![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
dedra.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tamingthemuseTitle: Quilts
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikespetslayer
Rating: G
Pairing/Fandom: None
Prompt: A penny saved is a penny laying worthless in the drawer
Summary: She was a country mouse in the big city who saw a need that cried out to be filled.
Author's notes: Sometimes, the most interesting characters come of real people. This is one of those times. The character of Granny Bin is based on my own grandmother and the prompt sounded like something that she would say. For Annie Mae--God rest her soul and keep her tucked in His bosom.
She was absolutely sure that everyone who saw her knew that the country mouse had come to the city. She looked at the skyscrapers with awe; the tallest building in her hometown had been five stories and that was the hospital, so seeing all that height was just too grand and expansive not to gawk.
Her apartment was just off a dingy street close to the college. Granny Bin had been worried about her going off to school in the city but the letters from the dean and the admissions office had convinced her. Full scholarships were rarely given out these days and she was too intelligent to go to work at the local factory or churn out babies like her classmates were. Heavens, Marla was up to three and they had only been out of school for a year; of course, she had started when she was a sophomore, so she had a jump on everyone.
She was careful, too. She locked her doors with four different kinds of locks at night, everything from a chain-slide to a deadbolt plus an ‘intruder bar’ that fit into a slot on the floor. She never opened the door for anyone after dark because Granny Bin had said that was a sure-fire way of getting herself raped and killed and there was nothing worse in this world than getting raped and killed, according to Granny Bin. She cooked her own food and carried her lunch with her to keep from getting ‘pisoned’, as Granny Bin put it, and her money was kept firmly pinned to the underside of her bra and never in her pocketbook. She may have looked country, but she learned fast and never forgot—that was the most important thing.
It was only after the new had worn off the city and the colder weather was coming on that she noticed all the people roaming the streets. Some of them were chatty with themselves; Granny Bin would say that they weren’t right in the head. Right or not, it was getting mighty cold out for the little they had to wear. Sometimes when she looked out her windows (nailed shut for security on the day she moved in), she noticed some of them huddling around a fire in a trashcan, warming their fronts then their backs like they were some kind of sausage in a frying pan, waiting to brown.
She never offered any of them money—that would have been an affront to their pride and knocked her down a peg or two in the charity department. Still, Granny Bin had always taught her that a penny saved is a penny laying worthless in the drawer waiting to be spent on something necessary, so she began to look around to see what she could do to help the lonely ones that clustered under her windows at night around the burning barrels.
It was when she was dragging out her winter coat, still clean and serviceable although it wasn’t the name brand stuff that her classmates wore, when she hit on the answer to her continued internal question.
Next to the boxes that held her winter clothes packed in mothballs and cedar shavings were stacks of blankets. Not just any blankets, mind—these were special blankets. Granny Bin had quilted them with her own two hands, alone at first but with her after she had grown into it and was able to hold a needle in her small hand. They had quilted together almost every night since she could remember; every pattern that caught their eye, from Star of Texas to Double Wedding Ring to Pineapple Squares. There were Bear Claw quilts that took them weeks to make and Log Cabin quilts that they whipped together in a couple of days with the right incentive. Ocean Waves and Grandma’s Garden quilts all folded into neat squares and stacked in the closet, waiting for use.
What would she use them for? She had a good heater and always wore socks to bed to keep her feet from freezing. She wasn’t used to much heat in the winter anyway; the old homeplace had more cracks and crannies that the wind searched for than anyone could fill, so there were always quilts and more quilts. But she was in the big city now with a nice warm apartment with steam heat—she was one of the lucky ones.
She didn’t need the blankets as much as they did. She was warm and they weren’t. To her, it was a simple equation, leaving a negative balance that needed to be equaled out. Without a second thought about night or darkness or the threat of being raped and killed, she gathered up as many quilts that she could in her arms and stacked them by the front door, put on her winter coat, then headed down into the streets.
The first person that she offered one of the blankets to looked at her like she was the crazy cat lady from down the lane. She took it in stride, moving along to the next person that was lying in a box next to the mouth of the alley, handing them a quilt without a word. She worked her way down one side of the street and back up the other, passing out blankets with a warm smile and eager look and the ones in need gave her looks that varied from suspicion to greed. One lady went so far as to grab for another quilt and she let her have it, figuring that maybe her coat was thinner and she needed the extra warmth.
