Authors: Arlene Sachitano
"What color is your dress?” Harriet asked, afraid to hear the answer.
"Why, pink, of course. I had a dressmaker in Seattle make it."
"Men didn't wear pink in Civil War times,” Connie said.
"We don't know that. No one knows what every single person wore back then. I'm sure there was a man somewhere who wore a pink vest, and Carlton is going to be like that man."
"Well, Mavis went to Portland, so I'm afraid you're out of luck,” Connie said.
"Am I still out of luck if I'm willing to pay you three times what Mavis charged for this thing?” Bebe asked.
"Make it four times, and you have a deal,” Connie said, knowing Mavis had charged a premium price for the first one and afraid of what Bebe might come up with if she
didn't
make it. She picked up the gray vest. “Did this one fit?"
"I'm sure it would have—Mavis is very thorough. But you already know that.” Bebe pivoted on her pink patent leather heels and left as quickly as she'd come, her mission successfully accomplished.
"I can't believe you just agreed to make a new vest for Carlton when Mavis already made a perfectly good one."
"You need to learn to pick your battles, mija. Bebe is very young. Her world vision stops at the mirror in front of her. Some people are slow bloomers. Our Bebe is still a child. Besides, it won't take me any time at all, and I can always use more mad money."
"You're a nicer person than I am,” Harriet said.
"Meow,” came a muffled complaint from the other side of the connecting door. The sound was repeated after a few moments, this time louder and more insistent.
"Okay, Fred,” Harriet called out. “I'll be there in a sec."
DeAnn and Robin had dropped off two quilt tops they had made up at the last minute. They were to be lap-sized quilts, and the women had devised a scheme to sew the two tops together and use one big backing piece so they could be quilted as if they were a single big quilt. It was a clever plan and allowed Harriet to do one set-up instead of two. The pattern was the crosses and losses block, a design that used half-square triangle pieces along with solid squares of the same size as well as larger triangles.
Half-square triangles are made by stacking two layers of fabric, right sides together, and then cutting the resulting sandwich into a square, which is then stitched together on the diagonal with two lines of stitching placed a half-inch apart. When the unit between the two stitching lines is cut apart, the result is two squares each comprised of two different-colored triangles.
Several paper and fabric systems have been invented that allow a stitcher to lay two large pieces of fabric together then place a paper guide on top. The quilter stitches a continuous intertwined zigzag line following the printed guide then cuts along another guideline. The result is a lot of perfectly sized half-square triangles with much less effort. The latest twist on the guide system is to make it out of a very lightweight material that is permanently heat-fused onto the reverse side of one of the fabrics, eliminating the need to remove paper guide pieces.
Being reasonable women, they had chosen a simple feather pattern for the quilt stitching. The feathers would adequately anchor their quilt top to the backing without making Harriet go to undue trouble.
Fred meowed again, so Harriet opened the connecting door and let him come into the studio and weave between her legs while she shut down her machine. He had been banished to the kitchen several hours earlier when he had tired of their quilting project and started amusing himself by swatting her ankles.
"I suppose you're hungry again,” she said, knowing the answer before she even asked. “You do know it was Aiden who put you on the hypo-allergenic cat food, not me. If you want to take it out on someone—"
"Hey, Fred,” Aiden said as he came in from the studio.
"Don't you ever knock?"
"Don't you ever lock your door? Besides, if I had knocked I wouldn't have heard you bad-mouthing me to Fred here.” He crossed the room and pulled Harriet into his arms, kissing her soundly on the mouth. “And no matter what the cat says, he has to stay on that food if you want his skin to clear up. Speaking of food, want to go find some? I have to go back to work for a meeting, but we're having a dinner break first."
"Would we have time to go by the battlefield before we eat? I'd like to take one last walk-through before the advance group starts arriving tomorrow morning."
Harriet had encouraged Carlton to pay a small group of experienced re-enactors from the Portland area to come several days before the main event to check out the battlefield, tent camps and sutler area to make sure they hadn't overlooked anything. Several of the women were quilters, and she had invited them to join the Loose Threads as they finished up their projects.
