Quilter's Knot Page 5

  Selestina finally concluded her introductory lecture at ten minutes before eleven. Patience stood up and, in a well-choreographed move, unfurled a lap-sized sample. She held it up and carried it slowly down the center aisle. A simple feather pattern had been stitched on cream-colored muslin.

  "When a quilt is made using a single, continuous piece of fabric on the top and another single piece of fabric for its backing, we call it a whole cloth quilt. Quilts of this type have been popular in England for hundreds of years,” Selestina explained. “In America, however, fabric was scarce until industry developed and fabric mills were built."

  Harriet was afraid Patience's arms were going to break before Selestina got them through the Industrial Revolution and up to modern times, but she finally finished; and Patience spread the quilt over the front table.

  Selestina glanced at a delicate silver watch that encircled her wrist. “We will now take a break for lunch. You will return at one p.m. sharp,” she said. Without another word, she turned and disappeared around the curtain.

  "Oh, my gosh,” Carla moaned. “My head hurts."

  "My tail is going numb from sitting in one position for so long.” Harriet stood up and went to the head table. She pulled the curtain aside and looked behind it. As she did, Patience came through a closed door concealed there.

  "Can I help you?” she asked. She was carrying a tray that had a wooden hoop, a thimble, a pincushion with needles sticking out of it and a small rack with several spools of thread on it.

  Harriet had the good grace to blush. “I just wondered what was behind the curtain,” she said and let it fall back into place. “You know, like in the Wizard of Oz."

  "All the classrooms open into a common center area that's divided into offices and storage space,” Patience explained. “It allows teachers to move efficiently from one classroom to the other, as well."

  "How efficient,” Harriet said.

  "If you'll excuse me,” Patience said, and Harriet realized she was blocking her path to the front table. She returned to the table where Carla waited.

  "Let's go find the others,” she said.

  Connie was waiting on the steps.

  "I thought your group was having lunch brought in,” Harriet said.

  "It turned out the long-term students in the class made that arrangement, not the actual dyeing class. They made sure we knew we weren't part of their club."

  Harriet put her arm around Connie's shoulders. “We still love you, right, Carla?"

  "Yeah, Señora Escorcia, we'll eat lunch with you,” Carla said with a half-smile. Connie had taught her first graders basic Spanish vocabulary, including the proper form of address for a married woman. Carla's use of the term revealed her past history as one of “Connie's kids,” as her former students liked to call themselves.

  Lunch was the expected soup. This one was a white chili made with chicken breast, cannellini beans, rotel tomatoes and green chilies. It was seasoned with cumin and oregano and topped with jack cheese and lime juice.

  "I'm telling you,” Connie said as she pushed back from the table and her empty bowl, “I talked to Lauren for over an hour. I asked her if she was inspired by another quilt. She was insulted, and I finally just told her about the piece Beth saw. She insists her piece was completely original. She even showed me the chunk of bark she used as inspiration. She has it in a plastic sandwich bag in her sewing box."

  "Don't stop there,” Mavis urged. “How did it look?"

  "Mostly, like a piece of tree bark. I have to say her dyeing was a good match to the color."

  "Figures.” Mavis looked down at her dye-stained fingers. “She's spent all this time copying other people's work, and she'll be the one who turns out to have all kinds of talent."

  "The stitching pattern didn't match, though,” Connie pointed out. “The tree bark didn't have the figure-eight pattern that was so distinct in Lauren's piece."

  "Okay, I guess she can stay in the group, then,” Mavis said and smiled. She glanced at the wall clock in the dining room. “Come on, we need to get back."

  "Hopefully, we'll get to do something this afternoon,” Harriet said to Carla.

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  Chapter Eight

  Patience was waiting just inside the door to the classroom when Harriet and Carla entered. She handed each of them a stapled handout.

  "Please take out your hoop, quilting needle, thread, scissors and thimble and put everything else under your table. Do not touch the fabric sandwich you will find at your workspace."

  Harriet and Carla looked at each other. Carla's face had a determined set to it, but Harriet just rolled her eyes and led the way back to their workstation, where they found the layered muslin fabric and batting Patience had referred to as a “sandwich."

  "This looks promising,” Harriet said in a hushed tone. “I'm not sure why I'm whispering, though,” she added with a laugh.

  "It's because that scarecrow at the door is so intimidating,” said a short plump woman at the table behind theirs. She was dressed from head to toe in pale-blue denim covered in machine embroidered motifs of puppies and kittens.

  The woman glanced nervously back toward the door, checking to be sure she hadn't been heard. “I came here to learn how to stitch, not to be treated like a misbehaving schoolgirl."

  "It's a small price to pay for being able to learn from one of the top experts in the field,” said the other woman at her table. Harriet hadn't noticed before lunch, but the second woman was wearing a dark skirt and white blouse that were very reminiscent of Selestina's. “Her work hangs in galleries and museums all over Europe."

  Carla's eyes widened. Harriet could see she was impressed.

  "Trust me,” she whispered. “There's nothing magic about having her work in Europe. They obviously have a longer preserved-textile history than we do in America, but their contemporary work is done by people just like us."

