Make Quilts Not War - By Arlene Sachitano Page 0,25

was wearing tonight,” Jenny began. Harriet noticed for the first time that she had changed from her sixties outfit into a silver velour jogging suit.

“And?” Lauren prompted.

“And I hope you all will still want to be my friends after I tell you all this.”

“You know there is nothing you can say that will cause us to not be your friends,” Mavis assured her.

“I’ve been lying to you all for a very long time.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Not exactly lying, but being dishonest, all the same. I’ve let you believe certain things and not corrected you when you came to the wrong conclusions. In fact, I led you there.”

“Honey, you’re going to have to tell us a little more than that,” Mavis said.

“I know, I’m sorry, I–it’s just hard after all this time.” Jenny sipped her coffee, stalling. “I’m not from Foggy Point.”

“Well, that’s hardly a crime,” Lauren said.

“I’ve lived here for some time, but not as long as I’ve let you believe. I didn’t graduate from the University of Wisconsin. In fact, I didn’t graduate from anywhere—not even high school. At least, not in the normal sense.

“I grew up in a commune in Georgeville, Minnesota. It was started by a couple of assistant professors from Smith College. They’d been fired for their liberal views so they ‘tuned in, turned on and dropped out,’ as the saying went back then. They did value education, so we were educated, but they didn’t believe in ‘the man,’ or ‘the system,’ so we were never tested by the state or given real diplomas.”

“Who were ‘we?’” Harriet asked.

“All of us at the commune who were school-aged. I thought I’d put that time of my life behind me years ago. I moved on. I have a wonderful husband and son. I don’t like thinking about those times.” She started crying again. “This whole festival has brought it all back.”

“Honey,” Mavis said in a soothing voice, “nothing you’ve told us is anything to be ashamed of. That all happened a long time ago; it’s not who you are today. You’re right. You have a wonderful family and a group of friends who care a lot about you.”

“You still haven’t told us anything about why you would think that bullet had your name on it,” Harriet said.

“Shush,” Aunt Beth told her. “Jenny is upset enough. We don’t need to hear anything else tonight.”

Harriet looked at Lauren. She could see there were at least two people in the room who wanted to hear more tonight. But then, maybe that was because they were the two who had seen Jenny step past Pamela’s body as though it didn’t exist.

“Is there anything about your time living in the commune that would cause you to worry about our festival forty some years later?” Robin asked.

“No,” Jenny said.

Harriet looked at Lauren and could tell they were thinking the same thing. You didn’t have to be a lawyer or a body language expert to tell Jenny was still lying.

“Did you sign up any new customers?” Aunt Beth asked Harriet, ending any further discussion of Jenny’s past.

Harriet gave a detailed accounting of her time in the booth, complemented by snide observations from Lauren. Robin and DeAnn told them about the customers they’d helped, but it was clear the Loose Threads were only half-listening.

Harriet was still thinking about Jenny’s commune revelation. She wondered if she’d be more shocked about it if she’d come of age in the sixties. She just couldn’t understand why Jenny was acting like being raised in a commune was such a horrible stigma.

“I told Jorge I’d help him dip more Twinkies in chocolate in the morning before the festival opens, so I better get going,” Aunt Beth said finally. “Are you ready to leave?” she asked Jenny.

Harriet was pretty sure Jenny’d been ready to leave since before she arrived.

The group all assured her they supported her and loved her, and they each gave her a hug before she made her way out the door, followed by Beth.

“Anyone else think she’s lying through her teeth?” Lauren asked when the door was closed again.

“Lying might be too strong a word,” Robin said, “but I agree—she’s still holding something back. And I don’t for a second think she’s just embarrassed about her educational background.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up on the Internet,” Lauren said.

“Her quilt doesn’t look like the rest of the quilts on display,” Carla said, her cheeks turning red. “I mean, it sort of does, but that big