The Aloha Quilt (39 page)

Or so she hoped. Every day she tried to restore the old warmth and closeness she and
Claire had once known, but Claire’s deception stood between them like an iron gate
through which they could only regard each other sadly. The key and the lock were on
Bonnie’s side, if only she could bring herself to use them.

Saturday arrived, the last day of the first week of Aloha Quilt Camp. When the campers
came downstairs for breakfast, Claire greeted each one with a bright smile and an
evaluation form, which she asked them to complete while they ate. “It’s perfect timing
to ask them how they enjoyed camp while they’re indulging in Midori’s fabulous cooking,”
Claire had told Bonnie as they prepared the forms. “It’s hard to be overly critical
when your tummy’s full of Maui coffee and the best pineapple scones you’ve ever tasted.”

Claire arranged for the campers to deposit their completed forms in a box covered
with bright green batik fabric set on a classroom table on the shaded lanai. From
the many glances Claire threw the box while the last campers took their time
thoroughly answering each question, Bonnie knew she wanted to snatch it up and race
off to her office. There she would pore over the forms, noting the insight and intelligence
of everyone who praised her and expressing surprise anytime anyone suggested that
Aloha Quilt Camp had fallen short of complete perfection. Bonnie would patiently listen
while Claire explained why all the negative comments were entirely wrong, and later,
after Claire calmed down and could think more rationally, they would study the evaluations
together with unflinching honesty and devise clever ways to improve Aloha Quilt Camp
before their official launch.

Or at least that was how Bonnie had expected events to unfold, but now they both knew
Bonnie would not always tolerate Claire’s emotional side trips, that she would not
always be there to assure Claire that everything would be all right. Their review
of the campers’ evaluations would be more restrained and formal than they would have
supposed weeks ago, which would perhaps be more efficient and productive—if not nearly
as comfortable and not at all fun.

They would find out in a few hours, but first Claire had one more rite of passage
to introduce to their guests, another ceremony borrowed from the Elm Creek Quilters.
At mid-morning, after most of the campers had finished packing and the inn’s regular
guests had cleared the lanai, the campers and staff gathered in the side garden, where
Bonnie and Kawena had arranged bamboo chairs in an oval on the coral brick patio.
Like the Ho ‘
ā
Ahi ceremony that had marked the beginning of the week, the Aloha ceremony would
give each an opportunity to speak, to share her thoughts and feelings about her time
at quilt camp.

Claire—not unexpectedly this time—found a place in the circle among her guests and
gestured for the staff to seat themselves,
patting the chair beside her and beckoning for Bonnie to take it. “Since coming to
Hawaii, you’ve heard a very special word spoken many times,” Claire began when everyone
was seated. “Aloha. It has been said to you in greeting and in farewell, and I’m sure
you’ve all heard that it also means love.”

A chorus of murmurs of agreement rose from the circle.

“It seems impossible that one word should convey so much meaning, and yet we’ve only
scratched the surface.” A few of the Hawaiian quilters nodded knowingly. “If you break
the word down to its roots, you will find that it is made up of the words
alo
, which means presence, front, or facing. And of course if you wish to greet someone
properly, you do it facing them, don’t you?” All the quilters nodded. “The word
ha
means breath. Together,
aloha
means ‘the presence of breath’ or ‘the breath of life.’ But it means even more than
that. To say
aloha
is to invoke the divine, to say to another person, ‘I recognize the divine in you.’
It acknowledges a way of living that calls us to treat one another with love and respect,
to offer caring and concern to all, for we are all the children of God.” Then Claire
broke into a smile. “If you break the word into different roots,
aloha
also can mean, ‘to share joyfully.’ Any and all of those meanings speak to the heart
of what we hope to create here at Aloha Quilt Camp.”

Claire explained that each quilter in turn would display something she had made that
week and describe what favorite memory she would take with her when she left the Hale
Kapa Kuiki. “I’ll go first,” she said, and held up a complex patchwork block Arlene
had demonstrated in one of her workshops. “I was spying from the back of the room,”
she confessed, evoking laughter from the circle of quilters. “She made it look so
easy that I decided to try her technique. My block isn’t perfect, but I think my next
one will be better.” She paused. “As for my favorite
memory, it will be seeing all of your faces as I look around the circle. You seem
so happy with the week that we’ve spent together and very reluctant to leave—which
is very good news to me!”

As the quilters chimed in their agreement, Claire invited the camper seated on her
other side to take the next turn—and Bonnie realized that Claire had arranged things
so Bonnie would speak last. With rising trepidation, Bonnie wished she could switch
places with another quilter without drawing anyone’s attention, but that would be
impossible. As the last speaker, it would be her responsibility to conclude the ceremony
in a grand fashion, but she was no great orator. What had Claire been thinking?

Her thoughts raced as she tried to compose something suitable while the other quilters
proudly showed off their new creations and shared favorite memories. The Ho ‘
ā
Ahi on their first evening together was remembered fondly, as were the late-night
chats with roommates, the engrossing and productive workshops, the Old Lahaina Lu‘au,
the walking tour of historical sites in Lahaina, and lazy, carefree hours spent lolling
on the beach. Ordinarily Bonnie would have been pleased and proud to hear so many
of her evening programs praised so highly, but she was too anxious to take much pleasure
in their rave reviews.

Just as she realized divine inspiration was not going to fill her head with the perfect
words, the woman to her left finished her turn and beamed at Bonnie expectantly.

