Chapter 15 #3
“No, probably not, considering that she lived on a frontier homestead,” Gretchen conceded with a smile. “She probably used
a flat iron that she heated up on a cast-iron stove. It probably had a detachable wooden handle to help prevent burns, and
possibly a plaster of Paris coating too.”
“Often flat irons were sold in sets of two or three irons and one handle, so while one iron was being used, another could
be heating on the stove,” Maggie added. “If Sadie had lived in the city, though, she might have owned an electric iron, or
a model that ran on gas or an alcohol-based fuel.”
Jason regarded her, skeptical. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Maggie replied. “They existed by Sadie’s day. As you can imagine, though, they weren’t exactly the safest household
appliances ever invented. They smelled bad, they were a burn and fire hazard, and they could leak or explode.”
“And that is why we’re using a modern electric iron today,” Gretchen declared cheerfully as she finished pressing the bias
strip and rolled it into a loose coil. “Safety first.”
“Now we’ll sew the binding to the front of the quilt,” said Sarah.
“By hand?” asked Paige.
“First on the treadle sewing machine, and later by hand.”
Taking the coiled strip from Gretchen, Sarah returned to her Chandelier quilt and began pinning the bias strip to the top, leaving an eight-inch tail of binding at the beginning and matching the open side rather than the crease to the raw edges of the quilt.
After that, with Maggie’s assistance, she carefully rolled up the quilt and carried it to the treadle, where she demonstrated how to sew the binding strip around the edges of the top of the quilt, removing pins as they approached the throat plate and pausing now and then to pin more of the strip in place.
Whenever she reached a corner, she invited the company to come closer to observe how she mitered them.
Even Julia paid careful attention, for mitering corners was a task she had not yet mastered, and she was glad to pick up a few new tips.
With the binding firmly attached to the top of the quilt, Sarah gathered it up in her arms and spread it out upon the center
tables once more. “The next step is to fold the binding strip over the raw edges of the quilt and sew it to the quilt back,”
said Gretchen. “Some quilters use a whip stitch, which is faster, but I prefer a blind stitch.” She showed them how both stitches
were made, pointing out how the blind stitch took more time, but afterward, the stitches were virtually invisible. “Personally,
I think that’s prettier, and then you don’t have to worry about the whip stitches snagging on something that might break the
threads.”
After demonstrating for a few minutes more, Sarah invited them all to take a turn sewing the binding to the back of the quilt.
Dylan volunteered to go first, unexpectedly and so eagerly that everyone laughed from surprise. The usual conversation and
teasing and banter broke out as they watched him have a go at it, the needle like a tiny sliver pinched between his broad,
weathered fingers. Julia watched Paige surreptitiously as the younger woman took her turn, relieved to see her enjoying herself,
the morning’s dreadful revelation apparently forgotten for the moment.
The company had finished binding two sides of the Chandelier quilt when delicious aromas began drifting into the ballroom from the banquet hall.
At noon, Gretchen praised them for their very good work and announced that after lunch, they would reconvene at the quilting frame.
“You can spend the rest of the day quilting the Nine-Patch if you wish, and part of tomorrow morning too,” she told them.
“Thanks to this morning’s lesson, you’ll know how to bind your quilt when you finish it back home. ”
“You mean at Julia’s home,” Olivia said, tossing a grin in her direction. “Hope you have a quilting frame, because you’re
playing hostess again.”
“I’ll borrow one from the props department,” Julia replied.
“I can help with that,” said Louis. “I have a key.”
“And I have a truck,” said Dylan.
“You are going to ask permission first, right, Miss Julia?” asked Paige, feigning alarm.
“Of course,” said Julia innocently as the company filed out of the classroom. “That was the plan all along.”
“And yet a heist would be so much more fun,” said Olivia, sighing.
Chef Anna’s lunch buffet was another culinary triumph, but Julia barely tasted a morsel. She wasn’t seated at Paige’s table,
but she was close enough to overhear when Paige’s cell phone rang. She watched uneasily as Paige quickly rose and hurried
into the foyer, the phone pressed to her ear. Louis hurried after her.
It was surely Paige’s agent on the line. Julia turned back to her salad and moved it around with her fork, her heart thudding
with dread.
When Paige returned, she looked both incredulous and deeply wounded. Louis had his arm around her shoulders as if to bear
her up.
“What did your agent say?” asked Ellen. “Did she find out why the director changed his mind?”
“She couldn’t get him on the phone,” said Paige. “Obviously he didn’t want to talk to her. She did hear an awful rumor, though.
It’s just a rumor, but she says it’s from a very credible source.”
“What rumor is that?” asked Julia, keeping her voice steady.
Paige inhaled shakily and spread her hands, fresh tears springing into her eyes. “The director spoke to one of the producers
of A Patchwork Life, and that producer urged him to cast someone else.”
“What?” Olivia exclaimed.
“That can’t be right,” said Ellen, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine any of them doing such a thing.”
Paige shrugged and sank into a chair, slumping forward and bracing her hands on her knees. “I can’t either. I thought they
were happy with my performance in the season five finale. Why would they have signed me for season six if they weren’t?”
“Actually, I’m the one who signed you for season six,” said Ellen. “But Paige, I promise you, none of our producers have ever
expressed any dissatisfaction with you in my hearing, not once, not ever.”
Paige’s bleak expression told them that this was no consolation. “Then why ruin my chance to land this role? They hardly know
me. Why interfere?”
“I think a better question is ‘Who?’ ” said Olivia, eyes narrowing.
As the outraged company debated who among the studio executives could have done such a terrible thing, and why, Julia braced
herself for their condemnation—until she realized that they had forgotten she was one of the executive producers. She held
perfectly still, willing herself into invisibility, as other names were brought up and voices rose in indignation and anger.
Then she chanced to look across the circle and her gaze fell on Lindsay, who also stood in silence, regarding her with stunned
uncertainty.
Thoroughly wretched, but unwilling to let someone else take the blame for her mistake, Julia waved her hands for their attention.
“It wasn’t any of them,” she said, and when no one looked her way, she raised her voice to be heard over the din. “Listen
to me. I said, it wasn’t any of them.”
The company fell silent and turned to look at her. “How would you know that, Julia darling?” asked Nigel.
She took a deep, steadying breath. “Because it was me.”