Make Quilts Not War

by Arlene Sachitano

  “I just wanted to see how you are. I care about you.”

  “I know you care about me—just not enough to have an open, honest relationship. You might be willing to treat me like some kind of illicit affair, but I’m sorry—that’s not good enough. I don’t need or want your sister’s approval, but apparently that means more to you than us being a couple does. When you’re ready to cut your sister out of our relationship, come back and see me. Until then, it’s none of your business where I go or who I go there with.”

  “Are you willing to wait until I get things straightened out?”

  “See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Harriet said. She moved her arm as she spoke, and winced at the pain the movement caused. She drew in her breath. “I can’t see you, but I’m not supposed to see anyone else. Your sister not only controls your life, but you want me to agree to let her control mine, too. Well, hear me loud and clear—that’s not going to happen.”

  Mavis came through the door from the kitchen.

  “You leave Harriet alone,” she scolded. “She needs her rest, and I could hear you two from the kitchen, and the door was closed. And Harriet’s right. If you’re not willing to take that sister of yours to task, then just stay away from here. Can’t you see that Harriet’s injured? She’s supposed to be resting, not being badgered by someone who claims to be her friend.”

  “I am her friend,” Aiden protested, hurt apparent in his voice.

  “Then start acting like it and leave Harriet alone so she can rest. Now go, before your sister notices you’re gone and comes looking for you. The last thing we need is that witch showing up here.” Mavis pointed to the door.

  Aiden got up, put his jacket on and, with an angry scowl at Harriet, left.

  Harriet was dozing in her chair when Connie arrived. She woke to discover Mavis had carried the carafes full of hot water and coffee, as well as the tea bags, sugar, milk and a plate full of warm cookies, into the studio and set them on a kitchen towel on her cutting table.

  “Robin was just pulling in,” Connie reported. “How are we going to approach this?”

  “I think we need to lock the door and demand the truth from Jenny,” Harriet said. “You can tell she’s holding something back, and my feeling is that I wouldn’t be sitting here with my arm wrapped like a mummy if she’d come clean from the start.”

  Aunt Beth came in with Robin and took her coat off, laying it over one of the work chairs.

  “Can someone fill me in on what this is about?” she asked.

  Harriet quickly told her aunt what had transpired during the break in the concert.

  “I guess you’re lucky Tom and Lauren were there,” Beth said when she had finished.

  “Geez,” DeAnn said. “I leave you guys alone for one evening, and you find more trouble.”

  “It was Jenny and Robin who had the problem,” Harriet said. “I was on the rescue team.”

  “With that arm?”

  “Lauren and Tom actually did the saving. I was the witness, and we called Detective Morse right away.”

  “That must have been Robin,” DeAnn said.

  “If you want to split hairs, yes,” Harriet said.

  “You should come fix your tea or coffee and get some cookies,” Mavis said. “Jenny is going to be here any minute.”

  “We hope,” Harriet said.

  Ten more minutes passed before Lauren came through the door, holding Jenny by the elbow. Robin took Jenny’s coat, and Connie handed her a cup of tea and a sugar cookie.

  “Here, eat and drink a little and get warmed up before we get started,” she said.

  Harriet took a long look at Jenny. A strand of silver-gray hair fell over her left eye. No longer dressed in nineteen-sixties clothes, her silk blouse was wrinkled, and her wool slacks were becoming baggy around her knees. She’d never seen her friend go out in public in such disarray.

  The room quieted as everyone settled in with their drinks and cookies, and the quilters looked around the circle of chairs, exchanging glances. Lauren pulled her chair up beside Harriet’s.

  “This isn’t going to get any easier if we keep stalling,” Mavis said and looked at Jenny. “We need an explanation, and we need it to be the truth this time.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” Jenny said.

  “That’s simply not true,” Mavis said. “We’ve been very patient, trying to let you work through whatever it is that’s happening in your life without us intruding, but it’s clear to everyone you’ve not been truthful, and as a result, your friends are paying the price.”

