Chapter 3 #4
“I’m sorry you didn’t get a list,” said Sarah. “After class, why don’t you show me your course schedule and I’ll send into
town for the rest of the supplies you’ll need.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” Julia couldn’t bear for her to think that an experienced quilter would be so ignorant. “I’m
sorry for the disruption, but I’ve never quilted before.”
The white-haired woman’s eyebrows rose. “This is your first quilting class? Ever? My goodness, you’re ambitious, skipping
the basics and going straight to this high-tech stuff.”
“Skipping . . .” Julia looked from the white-haired woman to Sarah. “This isn’t a beginner’s course?”
“Most new quilters start out in Beginning Piecing,” Sarah said. “You’ve really never quilted before?”
Julia shook her head. Wasn’t it obvious?
“Then . . .” Sarah hesitated. “I don’t mean to question your judgment, but why did you sign up for Quick Piecing?”
Julia had never even seen a course description. Ares had signed her up for this course, and suddenly she understood why. “Because I need to learn quickly.”
The white-haired woman laughed as if Julia had made a joke, but Sarah smiled kindly. “I think tomorrow morning we should switch
you to Diane’s Beginning Piecing class, okay?”
Julia managed a smile. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
As the class resumed, the white-haired woman settled into an empty workspace at Julia’s table and did what she could to help
her keep up, but Julia was in over her head and she knew it. When Sarah called for a fifteen-minute break, while the other
students rose to stretch and strike up conversations with their neighbors, Julia thanked her would-be tutor, gathered her
things, and headed for the exit, murmuring a hasty apology to Sarah in passing.
“Miss Merchaud, wait,” Sarah called after her.
Julia halted, muffling a sigh. “Julia,” she said, turning around. “Just Julia is fine.”
“Julia,” Sarah said. “Please don’t feel embarrassed. You did well for your first-ever quilting lesson.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Julia said, clutching her hand-me-down supplies awkwardly. “I’ve bombed in front of live audiences
before and survived.”
“You didn’t bomb.” Sarah gestured to Julia’s gifted supplies. “Do you need a bag for all that?”
“Yes, please, if you have one.”
“One sec.” Sarah darted back into the classroom and returned moments later with a paper grocery sack that had seen better
days. “Sorry,” she said, holding it open so Julia could fill it. “Best I could do on short notice.”
“It’s fine.” Julia took the bag, holding it carefully from the bottom. “Thank you.”
“Lunch will be a picnic buffet on the verandah at noon,” Sarah said as Julia turned to go. “Or, if you really prefer solitude,
you can stop by the kitchen and take a tray up to your room.”
Julia thanked her with a nod. If those were her only options, a tray in her solitary room would have to do.
Julia approached her afternoon class, Appliqué Workshop, with the same purposeful energy that had seen her through many a
difficult audition. She arrived precisely on time and chose a place in the back row, determined to avoid repeating the morning’s
spectacle by drawing as little attention to herself as possible. Another student was already seated at the table, but her
gaze was riveted on the teacher, a petite, white-haired woman whose blue eyes shone warmly behind pink-tinted glasses as she
introduced herself as Agnes Emberly and welcomed them to class. Next she distributed pattern sheets, one stack for each row.
“Take one and pass the rest down,” she chirped, smiling.
Julia’s table partner sat on the aisle, so she took a page from the top of the stack and turned to pass the rest to Julia.
She gasped, her eyes widening in recognition. Julia smiled grimly and tried to take the papers, but the other woman was so
astonished that she forgot to release her grip. “I have them, thanks,” Julia said, tugging at the pages in vain.
The other woman released the pages as if they were on fire. “Sorry.” She was about fifty years old and a bit stout, with long,
straight blond hair swept back into a loose bun and held in place with a pink plastic claw clip.
Julia nodded in reply and turned to face front, but she felt the woman’s eyes on her even after Agnes began the lesson. She
was used to brief stares from a stranger, but when it went on much too long, she gave the woman a sidelong glance. The other
woman blushed, snatched her gaze away, and pretended she had been studying the pattern sheet.
Muffling a sigh, Julia focused her attention on Agnes’s instructions, which were mercifully easier to follow than those in Quick Piecing.
When Agnes announced that someone from each table needed to come to the front of the room for a roll of freezer paper, Julia’s table partner bolted up from her chair.
“I’ll get it,” she said, smiling. Julia gave the barest of nods without looking her way.
“Here we go,” the woman said brightly when she returned, placing the long blue box on the table between them.
“Thanks,” Julia murmured. The woman was trying to make up for her starstruck moment by treating her like any other student.
That was actually rather nice.
Following Agnes’s instructions, Julia tore off a sheet of freezer paper from the roll, placed it on top of the pattern sheet,
and began tracing the first design. Uncertain, she glanced over at her table partner, who had deftly completed her first tracing
and moved on to the second. Julia promptly decided to follow along, and between Agnes’s instructions and her unwitting table
partner’s demonstration, she managed to stumble through the making of several stylized flower buds and leaves. But perhaps
the woman wasn’t as unwitting as Julia believed, for soon it seemed as if she was deliberately slowing her movements and taking
care not to block Julia’s view of her work.
