Sylvia nodded, mulling it over. “Perhaps Sarah and I should sit down and discuss whether we can fit a longarm quilting machine into our budget. We could certainly fit one into the ballroom. Would you join our discussion and let us benefit from your experience?”
“I’d be happy to. In the meantime, there’s another subject I’d like to bring up at our next business meeting, if you and Sarah agree.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“I’ve been thinking over our conversation yesterday about your church’s Holiday Boutique, and how it’s an important fund-raiser for the local food pantry. All the Elm Creek Quilters agreed that it’s important for us to give back to our community, and I’d like to see us contribute as a group, as a circle of quilters as well as a company.”
“I would, too,” Sylvia remarked. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve always been drawn to causes that serve women and children,” said Gretchen. “Last night I learned about an organization called Project Linus.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of them,” said Sylvia. “They provide quilts and blankets to children in need, everything from offering a comforting quilt to a seriously ill child at a hospital to providing a warm blanket to a youngster rescued by the fire department. Many of our quilt campers have mentioned that they participate in their local chapters. In my opinion, they do a great deal of good.”
“I agree, but there’s no chapter in the Elm Creek Valley,” said Gretchen. “I think we should launch one, and let Elm Creek Manor become the drop-off spot for all our local quilters, knitters, and crocheters. We can distribute the donations throughout the Elm Creek Valley, wherever a need exists. There’s the neonatal center and the children’s hospital, the fire department, the food pantry—”
“What a wonderful idea,” said Sylvia. “It perfectly suits the mission of Elm Creek Quilts.”
“I’d be happy to contact the Project Linus national head-quarters and find out what we need to do to make it official,” said Gretchen. “I’d also take care of organizing the collection and distribution.”
“With a team of Elm Creek Quilters to assist you, of course. We wouldn’t let you do it on your own.”
Gretchen knew she would need their help, and she welcomed it. “I’m thrilled that you like the idea, but …” She hesitated, wondering if Sylvia would think she had gone too far. “I know how we can do even more.”
“You’re on quite a roll, aren’t you, dear?” Sylvia sipped her tea and regarded Gretchen expectantly. “Well, let’s have it.”
Before she could talk herself out of it, Gretchen plunged ahead. The quilter’s holiday was a delightful tradition, but perhaps it was time to transform it into an even greater expression of thankfulness and giving. Why not create a winter quilter’s holiday camp during which they and their campers would make quilts for Project Linus? All who attended would enjoy a delightful week at Elm Creek Manor free of charge, but rather than working on quilts for themselves, every quilt they created would go to Project Linus or another worthy cause in the Elm Creek Valley.
“I think quilters would be happy to make a quilt or two for children in need in exchange for a week’s getaway at Elm Creek Manor, don’t you?” asked Gretchen, studying Sylvia’s expression for signs of approval or skepticism. “Anna’s marvelous cooking alone would be worth the labor.”
Sylvia sat very still for a long moment, and then she began to nod. “I like it,” she declared. “A Quilter’s Holiday Camp to make quilts for children in need, in addition to contributions to Project Linus all year long. We’ll need to take it up with the other Elm Creek Quilters, but I’m sure they’ll find the idea as intriguing as I do.”
“I hope so,” said Gretchen, smiling. “I know it will mean more work at a busy time of the year, but as you said earlier, we must never become too busy to help those in need.”
“I must insist upon one thing, however.” Sylvia smiled fondly. “I enjoy our quilter’s holidays too much to end them. Let’s continue to reserve the day after Thanksgiving for our circle of quilters so we may enjoy giving thanks and making holiday projects together. Diane would never finish a thing in time for Christmas if we end our tradition.”
“We can’t have that,” agreed Gretchen. “How about this: Thanksgiving will be for family, the Friday afterward will be for the Elm Creek Quilters, Saturday will be a day of rest and preparation, and Sunday will be the first day of Quilter’s Holiday Camp. What do you think?”
“I think I know what we’ll do with the blocks we put in the cornucopia during our Patchwork Potluck from now on,” said Sylvia, her eyes lighting up with anticipation. “We’ll save them for our Quilter’s Holiday Camp, stitch them together, and make the first of many warm, cozy, and comforting quilts for a neighbor in need. And you, my dear, will decide who receives it.”
It was a duty Gretchen would happily accept.
SYLVIA FINISHED HERStar of the Magi quilt on the afternoon of December sixth, the Feast of St. Nicholas. As she folded it and set it aside until Matt could drive her to church to drop it off for the Holiday Boutique, she fondly recalled the St. Nicholas Days of her childhood. The night before, she and her siblings and whatever cousins happened to be visiting would each leave a shoe on the hearth of the ballroom fireplace. In the morning when they woke, if they had been good little girls and boys all year long, they would find their shoes filled with candy, nuts, fruits, and little toys. None of them had ever received twigs or lumps of coal, as naughty children were said to do, but Great-Aunt Lucinda often warned them that her brother had once received an onion, so such unpleasant deliveries were known to have happened.
