"Do you want to work on your baby quilt in the studio while I fix Iloai's?” Harriet asked when they had made their purchases and were returning to the car, bags in hand.
"I'd love to, but I left that stuff at my house. You'd have to drive me back by there first."
"It's not like you live in Seattle,” Harriet said with a smile. “Let me throw my flannel in the washer at my house before we leave.” She'd purchased two and a half yards of a pale-gold flannel so she'd have plenty of extra fabric to account for the shrinkage flannel is so notorious for.
The town of Foggy Point strictly enforced its twenty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit everywhere within the city limits. Deer wandered freely in the residential neighborhoods, and the city council had enacted the low speed limit law not long after cars edged out horses and buggies as the favored mode of transportation. The law had withstood the passage of time without a single challenge. Even so, Harriet had Aunt Beth home and back and installed at a work table with her fabric, ruler and rotary cutter in less than an hour.
Harriet spread Iloai's quilt on her big cutting table. She carefully examined the embroidered areas at the top of the quilt and then the blank fabric at the bottom. She picked loose a couple of stitches along a seam that joined two imaged areas. As she'd suspected, pre-sewn blocks had been appliquéd to a background fabric. She brought a bright, natural-light floor lamp to the table and shone it on the quilt. A magnifying glass was attached to the stem of the lamp by means of a flexible arm. She swung the lens over the quilt and took a close look at the background fabric.
"This is kind of interesting."
"What do you see?"
"It looks like whoever made this turned a piece of fabric inside out to make the background."
"Haven't you ever done that to get a color you wanted? I have."
"I've done it when I was piecing something and needed a small amount of an odd color or in appliqué, but never for a whole top or backing. This looks almost textured."
"Well, don't just pick at it, undo a whole section and look."
"What if it falls apart?"
"You're fixing it anyway. I wouldn't take it apart up where the embroidery work is-do a bottom corner."
Harriet turned the quilt around and then carefully, starting in the lower left corner, picked the stitches apart for six inches in each direction. When she had the top fabric loosened from the backing, she folded it back, revealing the reverse side of the fabric.
"Whoa!"
"What?” Aunt Beth got up from her work table and joined Harriet.
"Wow,” she said. “Mavis and Gerald had matching shirts made from fabric very similar to that."
"Really?” Harriet looked at the navy blue-on-off-white Hawaiian print.
"Yeah. His sister went on a cruise of the South Pacific and brought them back shirts."
"When was that?"
"Oh, gosh.” Beth looked at the ceiling while she thought. “It must have been in the late sixties. Maybe the early seventies."
"This isn't real bark cloth."
"Of course not,” Beth said. “I don't think real bark cloth is produced in that kind of quantity. Back in the fifties, a cotton imitation bark cloth became popular for interior decorating…and Hawaiian shirts."
"Do you know where in the South Pacific the shirts came from?"
Beth stared at her.
"Don't look at me like I've grown a horn in the middle of my forehead,” Harriet said with a laugh. “You know all kinds of bizarre stuff."
"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult. I'll call Mavis and see if she remembers."
She went to her purse and extracted her cell phone. She spoke for a few minutes then dropped the phone back into her purse.
"She said she could drive the shirts over,” she announced.
"Why am I not surprised she still has them?"
"I'll have you know they've come in very handy as a last-minute costume more than once through the years."
"What's Mavis up to?"
"Can't be much if she's coming here. I better go put the tea water on."
"I'll go throw my flannel in the dryer."
Mavis arrived fifteen minutes later with the shirts draped over one arm and her quilting bag and purse on the opposite shoulder. Harriet greeted her and then led her to the kitchen, where Beth had tea and snickerdoodles ready.
"Where did the cookies come from?” Harriet asked. The smell of sugar and cinnamon was almost unbearable. She wanted to eat them all herself.
"They're in the freezer in the garage-I thawed them in the oven. I didn't think you'd mind if I left some there when I moved. I labeled them ‘green peas.’ You never know when you'll need a cookie, although now that you know they're there, I suppose I should move them to protect you from yourself."
"I'm not twelve, you know.” Harriet said and glared at her.
"These are delicious,” Mavis said around a bite of cookie. “Nothing better than a warm cookie."
"Shall we go look at the shirts?” Harriet suggested when they had finished their tea.
The three women clustered around the end of the cutting table as Mavis flattened one of the shirts next to the small quilt.
"Boy, they do look very similar, don't they?” Harriet said after she'd examined both carefully.
"That's what I was saying,” Aunt Beth said.
"Do you know where, exactly, your sister-in-law bought these shirts?” Harriet asked Mavis.
