Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
About the Author
About the Artist
Copyright Information
Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
To Malakai, Amelia and Claire
Acknowledgments
Thank you to everyone who supports my writing process, from the idea phase through the work of writing and the never ending promotional activities. My friends, family and business associates. I’d like to especially like to thank Jack and Linne Lindquist for hosting me in their booth, The Craftsman’s Touch, at many large quilt events. Thanks also to Deon and Rich Stone-house at Sunriver Books and Music for our annual event.
Domestic violence is a serious subject and I’ve made every attempt to base my story in fact and to that end researched the subject before starting my story. Any errors are my own. The memory retrieval in my story is based on research I found on the Internet. The research is in its early phase and may or may not work as easily as I portrayed it or at all.
As always, many thanks to Liz and the team at Zumaya Publications for all the work they do on my behalf. Thank you, too, to my brilliant cover artist April Martinez.
Last but not least, thank you to my spouse Jack, our children and our children’s children.
Chapter 1
Lauren Sawyer set her messenger bag next to the wing-back chair as she sank into the seat.
“I can’t believe I’m sitting in your quilt studio at o-dark-thirty on a Wednesday morning and I don’t even know why.”
Harriet Truman kept a tea and coffee setup on a library table opposite the entrance and reception area of her long-arm quilting studio. However, she’d moved the cream and assorted sweeteners to the smaller pie-crust table that sat between the two upholstered chairs when she saw Lauren coming up the driveway.
Lauren scooped a heaping spoonful of sugar into her coffee cup.
“I’m not sure even coffee with sugar is going to get me through this…” She waved her hand. “…whatever kind of meeting it is.”
“Aiden said it was important,” Harriet poured hot water over the teabag she’d put into her mug and sat down in the other chair. “That’s good enough for me.”
“That’s big of you, all things considered.” Lauren looked at Harriet over the edge of her cup as she sipped.
“I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. He’s going to counseling, which is a big step for him. He and the counselor decided he needs to take one thing at a time. First, he’ll deal with his sister and all her baggage—his brother’s going with him for support on that one. After they’ve sorted that out, we’ll work on our relationship. In the meantime, the counselor says it’s okay if we see each other, as long as we keep things superficial for now. No decisions or big talks.”
“Aren’t we just the grownup in the relationship…oh, wait, you are the grown-up. How much older than him are you? Nearly old enough to be his mother?”
“Oh, stop,” Harriet swatted at her across the table. “You know very well it’s ten years. And it’s too early for you to be poking at my insecurities.”
Lauren blew across the surface of her coffee and took another sip.
“You’re safe for now.” She pointed to the window. “Someone else just pulled in.”
Mavis Willis, who at seventy-one was the oldest member of the Loose Threads, came through the door a moment later.
“I hope you have coffee on.”
“Right here,” Harriet said and indicated the carafe on the table between her and Lauren.
“You are going to tell us what this is all about, aren’t you?” Mavis asked.
She poured herself a cup of coffee as Harriet got up and let her have the more comfortable chair, sliding over one of her rolling worktable chairs for herself.
“I was just telling Lauren I’ve told you everything I know, which is nothing. Aiden just said to ask everyone to get here early because he wanted to ask something of us, and he had surgery starting at eight.”
“You know, honey, your aunt Beth wouldn’t be offended if you reupholstered these two old chairs now that you own the studio. She didn’t like this floral when she bought them secondhand twenty years ago.”
“She’s welcome to do any upholstery projects on my behalf she wants to, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry right now.”
Lauren and Mavis didn’t get to hear what those fish were because Robin McLeod and DeAnn Gault came in followed by Connie Escorcia and Harriet’s Aunt Beth.
Harriet was glad to see Robin—she was a stay-at-home mom and part-time yoga teacher, but she kept her license to practice law current just in case a need arose among her friends and family. It was to be hoped her skills wouldn’t be needed this morning, but since Aiden hadn’t told Harriet anything, it was nice to be prepared.
Connie took off her coat and draped it over the back of another rolling chair, moving it into the circle. She shivered and rubbed her hands together.
“I’m having flashbacks of the early-morning staff meetings at the grade school,” she said. “I never understood why the fourth-, fifth- and sixth-grade teachers got the afternoon meeting time just because their kids were older than ours. By the way, Jenny isn’t going to be here. She’s meeting with family in Lynwood.”
“I don’t envy her those discussions,” Mavis said and shook her head.
“They’ve been estranged for so long, you wonder if everyone might be better off letting it be,” Connie suggested.
