The Friendship Star Quilt

by Patricia Kiyono

  He opened the envelope and took out the pile of photos then leaned toward her again to show them to her. She inhaled the spicy scent of his aftershave and her heart beat quickened.

  “—with a Spanish theme. What do you think?”

  “Spanish?” For Pete’s sake, stop acting like some moon-eyed teenager and pay attention to what the man is saying!

  “No, we’re playing holiday music,” he replied, apparently thinking she’d been asking about his band’s theme.

  “Let’s see what else you have.”

  He flipped the photo of girls with colorful Spanish skirts and flags face down then turned over the next one. The color guard in it wore white costumes with sailor tops and hats. “This show had a nautical theme.” He dismissed it as well.

  Anne almost gasped at the scantily clad girls in the next picture he turned over.

  “This one had a modern theme about urban living.” He met Anne’s gaze, and it was all she could do to focus on his words rather than those warm amber-flecked eyes. “I’d prefer my girls not dress like this.”

  “I’m sure the school board and the parents would agree,” Anne said. She poured over the remaining pictures Brad had brought, but nothing seemed to jump out at her.

  “Maybe it would be better if you came and talked to the girls,” he suggested.

  “When is their next practice?”

  “We have band every school day at nine o’clock then rehearsals after school. This week, we’ll also rehearse on Saturday morning.”

  “The parade is next week Saturday so there’s isn’t much time to pull something together. Would it be okay if I came to tomorrow’s rehearsal?”

  “It would be wonderful, but don’t you have to be here?”

  Anne waved toward her clerk. “I’ll make arrangements for Courtney to open the shop tomorrow after she gets her kids off to school.”

  “Super! Could you get to the high school a little before nine? You’ll need to check in at the office, but I’ll leave word you’re coming. One of the secretaries can direct you to the band room.”

  She nodded then gathered the photos and handed them to him.

  “Thanks so much, Anne,” he said as their hands met. “I really appreciate all your help. Um—I mean the girls will really appreciate it.”

  “Of course,” she replied, trying to hide her disappointment at his clarification. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Brad.”

  ****

  The next morning, Anne dressed carefully in a pair of denim jeans she’d embellished on the back pockets and on one thigh with miniature quilt squares. She paired it with her favorite pink chenille sweater and a quilted hobo bag then drove Myra’s big sedan to the high school. Normally, she preferred to walk or ride the bus rather than take the car. However, ever since she’d flipped the calendar to November, business at The Stitching Post had seemed to increase. Maybe customers realized the holidays were getting closer and they needed to get started on gifts and their home décor projects. Or maybe the cooler weather just had more people thinking about indoor crafts. Whatever it was, Anne wanted to be back at the store by ten to help Courtney, so she figured it would be faster to drive the couple miles to the school and back.

  As she pulled into the school lot, she spotted Brad’s dusty tan car among the vehicles already in the faculty lot. She found a space marked for visitors and parked. Then she took a deep breath, bracing herself for the encounter ahead and exited from the car.

  High school hadn’t been the greatest experience for Anne. She’d enjoyed her classes and her teachers, but the lunch hours and after school time had been somewhat lonely for a country girl. Her grandparents’ farm had been on the farthest edge of the school district, and there had been no other kids nearby. She hadn’t had any friends growing up except for the children of her grandparent’s hired hands during the summer, and they had always moved on to other places when fall rolled along. Since all her classmates already had their own friends or social cliques. Anne had felt like a misfit and tried to just remain invisible, spending most lunch hours in the library and hurrying home after school. She hadn’t been bullied by the others. In fact, it had been just the opposite. Most of her fellow students hadn’t even noticed her or, if they did, wouldn’t have been able to recall her name. Except for the few months as a senior when she’d worked on costumes for the school play, she’d spent her high school time quietly in the shadows, watching life go on around her.

