The Aloha Quilt (9 page)

“You’ve convinced me,” said Claire. “Now convince them.”

“First we have to decide whether you’ll need one teacher and an assistant or two,
or several teachers with different areas of expertise. And that depends upon how you
want to set up your program.”

“I just figured we’d duplicate what you do at Elm Creek Quilt Camp.”

“You can’t, not really. You only have one classroom.” Bonnie traced patterns in the
sand with the palm leaf. “Maybe Aloha Quilt Camp could offer classes in a different
quilting technique each morning, so that campers could sign up for those that appeal
to them and skip the others. Or you could offer instruction on a single, advanced
project, such as a traditional Hawaiian quilt from start to finish, with new steps
presented each day in a morning seminar.”

“Why can’t we do both? Why couldn’t we have one week focused on a single project followed
by a week offering a variety of classes?”

“That’ll make hiring teachers more difficult,” Bonnie pointed out. “A steady job is
more appealing than working only every other week.”

“But it would be steady work. One week each instructor could offer a workshop on her
favorite quilting technique, one
each morning. The next week they could team-teach the week-long project.”

“That’s asking a lot of our teachers.”

“I know they can manage with you to lead them.”

Bonnie groaned. “Again, I won’t be here and you know it. Sometimes you drive me crazy.”

“And sometimes you drive me crazy, so we’re even.” Claire tucked her hands beneath
her head and closed her eyes. “If it helps, I’ve already started a list of potential
local quilting instructors who might be willing to teach for us. We can also ask Midori
to inquire at her quilt guild. I don’t know if any of them have taught before, but
there are some fantastic quilters in that group and it wouldn’t hurt to ask. I bet
Midori would have some great suggestions for evening programs, too.”

“I’ll take that list, thanks, and I’ll definitely talk to Midori.” Following Claire’s
example, Bonnie set her notebook and pen aside and stretched out on her grass mat.
She wondered if Skyline Eco Adventures offered evening hikes and how many of their
campers might surprise themselves by daring more than they had ever thought possible.
She wondered if like her they would feel the surge of pride and the renewal of confidence
born of confronting risk and fear and taking a leap of faith above a rainforest canopy.

Over the next few days, Bonnie described the founding of Elm Creek Quilt Camp in greater
detail, occasionally phoning or emailing her friends back home to refresh her memory
or to seek advice. Together she and Claire developed a master schedule with a tentative
grand opening for the first week of April. Claire suggested that they hold a “soft
opening” in late February or early March, a test run of the quilt camp with trusted
friends invited to be their first campers. With any luck, they could work through
any unforeseen problems that appeared during their dress rehearsal before Bonnie left
for home.

Every night Bonnie watched the sunset from her lanai, the play of color and light
filling her with awe and wonder. Every morning she woke refreshed and ready to continue
her work, energized by the act of creation. She took her morning walks through Lahaina,
along the ocean and around Courthouse Square, where an enormous banyan tree rose about
sixty feet into the air and shaded nearly two-thirds of an acre, with a dozen aerial
roots as thick as trunks stretching down to plunge back into the earth. In those early
morning hours just after dawn, she passed other walkers and joggers admiring the scenery
as they exercised, wetsuit-clad surfers carrying boards to the beach, and men and
women on their way to work clad in uniforms bearing logos of shops and restaurants.
Not a resident, not quite a tourist, Bonnie felt as if she tread a narrow path between
those two groups, belonging to one and catching hidden glimpses of the other.

No matter how early she rose or how quickly she completed her route, by the time she
showered, dressed, and came down to the kitchen, Midori was always there working busily,
baking popovers or muffins, cutting pineapple and mango for beautifully arranged tropical
fruit plates, or pressing halved oranges in the juicer. Bonnie always offered to help,
and by her third morning as a guest of the inn, she had begun to think of certain
tasks as her responsibility—filling small pitchers with cream and tucking napkins
into rings without asking Midori for an assignment.

Sometimes Midori was too busy for small talk, but other times she greeted Bonnie with
a relaxed friendliness that invited questions. Bonnie learned that Midori was born
on Oahu
but had moved to Maui more than forty years before. Her late husband, a musician,
had played ukulele with several different bands throughout his career, performing
everywhere from small bars only locals knew about to exclusive resorts frequented
by tourists from around the world. When their youngest child started school, Midori
began working as a housekeeper at a hotel in Kaanapali, eventually working her way
up the ladder and learning all aspects of hotel management along the way. “This is
my retirement job,” she told Bonnie, smiling as she deftly sliced off the top of a
pineapple. “I do this for fun, so I don’t slow down and grow old. It’s also the only
way I can live rent-free on the ocean.” She smiled to herself and added, “Claire thinks
I chose my suite because it’s more private, off on its own, but I chose it for the
view.”

“I chose my room for the view and for the quilt on the bed,” said Bonnie, folding
napkins into a graceful fan as Midori had shown her. “Claire called it the Breadfruit
pattern.”

“Oh, yes. You’re in the room with the turquoise-and-white one, isn’t that right?”
When Bonnie nodded, Midori added, “That’s one of several Breadfruit variations I made
for the inn. I think it’s my favorite.”

“Variations?” echoed Bonnie. “You didn’t use the same pattern each time?”

