The Aloha Quilt (38 page)

Around the circle the
‘uli ‘uli
went, hand to hand, quilter to quilter. Most of the campers explained that they had
come to quilt camp for fun and to help their friends on the staff prepare for the
real campers. “You
are
real campers,” Claire said after the third time someone expressed some variation
thereof. “There’s nothing fake or artificial about any of you.”

Several quilters added that they hoped to learn a particular technique, or perfect
an essential skill, or make new friends, or complete an old project that had been
too long neglected. One woman declared that she wanted to be able to brag that she
had been one of the first quilt campers at Aloha Quilt Camp, because she was confident
that the camp would become so successful that Claire and her staff would soon have
a waiting list a mile long. “Who knows if you’ll have space for me in the future?”
she asked with comic sadness. “I wasn’t going to miss this chance knowing that it
might be my last.”

“We’ll always make space for our first campers,” Claire promised. “Everyone here tonight
will automatically go to the top of the registration list whenever you want to join
us for camp in the future.”

The quilters cheered this declaration, but Midori shot Bonnie a look across the bonfire
that warned her to prevent Claire from any more improvisation before she did something
dangerous. Bonnie smothered a laugh, but she knew Midori was correct. Claire was the
boss, but the staff should discuss such things before making a public announcement
they couldn’t retract.

Bonnie knew that in the weeks to come, the quilt campers around the fire would offer
more heartfelt revelations about why they had come to quilt camp. Women who could
barely sew would seek their first lessons; accomplished quilters would hunger to work
uninterrupted on masterpieces they
could as yet only envision. They would come to sew quilts for brides and for babies,
to cover beds and to display on walls, for warmth, for beauty, for joy. Through the
years, Bonnie had heard many tales from many women at Candlelight ceremonies on the
cornerstone patio of Elm Creek Manor every summer Sunday of quilt camp season. Although
each story had been unique, common threads joined all the women who came to Elm Creek
Manor. Those who had given so much of themselves and their lives caring for others—children,
husbands, aging parents—were at last taking time to care for themselves, to express
themselves creatively, to pursue their passion for the beloved art of quilting, to
spend time with new friends and old far from the cares of ordinary life.

Bonnie knew that in time, the same would happen at Aloha Quilt Camp. Whether in a
grand manor in Pennsylvania or a historic inn on Maui, quilt camp offered its guests
a glimpse of the world as it could be, and ought to be. Women of all ages and from
widely varied backgrounds would come together in harmony to create objects of beauty
and comfort. Differences would be not merely tolerated, but accepted and even admired.
For one week the troubles and disappointments of the world would fall away, the stress
and monotony of daily routines could be forgotten, and they could quilt—or read, or
stroll the beach, or soar along a zipline, or relax on the lanai, or stay up all night
laughing with friends—as their own hearts desired. Teachers and more experienced campers
would willingly pass on their knowledge, while friends would offer companionship and
encouragement. Confidences would be shared at mealtime and in late-night chats in
cozy suites or on moonlit beaches. Quilters could take artistic and emotional risks
because they would know they were safe and unconditionally accepted, whether novice
or master quilter.

Bonnie knew Claire would create this wonderful haven for quilters because despite
the mistakes of the past, her heart was in the right place. Guests of Aloha Quilt
Camp would leave refreshed and renewed, and they would return to their homes with
a new resolve to stay in touch with the rediscovered artist within each of them. When
the plumeria-blossom
leis
had been pressed into scrapbooks and the music and flavors of the luau were only
a memory, they would remember the soul-enriching experience of creation and artistic
expression, and they would make time for it in their regular lives, even if for only
a few precious minutes a day.

Or so Bonnie hoped. It was her wish for each of their guests to take part of Aloha
Quilt Camp home and return to it often in thought, especially when the cares of ordinary
life weighed most heavily upon them.

As far as Bonnie was concerned, Claire, Midori, and their new teachers were off to
a wonderful start.

After the bonfire ceremony, the guests returned to the Hale Kapa Kuiki, tired but
exhilarated. Bonnie knew that anticipation for the week ahead in the company of new
friends would keep many of them up for hours, until the most sensible among them would
remind the others that they needed rest for the marathon of quilting awaiting them
the next day.

Hinano had left the fireside with the drummer and dancers after the hula performance,
but Bonnie found him waiting for her on the lanai, his ukulele packed away in a case
resting on the table. “You were wonderful,” she told him, sitting down beside him
and accepting the glass of wine he had poured for her. “I could listen to you play
for hours.”

He feigned disappointment. “Only hours, not all day?”

She reached across the table and took his hand. “All day.”

“That’s better.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss as
curious quilt campers passed by on their way indoors. “You coming back with me tonight?”

She wanted to, but it was late and she had to be up and ready to go first thing in
the morning. “I don’t think I can,” she said. “Do you miss me?”

Hinano laughed. “What do you think?”

“I think—” She hesitated. “I think maybe you do.”

He shrugged and made a face to suggest that maybe he did and maybe he didn’t, but
she knew he was only teasing her. She also knew that he would miss her much more after
she left Maui—and that she would miss him.

The first breakfast of Aloha Quilt Camp went off smoothly, just as it did every morning
at the Hale Kapa Kuiki, with friendly service in the aloha spirit and Midori’s excellent
cooking. Their first real test came afterward, when the campers gathered on the shaded
lanai for their first class, a rotary cutter workshop based upon an innovative technique
from Arlene’s new book. Bonnie observed the class discreetly from the back of the
lanai, noting how the students used the workspace and how they might need to rearrange
some of the tables to improve their view of the teacher’s design wall. After a break
for Hawaiian plate lunch provided by a local restaurant, campers indulged in a bit
of free time before Kawena took over with a class on needle-turn appliqué. Many campers
used the two hours of free sewing time that followed to work on projects they had
begun in their workshops, but others changed into swimsuits and headed for the beach.

