Make Quilts Not War

chapter 9



“Are you sure you’re okay with me leaving?” Aunt Beth asked Harriet for what had to be the tenth time.

“I’m fine. My tables are all set up, which I know you know because you and Mavis helped me. I’ve got my box of quilting samples right here.” She pointed to a large plastic tub sitting by the studio door. “I have my business cards, order forms, a paper printout of my current calendar, and two thousand pens with Quilt As Desired and my phone number on them.

“I also have a baggie full of cheap tape measures with the same info, only to be given to people who seem serious about having me stitch their quilt. Am I forgetting anything?”

“Do you have some bottles of water? And a healthy snack?”

“You know I do. Now, go, help Jorge. He actually needs it.”

“You’re sure?” Beth asked, causing Harriet to roll her eyes and sigh loudly.

“I haven’t been twelve for a long time, and having a fight with Aiden didn’t change that.”

“I’m not sure why they decided to start this shindig at five o’clock on a Wednesday,” Beth grumbled as she put on her coat then wrapped her scarf around her neck.

“I think it was something about wanting to shake out any problems before the out-of-town crowd arrives on the weekend.”

“Couldn’t we have done that Thursday morning when it would have been light out?”

“I’m just guessing here, but I’ll bet someone thought that Twinkies, Bugles stuffed with cheese from a can, and cocktail weenies were a hard sell as breakfast fare.”

“I suppose, and I guess it would have been too hard to make a brunch out of Instant Breakfast.”

“Jorge told me he’s been working on a few modern twists on the old classics. Something about dipping Twinkie slices in chocolate. Ritz crackers, too.”

“Sadly, that isn’t a new idea. The crackers, anyway. Ten or fifteen years ago, everyone and their brother were dipping any salty snack they could get their hands on in chocolate—potato chips, pretzels, peanuts. You name it, I’ve had it delivered to my door by a well-meaning friend on a decorative holiday plate.”

“Was any of it good?” Harriet asked hopefully.

“That’s beside the point,” Beth said and glared at her niece. “Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.”

“Oh, live a little, Auntie.”

“I’m going to gain five pounds just working in Jorge’s booth.”

Harriet laughed. Her aunt counted calories like an anorexic both for herself and her niece, but somehow it didn’t seem to result in any noticeable reduction in her aunt Beth’s comfortably plump girth.

“See you there,” Beth called as she went out into the rain.



Harriet was surprised by the size of the crowd that showed up for the festival opening. The aisles of the vendor hall had a steady flow of people browsing from booth to booth.

“Harriet,” Lauren said in a bright voice, “this is Kathy Ramsey. She lives in Sequim and is interested in having you quilt her latest project.”

Lauren handed her a blank order form and a pen on a clipboard. Harriet took them and guided Kathy to a chair at the back of the booth. She pulled the box of quilting samples from under the table and began discussing possible patterns for the quilt top Kathy described.

“Thanks for helping me in the booth tonight,” Harriet said to Lauren when Kathy had placed her order and moved on to the next booth in their aisle.

“It’s purely selfish. Things were dull in this town till you moved in. I’m enjoying my front row seat to the train wreck that is your love life. I don’t want you to pull up stakes and move.”

“Thanks, I think,” Harriet said and shook her head.

“Isn’t that that stage manager guy?” Lauren asked and pointed to the other end of the aisle and the small man with the beaded braids in his beard.

“Looks like it. I wouldn’t have pegged him for a quilter, though.”

“If long-haul truck drivers can be quilters, why not roadies?”

“I’m still having a hard time picturing those hulking, tattooed, beer-bellied truckers quilting at the truck stop between loads. I know it’s true, but still I can’t quite get the right visual on that one.”

“Incoming,” Lauren announced and stepped into the aisle to snare her next target.

An hour passed before the crowd thinned again.

“Do you need a break?” Robin asked. She and DeAnn had been waiting in the aisle for the last customer to move on.

