“You’d have to fight Matt for it,” Sarah said. She had given him her first quilt as an anniversary present nearly two years before, and he treasured it. She wondered if he knew how much that pleased her.
Sylvia shook her head. “We can’t rob Matthew of his quilt. We’ll have to think of something else.”
“You know what else we need? A motto.” Gwen held up her hands as if framing a sign. “Elm Creek Quilts: Where something something something.”
Diane’s eyebrows rose. “What kind of motto is ‘Something something something’?”
“That’s not the motto. That’s just an example.”
Judy spoke up. “How about ‘Elm Creek Quilts: Where you can quilt till you wilt.’ ”
The others chuckled, but Agnes shook her head. “I don’t think it quite fits. We want people to rejuvenate their spirits here, not work themselves into exhaustion.”
“I’ve got one,” Diane said. “Elm Creek Quilts: Where hand-quilting is celebrated and machine-quilting tolerated—sort of.”
“That’s your motto, not Elm Creek Quilts’, ” Bonnie said, laughing.
“Oh, yeah? Well, I have a motto for you. ‘Bonnie Markham, whose phone is busy twenty-four hours a day, especially when friends are trying to call to see if she needs a ride to Elm Creek Manor.’ ”
“That’s rather cumbersome for a motto,” Sylvia remarked.
“My phone isn’t busy twenty-four hours a day,” Bonnie protested. “Just when Craig’s on the internet.”
“Exactly,” Diane said. “Twenty-four hours a day.”
Bonnie sighed and shook her head.
Gwen grinned. “My motto is ‘When God made men, it was to prove She had a sense of humor.’ ”
Summer rolled her eyes. “Then mine will be ‘Forgive our mothers, for they know not what they say.’ ”
Sarah figured that Summer’s motto would be a good one for herself, except for that part about forgiveness.
“What about—” Bonnie said, just as the front door swung open and a new guest entered. Before they finished with her registration, two more arrived, and they forgot about bare walls and mottoes in the bustle of activity.
It wasn’t until Sylvia was engrossed in conversation with one of the last guests that Agnes beckoned the other Elm Creek Quilters. “I think we should make Sylvia a round robin quilt for that wall,” she said, keeping her voice low so that Sylvia wouldn’t overhear.
“What’s a round robin quilt?” Sarah asked, picturing a circular quilt with birds appliquéd in the center.
“It’s a quilt made by a group of friends,” Bonnie explained. “Each quilter makes a center block and passes the block along to a friend, who passes her own block along to the next person in line, all the way around the circle. Then each quilter pieces a border and attaches it to the block she received.”
“Then the blocks are passed on to the next person,” Judy said. “Everyone adds another border and passes on the blocks, and so on, until everyone in the group has added something to each person’s center block and everyone has her own quilt top back.”
Diane looked dubious. “If we work on only one center block, it won’t be a true round robin.”
“Who died and made you the quilt police?” Gwen retorted.
“True round robin or not, I think it’s a great idea.” Bonnie glanced at Sylvia, who was calling Matt over to help a guest with her bags. “Are we going to try to make it a surprise? That won’t be easy.”
“We’ll keep it a secret until the top is finished,” Agnes decided. “Sylvia would want to quilt it with us. I’ll volunteer to make the center. Who else wants to help?”
“I do,” Sarah said.
The others chimed in their agreement, all but Summer, who shook her head. “I’ll have to sit this one out. With finals coming up, and graduation, I don’t see how I’d have the time. I’ll help you quilt and bind it, though.”
“And baste,” Diane added. “Don’t even think about sneaking out of that.”
The women laughed, but they quickly smothered their mirth when Sylvia broke into the circle. “What are you all giggling about over here?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Summer said, her eyes wide and innocent.
“Supper,” Sarah said at the same time.
“You know us,” Gwen quickly added. “Always thinking about our next meal.”
“Hmph. That’s true enough.” Sylvia checked her clipboard. “After our last guest arrives, we’ll get supper started.”
