Helen. Gayle had grown fond of Cissy, as had most everyone else in the community.
Two more women got out of the back seat, then a third. Gayle recognized Kate Brogan, one of the younger women in the Bee, Cathy Adams, a newer member but right at home in Toms Brook after moving from the big city, and Peony Greenway, a woman in her late sixties who, like Gayle, always seemed to be on call for jobs at their church that no one else wanted to do.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Gayle called. “Apparently the frame already arrived. My son helped unload it this morning.”
“Zeke brought it over,” Cissy said.
Helen was taking stock. “This is some place you got.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never been to the inn?” A quick search of Gayle’s memory didn’t turn up a time when Helen had visited.
“Didn’t get out much for a long time there. Just haven’t made up for it quite yet.”
Gayle put her arm around Helen’s shoulders for a casual hug. “Well, I’m glad you’re making up for it now.” She greeted the other women, then gave them a brief history of the inn as together they strolled around to the patio.
Cissy seemed the most interested, asking questions as they went. “How many guests do you have?”
“We have room for sixteen, and by early fall we’ll have room for four more, including a couple of children. That’s really all two wells and my sanity can handle.”
Cissy asked a few more questions, and by the time they had finished a brief tour of the first floor, Gayle had shown everyone the basics as well as most of the star quilts in her collection.
“I got the idea for using them as a theme when I found a couple of old ones in the top of a closet,” she said as they started back toward the morning room. “Coupled with the name of the inn, it made sense.”
“What happened to those old quilts?”
“I have them carefully stored, but since they were mostly red and green I bring them out at Christmas for a brief showing. They’re not that well done, but they’ve been here longer than I have.”
“As old quilts go, sounds like yours are being treated well,” Helen said.
They ended in the morning room, where Noah was waiting. Gayle introduced him to the two women who hadn’t officially met him at church.
“Let me make sure Zeke got all the parts out of his pickup.” Helen walked around the pile of wood with a couple of sawhorses beside it, making a silent inventory. “Looks like it’s all here.”
“We were going to set up a new one,” Cissy said. “Like the one Ms. Henry uses at home.”
“We all went and got spoiled,” Helen said. “These new frames with rollers, so you don’t have to baste? I like to had a heart attack the first time I saw one, on account of what my mama and her friends would have thought of it. Now, though, I figure they’d think I was touched in the head not to use the best there is. But it’s harder to sit a number of people around one, that’s a fact. So we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”
“Authenticity,” Cathy Adams said. “It’ll give your guests a look at the way it used to be done. And still is by a lot of people.”
For the next ten minutes, they efficiently set up the frame, working as if they’d practiced together many times. Helen supervised as they positioned poles beside square notches at the top of the sawhorses. The poles had muslin stapled along their length, and she understood why a few minutes later, when Kate and Cissy went back to the station wagon and returned with the Touching Stars quilt.
The quilt—a sandwich with the pieced top and plain backing as bread and the batting as filling—was basted every four or so inches with plain white thread and oversize stitches. The women centered it on the frame and sewed the shorter end of the quilt to the muslin stapled to the poles. Gayle glanced at Noah, who had done his share of the setting up, and saw how interested he was.
“Pretty cool, huh?” she
Two more women got out of the back seat, then a third. Gayle recognized Kate Brogan, one of the younger women in the Bee, Cathy Adams, a newer member but right at home in Toms Brook after moving from the big city, and Peony Greenway, a woman in her late sixties who, like Gayle, always seemed to be on call for jobs at their church that no one else wanted to do.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Gayle called. “Apparently the frame already arrived. My son helped unload it this morning.”
“Zeke brought it over,” Cissy said.
Helen was taking stock. “This is some place you got.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never been to the inn?” A quick search of Gayle’s memory didn’t turn up a time when Helen had visited.
“Didn’t get out much for a long time there. Just haven’t made up for it quite yet.”
Gayle put her arm around Helen’s shoulders for a casual hug. “Well, I’m glad you’re making up for it now.” She greeted the other women, then gave them a brief history of the inn as together they strolled around to the patio.
Cissy seemed the most interested, asking questions as they went. “How many guests do you have?”
“We have room for sixteen, and by early fall we’ll have room for four more, including a couple of children. That’s really all two wells and my sanity can handle.”
Cissy asked a few more questions, and by the time they had finished a brief tour of the first floor, Gayle had shown everyone the basics as well as most of the star quilts in her collection.
“I got the idea for using them as a theme when I found a couple of old ones in the top of a closet,” she said as they started back toward the morning room. “Coupled with the name of the inn, it made sense.”
“What happened to those old quilts?”
“I have them carefully stored, but since they were mostly red and green I bring them out at Christmas for a brief showing. They’re not that well done, but they’ve been here longer than I have.”
“As old quilts go, sounds like yours are being treated well,” Helen said.
They ended in the morning room, where Noah was waiting. Gayle introduced him to the two women who hadn’t officially met him at church.
“Let me make sure Zeke got all the parts out of his pickup.” Helen walked around the pile of wood with a couple of sawhorses beside it, making a silent inventory. “Looks like it’s all here.”
“We were going to set up a new one,” Cissy said. “Like the one Ms. Henry uses at home.”
“We all went and got spoiled,” Helen said. “These new frames with rollers, so you don’t have to baste? I like to had a heart attack the first time I saw one, on account of what my mama and her friends would have thought of it. Now, though, I figure they’d think I was touched in the head not to use the best there is. But it’s harder to sit a number of people around one, that’s a fact. So we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”
“Authenticity,” Cathy Adams said. “It’ll give your guests a look at the way it used to be done. And still is by a lot of people.”
For the next ten minutes, they efficiently set up the frame, working as if they’d practiced together many times. Helen supervised as they positioned poles beside square notches at the top of the sawhorses. The poles had muslin stapled along their length, and she understood why a few minutes later, when Kate and Cissy went back to the station wagon and returned with the Touching Stars quilt.
The quilt—a sandwich with the pieced top and plain backing as bread and the batting as filling—was basted every four or so inches with plain white thread and oversize stitches. The women centered it on the frame and sewed the shorter end of the quilt to the muslin stapled to the poles. Gayle glanced at Noah, who had done his share of the setting up, and saw how interested he was.
“Pretty cool, huh?” she
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