Make Quilts Not War - By Arlene Sachitano Page 0,17

him and twice hit the quilters straight in the face, blinding them momentarily.

Harriet wondered, and not for the first time, why Irish and British singers didn’t seem to have an accent when they sang, and yet were sometimes almost unintelligible, their accents were so thick, when they spoke. She decided that if she got the chance to talk to the manager again, she was going to ask.

The show went on for a full twenty minutes before the skinny man raised his arm, made a circle in the air and then drew his hand across his neck. The music stopped as quickly as it had begun.

“Everybody good?” he asked, looking first at the men gathered around the soundboard, located in an enclosure halfway up the center seating section, and then into the wings and to the back of the auditorium at the lighting managers.

“Okay, then, there’ll be a taco bar set up in the big truck at seven. Until then, try to get some rest—we’ve got a full schedule coming up.”

Byrne went off the left side of the stage, only to reappear in the far aisle at the seating level moments later.

“What did you ladies think?” he asked as he approached Harriet, Carla and Lauren, who were still in their seats. Mavis and Connie and Aunt Beth had gone the opposite direction to straighten the last quilt they’d hung before being drafted as audience. The words rolled off his tongue with a charming lilt.

“That was great,” Carla gushed, her face lighting up.

“We were just discussing the fact that Carla’s never been to a rock concert before,” Lauren said. “You’re her first.”

“I hope I didn’t disappoint,” he said with a slight bow.

“It was…amazing,” Carla stammered.

“I’m surprised someone of your…” Lauren searched for a word.

“Renown,” Harriet supplied.

“Yes, someone of your renown would come to such a small town event as our sixties festival,” Lauren finished.

“Normally, I wouldn’t,” Colm said with a practiced smile. “As you can see, we’re equipped for a much larger venue, but when an old friend calls, what can you do?” His Irish accent seemed to get stronger as he spoke. “Wait here a second.”

He jogged to the side door to the stage, opened it and spoke to someone on the other side. He returned with three lanyards, large yellow cards swinging from their ends.

“Here you go, ladies,” he said. “They’re good for any of the performances. Come back beforehand and meet the band before we go on.”

“Thank you so much,” Carla said, gushing enough for all three of them. Harriet said a polite thank-you, and Lauren managed a tight smile.

“I suppose this means we have to go now,” Lauren said when Colm was gone.

“What an ingrate,” Harriet shot back. “Lots of girls would toss their panties on stage for this privilege.”

Lauren hit her shoulder, but Harriet just laughed.

“Where have you been?” Lauren demanded of Jenny when they had rejoined the group. She had just come up from the back of the auditorium.

“I ran into the quilt history chairman, and she wanted to go over our information with us again. Now she formally wants each trio to dress alike. And she wanted to be sure we didn’t overlap on our stories. I tried to reassure her that I didn’t have the slightest inclination to talk about mustard-yellow polyester or peach-colored shell shapes, but I guess the trio with the Amish quilt wants to tell the entire history of hand-quilting and how their quilt fits in the whole picture.”

“Are they wearing Amish costumes?” Harriet asked.

“They are, and before you ask, no, none of them is Amish.”

“Isn’t that sacrilegious?” Lauren asked.

“Perhaps,” Jenny said. “But fortunately for the organizers, there aren’t a lot of Amish in northwest Washington to call them out on it.”

“I’ll be glad when this is all over,” Connie said with a sigh. “I’ve got to make baby quilts for the unwed mothers group. We’ve got three girls having their babies next month, and one is having twins. And this bunch didn’t take to quilting the way our Carla did.”

“I think we’re done here for the day,” Aunt Beth announced. “Everyone ready to split?”

Harriet looked at her aunt.

“I’m practicing the lingo of the times, honey,” she said and laughed.

Harriet shook her head. It was going to be a long week.

Chapter 9

“Are you sure you’re okay with me leaving?” Aunt Beth asked Harriet for what had to be the tenth time.

“I’m fine. My tables are all set up, which I know you know because you and Mavis helped me. I’ve got