The Quilt Before the Storm

by Arlene Sachitano

  Harriet hoped she was merely speculating.

  Chapter 9

  The first thing Harriet noticed when she woke up was the silence. The second was Fred sinking his needle-sharp claws into the calf of her right leg when she attempted to move.

  “Stop,” she said and batted him away. She listened again. The wind had stopped.

  She shivered as she got out of bed and into her bathrobe then started for the window. She turned at a knock on her door.

  “Come in.”

  Aunt Beth came in carrying two mugs of steaming tea.

  “Don’t look outside,” she said. handing one to her niece.

  “Well, now I have to, don’t I? I mean, you can’t say something like that and seriously think I won’t look.”

  “Let me rephrase,” her aunt said. “Brace yourself.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse. Go ahead and look.”

  Harriet went to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Beth was right—nothing could have prepared her for the scene outside.

  Broken limbs and branches littered her driveway and the road beyond, but that was to be expected. As she looked down at the neighborhood that stepped down the hill below her house, what she saw looked like a scene from a made-for-TV disaster movie.

  Her view used to include red and black and brown rooftops protruding through the canopy of trees. Today, foliage and roofing were all jumbled together, with trees broken and jutting through segments of roofs or tangled in torn power lines. It looked like the older Victorian houses with their multiple steep roofs had fared better than the newer flat-roofed contemporary homes that had been built lower down the hill. Two streets down, she saw a red sports car with its top caved in by an iron shepherd’s hook that had formerly held a large peat moss flower basket, which was now neatly deposited in the front seat of the small car.

  A cloud of smoke floated up from the downtown area. It was unclear whether it was vigorous fireplace output or a burning building. Harriet hoped for the first.

  Mavis shuffled into the room in her plaid wool bathrobe and fleece-lined moose-skin slippers, a ceramic mug grasped in both hands.

  “This is the worst I’ve seen in at least twenty years, maybe more,” she said.

  “How’d Curly do last night?” Harriet asked.

  Mavis crossed the room and looked out.

  “See for yourself.” She gestured toward the window. Jorge was on the grassy area to the inside of the circular driveway, a dog leash in each hand, Curly and Brownie tugging hard in opposite directions, their noses to the ground.

  “Okay, they don’t look worried,” Harriet said. “Unlike Fred, who was up and down all night. I don’t suppose the power came on, did it?” Harriet asked sent a hopeful look at her aunt.

  “You did just look out the window, didn’t you?” Beth asked.

  “Is this a slumber party?” Lauren asked as she came in. She wore her zip-front sweatshirt over her pajamas, her little dog tucked between. “Power is the least of our problems. I listened to the Seattle news on my radio, and they said the Muckleshoot is over its banks.”

  “Did they say if it’s over the bridge?” Harriet asked.

  “I said I listened to the Seattle news. We’re lucky they even mentioned the Muckleshoot, much less Foggy Point and our bridge. They did say more rain is expected—a lot more.”

  “That’s all we need,” Mavis said.

  “Speaking of water,” Lauren said. “What’s the situation on ours?”

  “There’s a fifty-gallon drum of water in the garage we can use for bathing, if the water system is contaminated.” Beth said. “You’d think they could have found a better place for the municipal water source—somewhere that wasn’t right in the middle of the Muckleshoot’s flood plain.”

  “If I remember right, when this came up before, they said it was located there because they’re drawing water from wells and that’s where they found water,” Mavis explained.

  “I’ve got three cases of individual bottles and ten one-gallon jugs in the garage for drinking.” Harriet added.

  “Mavis and I brought our camping showers over,” Aunt Beth continued. “We can heat water on the gas stove and put it in the solar shower bag and hang it from the shower head in the bathroom. It only takes three to four gallons for a shower, and that includes washing your hair.”

  “I’m impressed,” Lauren said.

  “This isn’t our first rodeo,” Mavis told her. “You should have seen it back in nineteen-ninety. All the rivers flooded in November.”