Inspired by the example Claire had set at the welcome ceremony, Bonnie joined the
campers on the shaded lanai and worked on her Pineapple quilt top while they sewed
and chatted
and swapped fabric. The Laulima Quilters in the group, who had observed her progress
at their weekly meetings, praised her handiwork and asked her what she planned for
her next Hawaiian quilt. Quilters who were less familiar with the style looked on,
intrigued, and asked her about her methods and inspiration. Bonnie modestly referred
questions about the history and traditions of Hawaiian quilting to the more knowledgeable
quilters in the group, and Claire seized the opportunity to inform them that during
the regular season, Aloha Quilt Camp would offer programs in Hawaiian quilting every
other week. Before the afternoon passed, several campers had taken Claire aside and
asked to register for sessions, and to Bonnie’s amusement, Claire could hardly contain
her delight. If she could high-five herself, Bonnie thought, she would.

After the last class of the day, Bonnie invited the campers to her first evening program,
a night at the Old Lahaina Lu‘au. As they awaited the start of the show, they strolled
through the grounds admiring the demonstrations of traditional crafts and gathered
around to watch the opening of the
imu
. The feast was as delicious as Bonnie remembered, and the music and dance even more
captivating. The performances traced the tradition of the hula from its origins in
sacred ritual, to its adaptations under the influence of Christian missionaries, to
its preservation and re-emergence under King Kalakaua, and its continuing practice
and evolution in the modern era. As an elegant Hawaiian woman in a batik gown sang
a flawless, haunting rendition of Queen Lili‘uokalani’s “Aloha ‘Oe,” it occurred to
Bonnie that the history of the hula mirrored the consequences of the Hawaiian people’s
contact with outsiders, for better and for worse. This was the real Hawaii she wanted
guests of Aloha Quilt Camp to experience, the sunlight as well as the shadow.

Bonnie couldn’t have asked for a better start to quilt camp
than that first, glorious day, and though she was thankful everything had gone so
smoothly, she doubted it would last. Sure enough, during a precision machine piecing
workshop the next day, they blew a fuse and lost power to the entire west wing of
the inn. It was two hours before an electrician could arrive to fix the problem, so
Asuka raced off for her laptop and improvised with a slideshow of the most recent
Tokyo Great International Quilt Show. Fortunately, most of the inn’s regular guests
were out sightseeing, so few people other than the campers noticed the disruption.

“We’ve never run all the sewing machines at once,” a chagrined Claire said to Bonnie
later, after showing her the exorbitant bill for upgrading the power supply to the
shaded lanai. “I should have thought to test everything last week.”

“We couldn’t think of everything. That’s what this dress rehearsal is for,” Bonnie
reminded her, but Claire seemed little consoled. Despite Claire’s insistence that
she welcomed constructive criticism, Bonnie knew she had wanted the week to go perfectly
so that their first guests wouldn’t have any complaints.

Fortunately, as the days passed, no other dire emergencies threatened to ruin the
campers’ fun. Arlene ran out of handouts during one class, but Bonnie simply hurried
off to Claire’s office and photocopied more. Kawena discovered in the middle of a
workshop that she had inadvertently omitted a particular color of fabric from the
supply list she had distributed to her students in advance, but Claire ran across
the street to Plumeria Quilts and soon returned carrying a bolt with enough yardage
for everyone.

A thornier issue they had not anticipated was the interest the campers’ activities
provoked from many of their regular guests, some of whom turned out to be quilters
or aspiring
quilters. After two women separately asked if they might join in the workshops the
next day, Claire and Bonnie deferred their decision, explaining that they must ask
the teachers first. In truth, they were buying themselves time until they could decide
how to handle the situation. Bonnie was inclined to let the newcomers join in, since
quilters always made room for one more chair around the quilt frame. And after their
last-minute campers sampled a class, they would be more inclined to spread the word
about the new quilt camp to their friends back home and perhaps even return for a
full session themselves. For her part, Claire understood the value of good public
relations and referrals, but she didn’t want to set a precedent of allowing people
to register as regular guests but take advantage of Aloha Quilt Camp activities they
hadn’t paid for. After some discussion, Bonnie and Claire decided to allow other guests
to participate in quilt camp activities as long as they paid a workshop fee above
the cost of their lodgings, there was space in the classroom, and the teacher permitted.

Other than that, the week passed so swiftly and so enjoyably that Bonnie began to
regret that she would not be around to see how wonderful Aloha Quilt Camp would become
once they had a chance to iron out a few wrinkles. She was so happy and relieved and
delighted with their first successful week that, almost without noticing it, she felt
her anger at Claire ebbing away. She could almost forget the divorce, too, except
for a few brief phone calls from Darren Taylor to wrap up some final details and one
unhappy, cryptic email from her younger son. Barry had typed “Dad,” in the subject
line and the message itself was almost as brief: “I’m sorry.”

Sorry for what, exactly? Sorry that Craig had betrayed her? That his love had turned
to contempt? That living with him had demoralized and degraded her? Or sorry that
they had
divorced? Bonnie regretted that she had not been able to live happily ever after with
the man she had promised to love and cherish until death parted them, but she no longer
regretted the divorce. Instead she felt an unexpected sense of relief and freedom
she had not known in years. Sometimes she felt a shiver of apprehension as she peered
ahead into the uncertain, unknowable future, but those anxious moments had become
few and far between since she had come to Maui. Craig had forced her to find her own
way, and she had. No longer would she shy away from adventure, or from the chance
at new love—or from finding the courage to forgive a friend.