An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler

by Jennier Chiaverini

  “There’s fruit,” Diane had said, but Todd had scowled and muttered something about how things sure had changed around there. It was obvious he did not mean they had changed for the better. Diane hoped that an ample supply of snacks would appease him, if only temporarily.

  As she pulled into the driveway, Diane saw the curtain in Mary Beth’s living room window move aside. Her eyes met Mary Beth’s before the curtain fell between them. Diane frowned and parked the car. Didn’t Mary Beth have anything better to do all day than to spy on her neighbors? She carried the bag of groceries into the kitchen, then returned outside to check the mail. In her peripheral vision she saw Mary Beth’s curtain draw back again, but she ignored it. That woman really needed a hobby.

  Diane collected a handful of envelopes from the mailbox and leafed through them as she walked up the driveway. Credit card application, bill, bill, credit card application—and a thick envelope with a return address of the Waterford Municipal Building. She stopped in the middle of the driveway and opened the envelope, dreading the news. Rumor had it that the property taxes in their historic neighborhood were going to be reassessed, despite residents’ complaints to the Zoning Commission.

  The first line made it clear that the letter was not about taxes, but her relief soon turned to dismay. The Waterford Zoning Commission had received complaints that the Sonnenberg family had erected a skateboard ramp in their backyard. Since that structure met the definition of an Attractive Nuisance, and since they had not applied for the proper building permits, it must be razed within forty-eight hours.

  “Is this some kind of a joke?” Diane exclaimed, gaping at the letter. The ramp was on private property. The Zoning Commission couldn’t force them to tear it down, could they?

  Diane looked up, her mind racing—and saw Mary Beth watching her through her living room window.

  She crumpled the letter in her fist and marched across the lawn to Mary Beth’s house. She could see the panic in her neighbor’s face—before Mary Beth quickly hid behind the curtain. Diane stormed up the porch stairs and pounded on the front door. “Mary Beth,” she shouted. “Get out here, you vicious little troll! I know you’re responsible for this.” She paused, but there was no response. She hammered on the door with her fist. “I know you’re in there. Come on out!”

  Mary Beth wisely remained inside. Eventually, Diane gave up and returned to her own house, seething. The nerve of Mary Beth, to turn Diane’s family in to the Waterford Zoning Commission! “May her fabric bleed, her rotary cutter rust, and all of her borders be crooked,” Diane muttered, slamming the door behind her and storming to the kitchen to call Bonnie. Diane was reluctant to interrupt her at Grandma’s Attic, but this couldn’t wait, and she wasn’t going to risk getting a busy signal later that evening because of Craig’s constant web surfing. Bonnie had served on the commission in the past as a representative from the Downtown Business Association. If the Sonnenbergs had any options, Bonnie would know what they were.

  Quickly, Diane explained what had happened, then asked, “I know there are certain restrictions because this is a historic neighborhood, but is there anything I can do?” She steeled herself. “If I crawl over there on my hands and knees and beg Mary Beth to withdraw the complaint, and if by some miracle I manage to persuade her, would the Zoning Commission let us keep the ramp?”

  “That’s not how it works,” Bonnie said. “Once the commission has made a ruling, the original complaint no longer matters. You have two options at this point. You can either comply with their request and tear down the ramp, or you can file for an exemption. That means you’ll have to present your case to the commission at a public hearing.”

  Diane couldn’t believe it. “You mean the kind of hearings they hold when someone wants to build a new mall or a new road?”

  “I’m afraid so. According to their bureaucratic way of looking at things, your ramp is no different than a major construction site. You’ll have to convince the commission that the skateboard ramp isn’t a hazard to local residents, doesn’t create unnecessary noise or traffic problems, and doesn’t destroy the aesthetics of the neighborhood.”

  Diane groaned. “I know. I remember that part.”

  “I don’t understand why Mary Beth went to the authorities instead of trying to work things out with you personally. Maybe you two aren’t friends, but you are neighbors.” Then Bonnie paused. “What do you mean, you remember?”

