The Case of the Bartered Quilt The Case of the Bartered QuiltShe came into the office carrying one of those Priority Mail envelopes. She looked quite worried. “I don’t know if you do this sort of thing or not,” she said. “My cousin is always teasing me about my crafts and the baskets that I made out of paper seem to the last straw, so to speak.” I couldn’t let this one pass. “What kind of baskets do you make out of paper?” I asked quietly. “Oh, haven’t you seen them? I’ll give you one next time I see you. I take old slick magazines and roll the papers into long thin tubes and then weave those into baskets. After you shellac them, you can’t even tell that they are paper.”
I decided to take her word for that. “So what’s the problem?” I asked before we got into more crafting lessons. “Well, my cousin says that I take all kinds of garbage and turn it into perfectly useless objects. So she
sent me some fabric that was leftover from some of her sewing projects and she has challenged me to make a quilt before the family reunion at the end of August. Could you do that?”
“It depends,” I said reaching for the envelope. I have learned to look before I leap. I have seen people wanting to make quilts from scraps of rayon. I’m not saying that it can’t be done, but I’m not the one who is going to do it. I was very relieved to find 4 pieces of nice cotton fabric in the envelope. In fact, they were quite pretty. "Yes, I could make a quilt using these fabrics, but wouldn’t that be cheating?” “First of all,” she said. “You may remember how traumatized I was in our old high school sewing classes. I break out in a cold sweat anytime I think about sewing.”
I knew this was true. There was the time that she was supposed to place a pattern piece on the fold. She did, and then she cut it open. I can still remember the shriek that the teacher let out when she discovered that.
“So,” she continued. “I thought that it wouldn’t be exactly cheating if we traded services. You make my quilt and I do something for you.”
I was taken aback. In my business we usually work for money or every once in awhile I will take a job and will be paid in fabric. What in the world could she do for me? “Do you do windows?” I asked jokingly. But she
answered that she didn’t mind doing windows at all. Then I had a thought. “How are you at putting pictures into albums?” “Now that is no problem at all for me, “ Skip said.
“Okay, I will make a quilt for you if you take that box of pictures over there and get them into albums which I will supply.” She didn’t blink as eye at the cardboard box full of envelopes of pictures taken over the last
several years. “I will do that and I will do your windows too.”
So she went off with carrying my box of pictures and I was left with her fabrics. I told her to call in a week to check on my progress.
Step 1: Fabric requirements and the first cut
Skip came bouncing into the office early the next Monday morning. How can anyone be that perky on Monday morning? I was just about approaching consciousness with my second cup of coffee. Mornings are bad. Monday mornings are worse.
“How’s my quilt coming?” she asked. “Fine, fine,” I said. At least I think this is what I said. Mornings are bad. To delay more questions from her, I asked how she was doing with my picture albums.
“I’m really enjoying that,” she said. “I didn’t realize there were so many different kinds of quilts. I like how you take a picture of something to identify each quilt show, like a poster or the brochure cover or something.
That sure helps in ordering the pictures. AND, I am very glad that your camera has that date feature on it. You would never know when some of those pictures were taken without that.” She was right about that. That was one of the features that sold me on that camera. I was grateful that she didn’t say anything about how I let all of those pictures pile up and all of that. I guess she thought that she shouldn’t criticize or I might not do her
quilt.
“I have to ask you about this one picture”, she said.
“Only one?” I asked.
She giggled. “What’s the story with this one of your receptionist, Mr. June?”
“I don’t know the whole story. Last year he went on a cruise. When he came back, he gave me that picture. He said that he had forgotten his tuxedo pants and didn't discover that until dress-up night. I don’t know who he was with on the cruise or who took the picture,” I answered.
“What kind of detective are you?” she teased. “It would drive me crazy not to know details like that.”
I actually knew very little about his private life and he wasn’t exactly my receptionist although he wanted everyone to think that. I answered truthfully, “He likes his privacy and I respect that. I know very little of
his private life and vice versa. I keep my work and private life completely separate.” I secretly crossed my fingers when I said that because I was actually very curious about that particular picture. I had even made a
quilt from that snapshot because I was so intrigued by it. Mr. June had just smiled when he saw the quilt.
I decided to change the subject. “What’s the story with your cousin?” I asked. “Why do you feel that you have to make her think that you made this quilt?”
“Do you remember that disastrous sewing class that we had in high school? Well it wasn’t that bad for you, but it sure was for me. I got a D in that class, the only D that I have received in my whole life. My mother told my
aunt who told my cousin who hasn’t let me forget it since then. She was never real smart and she didn’t do very well in school at all, but she did get an A in home ec. It was probably the only A that she had in her whole
academic career. She married her high school sweetheart and has never looked back. I was the one with the good grades, except for sewing. I went to college and did all the right things and my marriage still fell apart. I
work full time and make crafts for sale besides so that I can keep up with my mortgage payments. I will not let her make me look like a fool in front of all of the relatives in August. Sorry, for going on so. I guess that we
were childhood rivals and I haven’t gotten over that yet.”