  “Yeah, they lost the span of bridge on I-Ninety between Mercer Island and Seattle,” Aunt Beth said.

  “And then we got eighteen inches of snow in December,” Mavis continued. “And I had all the boys at home back then. We were without power for a week. I dug out the camping equipment, including the sun shower, and it was a lifesaver.”

  “How’s the food situation?” Harriet asked.

  “Heaven knows,” her aunt replied. “That man won’t let us in the kitchen.”

  “I wonder how the homeless camp fared,” Harriet said as she joined the rest of the Loose Threads, who were drying their hair in front of the fireplace.

  “Sit here,” Lauren said and got up from the footstool she was sitting on. She ran a wooden-handled hairbrush through her long, blonde hair. “I have to go check Carter. He wouldn’t eat with the other dogs, so I shut him in the downstairs bathroom with his dish.”

  Mavis had wound her hair on curlers and was bent over at the waist, exposing the top of her head to the heat.

  “We did what we could, but until the roads are clear Joyce and the others are on their own,” she said.

  “And we did offer to take them to the church,” Aunt Beth pointed out. “They turned us down flat. There’s not much we can do if they don’t want help.”

  “Your breakfast is served in the dining room, ladies,” Jorge called from the next room.

  Harriet was impressed. He had made cheese omelets and hash brown potatoes and served them on plates with cut-up apples, oranges, bananas and toast points.

  “This looks fabulous,” Mavis said. “How did you make toast without any power?”

  “You have a gas stove. What more does a person need?”

  “I’m not trading my toaster in anytime soon,” Lauren said as she returned, Carter again tucked into her sweatshirt.

  A knock on the front door interrupted them before they started eating. They looked at each other.

  “Who on earth could that be?” Lauren wondered.

  “Let’s find out,” Jorge said and went through the entryway and opened the door.

  “How’s it going?” Tom Bainbridge asked as Jorge led him to the dining room.

  “What are you doing here?” Harriet asked.

  “Hello to you, too,” he said with a grin. His normally neat hair hung at a rakish angle over his hazel eyes. He was dressed in brightly colored all-weather pants and a matching jacket. “Excuse me for checking to see how you all are doing.”

  He set a heaping plate, covered in waxed paper on the table.

  “Mrs. Renfro baked for days in preparation for the storm, and there’s just the two of them. Even with me, we can’t possibly eat it all. Turns out Mr. R had an off-road utility vehicle hidden in the garage, so they unleashed me to spread baked cheer around the neighborhood. I have dozens more where these came from.”

  He pulled the paper off with a flourish, revealing large peanut-raisin-chocolate chip cookies.

  “I take it back—I don’t care why you’re here, you can stay if we can keep the cookies,” Harriet said.

  “We can save these for lunch,” Aunt Beth said with a meaningful glance at Harriet. She claimed the plate and carried it to the kitchen.

  “Well, she’s no fun,” Tom said when Beth was out of the room. “I guess you do have plenty of food, though.”

  “You want to stay for breakfast?” Harriet asked. “I’m sure the neighborhood can survive without your sugar
y goodness for a few minutes.”

  “Thanks, but I’m going to try to make it to the homeless camp. During normal weather, Mr. and Mrs. R volunteer delivering meals to those folks. Mr. R was going to try to take them food this morning, and ten or fifteen years ago that would have been a good idea. I’m pretty sure eighty years are in his rearview mirror, so I’m thinking him and the Quad are not a good combo. Since Mrs. R had to dig the keys out of a bag of sugar in the pantry, I think she agrees.”

  “Did we just steal the homeless people’s cookies?” Lauren asked.

  “No, she really did bake a bunch, and she did send that plateful for you all. I just came by to see if Harriet wanted to go to the homeless camp with me.” He looked at Lauren. “Sorry, the Quad only holds one passenger.”

  “Like that would matter.” Lauren took a bite of her omelet. “Hey, there’s no sense in letting the food get cold,” she added when Mavis looked at her.

  “I’d love to get out of here,” Harriet said with glance at her.