  The disbelief was plain on Carla's face.

  "Okay, so it's done by people like we will be when we finish taking all our classes,” Harriet said and grinned. She could see Carla was still skeptical. “I went to boarding school in London and Paris and a bunch of other places, and trust me—they all put their socks on one foot at a time, just like us."

  "Please, take your seats,” Patience instructed them.

  The room fell silent as everyone sat. Patience walked down the aisle, glancing at each table as she passed. She stopped at the second table on the right side of the aisle, picked up a ruler and marking pen from the surface and dropped them into the sewing bag underneath. There was a slight rustle as several other students removed items and stowed them in their sewing bags.

  Patience took one last sweeping glance around the room and, satisfied that only the listed items were on each table, swept behind the curtain.

  Selestina appeared within moments.

  "Hand quilting is an art,” she began. “Although in recent centuries it has taken a back seat to elaborate piecing and embellishment techniques, hand quilting is very able to stand on its own. Down through the ages, many beautiful works of art have been created that are no more than careful stitching on a blank piece of cloth. Please hoop the fabric sandwich that is on your table."

  Quilting hoops consist of two concentric rings with one fitting closely inside the other, like embroidery hoops. They are commonly made of wood, but can also be made of plastic or combinations of metal and plastic. The purpose of a hoop is to hold the quilt sandwich smooth and to better enable a stitcher to accomplish her task. The larger of the two rings is centered on the area of the quilt sandwich to be worked, the smaller is placed underneath and then the two rings are pushed together, one inside the other, trapping the quilt and pulling it taut.

  Harriet quickly snapped the fabric sandwich into place in her wooden hoop then helped Carla center her fabric and set her hoop. Patience paced up and down the aisle, checking to see that all the students had accomplished the task. When she reached the back of
the room, she gave a slight nod and Selestina began speaking again.

  Selestina picked an elaborately decorated silver thimble from the tray on her table.

  "There are many styles of thimble available in today's marketplace. They can be made of metal, plastic, leather, or...” She held up her silver thimble. “...finely wrought from silver. Which you choose will be based on your own preference. The most important features are fit and function. It must protect you from needle pricks, and it must fit snugly enough that it won't fall off your finger as you move your hand up and down.” She slid the little metal cup onto the tip of her second finger.

  Patience gestured to the class. “Gather round the front table,” she ordered.

  The students rose and did as instructed. Harriet and Carla only needed to step around their table, since they were already at the front of the room, so they were looking directly at Selestina when her hand began to shake. She tried to get up, only to fall back into her chair. She clutched her right hand over her chest.

  Harriet was just in time to catch her as she started to slide to the floor. With her arms under Selestina's armpits, she kicked the chair out of the way and lowered the older woman to the floor.

  "Call nine-one-one,” she yelled.

  The class stood rooted where they stood.

  "Where's your phone?” Carla answered.

  "In the front pocket of my bag."

  Carla pulled out the phone and dialed. In a clear firm voice, she relayed necessary information to the operator.

  "Give me that quilt,” Harriet ordered, but the woman in denim had already started pulling the sample quilt from the display board.

  "No,” Selestina moaned.

  To her credit, the woman didn't stop. She tossed the quilt to Harriet; she covered Selestina, who was beginning to shiver. Patience folded up her jacket and started to put it under Selestina's head.

  "Not under the head,” the woman in embroidered denim said as she approached. “Here.” She pushed Patience out of the way, put the folded jacked under Selestina's feet and tucked the quilt around her. “She's going into shock,” she announced. She grasped the teacher's wrist with professional-looking expertise between her thumb and fingers and glanced at her watch.

  Harriet could hear sirens. “Come on, come on,” she whispered to herself. She wasn't sure what was wrong with Selestina, but the woman's skin was covered with a sheen of moisture, and she continued to shake. Her breathing was rapid, and a small trickle of spit slid from the corner of her mouth.

  Everyone jumped when the door slammed open and the paramedics rushed in. Harriet stepped aside and guided Patience away from Selestina.

  "Let them do their work,” she said.

  Two young men in blue jumpsuits and a red-haired woman with pale freckles and crow's feet surrounded Selestina. The redhead spoke to the denim-clad lady, who identified herself as Dr. Jan Hayes.

  The young men started IV fluids as a pair of firemen came in pushing a gurney. Dr. Hayes loosened Selestina's skirt and blouse, borrowed a stethoscope and listened to her chest. Harriet could tell by the expression on the doctor's face she didn't like what she heard.

  "Let's go ahead and transport her,” she said and stepped back while the three paramedics collapsed the gurney next to Selestina and lifted her on to it, raising it back up in one fluid motion. Dr. Hayes trotted alongside as they wheeled out the door and disappeared.

  Harriet and Carla were putting their tools back in their bags when Patience returned.

  "What are you doing?” she demanded, looking around the room. Everyone was in the process of gathering their things. “Class will continue,” she said, her chin held high in defiance. “I'm sure Selestina would want class to continue.” But her chin quivered, and her face was unnaturally white.