“If I were them, I’d want to reconnect, no matter how painful it might be at first,” Beth said.
“Are we going to be doing any stitching while we’re here?” DeAnn asked. “I took the boys to early drop-off at school, and my mom took Kissa for the whole morning, since we weren’t sure what was going on.”
“I don’t have anything pressing for the morning, so everyone’s welcome to stay and stitch if they want,” Harriet offered. She knew everyone in her quilt group would have at least one hand-stitching project in her purse or in a bag in her car.
Robin looked like she was about to speak when Aiden arrived. He took his fleece jacket off and tossed it toward an empty chair as he strode over to the coffee carafe.
“I hope you ladies didn’t drink all the coffee,” he said as he tilted the container. “Carla’s right behind me. She was doing a drive-by at the coffee shop to get Wendy a hot chocolate. I offered to do it for her, but she told me she was the housekeeper and I was the boss and left before I could argue.”
“That was bold of her,” Lauren said.
“She’s getting real cheeky,” He looked around the circle of women. “I’m guessing that’s thanks to the influence of you all.” He stirred sugar into his cup then stepped into the middle of the circle of chairs to address the group, who were now all sitt
ing with coats off, leaning forward with coffee mugs clutched in their hands.
“You’re probably wondering why we’re here,” he started. “And by the way, thanks for coming so early. I’m sure Harriet told you I’m scheduled for several surgeries this morning.
“When my mom died, I inherited a bunch of stuff, including her charitable foundation. There’s a board of directors that oversees the choosing of charities, follows up to see how the money we donated is used, etc., and there are also a couple of paid employees who handle the day-to-day responsibilities. But at the end of the day, I have to say yea or nay on where the money goes.”
Carla came in, interrupting Aiden’s speech.
“Sorry,” she said and slid her daughter Wendy off her hip and onto the floor, shrugging off her own jacket in one smooth move. She handed the little girl the foam cup of hot chocolate she’d been holding and sat in the chair Aunt Beth slid toward her.
“Abuela,” Wendy cried in delight when she spotted Connie. Connie held out her arms and Wendy went to her, smiling as her substitute grandmother pulled her into her lap, shushing her as she did so.
“As I was saying,” Aiden said and pretended to give Carla a stern look, failing when he couldn’t chase the laughter from his eyes, “I do have a say in what charities get money from the foundation. I usually just approve whatever the very competent board chooses. What I’m here to talk to you all about is that I’ve personally identified a need in our community and am planning to fund the solution.”
“Since we’re not your very competent board, could you just cut to the chase and tell us what you want?” Lauren interrupted.
“Okay.” Aiden rubbed his hands together as he paced across the space within the circle of chairs. His brow furrowed as he thought. “It’s come to my attention that some battered women in our community are reluctant to come to the shelter because they can’t bring their pets with them.”
“That seems a little harsh,” DeAnn said.
“The shelter often takes women with children,” he continued. “Some of those kids potentially could have asthma or allergies that would preclude living with pets.” He looked at DeAnn. “Like you, I thought that was a little harsh. I happen to think that pets are an important part of most people’s support system. Pets are also on the front lines in a home when abuse is taking place. The sooner the pet can get out of the home, the better off it is, too.”
“So, you want to build a shelter for the animals?” Lauren asked.
“Yes, but not like you’re thinking. I want to add a kennel behind the existing house. Complete with a ‘family room’ for socializing with the animals and letting them have some normal time with their owners.
“For the safety of the residents, it needs to have a secure connection to the house, so we’ll build it with an air-shower and positive-pressure entrance so the animal dander won’t be transferred to the main residence. It will all be enclosed in heavy chain-link fencing, carefully made to not look like a prison.”
“That sounds pretty cool,” Harriet said.
“Where do we come in?” Aunt Beth asked.
“Like most shelters, they have a pretty tight budget. As a result and, again, like many shelters, they let civic groups ‘adopt’ or sponsor various public rooms at the home. The volunteers have to be carefully vetted so as to not compromise the residents’ safety also.
“Enter the Loose Threads.” He spread his arms wide. “I was hoping you might want to make quilts for both the pets as well as some larger ones for the residents to use in the social room, and any other homey touches you can think of. I’ll pay any expenses, of course.”
“After it’s all set up, would we have an ongoing obligation?” Lauren asked.
“Lauren,” Mavis scolded, tilting her chin down and looking over the top of her half-lens reading glasses. Being the oldest member of the quilting group made her the unofficial sergeant-at-arms.