“We’re fine,” Harriet said.

“Yes, we need a break,” Lauren said at the same time.

“Go,” DeAnn said. “We can hold down the fort here. Most of the people are migrating to the food court, so you shouldn’t be busy. The food vendors are doing a sort of happy hour.”

“Each food booth has some offering for a dollar,” Robin said. “You should go while they still have everything.”

“Okay, then. If anyone comes by and is interested, just put their name and number on an order form, and I can call them back to schedule a time to talk about it.”

“We can handle it,” Robin assured her.

“Let’s go see if Jenny wants to come with us,” Harriet suggested. “We have to walk through the main exhibit hall to get to the food court, so it’s not out of our way.”

“Sure,” Lauren said. “Maybe we can invite the Amish group and the Vienna Boy’s Choir while we’re at it.”

“Would you stop it? We’re just going to get Jenny. She needs a break, too.”

“Connie and Mavis probably already took her.”

“Geez, listen to you. We have to walk right past her area. What’s the problem?”

“Besides having to be on our best behavior? Can you imagine her eating a chocolate-covered Twinkie? Or a cocktail weenie?”

Lauren did have a point. Jenny’s silver pageboy haircut was never out of place, her outfits always coordinated, and Harriet had never seen her take more than a taste of junk food—just enough to not offend the others by being too perfect.

“Okay, just promise me you’ll have a Twinkie with me, no matter what Jenny does or doesn’t eat.”

“I just have to dodge my aunt.”

“I’ll distract her, and you buy two of them from Jorge.”

“Agreed,” Harriet said and led the way to the door that connected the south vendor hall with the main exhibit hall.

“Is that Jenny?” Lauren whispered as they approached Jenny’s quilt. With her Afro wig, tie-dyed tunic and large round-lensed sunglasses, the person standing next to the quilt was unrecognizable.

“How’s it going?” Harriet asked when they stopped in front of her.

“I can tell I’m going to get real tired of saying the same words over and over again,” Jenny replied.

“You’re not going to make it if you’re crumbling after two hours,” Lauren said.

“I didn’t say I was crumbling. People so far have asked the same questions over and over, starting with ‘Is this really a quilt from the sixties?’ and usually going on to ‘Did you really make this quilt?’”

“Can’t they match your name tag with the sign?” Lauren asked, pointing to the quilt and the prominent sign pinned to its edge, stating it was made by Jenny Logan.

“Apparently not,” Jenny said with a smile.

“Can you take a break?” Harriet asked.

“I’d love one. Let me tell Pamela she’s on.” Jenny walked to the opposite side of her display area and spoke to a slender woman sitting on a chair watching the crowd.

“Can you take over for a few minutes?” she asked.

“Sure, let me get my wig and sunglasses on.” Pamela Gilbert was wearing a tunic that also appeared to be tie-dyed.

“Your costumes are great,” Harriet said with true admiration.

“We found three similar tunics, and then my daughter over-dyed them in rainbow colors,” Pamela said proudly.

“We weren’t sure which one of you was which until Jenny spoke,” Harriet marveled.

“I’m happy to take a turn,” Pamela said brightly.

“I won’t be gone long,” Jenny removed her glasses and pulled her wig off. She’d pinned her own hair into two bun-like curls behind each ear. “I wish I could take these hairpins out,” she complained. “Between the pins and the wig, it feels like bugs are crawling over my scalp.” She pulled a small triangle scarf from her skirt pocket and centered it over her hairdo, tying it at the nape of her neck. “These little scarves were real popular back in the day.”

She patted her head with her hand.

“The food is going to be gone if we don’t get moving,” Lauren prodded.

“I can catch up if you want,” Jenny said. “I need to stop at the restrooms on our way. They’re right by the door out to the courtyard.”

“Okay, we’ll meet you outside the main doors,” Harriet said and headed for the front of the building.

