Cordelia Grace watched Bernard Howard, the love of her young life, go off to fight for our country in WWII. And she has spent the last three years creating the Pine Cone quilt that will grace their marriage bed when he comes home. Each row of triangles signifies a layer in her life, sets of memories, hopes, dreams, and prayers for her future, enough spoken words to cover them forever. Her image of their “happy-ever-after” grows proportionally as the quilt expands. But is the man that returns from the war, the same man that she remembered? Are the dark shades of color that she had to use for the outside edges of the beloved quilt prophetic of her life to come? Can love and faith overcome all? Layers of hope and prayers may not be strong enough to cover the wounds of war. Bonnie S. Calhoun is Owner/Director of Christian Fiction Blog Alliance helping to promote Christian fiction with blog tours. She is owner/publisher of Christian Fiction Online Magazine devoted to readers and writers of Christian fiction. As Northeast Zone Director for American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), she was named 2011 Mentor of the Year. She is also Appointment Coordinator for the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writers Conference. In her spare time she is an avid social media junkie, and teaches Facebook, Twitter, blogging and HTML. Bonnie and her husband live in a log cabin on 15 acres in an upstate area of Binghamton, New York with a dog and cat who consider the humans as wait-staff. Her website is bonniescalhoun.com. Quilts of Love Series By Bonnie S. Calhoun Abingdon Press Copyright © 2013 Bonnie S. Calhoun All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4267-5272-8 CHAPTER 1 June 15, 1938 Corde-eel-ee, don't be sil-ly. We'll find you sooner or later!" The taunt echoed down the alley, bouncing from buildingto building at the same rate her heartbeat pounded in her ears.The voices pumped more adrenaline into her blood. Wouldthey pop into the Court from Pine Street? Cordelia Grace pedaled her red and tan Schwinn as fastas her legs would go. She sucked in short, rapid breaths thatburned her lungs. She took a glance behind. No one. Sheswerved, avoiding the metal garbage cans in front of Stoney'sGarage. Panic raced through her throat as tears pricked at hereyes. Where were her two girlfriends? They were supposed tobe right behind her. Now she was alone to face her tormentors. She probably wouldn't have run from them if she had"more meat on her bones," like Grammy said. Other girls hadthe weight and power she lacked. Why did she have to fight?Truth be told, she didn't know how to fight. Her daddy was apreacher man, and her momma always said young ladies ofgood breeding didn't act like street hoodlums. No one hadever taught her self-defense. She breathed hard, pulling in big gulps of air. Maybe theyhadn't seen her turn down Dix Court? Maybe she could makeit home safely ... today. The alley, wide enough for cars topass in either direction, felt as though it were closing in onher, squeezing her into the dusty center. She prayed someonewould be on their porch. Just one grown-up she could stopand talk with until the danger passed. But each house stoodsilent, each narrow porch empty. Rows of garbage cans linedimpossibly narrow strips of grass like tin soldiers, but noneoffered protection. The quarter-sized scab on her left knee caught on the hemof her play dress as her legs pumped the pedals. The tinyprickle pains from the pulled skin would be worth it if shemanaged to escape. She jerked her head around to look backagain. Her long, skinny braids whacked her in the face andslapped her in the right eye. Tears spilled onto her cheek. BitsyMorgan's house marked the halfway point in the alley. Still noone in hot pursuit. Her arms relaxed on the handlebars and her legs slowed.She back-pedaled to brake. The bicycle slid to a stop. Cordeliahopped off the seat and straddled the "J" frame. Her lungsburned. Five houses up, they emerged on the path leading to theavenue. The three bullies spread across the Court, blockingher way. Cordelia whimpered as dread clenched her belly. They hadfound her. She tried to turn, but the chain caught her dresshem, wrenching the handlebars from her grip. The bicycle fell,and the chain dug into the soft flesh of her ankle. A trail ofblack grease tracked down one of her white socks. Ignore thepain. If they see tears, they'll know I'm scared. She lifted her quiveringchin and stared at them. Two girls and a boy ran at her. She bent over and raised her bicycle. Two more girls raced toward her. The five Wilson kids hadtrapped their prey. She tried not to let fear register in her eyes. "Cor-deel-lee, you belong to me." Debbie Lu, the tallest girlin the group, had her nappy hair scraped back in a short ponytailso tight it pulled back the corners of her eyes, adding toher sinister look. Cordelia shrank back, choking her handlebars with shakinghands. She watched the Wilson girl approach, slapping herfist into the pal