“It’s a good question,” Aiden replied. “And no, you’re under no obligation at any point. Most groups do take on the maintenance of their room, but what that entails varies depending on what room they ad-opt.”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Aunt Beth said. “We can make quilts for the people beds, too.”
“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Lauren cautioned. “Some of us work for a living. And even if my computer business is from home, I still have to put in the hours.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Mavis gave Lauren “the look” again.
“I think it’s a great idea, too” Carla said. “It really meant a lot to me when I got my baby quilt from the young mothers’ quilting group when I was pregnant with Wendy.”
“Sure,” Robin added. “And I can make people quilts, too.”
“When will the room be done?” DeAnn asked.
“They’re breaking ground this week on the addition.”
“We better get busy, then,” Beth said and stood up. “Shall I make another pot of coffee or shall we switch to tea?”
“How many pets will you be accommodating?” Harriet asked Aiden while the others told Beth their drink preferences.
“The shelter is intended for six women, but they have a loft space that’s approved for several more beds, so I’m planning on six indoor/outdoor dog runs, the same number of small animal enclosures, and an eight-foot counter with heat lamps and plug-ins for really small customers.”
“That sounds pretty deluxe.”
“The foundation can afford it, so why not? I want it to feel like home, not an upscale hotel and not an institution. I’m hoping you and the rest of the Threads can help me keep it personal.”
“You know who you need to talk to?”
“I know you don’t think a lot of me right now, but I do know who the best architect in this area is, and I wouldn’t let my project suffer because of any feelings I might have about Tom and his relationship to you.”
Harriet held her hand up in a peace gesture. The other Threads looked everywhere except at her and Aiden.
“I’m sorry, my bad,” Aiden said. “We’re supposed to be keeping it light. Let me rephrase that. Tom is the architect we’re using to build our very green, very environmentally pleasing animal facility.”
“Good choice,” Harriet said and walked away.
“Thanks, everyone.” Aiden raised his hand in a half-wave as he headed for the door. “Gotta go.”
“We’re happy to help,” Connie told him.
Harriet and Connie rearranged the chairs, placing them around the large work table while everyone refreshed her drink and Mavis pulled out a bag of oatmeal raisin cookies she’d kept hidden until Aiden was gone.
“I was afraid the young doctor would see these as a distraction, since we weren’t sure how serious this meeting was going to be,” she confessed and bit into a cookie.
“I don’t know what anyone else is thinking,” Aunt Beth said as she took her place at the table while Mavis passed the cookie bag to Connie. “But for the pet blankets, I still have a lot of dog-print fabric left over from when we were trying to figure out our quilts for the dog adoption benefit last fall.”
“Maybe we should divide into two groups,” Harriet suggested. “Some people could make as many pet blankets as they can and the other half could work on a couple of lap quilts.”
“That would be a start,” Robin said as she reached into the cookie bag. “We should probably see if they will allow us to tour the place and assess the needs. Aiden told us what they need for the pet room, but maybe there are other, greater needs we should be aware of.”
“I guess it would be bad if we made fabulous pet quilts and the children were using tattered rags to sleep with,” Lauren said.
“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Robin shot back, “but we need to be sure.”
“So, what’s appropriate for a women’s shelter?” DeAnn asked. “Do we go with soft and soothing or bright and hopeful?”
“I don’t think t
here’s a single scheme that applies to all people in this situation,” Aunt Beth suggested. She rubbed her chin while she spoke. “I’d imagine women with young children might want something practical and perhaps more colorful. Older women or those who don’t have children might want something more soothing.”
“I like Robin’s idea of at least one or two of us going to meet with whoever runs the place,” Harriet said.
“In the meantime,” Carla said, “maybe we could make some sets with a large quilt for the parent and smaller quilts in the same color-way that could be for the kids.”
“I like that,” Connie said. “Then the rest of us can get started while our representatives go gather information.”
“Good idea,” Mavis agreed.
They spent the rest of the morning planning quilts and dividing up the tasks. Robin, Harriet and Lauren would set up a meeting as soon as possible with the shelter director, after which they would all meet at Pins and Needles, Foggy Point’s best and only quilt store.
Chapter 2
“Have you ever been to a woman’s shelter?” Lauren asked Harriet and Robin as they sat around a table at the Steaming Cup coffee shop. The shop was divided into function areas—tables and chairs in the center of the room, several groupings of upholstered chairs and small sofas around the perimeter, and a long computer table sporting electrical sockets every two feet down the center near the third wall.
Harriet had her hands wrapped around her mug of hot cocoa.
“I haven’t,” she admitted.
A Quilt in Time (A Harriet Turman/Loose Threads Mystery) Page 1