  Now, she squared her shoulders and reached for the handle of the front door. Brad had told her to go in the front door and register at the office. Anne’s loafers echoed softly in the empty hallway. She waved to the woman seated at the large desk inside. The Rivertown secretary greeted Anne with a friendly smile which was always a good sign.

  “Good morning,” the woman said when she’d opened the window. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Anne Brown. Can you direct me to the band room?”

  “Of course. You must be the young woman Mr. Carmichael told me to watch for. He said you’d be helping the color guard with their costumes.” At Anne’s nod, the friendly secretary continued. “Brad is expecting you, Ms. Brown. Just take the hallway to the left. It leads right to the band room. It’s a bit of a walk, but you’ll be able to hear them as you get closer.”

  Anne thanked her then hurried down the hall the woman had indicated. Every step she took increased her uneasiness. What if the girls hated her? What if they thought her ideas were stupid? What if they considered her some country bumpkin? Her loafer heels clicked on the floor tiles, miniature drums marking cadence for a funeral march. With every beat, the cadence swelled. Suddenly, she stopped and realized the thumping she’d heard wasn’t her shoes or her escalating heart rate. It was the muffled boom of a bass drum. Apparently, at least one of the drummers had arrived already to practice. Listening closely, Anne heard the low hum of a tuba and the lighter sound of a flute. Chiding herself for being so skittish, she opened the door and walked into the band room.

  The players tuning their instruments stopped. So did most of the chatting. A hundred faces turned as one, staring at her curiously. Okay, so maybe a hundred was an exaggeration. It was more like four dozen, but it sure seemed like more to her.

  She paused in the doorway, unsure what to do next. Why were they staring at her? Should she turn and rush away? Why hadn’t she stayed at The Stitching Post where she could be invisible?

  Then she heard his voice.

  “Anne—Miss Anne,” Brad greeted from the corner where he’d been talking to one of the clarinet players. “Thanks for joining us this morning.”

  He crossed the room and took her arm, drawing her into the band room toward a group of young girls on the far side, who’d been chatting together.

  “Lexi? Is the color guard all here yet?”

  A pretty redhead nodded. “We’re here, Mr. Carmichael. Everyone got here early like you asked us to. “

  “Okay, girls, come over and meet the lady who made your flags and is going to help you with some costuming ideas.”

  A dozen of the teens separated from the larger group and headed toward Anne and Brad with Lexi in the lead. The girls were various heights, builds and coloring, but all studied her curiously.

  “Why don’t you girls take Miss Anne into the choir room and talk to her about your ideas,” Brad suggested. “It will be quieter there. You can come outside and join us for practice when you’re done.”

  Anne anticipated getting condescending glances once they were away from the band director, but the girls continued their teenage chatter as they led the way to a room farther down the hall. Once they went inside, the girls clustered around her, causing Anne’s nervousness to escalate again.

  As a tall blonde stepped forward, Anne thought, Here it comes.

  “Did you decorate your jeans yourself?”

  Anne had heard variants of the question often in her life. Usually, it was followed by some disparaging comment about people who couldn’t afford “real ou
tfits from the mall”. Now, she nodded and took a deep breath

  “I love what you did to them. I wish I could sew like you. I never seem to find jeans I like in the stores.”

  The girl Brad had called Lexi laughed, “If you’d done your homework for home ec class, Patty, you’d probably sew better. Except you’d never be able to make points like those. How did you get them so sharp, Miss Anne?”

  “Did you quilt your bag, too? It’s adorable,” another girl asked at the same time.

  Compliments? Anne studied the girls’ eager faces. No one was mocking her, no one sneered. They appeared genuinely interested in what she had to say.

  “My grandmother taught me to sew before I was a teenager, so I’ve been quilting and sewing for a long, long time.” She relaxed and pulled a note pad from her tote bag. “Why don’t we sit down and get comfortable while we discuss costume ideas?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You seem about a million miles away,” Tee commented as she laid a bolt of muslin on the cutting counter in front of Anne on Monday afternoon. The busy realtor had stopped into the shop on her way home from work.

