"I'll quit my job,” he offered.

"Can we go look at the sutler's area, please?"

They started to walk back to the parking lot. The vendor area had been set up between the parking lot and the covered picnic shelter. Harriet stopped and put a hand on Aiden's arm, stopping him, too.

"Look. Is that a man between the woods and that section of fake hedge?"

"I don't see anyone,” Aiden said, following the line of her arm as she pointed toward the woods.

"I'm sure I saw someone in a plaid shirt.” She strained to see through the growing shadows. “He's gone now. I hope he didn't do anything to the hedge. You don't suppose the combatants would sabotage the battle site to gain an advantage, would they?"

"No, I think in most of these events the two sides take turns being the victors, so each one gets to win a couple of times throughout the weekend. It was probably a homeless person camping in the woods."

"Let's see if we can find one of the security guards and have him check it out."

The guard was a pudgy, sweaty fellow with bad skin and a skimpy mustache.

"I haven't seen anyone in the field or the woods, and I been here since three o'clock,” he assured Harriet when she relayed what she'd seen. The fact they had found him sitting in his battered car did not inspire faith in his watchfulness.

"Maybe I should camp here overnight until people arrive,” Harriet said when they were out of earshot of the guard.

"No, you shouldn't,” Aiden said. “Everything's going to be fine. There's not enough here to worry about guarding. And besides, if you camp here, then I have to camp here to make sure you're safe, and I haven't been home from Africa long enough to think sleeping on the ground is fun yet."

"You're right-what could someone steal, a fake hedgerow? No one would do that."

"Can we eat now?"

Harriet looped her arm through Aiden's and turned him toward the parking lot.

Dinner was delicious, as usual. Harriet had her favorite chicken enchiladas with tomatillo sauce while Aiden had chiles relleños, and they shared a generous bowl of guacamole Jorge made fresh at their table while they gave him the latest updates on the re-enactment.

"This has been wonderful as usual,” Harriet said as they prepared to leave. “Thank you."

Jorge pulled her into a warm hug. “You come anytime, chica.” He released her and grabbed Aiden's hand, pulling him in for a hug as well. “You don't be such a stranger either,” he said. “An old man gets lonely, you know."

"Hey, I have to work,” Aiden said as he stepped back.

"That's right, you go work and forget about poor Jorge,” He frowned and tried to look sad; then he started laughing a deep hearty laugh that made him rock back on his heels. “Speaking of work…” He glanced toward the kitchen. “I got to get busy. See you kids next week."

"That was exactly what I needed,” Harriet said. “I forgot all about the re-enactment when my enchiladas arrived. I should walk home to work it off. It's not going to be dark for hours."

Aiden pulled the door to the Bronco open. “If you do that everyone in town will be talking about how I took you to dinner and didn't drive you home. Half of them will think we broke up and the other half will think I lost my manners in Africa."

He had spent the three years prior to his return to Foggy Point doing research in Uganda. He didn't like to talk about the time he spent there, but the Loose Threads all assured Harriet he'd come home a changed man.

"Really?” she said.

"You think I'm joking, but when you've lived here longer, you'll realize nothing happens without everyone knowing about it."

Harriet got in the Bronco.

The Loose Threads had agreed to meet at nine the next morning at Pins and Needles. The quilters from the advance re-enactors group were to join them after lunch.

"Can I help you carry quilts?” Carla asked. She'd seen Harriet pulling up to park and correctly guessed that her friend would have more than one armload of quilts for delivery to the other members of the group.

"Oh, thank you,” Harriet said and handed her two cloth bags, each containing a quilt. “Is anyone else here yet?"

"No, just me and Miss Marjory."

Carla led the way into the shop. Harriet continued to be amazed by the changes in the young woman. They had met when Carla was helping a pregnant co-worker who was experiencing mental problems. She was barely keeping her own life together at that point, and things got worse before they got better. The loss of her factory job had not been her fault, nor was what followed Marjory's for being unable to offer her any more than part-time employment at Pins and Needles.

How quickly things change, Harriet thought. In a matter of weeks, Carla had gone from living in her van to what must seem like a mansion. Now that Aiden employed her as his live-in housekeeper, she didn't need the income from working at the quilt store, but she kept her part-time job in order to get out of the house, sending her daughter Wendy to a free toddler play program at the Methodist Church.

Carla had gained weight, and not in a bad way, Harriet noticed. However, the biggest change was to her confidence. It had been gradual, and someone who hadn't known her for a while would still think she was shy; but her voice was ever so slightly stronger, and she expressed her opinion on quilt patterns and colors without blushing when she spoke.

"Hey, Carla, Harriet,” Jenny said as she came into the shop. “Has anyone started coffee yet?"

"Yes,” Carla said. “I made the French roast. Can I get you a cup?"

"Sure. That would be nice.” When Carla went into the kitchen area, at the back of the shop, near the two classrooms, Jenny continued. “Is our Carla growing up?"

"You didn't hear it from me, but Aiden says she's got a gentleman caller. He's not from around here, and Aiden wants us to see what we can find out. We need to be careful, though, I don't want to upset Carla when she's finally starting to have a normal life."

Carla came back, ending the conversation.

Harriet and Jenny went into the larger classroom, followed by Robin and DeAnn, who had just arrived, each carrying a tote bag with quilting supplies and fabric.

"We have twenty-five quilts priced and ready to go,” Robin said as she set her bag down on the table in the center of the room.

"The prices range from a hundred dollars for the crib-sized ones to a thousand for Jenny's appliqué quilt,” DeAnn added.

"Thanks for all your work on the pricing,” Harriet said.

"Hey, it's nothing compared to your having to deal with Carlton,” DeAnn said, and the rest of the group laughed.

"Does anyone else have quilts they're finishing that we'll need to price?” Robin asked the group.

"I'll have two more,” Sarah announced as she came in, whacking Jenny in the back with her overfilled bag as she pushed past to reach her favorite spot at the table.

"Great,” Robin said in a flat voice. She'd called Harriet the night before to discuss the ethics of redoing the binding on one of Sarah's quilts. The binding had obviously been applied with great haste and had gaps where the machine stitching hadn't caught the edge, in spite of Sarah's use of a very wide zigzag stitch. Harriet had to agree with Robin that if the binding was so sloppy the quilt wouldn't sell it was better to repair it. It was, after all, an event to raise money for charity.

"Was that you I saw with the stud-muffin at the coffee shop the other night?” Sarah asked Carla. “What was he doing with you?” she pressed on. “He's obviously not from around here."

So much for subtlety, Harriet thought. Jenny looked at her across the table and made a small shrugging motion.