  "Maybe we could take a little break,” Harriet suggested, hoping they weren't about to see a repeat performance of the one that had just played out. She went around her table and gently grasped Patience's arm. “Why don't you sit for a minute, gather yourself? Isn't it about time for the scheduled coffee break? Carla here could get you something to drink.

  "Okay, folks, let's go on ahead to coffee,” she added to the students, who were standing or sitting at their work tables. “Class will resume when we get back."

  Carla stood up and nodded. “What can I bring you?” she asked. “Tea? Coffee?"

  "A bit of tea would be nice,” Patience said, and sat in the chair Harriet had eased her toward.

  Carla returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup of peppermint tea and a chocolate cake donut clasped in a paper napkin.

  "Good job,” Harriet said quietly. The corner of Carla's mouth twitched up slightly in what might have been a smile.

  Patience sipped the tea, and the color started to return to her cheeks. She took a big bite of the donut. When she had finished chewing, she wiped her mouth and set the pastry on the table.

  "Thank you,” she said. “I think we can proceed. I know Selestina will expect me to continue with class until she returns.” She said it as if her boss had stepped out to the ladies room and would be coming right back. Harriet was pretty sure Selestina wasn't returning for the foreseeable future; but they were all here, and not having class wasn't going to do anything for anyone.

  "I just heard what happened.” Mavis came up the aisle to the front table. She looked at Patience. “Can I do anything to help?"

  Patience stood up. “No, thank you. I'll just put Selestina's tools away and get my sewing bag.” She put Selestina's thimble and scissors back on the tray, picked it up and disappeared behind the curtain.

  "Are you okay?” Mavis asked Harriet. “And you?” She grasped Carla's hand.

  "We're fine,” Harriet assured her. “I'm not sure the same can be said for Selestina."

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  Chapter Nine

  "I heard a woman in the restroom say Selestina had collapsed and was taken away in an ambulance,” Mavis said.

  "That's pretty much what happened,” Harriet told her. “Everything seemed fine when she started her lecture then all of a sudden, down she went."

  "She got real pale,” Carla added.

  "Well, you never know. Maybe she has a bad heart. When Lucille Graham had her attack last summer, she was at church. We stood up to sing a hymn and down she went like a sack of potatoes."

  Mavis glanced at her watch. “Looks like things are under control here, so I guess I'll get back to dyeing. I'm not sure when we'll finish. We've only got a little more to go on today's samples.

  "We'll meet you back at the Tree House,” Harriet said. “It won't surprise me if we run over, given today's disruption."

  Mavis left, and Patience reappeared with a quilting bag that looked like it had been hand-made, using a lavender pre-quilted fabric and with wooden dowels for handles. She pulled out a large wooden hoop that already held a muslin fabric sandwich.

  "Success in hand quilting is all about your wrist motion,” she began.

  She proceeded to demonstrate how to insert a threaded needle into the hooped fabric and, with a gentle rocking motion and correct thimble placement, create a small, neat quilt stitch. She soon had the class practicing their own stitching, and proved to be a competent teacher.

  The room was silent except for her words of encouragement as the students strained to master their new skill. Harriet looked over at Carla, who was biting her lower lip as she concentrated on her work. She had completed half of the first feather they had drawn on their fabric. Her stitches were small and very even, and her needle moved up and down in the rhythmic motion Patience had demonstrated.

  Harriet looked at her own work. Her stitches were uneven, and she'd only completed the first two curves of her feather. She readjusted her hand position, trying to imitate Carla's movement. Her needle jumped out of the fabric, and as she grabbed for it, her thimble fell off onto the floor. As she reached for it, a hand touched her shoulder.

  "Here,” Patience said, and d
ropped the escaped thimble into her palm. “All right everyone. The last technique we need to learn is the quilter's knot. Gather around the front table please."

  The class assembled, and she showed them how to make the invisible knot used to start a new thread when hand quilting. She created a small knot by threading a needle, holding the tail end of thread parallel to the needle and coiling the body thread three times around it. Then she pinched the coils of thread against the needle with one hand and pulled the needle through the coils with the other hand. The result was a small neat knot at the very end of the thread.

  To start stitching, she dipped the needle into and then out of the quilt top then gently tugged the quilter's knot through the top layer of fabric.

  "Remember to stop while there is still enough thread on your needle, so you can pull the remainder between the two layers of fabric and bring the thread to the surface again away from your last stitch.” She demonstrated as she spoke. “Then, you simply clip off the excess thread and you'll have buried the thread below the surface. Pull the thread a little before you cut it, and it will retract back through the surface."

  She pulled on her fabric, and to everyone's amazement, they could no longer see the thread.

  "A well-executed knot will be strong, yet no one will know it's there—a sufficiently buried end thread will not return to the surface. Return to your stations, stop wherever you are and make a quilter's knot. Take a few stitches then bury your thread."

  Carla sat down and, on her first try, buried her knot without a trace. Harriet's knot disappeared, but when she ran her finger over the spot where it had been she could feel a lump. She sat back with a sigh. As the owner of Quilt As Desired, she was paid for her skill as a machine quilter, and fortunately, that was a technique she did very well. Besides, if she really needed something hand quilted, she apparently could call on Carla.