"Let me think. Her cruise originated in Sydney, Australia. I know she went to Fiji and Vanuatu and then Samoa, I think. It could have been any of those places. Or knowing her, it could have been at the airport in Sydney, although they seem a little nicer than what they sold in airports in those days."
Harriet turned the quilt and folded it so only the embroidered portion showed.
"You know, these images make more sense if you think about the South Pacific when you look at them.” She rubbed her finger over a line of green stitching. “This looks like it might have been a palm tree.” The stitching was broken where she indicated.
Beth leaned in for a closer look. “I think you're right."
"If Iloai is from one of the islands in the South Pacific, why would they say she was African?” Mavis asked.
"That would be the question,” Harriet said.
The women stared in silence at the quilt and shirt. A knock on the outside studio door interrupted their reverie. Harriet crossed the room and opened it.
"I know where Iloai comes from,” Lauren said as she brushed past.
"The South Pacific?” Aunt Beth said.
Lauren's shoulders slumped, and the animation left her face.
"You knew?” She paused. “Why didn't you tell me?” she said, anger replacing her earlier excitement. “You knew I was researching this."
"We just figured it out,” Harriet told her. “Literally, right before you walked in. Would you like some tea, now that you're here?"
"Yeah, sure, I guess."
She set her purse on the floor by one of the wingback chairs and took off her caramel-colored barn-style jacket. Harriet went into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with tea and two cookies.
"Okay, Harriet's back, so now-how did you come to the conclusion Iloai is from the South Pacific?” Mavis asked.
"It was simple,” Lauren said. “I should have thought of it sooner. You think you're so smart, you should have thought of it."
"Thought of what?” Harriet asked.
"Her name,” Lauren said. “I ran her name through a name database. It tells you the origins of any name you type in. Iloai isn't an African name. It's Samoan."
"Wow,” said Harriet.
"I know, it makes no sense,” Lauren said. “Why lie about something like that?"
"Maybe there's some sort of monetary advantage if the child comes from Africa,” Mavis said.
"Or maybe there are immigration quotas that have been exceeded in one place but not in the other,” Beth suggested.
"I suppose there's always the chance her parents emigrated from the South Pacific to Africa and then died or became otherwise unable to care for her,” Harriet said. “It seems kind of farfetched, though."
"That would explain the language thing, too,” Aunt Beth said.
"I wonder if Phyllis ever found Joseph,” Harriet said. “If anyone knows the answer to all this, it should be him."
"I'll call Phyl,” Aunt Beth offered. She went to the phone and dialed.
"I guess I better put this quilt back together,” Harriet said. “We said we'd return it before bedtime."
Beth turned back to the group.
"No answer,” she announced. “I tried the office, her home number and her cell phone and nada."
"If Joseph is still missing in action, she's probably hustling to cover his appointments as well as her own."
"Anyone need a refill?” Aunt Beth asked and headed to the kitchen with her cup.
"I'll come with you,” Mavis said.
"So, what do you really think is going on?” Lauren asked, and sipped her tea.
"I'm not sure, but I'll tell you this-I don't think it has to do with immigration numbers or emigrating dead parents. I also think it's curious the social worker who could clear this up has been acting a little strange and is currently missing from his job."
"Yeah, that is weird. But then, I've always thought that guy was a little strange."
Harriet threaded a needle with beige cotton thread and began re-stitching the seam she'd pulled out on the child's quilt.
"I better get back to work,” Lauren said when she'd finished her tea. “I was just finishing at the senior center when I had my epiphany. I used their computer to look it up. I'm with you about the immigration angle, but I'll see what I can find out when I get back to my own computer. Maybe I can at least eliminate some things."
"That would be useful,” Harriet agreed.
"Later,” Lauren said as she set her cup down and picked up her coat and purse. She went out the door without another word.
Aunt Beth and Mavis returned and settled in to their own work, Mavis making dog quilt blocks and Beth continuing with her functional dog quilt for the shelter. Harriet re-sewed the seams she'd opened and repaired the ones that had torn apart before retrieving the new piece of flannel from the dryer.
"You going to attach that flannel bag style?” Mavis asked, referring to the method of laying the front sides of two pieces of fabric together and sewing the perimeter, leaving a small open area and then turning the result inside out.
"Yeah, I thought I would do that then top-stitch the edge. I think I'll quilt around the perimeter of each of the embroidered blocks then stitch over the quilting that was done in the blank half. Whoever made it obviously assumed the quilting would be covered up.” She held it up, showing Mavis the simple grid pattern that had been done on the lower half of the quilt.
"I think I'll just use my sewing machine. There's no real reason to take the time to put it on the big machine."
"I agree,” Beth said. “Especially since you need to get that back in…” She looked at her watch. “…a couple of hours."
"I better get busy,” Harriet said.