  “Look, I have to go. Michael’s going to be home from school any minute, and I have to figure out what I’m going to tell him.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not hanging up until you tell me what you meant by ‘I remember.’ ”

  “Mary Beth has been a thorn in my side for too long.” Diane sank into a chair, propped her elbows on the kitchen table, and let her head rest in her palm. “She never would have known about that ordinance if not for those stupid wind chimes.”

  “What?”

  Diane’s anger faded into chagrin. “Two years ago, Mary Beth hung some wind chimes outside her kitchen window. I swear to God, they were the wind chimes from hell, clanking and banging with the slightest breeze. They must have had amplifiers or something. They scared away every bird for miles—”

  “Miles?”

  “Well, yards, anyway. And they kept me and Tim awake all night. The only way we could escape the noise was to shut every window facing the backyard, and that wasn’t fair. So I asked her very nicely to take them down—”

  “Oh, I bet you did.”

  “I did, I swear. Whose side are you on? Naturally she refused, so I called the municipal building and asked them about noise ordinances.”

  “And when you found one, you called Mary Beth and threatened to turn her in, didn’t you?”

  “Of course not.” Diane paused. “I went over and told her in person.”

  Bonnie burst out laughing.

  “But I only threatened to turn her in,” Diane protested. “I wouldn’t have done it.”

  “Either way, you’re the one who started it, and now it’s come back to haunt you.”

  Bonnie’s amusement was exasperating, mostly because Diane knew she was right. “I’m glad you find this so humorous, but you’re not helping. My son’s going to lose his skateboard ramp, remember?”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.” Bonnie made a strangling sound as if fighting to contain her laughter. She promised to help Diane file for the exemption and prepare for the hearing, if that’s what she and Tim decided to do.

  When Diane called him with the news, he came right home. They talked about it as they made supper, while outside Michael and his friends zoomed up and down the skateboard ramp, unaware that their fun could be short-lived. Diane and Tim considered the time and effort it would take to file for an exemption, the stress and publicity the hearing would generate—but most of all, they thought of Michael and how he would be affected by the loss of his skateboard ramp and by the knowledge that his parents had meekly submitted to the Zoning Commission’s first and only letter.

  “If we want to keep the skateboard ramp, we’ll have to fight for it,” Tim eventually said, and Diane agreed, but she had an additional motive. She wanted to fight because she refused to let Mary Beth win so easily. She’d give up quilting before she’d hand that woman an uncontested victory.

  During supper, they told the boys about the letter and what they were prepared to do to keep the skateboard ramp. Michael’s expression changed from alarm to relief when he realized they weren’t going to give in, at least not until they had to. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

  “I’ll let you know what Bonnie suggests,” Diane said. “It’ll be a lot of work, but with all four of us helping out, we’ll take care of it.” Michael nodded, but Todd muttered something, nudged his plate away, and put his elbows on the table. He had hardly touched his supper, and suddenly Diane realized that he hadn’t said a word since she brought up the letter. “Is something wrong, Todd?”

  “Why do
you just assume that everyone wants to help? Maybe I don’t care about this stupid skateboard ramp. Did you ever think about that?”

  Startled, Diane turned to Tim, who looked back at her with the same surprised helplessness she was feeling. “But—but Michael is your brother,” she stammered.

  “So?”

  “So?” Diane stared at him, disbelieving. “So we help each other. That’s part of what makes us a family.”

  “What about helping me? How come nobody thinks about me?”

  Diane was at a loss, so Tim stepped in. “What do you mean, son?”

  “Did you ever think about what it’s gonna be like at school?” Todd’s voice was high and thin. “Why does she have to fight with Brent’s mom all the time? I’m not gonna have any friends left thanks to her.”

  Tim’s mild voice grew stern. “Don’t talk about your mother that way. Apologize this minute.”

  “But it’s true. She’s gonna ruin everything.”

  “I said, apologize.”

  Todd glared at the table and clamped his mouth shut as if afraid an apology might slip out by force of habit.

  Tim’s eyes sparked with anger. “Go to your room. Now.”

