Quilter's Knot (3 page)

"So she doesn't have any issues, right?” Harriet said with a laugh.

DeAnn just rolled her eyes skyward.

[Back to Table of Contents]

"Please come in and take a seat,” said a short, wiry woman with dull blonde hair that was just starting to go gray. The woman wore faded blue jeans and a camp-style shirt that appeared to have been made from mottled-blue hand-dyed sheeting. She paced nervously to the back of a pie-shaped room that was set up with a podium at the point of the pie and concentric rows of chairs radiating out from there; a cloth-covered table held several thermal carafes, a tray of cookies and neat rows of mugs, spoons and napkins at the wide end of the room.

"First-time visitors, please sit in the front rows,” the woman barked as she walked back up to the front of the room. She adjusted the microphone that was attached to the podium and tapped on its surface. It responded with the amplified hollow sound microphones the world over make when bludgeoned.

"They have done this before, right?” Harriet asked Mavis.

"Don't you worry, honey,” the older woman replied. “Patience is a nervous thing. She's Selestina's right hand, but she acts like every class or program they do is the first and their very existence depends on its success."

Harriet, Carla and the other first-timers took their places at the front of the room, while Mavis, DeAnn and Robin sat at the rear. Without introduction, a tall, thin woman who turned out to be Selestina appeared at the podium and started the orientation, beginning with her personal fiber art history, which included schooling then faculty positions at several prestigious folk art schools, and ended with her founding the current school.

She then laid out a set of restrictions and regulations that would have made the Marine Corps proud. She ended with the announcement that all first-time students were to meet with her in this room in precisely thirty minutes for an inspection of their tools and supplies.

They were dismissed, and Harriet found the other Loose Threads standing around Connie Escorcia at the food table.

"Where did you come from?” she asked.

"I got here just as you were coming down for orientation. I've already heard that old battleax try to scare the bejeezes out of her new students, I didn't need to hear it again. I'd complain to the management if it wasn't her.” Connie picked a chocolate chip cookie from a tray on the table and took a bite. Her Latin exuberance and soft heart had made her Foggy Point Grade School's favorite first grade teacher before her retirement. She believed a firm but gentle hand was the best way to tame young hooligans. “Did she have any announcements I need to know about?” she asked when she'd swallowed.

"She told us the ceramics students would be having an exhibition tomorrow night in Building A. We're welcome to attend and encouraged to make a donation for the privilege,” DeAnn said.

"You mean our tuition wasn't enough of a donation?” Harriet asked.

"Shouldn't you and Carla be getting your bags?” Sarah prompted. “Selestina doesn't like to waste her time."

Carla jumped up and headed for the door.

"Wait up,” Harriet called, and followed the younger woman out.

They made the trip back to the Tree House and returned with their supplies with moments to spare. They carried their bags up to a row of tables that had replaced the podium.

"Listen up, ladies,” Patience Jacobsen said. “Take a place along the table. Place your stack of fabric on your left and then line up your thread to the right of the stack. Put your scissors and rotary cutter in front of you and lay your six-and-a-half-by-eighteen rulers and your six-and-a-half-inch square to the right."

This was starting to sound a little weird. Carla had taken the place to Harriet's right. Harriet sneaked a glance in her direction. Her face was chalky white, and she nervously twisted a stringy lock of hair.

"Don't worry,” Connie said. She put her hands on Carla's bony shoulders. “Selestina's bark is worse than her bite, and she isn't going to risk losing a paying customer. Just let her paw through your stuff, promise you'll change the blade in your cutter, even if it's new, and then we can go back to the Tree House and have a good cup of tea."

Carla forced a crooked smile to her lips, and Connie retreated to the back of the room.

To say the ensuing orientation was a blood bath would be an understatement. The first student, a pear-shaped woman whose bright-red lipstick was in stark contrast to her faded pink cotton house dress, had dared to bring old-fashioned polyester sewing thread, the kind that comes on a gold plastic spool and has been sold in every five-and-dime in America for decades. Harriet knew that sewing cotton fabric with polyester thread is an invitation for the quilt to fall apart before its time. Polyester is stronger than cotton and works like a saw against the softer fiber given the everyday motion of a functional quilt.

