“Lunch will be a picnic buffet on the verandah at noon,” Sarah said as Julia turned to go. “Or, if you really prefer solitude, you can stop by the kitchen and take a tray up to your room.”
Julia thanked her with a nod. If those were her only options, a tray in her solitary room would have to do.
Julia approached her afternoon class, Appliqué Workshop, with the same purposeful energy that had seen her through many a difficult audition. She arrived precisely on time and chose a place in the back row, determined to avoid repeating the morning’s spectacle by drawing as little attention to herself as possible. Another student was already seated at the table, but her gaze was riveted on the teacher, a petite, white-haired woman whose blue eyes shone warmly behind pink-tinted glasses as she introduced herself as Agnes Emberly and welcomed them to class. Next she distributed pattern sheets, one stack for each row. “Take one and pass the rest down,” she chirped, smiling.
Julia’s table partner sat on the aisle, so she took a page from the top of the stack and turned to pass the rest to Julia. She gasped, her eyes widening in recognition. Julia smiled grimly and tried to take the papers, but the other woman was so astonished that she forgot to release her grip. “I have them, thanks,” Julia said, tugging at the pages in vain.
The other woman released the pages as if they were on fire. “Sorry.” She was about fifty years old and a bit stout, with long, straight blond hair swept back into a loose bun and held in place with a pink plastic claw clip.
Julia nodded in reply and turned to face front, but she felt the woman’s eyes on her even after Agnes began the lesson. She was used to brief stares from a stranger, but when it went on much too long, she gave the woman a sidelong glance. The other woman blushed, snatched her gaze away, and pretended she had been studying the pattern sheet.
Muffling a sigh, Julia focused her attention on Agnes’s instructions, which were mercifully easier to follow than those in Quick Piecing. When Agnes announced that someone from each table needed to come to the front of the room for a roll of freezer paper,Julia’s table partner bolted up from her chair. “I’ll get it,” she said, smiling. Julia gave the barest of nods without looking her way. “Here we go,” the woman said brightly when she returned, placing the long blue box on the table between them.
“Thanks,” Julia murmured. The woman was trying to make up for her starstruck moment by treating her like any other student. That was actually rather nice.
Following Agnes’s instructions, Julia tore off a sheet of freezer paper from the roll, placed it on top of the pattern sheet, and began tracing the first design. Uncertain, she glanced over at her table partner, who had deftly completed her first tracing and moved on to the second. Julia promptly decided to follow along, and between Agnes’s instructions and her unwitting table partner’s demonstration, she managed to stumble through the making of several stylized flower buds and leaves. But perhaps the woman wasn’t as unwitting as Julia believed, for soon it seemed as if she was deliberately slowing her movements and taking care not to block Julia’s view of her work.
Julia managed well enough until she attempted to sew the appliqué to the background fabric. She couldn’t quite make the needle slip through both pieces so that they aligned correctly, and she struggled to make small stitches that didn’t create little corners where a smooth curve should be.
“Do you want some help?” her table partner murmured, in a distinct Upper Midwest accent.
Julia nodded, wishing she had concealed her frustration better. The woman quietly explained the steps again, demonstrating each one. When Julia tried again, she managed to complete a shaky but perfectly respectable appliqué stitch. “Thank you,” she said, offering the woman a tentative smile. “I think I have it now.”
“I think you do too,” the woman said, beaming like a proud teacher.
They both soon became engrossed in their own work. Agnes continued to offer instructions to the group, and when she made herrounds of the classroom, she gave Julia specific advice and much-welcome encouragement. For the first time, Julia felt confident that given enough practice, she should be able to master the skills required for the role.
But sufficient time to practice was precisely what she didn’t have. She needed a crash course, a quilting boot camp. At the very least, she needed a quilting consultant, a technical adviser.
“Excuse me,” she murmured to her table partner as the class was drawing to a close. “I don’t mean to interrupt you, but you seem to know more about this than I.”
“Just a little, maybe,” the woman replied diplomatically.
“I wondered...” Julia hesitated. “Is this the same method as needle-turned appliqué, just using a different name?”
“No, they’re two different styles. Agnes probably picked freezer paper because many people think it’s easier.”
“I see. But this technique has been around just as long, I suppose?”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t think so. As far as I know, freezer paper appliqué is fairly modern.”
“Oh, dear.” Julia set down her needle and sank back into her chair, her fledging hopes vanishing. “I have to learn needle-turned appliqué.”
“Your Whig Rose block will look exactly the same,” the other woman assured her. “It doesn’t matter what technique you use.”
“It does matter.” Julia took her notebook from the paper bag and opened it to the first page. “I have to learn certain quilting techniques for a movie role. But this morning I found out I was in the wrong piecing class, and now I’m in the wrong appliqué class—”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.” She patted Julia’s shoulder consolingly and picked up the notebook. “Let’s take a look at this list. Okay. All of these terms have to do with piecing. Are you taking Beginning Piecing?”
“I’m transferring to it tomorrow.”
“Then you’ll definitely cover the first half of the list.” The womanpointed to the next few lines. “These steps here have to do with quilting a finished top. Did you sign up for a class on quilting?”
Julia nodded.
“Hand or machine?”
“Hand.”