  Todd shoved his chair back from the table and stormed away.

  “I’m sorry,” Michael said when Todd was gone.

  “Why?” Diane said briskly, picking up her fork. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” For once it was true. In a matter of weeks, her sons had traded personalities.

  The next morning, Diane went downtown to Bonnie’s quilt shop, where the red sign with the words GRANDMA’S ATTIC printed in gold seemed to welcome her. The quilt hanging beneath it in the shop window comforted her, too, since she had often seen Judy working on it at the Elm Creek Quilters’ meetings. Everything about Bonnie’s shop—from the folk music playing in the background to the shelves filled with fabric and notions—was familiar to her, a reminder of her friends and the good times they had shared throughout the years. Her friends would support her no matter what happened, she knew, and that knowledge strengthened her.

  Bonnie was at the large cutting table in the middle of the room helping a customer when Diane entered. The bell attached to the door jingled, and Bonnie looked up and smiled. “Pull up a stool,” she called out, motioning for Diane to join them at the cutting table. Diane did and waited for the customer to pay for her purchases and leave.

  When they were alone, Bonnie showed Diane some papers she had picked up from the municipal building. She explained how to fill them out and described the exemption hearing process, and as she did, Diane began to feel better. She and Tim had a lot of work ahead of them, but not nearly as much as she had feared. With Bonnie there to reassure her, the task didn’t seem as hopeless and overwhelming as it had the night before.

  As Diane turned to go, she thanked Bonnie wholeheartedly. Bonnie waved off her thanks with an easy laugh and said, “You would have done the same for me. Now, try not to worry, okay? Work on the round robin quilt; that’ll relax you.”

  “Oh.” Diane had forgotten all about it. “That’s a good idea.”

  Bonnie’s eyebrows rose, and she gave Diane a look of amused exasperation. “You do know you’re supposed to have it done by the end of this week, right?” Then her expression softened. “Look, why don’t you just give it to me? You have enough on your mind already.”

  “No, I can do it,” Diane said, heading for the door.

  “Are you sure?” Bonnie called after her. “We can extend the deadline.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll get it done.” Diane thanked her again for all her help and left the shop. There was no way Diane was going to let Mary Beth prevent her from participating in the round robin. Mary Beth had already interfered too much in Diane’s life; she wasn’t going to ruin this quilt, too.

  That weekend, Diane and Tim collected documents on local privacy laws supporting their right to keep the skateboard ramp. The Elm Creek Quilters did their part, too. Summer researched possible precedents in the Waterford College library; Judy’s husband, Steve, wrote a feature article on the conflict for the local newspaper; and everyone joined in to keep Diane’s spirits up.

  On the same morning Steve’s article appeared in the Waterford Register, Agnes stopped by the Sonnenberg home with unsettling news. The boys were scrambling to get ready for school, but they hovered around the kitchen as Agnes told their parents about Mary Beth’s weekend activities.

  “She went to every house in the neighborhood with a petition supporting the commission’s decision,” Agnes said, her blue eyes solemn behind pink-tinted glasses.

  The news made Diane uneasy, though she wasn’t surprised. “How many signatures has she collected?”

  “I didn’t get a good look at the petition because naturally I didn’t sign it, but I believe she had almost one page filled.” Agnes pursed her lips and shook her head. “The nerve of her, bringing that petition to my door.”

  Diane hugged the older woman. Mary Beth knew very well that Diane and Agnes were friends. Agnes had baby-sat Diane when she was a child, and they were both Elm Creek Quilters. Mary Beth had to have known that Agnes would tell Diane about the petition. Was this a message, a boast that Mary Beth didn’t care if Diane knew what she was up to because she knew Diane was powerless to stop her?

  One page filled, Agnes had said, an entire page covered with signatures demanding the destruction of the skateboard ramp. The thought of it made Diane dizzy with apprehension. How could it be that so many of their neighbors had sided against them?