"I think that could be arranged,” he said. “Let me call Jorge and see if he can start our dinners while we walk."
Jorge Perez owned a Mexican restaurant in downtown Foggy Point called Tico's Tacos. He had stepped in as a father figure after Aiden's own father had died when he was in grade school. Jorge's son Julio, an environmental lawyer in Seattle, was Aiden's best friend.
Aiden made the call from his cell phone as they drove down the hill, through downtown Foggy Point and on to Fogg Park, where the re-enactment would take place. Large areas of the park were barred to the public and had been sectioned off with yellow tape. Private security guards patrolled the perimeter to insure the fence segments, movable bushes and other props needed for the battles wouldn't be disturbed. As a result, the parking lot was nearly empty.
Aiden parked his vintage Ford Bronco at the curb, and they got out. The air was warm, and heavy with the scent of pine. Summer days in Foggy Point didn't often go higher than the upper seventies or low eighties. Harriet hoped their guests from warmer climates would be prepared for the cooler summer weather the locals enjoyed.
"What if no one comes?” she asked in a small voice when they had reached the middle of the battlefield.
"The City of Foggy Point would be stuck with a big tab and they would probably run you out of town on a rail,” Aiden said in a somber voice.
Harriet looked stricken for a moment before she looked up and realized he was teasing her, at which point she hit his arm.
"You're not helping."
"You're being silly,” he countered. “You have a zillion people signed up to attend the various events, you know all the hotel rooms in town have been reserved and the B-and-Bs are full. You also have two camps full of participants who have already paid to rent tents and tent spaces. It would take a full-scale disaster for this to be anything but a smashing success."
"I suppose. I've just never been in charge of an event of this size before."
"Well, you better get ready to do more. This is going to be a huge success, and then every fundraising committee in town is going to want your magic touch."
"Well, they're not getting it. This has been way too stressful. I'll need a vacation when this is over."
"No problem. I'll run away with you and we'll lie on some exotic beach till your stress goes away."
"Yeah,” she said. “I'm sure you would. We both know you don't have any vacation days yet."
"I'll quit my job,” he offered.
"Can we go look at the sutler's area, please?"
They started to walk back to the parking lot. The vendor area had been set up between the parking lot and the covered picnic shelter. Harriet stopped and put a hand on Aiden's arm, stopping him, too.
"Look. Is that a man between the woods and that section of fake hedge?"
"I don't see anyone,” Aiden said, following the line of her arm as she pointed toward the woods.
"I'm sure I saw someone in a plaid shirt.” She strained to see through the growing shadows. “He's gone now. I hope he didn't do anything to the hedge. You don't suppose the combatants would sabotage the battle site to gain an advantage, would they?"
"No, I think in most of these events the two sides take turns being the victors, so each one gets to win a couple of times throughout the weekend. It was probably a homeless person camping in the woods."
"Let's see if we can find one of the security guards and have him check it out."
The guard was a pudgy, sweaty fellow with bad skin and a skimpy mustache.
"I haven't seen anyone in the field or the woods, and I been here since three o'clock,” he assured Harriet when she relayed what she'd seen. The fact they had found him sitting in his battered car did not inspire faith in his watchfulness.
"Maybe I should camp here overnight until people arrive,” Harriet said when they were out of earshot of the guard.
"No, you shouldn't,” Aiden said. “Everything's going to be fine. There's not enough here to worry about guarding. And besides, if you camp here, then I have to camp here to make sure you're safe, and I haven't been home from Africa long enough to think sleeping on the ground is fun yet."
"You're right—what could someone steal, a fake hedgerow? No one would do that."
"Can we eat now?"
Harriet looped her arm through Aiden's and turned him toward the parking lot.
Dinner was delicious, as usual. Harriet had her favorite chicken enchiladas with tomatillo sauce while Aiden had chiles relleños, and they shared a generous bowl of guacamole Jorge made fresh at their table while they gave him the latest updates on the re-enactment.
"This has been wonderful as usual,” Harriet said as they prepared to leave. “Thank you."
