Chapter 7
Jeanie
“Crafting is about delighting your own creative soul.”
—Eloisa Hobby
The cute town square of Crafters’ Corner was filled with crafting stores, quaint curio shops, and aromatic restaurants.
The yeasty fragrance of fresh baked goods wafted from Breaking Bread, the cozy little bakery on the corner.
At a charming outdoor bistro, colorful umbrellas covered patio tables, and a chalkboard sandwich sign listed a menu of seafood dishes.
Gorgeous flowers bloomed in planter boxes.
Overhead, string lights crisscrossed the village—they would look so magical in the evening—setting an idyllic mood.
A temporary stage with a podium graced the quad, with rows of folding chairs arranged in front of it.
Amid the festive atmosphere, crafters migrated to the seating as music played over the outdoor speakers.
Jeanie strained to hear the song above the buzz of conversations.
It took her a minute to identify Ricky Nelson’s “Garden Party,” and she helplessly hummed along.
Artie walked beside her, scanning the quad. “I don’t see anyone here remotely my age.”
“I’m sure you’re not the only teenager on the island,” Jeanie said, cradling her finest quilt in her arms. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought the quilt, but she was protective of her creation. Despite what Sharon had told her on the boat, she hoped this quilt could win her one hundred thousand dollars and save her home from foreclosure.
“I better not be!” Artie’s eyebrows shot up in alarm.
“Where shall we sit?” Jeanie shifted the quilt into her right arm and looped her left elbow through Artie’s, hoping to reassure her granddaughter that everything was all right.
“In the back so we can bounce if it’s Boresville.”
Jeanie shook her head, amused by her granddaughter. “Lead the way.”
Artie paused and glanced over her shoulder down Main Street. “Should we save a seat for Mom?”
“She might still be napping, but I suppose it won’t hurt to put my purse on an empty chair in case she shows up.” Jeanie crinkled her nose. “Unless they run out of seats, and someone needs the spot. We don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”
“Gran, you worry too much about inconveniencing others. They can sit on the planter wall if needed.”
“I don’t want anyone getting cross with us.”
Artie let out a sigh. “You also worry too much about other people’s moods.”
That was true, and she couldn’t argue. Conflict didn’t bother Artie; in fact she seemed to relish it. The girl was a lot like her grandpa Jack in that regard. Jeanie admired her devil-may-care attitude even as she was jealous of it. Jeanie worried about what people thought of her.
A lot.
“Okay, fine, we won’t save Mom a seat. If the place fills up and Mom shows, she can have my chair and I’ll sit on the planter wall. How’s that?”
“Thank you. Can we sit in the front? I can hear and see better from there.”
“Only for you, Gran.” Artie slipped her arm around Jeanie’s waist, giving her a side hug. “Only for you.”
Just as they settled into the front row, Jeanie resting the quilt on her lap, Eloisa Hobby exited the yarn store, charmingly called The Yarnery, and crossed the quad to the stage. She wore a gauzy white-and-blue dress that fluttered about her like the ocean breeze, giving her an ethereal, otherworldly appearance. On her head perched an ultramarine homburg with a white peony peeking jauntily from the hatband.
Eloisa picked up the microphone, waved at the crowd, and gave a little giggle. “Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome to your first day on Hobby Island!”
The crowd cheered.
Eloisa doffed her hat, gave an elegant bow, and then settled the hat back on her head. “Hobby Island is a place where creativity is not only embraced but exalted. Here, we consider arts and crafts as therapy and for those of you looking to escape the rat race, you’ve found your home away from home for the next two months.”
Someone tapped Jeanie’s shoulder, and she glanced up to see Luna standing there. Artie hopped up.
“Sit here, Mom.” Artie gave up her seat and darted to an empty chair in the last row.
Smiling, Luna sat down beside Jeanie. It was good to see her daughter looking so well rested.
Eloisa let Luna settle in before continuing. “Some of you won a golden ticket and are here for the competitions. Others of you are family or friends who’ve come along to support your loved ones in their endeavors. No matter who you are or where your talents lie, you’ll find something here for you to enjoy.”
Clouds thickened, casting cool shadows over the assembly. Jeanie eyed the sky. Oh dear, it might rain.
“On Sundays we have nondenominational services in our little island chapel, just right over there, with ceremonies at both nine and eleven a.m.” Eloisa pointed to the white stucco building with a terra-cotta roof and majestic bell tower several yards behind the stage.