  The phone rang as soon as Agnes left; it was Gwen, calling to gloat over Steve’s article. “It’s perfect,” she crowed. “You’ll have every parent and private property hawk in Waterford on your side.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to read it yet,” Diane said, pinning the receiver to her ear with her shoulder so her hands would be free to pack the boys’ lunches. Tim sped through the kitchen and planted a kiss on her cheek on his way out. “Bye, honey,” she called after him.

  “Honey?” Gwen echoed. “Hanging up so soon?”

  “That was for Tim, but yes, I do have to go.” Had Gwen forgotten what school mornings were like in a family with teenagers? “First, though, does the article say anything about Mary Beth’s petition?”

  “No. What petition?”

  “I’ll tell you after your workshop. See you at Elm Creek Manor.” Diane hung up and called out to her sons. “Lunches are ready. Hurry up or you’ll be late.”

  Michael snatched his from the counter and ran out the door, but Todd hesitated, his brows drawn together in disbelief. “Brent’s mom made a petition against us?”

  The phone rang again.

  Diane glanced from her son to the phone, to the clock over the kitchen table, and back to her son in the amount of time for the phone to pause between rings. “Not against us, honey, not against you. We’re just having a difference of opinion. This is the way adults settle these things. We shouldn’t take it personally. We can talk about this later, okay? You’d better hurry or you’ll miss your bus.”

  He nodded, put his lunch bag in his backpack, and left, but he didn’t look convinced. Why should he? Diane knew her explanation was a half-truth at best. Neither she nor Mary Beth was demonstrating textbook adult behavior, and Diane herself was taking this matter all too personally. She snatched up the phone a second before the answering machine would have clicked on. “Hello?”

  It was a neighbor, calling to apologize for signing Mary Beth’s petition. She never would have signed it, she said, if she had known the whole story, but now that she’d read the newspaper article, the Sonnenbergs had her support. Diane thanked her, but as soon as they hung up, the phone rang again.

  “Hello?” she said, glancing at the clock.

  “Tear that damn thing down or we’ll tear it down for you,” a voice growled in her ear, low, gruff, a man’s voice. Then there was a click and the dial tone.

  Stunned, Diane slowly replaced the receiver�
��and the phone rang again. Heart pounding, she unplugged the cord from the jack.

  After Gwen’s workshop, while the campers were enjoying their free time, Diane told Gwen, Sarah, Carol, and Sylvia about the call. All but Sylvia listened with wide eyes, stunned by the story. Sylvia looked concerned, but somehow she didn’t seemed surprised.

  “Did you use star sixty-nine to trace the call?” Gwen asked.

  Diane shook her head. “I didn’t think of it.” Her heart sank as they all urged her to do so next time. Why were they so certain that there would be a next time?

  “I must say I’m amazed by all this,” Carol said. “This seemed like such a nice little town.”

  Sarah gave her a slight frown. “It almost always is. This is an anomaly.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Carol said, but she looked dubious. “It doesn’t seem like a very nice place to raise children.”

  Sarah gave her a disapproving look but said nothing more.

  Diane dreaded to go home, but eventually she could think of no more excuses to stay, and she wanted to be there when the boys arrived. Before she left, Sylvia took her aside and placed her hands on Diane’s shoulders.

  “Promise me you won’t let those fools scare you,” Sylvia said.

  “I won’t,” Diane said. Though she was taller, she felt young and small beneath the older woman’s knowing gaze. “I’m not scared, just angry.”

  “Good.” Sylvia squeezed Diane’s shoulders. “I want to believe in the good in people, I do, but I’ve seen how the people in this town can turn on a person. I know how it feels to have a whole town against you. Don’t let them make you afraid. Don’t let them make you feel ashamed when you’ve done nothing wrong.” And with that, she strode away, back to her sewing room.

  Diane watched her go, wondering.

  When she got home, the house was quiet, but instead of the restful peace she usually sensed there at that time of day, the silence seemed strange and watchful. She chided herself for her nerves and told herself she was being silly, but still, she walked through the house checking every room to see what was amiss. She felt alert, wary. Something wasn’t right.