  “Harriet is sitting here with a burned arm, and if it wasn’t for Lauren and Tom, it sounds like you and Robin could have been hurt,” Aunt Beth said.

  “Not to mention your dead brother,” Lauren muttered, so only Harriet could hear her.

  “We don’t know if Harriet’s burn was because of Jenny,” Connie protested. “That crazy lady would have come no matter what Jenny did or didn’t do,”

  “I don’t believe that,” Mavis said, “and neither will you, if you think about it.”

  “Can we get on with it?” Lauren asked and yawned. “Some of us have work tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry all of you have been dragged into my problems.” Jenny hung her head, staring at the wheels of her chair. “As I told you,” she began carefully, “my brother has always been a problem. He got involved with the wrong people and that led to his selling drugs.” She paused.

  “Go on,” Mavis directed. “Get it off your chest. You’ll feel better.”

  “Bobby was supplying drugs to a group of young political idealists in the late sixties. They decided to make a statement by bombing a Selective Service registration office. Bobby didn’t have any political ambitions, but he went along with whatever they did because the more paranoid they became, the more drugs and LSD they used. Needless to say, this didn’t lead to clarity of thought.

  “Something went wrong, and the participants were caught. The police figured out Bobby was a fringe player. He had no real knowledge of the crime, and he only had a small amount of marijuana in his pocket, so they let him off with a couple of years for drug possession. The other people who were involved got more serious time.”

  “Can we fast-forward to the part where people are coming after you?” Lauren asked.

  “And I’d like to know what Bobby was trying to warn you about, and why you didn’t want to listen to him,” Harriet added.

  “I told you,” Jenny said. “He’s nothing but trouble. You can’t believe a word he says.”

  “I talked to him several times, and you know what? I did believe him. He was afraid, and he was trying to help you, and look what he got for it. He’s dead,” Harriet said. “And while we’re talking about it, I don’t believe you don’t know the woman who threw acid on me.

  “And last time you tried to sell this story, your brother was a bank robber, not a political protester. Which was it?”

  “Both,” Jenny said, her voice getting louder. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  Mavis added hot water to Jenny’s teacup. Jenny dunked her used teabag up and down. Harriet looked at Jenny, waiting for an explanation.

  “The group of young people who were planning the break-in at the Selective Service office quickly realized that they knew nothing about how to successfully break in to anything without being caught. A guy named Cosmic had an uncle who was a bank robber. The uncle was barely older than Cosmic, but he was just out of jail for the second time for robbery, and he was willing to help if the group would supply him with drugs at no cost.”

  She took a sip of tea and let out a big sigh.

  “It’s hard to explain what times were like back then. Everyone had at least one friend who’d been killed in Vietnam. Guys graduated high school and went to Vietnam, and you were lucky if you ever saw them again. And if you did, they weren’t the same person you went to prom with or played basketball with. No one wanted that to happen to the
m.”

  “Back to the bank robbers,” Lauren prompted.

  “Cosmic’s uncle drove by the Selective Service Office and made a fateful discovery. There was a branch of the Bank of Washington right next door. They shared an interior wall. Suddenly, there was more than a few drugs as a payoff for risking another jail sentence.

  “Cosmic’s uncle said he needed to involve a friend, and eventually told Cosmic and his group that while they were stealing the computer punch cards, he and his friend were going to blow through the wall and rob the bank.”

  “And everyone agreed to that?” Harriet asked.

  “Daily use of marijuana along with the occasional tab of LSD did not leave the group with great critical thinking skills, no matter how passionate their anti-Selective Service sentiments were,” Jenny countered.

  “Can we skip to the end?” Lauren asked.

