The Giving Quilt (33 page)

“Maybe you should find out.”

Her suspicions heightened, Karen became more observant. She soon realized that the browsers who spent hours examining fabric and not a single minute buying any were writing down information from the ends of the bolt cardboards—the manufacturer, the designer, the name of the collection, and the SKU number. Having gathered those details, they could purchase the fabric at any retailer, be it another small, independent shop like their own, a big box chain store such as Fabric Warehouse in Waterford, or an online shop anywhere in the world.

“They're using our shop as a showroom,” said Margot when Karen shared her jarring suspicions. “I can't believe the audacity. Have they no consciences? To make use of our services, our products, and then to shop somewhere else—it's positively unethical.”

“It was inevitable,” said Elspeth grimly. “The question is, what can we do about it? What they're doing is morally wrong but it's not illegal, and we can't prove anything anyway. If we accuse someone of using our inventory to help them make purchases elsewhere, they'll simply say they were only browsing but didn't find what they wanted. What exactly could we do to stop this?”

Neither Karen nor Margot had a good answer for her.

The following week, they raised their concerns at the bimonthly meeting of Explore Summit Pass, only to learn that other shopkeepers had observed the same startling practice at their stores. The manager of Wild Things Children's Bookshop conceded that it had been going on at their store for years, and the customers were becoming bolder and less embarrassed with each passing week. “They don't bother to discreetly write down authors and titles on the backs of old receipts anymore,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “They just pull out their cell phones and snap a photo or scan a bar code.”

“That's shameful,” declared the owner of the Woodpoppy Inn.

“It's more than that,” said the bookstore manager flatly. “The challenge used to be getting customers into the store. Now even that's not enough. If more and more people go to the trouble to come into the store and still buy online—well, that could be the last word in the final chapter of our history.”

The admission sent a chill through the room. Wild Things had been a cornerstone of Summit Pass for more than fifty years. If parents no longer brought their children to the village, if neighbors no longer came to buy charming board books for expectant friends and stayed for lunch, if grandparents and aunts and uncles no longer made their annual pilgrimages to satisfy eager younger readers' birthday wishes, if publishers no longer sent popular children's authors to town on their publicity tours—every business in Summit Pass would suffer.

“We still have our quilt classes,” Margot said after the meeting broke up and she, Karen, and Elspeth walked somberly down the block to their cherished quilt shop. “We still have better customer service than any computer algorithm could ever attempt to imitate. Our loyal customers won't let us down.”

“Of course they won't,” said Karen, but Elspeth remained silent.

Perhaps even then she suspected the worst was yet to come, although none of them could have imagined the form it would take.

Although it seemed like a terribly inconvenient time to go on vacation, Margot, Elspeth, and Nate joined forces to convince Karen that she needed and deserved a respite, so on the last possible day, she made her reservation for Quiltsgiving and began looking forward to her return to Elm Creek Manor with a dizzying mixture of excitement and apprehension. On the Sunday before Thanksgiving, a week before her trip, Karen had woken early to fix Nate and the boys blueberry pancakes for breakfast when she glanced at her cell phone and discovered that Elspeth had called and left a message at five o'clock. She never phoned Karen at home so early, especially not on her day off.

“Please come in as soon as you can,” Elspeth said in her voice mail. “They've really gone too far this time. We need to strategize.”

They? Who were they, and what had they done? Quickly Karen called the shop, but the phone rang and rang and went unanswered. She left a message promising to be in by nine, and then she scrambled to get her family fed and herself showered and dressed. Worried, Nate kissed her good-bye and asked her to call him as soon as she found out what was going on.

She drove as quickly as she dared, and when she finally arrived at the quilt shop, she found Margot and Elspeth huddled in the back office, eyes fixed upon the computer screen, their expressions a mixture of anger and worry.

“What's going on?” Karen asked breathlessly, unwinding her scarf and slipping out of her coat.

“iFabricShop has declared war on brick-and-mortar quilt stores,” said Elspeth grimly. “Overnight they've gone from being a competitor to being an outright predator.”