Julia managed well enough until she attempted to sew the appliqué to the background fabric. She couldn’t quite make the needle
slip through both pieces so that they aligned correctly, and she struggled to make small stitches that didn’t create little
corners where a smooth curve should be.
“Do you want some help?” her table partner murmured, in a distinct Upper Midwest accent.
Julia nodded, wishing she had concealed her frustration better. The woman quietly explained the steps again, demonstrating
each one. When Julia tried again, she managed to complete a shaky but perfectly respectable appliqué stitch. “Thank you,”
she said, offering the woman a tentative smile. “I think I have it now.”
“I think you do too,” the woman said, beaming like a proud teacher.
They both soon became engrossed in their own work.
Agnes continued to offer instructions to the group, and when she made her rounds of the classroom, she gave Julia specific advice and much-welcome encouragement.
For the first time, Julia felt confident that given enough practice, she should be able to master the skills required for the role.
But sufficient time to practice was precisely what she didn’t have. She needed a crash course, a quilting boot camp. At the
very least, she needed a quilting consultant, a technical adviser.
“Excuse me,” she murmured to her table partner as the class was drawing to a close. “I don’t mean to interrupt you, but you
seem to know more about this than I.”
“Just a little, maybe,” the woman replied diplomatically.
“I wondered . . .” Julia hesitated. “Is this the same method as needle-turned appliqué, just using a different name?”
“No, they’re two different styles. Agnes probably picked freezer paper because many people think it’s easier.”
“I see. But this technique has been around just as long, I suppose?”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t think so. As far as I know, freezer paper appliqué is fairly modern.”
“Oh, dear.” Julia set down her needle and sank back into her chair, her fledging hopes vanishing. “I have to learn needle-turned
appliqué.”
“Your Whig Rose block will look exactly the same,” the other woman assured her. “It doesn’t matter what technique you use.”
“It does matter.” Julia took her notebook from the paper bag and opened it to the first page. “I have to learn certain quilting
techniques for a movie role. But this morning I found out I was in the wrong piecing class, and now I’m in the wrong appliqué
class—”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.” She patted Julia’s shoulder consolingly and picked up the notebook. “Let’s take a look
at this list. Okay. All of these terms have to do with piecing. Are you taking Beginning Piecing?”
“I’m transferring to it tomorrow.”
“Then you’ll definitely cover the first half of the list.” The woman pointed to the next few lines. “These steps here have to do with quilting a finished top. Did you sign up for a class on quilting?”
Julia nodded.
“Hand or machine?”
“Hand.”
“Then you’re all set there too. The only problem seems to be needle-turned appliqué.” As the woman returned the notebook,
her face brightened. “If you like, I could teach you during free time.”
For a moment Julia was rendered speechless. “You would do that for me?”
“Sure. I’ve never won any ribbons for my appliqué, but I can at least give you a crash course in the basics.”
Julia gratefully accepted. She could hardly believe her good luck when the woman, who introduced herself as Donna, offered
to begin tutoring her right after class. And although she looked puzzled when Julia asked her not to reveal to anyone that
she wasn’t already an expert quilter, she barely even flinched when Julia asked her to sign a confidentiality agreement to
make certain of it.
Five years later, Donna still enjoyed teasing her about that confidentiality agreement, and Julia was still embarrassed that
she had asked. It was hard to imagine now why a binding agreement had seemed so necessary then.
Because although she didn’t realize it, she and Donna were poised at the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Donna’s appliqué tutorials were the first step.
Then, the next day, the friendly white-haired quilter from Quick Piecing knocked on Julia’s door by mistake while searching for another camper, Megan, whom Vinnie hoped to introduce to her newly single grandson.
When Vinnie learned that Julia planned to eat lunch alone in her room, she insisted that Julia accompany her to the banquet hall for the legendary, absolutely-not-to-be-missed made-to-order pasta buffet.
Julia soon found herself enjoying a surprisingly excellent dish of al dente penne with sun-dried tomatoes, fresh basil, and extra-virgin olive oil with Vinnie; Megan, the camper Vinnie had been searching for when she knocked on Julia’s door; Vinnie’s other new friend, Grace, who had riveted Julia with her moving confession at Candlelight about longing for creative inspiration; and Donna herself, who looked just as surprised to see Julia pulling up a chair at their table as Julia was to find herself there.
As the days passed and they shared confidences and encouragement in quilting lessons and late-night chats, the new acquaintances
stitched together a friendship unlike any Julia had ever known. They had all come to Elm Creek Quilt Camp seeking an escape
from problems back home, and they had found in one another the mutual support and understanding they needed to return to their
daily lives with renewed confidence to overcome whatever troubled them. On the last day of camp, the thought of bidding one
another farewell and scattering across the country never to meet again was so heartbreaking that they vowed to return the
same time the following year to enjoy another magical week of quilting and friendship together.
And so they had done, every year since.
The Cross-Country Quilters had become Julia’s most cherished friends, her most trusted confidantes. Julia knew she could safely
confess the secrets of her heart to them, for they would listen without judgment and offer whatever comfort or insight or
counsel they could.
If the Cross-Country Quilters couldn’t help her figure out a way to keep her cast and crew together and save A Patchwork Life, then it simply wasn’t possible—and Julia refused to believe that was so.