“Of course not.” Midori’s knife sliced through the pineapple core and struck the wooden
cutting board with a sharp thwack. “No two quilts you create should be exactly alike,
just as no two children you bear are perfectly alike. Even twins. Even identical twins,”
she emphasized, as if she expected a challenge. “Everything in God’s creation is unique,
though there may be superficial similarities. So too should our quilts also be unique.
This is the Hawaiian way. Everything is special and created with love. No mass-produced,
factory assembled quilts for me
and my loved ones, thank you very much, although that might be the way of things on
the mainland.”

Bonnie nodded in reply and continued working, worried that she had offended the older
woman. “I think I saw a few of the other Breadfruit variations when Claire gave me
the grand tour,” she said, when the silence, for her at least, had become uncomfortable.
“I recall a green one on the second floor, and a fuchsia one down the hall from my
room. I thought they were the same at first, but now that you mention it, there were
differences. The green one had a different border than the one in my room, and both
of the others had narrower leaves.”

Midori nodded her approval. “That’s right. You have a good memory. There’s an orange
variation in a first-floor suite, too. The room’s occupied or I’d show it to you.”

“They were all beautiful, but the turquoise one seemed so cool and soothing that I
knew I’d have good dreams beneath it.” Bonnie laughed a little to conceal how badly
she needed to take every measure possible to secure good dreams. “It was so lovely
that I was afraid to sit upon it.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” declared Midori. “Most mainlanders aren’t aware of what a great
insult that is to Hawaiian quilters. They toss their suitcases on the quilts, lie
on top of them with shoes full of beach sand, all without a thought for the quilter
who put so much of her heart and soul into every stitch. Even Claire, a quilter herself,
doesn’t seem to know any better. I caught her sitting on the quilt I made her and
Eric for their anniversary, although she jumped right off when she saw me in the doorway
and swore it was the first and only time.”

Bonnie hid her dismay as best she could, imagining Midori’s reaction if she had seen
Claire and Bonnie sitting cross-legged on the turquoise-and-white Breadfruit quilt.
“I hope you forgave her.”

“Of course I did, both for sitting on my quilt and for trying to cover up her bad
habit with a lie.” Midori smiled, sighed, and tucked a loose strand of black hair
back into her French twist. “That’s Claire for you. She can’t help herself, as I’m
sure you know.”

“She could help herself, she just doesn’t,” said Bonnie, remembering how they had
often exasperated each other as roommates back at college. Still, it had always been
impossible to stay angry with her impulsive, irrepressible friend, as younger women
because they had been kindred spirits despite their differences, and in later years
because their friendship had become all the more precious for its long duration. Apparently
Midori had also fallen under the spell of Claire’s charm. “How did you and Claire
meet?” Bonnie asked.

“Eric’s a close friend of my nephew,” said Midori. “They were stationed on Oahu together.”

“So you’ve known Claire a long time.”

“Oh, yes. Years.”

“And in all that time, you never taught her how to make a Hawaiian quilt?”

Midori set down her knife and gave her a curious, appraising look. “She never asked
me to. I didn’t think she cared to learn.”

“I don’t know that she does,” Bonnie hastened to explain. “I just thought—well, every
bed in the inn has a Hawaiian quilt spread upon it, but Claire made none of them.
Since she obviously loves the style, I assumed that she would have made one of her
own if she knew how.”

“I would teach Claire if she asked me to,” Midori said, arranging the pineapple spears
on the platter. “But you’ve taken a tour of her shop and you know her temperament.
Claire prefers Mariner’s Compasses and stars arranged in traditional
blocks and rows. She has a dozen projects going on all at once and she zooms from
start to finish so she can display them in her shop to sell patterns and fabric. Her
favorite tool is her rotary cutter, and her second favorite is her sewing machine
with a computer built in. I think one reason Claire admires Hawaiian quilts so much
is that she knows she doesn’t have the time or inclination to create one herself.”
Midori shrugged and shook her head. “It’s not a criticism. I say this with love.”

Every word rang true, even the last, which from any other person might have sounded
ironic. “Maybe she’ll never make a Hawaiian quilt herself, but only because she doesn’t
think she’ll do it justice. She never attempts anything unless she’s confident of
success.”

“And that is why she succeeds at everything she tries,” said Midori with a cryptic
smile.

Perhaps it was Bonnie’s sudden discomfort at gossiping about a dear friend that made
her change the subject to something she otherwise would not have mentioned until she
and Midori were better acquainted. “I’d like to learn how to make a Hawaiian quilt,”
she heard herself say. “I’m not saying that I’m any more skilled or persevering than
Claire, but I’d love to learn.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ve been quilting since college, so your lessons wouldn’t have to begin at square
one. I could show you some photos of my work, if you like, if you’re concerned that
I might not be able to do the handwork.”

“That’s not necessary. Claire’s told me all about your quilting, how you used to sew
those blocks for your grandmother when she fell ill. And you’re an Elm Creek Quilter,
which says a lot.” Midori fell silent, thinking. “My quilt guild, the Laulima Quilters,
meets tonight. You can come and sit in with us and
see how it’s done. After that, if you still want to learn, I’ll teach you.”

“Thank you,” said Bonnie. “After I see your friends working on their Hawaiian quilts,
I know I’ll want to make my own even more.”

“We’ll see,” said Midori. “But there’s something you should understand. You won’t
be making a Hawaiian quilt. You will only be able to make a quilt in the Hawaiian
style.”

“That’s fine,” said Bonnie, puzzled by the emphasis Midori had placed on the last
two words. What was the difference? “Either way, I promise to never sit on it.”

She knew from Midori’s smile that she had responded perfectly.