Bewildered, Karen turned to Margot and was alarmed to find the more optimistic of her two employers nodding. “What exactly have they done?”

They had designed a price-check-and-purchase smartphone application, the two women explained, sometimes interrupting each other in their haste to get the story out. Users could scan the bar code on the end of a bolt of fabric by snapping a photo. The image would automatically be sent to the iFabricShop database, which would within moments respond with all the relevant information about the fabric as well as iFabricShop's price per yard. With the touch of a few keys, the user could then purchase yardage from the website via their existing user account.

“We don't pay for inventory, rent, utilities, and wages so that iFabricShop can use us as a showroom,” said Elspeth, pushing back her chair and pacing around the cramped office. “It's wrong. It's not just comparison shopping. It's using our shop, our products, and our people without investing a single cent into any of it.”

“It's unconscionable,” said Karen, faint from disbelief.

“It gets worse,” said Margot, a shocking admission from their resident optimist. “To kick off the holiday shopping season in a big way, they're offering five dollars off any purchases made through the new app.”

“It's bad enough that we can't compete with them on price,” said Elspeth. “How can we compete when they use us to acquire all the benefits of a brick-and-mortar store without any of the expenses?”

“And when they bribe our potential customers to aid and abet them,” added Margot, her voice rising in anger.

“We'll have to circumvent them somehow.” Karen thought quickly. “Can we ask people not to use their cell phones in the store?”

“Not without alienating them,” said Elspeth.

“Can we cover up the bar codes?”

Elspeth and Margot exchanged a look. “That might work,” said Margot, nodding. “They can still write down the information, but at least we're making it a little more difficult for iFabricShop to steal our customers.”

Karen didn't think their usual, loyal customers would want any part of iFabricShop's scheme. It was more likely that iFabricShop's usual customers would visit String Theory for the first time, browse, scan bar codes, make their online purchases, and leave. The shop might become more crowded than usual, but as threatening as the new app seemed to be, String Theory might not suffer any loss of sales.

She would have said so aloud, except that her employers seemed in no mood to hear about a possible silver lining in what looked like an entirely overcast sky. Margot rummaged through a desk drawer searching for thick black markers to obscure the bar codes, while Elspeth produced a box of address labels from a cabinet. The three spent the rest of the morning racing to conceal bar codes beneath adhesive labels or opaque black ink, pausing only to open the shop at noon. Whenever customers were present, they labored more discreetly, unwilling to pique their interest and give iFabricShop free advertising for their app.

If any of their customers used the application in the shop that day, Karen, Margot, and Elspeth were too busy and preoccupied to notice.

There were more than a thousand bolts of fabric on the shelves of String Theory, and with all of their other Black Friday preparations still needing attention, they did not finish defending themselves against iFabricShop until Wednesday afternoon, minutes before they were scheduled to close early for the Thanksgiving holiday. They kept their tradition of joining several other local merchants at the Summit Pass Café for a pre-holiday-shopping-season lunch, but the mood was far from celebratory. Earlier that day, Karen had observed several unfamiliar browsers roaming the aisles with their cell phones in hand, and later Margot had discovered crumpled adhesive labels littering the floor beneath bolts of fabric whose bar codes had been newly exposed.

Evidently, their precautions were not enough.

Karen tried to put the unsettling developments out of her mind as she celebrated Thanksgiving, playing host to her mother and her in-laws. The next day, Black Friday, Nate kept everyone entertained and well-fed with leftovers as Karen worked a busy shift at the quilt shop. On Saturday, sales were as brisk as in previous years, but Karen had arranged to leave at noon so she could prepare for her trip to Elm Creek Manor.

“This is the worst possible time for me to be away,” she said, lingering behind the register five minutes after Nate and the others had expected her home. “I should cancel my trip.”

“You most certainly should not,” called Margot from the cutting table, where customers waited in a line three deep. “You deserve a vacation. You'll come back rested, refreshed, and ready, and we'll have plenty of work waiting for you, never fear. Now go, before Nate calls asking where you are.”