  Anne apologized. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment. No.” She grimaced. “Make that a lot overwhelmed.”

  “You?” her friend asked in an amazed tone of voice. “In all the time I’ve known you, Anne, I can’t recall ever seeing you frazzled.”

  “Well, now you have.” The young clerk puffed out a breath. “I made a commitment, but I think I’ve bit off more than I can chew, as my grandma used to say.”

  “Commitment? What’s up? Do you wanna talk about it?”

  Anne nodded and told the woman about the uniforms for the high school color guard. “The girls were so enthusiastic. We sketched out a navy blue wrap skirt, lined in the same light blue as their flags. They’re all buying their own white leotards to wear under them.”

  “Skirts sound like a good idea. Maybe they can wear navy and light blue ribbons in their hair, too.”

  “Good idea. I’ll mention it to them when they come by the shop tonight.” Seeing the unspoken question on Tee’s face, Anne explained. “They are all different heights, so I need to make sure each one’s skirt is the right length. The girls are coming to the shop after band rehearsal this evening, so I can take their exact measurements. I already bought the pattern and fabric on Saturday evening at JoAnne’s.”

  “Sounds like you have it all planned out. So what’s the problem?”

  “The parade is this weekend. I don’t know how I’ll finish sewing a dozen skirts by then.”

  “Piece of cake,” Tee said. She pulled her iPhone from her purse and quickly keyed in a number. “Ellen, this is Tee. I’m at The Stitching Post with Anne, and we need some help.”

  As Anne listened in amazement, the busy realtor explained the situation. “Can you phone Sue and Sylvia—and maybe Betty and Debbie? Tell them what’s going on. We need them to bring their machines to The Post tomorrow night for a sewing bee. No quilting. I’ll call Lila, Doris and the others and fill them in, too. Great. See you then.”

  Disconnecting from the call, the take-charge business woman grinned. “Voila! Problem solved.”

  Tee,” Anne protested. “I can’t ask our customers to sew these uniforms.”

  “You didn’t, I did. And we aren’t customers, we’re your friends, remember? Besides, these are Rivertown kids. We’re proud of them and want them to be at their best when they represent us.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then don’t say anything, goose. Just cut four-and-a-half yards of this muslin for me while I call home. Mom will feed the kids for me, and I’ll stay and help you get the color guard measured. It will go quicker with two of us to do it. If we have time, we might be able to even cut out a couple of skirts tonight.”

  ****

  The following afternoon, the quilters started to straggle in more than an hour before The Stitching Post closed for the day. In addition to their usual potluck offerings, each woman also arrived with her personal sewing machine.

  “Tell me what you have planned for the uniforms,” Lila said, removing her hooded jacket, “and where you have the material and pattern stored. I can get things organized while you take care of the shop. Tee said you cut out some of the skirts last night.”

  We did,” Anne replied. “Between us, we got six of them ready to sew. I worked on a sample when I went home and finished it between customers today.” She pointed to a garment folded neatly over a chair back. “I think it turned out pretty nice.”

  Lila picked up the skirt and shook it out to examine it. “Goodness, Anne, this is much better than nice. It’s beautiful. You even have a miniature version of the flag’s design on the front. Your handsome young band director is really going to like this idea.”

  Anne was so shocked at the woman’s reference to Brad she hardly knew what to say. “Mr. Carmichael isn’t my—”

  But Lila held up the high-topped pastry carrier she’d brought with her. “If he likes apple pie you can share whatever’s left of this with him and Jennie. Speaking of her, where is our little helper today?”

  “Jennie stayed at the high school with her dad tonight. Brad—Mr. Carmichael—knew all of you were coming in to help me sew the color guard uniforms tonight, and he didn’t want her to be underfoot.”

  “The dear child is so well-behaved, she’d never be underfoot,” Lila remarked fondly.

