The Giving Quilt (32 page)

“If you decide you'd rather not do without a third pair of hands, I'm interested,” said Karen, smiling. “Full time, part time, whatever you need.”

Margot promised to consult Elspeth, so Karen left her phone number and hoped for the best. A few days later, Elspeth called to invite her to join them for lunch at a cozy teahouse down the street from the shop. It was a casual, friendly meeting that felt nothing like a job interview, so Karen was pleasantly surprised when, as they lingered over their vanilla rooibos, Margot asked if she could start the following week.

Delighted, Karen immediately accepted.

Back at home, Karen, Nate, and the boys celebrated her good news with a family pizza party—but almost as soon as Karen cleared the table, she set herself to the task of making all the practical arrangements necessary for her return to the workforce. Ethan would be starting full-day kindergarten in the fall, and they managed to place Lucas in a wonderful day care program offered by the College of Health and Human Development right on the Penn State campus.

And then Karen was suddenly a working mother rather than a stay-at-home mom.

In her first year with String Theory, she worked as a clerk and assistant, replenishing stock, cutting fabric, ringing up purchases, and making sample projects for display. One of her favorite tasks was to help Margot, Elspeth, or visiting instructors as they led workshops in the hayloft classroom. She observed them carefully, noting what the students seemed to enjoy and what they didn't, which teaching strategies seemed effective and which fell short. A week shy of her first anniversary with the shop, she asked Margot and Elspeth if she might teach a foundation paper-piecing class. It was a technique she knew particularly well—in fact, even at her ill-fated interview, the Elm Creek Quilters had praised her handiwork. The success of that class led to another, and within another year, Karen had become a regular instructor, adding other courses to her repertoire and garnering praise from her employers and students alike.

In all that time, the shop weathered a stormy economic climate fairly well. The Fabric Warehouse, a crafting superstore in Waterford, was too far away to siphon off many of their customers, and although shopkeepers and restaurants all along their street noted that customers were spending less, considering their purchases more carefully, and buying online in ever-increasing numbers, String Theory's loyal quilters kept them in the black.

“We have an advantage over other brick-and-mortar shops,” said Margot one afternoon as she, Elspeth, and Karen crowded into the tiny office in the back of the store to discuss their quarterly revenue projections. “People might feel perfectly comfortable buying books or appliances over the Internet after viewing a low-res photo and reading a blurb, but when it comes to fabric, quilters want to see it in person, and touch it, and compare the colors to other fabrics. That's something you can't do online.”

Elspeth and Karen agreed. “No computer algorithm can equal our experience and knowledge, either,” Karen added. “Even the most experienced quilters seek our opinion on matching colors or assembling blocks from time to time—and beginners rely on us even more. That kind of customer service can only happen in real life, in a real, not virtual, store.”

“We need to make sure our customers are aware of that,” said Elspeth, the most cautious of the three. “I've seen far too many perfectly lovely shops and restaurants close because they assumed everyone knew how wonderful they were, what services they offered, and everything they contributed to the community. We can't become complacent.”

It was a sobering but necessary reminder. Karen knew that the teahouse where Margot and Elspeth had held her interview lunch was struggling, and the children's bookstore down the block was barely hanging on. She also understood that their remote location was a disadvantage to busy shoppers, who often had to choose convenience over rural beauty and historic charm. Customers who traveled out of their way to visit a particular favorite business usually strolled up and down the picturesque streets, window shopping, making purchases at other shops, reading the history of the buildings off brass placards affixed to their brick or stone walls, and enjoying a bite to eat or a cup of coffee before heading home. If any one of those businesses were to close, their customers would no longer make the drive to Summit Pass, and those lucrative, impromptu visits would inevitably decline.

They were all in this together, Karen realized. Just as one empty storefront hurt its neighboring shops, one thriving business would help others to prosper. None of them could match the low prices offered by online retailers that sometimes didn't have to collect sales tax and received huge wholesale discounts due to their bulk orders, but the small business owners of Summit Pass could offer a better, more engaging, more enjoyable shopping experience, especially if they worked together.

Karen spent every spare moment pondering the matter. She brainstormed with Elspeth and Margot and hashed out ideas with Nate as they lingered at the supper table after the boys finished eating and ran off to play. When she was confident that she had devised a sound plan, she made arrangements with the owner of the Wise Owl Teahouse and invited the owners of all the independent, small businesses on their street to a meeting where they could discuss their collective fate.

It was a sunny, bright, auspicious October afternoon when nearly three-quarters of the invited guests crowded into the teahouse to hear Karen's proposal that they band together for mutual support. The mission of her proposed new organization, Explore Summit Pass, would be to sustain the village's economic viability by educating residents and visitors about the importance of supporting local small businesses. “They need to know it's not merely for our sake,” Karen said. “One very important reason I doubt most shoppers consider is that their sales tax provides important revenues for our schools, fire department, police force, emergency medical assistance, snowplows—services we all use, or at least ones we want around in case we need them someday.”

As nearly everyone nodded in agreement, the shopkeepers, restaurateurs, baristas, and others chimed in with other important reasons: Shopping local created local jobs. It helped ensure better, more knowledgeable, more personal customer service. It was better for the environment, because local products required less travel time and thereby reduced carbon emissions. It invested in the long-term stability of the community, since local business owners typically lived near their businesses and cared about the region's future. It increased consumer choices, promoting innovation, competition, and lower prices over the long term. It promoted entrepreneurship, helping local residents move up the economic ladder. It increased support to local nonprofits, since local businesses were more inclined than huge chains with administrative offices hundreds of miles away to give to community organizations and charities.

