“Now think what it means to the mother who makes that quilt, a woman who wakes up every day feeling guilty, hopeless, and ashamed because of the mess she’s made of her own life, a woman who feels worthless—”
“She’d feel like she had something meaningful to offer,” Nancy said, finishing Hope’s thought in a quiet, almost introspective voice. “It would be a chance to tap into the best part of herself, a part she might not even have known existed, and share her love, diligence, and creativity with others, maybe for the first time.”
Hope shifted back in her seat and folded her hands in her lap, satisfied that she’d made her point. Nancy cast her eyes toward the ceiling, took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
“Oh, Hope. I don’t know. I understand the value in this. But . . . quilting. Are you sure there isn’t some other way to accomplish the same thing? A craft that doesn’t involve sharp objects?”
“Nancy,” Hope said in a flat voice, “unless you want me to have them sit around all day doing origami or scribbling in coloring books, any craft I teach them is going to involve a certain amount of risk. You know that.
“If you’re intent on inflicting injury or mayhem, a crochet hook can be just as effective as a pair of sewing scissors. It could be jammed into an eye socket or even somebody’s throat if you use enough force. And those macramé bracelets we made? Slip some of the cording into your pocket when nobody is looking and you can weave it into a garrote and strangle your cellmate in her sleep.”
“Garroting?” Nancy looked at her, aghast. “My, my. You have picked up a lot since you started working here, haven’t you? Very nice.”
“My point is, the only one hundred percent certain way to ensure inmates don’t hurt themselves or others is to throw every one of them into solitary confinement and not teach them anything. Everything we do beyond that involves a certain amount of risk. Quilting wouldn’t be any different. And we could take precautions—check out tools and equipment, count them before anyone is allowed to leave, limit participation to inmates with records of good behavior.
“Yes, there would be risks. But think about the benefits,” Hope urged. “I’ve heard you say it a hundred times, the root reason most of these women ended up here was because they felt worthless. This program could change that.”
“Just by making a quilt?” Nancy asked.
“Well, actually . . .” Hope cleared her throat and scratched her nose. “I was thinking about three quilts each. And a nine-month program.”
“Three! Are you planning on opening a factory?”
“Hang on,” Hope said, lifting her hand. “Just hear me out.
“Making three quilts, each a little more difficult than the one before, will give them that opportunity to really master the skills involved. Learning to quilt well takes time, patience, and dedication. From what I’ve seen so far, most inmates have way too much of the first and almost none of the last. Very few of them know what it means to take on a difficult task and see it through to completion.
“Learning to quilt will challenge them and sometimes frustrate them. But when it gets tough, I’ll be there to help them stick with it and work through the problem. They won’t fail. I won’t let them,” Hope said resolutely.
“When they finish their quilt and think about all that went into it, the mistakes they recovered from and all they learned along the way, they’ll feel proud of themselves, especially after they see how that hard work can bless the life of another person.”
“So, all the quilts they make will be gifts for family or friends?” Nancy asked.
“No,” Hope said. “The first two, which will employ more basic techniques and patterns and fabric choices, will be given away to charity. My hope is to help them start envisioning themselves as contributors, not just to people they know but to society as a whole.”
Nancy nodded deeply. “’Tis more blessed to give than to receive, ’ yes? So many charities could make good use of some quilts—shelters, nursing homes, programs for foster kids. And think what a thrill it would be if the women got thank-you notes from people or organizations that got their quilts,” Nancy said brightly.
“Exactly.” Hope smiled, pleased that Nancy was catching on to the vision. “The third quilt would be their masterpiece. They’d choose all their own colors and fabric and use any technique they want. They can either keep it or give it as a gift. Not all of the inmates have family, so I thought it would be a good idea to give them the option of making a quilt for themselves. Either way, I want to help them make something they truly feel proud of, an heirloom that will last a lifetime.”
Nancy nodded again and spread her hands in acknowledgment. “Okay, I’m sold. But as I’m sure you’re aware, there’s only one vote that matters here and that’s David’s.”
“But you’ll support me, right?”
“Of course I will. But I’m a pushover. David will be a much tougher nut to crack.”
“Yeah, I know,” Hope murmured, lifting her hand toward her mouth, chewing on the edge of her thumbnail. “And it’s not as if I’m on his list of favorite people. That’s why . . . Well, I was kind of hoping you’d present the idea to him.”
“Me?” Nancy laughed. “What makes you think I’d have any better luck than you would? On any given day David finds me only marginally less irritating than he finds you.”
“I know,” Hope sighed. “But when the margin is all you’ve got . . .
“Nancy, I know this program could make a difference. I’ve never been so sure of anything. But if I’m the one presenting the idea, David’s going to shoot it down before I can even ask the question. If you bring the idea to him, we might at least have a chance.”
“Hope, I don’t mean to discourage you, but I’d have to be the greatest peddler on the planet to get David on board with letting you bring pins, and scissors, and rotary cutters into his prison. Unless you’re friends with the kind of person who could sell ice to Eskimos, I don’t think you’ve got a prayer.
