Harriet got up early on Monday morning. She showered and washed her hair before she came downstairs.
"Okay, Fred,” she said when she reached the kitchen, “Aunt Beth will come and check on you this afternoon. Your automatic feeder is full, but don't eat it all in one sitting. Your water bowl is fresh, and Auntie will refresh it every day.” Fred wove between her legs, wiping his face on her slippers. “And I'll leave my slippers by the door and you have my permission to have your way with them."
"Who are you talking to?” Mavis asked as she came in. Her customary plaid flannel shirt had been replaced by a long, loose jacket in a rust-and-green batik fabric that accentuated the touches of auburn that still streaked her otherwise gray-white hair, worn with wide-legged black pants. “The studio was open, so I let myself in,” she added.
"I was just reviewing Fred's instructions with him.” Harriet double-checked the stove burners and turned the overhead light off.
"Robin's in the drive with the car running. Do you need help with your bags?"
"No, I'm not bringing much. Should I be?"
"Not the first time,” Mavis said and led the way to Robin's blue mini-van.
In spite of her misgivings, Harriet enjoyed the trip to Angel Harbor. The drive through the cool dark forest always seemed magical. She found herself relaxing.
The women got out of the car on the big green-and-white ferry that carried them to Whidby Island. Harriet scanned the shiny water for signs of fins. She'd seen the orcas that swam the waters of the sound when she was little, but was still waiting to see them as an adult. She wanted to see if they were still as awe-inspiring or if her own diminutive size had been a factor.
"I don't know about you, but I've seen enough killers to last me a lifetime,” Robin McLeod said as she, DeAnn and Sarah joined Harriet at the rail and learned what she was looking for. The group was still mourning the murder of their long-time member, Avanell Jalbert.
"Amen to that,” DeAnn agreed. “I think this week away will be very healing for all of us."
"I've heard this week will be very hard,” Sarah Ness griped. “My friend Lillian took the workshop last year, and she said the teachers are very demanding."
"Great,” said Harriet, “Something to look forward to."
The various members of the Loose Threads never failed to give her a look at all sides of any situation that came up. No matter what happened, Robin would exude the calm she gained through her daily meditation and yoga sessions. Sarah, the group narcissist, could be counted on to explain why anything that went on was really being done to her, for her or because of her. Mavis and, by proxy, Aunt Beth would have words of wisdom for her, and as long as Connie was along, she knew she would be well-hugged. Lauren would keep her humble, with her harsh opinions on everything. She didn't know DeAnn very well but hoped to remedy that this week, as they would be roommates. She had to admit, there were advantages to having moved back to Foggy Point, even if the price was giving up her anonymity.
"We better go back to the car,” Robin said. “The ferry's going to be docking soon."
"Do you think Carla's going to survive riding with Sarah?” DeAnn asked her traveling companions once they were back in the car.
"She'll definitely know more about the life and times of Sarah Ness then anyone ought to,” Mavis chuckled.
The Angel Harbor Folk Art Center consisted of three large pavilions hidden in a stand of old growth forest five miles south of the community of Angel Harbor. The pavilions were large round buildings surrounded by a series of smaller outbuildings. Robin pulled her mini-van into the visitors parking area in front of Building B, the Fiber Arts Center.
"Let's go get our room assignments and keys,” she said and got out of the car.
Harriet followed the other Loose Threads as they picked up their class schedules, room keys and meal tickets and returned to the car. Robin drove them down a narrow lane through the cool dark forest, parking in front of a cedar-shingled building that looked more like a grounded Tree House than a cottage.
"Wow,” she said as she got out of the car and had to tilt her head to see the top floors of the place she would call home for the next week.
"They've really done a nice job of blending their buildings into the woods,” DeAnn explained. “Our dorm is actually called The Tree House.” She breathed deeply of the damp, fragrant forest. “I love spending time here. It's so peaceful I could stay forever."
Inside, Harriet carried her overnight bag up a series of stairs that narrowed with each flight she ascended. She had checked the box on her registration that said she was able to climb stairs and realized now they were serious when they'd asked.
The rooms were paneled in rough cedar plank and were furnished with two single beds, two desks, night stands and lamps and a row of pegs under the window that looked out into the woods and divided the room into two identical halves. Their bathroom was down the hall, but at least they didn't have to share it with anyone else. A vase of dried wild flowers sat on a small wooden stand near the door.
"How does it look?” Mavis asked when Harriet came back down the stairs.
"It looks cozy-I think the comforters are real goose down. You'd think they would have artistically handcrafted bed quilts."
Mavis looked away.
"What?” Harriet asked.
"What Mavis doesn't want to tell you is that the first floor rooms are filled with unique handcrafted items,” Robin said. “The decorator hasn't gone upstairs yet."
"They probably don't tour prospective guests beyond the first floor,” DeAnn said as she came down the stairs. “If the dried weed decoration in our room is any indication, these folks aren't rolling in money. Either that, or they pour their money into their art."
"What she's trying to say is, they're stingy with the heat and most meals are some kind of soup,” Lauren informed them. “And be careful when you sit on the sofa in front of the fireplace. Its springs are killer."
Count on Lauren to hit the low points, Harriet thought.
"Come on, ladies, we should go on down to the fiber arts pavilion-new student orientation will start in…” Mavis glanced at her watch. “…fifteen minutes, and if she has to lecture Carla and Harriet on punctuality it will be that much longer until we get our tea."
The women gathered their purses and sweaters and left the Tree House.
"Who is she, and does she lecture a lot?” Harriet whispered to DeAnn as they walked along the wooded path that led to their destination.
"She is Selestina Bainbridge, the head of the fiber arts department and owner of the whole shebang,” DeAnn replied, and waved her arms to indicate the woods around them. “Legend has it she inherited it from her husband who died years ago in the arms of his lover at the no-tell motel out by the highway. Apparently, he was sent to meet his maker by the lover's unforgiving spouse."
"So she doesn't have any issues, right?” Harriet said with a laugh.
DeAnn just rolled her eyes skyward.