So many sensible, pragmatic, and inspiring ideas were thrown out that Karen, newly energized, had to scramble to write them all down. “This is exactly what we need our customers to know,” she declared. “They may believe they're merely shopping or dining out or enjoying a relaxing getaway when they patronize one of our businesses, but they're also investing in the future of their community.”

In addition to educating the public about the benefits of shopping local, Karen explained that they also needed to introduce them to the other shops and services just down the block from their favorites. To encourage loyal customers of one establishment to consider trying a neighboring business, they should actively promote one another and cohost special events designed to draw shoppers to the village. “The Wise Owl Teahouse could set up a tea table in the String Theory Quilt Shop, arranging teahouse menus and business cards there too,” she suggested. “We'll benefit from having refreshments for our customers, and the samples will encourage our customers to make their way down the block to the Wise Owl. We can display some of our sample quilts on the walls of the Oasis Day Spa and Salon. Oasis staff and customers will enjoy an ongoing art exhibit, regularly updated, and their clients may be tempted to cross the street and see what else we have to offer.”

“We could produce a street map marking all the participating businesses,” suggested the owner of the Centerpiece Art Gallery. “We can divide up the printing costs. I know an exceptionally talented artist who might be convinced to design something absolutely gorgeous for us in exchange for a nice lunch at the Summit Pass Café and a few books from Wild Things for his nieces.”

“Throw in a citrus–green tea detox facial from Oasis and you've got a deal,” said the art gallery owner's partner, who everyone had already guessed was the artist he'd had in mind.

“The back of the map should list all the reasons to shop local we've mentioned here today,” said the proprietor of the Woodpoppy Inn. “And any more we can possibly think of.”

As everyone chimed in their agreement, Karen threw Margot and Elspeth a look of triumph. Explore Summit Pass was officially under way.

The map was, as promised, a work of art suitable for framing. Even before the boxes of maps were delivered from the printer, individual businesses began arranging cross-promotions among themselves—a tea party at the Wise Owl to celebrate a bestselling author's appearance at Wild Things Children's Bookshop, discounts on massages at Oasis for guests of the Woodpoppy Inn. A few days before Thanksgiving, Karen, as the de facto leader of Explore Summit Pass, held a press conference on the village green to announce the organization's official launch and to urge neighbors far and near to buy local for the holidays. To her delight—and immeasurable relief—Black Friday in Summit Pass turned out a deeper shade of midnight than it had been in years. Sales at the String Theory Quilt Shop were up; classes were at full enrollment. Help Wanted signs appeared in storefronts up and down the street, and everywhere the air hummed with a new spirit of cooperation and optimism.

In January, when the last receipts were counted, nearly every business that had joined Explore Summit Pass reported dramatic improvements in holiday profits compared to the previous year. Even those merchants who had not come aboard benefited, but not as much as they might have had they been more involved. By spring, it was necessary to order a reprint of the village map—revised to include several shops whose initial skepticism had been quelled by the organization's quick success. A third printing was ordered just in time for the height of the summer tourism season, and as summer waned and the holidays approached again, Karen organized the creation of a special coupon book and punch card, which gave shoppers the opportunity to earn Summit Pass Points and win prizes for shopping at a variety of local businesses.

Month after month, the shops and restaurants of Summit Pass reported stable profits despite the rocky economy. Elspeth and Margot often told Karen that hiring her was the best decision they had ever made in the history of the String Theory Quilt Shop. Nate was tremendously proud of her, and once, abashed, he apologized for forgetting that he had married a genius. And above and beyond her success with Explore Summit Pass, Karen enjoyed every hour she worked at the quilt shop, whether she was teaching, sorting bolts of fabric, or ringing up purchases on the cash register.

And yet, every so often, she felt a small, almost imperceptible twinge of wistfulness. A customer would remark that she was purchasing supplies for a week at Elm Creek Quilt Camp, or Karen would read a profile of an Elm Creek Quilter in a quilting magazine, and she would feel the sad sting of rejection anew. She would recall each painful, embarrassing moment of her disastrous interview and wonder if anything she could have said or done would have made a difference. She would imagine how different her life might have been if only Nate had come home from work to watch the boys as he had promised. Then she would look around the quilt shop, shake off her melancholy, and remind herself that things had turned out rather well for her. She was necessary and appreciated, and she had made a difference not only for String Theory, but also for businesses throughout Summit Pass. She could not regret anything that had led her to that point. She was happy. Her friends, coworkers, and family were happy.

She had no regrets—only rare, ephemeral misgivings that swiftly dispersed.

The astonishing success of Explore Summit Pass eventually leveled off. As the economy worsened, and as Internet commerce surged, a few shops on the street closed their doors after melancholy going-out-of-business sales. Other storekeepers chose retirement over the endless uphill slog to remain viable. The String Theory Quilt Shop suffered a minor dip in sales as new online quilting retailers like ifabricshop.com and virtualmaterial.biz popped up almost weekly, but as Margot reminded them whenever the outlook turned bleak, certain bulwarks protected them against the threat of competition from the Internet: Quilting classes were much more fun in person, and quilters still preferred to see fabric with their own eyes in natural light, to touch it and evaluate the drape and quality before they purchased a single yard. “They can't do that with a grainy image on a computer screen,” Margot would say confidently, even as book and pattern sales dwindled.

In mid-October, at the same time Karen was debating whether to attend Quiltsgiving, she began to notice a strange trend in the shop. Quilters would browse through the aisles of fabric, compare one bolt to another, take what appeared to be detailed notes as if they were planning complex projects, but then leave without purchasing so much as a spool of thread. Within weeks, Elspeth worriedly reported an unexpected decline in fabric sales. Karen did not correlate the two curious occurrences until one morning at breakfast when she happened to mention both. “What exactly are all these scribbling quilters writing down?” asked Nate, immediately wary.

“I'm not sure,” Karen replied.