“Did someone mention food? Is supper ready?” Matt said, returning from his latest trip upstairs, where all but one of their guests were settling into their rooms. He usually wore a baseball cap over his curly blond hair, a habit against which Sylvia fought a tireless campaign. Today, apparently, she had won.
“No, supper isn’t ready yet.” A smile played at the corners of Sylvia’s mouth. “If we aren’t moving quickly enough for you, you’re welcome to go to the kitchen and get started.”
She said it so comically that everyone laughed, and as Sarah joined in, she felt her heart glowing with a warmth and happiness she once only dreamed of possessing. She and Matt had struggled so long to find their way, first as newlyweds in State College, and then even after the move to Waterford, where getting settled had been more difficult than they had anticipated. How fortunate it was that she had accepted that temporary job helping Sylvia prepare her estate for auction. She never could have imagined how that simple decision would open up her life to new friends and new challenges. It was as if she had finally found her way home after a long journey.
Over the sound of her friends’ laughter, Sarah heard the door open. “That makes twelve,” she said, turning to greet the last new camper.
A middle-aged woman stood just inside the doorway, a suitcase in her hand. “Hello, Sarah.” As the door closed behind her, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and broke into a hesitant smile.
Sarah stared at her, unable to speak.
“Do you know her?” Summer murmured.
“Yes.” Though sometimes Sarah felt she didn’t know her at all. “She’s my mother.”
As one, the Elm Creek Quilters gasped—all but Sylvia, who deliberately avoided looking in Sarah’s direction.
“Mom.” Matt bounded across the marble floor and down the stairs leading to the front door. “How nice to see you.” He took her suitcase and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.
She laughed self-consciously and endured the kiss. “Please, call me Carol.”
Matt beamed, unaware of the slight, or ignoring it. Sarah felt a smoldering in her chest—astonishment, dismay, and the tiniest flicker of anger. “What are you doing here, Mother?”
Carol’s smile faltered. “I came for a visit, of course. And for quilt camp.”
“Quilt camp? You don’t quilt.”
Sylvia gave Sarah a sharp look. “Then there’s no better place for her to learn.”
“That’s what I thought when I saw Elm Creek Quilts on America’s Back Roads.” Carol followed Matt to the registration desk, where Bonnie helped her sign in and gave her a room key. “You remember America’s Back Roads, don’t you, Sarah?”
Sarah nodded, unsure how to interpret her mother’s nonchalance. Her mother looked thinner than she remembered, and her reddish brown hair hung past her shoulders. All the other campers had worn casual, comfortable clothing, but Carol had shown up in her usual conservative skirt and blouse.
Then Sarah noticed that Summer was giving her an odd look. “Aren’t you going to go say hi or something?” she whispered.
Sarah nodded and forced herself to cross the foyer. Naturally, Summer would think it odd that she hadn’t wrapped her mother in a great big welcoming hug the instant she crossed the threshold. Summer and Gwen liked each other, shared interests, were friends as well as mother and daughter. Sarah could only imagine what that felt like.
“Welcome to Elm Creek Manor, Mother,” she said, her words as stiff and formal as the
hug they exchanged. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed her mother clung to her a moment longer than she used to, and held her tighter. Over the top of her mother’s head, Sarah glimpsed Matt grinning broadly as he watched the embrace.
As Sarah pulled away, her mother took her hands. “You look good,” she said, holding her daughter at arm’s length. After further appraisal, she added, “I suppose if you’d known I was coming, you would have gotten a haircut.”
Sarah gave her a tight smile. “I got my hair cut last week. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” She almost said “warn” instead of “tell,” but her friends’ presence urged restraint.
“I thought it would be a nice surprise.” Carol’s smile mirrored Sarah’s own. “Besides, if you’d known I was coming, you might have found some reason to leave town for the week.”
“That’s ridiculous. How can you say that?”
“Here, Mom—Carol.” Matt touched his mother-in-law on the shoulder. “Let me show you to your room. You’ll love it.”
Carol gave Sarah one last inscrutable look before following Matt upstairs. Sarah watched them go, Matt gesturing with his free hand as he described her room, her mother listening and nodding. Only when they disappeared down the second-floor hallway did Sarah relax.
