sweatshirt. The dog quilts the Threads had donated to a silent auction that benefited a dog adoption program had generated a number of requests for commissioned quilts. Lauren was making a variation on their hand-appliqued quilt that had featured Yorkshire terrier faces in wreaths of green leaves. This one would feature West Highland white terrier faces, but was otherwise the same.
Harriet had needed to cough to cover her gasp at the price Lauren had quoted the woman who requested the quilt after the silent auction had concluded. She was equally shocked when the woman didn’t bat an eye but instead pulled out a checkbook and asked how much of a deposit she wanted to get started.
“I still can’t believe how much that woman is paying for that quilt,” she said now.
“I figure if everyone who worked on the original one does their same part on this one, we can split the money and it will go a long way toward paying for our trip to the quilt show next year.”
“Maybe we should make another one and enter it in the quilt show as a group project,” Mavis suggested.
Whatever the group thought of that idea was lost in a roar that sounded like a freight train going through a long tunnel. It ended as the windows on either side of the fireplace bowed in and then out violently.
Harriet put the kaleidoscope block she was piecing down on the foot stool in front of her.
“I can’t concentrate on stitching with that going on,” she said and gestured toward the window.
“Maybe we should play cards or something,” Aunt Beth suggested. “That’s what we used to do when you were little, remember?”
“Now you’re talking,” Jorge said. “Where do you keep the cards?”
Aunt Beth pulled open a drawer in the lamp table next to the recliner she’d bought to replace her own favorite chair, which she’d taken to her smaller house when she’d downsized.
“What are we playing?” Mavis asked. “Canasta? Bridge?”
“Poker,” Jorge said as he carried the cards and an oil lamp back to the dining room.
“Deal me in,” Lauren said and followed him.
The raucous card game was just the distraction everyone had needed. Jorge commandeered one of Aunt Beth’s old sun visors he’d seen in the coat closet and used two rubber bands as sleeve garters on his white shirt to dress the part of a Vegas dealer. Harriet donated the jar of change from her bedroom dresser in lieu of poker chips, and the game was on.
In spite of Mavis’s tamer card game suggestions, she turned out to be quite the card sharp and ended up with the lion’s share of the money by the time the rest of the group gave up several hours later.
“It must be time to eat,” Jorge said. “These bands are squeezing the feeling out of my hands. I need to cook while I still can.”
He took off his visor and the bands and headed to the kitchen. Rain was hammering the windows, but the wind had eased slightly.
“I’m taking Carter out whether he wants to go or not,” Lauren said.
“Let me go get Curly, and I’ll join you,” Mavis said. “Beth, you want me to bring Pamela down?”
“Thanks,” Beth said. “I’m sure she’ll come out from under the bed if Curly leaves the room.”
The rescued dogs were all dealing with the storm noises in their own way. Curly had holed up in her carry bag while her sister Pamela had retreated to the dark space under the bed. Lauren’s Carter was the only one of the dogs who was willing to tough it out with the humans. For his part, Fred was meowing a running commentary on the storm’s progress.
“Between the storm settling, Jorge’s wonderful meal, and all the poker frivolity, I think I can sleep, so I’m going to turn in unless anyone needs something,” Harriet said when they’d finished the delicious pork burritos.
Jorge had insisted he would sleep on the sofa downstairs so he wouldn’t displace any of the women upstairs.
“I think it’s because he snores,” Aunt Beth said with a knowing glance over the banister as she and Harriet climbed the stairs behind Lauren and Mavis.
Harriet hoped she was merely speculating.
Chapter 9
The first thing Harriet noticed when she woke up was the silence. The second was Fred sinking his needle- sharp claws into the calf of her right leg when she attempted to move.
“Stop,” she said and batted him away. She listened again. The wind had stopped.
She shivered as she got out of bed and into her bathrobe then started for the window. She turned at a knock on her door.
“Come in.”
Aunt Beth came in carrying two mugs of steaming tea.
“Don’t look outside,” she said. handing one to her niece.
“Well, now I have to, don’t I? I mean, you can’t say something like that and seriously think I won’t look.”
“Let me rephrase,” her aunt said. “Brace yourself.”
“That bad?”
“Worse. Go ahead and look.”
Harriet went to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Beth was right-nothing could have prepared her for the scene outside.
Broken limbs and branches littered her driveway and the road beyond, but that was to be expected. As she looked down at the neighborhood that stepped down the hill below her house, what she saw looked like a scene from a made-for-TV disaster movie.
Her view used to include red and black and brown rooftops protruding through the canopy of trees. Today, foliage and roofing were all jumbled together, with trees broken and jutting through segments of roofs or tangled in torn power lines. It looked like the older Victorian houses with their multiple steep roofs had fared better than the newer flat-roofed contemporary homes that had been built lower down the hill. Two streets down, she saw a red sports car with its top caved in by an iron shepherd’s hook that had formerly held a large peat moss flower basket, which was now neatly deposited in the front seat of the small car.
A cloud of smoke floated up from the downtown area. It was unclear whether it was vigorous fireplace output or a burning building. Harriet hoped for the first.
Mavis shuffled into the room in her plaid wool bathrobe and fleece-lined moose-skin slippers, a ceramic mug grasped in both hands.
“This is the worst I’ve seen in at least twenty years, maybe more,” she said.
“How’d Curly do last night?” Harriet asked.
Mavis crossed the room and looked out.
“See for yourself.” She gestured toward the window. Jorge was on the grassy area to the inside of the circular driveway, a dog leash in each hand, Curly and Brownie tugging hard in opposite directions, their noses to the ground.
“Okay, they don’t look worried,” Harriet said. “Unlike Fred, who was up and down all night. I don’t suppose the power came on, did it?” Harriet asked sent a hopeful look at her aunt.
“You did just look out the window, didn’t you?” Beth asked.
“Is this a slumber party?” Lauren asked as she came in. She wore her zip-front sweatshirt over her pajamas, her little dog tucked between. “Power is the least of our problems. I listened to the Seattle news on my radio, and they said the Muckleshoot is over its banks.”
“Did they say if it’s over the bridge?” Harriet asked.
“I said I listened to the
“That’s all we need,” Mavis said.
“Speaking of water,” Lauren said. “What’s the situation on ours?”
“There’s a fifty-gallon drum of water in the garage we can use for bathing, if the water system is
