"I like that,” Harriet said. “It would insure the quilts are crib-sized. I could stitch pinwheel designs in the borders with my machine. It looks like they did stitch-in-the-ditch for their quilting,” she added, referring to the technique where quilt stitches are hidden by placing them very close to the seams in pieced quilt tops. She flipped the top layer of the folded quilt over, revealing the backing fabric.
Jenny ran her hand over the stitched fabric, tracing the patterns she found.
"Definitely stitch-in-the-ditch,” she pronounced.
"How does that sound?” Beth asked Joe.
"If I understood all that, you're going to cut the quilt down into baby-sized blankets,” he said. “That sounds great. When we have them, we like to send a quilt home with each child we place."
"When do you need these?” Jenny asked.
He looked embarrassed.
"Yesterday, I take it.” Mavis guessed.
"Since we rely on donations, the inventory ebbs and flows,” he said. “In fact, our shelves are bare at the moment. What money we have for such things is going toward pajamas and underwear—often the children are wearing rags when we pick them up, and we want them to look nice when they go to their new families."
"Say no more,” Beth said. “We'll get these out right away, and then see what we can do to make sure your shelves don't go bare again."
"Thank you so much,” Joseph said, and took her hands in his. “You don't know how much this will mean to our children. Shall I go get the other three quilts?"
Aunt Beth arranged for him to drop the quilts off at Pins and Needles on his way home from work that afternoon, and after he left, she went back to the Loose Threads meeting.
"I suppose you expect all of us to work on those quilts, too?” Sarah whined. “I barely have time to do all these dog blocks."
"All one of them?” Lauren shot back. “It must have killed you."
"Ladies,” Connie said, standing again and giving a stern look to each woman in turn. “No one has to do anything they don't want to. If Sarah is too busy to do charity work, that's her business."
"Well, maybe I could sew the binding on one while I'm manning the front desk at work,” Sarah conceded after a moment of silence. “But only if we're not busy."
Lauren rolled her eyes skyward but kept silent.
"We will appreciate anything you can do,” Connie assured her.
"What did I miss?” Beth asked. “Did you choose a new design while I was getting Joseph squared away?"
"We waited for you,” Harriet said. “So far, we have several options on the list, but that's all."
"It's hard to tell without seeing a sample,” Jenny said. “We all thought the dog faces were a good idea until we saw them."
"Why don't we divide up the list and each of us make a one-block sample?” Robin suggested. “Two people could do each idea, not including DeAnn, who needs to finish getting ready for the baby."
She looked around the group and saw no objections. Even Sarah kept quiet for once.
"Shall we meet again tomorrow?” Beth asked. “If you can't get your blocks done, come anyway, and we'll see what we have."
"But try,” Connie added, and looked over her black-rimmed reading glasses directly at Sarah.
"I didn't say anything,” Sarah protested.
"Speaking of the new baby,” Robin said. “DeAnn and I better get going. We've got some last-minute shopping to do. Put me down for any of the blocks and let me know later."
The two women got up, and Robin ushered DeAnn out ahead of her, then turned back when her friend was out the door and made the universal hand sign for call me while mouthing the words.
When the remaining Loose Threads heard the tinkle of the bells on the outer door, signaling that Robin had DeAnn out of the building, the discussion turned to the baby shower they were planning.
"Aiden said it was okay for us to have the shower at his house,” Carla said.
Aiden's mother had been a member of the Loose Threads, and the older members of the group had attended many gatherings in the large formal dining room of her grand Victorian house. Aunt Beth had suggested his young housekeeper be the one to ask, knowing he would agree but giving Carla an out if she felt hosting the event was too much for her. She was pleased the younger woman hadn't used it.
"I ordered the cake,” Mavis volunteered. “I asked Kathy to decorate it in pink and purple. I wanted it to be a little more girlish and not quite so much like it's for a newborn baby."
DeAnn's new daughter was a three-year-old toddler.
