Authors: Arlene Sachitano
Quilt As You Go
Zumaya Publications
www.zumayapublications.com
Copyright ©2009 by Arlene Sachitano
First published in 2009, 2009
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is prohibited without the written permission of the author or publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Sachitano, Arlene, 1951—
Quilt as you go : a Harriet Truman—loose threads mystery / Arlene Sachitano.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-934841-58-7 (trade paper : alk. paper)—ISBN 978-1-934841-59-4 (electronic)
1. Quiltmakers—Fiction. 2. Widows—Fiction. 3. Washington (State)—Fiction. 4. Historical reenactments—Fiction. 5. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3619.A277Q853 2010
813'.6—dc22
2009048445
Many people support my writing efforts both directly and indirectly. My thanks go out to all of them. I particularly would like to thank my immediate family, Jack, Karen, Malakai, Annie, Alex, Amelia, David, Tanya, Ken, Nikki and Kellen. Thanks also to my sister Donna, who helped develop my creativity by drawing an endless herd of paper-doll horses on our many cross-country jaunts in the back of our parent's station wagon.
I would also like to thank my in-laws, Beth and Hank, not only for their support but also for their medical input as I try to figure out how to slay my characters. Nor can I forget Scott Ryon and Ed May, retired police people and active Ducks Unlimited members who are always willing to talk about the how-to of crime.
Supportive friends and relatives are also an indispensable part of writing my book. Brenda and Bob are unflagging supporters and promoters of my writing. Brett, Nathan, Jason and Chad provide support and let me use their names, so thanks, guys.
I'd also like to thank my knitting students for their patience and flexibility, especially when I leave them for promotional activities.
My critique group Katy and Luanne are always available to read pages and provide sympathy when rewrites are necessary—a thankless task, but thank you, ladies.
I'd like to express my appreciation to the many quilt store owners who allow me to do book signings at their stores and events. Their support is invaluable. Special thanks to Betty and Vern at Storyquilts.com—they started me on the path to quilt mystery novels with their Seams Like Murder Block of the Month series. They also generously share a corner of their booth at Quilt Market as well as a wealth of information about the quilt business.
Thanks, as always, to Liz and Tina at Zumaya for making all this work.
Last but not least, I'd like to thank my two Susans—friends, gym partners and willing listeners (no matter how many times I tell them slight variations of the same story).
"Could everyone who
will have a quilt for sale in our sutler's booth please put your name and a brief description of your quilt or quilts on this form?"
Harriet Truman held up the aforementioned piece of paper before handing it to her friend Jenny Logan. Harriet was a member of the Foggy Point Business Association, organizers of an upcoming Civil War re-enactment. In Civil War days, the sutlers were the mobile merchants. The Loose Threads quilt group had been meeting every day for the past week in order to finish their quilts before the opening skirmish in the re-enactment.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't the Civil War take place before Washington achieved statehood?” Lauren Sawyer asked. She gathered her straight blonde hair in both hands and raised it off her neck, letting the air from the open window cool her skin. “And why do we have to make quilts for people who relish violence so much they have to keep replaying it over and over again?” She loosened her grip and let her hair cascade onto her back again.
"Don't be so contrary,” Marjory Swain scolded. She owned Pins and Needles, Foggy Point's only fabric store and the site of the Loose Threads’ weekly meetings. Lauren couldn't afford to offend the older woman, so she held her tongue for once. “Here, tie your hair up and get back to your quilting.” Marjory handed Lauren a lime-green fabric-covered elastic hair tie.
"I'm passing around another form,” Harriet continued and held up a yellow piece of paper. “This one is to sign up for times to work in the booth. I do appreciate everyone's hard work. If we sell all the quilts we've collected so far, we'll have enough money to repair all of last year's storm damage in Fogg Park.
"I suppose you voted for that when I was in Angel Harbor last month,” Lauren said.
"I'm sure even you can't have forgotten we were
all
in Angel Harbor, and no, we didn't vote then, it was after we got home, and yes, you weren't here for that meeting,” Harriet challenged.
By the time she'd graduated from high school, she'd dealt with bullying schoolmates on three continents, thanks to her parent's international lifestyle and penchant for yo-yoing her in and out of boarding schools. At thirty-eight, she thought she'd learned to let go of the need to engage in schoolgirl trash talk, but when Lauren was involved, it all went out the window and she was back in the schoolyard.
"Ladies,” Mavis Willis said in a no-nonsense voice, “this isn't getting us anywhere.” Mavis was not only the oldest member of the Loose Threads but had also raised five sons whose antics were legend in Foggy Point Public School District lore. When she spoke, everyone listened. “What matters today is that we get as many quilts finished as possible before people start arriving on Thursday."
"If you have at least one quilt finished and ready to hang, raise your hand,” Harriet said.