“Jenny seems tense,” Lauren commented when she and Harriet were outside. The scent of frying food floated on the slight breeze. “For whatever reason, she didn’t want her old quilt in the show. They almost bullied her into participating. I don’t know what the problem is or was, but it’s clear there was one.”

“There must be a line in the restroom,” Harriet said and looked at her watch. More than five minutes had passed.

“I told you we should have just gone ourselves,” Lauren shot back and resumed rocking from her toes to her heels.

Someone screamed as the main double doors burst open and a crowd of people pushed out into the courtyard. Another loud shriek followed, then a man’s voice shouting for someone to call 911.

“What’s going on?” Lauren pushed past Harriet, heading for the open doors.

Harriet grabbed her arm.

“Don’t go back inside until we know what’s going on,” she cautioned.

“Jenny’s in there,” Lauren said, dragging Harriet with her as she continued toward the door. “You’re the one who always wants to stick her nose into everything. Don’t you think we should see if she’s okay?”

“I’m trying to mend my ways, since jumping into the middle of things hasn’t worked out so well.”

“What do you mean?” Lauren stopped suddenly, her progress blocked by a crush of people filling the doorway. “The bad people we’ve encountered have ended up in jail—that’s a pretty good result, if you ask me.”

“Easy for you to say—I’m the one who’s been bashed in the head, had a shoulder injured and had to hobble around on crutches for weeks.”

“Oh, wah-wah-wah. Always thinking of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Since when have you wanted to risk anything to help anyone in trouble?”

Lauren turned and stared at her.

“I’ve done more than my share in your little adventures, if that’s what you want to call them.”

“I didn’t say you haven’t been helpful. It’s just that you’re usually the one trying to talk me out of getting involved in other people’s business.”

If Lauren made a biting retort, it was lost when Jenny was forced out the door by a large woman who was determined to leave and was willing to shove anyone who got in her way. She bumped into Lauren, almost knocking them both to the ground; only Harriet’s proximity to a support post prevented them all from falling over. The cement column slammed into her spine with bruising force.

“What’s going on in there?” she asked Jenny when they had all taken a step apart and regained their balance.

“I don’t know. I was in the restroom, and when I came out everyone was screaming and heading for the door. There was nothing to do but go along with the flow.”

“Did you hear anything else, or smell smoke or anything?” Lauren asked.

“No, the restrooms are so close to the front, I couldn’t see anything but the backs of the people surrounding me. And the only noise in there was screaming, and someone calling for anyone with a phone to dial nine-one-one.”

“Maybe someone had a heart attack or something,” Lauren said and turned toward the food booths. The sound of sirens approaching became louder.

“I want to go check on my quilt,” Jenny said.

“I’ll come with you,” Harriet said, “but I think we’re going to have to wait a minute until the crowd clears.”

Lauren gave Harriet a questioning look. Harriet shrugged. Jenny’s behavior seemed a bit insensitive to her, but then, everyone reacts to shock in their own way. Who were they to judge?

“I don’t know if you noticed, but there are life-sized statues of historic figures every so many feet around the outside walls of the main room. There are exit doors between each pair of statues. The one nearest my quilt was propped open to let some air in.”

“Okay,” Harriet said and turned. “Let’s go see if it’s still open.”

It took a few minutes, and they had to scale a thigh-high cement support wall, but the trio found the door Jenny had described, and it was still partially open. Jenny pulled it wider and stepped inside.

“No!” she screamed, over and over again.

Harriet and Lauren hurried through the door, pushing her aside so they could see. Someone was lying on the platform in front of Jenny’s quilt.

Jenny made her way to the small stage, and as a few people recognized her, they stepped aside. Harriet followed and could see Pamela flat on her back, a paramedic kneeling beside her, lifting first one eyelid then the other, shining a pocket penlight in each eye in turn. He pulled away from the body and shook his head from side to side, once.

Pamela was gone.