“Although,” Nancy said, “that’s not nothing. So it’s not a completely hopeless situation. If you want me to pray about it . . .”
As soon as Nancy said she wouldn’t present the idea to David, Hope slumped in her chair, discouraged. She’d known it was a long shot, but when it came to getting David’s approval, Nancy had been her Plan A. She didn’t have a Plan B—not until Nancy started talking about ice and Eskimos.
Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
Hope jumped up in the middle of Nancy’s sentence, leaving the chaplain looking surprised and a bit befuddled.
“That’s a great idea,” Hope said as she headed for the door. “You pray. I’m going to call my sister.”
Chapter 22
David Hernandez was a very busy man.
So busy, he informed Hope when she dropped by his office seeking an appointment to discuss what she vaguely referred to as a curriculum proposal, that he didn’t have an open spot during office hours for at least a month.
“What about after work?” Hope asked. “How about a drink on Thursday? The Dockside Bistro is nice.”
Much to her surprise, he agreed.
“One drink,” he said, holding up a single digit to drive home the message. “I’ve got a conference call with a blue-ribbon commission on prison reform early on Friday and I need to finish reading the report.”
“Just one drink,” Hope promised. “We’ll be well prepared and to the point.”
“We. Let me guess,” David said wearily. “You’re bringing Nancy and Jodie along to gang up on me about something.”
“Nope,” Hope said. “Just me. And my sister, Hazel.”
“Your sister?”
“She’s visiting from Portland.”
“And she’s joining us for a drink after work so we can discuss this thing you refuse to tell me about in advance?” David pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, magnifying the suspicion in his eyes. “I’m not in the market for a girlfriend. And if I was I’
d set myself up. I wouldn’t need anybody else to do it for me.”
“No! Lord, no!” Hope exclaimed, aghast that he’d even suggest such a thing.
Fun-loving, lighthearted Hazel and humorless, policy-pounding David Hernandez? Perish the thought!
David sat up straighter in his chair and clutched his pen tighter. “‘Lord, no’?” He arched his eyebrows. “Geez. I’m not that bad, am I?”
“No, no,” Hope said, laughing nervously. “Not at all. I just meant, ‘Lord, no,’ I would never do such a thing. Set you up, I mean. Clearly, if you wanted a girlfriend you would have one by now. Probably several. Not at the same time or anything, I just—”
Hope was never so grateful to be interrupted as when David, who scarcely seemed to notice her babbling, said, “I barely have time to get a decent night’s sleep, let alone date. Besides, it’s only been a year since my divorce. Too soon to start dating, don’t you think?”
Hope stood there for a minute. Was he asking her opinion? The expectant look on his face indicated he might be. It was the first time Hope had ever seen him looking less than 100 percent certain about anything. She liked him the better for it.
“Not too soon,” she said. “Not if you feel ready. Or lonely.”
David sniffed enigmatically and picked up the pen again.
“So. Thursday, you said? At the Dockside.”
Hope nodded. “Right after work.”
“Okay,” he said gruffly, and started writing. “One drink.”
“Great. See you Thursday,” Hope chirped, and then backed out the door before he could change his mind.
* * *
To Hope’s complete shock, one drink became two and was followed by an order of crispy Point Judith Calamari, Beef Tenderloin Skewers, and Hot Artichoke Dungeness Crab Dip, then coffee all around and a slice of Key Lime Pie with three forks.
An hour and forty minutes into what Hope had assumed would be a half-hour meeting, David still hadn’t embraced the idea of letting Hope teach quilting to the inmates. But neither had he given a definitive no.
After outlining the basic idea, Hope backed off and let Hazel take over. “You set the hook,” Hazel said when they’d discussed strategy over the phone. “I’ll reel him in.” It had definitely been a good call. Hazel, a world-class debater if ever there was one, continued to match him objection for objection and argument for argument. Hazel hadn’t worn David down entirely, but he was still listening, intently.
In Hope’s mind, even this was a victory, and something of a miracle. Recalling how hard Nancy had prayed about this meeting, Hope felt sure there had to be a touch of the supernatural in play. Looking away, she closed her eyes and added a silent prayer of her own, but her thoughts were interrupted when Hazel brought her back into the conversation.
“Look, ask Hope if you don’t believe me. Teaching the women to quilt isn’t just about giving them warm fuzzies. There are actual educational benefits here, hard skills that they can put to use after they’re released.”
“Such as?” David asked, the set of his mouth making his skepticism evident.
“Well,” Hope said, “basic math for one thing. Reading a pattern and constructing a quilt involves addition, subtraction, multiplication, and an understanding of fractions—as well as a lot of geometry. It also reinforces reading comprehension and the ability to decode and follow instructions. When I taught high school, my lesson plans were all designed to help support and reinforce the concepts and skills taught in the core educational classes. There’s no reason we couldn’t do the same thing with the quilting program.”
“See?” Hazel said, hooking her thumb in Hope’s direction. “What she said.”
David’s expression softened. For a moment, Hope almost thought he was going to smile. Then something even more surprising happened.