"I've got the paper plates and napkins,” Harriet added.
"Sarah?” Aunt Beth asked.
"I haven't got the mints or Jordan almonds yet, but I'll have them by tomorrow afternoon, a full day ahead of the event."
"My husband put the last coat of paint on the little table and chairs,” Jenny said. She'd found a gently used table and chair set at a garage sale and given her husband the task of stripping and repainting it for DeAnn.
Aunt Beth looked at Lauren.
"I already told you I've had the jogging stroller for weeks,” she said, referring to the present the group had pooled their money to buy.
She used both hands to sweep her long blond hair back away from her face. The purchasing task had fallen to her, since she was the best computer researcher in the group, and they wanted to be sure they were mindful of the latest safety ratings before they made their purchase.
"Okay,” Aunt Beth said. “Now that we have the shower on track, we've got dog bones, dog houses, stars with dog centers, and snowball blocks."
The last one referred to a traditional hexagonal pattern made by stitching a triangle of contrasting-color fabric to all four corners of a square piece—in this case, a dog print fabric with contrasting corners.
"That doesn't come out even,” Sarah pointed out.
"I have an idea I'd like to try out,” Harriet said. “How about I try my idea, and if it works, I'll present it to the group?"
Aunt Beth looked around the table. “Everyone okay with that?"
No one objected, and the group quickly divided up the remaining work and said their goodbyes.
"If you don't mind, I'm going to look at fabric for a minute,” Aunt Beth said. “I'd like to make a couple functional dog blankets for the shelter. I know we said any quilts that aren't purchased will be donated, but that hasn't happened in years, so they're going to need bedding."
"I noticed Marjory putting a fresh batch of fabric on the sale shelf when I went to the restroom a while ago,” Harriet said. “Let's go see what we've got to work with."
Aunt Beth had three bolts of cotton print fabric in various shades of blue laid out on a cutting table in the middle of the store, and Harriet was comparing first one and then the other of the two bolts she held in her arms to the grouping to see which one would work best as a backing. The first was a good match for color, but she wasn't sure how well the plaid print went with the quilt-top choices. The second fabric was white dots on a mottled beige background—a better pattern, but she wasn't sure about the color. Aunt Beth was back at the sale shelf trying to come up with a better option.
Harriet was still debating the choice when the front door of the quilt store opened, and a short, heavyset woman with white cotton-candy hair came in. She walked with a sort of rolling limp that was partly because of her arthritic knee but mostly because she carried her substantial weight almost entirely in her hips.
"Harriet,” Phyllis Johnson said when she reached the center of the store. “I'm glad I caught you. I have a quilt I need to have done. My niece is getting married next weekend, and I was hoping you might have space in your schedule to fit her quilt in."
Harriet had enough long-arm quilting business to keep her machine stitching for as many hours as she was willing to run it, but she purposely kept a block of time free each week for just this sort of “emergency.” She did a quick mental rearrangement of her schedule.
"If
you don't want anything too complicated, I could have it for you the day after tomorrow,” she offered.
"That would be perfect,” she said. “Am I correct in assuming you'll be at DeAnn's shower?"
"Yes, and I'd be happy to bring your quilt to you there."
"Thank you,” Phyllis said. “I'm so excited for DeAnn. I know she loves her boys, but she's so happy she's finally going to have a little girl. This is the part of my job I love most. It's just a win-win when we can place a precious orphaned child with such a deserving set of parents."
Phyllis Johnson was the owner and president of Little Lamb Adoption Services. Harriet had learned from DeAnn that Phyllis had started her agency more than thirty years ago and had provided adoptions to the citizens of Foggy Point ever since. Her agency specialized in international placements.
"I know DeAnn and her husband and the boys are excited."
"My quilt is on the front cutting table—I was choosing the binding fabric, but I've decided on one. You can take it with you now, if that's convenient, or I could drop it by after work if that's better."
"Now is fine. Do you have a bag for it?"
