She pulls a book from one of the shelves that line the other walls of the room, which hold bolts of material and baskets of binding tape and sewing thread as well as a small reference library. ‘The quilt with the route map could be hung out of a window for a few days, as if to air, so that those who were going to attempt to escape had time to memorise the information on it. You could give directions, pointing north, south, east or west, for example, and show where there were rivers and where there might be sources of food. You could also show with the setting stones where there might be safe places to stay or where a guide would meet you to show you the next section of the route. And then, when it was time to go, a different quilt would be hung from the window. It’s said that they used this one’ – she turns to a bookmarked page – ‘called Wagon Wheel, or perhaps this one called Tumbling Blocks. That would be the sign that they should leave once darkness fell, that the next delivery along the railroad was expected. I guess in some cases,’ she continues, ‘a traveller might even have carried a rolled-up quilt on their journey. It would serve a dual purpose, as a map and as something to keep you warm if you were sleeping rough or bedding down on the floor of someone’s shack.’
‘What a wonderful idea. And they were also carrying something of their culture with them – a visual representation that held in it something of the family they’d left behind, perhaps?’
Kate nods. ‘It’s also said that sometimes a quilt would be hung out of a window to air at the safe houses along the route, to indicate that travellers on the Railroad would receive a warm welcome there. So there was a whole conversation being conducted in a secret language. Every quilt tells a story, as we know. Now then, how are you getting on with yours?’
I show her the blocks I’ve finished so far. I know they aren’t perfect, and in many places I’ve had to unpick my stitches and redo them （although I’m pleased to say that’s happening less and less often nowadays as I’ve become more practised）。
She turns the squares over and examines the backs. ‘You can always tell how careful someone’s been by looking at the parts that will be hidden.’ She smiles. ‘You’ve done well, Zoe. This is neat work.’
I breathe a big sigh of relief that my sewing’s passed the test, and show her my ideas for setting the blocks.
‘That’ll work well, I think. Just plan the order carefully when you’ve finished the last three blocks. Then you’ll need enough fabric for sashing strips to go between the thirteen of them and you might want to think whether you wish to use a contrasting material for your setting stones and your corner stones. Your border could be made with some more of the sashing fabric if you like, which will give a sense of cohesion to the whole design.’ She shows me some examples in the book, and another piece of her own work too, and we discuss blocking, backing, batting and binding.
My head is spinning by the time we’re done. I thought once I’d finished sewing my blocks there wouldn’t be much more to do, but I was wrong. At least for some of the next steps I’ll be borrowing an old sewing machine of Kate’s, though, so it will be faster than painstakingly sewing everything together by hand. ‘Keep it as long as you like,’ she says, once she’s given me a tutorial on how the machine works. ‘I never use it these days. I’ve only been hanging on to it as a backup.’
Before I leave, a thought occurs to me. ‘Kate, might it be possible for me to borrow the Bear Paw quilt one day? I’d like to show it to someone.’
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘Just let me know when you need it.’
I return home feeling fuelled with enthusiasm （or perhaps it’s just the large mug of very strong coffee I’ve drunk）。 As I sit and begin to sew the final three blocks of my quilt, I sing to Grace and she claps her chubby hands and waves at the silver moon and stars that hang over her bed, as if she’s cheering me on towards the finish line.
Josie’s Journal – Thursday 14th August, 1941
Today was Nina’s birthday. We’re both teenagers now. I went with Kenza to their house in the medina so I could give Nina the present I’d got for her, a polished shell that I’d bought from a fisherman on the quayside when we were in Mogador. It was as white as the feathers of a seagull and it glowed like the moonlight and the minute I saw it I knew she’d love it, even though I had to haggle very hard for a long time to get it as I only had a few francs of my pocket money left by that stage of our holiday.