Hazel grinned and stuck out her tongue, making a “so there” face, and David completely cracked up. Hope couldn’t believe it! She’d never even seen him smile, let alone laugh. Until that moment, she didn’t know he could.
“Okay, okay,” David said, spreading his hands. “So they’ll learn something. But we’ve got classes for that already and I don’t have to bring blades and sharp objects into the building to teach them.”
“But we already talked about that,” Hazel protested. “Anything that could pose a potential danger could be kept in a locked cabinet in Hope’s locked classroom. Tools and equipment could be checked in and out at the beginning and end of each session. No one would be allowed to leave until everything had been returned to the cabinet and accounted for right down to the pins. You could have the guards do a pat-down if you want. Heck, you could even bring in a metal detector.”
David shook his head slowly, but he was still smiling. Hope couldn’t believe it. What was going on? Was it the alcohol? No. Couldn’t be. He’d only had two beers.
“Do you have any idea how much an extra metal detector would cost? Speaking of money, where am I supposed to find the funding for all of this? As I’m sure your sister can tell you,” David said, giving Hope a wry but not completely unfriendly glance, “she’s already overspent her budget for the quarter. I can’t just write a blank—”
“I’ll raise the money myself!” Hope interjected, so buoyed by David’s unexpected good humor that she spoke before really thinking it through.
David’s smile faded. The look of skepticism returned.
“How?”
“I’ll contact local businesses, fabric and craft shops. Maybe even national companies. I’ll write grant requests. A project like this could be a good match for all kinds of charities and foundations.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
Hope had never written a grant request in her life. Nor did she know of any foundations whose mission focused on prisons or prisoners. But they had to be out there, didn’t they? And if they were, she’d find them. Somehow.
“See?” Hazel said again but this time with a tone of professional certainty, as if Hope’s hasty response settled all doubts and overcame all objections. “And what about that blue-ribbon commission?”
“What about it?” David asked.
“You said the commission had tasked you with creating new programs particular to the needs of a female prison population that would help increase educational levels, support societal integration and family reunification, and decrease recidivism.”
“You left out the best part,” David said with a disgruntled half snort. “I get a whole year and not one extra dollar to accomplish this impossible feat. They want me to present the results before the next election.
“Governors’ commissions,” he mumbled before taking a slurp of coffee. “I’d love to tell them all exactly where they can stick their blue ribbons. It’s not like they actually expect me to do any of this. It just gives them a chance to grandstand and say they’re working toward prison reform without actually, you know—” He slurped some more coffee. “Doing any actual work.
“I went into the justice field because I honestly care about justice. But these guys? Forget about it. It’s all about looking good and sounding good and holding on to their jobs. Do you know what they—”
Hazel interrupted, waving her hands in front of David’s face to get his attention.
“Hey. Much as I’d love to sit here all night and listen to you gripe, don’t you get it? Hope’s program actually fits all of the criteria the commission handed you—education, societal integration, family reunification, and recidivism,” Hazel recited, ticking the list off her fingers.
“Besides, what could be more specifically geared to a female prison population than quilting? Even back in the day, back when society was even more uptight, male dominated, and misogynistic than it is now—”
Hope’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe her sister was talking to Dour David Hernandez like this, teasing and bantering and poking fun at his weak spots. Even more unbelievable was the fact that he actually seemed to enjoy it.
This really was a miracle. Had to be. Hope couldn’t wait to tell Nancy.
“Even then,” Hazel continued, “they still let poor, powerless, oppressed women sew stuff. In fact, I think they insisted on it, didn’t they? Kept them too busy to think about things like having opinions. Or, you know, getting the vote.”
Hazel grinned and bolted the last dregs of her own coffee. David sniffed and twisted his lips in a grudging but somehow respectful smile, silently acknowledging both the validity of her point and her skill in expressing it.
“Okay, sure,” David replied. “Potentially, Hope’s program could have a positive impact in those areas. Potentially. But you don’t actually know that because you don’t have any proof.”
“So get some proof,” Hazel countered. “Make it a pilot program. Start with a small, select group of prisoners and see how it goes. No matter what happens, you’ll be able to fulfill the mandate of the commission. Since Hope’s going to raise the money and find the equipment, it won’t cost anything.”
“A pilot program? Huh.”
David sniffed again and narrowed his eyes. Hope’s pulse quickened.
He was thinking about it! He was seriously considering the idea!
She was so excited, simultaneously fearful and hopeful, impatient for his verdict even as she dreaded it. She clenched her fists to keep from grabbing him by the collar and demanding a decision and found her palms were slick with sweat. Finally, after a minute that felt like a hundred, David sniffed again and looked Hope squarely in the eye.
“Okay. We can try it. Twelve inmates, twice a week for two hours. For nine months—a pilot program. When it’s over, we’ll assess. Does that work for you?”
“Yes! Totally!”
Giddy with excitement, Hope lurched forward, ready to hug him, then remembered her sweaty palms and who she was talking to and grabbed her coffee mug instead. When she clinked her cup of lukewarm brew against Hazel’s mug, David, too, lifted a cup and joined in the unspoken toast. There was no end to the wonders of this day.
Hope on the Inside Page 15