When her hands were empty and her heart was full of right, she headed back to her building with lightness to her step and a smile on her face. It had started to snow and she tipped her head back to catch a flake on her tongue before she remembered where she was. Still, she was glad she gave those people the blankets—they needed them tonight with the weather turning bad. She had seen the wooly worms in the park; dark as sin through and through, they predicted a hard winter and her blankets would be put to good use.
She was halfway home when she heard the heavy steps behind her and she quickened her pace, remembering what Granny Bin had told her about being followed home. She was nearly to her stoop when a hand reached out and grabbed her sleeve, whirling her around to face a homeless man with a brightly colored Pinwheel quilt around his shoulders. “Why did you do that?” he asked, still puzzled by her actions.
She pondered for a minute whether to talk to him, then gave a mental shrug. He was wearing her handiwork over his back so stranger didn’t really apply. He was more like family now than before. “Granny Bin always told me that if you have something that somebody doesn’t, you should share. I had blankets and you didn’t and I figured that you would need them with it turning off cold like it has.”
The scruffy, dirty man with holes in his shoes scuffed them against the sidewalk, ashamed that he’d even asked. “Um—thanks,” he finally said, turning to head back to his box and his cache of cheap whiskey. The Pinwheels on his back danced in the light of the garbage can of fire and it brought a smile to her lips that she couldn’t deny.
Yes, she may be the country mouse. She may be the outsider, the gawker, the strange one that baffled her class with sayings that nobody had ever heard before. For tonight, she was the bringer of warmth and comfort, the caring person that saw a need and filled it instead of hiding inside her apartment and ignoring the lack of love below.
With a lighter heart, she climbed the stairs to the fifth floor and went to the window to look down on the dingy street that didn’t seem so dingy anymore. The bright colors of her quilts flapped at her from every direction and added a bit of flair to what could be seen as a slum. To her, it was more like home.
Author:
spikespetslayerRating: G
Pairing/Fandom: None
Prompt: A penny saved is a penny laying worthless in the drawer
Summary: She was a country mouse in the big city who saw a need that cried out to be filled.
Author's notes: Sometimes, the most interesting characters come of real people. This is one of those times. The character of Granny Bin is based on my own grandmother and the prompt sounded like something that she would say. For Annie Mae--God rest her soul and keep her tucked in His bosom.
She was absolutely sure that everyone who saw her knew that the country mouse had come to the city. She looked at the skyscrapers with awe; the tallest building in her hometown had been five stories and that was the hospital, so seeing all that height was just too grand and expansive not to gawk.
Her apartment was just off a dingy street close to the college. Granny Bin had been worried about her going off to school in the city but the letters from the dean and the admissions office had convinced her. Full scholarships were rarely given out these days and she was too intelligent to go to work at the local factory or churn out babies like her classmates were. Heavens, Marla was up to three and they had only been out of school for a year; of course, she had started when she was a sophomore, so she had a jump on everyone.
She was careful, too. She locked her doors with four different kinds of locks at night, everything from a chain-slide to a deadbolt plus an ‘intruder bar’ that fit into a slot on the floor. She never opened the door for anyone after dark because Granny Bin had said that was a sure-fire way of getting herself raped and killed and there was nothing worse in this world than getting raped and killed, according to Granny Bin. She cooked her own food and carried her lunch with her to keep from getting ‘pisoned’, as Granny Bin put it, and her money was kept firmly pinned to the underside of her bra and never in her pocketbook. She may have looked country, but she learned fast and never forgot—that was the most important thing.
It was only after the new had worn off the city and the colder weather was coming on that she noticed all the people roaming the streets. Some of them were chatty with themselves; Granny Bin would say that they weren’t right in the head. Right or not, it was getting mighty cold out for the little they had to wear. Sometimes when she looked out her windows (nailed shut for security on the day she moved in), she noticed some of them huddling around a fire in a trashcan, warming their fronts then their backs like they were some kind of sausage in a frying pan, waiting to brown.
