to provide restful pockets of spectacular autumn colour on the Clarke family’s substantial King Country property.


  Oblivious to the beauty, Paul sat staring, unmoving apart from the slight twitch of tension evident in his grimly set jaw. A casual observer would have seen a handsome, athletic young man, lean and tanned from hours working with cattle and sheep under the harsh New Zealand sun. Paul cut an impressive figure standing at six foot three. His jaw was strong and masculine, his shoulders set wide and his sandy slightly unkempt hair fell over unusually vivid and piercing glacial blue eyes.

  Beside Paul, and bristling with unmasked impatience, sat his girlfriend, Leslie. Petite, short with wavy hair the colour of straw, she resembled a perfectly manufactured doll. Leslie was always fully made up and today was no exception. Her pale eyes were rimmed by thick sweeps of mascara and her full pouting lips were outlined in her favourite cherry red lipstick.

  Paul fought to remain calm. He focused on a distant point where the Tui’s drained nectar from the sweet yellow depths of the flowers. He listened to the plaintiff calling of the lambs, soft and white like the wisps of clouds that sat lazily in the summer sky. Paul remained expressionless. His face formed a thin disguise for the gut wrenching panic that sat thick and unspoken in his throat.

  Leslie shuffled impatiently on the mossy wooden seat. Her high pitched voice teetered on the very edge of hysteria.

  “I’m pregnant,” she repeated.

  She glanced nervously at the impassive face beside her. What the hell was he thinking? Paul had been much more predictable the first time she had told him she was pregnant. Her eyebrows knitted together in annoyance. That had only been a few months ago and if she had actually been correct they would have been married by now. This time she was better prepared, better organized but his reaction was not the anger she had expected. She had even rehearsed falling into Paul’s open arms in a display of vulnerability. In a display that would defuse his annoyance. A sniff escaped and she bit down firmly on her lip. This was not the time to allow a cascade of mascara to slide down her cheeks.

  The broody silence was unnerving. No reaction, just those bloody dragonflies flicking over the water lilies and the pathetic whining bleat of lambs seeking out their mothers before the sun lazily dipped over the horizon.

  Eventually Paul spoke. His words were measured and careful, his body rigid and tense. Subconsciously he had edged slightly away from the pouting Leslie.

  “You said you were protected. You said you were on the pill.”

  Paul hesitated before adding.

  “Are you sure this time?”

  “So contraception is my responsibility? Of course I am sure, what the hell are you saying?”

  Leslie inhaled deeply. Now was not the time to lose her temper. She exhaled slowly and turned her attention to the small pink clutch bag that lay beside her. With a flourish she produced a narrow plastic test kit and prodded at the tiny screen as she held it in front of Paul.

  “Here look. The lines in that window confirm it, Paul. We are going to have a baby.”

  Leslie’s pupils had shrunk to the size of tiny pin pricks, her porcelain cheeks had flushed with rage and she was watching Paul with the expression of a cat playing with its prey. Focus on your breathing she willed herself. Do not lose your temper.

  Paul looked away towards the carefree Tui’s in the distance. He imagined Leslie rearranging the pieces of her face, putting them back together to form her well-practiced angelic exterior.

  “Was this intentional? Did you plan to get pregnant?”

  “Of course not!”

  Tiny droplets of saliva sprayed like venom with her words. Leslie struggled to keep control. Breathe, this is not the time to lose your temper. Again she exhaled with a shudder.

  “It makes no difference that we are going to have a baby, you know we were meant to be together. Everyone knows that.”

  Paul suppressed the urge to groan. How many times did she have to remind him that they had been voted the most likely couple to stay together?

  He wasn’t sure how their relationship had survived for the previous two years. Apart from living in the same rural area of New Zealand and attending the same small country school, they had very little in common.

  He glanced over at the high cheek bones, the smooth, faultless skin and the full lips that were pulled together to form a determined, unhappy line. There was no doubt Leslie was attractive.

  A humourless smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Yes, she was physically attractive but her appearance disguised a spoilt, manipulative, young woman that was prone to violent hysterical outbursts and irrational dives into a dark moody world he didn’t understand. She met his eyes nervously.

  “Are you not going to say anything?”