  “What’s everyone looking at me for?” she protested.

  “Let me get my coat and hat,” Harriet said.

  “I hope you have helmets for that thing.” Aunt Beth said as she returned from the kitchen.

  The Quad turned out to be some strange combination of a golf cart and a motorcycle.

  “They’re called MUVs—multi-utility vehicles,” Tom explained. “It’s an offshoot of an all-terrain vehicle.”

  The small vehicle bore some resemblance to a miniature Jeep; it had a bench seat big enough for two people in the front and a small cargo bed behind. Tom assured her it could hold a thousand pounds of cargo and was currently filled with cases of canned food and bottled water destined for the homeless camp.

  “Is that gas strapped to the back?” Harriet asked, noting two square red plastic cans behind the flats of food and water.

  “Yeah, Mr. R said the last time the power went out for an extended period, everything ground to a halt due to an inability to pump gas. He said the town has generators in place and a supply of gas to run them, but he thinks they’re reserving that capability for emergency vehicles.”

  “Seems like they would have planned for that a long time ago,” Harriet said.

  “You would think that, but I guess not. Or maybe they haven’t had storms of this magnitude since people became so dependent on fossil fuels. I’m sure there was a time when they saddled up the family horse after a storm if they wanted to check on things.”

  “I guess so. Do we really have to wear helmets?” she asked when Tom handed her a red motorcycle one, donning a black one himself.

  “This thing looks like a small car of sorts, but it really is closer to a motorcycle, and we are going to be going off-road, so, yes, we do need the helmets. Besides, I’m not crossing your aunt if I don’t have to.”

  He helped her climb into the passenger side of the vehicle and strapped her seatbelt across her lap, returning to the driver’s side and repeating the process.

  “I’m worried about those people at the homeless camp,” he said, a serious note in his voice.

  “They should be okay if they went into the restroom. It’s floor-to-ceiling cement.”

  “Some of them probably did, but I’m guessing the young drug addict didn’t, and if she didn’t, the older woman probably didn’t, either. And neither of those two older guys looked like rugged outdoorsmen.”

  “You’re right. Joyce seemed a little more skilled at camping.”

  “Camping is one thing, but I’ll bet it’s going to turn out we had eighty- or ninety-mile-an-hour winds.”

  Tom started the MUV, backing it up then turning to go down the side of Harriet’s driveway that was free of larger tree limbs. They started downhill, and Harriet glanced back past her house to the forest at the end of her street. As they turned onto the pavement, she caught sight of Aiden’s tall slender form emerging from the trees.

  Chapter 10

  The trip to Fogg Park and the homeless camp behind it would have taken no more than fifteen minutes under normal conditions. This time it took just over two and a half hours.

  “At least it will be quicker on the way home,” Tom said as he got back into the driver’s seat after they had stopped for the umpteenth time to drag a large tree limb to the side of the road. The entrance to the park was visible in the distance.

  “I’m just glad we didn’t have to saw that one,” Harriet replied. “My arms are getting tired.”

  “I’m glad Mr. R had the foresight to pack that little chainsaw in the cargo box.”

  Tom reached over and gently wiped her cheek with his thumb. She started to reach up to stop him, but he halted her hand.

  “I’m not putting the moves on you. You’ve got mud on your cheek.”

  “Oh, of course. Sorry.” She ducked her head to hide her embarrassment.

  “Would it be that bad if I was touching your cheek for other reasons?” he asked softly and cupped her face in his hand, tilting it up until she couldn’t avoid looking at him.

  He leaned in until their lips were nearly touching. Harriet closed her eyes, but Tom pulled back.

  “I promised myself I wouldn’t pressure you, and I won’t—but you are so beautiful,” he said with a sigh. “It’s taking every bit of restraint I posses.” He turned away from her and steered their vehicle back onto the road.

  Beautiful? she thought. Covered in mud and sweaty from the hard work, and he thought she was beautiful. She tried to remember the last time Aiden had called her beautiful—or even anything.