With a sigh, Karen left the register and went to retrieve her coat and purse from the office, where she found Elspeth working at the computer. Elspeth glanced up and smiled fondly when Karen entered, but she was obviously exhausted. “Heading out?”

“I'd better. I promised Nate I'd be home for one last family dinner before our relatives leave, and after that, I have to finish packing.”

Elspeth's smile deepened. “I don't think you ever leave work on time. You should.”

“You and Margot never do.”

“Hmm. You have me there.” Elspeth's gaze shifted, became distant. “Years ago, we took early retirement from the university so we could open this lovely shop, our home away from home. We expected to work here until we retired for good, and recently—well, I suppose it won't surprise you if I confess we were hoping you would eventually take it over.”

In truth, the confession surprised Karen utterly. “I'm honored that you'd place so much trust in me.”

“You've earned it. I only wish we could reward you accordingly. You deserve so much more than a week's vacation.” Elspeth rose from her chair and gave Karen a hug that seemed somehow both affectionate and sorrowful. Then Elspeth released her, took a step back, and hesitated. “You once mentioned that you were a finalist for a faculty position at Elm Creek Quilts a few years ago, but they didn't offer you the job because you lacked teaching experience.”

“That's what they told me,” said Karen. “I'd taught introductory business courses when I was an MBA student at the University of Nebraska, but I'd never taught quilting.”

Elspeth regarded her steadily. “I think it would be a good idea if you let the Elm Creek Quilters know that you've filled in that gap in your credentials.”

“Why?” Karen studied her, worry stirring. “Why should I do that?”

“I think perhaps you need to—” Elspeth shrugged and shook her head, and if Karen didn't know better, she would have thought she spotted tears glistening in her eyes. “Just be sure to let them know how qualified you are. You're a wonderful quilting teacher. They ought to know that.”

Speechless, Karen nodded.

On the long drive home, Karen mulled over Elspeth's words and came to one unmistakable conclusion: Elspeth believed that this time, the shop wouldn't survive. She wanted Karen to keep her eyes open for a lifeboat rather than go down with the ship alongside her and Margot.

Karen blinked back tears and swallowed hard as she pulled the car into the garage.

She couldn't bear the thought of String Theory going under. After all she had learned there, the friendships she had forged, the students she had inspired with her passion for quilting—the end couldn't have come so soon. There had to be a way to keep the shop open, despite unfair competition and a lackluster economy. They had all worked too hard to revitalize Summit Pass for the place Karen loved best to shut its doors.

But what if Elspeth was trying to tell her that it was already too late?

* * *

It could not be too late, Karen told herself firmly as she helped Pauline remove her second quilt from the longarm frame. Together they rolled up the quilts and carried them back to the classroom, where they draped them over the table where Pauline usually sat.

“Are you all right?” Pauline queried as they climbed the grand oak staircase on their way to bed. It was nearly midnight, and although a few sewing machines still hummed industriously in the ballroom and a few campers remained chatting by the fireplace, the rest of the manor had fallen into a quiet and restful slumber.

“Just tired,” Karen replied. “Preoccupied with thoughts of home.”

They reached the landing, and as they parted ways, Pauline said, “Whatever it is, you'll work it out. I have faith in you.”

Karen smiled. “You've only just met me.”

“Even so. I know.” Impulsively, Pauline hugged her. “Thanks for your help. Now, get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning.”

Karen hoped she was right.

* * *

As it turned out, Pauline was right, at least a little.

Margot and Elspeth had forbidden Karen to call the shop during her vacation, so upon waking, instead of picking up her phone, she stared up at the ceiling and wondered what the day would bring to all those she loved. Would more new visitors prowl the aisles, selecting fabrics to purchase from iFabricShop? Would Elspeth examine their accounts and find them dangerously close to empty? Would Margot believe that everything would be fine, even as they hung Going Out of Business signs in the window?