Free And Then You Dye by Monica Ferris Page B

high little windows was not friendly.
    They noted the two bowls with unspun fibers in them. “You’re still of the opinion that these are made from soy and bamboo?” asked Betsy.
    “Yes,” said Ruth. “I have some samples of spun soy and spun bamboo at my station at the museum, and the textures feel the same as those in the bowls. Odd, but the bamboo is softer than the soy to the fingers.” She went to put a forefinger on the wheel of the spinning wheel. “I’ve already got a bid to put on this on behalf of a friend. Now, let’s take another look at the dyeing setup.”
    Betsy looked with trepidation at the spot on the floor where the body had been found, but as before, there was no visible sign of its former presence.
    The three long-cooled pots remained on the stove. “Do you smell that?” said Ruth. “Vegetable matter goes moldy pretty fast in water.” There was, in fact, a musty, spoiled smell in the air.
    “Why is the yarn a darker brown than the dye bath?” asked Betsy, peering into one pot, wrinkling her nose as she confirmed the source of the moldy odor.
    “The yarn has taken up the dye,” said Ruth. “You see, she hadn’t taken the carrot tops out of the other bath; she was probably going to use that to dye the rovings over there in the bowl.”
    “I
thought
they were carrot tops,” said Betsy. “Is there anything that can’t be used to make a dye? Rocks, I suppose.”
    Ruth considered the question. “I don’t know. Even crushed rocks can make a dye. Any portion of plant material—roots, leaves, bark—can make a dye. Some are stronger or more beautiful than others, of course. But all the vegetable dyes have a soft quality that’s really lovely.”
    “Yes, and I remember thinking that every color of yarn Hailey brought in went with every other color.”
    Ruth took down the dried skeins of yarn, then lifted the pot with the brown yarn in it and poured its contents into the sink. She turned on the faucet and began to rinse the yarn in cool water, squeezing it gently from time to time. She draped the yarn on the plastic-coated clothesline where it immediately began to dribble. “I don’t know if Philadelphia will do anything with this,” she said. “But I’m sure—Irene, isn’t it? I’ll bet Irene would be glad to have it for her project.”
    “I’ll call her.”
    “Better check with Philadelphia first. Maybe she wants it for her own knitting projects.”
    “Good idea, you’re right. Do the green one next,” said Betsy.
    “All right, but it isn’t green dye.”
    Betsy, frowning, watched as Ruth brought the big pot to the counter. When she took the lid off, Betsy could see that the dye bath had turned inexplicably from green to dark blue.
    “I thought so,” said Ruth. “The air gets into it, by osmosis, I guess. This is indigo.” She used the dowel sitting on the counter to reach into the pot and pull out a large amount of thin yarn. It came out green and she held the dribbling stuff over the sink. Right in front of Betsy’s surprised eyes, in a few seconds the green disappeared and the roving was blue.
    “It’s like magic!” said Betsy. “How does it do that?”
    “It’s the oxygen in the air that causes the change. When you make up the indigo solution you use two chemicals: Spectralite, a brand name for thiourea dioxide, and lye. You have to measure the lye carefully, because too much lye can turn your fibers into mush. But it’s the thiourea dioxide that removes the oxygen from the dye bath. This means you stir very carefully, and slip the fibers into it gently, so as to mix a minimum of air into it. But if you let it sit long enough, the air gets in anyhow.” Ruth put the dowel into the dye bath and moved it around. “Ah, I thought there was something else in here.”
    She brought out a knitted square about six inches on a side, but it was yellow-green—then the air did its work, and it turned a pretty red-brown.
    “Brown?” said Betsy.
    “It must have