  “Oh, thank heaven you’ve come,” Joyce said as she rushed to Harriet before she could even untangle herself from the MUV’s seatbelt and get out. Tom had just pulled into the parking space closest to the restroom building.

  “What’s wrong?” Harriet asked. She put her arm around the older woman to steady her.

  “It’s just awful,” Joyce said as tears began streaming down her deathly white face.

  “Here, sit down.” Harriet eased her into the seat she’d just vacated. Tom opened a bottle of water and handed it to her without saying anything. Joyce took a small sip, paused then took a longer drink.

  “Can you tell us what's upset you?” Harriet asked in a calm voice. She put her hand on Joyce’s shoulder.

  “Dead,” she stammered. She looked from Harriet to Tom and back to Harriet again. “Dead,” she repeated.

  “Joyce,” Harriet said. “Look at me.” Joyce complied. “Who is dead?”

  Joyce started to cry again but then stopped and took a deep breath.

  “Duane,” she said. “Duane Cunningham.”

  “Where is he?” Tom asked.

  Joyce pointed to the building. Tom and Harriet both looked just in time to see Ronald stagger out of the men’s side and lean up against the outside wall, his red Gore-Tex jacket a stark contrast to the pitted gray cement. Tom sprinted to his side and eased him into a sitting position, loosening his jacket and then his shirt collar as he did so.

  Harriet joined Tom, quickly followed by Joyce.

  “Ronald, what is it?” Joyce asked. Ronald’s face was pale and clammy and his breath rapid.

  “Medicine,” Ronald croaked.

  Harriet immediately started patting his pockets, finding an amber plastic pill bottle in his right pants pocket on her third try. She glanced at the label then popped the cap and shook out a small white pill. She pressed it to Ronald’s lips, and he quickly sucked the pill into his mouth and under his tongue. Slowly, the color returned to his face, and his breathing became slow and regular.

  “Okay,” Harriet said. “Can one of you tell us what’s going on?”

  “It’s Duane,” Joyce said again and gestured toward the men’s room door.

  “He’s dead,” Ronald finished for her.

  “I’m so sorry,” Harriet said.

  “You don’t understand.” Ronald leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. “He’s…dead.”

  “What Ronald is trying to say,
” Joyce said, “is someone has killed Duane.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t have a heart attack or something?” Tom asked.

  Ronald looked up and tried to speak and then dropped his head again.

  “We’re sure,” Joyce said. “Several of our group slept in the bathrooms last night. Brandy was up wandering around. She was out of it so I stayed out here with her. I finally got her to sleep it off, but the storm was over by then.

  “I figured everyone would need coffee, so I built a fire and made a pot. Slowly, people came out and joined me. No one got much sleep last night. We talked, and people drifted back to their own spaces. I checked on Brandy, and when it started to rain I went back to my bed and fell asleep.

  “When I woke up again, I fixed breakfast.” She sighed. “I tried to find Duane to see if he wanted some and…well.” She paused, searching for words. “No one had seen him since last night. Ronald went into the men’s room to see if he was in there, and he found him.”

  “He was in his sleeping bag,” Ronald said. “I thought he was asleep.”

  “Weren’t there other people in there with him?” Harriet asked.

  “We were spread out,” Ronald said. “Some were in the women’s room, some the men’s and everyone staked out their own space. Duane was in the handicapped stall.”

  “Was anyone else in there with him?” asked Tom.

  “No.” Ronald wiped his face with his hand. “It was so much quieter in there—I fell asleep as soon as I got my sleeping bag settled. When I woke up again, I smelled Joyce’s coffee so I got up and went out. It seemed like everyone else was still asleep.”

  “So, who else was in there?” Harriet asked.

  “Well, me, of course, and the truck drivers. And some other big guy I’d never seen before, and his lady friend. They left at first light.”

  “Someone needs to call the police,” Joyce said. “Does one of you have a cell phone?”

  “Unfortunately, our phones don’t work when the electricity is out over a wide area,” Harriet told her.