Arlene Sachitano - Quilt As Desired

This was the job Harriet would be taking over while Aunt Beth was on vacation. It was well within the realm of possibility she could ruin dozens of quilts before her aunt returned, and the idea weighed heavy on her head.

She was in the kitchen again, wearing the fourth outfit she'd tried on after her shower, when she remembered the envelope. She retrieved it from her sweatshirt in the front coat closet and brought it back to the kitchen. She could count on one hand the times Aunt Beth had written anything longer than a shopping list. She had to admit she was curious.

There were several documents covered in fine print and signed and dated by Aunt Beth. Folded inside these was a single piece of lavender paper. Harriet took this out and started to read Aunt Beth's small, neat script.

"My Dearest Harriet,” it began. It was ominously formal language.

If I had tried to talk to you about what I'm going to say next, you would have argued and might not have agreed. I'm sorry to have made a unilateral decision, but I truly believe this is in your best interest.

She could feel the hair rising on her neck. She already didn't like whatever her aunt was about to tell her.

I'm not selling my quilting business. I'm giving it to you.

Harriet felt her knees go weak. She grabbed for one of the kitchen chairs and barely landed on its edge.

Consider it an early inheritance. Steve died five years ago, and you've been playing dead ever since. Take it from me, it won't bring him back. It's time to start living again.

It's clear that won't happen while you're holed up in that shrine you've constructed in Oakland. I know he wasn't honest with you and I know you're hurt. I also know you sit there and go over the shoulda, coulda, woulda's and in the end nothing is changed. I'm sorry, but he lied, he's dead, you're alone and it's time to move on.

Now we've come to the matter at hand. At my last physical, Dr. Boney said I need a change. I'm not sick. Don't get me wrong, I got a clean bill of health. But Dr. Boney said all the lifting and reaching I do operating the long-arm quilt machine is too hard on my right shoulder joint. He says if I don't slow down I'm going to have to have a shoulder replacement. I've been careful with my money and your uncle Hank left me a little nest egg when he passed on, and it's done well in the market, so I began to think I don't really need to work, and, frankly, you do. I know you don't need the money, but, honey, you need to join the land of the living again, and I can't think of a better place for you to start over than Foggy Point.

Enclosed you will find the deed to my house, now your house. In addition, I've transferred the business into your name. Don't worry about what will happen when I get back. I'm not going to force myself on you as a tenant. I've purchased old Mrs. Morris's cottage out on the Strait. It's comfortable, and her daughter had the inside redone after Mrs. Morris passed last winter, so I'm sure it will be just the thing for me.

I hope you will not be angry with me and in time will come to see that this is for the best.

With all my love,

It was signed “Aunt Beth."

Harriet crumpled the paper and threw it across the kitchen. Then she checked the documents. Sure enough, there was her name on both deed and the doing-business-as form: Harriet Truman.

"What have you done?” she said aloud. “Fred? What has she done? Did you know about this? Can you even give somebody a house without them knowing about it?"

Fred jumped onto the table and gave her a head butt.

"When I'm done with my customers, I'm going to call Aunt Beth's attorney and see if this is for real, so don't you get too comfortable yet. Besides,” she said and raked her fingers through Fred's fuzzy hair. “If she can give it, I can give it right back. Just you watch."

Harriet paced the kitchen. How dare her aunt make a decision that affected her life? Granted, Aunt Beth had done a lot for her as a child, but she wasn't a child anymore. At thirty-eight, she could make her own decisions, even if that meant not deciding anything. And Aunt Beth completely missed the point where Steve was concerned. Yes, she felt a deep, aching void when she was able to get past her anger, but that didn't happen often. Steve had betrayed her on such a deep level, and his family and their friends had helped him. The relationships she'd had with those people were all based on a huge lie.

On her third pass across the kitchen she picked up her cereal bowl and Fred's milk dish, rinsed both and put them in the dishwasher. She contemplated changing her outfit again and wondered why. In Oakland her wardrobe had consisted of black and baggy; it was what she was comfortable in. She would have looked better in navy or brown, but she liked the harsh look black gave her. It suited her mood.

When she'd met Steve she'd fancied herself a fashionista, favoring asymmetrical lines and the color purple. After they were married, her tastes had become more sophisticated as she and her girlfriends ferreted out neighborhood boutiques and up-and-coming designers in both San Francisco and Oakland. It had all been a lie, though. If your friends couldn't tell you your husband had a life-threatening disease, how could you trust anything they said?

The morning after Harriet arrived Aunt Beth had driven her to the Wal-Mart in Port Angeles and purchased five T-shirts in primary colors, two white turtlenecks, a red flannel shirt and an off-white fisherman-style pullover. She had also put two pairs of jeans and one pair of khakis in the cart.

Aunt Beth wasn't willing to have the argument that would have ensued had she asked Harriet to participate in the selection.

"This will be a start,” she'd said. “As grey as it is here, we can't have you skulking around in widow's weeds. You'll scare the customers away."

Finally, Harriet put on jeans and a white T-shirt and, in last-minute defiance, wrapped a long black chiffon scarf around her neck, tossing the tail over her shoulder.

She glanced at her watch; it was five minutes fast. She did a quick calculation and decided her first customer would be here in seven minutes.

The first customer of the day would be Aunt Beth's oldest friend, Avanell Jalbert. Avanell was a charter member of the group Aunt Beth belonged to; they called themselves The Loose Threads. Harriet used to go to meetings with Aunt Beth during the summers, when she was in junior high school; but according to Aunt Beth, only Avanell and longtime Foggy Point resident Mavis Willis remained from those days.

The group met every Tuesday morning in the classroom of Foggy Point's only quilt store, Pins and Needles.

She left the warm safety of the kitchen and entered the long-arm quilting studio. The studio had been a large parlor on the first floor of the three-story Victorian home. On the outside wall of the rectangular room, Aunt Beth had added a bow-windowed alcove and a door to the outside. The room was separated from the rest of the house by two locking doors-one leading to the kitchen, the other the dining room.

The alcove, which functioned as a reception area, held two chintz-covered easy chairs and a dark cherry piecrust table. Harriet crossed the room to the table and picked up the electric water pot. She went back to the kitchen, filled the pot and returned it to the table. Unmatched china cups, a basket of teabags and a full assortment of sweeteners crowded the tabletop. She arranged the cups and tea basket twice and, when she was satisfied the alcove looked sufficiently inviting to her customers, crossed the room to look for more of the decorated napkins she knew Aunt Beth had stashed somewhere.

She was bent over, opening lower cabinet doors in succession, searching, when the doorbell jingled and her first customer walked in.