Quilt or Innocence Read Free

Georgia, of course. She takes a more loosey-goosey approach to quilting supplies.” She bobbed her head at Beatrice to pick up (and, Beatrice guessed, admire) the notebook. It
is
very cleverly arranged, thought Beatrice as she flipped through the plastic sleeves. A spot for notions of every kind. Each plastic pouch was attached to the notebook by Velcro so you could just carry the tools you needed. Ingenious. “What are these?” asked Beatrice, holding up a pouch of what looked like pizza cutters.
    “A most marvelous invention for quilters: rotary cutters. I don’t think I can even remember life without them—I’ve blocked it all out! It’s revolutionized cutting fabric,” said Posy. “Beatrice, you just put your ruler where you want to cut and then the rotary cutter slices right through it.”
    The women settled into small talk about their families and neighbors. There was an air of camaraderie in the room that felt very genuine. This feeling of
belonging
wasn’t something that Beatrice had come across very often, aside from her work at the museum. Even there she’d frequently worked alone, just her and the art. She hid a smile as Savannah suddenly dispelled the harmony by hissing, “Georgia! Watch your stitches!”
    Georgia frowned ferociously at her appliqué as if to scold it into submission.
    Beatrice said, “Posy, your quilt is gorgeous. Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything less from a quilt-shop owner.” Her quilt was a celestial riot of whimsical suns and moons and stars scattered on an inky background.
    Savannah stopped stitching at the mention of the quilt shop. “Posy, tell us what you’ve found out about the shop. Did Judith back off on raising the rent?” She reached over and rescued a pricey-looking pair of scissors that Georgia had absently picked up, and stowed them safely back beside her.
    Posy shook her head, looking down at her quilt. “No, she’s planning to go ahead with it. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. I just never imagined that Judith would try to force me out of the Patchwork Cottage.”
    Beatrice frowned. “Your landlady? Surely that doesn’t make sense. She’d have to find another tenant for the space.”
    “Miss Judith has
plans
,” Meadow said with a sniff. Her indignant tone made Boris growl menacingly at the unknown threat. “She’s got some fancy women’s-boutique idea in her head, and apparently there’s someone interested in the space. Judith is adamant she can get more rent.” She snorted.
    Georgia’s face clouded over. “But she’s a quilter, too! Why would she want the Patchwork Cottage to close? Where would we get all our supplies? Where would she get hers?” Her voice was tight with worry. “I don’t want to have to worry over getting supplies online—it’s just not the same as running the fabric through my fingers and seeing all the colors in person.”
    “Everything will work out fine,” Savannah said, fiercely stabbing her needle into her fabric. “Judith is temporarily insane—that’s all. She’ll soon come to her senses and realize that Dappled Hills isn’t the right place for a designer boutique. It’s the
perfect
place for a quilt shop.”
    “Judith is a sister quilter, but she makes me mad enough to spit sometimes,” Meadow said. “She’s forever making little digs at me. And I don’t think she likes Boris,” she added in a scandalized tone, reaching out to give the dog a sympathetic rub.
    Beatrice strained to hear Georgia’s quiet voice. “She’s only making digs at you because she wanted to be the beekeeper.”
    Meadow explained to Beatrice, “That’s what we call the president of the quilting bee.”
    Savannah frowned. “She’s sniped at Georgia, and me, too. Although I guess that anyone who loves quilting as much as Judith does can’t be all bad, right?’
    “No one is
all
bad,” Posy said with certainty. “When I have a chance to sit down and really talk to her about the shop and what I think