It was also true that beginners needed to learn about high quality cotton thread, but Selestina apparently felt she needed to emphasize the point by sweeping the spools off the table and throwing them across the room in the general direction of the garbage can.

The second student had pre-washed her fabrics. It was an acceptable technique and at times even a preferred method when quilting. Washing ensured that all the sizing chemicals—the compound that keeps fabric smooth and flat when it's rolled onto the bolt—are washed out and any dye not fully set is removed. If the fabric is going to shrink, it will happen with this first washing before it's been cut and stitched.

However, high-quality cottons purchased from a reputable fabric store are unlikely to either shrink or bleed, so the debate about the value of pre-washing raged on.

In the case of the second student, pre-washing had revealed that one of her three pieces of fabric was of much lower quality than the rest. Low-quality material shrinks to the point of distortion, and no amount of ironing will cause it to look smooth and square once the sizing is gone. Low-quality cotton will never result in a prize-winning project.

All of which Selestina pointed out at length.

"I understand why I shouldn't make a show quilt or even a quilt I'm giving as a present out of discount store fabric, but why can't I practice on it?” the skinny blond woman whined.

"Inferior fabric will lead to inferior technique,” Selestina proclaimed.

Patience quietly picked up the offending fabric and carried it to the back of the room. Harriet didn't see if it went into the garbage or not, but the woman cried out then covered her mouth with her hand.

Now Selestina stood in front of Harriet. The teacher's gauzy black unconstructed jacket had small violet flowers embroidered along its cuffs and hem. She wore the jacket over a tailored black wool skirt and white blouse. She took a step closer.

Bring it on, Harriet thought.

Because of her parents’ constant travels, Harriet had been the perpetual new kid at schools around the world, and as a result had faced more than her share of bullies.

Selestina looked at Harriet's fabric and tools then took a long look at her; she stared right back. Selestina fingered Harriet's rotary cutter and put it down. Harriet knew her fabric was top quality and her tools and supplies first rate. She also knew Selestina had recognized that Harriet wasn't going to be a student she could intimidate.

Perhaps it was due to their confrontation, or maybe Selestina would have blown up at the next person no matter what else had happened. In any case, Carla was firmly in her sights.

"Young woman, you cannot possibly believe that printed fabric is appropriate for beginning machine quilting."

Carla's eyes got large.

"And what is this?” Selestina continued, her voice rising. She picked up the well-used ruler Margaret, the owner of Pins and Needles, Foggy Point's quilt store and Carla's employer, had provided for her. “You can't even read half the numbers. You will replace it before your first class."

She picked up two of Carla's thread spools. They were German, and the brand had to be one of the top quilting threads sold. Harriet was curious how Selestina would be able to find fault with them. She never found out. A hand reached out and grabbed the thread from Selestina.

"That's enough,” DeAnn Gault said firmly. “Nothing in the catalog says her fabric has to be plain, and even so, any qualified teacher would know that both sides of the fabric can be used and would just have her turn her print over,” She flapped Carla's folded print fabric over, revealing its plain back.

Carla looked at her shoes. “It's okay, DeAnn,” she mumbled.

DeAnn turned to her. “No, it's not okay. She doesn't get to talk to you that way. You paid good money to learn how to quilt, not to be belittled because you don't know how yet.” She turned back to Selestina. “I can't stop you from abusing your students, but I don't have to watch you do it. I'm leaving, and I will have a full refund or you will be hearing from my lawyer.” She whirled around to face the shocked group of quilters at the back of the room. “If you guys are smart, you'll leave, too, instead of subjecting yourselves to the abusive ramblings of this windbag."

She headed for the back of the room. When she reached it, she hesitated. “By the way, she has a piece of coarse sandpaper in her left pocket that she slips under the fabric before she tests your cutter. That's why brand-new blades make ragged cuts."

