“Marjory got a special deal from her distributor,” Mavis said. “There was a defect in the print. If you look at the plaid in the whole piece, there’s a swath through the center that doesn’t have its yellow stripes.”
Lauren leaned closer to the fabric, carefully examining the pattern.
“You’re right. I can see it now that you point it out. It hardly seems like a reason to reject the fabric.”
“Yeah, but if you were making a quilt for a show, you wouldn’t want fabric that wasn’t the same on part of it. In any case, it was all the better for us. Marjory got it for two dollars a yard and is giving it to us at the same price.”
“I guess you can’t argue with that,” Lauren said and set about cutting the squares of flannel that would be sewn into rag quilts.
Rag quilts are so named because of the ragged edges that result when you sew two or more squares of fabric wrong sides together then sew the resulting layered squares to each other with the seams on the top of the quilt. These seams are snipped to the stitching line every quarter inch or so, and when the fabric used is a flannel or other loosely woven material, these snipped margins fray when washed. This produces a thick fuzzy seam that adds to the warmth of the resulting quilt and eliminates the need for batting or additional quilting. This also makes them quick and easy to produce in mass quantities.
“What are these big squares for?” Lauren asked Harriet. “I don't remember us using anything that big in the quilts we've already made.”
“Those aren't going in the quilts,” Harriet said. “I thought we could sew two big squares, right sides together, then turn them and topstitch them down on three sides at one edge of the top of the quilt to make a pocket.”
“Why didn't you just say we're going to make quillow's?” Lauren asked, cutting off anything else Harriet was going to say on the subject.
Quillow was the term used to describe a quilt with a pillow pouch attached. The quilt could be folded up into the pocket to form a pillow or unfolded to use as a cover.
“I wasn't sure—” Harriet started, but the look Lauren made her stop. “I'll leave you to it.”
She turned back to the tarp makers.
“Is anyone getting hungry?” Aunt Beth asked when the group had been at work for more than an hour. “I was thinking I could call for pizza.”
“Sounds good to me,” Harriet said. “Anything to avoid going out in this weather.”
The rest of the group agreed, and after a brief debate about which toppings they all wanted, Aunt Beth placed the order.
“They said thirty minutes,” she reported when she’d hung up the phone. “I’m surprised they aren’t busier than that.”
“I’m glad,” Connie said. “I’m getting hungry. Rod and I spent the afternoon putting our patio furniture in the garage and securing the potted plants. We ate cheese and crackers instead of a proper lunch, to take advantage of the lull between storms. He’s off getting gas for our generator while I’m here.”
“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Lauren said and shuddered, pulling her zip-front sweatshirt closer around her. “My new apartment has that big front window overlooking the cove and no fireplace or wood stove.”
“I brought extra wood into the garage to dry,” Harriet said. “You can come here if things get really bad. I’ve got two fireplaces, and my stove top is gas, so I can still cook if the power goes off.”
“The downstairs water heater is gas, too,” Beth added. “When I had the propane tank installed for the stove, I figured it might be useful to have a gas water heater, too, just in case.”
“We may all be over here,” Mavis said. “I’ve got a wood stove, but hot water and a stove top would be real nice.”
“You’re all welcome to come,” Harriet said. “But I’m with Lauren—I’m hoping the weatherman is crying wolf.”
“I heard the Methodist church is setting up a shelter for the homeless people and anyone else who needs warming,” Mavis said. “They don’t usually go that far unless it’s pretty certain.”
Rain pelted the windows, and the wind howled as a prolonged gust forced its way up the driveway and through the trees surrounding Harriet’s house. The women went back to their stations, cutting bags and ironing sections of tarp together.
“Someone call for pizza?” Robin McLeod called as she came into the studio twenty minutes later, her arms laden with flat white boxes. The door slammed behind her.
“Did you get a new job we don’t know about?” Harriet asked, knowing that since Robin was a mother and part-time lawyer as well as a quilter, this was unlikely.