Jorge pulled her into a warm hug. “You come anytime, chica.” He released her and grabbed Aiden's hand, pulling him in for a hug as well. “You don't be such a stranger either,” he said. “An old man gets lonely, you know."
"Hey, I have to work,” Aiden said as he stepped back.
"That's right, you go work and forget about poor Jorge,” He frowned and tried to look sad; then he started laughing a deep hearty laugh that made him rock back on his heels. “Speaking of work...” He glanced toward the kitchen. “I got to get busy. See you kids next week."
"That was exactly what I needed,” Harriet said. “I forgot all about the re-enactment when my enchiladas arrived. I should walk home to work it off. It's not going to be dark for hours."
Aiden pulled the door to the Bronco open. “If you do that everyone in town will be talking about how I took you to dinner and didn't drive you home. Half of them will think we broke up and the other half will think I lost my manners in Africa."
He had spent the three years prior to his return to Foggy Point doing research in Uganda. He didn't like to talk about the time he spent there, but the Loose Threads all assured Harriet he'd come home a changed man.
"Really?” she said.
"You think I'm joking, but when you've lived here longer, you'll realize nothing happens without everyone knowing about it."
Harriet got in the Bronco.
The Loose Threads had agreed to meet at nine the next morning at Pins and Needles. The quilters from the advance re-enactors group were to join them after lunch.
"Can I help you carry quilts?” Carla asked. She'd seen Harriet pulling up to park and correctly guessed that her friend would have more than one armload of quilts for delivery to the other members of the group.
"Oh, thank you,” Harriet said and handed her two cloth bags, each containing a quilt. “Is anyone else here yet?"
"No, just me and Miss Marjory."
Carla led the way into the shop. Harriet continued to be amazed by the changes in the young woman. They had met when Carla was helping a pregnant co-worker who was experiencing mental problems. She was barely keeping her own life together at that point, and things got worse before they got better. The loss of her factory job had not been her fault, nor was what followed Marjory's for being unable to offer her any more than part-time employment at Pins and Needles.
How quickly things change, Harriet thought. In a matter of weeks, Carla had gone from living in her van to what must seem like a mansion. Now that Aiden employed her as his live-in housekeeper, she didn't need the income from working at the quilt store, but she kept her part-time job in order to get out of the house, sending her daughter Wendy to a free toddler play program at the Methodist Church.
Carla had gained weight, and not in a bad way, Harriet noticed. However, the biggest change was to her confidence. It had been gradual, and someone who hadn't known her for a while would still think she was shy; but her voice was ever so slightly stronger, and she expressed her opinion on quilt patterns and colors without blushing when she spoke.
"Hey, Carla, Harriet,” Jenny said as she came into the shop. “Has anyone started coffee yet?"
"Yes,” Carla said. “I made the French roast. Can I get you a cup?"
"Sure. That would be nice.” When Carla went into the kitchen area, at the back of the shop, near the two classrooms, Jenny continued. “Is our Carla growing up?"
"You didn't hear it from me, but Aiden says she's got a gentleman caller. He's not from around here, and Aiden wants us to see what we can find out. We need to be careful, though, I don't want to upset Carla when she's finally starting to have a normal life."
Carla came back, ending the conversation.
Harriet and Jenny went into the larger classroom, followed by Robin and DeAnn, who had just arrived, each carrying a tote bag with quilting supplies and fabric.
"We have twenty-five quilts priced and ready to go,” Robin said as she set her bag down on the table in the center of the room.
"The prices range from a hundred dollars for the crib-sized ones to a thousand for Jenny's appliqué quilt,” DeAnn added.
"Thanks for all your work on the pricing,” Harriet said.
"Hey, it's nothing compared to your having to deal with Carlton,” DeAnn said, and the rest of the group laughed.
"Does anyone else have quilts they're finishing that we'll need to price?” Robin asked the group.
"I'll have two more,” Sarah announced as she came in, whacking Jenny in the back with her overfilled bag as she pushed past to reach her favorite spot at the table.