“Well,” Sylvia said. “I suppose I’ll get supper started.”
“Not so fast.” Sarah caught her by the arm before she could escape down the hallway. “So this is why you so generously offered to take care of the registration sheets this time.”
Sylvia brushed her hand away. “There’s no need to get angry.”
“There is so. Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?”
“Why? So you could cut your hair?”
“Of course not. So I could prepare.”
“We did prepare, when we made the manor ready for our quilt campers.”
“I mean prepare mentally.” Sarah looked around the circle of friends. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Were you all in on this?”
Summer’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “I sure wasn’t.”
“We’re just as surprised as you are,” Judy said.
“Sarah, you know very well I kept this to myself.” Sylvia’s voice was brisk. “If I had told one Elm Creek Quilter, I would have been obligated to tell the others, and we all know Diane can’t keep a secret.”
“Hey,” Diane protested.
“Now, we’ll have no more of this pouting.” Sylvia held Sarah by the shoulders and looked her squarely in the eye. “Your mother’s here, and I expect you to treat her with respect befitting the woman who raised you.”
“You have no idea how difficult this is going to be. We don’t get along.”
“So you’ve said, and so I’ve just seen for myself. That’s no excuse. You made a promise to me, don’t forget, a promise that you’d reconcile with your mother.”
“I’ve tried.” Sarah wanted to squirm out of Sylvia’s grasp. Her gaze was too knowing, too determined. “We talk on the phone, and Matt and I visited her last Christmas—”
“For a mere three days, as I recall, and you speak on the phone once a month at best. That’s hardly enough time to rebuild your relationship.” Her voice softened. “Nearly two years since you made that promise, dear, and so little to show for it. After that television fiasco, I had to invite her. Don’t you see? If she had waited for you to ask, she would be waiting forever.”
“I’m sure you mean well, but you should have told me.”
“Next time, I shall.” Sylvia gave Sarah’s arms an affectionate squeeze. “I promise.”
Sarah nodded, hoping there wouldn’t be a next time. Her stomach wrenched when she thought of what the week would bring—a constant stream of criticism about her hair, her clothes, her speech, her attitude, and anything else that caught her mother’s attention. No matter how well Sarah lived her life, Carol seemed to think she herself would have done much better in her daughter’s place. Sarah sensed but had never understood the urgency behind the criticism, as if Carol was preparing her daughter for some impending disaster she alone could foresee. Carol was so unlike Sarah’s easygoing, indulgent father that Sarah often marveled that they had ever considered themselves compatible enough to marry.
Sarah knew her father would have liked Matt as much as Carol disliked him. If only he were there to keep Carol’s criticism in check as he used to when Sarah was younger. If Carol got started on Matt—“that gardener,” as she used to call him, and perhaps still did—she could aggravate Matt’s growing concerns about his job at Elm Creek Manor. He loved the grounds, the gardens, the orchards, but recently he had begun to wonder if he should have stayed at his old firm instead of coming to work for Sylvia.
“But Exterior Architects assigned you to Elm Creek,” Sarah had reminded him when he first brought it up. “You’re doing the same work at the same place. What’s the difference?”
“The difference is the source of my paycheck. Exterior Architects used to pay me. Now Sylvia does.”
Sarah had stared at him, perplexed. A year ago he had been all too eager to have Sylvia buy out his contract. “What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t feel comfortable investing our entire future in one place, that’s all.”
“Why not? Lots of people who own their own businesses do.”
“That’s my point. We don’t own our own business. Sylvia owns it.”
“Of course she owns it. It’s her estate. But so what? You know she’d never fire us.”
“Yeah, I know.” He walked away, saying that he had to check on the orchards, or the north gardens, or the new greenhouse. Sarah didn’t remember which excuse he had used that time.
Now he was escorting Carol to her room, where her litany of complaints would surely begin. The room would be too small, or too shabby, or too far from the bathroom, or too near. Matt would nod to be agreeable, and her words would strengthen his own misgivings about living in Elm Creek Manor.