Smiling, Sylvia made her way to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea just as the phone rang. She quickened her pace, but there was no need as someone else answered on the second ring. A moment later, Sarah appeared in the kitchen doorway carrying the cordless receiver. “It’s for you, Sylvia,” she said, covering the mouthpiece with one hand. “He asked for Sylvia Bergstrom-Compson-Cooper, so it might be a telemarketer. Or a tax collector.”
Amused, Sylvia thanked her, took the receiver into the kitchen, and seated herself in the nearest booth. “Hello, this is Sylvia. May I help you?”
“Hi, yes, I sure hope so.” The man, a bit nervous and around Sarah’s age from the sound of it, cleared his throat. “My name is Scott Nelson. You wrote to me about my grandmother, Elizabeth Nelson.”
“Oh, my goodness,” exclaimed Sylvia. “Yes, Scott. I did indeed write to you. I’m delighted you called.”
“Are you—you must be—are you the little cousin Sylvia my grandmother told me so much about? The one always getting into mischief?”
Sylvia laughed, tears of joy springing into her eyes. “Yes, yes, that would indeed be me.”
“Every year on her wedding anniversary, she used to tell us kids how you didn’t want her to marry our grandfather. She said you hid her mother’s scissors so that she couldn’t make Grandma’s wedding gown, and you stole the keys to her trunk and threw them into the river so that she couldn’t pack for her honeymoon.”
“Yes, I was quite a charming little dear. Did Elizabeth—your grandmother—mention how I refused to try on my flower girl dress no matter how much my mother and aunts begged, and when that didn’t work, I told the groom-to-be that I hated him and that everyone in the family wished he would just go away, but they were too polite to say it?”
Scott laughed. “She mentioned your dress, but not that last part.”
“I should have kept it to myself, then.”
“No, not at all,” said Scott. “I think some people have kept too much to themselves all these years.”
Sylvia smiled wistfully, thinking of the time lost, the once strong family ties broken. “I agree. There’s so much I long to ask you about my cousin, what became of her after she left Pennsylvania. What else did she tell you about us?”
“Not much,” Scott admitted. “She mentioned a horse farm where the family used to gather for the holida
ys, and she had a few stories about the hotel her parents ran in Harrisburg. I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t always pay attention when she talked about her childhood. Now I wish I had, but it’s too late.”
“I understand,” said Sylvia quietly. She often wished she had listened more carefully to her mother’s stories. “Believe me, I do.”
“Grandma’s past has always been a bit of a mystery to us. She didn’t pass down many mementos of the years before she came to California as a young bride, just a few photos and a patchwork quilt.”
Sylvia gasped. “You have one of Elizabeth’s quilts?”
“A few, actually, several she made after she and Grandpa settled in the Arboles Valley and one she brought with her. I don’t know much about quilts, but this one has rectangles of light and dark colors wrapped around a lot of little red squares. She said it was a wedding gift from a great-aunt or a grandmother. I don’t remember the relative’s name, but she stitched it on the back of the quilt.”
“Could it have been Lucinda?” asked Sylvia, although the quilt Scott described simply had to be the Chimneys and Cornerstones quilt Great-Aunt Lucinda had made for Elizabeth in the months leading up to her wedding. Sylvia clearly recalled standing at Lucinda’s knee as she had stitched the blocks, explaining the symbolism of the pattern. The dark fabrics represented the sorrows in a life, the light colors the joys, and each of the red squares was a fire burning in the fireplace to warm Elizabeth after a weary journey home. Sylvia hoped the Chimneys and Cornerstones quilt and memories of home had comforted Elizabeth during the long years when she had allowed other ties to languish.
“Yes, Lucinda. That sounds right,” replied Scott. “I could call my sister and ask her to check. And—” He hesitated. “I could show it to you next summer. We’re having a Nelson family reunion at a park on the grounds of the old Triumph Ranch in the Arboles Valley—”
“Triumph Ranch?” cried Sylvia. “Do you mean it truly did exist?”
“Of course. Grandma and Grandpa founded it in the 1930s and raised their children there. One of my cousins still farms what remains of the old ranch lands. You can see for yourself when you come for the family reunion. My sister and I would like you to be the guest of honor. You’re a part of our family, and you know more about our grandmother’s heritage than any of us. We’d be very grateful if you’d come and celebrate her memory with us.”
“I’d be happy to share what I know,” Sylvia assured him. “Anything you want to learn about your grandmother as a young woman or the rest of the Bergstrom clan, I’d be delighted to share, in exchange for whatever you can tell me about her life after she left Pennsylvania.”
“I’d like that, Mrs. Cooper. I’d like that very much.”
“Please, call me Sylvia,” she replied, her heart overflowing with thankfulness. “We are, after all, family.”
A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel Page 21