  “The result was, there must have been a silent alarm or something. Bobby never knew what went wrong. He just said that while everyone was still inside, the police arrived. Cosmic’s uncle and his friend had gone in armed. A shootout of some sort ensued, and a policeman was shot and killed. Several of the other players were also shot. Bobby didn’t carry a gun, and he didn’t think Cosmic or the other idealists did, either. I think I told you, Bobby wasn’t really involved. He was in the getaway car, in the back seat, and he got rid of most of the drugs when he heard sirens.”

  “So, how does this relate to someone trying to hurt you?” Harriet asked.

  “I don’t know. I mean, the police were tipped about the Selective Service break-in, but they weren’t expecting the robbery. Since Bobby didn’t know about the robbery plan, he was the one everyone suspected of being the snitch. I guess killing Bobby wasn’t enough revenge for them.”

  “And where were you during all this?” Harriet asked.

  “At the commune,” she said. “I was too young and naive to see who my brother really was at that point. He used to call me every Sunday, but this time he called me on a Wednesday.”

  “How did you end up living on the commune, anyway?” Harriet asked.

  “I don’t really know,” Jenny said and paused a moment, her eyes distant. “Let me explain. My parents were not your traditional Ozzie and Harriet, Leave it to Beaver sort of folks. They lived in a variety of small group situations. My dad left at some point—I don’t know why or where he went. He just wasn’t there one day.

  “Eventually, we ended up at the commune, and we saw less and less of my mother, and then she was gone. When Bobby got in trouble for drugs, he was gone, too. By that time, I was attached to other, more stable parental figures, so it wasn’t traumatic, but like I said, Bobby did call every week until that Wednesday.

  “After that he’d call or send postcards from all over the place, but they got fewer and farther between, and then they stopped. When I was older, Maggie May, the woman I consider to be my mother, told me about Bobby and his involvement in the drug world.”

  “I suppose those two men who grabbed us tonight were the bank robbers,” Robin said.

  “I assume so,” Jenny said. “Like I said, I was in the commune when Bobby called to tell me what happened.”

  “That must have been terrible,” Connie said.

  “It was bad for Bobby, but I led a somewhat sheltered life in the commune. We didn’t have television, and limited radio. We heard news of the war, of course. People passed through and spent time with us, and they brought news of the outside, but mostly we lived off the land and enjoyed nature.”

  No one knew what to say after that.

  “I better go get Wendy,” Carla said, breaking the silence.

  “Oh, honey, why don’t you take a night off from Aiden’s and spend the night with us. You won’t have to wake that baby, and you can get a good night’s sleep. You can go back to the snake pit early in the morning, and Michelle won’t even know you were gone.”

  “Thanks,” Carla said. “I’ve been sleeping with one eye open since she moved in. Even with my door locked.”

  Connie patted her arm, and they got their coats and bags and left. DeAnn left with Robin and Jenny right afterwards; Robin’s car was in the parking lot of the Steaming Cup where Jenny had left it when Lauren intercepted her. Jenny’s own car was at Robin’s house.

  “I can come over in the morning,” Mavis said to Harriet. “What time do you need to get your arm dressed?”

  “I don’t need to see the doctor, so they said I could come anytime before noon. I just need to call and give them a few minutes to get the room ready.”

  “I’ll be here at nine.”

  “Jorge has to cater a breakfast at the festival, so I told him I’d man the booth for him while he’s setting up the buffet,” Aunt Beth said.

  “I have an eight o’clock video call with a client, but I’m free after that,” Lauren said.

  “I need to go take down my booth in the afternoon,” Harriet said.

  “I guess we know what I’ll be doing, then,” Lauren said with a dramatic eye roll.

  “We’ll all help, and it won’t take any time at all,” Mavis said. “And Harriet can sit and watch.”

  “Isn’t that always her job?” Lauren muttered, starting for the kitchen as if to put her teacup away. Mavis pretended to swat at her then gave her a stern look.

  Harriet noticed it was not, in fact, Lauren’s own cup, Connie had picked up and put in the kitchen earlier. She was pretty sure it was a decorative mug from a long-arm quilting convention she’d attended earlier in the year. It was clear Lauren had something on her mind. Something she didn’t want to share with the rest of the Loose Threads.