At that thought, the joy Sarah usually felt at the beginning of quilt camp went out of the day.
She could hear the new guests talking and laughing upstairs as they went from room to room getting acquainted. It was time for the other Elm Creek Quilters to leave for the evening, to return to their homes and their other responsibilities. Sarah and Sylvia walked them to the back door, then went to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal.
Sylvia wanted to discuss the week’s schedule as they worked, but Sarah found her mind wandering. Her thoughts drifted back to the day she told Carol she was dating Matt McClure. “What about Dave?” Carol asked, referring to Sarah’s previous boyfriend, whom she had dated for more than a year.
Sarah wrapped the phone cord around her finger and took a deep breath to steel herself. “Actually, we kind of broke up.”
“What?”
“We’re still friends,” Sarah hastened to say, though she knew that wouldn’t appease her mother. In truth, Sarah hadn’t seen him in weeks. She had put off telling Carol about the breakup, knowing how much her mother adored him. Dave had charmed Carol just as he did everyone else.
“Maybe if you apologize, he’ll take you back.”
“I don’t want him back. And why do you assume that he broke up with me?”
“Because I know you’re a smart young woman and you wouldn’t let a great catch like Dave swim away.”
“He isn’t a fish, Mother.” And he didn’t get away; it had been all Sarah could do to send him away. It had been a struggle to convince him that she didn’t want to see him anymore. “You’ll like Matt. Just give him a chance.”
“We’ll see.” Carol’s voice was flat, and Sarah realized Carol was determined to despise him and wouldn’t give him any opportunity to change her mind.
Sarah hung up the phone with a sigh. She couldn’t really blame Carol for not seeing through Dave; after all, it had taken Sarah fourteen months to figure him out. But now she could see that he was all style, no substance. As a freshman sh
e had been dazzled by his popularity, his expensive car, the luxurious lifestyle his parents had provided him, but in the weeks preceding the breakup, she had grown restless. Dave was charming and witty, handsome and athletic, but something was missing. He wouldn’t allow anyone to bring him down with bad news or serious conversation, not even Sarah. With him she had to feign perpetual cheerfulness or lose his interest. Once when she needed to talk about a frustrating argument with her mother, she watched as his face went blank and he began to look over her shoulder for someone more pleasant to talk to. That was when Sarah understood that Dave kept her around not because he loved her—although perhaps he thought he did—but because she worked so hard to amuse him. She had learned early in their relationship that there were plenty of other women on campus who would pretend anything, hide anything, if it meant having his warm smile directed at them. But Sarah was tired of acting, of being onstage every moment they were together. She wanted someone who could love the real Sarah, with all her bad moods and faults.
After knowing Matt only a short while, she realized she had found that someone in him. He was kind and sensible, and though he didn’t have Dave’s charisma, he was handsome in a strong, unpolished kind of way, and he made Sarah feel valued. The first time they kissed, she learned that what she thought was love with Dave had not been love at all, or even a close approximation. Infatuation, yes; admiration, definitely. But not until Matt came into her life did Sarah truly know what it meant to love someone and be loved in return.
It would have been pointless to explain this to her mother. She was convinced that Sarah had traded in a premed student from a good family for a man whose ambition in life was to mow lawns and prune bushes. Even after she met him, Carol never saw Matt’s solid core of strength and kindness, and never sensed how much he truly cared for Sarah. Those qualities made Matt worth two of Dave, with his roving eye and his refusal to plan anything more than a week in advance. Sarah saw this, but Carol couldn’t, or refused to.
Carol evidently never gave up hoping that Sarah would change her mind, not even when Sarah told her she and Matt were getting married. Then Carol grew frantic. She warned Sarah that she would never be happy if she settled for a man like Matt. She begged Sarah to wait, to date other men, if only to be certain that she wasn’t making a hasty decision. She offered Sarah a check—enough for a more lavish wedding than Sarah could afford or even wanted—if only Sarah would cancel the ceremony.
An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler Page 28
