The Quilt Before the Storm (3 page)

Harriet looked at Aunt Beth, who looked back and shook her head with a small smile.

A fine mist was falling from a gray sky when Harriet pulled her car into the parking lot of Fogg Park the next morning. People always assumed the park was named for the prevailing weather but in fact, the park, along with a lot of other local features including the town itself, was named for Cornelius Fogg, a Victorian pirate who had retired and settled the area more than a hundred years ago.

Harriet had stopped by the veterinary clinic to socialize with Scooter and take him a new chew toy. He wasn’t mobile enough to really play yet, but he loved a good chew toy. As much as she protested to the Loose Threads, in her heart she knew Scooter would be coming home to live with her and Fred when he was able to leave the hospital. Fred would probably find some way to make her pay, but she was pretty sure he would be a good “brother.”

She had hoped to talk to Aiden and see how things had gone with his sister, but after a brief hello, he said he was needed in the back and disappeared. She waited as long as she could before leaving for the park, but he didn’t return. She reminded herself he was at work, and undoubtedly, an animal had needed his care; but in her heart she knew this wasn’t true.

Lauren was waiting in her car when Harriet arrived.

“My client wasn’t ready yet,” she said by way of greeting as she climbed into the passenger seat of Harriet’s car. “Hard to believe people live outside in this weather.” She shivered. “Can you turn up the heat?”

“It’s all the way up,” Harriet told her. “I’ve got a couple of flannel quilts I’m going to deliver with the tarps. You want one?”

“No, it’s okay,” Lauren looked out the window as the rain picked up in intensity. “I heard the next storm is supposed to come in this afternoon.”

“It’s hard to believe it’s going to get even worse by the weekend.”

“I’m just glad I’m not going to be the one with just a quilt and a tarp for shelter,” Lauren said. “Here’s Connie.”

“Looks like Robin’s with her.” Harriet turned her engine off.

The four women met at the now-open back door of Harriet’s car; each took an armload and followed Connie to the restroom building.

“The path to the camp starts behind the building,” she told them as she stepped onto a gravel path. The trail quickly changed from gravel to wood chips and then to mud.

“You weren’t kidding about it being muddy back here,” Harriet said.

“Joyce tries to cover the mud with leaves and tree debris from the forest, but I think this last group of storms has been too much to keep up with.”

The mud sucked at their boots as they made their way through the woods and finally came into a clearing.

“Did I hear you complaining about my trail?” a small white-haired woman said when they’d stopped. A hint of the British Isles was apparent in her speech. “You’re welcome to make any improvements you want to.” She added that with a smile.

“If I could think of anything that would help, I would,” Harriet said.

“Nothing works against this ol’ mud. Some volunteer group put down gravel two inches thick all the way from the restrooms to this clearing last spring, and you can’t even find a single rock now. I’m Joyce, by the way.” She held her hand out to Harriet, who took it

“I’m Harriet, and this is Lauren and…”

“We know Robin,” Joyce said. “She helped us work out the arrangement that allows us to have our camp in these woods.”

“We made those plastic bag tarps I was telling you about,” Connie said and held one out.

Joyce took the tarp and unfolded it.

“Well, aren’t you ladies clever? I’ll be the first to admit, I was skeptical when Connie told me about these.”

Harriet was surprised by Joyce’s clear soft voice. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been the tidy woman in faded blue jeans and flannel who stood in front of her. She realized her image of homeless people was largely based on television and involved dirty people who were either drunks or mentally ill. Joyce didn’t seem to be either.

“I wasn’t sure how you were going to use these,” Harriet said, “so I brought some clothesline rope and heavy-duty clamps.”

“The boat shop I live over donated a bag of bungee cords, too,” Lauren added.

“Now, wasn’t that nice,” Joyce said as she refolded the tarp. “Let’s take this to my place and see how it works.”

She stopped in the middle of the clearing. A wooden table with mismatched legs stood to her right. A bench that consisted of a wide board resting on two tree stumps that were about six feet apart was on the opposite side of the area.

“This is our ‘living room,’ if you will. We have our group meetings here and our community meals as well. Each member of the camp has a private space separated by trees and brush. No one goes into anyone’s camp without an invitation.” She turned and led them down a less-defined trail to a smaller clearing. “Welcome to my home sweet home,” she said with a sweeping bow.

Again, it was not what Harriet had expected. She had never really thought about the day-to-day details of how the individuals in a homeless camp might create privacy, share spaces or secure their possessions. If she had, she wouldn’t have imagined what Joyce had created.

Joyce had formed a bed from tree boughs stacked in layers at the back of her area. Closer examination showed a layer of tattered plastic sheeting sticking out between the layers of greenery—a vapor barrier, of sorts. Wooden birdhouses adorned the tree branches at the head of the bed, and an empty wooden window frame dangled whimsically from a limb to the left side. There was a mirror on a tree trunk opposite the window. Two blue plastic storage bins were stacked under the mirror, a chipped china pitcher and bowl on top of the stack.

A large piece of torn plastic lay over a bush at the front of the area.

“I was just doing home repairs,” Joyce said with a smile and held her arm up. A roll of silver duct tape encircled her wrist.

“Maybe this will make that unnecessary,” Connie said.

“How many do you have?”

“Three so far.”

Joyce looked longingly at the brightly colored sheet folded over Connie’s arm.

“As much as I would love to replace my top cover, there are other people in camp who need them more,” she said with a sigh. “We had a new fellow move in this past summer, and this is his first winter outside. Let’s go get him set up first.”

She led the group out of her space and down the trail. She stopped after about fifty feet.

“Duane?” she called. “Are you in there?”

“Come on in,” a deep male voice answered.