The room fell silent, the only motion the reflexive clutching of Selestina's hand in her left pocket. Patience walked along the table, quietly helping the students return their supplies to their bags. She motioned for them to leave then gestured to the ones at the back of the room that they should follow suit.

"Well, that was weird,” Sarah said when they were all outside and headed back to the Tree House. “Even for this place, and that's saying something."

"I didn't mean to cause trouble,” Carla said, the distress plain on her face.

"Now, honey, you didn't do anything wrong,” Connie reassured her.

"Selestina's always like that, but I don't know what got into DeAnn,” Robin said. “She had the usual orientation dressing down last year, but nothing the rest of us haven't gotten."

"Maybe she couldn't stand seeing someone...” Harriet paused. She had been going to say
someone so helpless
, but caught herself. “...so new to quilting,” she corrected with a glance at Carla, “attacked in such an unfair manner."

"Seemed like something more than that,” Mavis said. “Is she having troubles at home?"

This last was directed at Robin. DeAnn and Robin were friends, but Harriet knew that if she were DeAnn she'd find Robin's hard-bodied perfection a bit of a deterrent to spilling her problems.

"I don't know. She hasn't said anything. I think things are fine."

"Let's go make some tea and see how DeAnn's doing,” Connie suggested. “Maybe the walk back gave her time to cool down and reconsider. She'll realize she doesn't have to see Selestina if she doesn't want to, and the school does have good teachers."

"What did I miss?” Lauren asked as she joined the group just as they reached the door. Her straight honey-colored hair was caught into a single long braid.

"You've got to be kidding,” she said a few minutes later, when they were all seated in the Tree House common room, tea mugs in hand. A large riverstone fireplace defined the social area of the dormitory. Two worn leather sofas sat at right angles to the hearth toward the center of the room, with a large round oak coffee table in between and a high-backed twig rocking chair between the sofas and the fireplace.

As the Loose Threads’ unofficial second in command, Mavis had recounted the orientation session.

"She stormed out? Just like that?"

"Just like that,” Sarah said. “And how about the sandpaper reveal? I never noticed her doing that. Did anyone else?"

"Her sleight-of-hand must rival Houdini's,” Mavis said. “My boys tried to sneak everything from candy bars to car keys past my watchful eyes. I thought I could spot anything, but she's good.” Mavis had raised five sons, and although they had grown into fine young adults, people in Foggy Point still referred to the Willis boys’ antics as the standard for mischief-making.

A sharp rap sounded on the Tree House door, followed by the sound of the door opening.

"Is anyone here?” called Patience Jacobsen.

"We're in the common room,” Sarah called as she stood up to greet the new arrival. Sarah had an annoying way of attaching herself to any authority figure she met. It was as if she believed her proximity to them would confer some kind of specialness on her. She couldn't take a class or participate in an activity without trying to make the leader her new best friend. It didn't seem to matter if the teacher deserved her worship or not.

Patience came in from the entry hall and stood in the middle of the seating area.

"Is DeAnn here?” she asked. “I've come to smooth her ruffled feathers."

"If that's your attitude, you aren't going to get very far,” Lauren told her. “I think everyone here would agree that DeAnn defending Carla from Selestina's attack is a little more serious than ‘ruffled feathers.’”

"I didn't mean to minimize DeAnn's distress,” Patience said. “I just wanted to see if I could help her understand that Selestina was not attacking the new students—"

"Carla and that woman who had her thread thrown across the room would disagree with that,” Lauren snapped. “How would you feel if it was your fabric that went into the dumpster? Don't you think that would feel like an attack?” She stood up and got in the woman's face.

"Sit down, Lauren,” Mavis ordered. “Let's just all take a deep breath.” Mavis had been around Robin too long—deep breathing was Robin's answer to everything.

Connie went into the kitchenette, picked up the teakettle and returned. “Does anyone need a refill?"

Robin held up her mug, and Connie crossed to fill it, causing Lauren and Patience to separate. Lauren stalked into the kitchenette.

"What can I do to make this better?” Patience asked, the distress plain in her voice.