“Did anyone find something you definitely want to use in your work?” asked Alice.
“As Annie said, there are so many intriguing and beautiful options.” Kate’s voice was soft as usual, but enthusiasm bubbled in it. “I was inspired by the tree cutout on the museum’s sign, and after reading about the importance of the ash and other trees to the Maine tribes, I think I’m going to use a tree design. Perhaps in a shawl.”
Gwen sipped her water with lemon. “Annie, did you see the birch-bark handkerchief box? The style of etching is quite similar to your box.”
“Yes! I wrote some notes on that.” Annie rummaged through her purse for the small notebook she always kept with her. Flipping through the pages she came to her museum notes. “Ah, here it is. ‘The handkerchief box was made by a Passamaquoddy man named Tomah Joseph around 1900,’” Annie read. “So, maybe my box was made by a Passamaquoddy artist. But I think other Maine tribes also made things with etched birch bark. I hope the curator will be able to narrow it down. Did you see that basket with the rose made from porcupine quills? I can’t imagine that’s as easy to do as crochet!”
“It looked like fine embroidery!” said Alice. “I’d love to do something with that kind of look, but I don’t think cross-stitch is the right medium. But there was a chair that had decorative panels with quillwork too, and the pattern would fit cross-stitch perfectly. I might use those panels for my inspiration.”
“It sounds like our road trip has done its job,” declared Mary Beth. “With the history we’ve learned, and various items we’ve seen, this year’s Harvest on the Harbor project is sure to be interesting—and profitable for the Thanksgiving Turkey Giveaway.” The sound of the door opening onto the porch caught her attention, and Mary Beth glanced over her shoulder. “I think it’s time for us to enjoy our lunch!” Nearby, the waiter opened up a tray table with one hand and placed the large tray of food on top.
The conversation changed direction and slowed down considerably as the women focused attention on their lunch choices. Lobster bisque, chicken focaccia, spinach salad, crab cakes, and quiche all disappeared in good time, as did a round of blueberry-apple crisp. Satisfied and revived, by two o’clock they returned to the Abbe Museum.
Checking with Rose again at the information desk, Annie was directed to the office of Kezi Vance, curator of collections. Tucked in a corner of the lower-level hallway dominated by the Abbe’s archaeology lab, the curator’s door was open. A woman with dark, medium-length layered hair sat behind a cluttered desk, her right cheek resting in her right hand as she concentrated on the chunky catalog that had won her immediate attention.
Annie lightly knocked on the door frame. “Excuse me, are you Ms. Vance?”
The woman’s head shot up like a guilty daydreamer in elementary school. But her eyes, which reminded Annie of Alice’s molasses crinkle cookies, were merry rather than ashamed. Bounding up out of her chair, she extended her hand to Annie.
“Oh, please, do call me Kezi. How may I help you?”
“I’m Annie Dawson. I have inherited a house from my grandmother, Betsy Holden, and I found some items in the attic that have me very curious. I’ve brought several photos and am hoping you might be able to give me some information on them.”
“Betsy Holden?” The curator peered at Annie a little more closely. “The ‘Betsy Original’ Betsy Holden?”
No matter how many times Annie heard similar reactions to Gram’s name, it never failed to startle her. Her smiled deepened. “Yes, that Betsy Holden.”
“Her landscapes are some of the finest in fiber arts I’ve ever seen. And she did such a service to the whole state in starting the New England Stitch Club. We have a chapter right here in Bar Harbor.” Kezi waved her hand toward a leather-upholstered captain’s chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit down.”
“Thank you. Along with being creative and loving, Gram was also quite a collector, and her attic overflows with enough random objects to fill a merchant ship. Last week, as I was doing some organizing, I found three items that have me puzzled as to their origins.” Annie reached into her purse, drawing out the photos. First, she handed over the photos of the birch-bark box. “During my childhood and teen years, I spent summers at Gram’s house, but I don’t remember seeing this. It’s beautiful.”
Kezi nodded as she looked over the photos. “Have you looked at our exhibits yet?”
“Yes, our Hook and Needle Club came this morning to look for inspirations for projects we’re working on for our town’s Harvest celebration. Among the many astounding pieces, I saw a handkerchief box that had a similar style of construction, from what I could see. I wondered if it was made around the same period as Gram’s or if Gram’s box is a reproduction.”