“Hey, I understand completely,” I said. And I did too. “How do you like what I’ve done so far?”
“Hey, that’s looking pretty good,” she said. “I’ll give you a call this weekend to do your windows. I’m enjoying seeing all of your pictures too, but do me a favor and find out Mr. June’s story.”
After Skip left the office, Mr. June came in carrying something. “Your client gave me this, “ he said.
“What in the world is that?” I asked, much against my better judgment. At first glance it looked like one of those plastic things that holds a 6 pack of soda cans together and it was attached to a stick. At second glance,
still looked that way.
“She said that it is a fly swatter for blondes.”
I groaned, but then I had to laugh too. “At least she is the blonde. I don’t think that you qualify.”
Mr. June said, “This is the first gag gift that anybody has given me since college, and that was awhile ago. Now I only get neckties and fountain pens.”
“Fountain pens?” I asked.
“You’re not so young that you don’t know fountain pens are the kind that take actual ink, “ he replied.
“Oh, I know what they are, but I didn’t know that anybody still used them. I didn’t even know that you could buy ink. Do you use them?”
“Heck no. I tried, but I got ink all over my shirt and my letters had big inkblots. It was a real mess. Now I mostly use the computer, and if I have to write longhand, I prefer those real cheap pens that you get in the
discount store. They are usually ten for a dollar,” he answered. “I must look like the fountain pen type cause I have a whole drawer full. Maybe I can donate them to the museum someday. That is where they belong now.
Anyway, what’s her story? I know that her real name is Mary Louise, not Skip.”
I wondered how he knew that. She despises her real name and never uses it. I think that even her driver’s license says Skip.
“We are old high school friends,” I told him. I used to think about those days all the time. The older I get, the less important it seems. Guess that is one of the advantages of maturity. So I told him some of the old
stories about Skip and our high school days. She was a pretty good student, but very impatient. That was especially true in Home Economics. She did everything as quickly and as easily as she possibly could, usually by skipping a couple of steps.
We had one semester of sewing followed by one of cooking. I think that Skip ’s mother forced her to take the class because I can’t imagine that she did it on her own. I still remember how every time the teacher would ask her about something, she would say that she had skipped it. She skipped interfacing because nobody could see it. She skipped seam finishing for the same reason. She hot glued buttons on the front of the dress and pinned it shut. The whole semester was like that.
We thought that cooking might be better, but if anything, it was worse. She even messed up Jell-O. She skipped the step of boiling the water. Then she didn’t know what baking powder was, so she skipped it and her Snickerdoodles were another failure. Then there was the time that she skipped the cover and simmer for the spaghetti sauce. She simmered without a cover and had to stay after school to clean the stove. After awhile we all just started calling her Skip. She must have been the same at home because before we knew, it her mother was calling her that too.
“I hope that she is more responsible now,” he said. “What kind of work does she do? Since she is divorced and self-supporting, she must do something more than making and selling crafts.”
How did he know that she was divorced? He seemed to know way too much about my clients. “She is a firefighter now. She has a degree in art, but after her husband left, she joined the fire department. She seems to love it and she was recently promoted, so she must do it well, “ I explained.
“She certainly looks fit,” he said as he left my office.
I sat there pondering the irony that they were both so interested in each other. I hoped that I wasn’t going to be caught in the middle of a May December romance.
I was starting to dread Skip’s next visit. I knew that she was going to grill me about Mr. June and I didn’t know what I was going to tell her. For that matter, I didn’t know how much I could tell her.
I met Mr. June when we both showed up to in response to an ad for an office to rent. The rent was a little more than I could really afford, and I didn’t need a reception room, plus office. I was a one-woman operation. I said as much to the real estate agent. The man that I came to know as Mr. June said that since he was also looking for a one-room office, maybe we could combine resources and share these two rooms.
We retired to a nearby coffee shop to discuss the matter. He told me that he had recently retired and wanted to do some writing. He knew after just a few weeks at home that he needed to go someplace to work. When he was at home, he frittered away his time and before he knew it the day had evaporated. I was in pretty much the same situation. Also, I was getting tired of strangers trooping in and out of my house. He said that he was
willing to pay half of the rent and act as my receptionist as long as I didn’t give him much work. He said that it would look better if everyone thought that he had a job. I wasn’t sure how I felt about all of this. He
suggested that I have my lawyer call his and make all the arrangements, which is what I did.
My lawyer is an old family friend who I would trust with my life. He assured me that Mr. June had legitimate reasons for not releasing his real name. The lawyer also seemed to think that I had lucked into a really good
deal here, and, as I said, I do trust this lawyer.