Harriet had expected a much-larger man based on his voice, but Duane was of medium height and build. His balding head had a few long thin strands of light-brown hair mingled with gray. He was clearly letting his beard grow, but it didn’t cover his face and chin uniformly, leaving him with clumps sticking out in random patches.

“If I’d known I was going to have company, I’d have cleaned house,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m Duane, by the way.”

Connie, Harriet and Lauren introduced themselves and explained why they were there.

“I can use all the help I can get,” Duane said. “I’m sure Joyce told you I’m sort of new to the outdoor lifestyle.”

“Let’s see what we can do for you,” Connie said.

Duane’s space wasn’t as organized as Joyce’s; he slept in a sleeping bag on the ground. Unlike Joyce, who had on a puffy down jacket and knitted wool fingerless gloves, Duane wore a purple-and-gold University of Washington sweatshirt. The edges of a light sweater and a plaid button-down cotton shirt showed at the neck and sleeve edges. The ensemble was topped with a Harris-tweed blazer—none of it was intended for outdoor living. It looked like it might be his whole wardrobe.

“Let’s start with an overhead cover,” Connie said. She looked around the small clearing. “Over here.” She pointed, indicating an area between two tall Douglas firs.

“Isn’t it sort of thorny?” Duane asked. A low berry bush filled the space.

“You’re going to pile brush up over those bushes. They’re going to keep you off the cold ground,” Joyce explained.

Lauren and Harriet strung a length of clothesline between the two trees, anchoring it around the trunks. When they had it pulled tight, Duane helped Connie fold the tarp over the line, securing it with large clamps at the top and tying the corners to smaller tree branches with smaller lengths of clothesline. Joyce directed Robin in the gathering and placement of large fir boughs under the tarp. She folded a second tarp on the boughs then reopened it, covering the bottom layer with more branches.

“Get your sleeping bag,” Joyce directed. When Duane complied, she laid the bag over the last layer of branches and flapped the tarp over it.

“This will be a lot more comfortable and dry,” she proclaimed when Duane’s things had been arranged to her satisfaction.

“This is wonderful,” Duane said in his sonorous voice. “How can I ever thank you?”

“We’re happy to help,” Connie said.

The mist that had continued to fall turned into a steady rain.

“Do you want a quilt?” Lauren asked without preamble.

“I feel as though I’ve already taken my share,” Duane said politely. “Let’s see that the others’ needs are met before I take anything else.”

“I think we have plenty,” Lauren protested.

“We’ll check with the others,” Harriet said and led her back to the trail.

“I’m just doing our job,” Lauren hissed. “Isn’t that why we’re here? To give out quilts?”

“Yes, that’s why we’re here, but let’s allow the man his dignity. When we’re finished with the rest of the camp, we can give him one, or if we run out, we can bring one back later.”

“Whatever.”

Connie and Joyce came out of Duane’s area, and Joyce took them to a fork in the trail then down the right-hand pathway.

“Brandy lives here,” she said as she held a branch aside, pointing them into the smallest clear area yet.

The brush was thicker here, letting in little light; it took a moment for Harriet’s eyes to adjust. She finally saw Brandy, asleep or unconscious on a muddy sleeping bag, a moth-eaten gray wool blanket draped over her shoulders. Her dark hair would probably have been shoulder-length if it hadn’t been so tangled and matted.

“Now,
she
looks like a homeless person,” Lauren whispered to Harriet as they stepped aside to let Connie and Robin in.

“I’m not sure how much help Brandy will accept,” Joyce said. “She’s one of the more troubled members of our community.”

“Maybe we could string up a tarp over her spot while she sleeps,” Connie suggested.

Lauren tapped Harriet’s foot with hers. When Harriet glanced her way, she was staring at the base of a small fir tree to Harriet’s left. Harriet casually looked where Lauren indicated and saw a pile of empty whiskey bottles.

“I don’t think she’s waking up anytime soon,” Lauren said in a stage whisper audible to all.

“We generally don’t let people stay here if they use drugs or alcohol,” Joyce said, “but Brandy has mental problems, and so far no one has been able to convince her to go to the clinic and get help. The rest of us agreed it was in our best interest to let her go on self-medicating for the near term. We’re hoping we can get through to her, but I’m not sure how that’s going to happen.”

“Is she from around here?” Robin asked.

“She doesn’t communicate well. We’re not even sure Brandy is her name. Another woman and I found her passed out in the park bathroom this summer. All she would say for the first few weeks was ‘brandy.’ We couldn’t tell if she was identifying herself or asking for her favorite drink, but she answers to it, so that’s what we call her.”

“That’s great,” Lauren said. “Can we get going with her shelter? It’s wet out here.”

“Please pardon our friend’s lack of sensitivity,” Connie said.

“She’s right.” Joyce gave a wry smile. “It
is
wet out here.”

Harriet uncoiled another package of clothesline and handed one end to Lauren. She pushed through the brush to the trunk of one of the taller trees, tying the other end securely. Lauren did the same and Robin and Connie quickly draped the last tarp over the line.

“Let’s tie the back closer to the ground,” Joyce directed. “I think a lean-to would serve her best.”

Harriet and Lauren did as instructed, and within a few minutes had fashioned a secure shelter that would go a long way toward keeping the rain off Brandy. Connie and Robin put two flannel quilts over the sleeping woman.

“I wish we could do more.” Connie sighed then turned and went back onto the main trail. “We have a few more quilts in the car,” she said when they were all together again.

“We have a new man who might like a quilt,” Joyce told them. “He has a small tent he brought with him. He said he managed to sneak it out of his house and hide it in the park the week before he was evicted.”

“Is he from here?” Connie asked. Harriet knew she was probably thinking about the programs the local churches had to provide transitional housing for people in that type of situation.

“We don’t ask those sorts of questions when people join our community. If a person wants to share they do. If not, then we leave it at that.”