Everyone raised their hand.
"Robin and DeAnn have volunteered to gather what we have ready, put price tags on them and hang them in the booth. Anything we finish between now and Thursday can go on shelves at the back of the booth. The whole sutler's area will be covered with a canopy, so we don't have to worry about sun damage from hanging quilts early."
"I'll have seven quilts finished by Thursday,” Sarah Ness announced.
"Here we go,” Mavis said, covering her mouth and coughing to conceal her comment.
Sarah held up a simple quilt made from one of the pre-cut five-inch-square fabric packages known as charm packs. The colors were pastel pinks and blues and yellows. The prints were reproductions from an earlier age—the nineteen thirties.
"Okay, who's going to say it?” DeAnn Gault asked in a low voice, giving the rest of the assembled Loose Threads a sidelong glance.
Harriet shrugged, not up to that challenge. Mavis shook her head and smiled in anticipation of the coming argument. Lauren rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and went back to stitching the binding onto a quilt made with the Kansas Troubles block, done in shades of butternut and blue set alternately with unpieced blocks of the same size. She'd chosen small-print fabrics that were faithful reproductions of those used in the years leading up to the Civil War.
DeAnn gave the group one last pleading look before turning back to Sarah.
"While very lovely, your fabric is not a Civil War reproduction,” she stated.
"It's a reproduction, that's all people care about,” Sarah fired back. She folded the quilt and stuffed it in her large canvas carry bag, pulling another one out in the same motion.
Lauren groaned and looked away as Sarah unfolded her second quilt.
"I can't stand it,” she moaned.
The quilt was made with the same Kansas Troubles block pattern Lauren had used, only Sarah had used yellow fabrics against a black background with pale blue and acid green accents. Technically, she'd selected fabrics from Civil War reproduction collections, but Harriet was pretty sure this particular combination had never been assembled before—not in Civil War times and not since.
DeAnn started to speak, stopping before recognizable words formed. Finally, she gave up, shaking her head and laughing.
"What?” Sarah asked, truly bewildered.
"Nothing,” Harriet said, regaining her own composure, as long as she didn't make eye contact with DeAnn. “Thank you for your efforts. Give your quilts to DeAnn or Robin, and they'll record them and get them hung up at the booth."
She had been warned by the re-enactment consultant the Foggy Point Business Association had hired that some of their guests would be what were referred to as “thread counters"—people who obsessed over the authenticity of everything to the point of counting the threads per inch in all the fabrics used for uniforms, civilian clothing, bedding and supplies, checking to be sure they were true to the time period. The consultant recommended clearly labeling any items already known to be less-accurate copies from the period. He suggested phrases like “in the style of the Civil War period."
He had assured them that all types of history buffs showed up, and there would inevitably be family members of the hardcore re-enactors who would welcome the chance to shop for more contemporary items. As long as the majority of what was offered in the sutler's area were sincere reproductions, he was sure they would have a successful event.
"Does anyone have any questions?” Harriet asked before returning to her place at the big table the Loose Threads were clustered around. Normally, meetings were informal gatherings, with people drifting in and out as their schedule allowed or their project required. They met in the larger of two classrooms in Pins and Needles.
"Are we interrupting anything?” a stout, slightly balding man said from the doorway. He didn't wait to for an answer but came through the door and took the position Harriet had just vacated at the head of the table. A young, heavily made-up woman in a short pink skirt, silver tank top and pink alligator boots followed and stood by his side, a bored look on her face. Her long bleached hair was held up on her small head with a large silver plastic clam shell clip.
"We wanted to check and see how you gals were doing with the quilts for your booth. You know the quilt store is one of the most important booths in our whole vendor area.” He made a grimace that was his version of smiling and directed his attention to Harriet, walking to her side of the table and sitting in the chair next to her. “Did you find vendors for the last three booths?"
He leaned eagerly toward her; the heavy gold chain he was wearing looped out through the open neck of his pink shirt. Harriet sat as far back in her chair as she could without being obvious.
As president of the Foggy Point Business Association, it was Carlton Brewster's job to organize the re-enactment. Since the association had agreed to hire a consultant, there weren't many jobs left for him to personally carry out, filling the sutler's area being his major one.
"Yes, they're filled. I got a candlemaker from Port Townsend who will do wax dipping demonstrations four times a day and will have candles for sale also. The knitting group that meets at the Lutheran church will sell handmade shawls as well as socks, hats and scarves. Luckily, they all had items they'd already made for a church sale that are historically acceptable, and they'll each turn out a few more items before the event. And for the last booth, the folk art school in Angel Harbor will set up a mini-bazaar like the women's aid societies ran to raise money for the war. They'll sell a variety of things—tobacco pouches, pin cushions, little sewing kits, children's toys, stuff like that."