  Paul ran a hand through his thick sun-bleached hair. What was he supposed to say? That he should have chosen to walk away months ago? That their unhealthy, destructive relationship would eventually destroy them both and that he should have realized she would stop at nothing to make sure he stayed in the King Country?

  Leslie edged herself closer and placed her hand on the toned muscles of Pauls arm.

  “Even Angela is happy for us.”

  A deep frown knitted Paul’s brows together.

  “Angela is happy for us? We are teenagers and hardly mature enough to make rational decisions about our own future. Do you really think we are in a position to bring another human being into this world?”

  Paul ignored the increasing pressure of Leslie’s sharp, red painted nails digging painfully into his arm.

  “I know Angela is your friend but you had no right discussing your pregnancy with her. This is our business and you should have come to me first.”

  A small trail of blood oozed from the broken skin under Leslie’s fingers and ran down the contours of his forearm. He brushed her hand away impatiently.

  “I spoke to Angela first because I knew this would be your reaction. As far as not being mature enough to make decisions about the future you seem to have done pretty well without even considering me. Without considering us.”

  A plaintiff sniff escaped. “Now there is someone else for you to consider”.

  Paul stood up and stepped slightly away. Only a few weeks ago he had received his graduation letter describing him as a natural leader, an inspiring head boy at College and an unquestionably fine role model to his peers. He again focused on the Tui’s that were attempting to extract the last honeyed drops of moisture from the flowers in the fading light.

  Leslie’s voice had dropped to a seductive purr.

  “I know we have had our problems but we will be a family now and families sort things out. We will be happy living at Twin Pines.”

  A barely visible smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she looked up at Paul from under heavy, long, black lashes. It was the second time that they had had this conversation. He glanced at the small plastic tube she was clutching in her hand. Both tiny windows showed clearly visible lines. His brows knitted together.

  Half way through the fourth term of school Paul had walked off the field after playing the last game of the season. He was captain of the first fifteen and their win put the King Country in the lead for the finals.

  Caked in mud, dried sweat and sporting a gash to his forearm Paul stood struggling to pull his damp jersey over his head.

  “Are you coming to celebrate?”

  Paul regarded the towel clad youth standing in front of him.

  “I have to sort some things out with Leslie.”

  An audible sigh rippled through the changing room.

  “You two are like an old married couple.”

  Paul flinched and studied the gash on his arm.

  “You really should be involved with the team’s celebration. You know we have all worked hard to get this far and much of our success we put down to your leadership.”

  “When we win the final I’ll be there.”

  Paul smiled at the faces around him. They looked back blankly before turning away and resuming their conversation.

  Damn Leslie. What was so im
portant that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow? He had lifted his face into the scalding jets of water and tried to ignore the familiar clawing of dread that lodged firmly in his stomach.

  Why couldn’t she see that they had nothing in common outside the artificial confines of the school yard? That their relationship left him stifled, unable to breath and sent her into a Richter scale of emotions from the depths of darkness to the giddy heights of uncontrollable rage.

  His stomach had tightened and he waited for the soothing relief of the scalding water. Get yourself together. The relationship is unhealthy and you need to end it. You need to end it today, despite the turmoil it will cause.

  A burly arm slapped across Pauls shoulders.

  “Hey Captain, are you sure you can’t join us for one quick celebration drink? That little lady of yours must be able to live without you for a few more minutes.”

  The toothy youth spat into the shower base and then turned, grinning at Paul. His gum line still showed the indent of his mouth protector.

  “Guess you want to celebrate with Leslie, eh? Can’t say that I blame you, she is one good looking girl!”

  Paul smiled back at the huge, soft face.

  “Something like that.”

  The face changed its expression.

  “I hear you will be leaving the King Country after graduation.”

  Paul washed the soap from his hair and wrapped a thick towel around his waist. It didn’t take long for your business to become public property in a small community.

  “I am not sure what I am doing yet. Depends on my final exams.”

  Shit, I hope Leslie hasn’t heard about the application. Perhaps that was the reason she needed to speak to him so urgently. An envelope had arrived earlier in the week containing a letter of acceptance to Massey University to study Veterinary Science, a confirmation of accommodation on the campus and reiterating he would be required to achieve an excellence in chemistry to guarantee his place. He had almost achieved the minimum credits required and he was confident the final exam results would be more than adequate to fulfil their criteria. He just needed to apply himself and focus without allowing himself to be distracted.