She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. First, the easy part. “Most of you have
seen me sewing this throughout the week, and some of you have watched me work on it
even longer.” She reached into the tote bag she had set at her feet and unfolded her
Pineapple Patch quilt top, standing with arms
outspread when a chorus of voices urged her to give them a better look. “This is my
first quilt in the Hawaiian style,” she said as the campers admired the graceful curves
and precise points of the emerald green appliqué, glowing on the rich ivory background.
“Midori coached me along every step of the way, from designing the pattern and purchasing
the fabric, to basting and taking my first needle-turn appliqué stitches. Yesterday
I sewed down the last arc, and now my top is complete.”

“It’s beautiful,” one quilter exclaimed.

“Will you teach us to make one just like it?” another asked. “If we sign up for another
week of camp?”

Bonnie had to laugh. “We have far more qualified Hawaiian quilters on staff to teach
you. In this style I’m still a novice.”

“What are you going to do for your next Hawaiian quilt?” a third quilter inquired.

“I don’t know,” Bonnie admitted. She definitely wanted to make another, but she had
been so busy preparing for the launch of quilt camp that she had not had time to sketch
any designs. “I want to finish this one first, though, and since I haven’t even layered
and basted the top yet, I have time before I’ll need to decide.”

“We should talk about the quilting before you leave,” said Midori. “Traditional Hawaiian
quilters prefer echo quilting, stitching around the outline of the appliqué in concentric
forms, like ripples in a pond after a stone is tossed into it.”

“It would take forever to mark all those quilting lines,” remarked one of the youngest
campers.

Midori shook her head in mild rebuke. “It shouldn’t be necessary. Hawaiian quilters
use their finger as a guide. The lines of echo quilting should be no wider apart than
the width of one’s index finger and no closer than the width of one’s pinky.” Turning
back to Bonnie, she added, “You should also quilt in
the ditch all around your appliqué so its shape will be visible on the back of the
quilt, and use definitive quilting to create details on the appliqué—stems on leaves
and scales on the pineapples, for example.”

The youngest camper’s brow furrowed as if she couldn’t quite picture how it would
be done, but just as Bonnie was beginning to enjoy the friendly exchange, Claire said,
“What favorite memory would you like to share with us, Bonnie?”

All eyes turned to her and every word of her half-composed closing speech vanished
from her thoughts. Bonnie dropped her gaze and bought herself a few moments by folding
her quilt top, slowly and methodically. There was so much to choose from: shaking
the
‘uli ‘uli
at the Ho ‘
ā
Ahi ceremony on the beach, watching the campers enjoy themselves at the evening programs
she had so carefully planned, finishing her Pineapple Patch quilt top and chatting
with the campers during free sewing time, seeing the fledgling business take flight.
She would take away so many wonderful memories from her time at the Hale Kapa Kuiki
that it was impossible to single out only one.

Yet perhaps there was one that encompassed all the others.

“Discovering the aloha spirit,” Bonnie said. “I’d heard the phrase before and I thought
it meant simply a hospitable welcome, but that’s just a phrase from a tourist brochure.
After coming to Maui, I’ve learned that the aloha spirit is so much more. It’s a way
of living rightfully in the world, of seeking harmony with others, of acting generously,
of caring for the natural world that sustains us, and of caring for one another. If
my months here in Hawaii have taught me nothing else, they’ve shown me that if all
of our words were spoken and actions conducted in the aloha spirit, the world would
be a more joyful and peaceful place. I hope that everyone who comes to Aloha Quilt
Camp will experience the aloha spirit
here and take it home to share with friends and loved ones around the world.”

Bonnie’s voice trembled at the end, and she quickly sat down. She barely heard as
Claire made a few closing remarks, thanked everyone for helping the Aloha Quilters
with their dress rehearsal, and invited them to come back soon.

And then the first week of quilt camp was over. Wistfully, in pairs and alone, the
quilters made their way inside to retrieve their luggage and to exchange tearful hugs
as well as addresses with new friends before departing for the bus stop, airport,
or, for a very fortunate few, homes in Maui.

Midori caught up to Bonnie as they passed from the lanai into the kitchen. “That was
a fine way to wrap up the week.”

“Claire set the right tone when she explained the different meanings of the word
aloha.
”

“Yes, she remembered almost everything I told her,” Midori remarked. “Your speech
at the end was quite nice too.”

“I think Claire set me up.”

“And you rose to the occasion just as she knew you would.” Midori regarded her speculatively.
“Perhaps you can put your words into practice and extend the aloha spirit to Claire.”

“Midori, if you knew what she did—”

“I do know, and I don’t approve, but I admire her for the honesty she’s shown since
that terrible time and everything she’s done to atone for her mistakes. Do you know
how many marriages she’s saved since almost losing her own? At least two dozen I know
of. Probably more, but Claire doesn’t tell me about all of them because she doesn’t
want to brag.”

“You knew?” exclaimed Bonnie, and then, “Since when doesn’t Claire want to brag?”

“Believe it or not, she doesn’t, not about that support group. That should tell you
how seriously she takes her role as advisor.
She’s been there, done that, as she says, and she gives others the benefit of her
hard-earned wisdom. I’ll tell you something else. She doesn’t coddle anyone who refuses
to accept responsibility for their bad choices. And she’s as tough on herself as she
is on them, so you don’t need to pile more guilt on her shoulders. She’s carrying
enough as it is.”

“If I had ever done anything so terrible—”

“Claire would have been the first person to hold you and comfort you and tell you
that everything would be all right. And after a while, she’d order you to dry your
tears and get busy making things so.”

“I know,” admitted Bonnie. That was Claire, staunchly loyal but also pragmatic. Imagining
Claire at her computer, advising scores of unhappy, unfaithful women the world over,
Bonnie suddenly remembered a website Claire had seemed particularly familiar with.