She never offered any of them money—that would have been an affront to their pride and knocked her down a peg or two in the charity department. Still, Granny Bin had always taught her that a penny saved is a penny laying worthless in the drawer waiting to be spent on something necessary, so she began to look around to see what she could do to help the lonely ones that clustered under her windows at night around the burning barrels.
It was when she was dragging out her winter coat, still clean and serviceable although it wasn’t the name brand stuff that her classmates wore, when she hit on the answer to her continued internal question.
Next to the boxes that held her winter clothes packed in mothballs and cedar shavings were stacks of blankets. Not just any blankets, mind—these were special blankets. Granny Bin had quilted them with her own two hands, alone at first but with her after she had grown into it and was able to hold a needle in her small hand. They had quilted together almost every night since she could remember; every pattern that caught their eye, from Star of Texas to Double Wedding Ring to Pineapple Squares. There were Bear Claw quilts that took them weeks to make and Log Cabin quilts that they whipped together in a couple of days with the right incentive. Ocean Waves and Grandma’s Garden quilts all folded into neat squares and stacked in the closet, waiting for use.
What would she use them for? She had a good heater and always wore socks to bed to keep her feet from freezing. She wasn’t used to much heat in the winter anyway; the old homeplace had more cracks and crannies that the wind searched for than anyone could fill, so there were always quilts and more quilts. But she was in the big city now with a nice warm apartment with steam heat—she was one of the lucky ones.
She didn’t need the blankets as much as they did. She was warm and they weren’t. To her, it was a simple equation, leaving a negative balance that needed to be equaled out. Without a second thought about night or darkness or the threat of being raped and killed, she gathered up as many quilts that she could in her arms and stacked them by the front door, put on her winter coat, then headed down into the streets.
The first person that she offered one of the blankets to looked at her like she was the crazy cat lady from down the lane. She took it in stride, moving along to the next person that was lying in a box next to the mouth of the alley, handing them a quilt without a word. She worked her way down one side of the street and back up the other, passing out blankets with a warm smile and eager look and the ones in need gave her looks that varied from suspicion to greed. One lady went so far as to grab for another quilt and she let her have it, figuring that maybe her coat was thinner and she needed the extra warmth.
When her hands were empty and her heart was full of right, she headed back to her building with lightness to her step and a smile on her face. It had started to snow and she tipped her head back to catch a flake on her tongue before she remembered where she was. Still, she was glad she gave those people the blankets—they needed them tonight with the weather turning bad. She had seen the wooly worms in the park; dark as sin through and through, they predicted a hard winter and her blankets would be put to good use.
She was halfway home when she heard the heavy steps behind her and she quickened her pace, remembering what Granny Bin had told her about being followed home. She was nearly to her stoop when a hand reached out and grabbed her sleeve, whirling her around to face a homeless man with a brightly colored Pinwheel quilt around his shoulders. “Why did you do that?” he asked, still puzzled by her actions.
She pondered for a minute whether to talk to him, then gave a mental shrug. He was wearing her handiwork over his back so stranger didn’t really apply. He was more like family now than before. “Granny Bin always told me that if you have something that somebody doesn’t, you should share. I had blankets and you didn’t and I figured that you would need them with it turning off cold like it has.”
The scruffy, dirty man with holes in his shoes scuffed them against the sidewalk, ashamed that he’d even asked. “Um—thanks,” he finally said, turning to head back to his box and his cache of cheap whiskey. The Pinwheels on his back danced in the light of the garbage can of fire and it brought a smile to her lips that she couldn’t deny.
Yes, she may be the country mouse. She may be the outsider, the gawker, the strange one that baffled her class with sayings that nobody had ever heard before. For tonight, she was the bringer of warmth and comfort, the caring person that saw a need and filled it instead of hiding inside her apartment and ignoring the lack of love below.
With a lighter heart, she climbed the stairs to the fifth floor and went to the window to look down on the dingy street that didn’t seem so dingy anymore. The bright colors of her quilts flapped at her from every direction and added a bit of flair to what could be seen as a slum. To her, it was more like home.