Phyllis produced a pillowcase that matched the quilt top and put the top and backing inside then handed it to Harriet. “Do you have bulk batting available like your aunt did?"
"Yes, just tell me which one you want."
After a brief discussion of batting, Phyllis chose wool and then went to the front checkout area to pay for her binding fabric.
"Are you ready?” Harriet asked her aunt.
"I suppose.” Beth had replaced the blues with greens but was still struggling with the backing.
"I don't think the dogs care what backing you use."
"I can walk back to your house if you're anxious to leave."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to rush you. Phyllis gave me a quilt she needs done right away. I told her I'd give it back to her at the shower."
"Have you used your emergency spot for the week?"
"No, but I was going to play with my idea for the auction quilt with that time."
"I'm about done here,” Beth said with a sigh. “Neither one of these bolts is going to change color, so I'm just going to choose one and be done with it."
"I'll go look at fat quarters for my dog block idea,” said Harriet, referring to the eighteen-by-twenty-two-inch quarter-yard cuts of fabric favored by quilters.
She was pawing through a basket of red-toned fat quarters set on an antique chair by the front door when a tall, slender black woman came in, a baby less than a year old perched on her left hip, its back to Harriet. The woman strode to the checkout counter, where Marjory was ringing up Aunt Beth's purchases.
"Do you know Aiden Jalbert?” she asked Marjory without waiting for her to finish with Aunt Beth. The woman's voice had a lilting accent Harriet couldn't place.
"Why do you ask?” Marjory countered.
"What business of yours is it if we do or we don't?” Aunt Beth asked.
"I need to find him, and I went to every veterinary office in town, and no one would say anything. Finally, a lady in the waiting room of the last one said to ask at the quilt store."
"We know him, but it's not going to do you much good.” Beth said.
"Let me be the judge of that."
The baby started fussing, and the woman jiggled her hip and at the same time reached into her pocket and pulled out a lint-covered pacifier she shoved into the child's mouth.
"He's working out of town,” Harriet said. “We don't know when he'll be back."
The woman's shoulders sagged briefly; then she squared them again.
"Can you recommend a good hotel nearby?"
Aunt Beth could have suggested The Fogg Victorian Hotel, which was located three streets over, or even The Harborside, which was, as the name implied, located at the waterfront. Instead, she gave her the name of two chain hotels out on the main highway. She sketched a simple map and wrote the names on a piece of paper provided by Marjory, and handed it to the young woman.
"If you see Aiden, tell him Neelie Obote is looking for him."
The woman turned to leave. The baby lifted her head from the woman's shoulder and smiled at Aunt Beth, her pale-blue eyes trained on the older woman.
The bells that hung on a ribbon from the front door tinkled then fell silent as Neelie and the baby left the store. No one moved.
"I think I'll go see how Carla is coming with that fabric,” Marjory said when the silence had stretched to the breaking point. She handed Aunt Beth her purchase and headed for the classroom.
"Okay,” Aunt Beth said. “I'll address the eight-hundred-pound gorilla that just left the room. That baby's eyes bear a passing resemblance to those of a certain veterinarian of our acquaintance."
"A passing resemblance?” Harriet said in a cold voice. “Passing resemblance?” she repeated. “Aiden has an extremely rare eye-color. It sure looked like that baby does, too."
"That doesn't mean anything,” Aunt Beth said.
Harriet glared at her.
"Okay, it might mean something, but let's not jump to conclusions without hearing what he has to say about it."
"Are you ready to go?” Harriet asked.
"Let me go get my bag.” Aunt Beth went to the classroom and came back a moment later with her canvas tote on her arm and her purple nylon purse slung over her shoulder.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 3
"Do we have time to stop at the grocery store on the way back to your place?” Aunt Beth asked as she climbed into the driver's seat. “It'll save me having to backtrack."
"Sure, if you don't mind a stop at the coffee shop, too. I need some hot chocolate to settle my nerves before I start working on someone else's quilt."
