"Well, he seemed a little slick, if you ask me."
A brown mallard duck with six fuzzy ducklings waddled across the path ahead of the two quilters. Harriet pulled a crumbled cellophane packet of crackers from her sweatshirt pocket, the leftovers from last Wednesday's soup and salad lunch at the Sandwich Board, one of Foggy Point's lunchtime hot spots. She sprinkled the crackers over the water, pausing to watch the ducks splash into the pond after them.
Then, they continued on the path in silence, entering the dark woods on the opposite side of the meadow and returning to the Tree House.
Chapter Six
The Loose Threads reassembled in the common room and walked in pairs to a cedar-sided building tucked in the trees just beyond their dormitory.
"In spite of what Lauren said, the food here is good,” Mavis advised as she climbed the steps onto the porch of the dining room.
"Lauren may have overstated the situation, but they do serve economical meals,” Robin added and pulled the door open.
The room they entered was a large rectangle filled with long plank tables and benches. Double doors on the opposite wall presumably led to the kitchen. The side walls were hung with primitive art. Harriet took a deep breath. Whatever was cooking smelled delicious.
Clusters of people sat along the length of two tables; a third table stood empty.
"There is a method to their madness,” Mavis said as she led them to the empty table. “There's no seating chart, but this one, as indicated by the quilted runner, is designated as the fiber arts table."
Harriet looked at the other two tables and noticed the top of one was covered with butcher paper decorated with graffiti. The other was topped with black-and-white photos under glass.
"Clever,” she said. “I'm not sure how I feel about the segregation, though."
"Patience explained it to me the first time I came here,” Mavis explained. “In order to not overwhelm the kitchen, they stagger the activities in each pavilion so only a third of the people arrive at any one time."
"I never knew that,” Robin said.
"Just part of the well-oiled machine that is the school,” Sarah said and sat down.
A middle-aged woman with a long gray braid that fell to her waist came through the double doors carrying a tray laden with bowls of steaming soup.
"You can help yourself to drinks on the sideboard,” the woman said as she began setting the bowls on the table. “The bread just came out of the oven. I'll have it out here in a few minutes,” she added over her shoulder as she walked back through the double doors.
"Thanks,” Harriet said as she sat down with the glass of ice water she'd just poured at the large oak buffet. The soup was Italian, with chunks of sausage, bowtie pasta and zucchini in a tomato-basil broth. It was hardly the watery gruel she'd expected after Lauren's comments.
When the quilters were finished eating, the woman with the braid brought a wrapped bundle.
"Here's a little sandwich for Lauren,” she said and handed it to Connie. “She'll need her strength."
A slender blond man in a khaki work uniform began clearing the table as Harriet and her friends headed for the door.
"There's a new restroom behind the cookhouse,” he said in a soft voice without looking up. “Follow the porch around to the back."
"This is convenient,” Mavis said as they waited for Sarah to come out of the bathroom. “Before, we had to go back to our rooms after meals."
"Seems like they add something new every time we come here,” Connie noted.
Robin pulled a round plastic brush from her purse and began brushing her hair. “Maybe if they weren't building all the time, they could afford to feed us something besides soup."
"I liked the soup,” Harriet protested, and started down the path as Sarah emerged.
The three classroom pavilions at the Angel Harbor Folk Art Center were of similar construction: large pie-shaped spaces around a central supply room hub, with two large rooms on one side that extended all the way to the exterior windows. The rest of the rooms were bordered by a wide hallway that curved around the building, providing ample wall space for hanging student's work.
"Wasn't your aunt Beth supposed to meet us here?” Sarah asked Harriet as they reached the stairs to the porch that surrounded the fiber arts pavilion.
Harriet looked around and, not seeing her aunt, glanced down at her watch. “She was, but we're early. I told her to meet us at seven, and it's only quarter till. Feel free to go in. I'll wait for her.” She glanced hopefully at the door, but Sarah didn't move.
"We'll all wait. I wouldn't want it to be said I'm not a team player,” Sarah announced.
"We'd never want that,” Aunt Beth said as she walked up behind her. “But since I'm here, you'll have to find another opportunity to display your team spirit."
Robin looked at Harriet and rolled her eyes skyward. “Let's go see what our buddy Lauren has been up to all these months."
Sarah began commenting on the first exhibit the group came to. The assignment must have involved granite, since all six quilts looked like some variation of a granite countertop, the veining created with dense stitching. The backgrounds looked like hand-dyed muslin and varied from rose-gray to almost black.
"Clearly, some students understood the task better than others,” Sarah pronounced.
"Let's go the other direction around the hall,” Harriet whispered to Carla.
The younger woman smiled briefly and followed Harriet as she strolled in the opposite direction. When Harriet paused in front of a display of hand quilting, she realized Robin had joined them.
"I couldn't take Sarah's commentary,” she explained.
"Hey, you don't have to explain it to me.” Robin leaned close to a small sampler that had been stitched with a variety of thread weights. “I never thought about using such a heavy thread to do the actual quilting. It looks like three or four strands of embroidery floss. I've used it to do embellishment, but not for the actual quilting."
"I wish we could see the back side."
"It's the same as the front,” Carla said, surprising her. She wasn't sure she'd heard the woman utter a dozen words since they'd left Foggy Point.
Carla glanced up when no one said anything. Her cheeks turned pink, and she stared at her feet. “It tells what they did on this card,” she said, and pointed at a white printed page that was mounted on a piece of mat board and hung at the end of the display. “They were supposed to make the back side look exactly like the front side."
"I wonder where Lauren's exhibit is,” Robin said.
"Probably wherever she's standing,” Harriet said, and looked down the curve of the exhibit hall.
"I just want to get there before Sarah. I've been witness to enough train wrecks for one day."
"Let's walk until we spot her. Then we can go back and look at the rest of the stuff at our leisure,” Harriet suggested. The other two agreed, and they continued down the hall, searching for Lauren.
"Isn't that the janitor from the dining room?” Harriet pointed at the slender man in the khaki uniform, who was now standing beside Lauren.
"Looks like it,” Robin replied. “I wonder what they're talking so intently about."
The three quilters approached, and the janitor turned and left.
"I hope I didn't scare him away,” Harriet joked.
"Why would you think that?” Lauren said. “He's just a janitor. Someone spilled a drink and he was cleaning it up."
"Is this yours?” Robin asked and pointed to the piece behind her. “It's wonderful."
Lauren's quilt was simple yet compelling. The background was tones of brown that ranged from beige to almost black. The stitching was cream-colored, and it looked like she had used a thread that was slightly heavier than most people used in functional quilts.