Quilter's Knot Read Free Page B

to go gray. The woman wore faded blue jeans and a camp-style shirt that appeared to have been made from mottled-blue hand-dyed sheeting. She paced nervously to the back of a pie-shaped room that was set up with a podium at the point of the pie and concentric rows of chairs radiating out from there; a cloth-covered table held several thermal carafes, a tray of cookies and neat rows of mugs, spoons and napkins at the wide end of the room.
    "First-time visitors, please sit in the front rows,” the woman barked as she walked back up to the front of the room. She adjusted the microphone that was attached to the podium and tapped on its surface. It responded with the amplified hollow sound microphones the world over make when bludgeoned.
    "They have done this before, right?” Harriet asked Mavis.
    "Don't you worry, honey,” the older woman replied. “Patience is a nervous thing. She's Selestina's right hand, but she acts like every class or program they do is the first and their very existence depends on its success."
    Harriet, Carla and the other first-timers took their places at the front of the room, while Mavis, DeAnn and Robin sat at the rear. Without introduction, a tall, thin woman who turned out to be Selestina appeared at the podium and started the orientation, beginning with her personal fiber art history, which included schooling then faculty positions at several prestigious folk art schools, and ended with her founding the current school.
    She then laid out a set of restrictions and regulations that would have made the Marine Corps proud. She ended with the announcement that all first-time students were to meet with her in this room in precisely thirty minutes for an inspection of their tools and supplies.
    They were dismissed, and Harriet found the other Loose Threads standing around Connie Escorcia at the food table.
    "Where did you come from?” she asked.
    "I got here just as you were coming down for orientation. I've already heard that old battleax try to scare the bejeezes out of her new students, I didn't need to hear it again. I'd complain to the management if it wasn't her.” Connie picked a chocolate chip cookie from a tray on the table and took a bite. Her Latin exuberance and soft heart had made her Foggy Point Grade School's favorite first grade teacher before her retirement. She believed a firm but gentle hand was the best way to tame young hooligans. “Did she have any announcements I need to know about?” she asked when she'd swallowed.
    "She told us the ceramics students would be having an exhibition tomorrow night in Building A. We're welcome to attend and encouraged to make a donation for the privilege,” DeAnn said.
    "You mean our tuition wasn't enough of a donation?” Harriet asked.
    "Shouldn't you and Carla be getting your bags?” Sarah prompted. “Selestina doesn't like to waste her time."
    Carla jumped up and headed for the door.
    "Wait up,” Harriet called, and followed the younger woman out.
    They made the trip back to the Tree House and returned with their supplies with moments to spare. They carried their bags up to a row of tables that had replaced the podium.
    "Listen up, ladies,” Patience Jacobsen said. “Take a place along the table. Place your stack of fabric on your left and then line up your thread to the right of the stack. Put your scissors and rotary cutter in front of you and lay your six-and-a-half-by-eighteen rulers and your six-and-a-half-inch square to the right."
    This was starting to sound a little weird. Carla had taken the place to Harriet's right. Harriet sneaked a glance in her direction. Her face was chalky white, and she nervously twisted a stringy lock of hair.
    "Don't worry,” Connie said. She put her hands on Carla's bony shoulders. “Selestina's bark is worse than her bite, and she isn't going to risk losing a paying customer. Just let her paw through your stuff, promise you'll change the blade in your cutter, even if it's new, and then we can go