A Pour Way to Dye (Book 2 in the Soapmaking Mysteries) by Tim Myers Page A

molds I’d made from sections of plumbing pipe that were
perfect for our needs.
    “ Put the soap you’ve grated
in your glass measuring containers, then add the water I gave you.
Next, place the container into the pan and turn your hot plates
on.”
    “ Why not use the
microwaves?” Herbert asked.
    “ We could,” I admitted, “But
for the first time, I like you to be able to see the soap actually
melt and coalesce. That’s tough to watch in a microwave.” I wasn’t
a big fan of using microwave ovens for soapmaking, though some of
my sisters actually preferred them. I personally liked to watch the
shredded soap and water combine slowly, a dance that delighted when
it transformed into a silky base ready to enhance.
    As everyone waited for the water in their
saucepans to boil, I gave them my talk on the history of soap. It
filled the time nicely, and I thought it was important for them to
realize they were participating in a process that was thousands of
years old. I noticed most of them were ready, so I said, “When you
achieve a fairly smooth consistency, lower the temperature to a
simmer, and then stir the soap occasionally. Don’t worry if it
looks a little lumpy right now. We’re just trying to get everything
melted. Stirring helps, but do it gently. If you stir too hard,
you’ll get suds, and we don’t want them right now.”
    After another minute, Herbert said, “This
looks more like cottage cheese than soap.”
    “ Then you’re doing it right.
Keep stirring.”
    A little while later, Diana said, “Mine’s
stringy. Should it be that way?”
    “ That’s perfect. Take the
bowl out of the water and turn your hot plate off.” She did as I
asked, as did most of the others. “As your soap reaches this stage,
you’ve got to work quickly. Add the dye, then put the fragrance in.
Next comes the oatmeal, then stir it all in. Once you’re happy with
the blend, spoon what you’ve got into your mold. Tap the side of it
a few times as you go along to get rid of the air bubbles, and
you’re finished.”
    I had to help a few students out, but Diana
had done a perfect job, as had many of the others.
    When they were finished, a woman named Betty
from a front table asked, “Can we take these with us this
afternoon?”
    Ordinarily I liked to send my students home
with their soap, but I didn’t have enough freezer space to hurry
the setting process. “No, these won’t be ready for four or five
hours. There’s a piece of tape on each mold. Write your name on it,
and you can pick your soap up on Monday.”
    There were a few grumbles, and I regretted
once again that I’d let Mom schedule the first class on a Friday.
She’d had to bump the session when she had a chance to teach a
special class earlier in the week, one that profited the shop
considerably.
    “ They’ll be here for you all
on Monday. Have a good weekend,” I said.
    With the class over, I said, “Cindy will be
standing by the door handing out some of our basic hand-milled soap
recipes. Each of you should take a sheet and consider what type of
soap you’d like to make during our final session on Tuesday. Thanks
everyone, you all did a great job.”
    They didn’t clap, but everyone looked well
pleased with the session. Diana approached me after class was over
and said, “That was a lot of fun. I’m so glad I could come.”
    “ I’m happy you could,
too.”
    There was a line of people waiting to speak
to me, so she excused herself. Somehow Constance had beaten most of
the others to me, although she’d been in the back of the classroom.
“Ben, there’s something I want to ask you about. I tried to do a
pour last week like you taught in that other class, but it didn’t
work out right.”
    “ Did you bring it with you?”
I asked.
    “ No, I didn’t think to do
that,” she admitted.
    Saved. “Why don’t you bring it early on
Monday and I’ll take a look at it.”
    She wasn’t going to budge, though. “I can
describe what happened to