"Oh no!" Hattie cried out, whipping her hand back up from under the quilt. "My wedding ring slipped off!" She scooted her chair sideways, bent, and peered under the quilting frame which sprawled like a child's fort across most of Emily's living room.

The other women of the quilting bee all twisted and ducked, helping Hattie look.

"Nowhere in sight!" Olivia exclaimed.

"Emily," Margret said, "you can find anything. Go at it!"

"Yes!" Olivia belled. "Findin' lost things is -- what's that word my granddaughters keep sayin'? -- your superpower!"

Emily, already edging out of her chair in tight quarters, got down on hands and knees. The room was a confusion of gossamer strands with so many women gathered around the quilting frame. Her cat-sight showed traceries of footprints across the worn area rug, and loops of filaments other than threads along the bottom of the quilt overhead, following the movements of six pairs of hands bearing needles.

For now, she focused on the rosy strands decking Hattie's section of quilt. Sure enough, one gossamer thread spun down to the floor and wound a wobbly path toward the sofa, pushed against the wall.

Emily did not go straight for the prize. Those rumors about her uncanny ability were getting out of hand. She crawled around, poking in all the wrong places. "Nope, not here. Oh dear, I should be ashamed. What a dust bunny! Move your foot please, Margret. No again."

Conversation went on overhead.

"Su ki, your superpower is cooking! I loved your peach pie."

"I can't cook nothin' 'cept fried green tomatoes."

"Oh, but you can organize a bake sale like no one else! With all the bounty you round up from other cooks, we always turn a hefty profit!"

"Ah!" Emily said. "Here we have it! Just under the sofa."

"And Hattie, you've built a thriving business from your superpower. No bride in Skowalko will have flowers from anywhere but your shop!"

"Emily, what's keeping you down there?"

"My bun got caught on a clamp screw."

A loud knock sounded on the door.

"Someone answer that for me please?" Emily called. She saw Olivia's feet -- clad in no-nonsense practical shoes -- tromp to the door, and its bottom edge swing open.

"Hello?" Olivia boomed.

There came a gasp. "Who are you?"

Emily recognized the voice of her grand-niece.

"And who are all these people? What's going on here?"

"Don't you know a quiltin' bee when you see it, girl?"

A sniff of scorn. "I see no profit in such a waste of time. Now where's my great-aunt?"

"It's fine, Clarissa," Emily called, finally working free. She crawled out from under the quilt, stood, and smoothed her mussed hair. "We're making quilts for the carnival raffle."

Clarissa gawked at the brightly-patterned fabric and the smiling, needle-wielding women.

"But you're in no shape to, to--" Clarissa turned a disbelieving gaze at her once-feeble great-aunt.

Emily stared down at the overnight bag in Clarissa's grip. She whooshed out a long breath. "I'm in no shape -- to take in an unexpected houseguest."

.

prompt word: "profit"

My tale "Gossamer" begins in 1964.

The word "superpower" was in use by 1925.
Superpower: "The concept originated in and of the 1930s and 1940s..." (Wikipedia)
The word "superhero" dates to 1899.