Robin laughed. “No, I called Connie’s house, and Rod said you were all over here, so I decided to join you. I stopped on my way to order pizza for my gang, and I heard them putting your order together. I told Theresa I was on my way here and could save them the trip, so here I am. I took the liberty of adding cheesy bread sticks and marinara sauce to the order.”
“Let’s go to the kitchen so we don’t have to move our projects to make table space,” Aunt Beth suggested.
“I’ve got diet and fully leaded soda in both light and dark varieties as well as fizzy water,” Harriet announced as she and the rest of the group followed Robin to the kitchen. She took drink orders then prepared the requests as the group settled around the table in the sunny yellow kitchen.
“Has anyone talked to DeAnn?” Mavis asked. “I called her last week, and she had a house full of sick kids.”
“Baby Kissa and one of the boys are better, but her younger son is still having ear problems,” Robin reported. “I talked to her this morning, and she said they’re thinking about packing up and heading south to her mother-in-law’s until the storm is over. They haven’t taken Kissa to meet that part of the family yet anyway, so now is as good a time as any. DeAnn hasn’t wanted to travel out of state until they had some sort of custody papers in hand, and given that Kissa had no history or documents, it’s been a slow process.”
DeAnn Gault and her husband had adopted the baby whose parentage had been a mystery the Loose Threads had unraveled several months earlier.
“Jenny’s out of town, too,” Beth said. “She left this morning to visit her son in Texas for two weeks.”
“The rats are all leaving the sinking ship,” Lauren said and took a bite of her pepperoni pizza slice.
“Jenny planned her trip months ago,” Beth said sharply. “And I don’t blame DeAnn for not wanting to deal with a house full of sick kids with the power possibly going out.”
“Who wants to come to the homeless camp and deliver quilts and tarps tomorrow?” Connie asked.
“I can’t commit until I hear from my client,” Lauren said.
“I can come,” Harriet said. “I’d like to see how muddy it is at the camp. Our tarps may not help if the ground is too mushy.”
“Beth and I are going to be at the church helping to put together hygiene kits,” Mavis said.
“I assume that’s soap and toothbrushes,” Harriet said.
“Yes, and deodorant, hand lotion, aspirin packs…” Mavis looked at Beth.
“Playing cards, and a hand towel and washcloth,” Aunt Beth added.
“Wow,” Lauren said and reached for another piece of pizza. “Who paid for all that?”
“Most of it was donations, and what they had to buy was covered by a grant of some sort,” Robin reached for a breadstick. “Mmm, these are so good,” she said through her bite of cheesy goodness. “I can come if it’s not too early. I have to get the kids to school.”
“How about ten?” Connie looked first to Harriet then Robin and Lauren for agreement. “Ten, it is,” she said when no one disagreed. “Let’s meet in the west parking lot at Fogg Park. We can walk in from there.”
“I talked to Marjory when I picked up the last batch of flannel,” Harriet said. “She’s worried about the river flooding downtown.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Mavis observed. “It’s been probably forty ye
ars ago, but the Muckleshoot jumped its banks and ran three feet deep down Main Street.”
“I told her I’d help her put fabric up if things get to that point,” Harriet said.
“She better do it sooner rather than later if she wants your help,” Lauren warned. “The bridge between here and there will wash out long before the water reaches Main Street.”
“Let’s hope the city has done some work in the last forty years to prevent that eventuality,” Robin said.
“That was supposed to be a hundred-year flood when it happened, so we shouldn’t be due yet.” Mavis said.
“Every time there’s severe weather people claim it’s a ‘hundred-year event’ no matter what frequency it really happens with,” Lauren observed and reached for a bread stick. “You know, I never ate this sort of junk before I met you ladies.”
Harriet looked at Aunt Beth, who looked back and shook her head with a small smile.