Eloisa did a bit of housekeeping about the island and the logistics of getting around, then she described the various classes and activities available, everything from quilting to knitting to woodworking to jewelry making to paper crafts to pottery-throwing. The list went on and on.
The crowd murmured, excited.
“But that’s not all!” Eloisa walked as she talked, pacing the stage with the microphone. “We have nightly events, including concerts, stage plays, and movies on the beach.”
That was right up Jeanie’s alley. What a lovely place. How had she gotten so lucky as to snag a golden ticket?
“This place seems almost too perfect,” Luna murmured. “With its vibrant colors, peaceful atmosphere, and cheerful faces. I wonder if something darker lurks beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered.”
Goodness, but Luna could be so pessimistic and guarded sometimes. Then again, if Jeanie had been more cautious, she wouldn’t have ended up in the fix she was in. Grasping at straws to win a quilting contest to save her ancestral home from foreclosure.
“There are currently one hundred guests on the island,” Eloisa said. “And seventy-five staff members besides myself, most of whom live on the mainland in Everly. The island is a year-round home to only seven of us. So we’re quite a close-knit group, and now you are part of our community too. We’re so incredibly happy that fate has brought you all here.”
“What’s fate got to do with it? She’s the one who sent out the tickets,” Luna mumbled.
Jeanie slanted a look at her daughter. Luna had been edgy since Herc died and that was understandable. She’d been hurt and betrayed, and she was justified in her feelings, but if she didn’t open her heart, she could end up bitter. For all her own flaws and mistakes, bitter was one thing Jeanie refused to be. She prayed this vacation might help her only child relax and start healing.
“Do please have the time of your lives. Hobby Island is built for peace and happiness. Just remember,” Eloisa said, “the island gives you back what you bring to it. Bring joy, and it gives you joy in return.”
Eloisa didn’t elaborate. Jeanie peered at Luna again, who had her arms folded and her head tilted, sizing up the island owner.
Their hostess beamed from the podium. “There will be individual meet and greets at each of our seven craft shops. Pick the store that most piques your interest and dig into all that it offers. Or you can shop-hop to get a broad overview of our artistic offerings. In each craft store, the contest rules for that craft are posted.”
For a moment, the late-afternoon sun broke through the gathering clouds, casting Eloisa in a golden glow. A dove cooed from a nearby tree. The woman looked radiant. Happy.
Jeanie wished she could bottle the other woman’s peaceful contentment and drink it up like a healthy smoothie.
“The seven contests will be held at Prism Pavilion on the Saturday before everyone leaves the island. There is a five-thousand-dollar first prize for each category and a one-hundred-thousand-dollar grand prize winner!”
Jeanie had no idea how many people might enter the quilting contest, but if there were a hundred guests on the island, she had to assume her odds were far better than one in a hundred. Some people were here purely for vacation and had no interest in competing.
“If you have any questions or needs, just ask an employee. We’re all here to help,” Eloisa said. “And now I’ll let you enjoy your evening. Have fun at the craft shops and don’t forget to grab your list of contest rules if you’re entering.”
Eloisa turned an eye to the sky bunched with gray clouds. “Looks like we better hurry before the rain begins. But don’t worry, our afternoon rainstorms never last for long.”
The crowd hopped to their feet. Luna said, “I’m going after Artie, we’ll be right back,” and she took off.
A raindrop plopped on top of Jeanie’s head as the skies darkened. She hunched over her quilt to protect it from the rain. The cover she wrapped it in wasn’t waterproof and she glanced around for her daughter and granddaughter.
But the quadrangle was empty, everyone fleeing for shelter.
“Jeanie!”
She whipped her head around and saw Sharon waving to her from the doorway of the quilt shop, A Stitch in Time. “Come in! You’ll get soaked.”
Jeanie froze, the wind whipping her skirt around her legs. Where were Luna and Artie? She’d been terrified of storms since the night Jack wrapped his pickup truck around an oak tree. The memory added to her feeling of inadequacy and defeat.
The sky unzipped and dumped water on the village.
Drenched, Jeanie hurried to the side door of the quilting shop where Isabelle, Nanette, and Sharon all rallied around her. Breathless and exhilarated by her escape from the storm, she crossed the threshold and entered a delightful world of quilted comfort.
* * *
A round-faced woman with curly gray hair styled higher than Jeanie thought gravity would allow greeted her at the door. She had on a royal blue pinafore, which matched the red one that Dot had worn, and cat-eye, tortoiseshell glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Hello, I’m Clare, the owner.”
“I’m Jeanie.”