"Sounds good to me. Have you tried that new place yet?"
"The Steaming Cup? No, but it's in the right direction."
Beth circled the block then headed west.
The new coffee shop was decorated in dark wood and rich jewel-toned overstuffed upholstery. One wall was covered with artwork done by local people in response to a contest challenging artists to create the best interpretation of the shop's name, using the jewel-tone color pallet. The winning piece, a mosaic of a coffee cup made from shattered coffee cups, was displayed in the front window, its creator the happy recipient of a one-year free-coffee certificate.
Harriet ordered a large cherry hot chocolate while Aunt Beth went for a smaller mocha. The shop's only other customer was a slender young man seated at a small table near the wall, his laptop plugged into the nearby socket.
"Is this okay?” Aunt Beth asked as she led Harriet to a grouping of armchairs.
"Perfect."
Harriet carefully set her cup on the table between two of the chairs. Her cell phone began buzzing and played the first few notes of the ringtone she had assigned to Aiden's calls. She dropped her purse in the chair and pulled the phone out, streaking her finger across the touchscreen to answer the call.
"Aiden,” she said as she put the phone up to her ear.
"Hi. Sorry I couldn't call sooner. The cell reception is terrible out here."
"How are you?"
He replied, but she didn't hear what he said as her phone was ripped from her hand from behind. She whirled and found Neelie Obote holding the phone to her own ear, the baby on her opposite hip.
"This is Neelie Obote,” she said and paused, listening. “When will you be back here?...I have to see you. It's important...No, it can't wait."
Harriet came around behind the chair arrangement and grabbed for her phone. She had it for a brief moment before Neelie pulled it from her hand then lost her grip and dropped it. The phone skittered across the tile floor before landing screen-side-up, a large crack across its face.
"I'm so sorry,” Neelie said, and began bouncing the baby, who was now crying, in a futile attempt to calm the child.
"May I try?” Aunt Beth asked and held her hands out.
&n
bsp; Neelie handed her the child, and Aunt Beth carried the baby to the art wall and began talking in a low voice. The baby quieted, listening to Beth's voice.
Harriet bent down and picked up the broken remains of her phone.
"I'm so sorry,” Neelie repeated again. “I didn't mean to break it."
"So, you're not sorry you grabbed it?” Harriet said and glared at her.
"You don't understand—I have to talk to Aiden Jalbert."
"I get that. What I don't get is why you think that gives you the right to grab my phone and break it."
"I wasn't trying to break your phone, I just heard you say ‘Aiden,’ and—"
"And you couldn't just ask to speak to him?"
Neelie looked down. “I'm sorry,” she said again in a quieter voice.
"Why don't you stop apologizing and tell us why you need to talk to Aiden so desperately you're willing to tackle my niece to do it?” Aunt Beth said. Harriet hadn't notice her return to the sitting area with the now-sleeping baby in her arms. Beth sat down and looked pointedly at the two chairs on either side of her.
Neelie came to the chairs and, after a moment's hesitation, sat down. Harriet took her own chair, picked up her hot chocolate and took a sip.
"Start talking,” she said.
"I need to find him to give him his child,” Neelie said.
"And we're supposed to take your word for it that this is his child?"
"You don't have to take anything. I don't know you, why should I care what you think? If you know Aiden Jalbert, then you know he will want to take care of his child."
"Why are you giving the child away?” Aunt Beth asked.
"I'm not giving her away,” Neelie said. “I'm bringing her to her father."
"Why?” Aunt Beth repeated.
"It's not your business, but Kissa is not my baby. She is my sister Nabirye's child.” Tears welled in Neelie's eyes. “My sister passed away two weeks ago yesterday, in the hospital in Jinja."
Harriet handed her a napkin, and the young woman dabbed at her eyes.
"Before she died, she asked me to bring Kissa to her father."
"Does Aiden know about Kissa?” Aunt Beth asked.
Quilt by Association Page 2