Chapter 2
A fine mist was falling from a gray sky when Harriet pulled her car into the parking lot of Fogg Park the next morning. People always assumed the park was named for the prevailing weather but in fact, the park, along with a lot of other local features including the town itself, was named for Cornelius Fogg, a Victorian pirate who had retired and settled the area more than a hundred years ago.
Harriet had stopped by the veterinary clinic to socialize with Scooter and take him a new chew toy. He wasn’t mobile enough to really play yet, but he loved a good chew toy. As much as she protested to the Loose Threads, in her heart she knew Scooter would be coming home to live with her and Fred when he was able to leave the hospital. Fred would probably find some way to make her pay, but she was pretty sure he would be a good “brother.”
She had hoped to talk to Aiden and see how things had gone with his sister, but after a brief hello, he said he was needed in the back and disappeared. She waited as long as she could before leaving for the park, but he didn’t return. She reminded herself he was at work, and undoubtedly, an animal had needed his care; but in her heart she knew this wasn’t true.
Lauren was waiting in her car when Harriet arrived.
“My client wasn’t ready yet,” she said by way of greeting as she climbed into the passenger seat of Harriet’s car. “Hard to believe people live outside in this weather.” She shivered. “Can you turn up the heat?”
“It’s all the way up,” Harriet told her. “I’ve got a couple of flannel quilts I’m going to deliver with the tarps. You want one?”
“No, it’s okay,” Lauren looked out the window as the rain picked up in intensity. “I heard the next storm is supposed to come in this afternoon.”
“It’s hard to believe it’s going to get even worse by the weekend.”
“I’m just glad I’m not going to be the one with just a quilt and a tarp for shelter,” Lauren said. “Here’s Connie.”
“Looks like Robin’s with her.” Harriet turned her engine off.
The four women met at the now-open back door of Harriet’s car; each took an armload and followed Connie to the restroom building.
“The path to the camp starts behind the building,” she told them as she stepped onto a gravel path. The trail quickly changed from gravel to wood chips and then to mud.
“You weren’t kidding about it being muddy back here,” Harriet said.
“Joyce tries to cover the mud with leaves and tree debris from the forest, but I think this last group of storms has been too much to keep up with.”
The mud sucked at their boots as they made their way through the woods and finally came into a clearing.
“Did I hear you complaining about my trail?” a small white-haired woman said when they’d stopped. A hint of the British Isles was apparent in her speech. “You’re welcome to make any improvements you want to.” She added that with a smile.
“If I could think of anything that would help, I would,” Harriet said.
“Nothing works against this ol’ mud. Some volunteer group put down gravel two inches thick all the way from the restrooms to this clearing last spring, and you can’t even find a single rock now. I’m Joyce, by the way.” She held her hand out to Harriet, who took it
“I’m Harriet, and this is Lauren and…”
“We know Robin,” Joyce said. “She helped us work out the arrangement that allows us to have our camp in these woods.”
“We made those plastic bag tarps I was telling you about,” Connie said and held one out.
Joyce took the tarp and unfolded it.
“Well, aren’t you ladies clever? I’ll be the first to admit, I was skeptical when Connie told me about these.”
Harriet was surprised by Joyce’s clear soft voice. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been the tidy woman in faded blue jeans and flannel who stood in front of her. She realized her image of homeless people was largely based on television and involved dirty people who were either drunks or mentally ill. Joyce didn’t seem to be either.
“I wasn’t sure how you were going to use these,” Harriet said, “so I brought some clothesline rope and heavy-duty clamps.”
“The boat shop I live over donated a bag of bungee cords, too,” Lauren added.
“Now, wasn’t that nice,” Joyce said as she refolded the tarp. “Let’s take this to my place and see how it works.”
She stopped in the middle of the clearing. A wooden table with mismatched legs stood to her right. A bench that consisted of a wide board resting on two tree stumps that were about six feet apart was on the opposite side of the area.