“Welcome, welcome, Jeanie. Come on in and let’s get you dried off.” Clare produced a towel from behind the counter, pushed it into Jeanie’s hand, and ushered her toward a small seating area by the window that looked out onto the street.
Sharon, Nanette, and Isabelle migrated deeper inside the store and were oohing and aahing over bolts of fabric.
Jeanie looked around the quilt shop, taking in the colorful fabrics and patterns that adorned the shelves and tables, breathing in the scent of fabric softener, cotton, and spray starch. Artistic quilts hung on the walls, many of them Hobby Island seascapes. They were all so beautiful. Far more beautiful than the quilt Jeanie clutched in her arms.
Where were Luna and Artie? She sank onto the camelback sofa. A kitten-themed quilt was spread across the back. It stirred memories of a kitten quilt her grandmother had made her, and homesick nostalgia curled inside Jeanie.
Other people came through the front door, laughing and talking and closing umbrellas. Clare sat on the sofa beside Jeanie.
“Thank you, Clare,” Jeanie said, patting her wet hair dry with the towel.
“You’re so welcome. I’m sorry I didn’t call to you sooner. You’re drenched.”
“It’s just water. I won’t melt.”
“Indeed.” Clare laughed. “You’re quite practical at heart, aren’t you?”
Jeanie lifted her shoulders to her ears. “Honestly? I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“Well, even better.” Clare grinned as if being lost was an excellent thing. “You have the joy of figuring it out. Hobby Island is the perfect place for that.”
Joy wasn’t quite the emotion Jeanie would slap on it, but okay.
“What’s that you’ve got there?” Clare cocked her inquisitive head and nodded at the quilt in Jeanie’s lap.
Jeanie’s cheeks heated. “Nothing.”
“It’s something.” The woman’s eyebrows leaped up like acrobats. “Is it a quilt?”
Jeanie pressed a hand to her forehead. “Uh-huh.”
“You brought it to enter the contest.” Clare was astute.
“I did, but on the ferry ride over, Sharon told me we have to make the quilts here. I feel like such a dummy.”
“Goodness, but how could you have known?” Clare asked.
“I should have called for clarification.”
“Well, no worries, you have this lovely quilt to fire your inspiration for the contest. Let me get you a list of the rules.”
Clare got up, went to the counter, and returned with a flyer detailing the rules for the quilting contest. Handing it to Jeanie, she sat back down again. With a sinking heart, Jeanie read the rules written in calligraphy.
Quilting Contest Rules
Quilts must be hand quilted, no machine quilting allowed.
Quilts shall be 36″ x 36″ in size.
Quilt design must depict an aspect of island life (flora, fauna, activities).
Quilts are to be made of 100% cotton fabric.
The color palette is restricted to coastal hues (blues, greens, tans).
Quilt design must be the entrant’s original work, not copying popular patterns.
Quilts will be judged on creativity, interpretation of theme, workmanship, and visual impact.
Quilt top, batting, and backing must be created on the island during the contest period.
No use of embellishments (beads, sequins, etc.). Fabric and thread only.
Quilts must be finished and submitted by the contest deadline of July 27th.
“Jeanie?” Clare put a hand to her wrist. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Jeanie said, her mind whirling from the implications of the contest rules. They seemed impossible to follow in the time allowed.
“You’re very pale, and your skin is cold.”
“It’s . . .” Jeanie rested both hands on the flyer lying atop the quilt in her lap. The paper soaked up water from the damp quilt.
“Challenging.” Clare nodded. “I understand completely. While Eloisa’s contests are quite fun, they are never easy, but it is doable. We’ve had a winner every year for the past fifteen years.”
Doubt seized Jeanie. What if she just gave up? Waved the white flag. Surrendered. Left the island? Accepted that through her own foolishness, she lost her house? Winning this contest was nothing more than a pipe dream.
But how could she just walk away? Losing her ancestral home didn’t just affect her. Luna and Artie would be homeless right along with her.
And worst of all? Either way, whether she stayed to compete or turned tail and ran, she had no choice but to tell Luna the truth.
Jeanie let out a shuddering sigh as reality sank in.
For there was no way she could win the contest without her daughter’s help. Absolutely none. While Jeanie was an expert seamstress and her workmanship impeccable, she had no eye for design, and that element counted for three out of the four points of judging criteria.
Distraught, Jeanie jumped to her feet, only to be hit by a wave of dizziness.
The next thing she knew, she was lying on the floor, looking up at Clare, Sharon, Isabelle, and Nanette.