I have to admit that I am terribly curious about Mr. June and as a lifelong mystery reader, I can imagine all kinds of scenarios. At first, I was sure that he was in the Witness Protection Program. In fact, that is still a
real big possibility in my mind.
Then I started to wonder about this writing of his. It is true that he does spend most of the day writing, but I never get to see any of it. Even if he leaves the office to go to the restroom down the hall, he closes his writing
program. I know that it is password protected so I haven’t even fooled with it. He never ever has papers around the office. He told me that he was a history buff, but I don’t think that he is writing about World War One, which is what he led me to believe. Whatever he is writing, I am sure that he is using a nom de plume so that is not going to help establish his real identity.
My next hypothesis was that his wife couldn’t stand him and made him get another job. I got that idea from my aunt when my uncle retired. She said that she couldn’t stand it with his being around all day so she went to
work. I thought that was kind of extreme, but then I didn’t have to live with the man either. However, I have no idea if Mr. June is married or single, if he lives alone or not. For all I know, he might share a house with 10 roommates. I seriously doubt that though.
Lately, I have started to think that he was some sort of law enforcement official or maybe even a secret agent. I know that sounds dramatic, but he sure can find out things that nobody else can. This last episode with Skip
was proof of that. I never told him that she was divorced and self-supporting, much less that her real name was Mary Louise. How did he know all of that?
I guess that I should just respect the man’s privacy, but I am curious. What kind of a detective would I be without curiosity? It is a job requirement even for a quilt detective. I hope that I can discover his real story someday.
A couple of weeks later, Skip came bouncing into my office bright and early to see the finished quilt top. I am one of those people who says, “If it weren’t for the last minute, I wouldn’t get anything done.” However, this
was an easy top and I had finished it a couple of days ago.
“Hey, I like this,” she said. “Are you sure this is easy enough that I could have done it?”
I assured her that it was an easy design that even a beginner could do. As we were talking, she was looking at some quilts that I had in the office. “Uh oh,” she said. “All of these quilts have a label with your name on it.
If you do that my cousin will know that I didn’t make this.”
“It is very important that all finished quilts have a label, both to identify the quilter now and in the future”, I answered. “Ideally, the label is appliquéd onto the backing of the quilt and quilted right along with the quilt. It can’t be removed without damaging the quilt. That is the best thing, but most people just do a label and sew it on at the very end. I also put my name on a couple of the seam allowances inside with indelible ink. I will always be able to identify my own quilts even if someone removes the labels. “
“That’s cool,” Skip said. “Did they teach you that in Quilt Detective school?”
I had to laugh. “If only there were such a place,” I answered. “More and more quilters are taking these steps because so many quilts are being stolen. I recently read of one that was recovered because the label had
been quilted through and couldn’t be removed.”
“What should we do about a label on this? I want my cousin to think that I did this, but that is only a joke. I don’t want to claim your work as mine for the rest of the world,” she said.
I had been thinking about this problem so I did have a solution to offer.
“I think that you should just show her the top and say that you are going to send it out to be quilted. After the picnic, bring it back and I will quilt it. If I’m too busy, there is a lady in town with a big quilting machine who can do it for a reasonable price. I will make sure that it is correctly labeled. Chances are that your cousin will never know that you didn’t make it.”
“Works for me,” she said. “Now that I know more about it, I am almost sorry that I started this whole thing. Mostly I am sorry that I let her get to me.”
“Those things are leftover from our childhood,” I replied. “In my work I have met elderly ladies who are still stirred up over something that happened 60 or 70 years ago. I hate to think of the time and energy they
have wasted holding onto those grudges.”
Skip threw up her hands. “Okay. Okay. After this I am going to call it even with her and never ever again let her upset me. “
“Would that it were so easy,” I said. “But it sounds like a good idea to me. You are too smart to waste your life on these petty competitions. Lecture over. Take your quilt top and go have fun with your family.”
“Thank you. I will, but before I go, I am still waiting to hear all about your Mr. June.”
I had been hoping that I could get her on her way before she remembered to ask me. I really did not think that I should tell her about our special arrangement with the office rental. That was too private to share with anyone, even a good friend like Skip.
“You might not believe it, but I really do not know all that much about the man. He is retired from the government. I like to have someone in the front office to answer the phone, etc., but I don’t have enough work to keep someone busy. He is doing some writing on his own and I am happy with that arrangement.”
“So I will stop on the way out and wish him good luck with his book,” Skip said.
I think that she expected me to object, but I didn’t care. I knew that if she found out something new, she wouldn’t be able to resist letting me know. It had been fun working with Skip on this easy quilt, but I sure hoped that my next assignment would be more challenging. It would be nice if it got me out of the office for awhile too. In the meantime, I think that I will go check out the fabric sales.
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