“This is our ‘living room,’ if you will. We have our group meetings here and our community meals as well. Each member of the camp has a private space separated by trees and brush. No one goes into anyone’s camp without an invitation.” She turned and led them down a less-defined trail to a smaller clearing. “Welcome to my home sweet home,” she said with a sweeping bow.
Again, it was not what Harriet had expected. She had never really thought about the day-to-day details of how the individuals in a homeless camp might create privacy, share spaces or secure their possessions. If she had, she wouldn’t have imagined what Joyce had created.
Joyce had formed a bed from tree boughs stacked in layers at the back of her area. Closer examination showed a layer of tattered plastic sheeting sticking out between the layers of greenery—a vapor barrier, of sorts. Wooden birdhouses adorned the tree branches at the head of the bed, and an empty wooden window frame dangled whimsically from a limb to the left side. There was a mirror on a tree trunk opposite the window. Two blue plastic storage bins were stacked under the mirror, a chipped china pitcher and bowl on top of the stack.
A large piece of torn plastic lay over a bush at the front of the area.
“I was just doing home repairs,” Joyce said with a smile and held her arm up. A roll of silver duct tape encircled her wrist.
“Maybe this will make that unnecessary,” Connie said.
“How many do you have?”
“Three so far.”
Joyce looked longingly at the brightly colored sheet folded over Connie’s arm.
“As much as I would love to replace my top cover, there are other people in camp who need them more,” she said with a sigh. “We had a new fellow move in this past summer, and this is his first winter outside. Let’s go get him set up first.”
She led the group out of her space and down the trail. She stopped after about fifty feet.
“Duane?” she called. “Are you in there?”
“Come on in,” a deep male voice answered.
Harriet had expected a much-larger man based on his voice, but Duane was of medium height and build. His balding head had a few long thin strands of light-brown hair mingled with gray. He was clearly letting his beard grow, but it didn’t cover his face and chin uniformly, leaving him with clumps sticking out in random patches.
“If I’d known I was going to have company, I’d have cleaned house,” he said with a c
huckle. “I’m Duane, by the way.”
Connie, Harriet and Lauren introduced themselves and explained why they were there.
“I can use all the help I can get,” Duane said. “I’m sure Joyce told you I’m sort of new to the outdoor lifestyle.”
“Let’s see what we can do for you,” Connie said.
Duane’s space wasn’t as organized as Joyce’s; he slept in a sleeping bag on the ground. Unlike Joyce, who had on a puffy down jacket and knitted wool fingerless gloves, Duane wore a purple-and-gold University of Washington sweatshirt. The edges of a light sweater and a plaid button-down cotton shirt showed at the neck and sleeve edges. The ensemble was topped with a Harris-tweed blazer—none of it was intended for outdoor living. It looked like it might be his whole wardrobe.
“Let’s start with an overhead cover,” Connie said. She looked around the small clearing. “Over here.” She pointed, indicating an area between two tall Douglas firs.
“Isn’t it sort of thorny?” Duane asked. A low berry bush filled the space.
“You’re going to pile brush up over those bushes. They’re going to keep you off the cold ground,” Joyce explained.
Lauren and Harriet strung a length of clothesline between the two trees, anchoring it around the trunks. When they had it pulled tight, Duane helped Connie fold the tarp over the line, securing it with large clamps at the top and tying the corners to smaller tree branches with smaller lengths of clothesline. Joyce directed Robin in the gathering and placement of large fir boughs under the tarp. She folded a second tarp on the boughs then reopened it, covering the bottom layer with more branches.
“Get your sleeping bag,” Joyce directed. When Duane complied, she laid the bag over the last layer of branches and flapped the tarp over it.
“This will be a lot more comfortable and dry,” she proclaimed when Duane’s things had been arranged to her satisfaction.
“This is wonderful,” Duane said in his sonorous voice. “How can I ever thank you?”
“We’re happy to help,” Connie said.
The mist that had continued to fall turned into a steady rain.
The Quilt Before the Storm Page 2