  “You can come out now,” Harriet called to her when she was sure the last car save Lauren’s had left her driveway.

  Chapter 24

  “Guess what we still have?” Lauren asked and held her keys up, jingling them as she did.

  “Your car?” Harriet guessed.

  “Geez, those pain meds are dulling your brain. Good thing you’ve got me here to do the thinking.”

  “I’m tired. Can you just tell me what you’re talking about without all the commentary on my brain power?”

  “You’re no fun.” Lauren put her keys in her pocket. “With all the excitement at the concert, guess where Jenny’s quilt is?”

  Harriet sat up straighter in her chair, finally catching some of Lauren’s enthusiasm.

  “The back seat of your car?”

  “Give the girl a prize. I’ll be right back.”

  Lauren slipped into her jacket and went outside, returning a moment later with a pillowcase-covered bundle; Harriet was standing by her large cutting table. She’d cleared the surface so they could spread the quilt out flat.

  “Let’s put it face-down,” she suggested. “The bulk of the acid hit the back side corner.”

  They bent over the quilt corner to examine the burned area.

  “Hold on,” Harriet said. “I’ve got curved tweezers by my serger.” she added referring to the special sewing machine that was used to produce encased edge seams. It was intricate work, and most people used tweezers to help guide the thread through the series of hooks and loops leading to the double needles.

  She returned to the table and carefully grasped the blackened, burned edge of the quilt backing, lifting and pulling it to the side.

  “That looks weird.” Lauren pointed to the layer of batting exposed by the burned fabric.

  Harriet picked at the fuzzy remains of batting with the tweezer tips.

  “I don’t think this was regular batting before it was burned. It’s way too thin.”

  “What’s that underneath the fuzz?” Lauren went to Harriet’s storage shelf on the back wall for a tabletop Ott light. Harriet plugged it into a power strip mounted under the edge of the cutting table’s top. Lauren flicked the switch, and the bright, natural light illuminated the quilt corner.

  “Is that newspaper?” she asked as Harriet gently probed under the batting.

  Harr
iet poked harder, finally penetrating what indeed turned out to be newsprint. She grabbed an edge and pulled, and an inch-square piece of the paper tore loose.

  “What does it say?” Lauren asked as Harriet held it under the light.

  “It’s from the St. Cloud Times newspaper dated January fifteenth, nineteen-sixty-seven.”

  “Where’s St. Cloud?”

  Harriet turned the square of paper over and read the printing on the reverse side.

  “Looks like Minnesota. This is talking about something in Minneapolis.”

  “Isn’t that where Jenny’s commune was?”

  “That’s what she claimed, but I’m not sure I believe anything she says at this point.” She turned back to the quilt and poked into the burn hole again. “Hold this,” she told Lauren, pointing to the corner of the quilt. She poked and prodded and finally came out with another piece of paper. This one was green and did not require a high-powered light to identify.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Lauren asked.

  “If you’re thinking large denomination money, yes. I think it’s a piece of a one hundred-dollar bill.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Jenny’s been holding out on us. She clearly knows more about the bank robbery than she’s admitted.”

  “Like the part where she was there?” Lauren asked.

  “Yeah, for starters. For all we know, she could have been the mastermind.”

  Harriet spun the quilt until the opposite corner was in front of her. She took a pair of bandage scissors from a holder on her tool shelf, carefully created a hole then a slit along the seam of the first border. With the tweezers, she peeled back the layers of batting and newspaper and exposed more hundred-dollar bills. At the same time, Lauren crumpled another spot in her hands, listening for the crunch of paper.

  “It feels like the whole quilt is filled with money,” she said.

  “No wonder Jenny was so paranoid about this quilt.”

  “So, now what are we going to do?”

  “That’s a good question,” Harriet replied. “We should call Detective Morse, but I feel like we should let Jenny have a chance to do the right thing first.”