Free The Quilt Before the Storm by Arlene Sachitano Page B

table he was dragging up the stairs. Ronald followed, dragging another table that was obviously being pushed from below. The two men were red-faced from the effort.
    “Thanks, guys. I’m not sure how many more you have, but I think with what’s here it’ll be enough for now.”
    Lauren looked at Harriet as she spoke. Harriet was pretty sure they were thinking the same thing she was—the two men looked like heart attacks waiting to happen. Whatever they had been doing before they became homeless it clearly hadn’t involved manual labor.

    “I think we should do some sort of bucket brigade-style line,” Tom was saying when Harriet and Lauren returned to the fabric sales room where the others were milling about.
    “Tom’s right,” Beth agreed. “We need an organized plan. Otherwise, we’re going to be getting in each other’s way.”
    “Marjory has some wheeled carts we use for stocking,” Carla offered. She went to the small room where Marjory unpacked new fabric as it arrived. She came back wheeling a flat-topped cart that could accommodate two stacks of fabric bolts side-by-side lengthwise and fit easily in even the narrowest aisles in the store.
    “There are two more of these in the packing room,” she said.
    Connie quickly organized the volunteer team into four groups. Ronald, Duane, and Beth loaded fabric onto the carts. Joyce and Mavis pushed the carts to the stairs and back. Carla handed bolts to Lauren, Tom and Harriet to carry up the steep stairs.
    When Robin arrived, she went into the attic and received the fabric from the person climbing the stairs then put it onto a table or cloth. To the degree possible, everyone was trying to keep groupings of fabric together the same way they were displayed on the sales floor, in the hope that it would make setting up downstairs easier when the flood was over.
    “Sounds like it’s still raining out there,” Harriet said when she reached the bottom of the stairs for what felt like the millionth time.
    Tom came up behind her and pointed toward the kitchen window.
    “It’s getting worse,” he said as rain sheeted against the glass.
    Before Harriet could look, she heard the jingle of the front door bells and turned to see who’d come into the store. A gust of wind tore the door from the hand of the visitor, slamming it hard against the wall. A large form covered from head to toe in wet yellow oilcloth lurched through the opening, a dark blue plastic bin held with two hands.
    Whoever it was set the box down and scraped the hood from their head. Jorge’s black hair was plastered against his forehead and his face was wet, but his smile warmed the room.
    “I heard you all were rescuing Marjory’s inventory from the coming flood, and I thought you could use some sustenance.”
    “You are a godsend, my man,” Duane boomed as he edged closer to the food box.
    “Where do you want to eat?” Jorge asked.
    “Let’s go to the bigger classroom,” Robin suggested.
    Carla brought paper cups from the kitchen then a pitcher she’d filled from the tap. Jorge unloaded pork tacos, beef taquitos, chicken and cheese quesadillas and a big container of guacamole.
    “This is a real nice thing you’re doing for Marjory,” he said when he’d finished laying out the food. “That river looks real angry. There’s a group of people at the Sandwich Board moving stuff. They’re hauling tables and chairs away in a truck.”
    “We appreciate the food,” Aunt Beth said.
    “It was the least I could do. Robin stopped in to order take-out for her husband to pick up later, and she told me what you were doing. If the power goes out, I’ll lose all the fresh stuff anyway, so I might as well let you folks get some good from it.”
    As the group continued thanking Jorge for the food, Carla tugged on Harriet’s arm and glanced toward the kitchen.
    “I’m going to make some tea,” Harriet said and stood up. “Would anyone like some?”
    Several hands went up.
    “I’ll help