Arlene Sachitano - Quilt As You Go

Harriet sipped her tea, and Terry sat on an uncomfortable looking velvet sofa, saying nothing.

"Are you from around here,” she finally asked when she couldn't stand the silence.

"No."

"Visiting?” Harriet guessed.

"I guess you could say that."

"Will you be staying long?” Harriet persisted.

"Are you an undercover policewoman or something?” he asked with a smile.

"No, but Carla's my friend. And I'm not buying your family genealogy story. You could do that on the internet, you wouldn't need to come here in person if that's all you were doing. Carla doesn't need someone laying on the charm and trying to take advantage of her."

"Why would you assume I'm trying to take advantage of her?” he asked, the smile leaving his face.

"I'm not assuming anything. It's just that she's my friend, and she's vulnerable, and I want to be sure."

"Fair enough,” Terry said. “I am here doing some family research. When I was young, we lived in Foggy Point. My father died, and my mother moved us to Seattle. I had some leave, and I wanted to try to understand who my father was. My mom won't talk about him. This seemed to be a logical place to start. I met Carla at the grocery store my first day in town, and she was friendly. I like her-simple as that."

"So, have you learned anything?” Harriet asked.

"Not as much as I'd hoped. I think he worked at a place called Industrial Fiber Products, but that doesn't exist anymore."

"That's what they used to call Foggy Point Fire Protection,” Harriet offered.

"So I've been told,” he said and stood up to pace. “I went out there to see if anyone who knew my dad still worked there.” He fell into silence again.

"And?” she prompted.

"And… nothing. They said they couldn't give out any information on who did or didn't work there. I didn't get any further at the library."

"What was your dad's name? My aunt has lived here forever. Maybe she knows something."

"His name is the same as mine-Terry Jansen."

"I suppose you've tried the newspaper?"

"Not yet, but it's on my to-do list."

"You might give it a try. They have a pretty good archive."

Carla returned with Terry's water, followed by Aunt Beth and Wendy, effectively ending the conversation.

Harriet and Beth returned to the car and headed home.

"Could we swing by and see Mavis?” Harriet asked.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind checking on her, but what are you thinking?"

"I've been thinking about that quilt that showed up at her house the other day. Now that we know Gerald was likely in the area at the time, it seems probable he was the one who put it in her house."

"Just don't upset her. She's been through enough. You better call Lauren, too. She needs to know the name Gerald was using and about his wife."

Lauren was the last person Harriet wanted to talk to, but she knew her aunt was right, and Lauren was the computer maven of the group. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and balanced it on her leg while she dialed with her good hand.

"Talk to me,” Lauren answered without preamble. Harriet silently counted to ten.

"We have a name.” she said. “Gerald was going by Gerard Van Auken. He married a lady named Ilsa in the Netherlands."

"The Netherlands is a big place,” Lauren sniped. “Could you be a bit more specific?"

"No, I can't,” Harriet shot back. “I think she's going to be staying in one of DeAnn's guest houses, so maybe you can call her for more info."

"Fine,” Lauren said and hung up.

"She's such a ray of sunshine."

"It'll be worth it if she can come up with something,” Aunt Beth said.

"Come in,” Mavis said when she opened the door to her cottage and found Harriet and Aunt Beth on the small porch. “Let me put the teakettle on."

The two visitors sat on the sofa and waited for their hostess to reappear.

"Here, let me get this out of the way,” Mavis said, and moved a stack of fat quarters in shades of brown from her coffee table. “I like that stars and rails pattern you used for your re-enactment quilt, so I thought I'd try it out,” she said to Harriet. “I'm cutting enough out to make a table runner, and if I like I how it looks I may make it bigger."

"Do you have enough fabric?” Aunt Beth asked.

"It's going to be scrappy, but within three or four color families. I think using lots of different prints is more in keeping with how quilts actually looked during the Civil War.” Mavis went into her sewing room and brought out a few more pieces of brown fabric for Beth's approval. The women rearranged the material into several piles until the sound of the teakettle whistle interrupted.

"How are you feeling about things,” Harriet asked when Mavis came back to the living room carrying a tray with three mugs of tea on it. “Are you up to looking at Gerald's quilt again?"

"Of course,” Mavis said. “And I'm not sure how I'm feeling about things, but the options are running towards angry and frustrated."

"We don't need to do this now if you don't want,” Beth said.

"Don't be silly. I want to get to the bottom of this, and the sooner the better. The quilt's in my sewing room. I'll get it.” She went back into her sewing room and returned with the plaid quilt draped over her arm and the piece of strange material in her hand. “I figured this is what you really want to look at,” she said and handed Harriet the black square.

"There must be something special about this material,” Harriet said. “Why else would he hide it, yet keep it with him. And what about this would make him come back?"

"It is strange-looking,” Mavis said.

Harriet raised an eyebrow. “How so?"

"It's the only black one I've seen. The samples he usually brought home were white or off-white or dingy gray or yellow. Nothing I ever saw was black."

"Huh,” said Aunt Beth. “So, this isn't a memento from his final success, the fire cloth?"

"No, that stuff is yellowish-white, but it could be an earlier version. Let me get a match.” She went to the kitchen and came back with a box of wooden matches. “Here,” she said as she positioned the black square in Harriet's hand. “Now, hold it out while I try to burn it."

Harriet did as she was instructed. The fabric resisted burning, but it got so hot she dropped it, and when she grabbed at the falling square, she jostled her sore collar bone, causing her to yelp and jerk back onto the sofa. In the process, she slopped her tea onto the square and knocked Mavis's appliqué scissors off the table. The scissors ended up stabbing point-down into the floor, impaling the wet black square in the process.

"Well, that eliminates a few experiments we might have done,” Mavis said. “It's neither waterproof nor scissor-proof, and from your reaction I'm guessing it wasn't protecting you from the match."

"What are we missing?” Aunt Beth wondered. She picked up the flannel quilt and felt the intact squares as Harriet had done before. “I don't feel anything out of the ordinary,” she said when she'd finished.

Mavis took it from her and took a good look at both sides. When she didn't find anything, she folded it, placed the black square on top of it and returned both to her sewing room. “With him dead, we may never know what was going on,” she said when she came back. “It may simply have been a wear test.” She went into the kitchen and made Harriet a fresh cup of tea.

"What are you thinking regarding the funeral?” Aunt Beth asked when Mavis was settled in her chair in the living room again.

"I go back and forth,” Mavis said honestly. “For the boys’ sake, I need to do something, and if that Ilsa person really was married to him for fifteen years, she needs to be involved. I'm just so angry at Gerald.” She stared out the window for a moment, gathering her composure. “But I guess that can't be helped. And anyway, on a cheerier note, it seems like I'm no longer alone at the top of the suspect list."