  “I told him the same thing, but he insisted.”

  “Told who and what?” Ellen asked, wheeling in her sewing machine on a small dolly. A pan of brownies perched precariously on top of the case.

  “Anne’s honey was worried his daughter would be in our way tonight.”

  Heat flooded Anne’s cheeks as she protested. “He’s not my—”

  “Quick, grab those brownies before they fall!” Ellen exclaimed as the wheel of her cart bumped against one of the chair legs.

  Lila rescued the pan, handed it back to its owner then turned to Anne. “You were going to show me where the pattern and remaining fabric is.”

  Anne nodded and pulled a box from under the work table. “The five skirts ready to be sewn are in here,” she said. She ducked under the table again and pulled out a plastic tub, containing several bolts of fabric. “Here’s the material for the rest of the uniforms.”

  “Is the pattern for the appliqué in there, too?”

  “Yes. I used the photo copier to reduce the flag design until I had a pattern small enough to use on the skirts.”

  The front bell jingled, announcing an arrival. Anne waved a greeting to the windblown customer, who’d come rushing in from the cold.

  “Go and take care of business,” Lila said. “If you’ll trust me with it, I can get everything organized. I’ll start a couple of us on the skirts you have ready to be sewn. The rest of us can pin and cut the others.”

  “Of course, I trust you. All of you. And I appreciate all—”

  “We know, we know. Now, shoo! Go wait on your customer.”

  By the time Anne closed the shop an hour later, everyone from the quilt group had arrived and had helped themselves to the pot luck. As each woman finished eating, Lila assigned them their tasks for the evening.

  “Did you leave anything for me to do?” Anne asked. She popped a bacon-wrapped water chestnut into her mouth and surveyed the busy work area.

  “I left the appliqués for you,” Lila said, pointing to a pile of folded white taffeta and fusible web adhesive. I knew you’d want those to be just so.”

  “You know me too well.” She dipped a pita chip into a bowl of homemade hummus, popped it in her mouth then brushed off her hands. “I’ll get right to it.”

  “After you wash,” the older woman instructed, pointing to the sink.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Anne said, snapping off a mock salute. “You sound just like Grams. You’re just as short and feisty as she was, too.”

  The thought of her gra
ndmother brought a sudden lump to Anne’s throat. She swallowed against it then hurried to the sink. No time to mope. She had work to do.

  Sylvia had set up the ironing board along the far wall so the sewers could trim and press seams as they worked. Now, Anne carried the white taffeta and webbing over to it. After checking the temperature on the iron—too much heat could scorch or even melt the delicate material—she carefully fused the two layers together. When she finished, she let the reinforced fabric cool.

  Since the work tables were already crowded with machines and sewers, Anne took her fabric to the shop’s cutting counter. She smoothed the fabric on the work surface then retrieved a roll of narrow masking tape from a drawer. She ripped off a half dozen pieces and used them to fasten the taffeta to the countertop. The paper tape would hold the slippery fabric in place while she worked but could be removed afterwards without leaving any residue. She tossed the roll back into the drawer then, using a marking pencil, she carefully traced eleven small sea hawks on the surface of the taffeta.

  “Need help with those?” Sylvia asked. She handed Anne a cup of coffee in a covered mug. “You didn’t get a chance to eat much tonight. Why don’t you go grab a plate while I cut these out? Then you can show me how you want them stitched. The sewing machine you helped me pick out does an incredible job with satin stitching. Between us, I bet we can finish the appliqués in less than an hour.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t. Not when everyone else is so hard at work.”

  Tee walked up in time to hear Anne’s protest. “You obviously haven’t been watching us. We’ve all taken breaks to help ourselves to food or desserts. Or both.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Sylvia insisted. “Go and eat. Seriously, we’re making good progress. Everything is cut and pieced together. Tonight, each of us will take a skirt home with us and finish the hemming and other hand work. Everything will be done tomorrow. Thursday at the latest.”