Sarah took the chair Andrew had left. “How’s the quilt coming along?”
“Slowly but surely. I’ll be ready to layer it soon.” She let her hands fall to her lap and regarded Sarah over the top of her glasses. “I suppose next you’ll be asking me what I think about the weather.”
Sarah gave her a wan smile. “How did you know?”
“I know all sorts of things about you, Sarah McClure.”
“There are a few things I’d just as soon have you forget.”
“Hmph.” A smile flickered in the corners of Sylvia’s mouth as she resumed her work.
Sarah watched as she pinned a green and a blue diamond together, her movements slow and deliberate, but confident. “Do you want me to thread the needle for you?”
“No, thank you. That would be cheating. My therapist wants me to practice my hand-eye coordination. Michael and Todd offered to let me borrow their video games, but I declined.”
Sarah laughed, but then she could think of nothing else to say. How could she explain why she had neglected her friend for so long? How could she ever express how sorry she was for the awful things she had said? How could she even begin to describe the terror she had felt watching Sylvia collapse, and the grief and loneliness she felt every time she thought about losing her?
“Sylvia,” she began, “I’m sorry. I wish I could—”
“All is forgiven, dear.” Sylvia reached over and patted her hand. “Let’s not waste any more time on our silly misunderstandings. I’m going to be fine. Let’s be grateful for that and be friends again, shall we?”
Sarah’s heart was full. “I’d like that very much.”
“Good.” Sylvia gave her hand one last brisk pat before she picked up her quilt pieces again. They sat in silence for a long moment, listening to the gentle fall of rain on the veranda roof.
Then Sylvia spoke. “Did I ever tell you that when Andrew first saw you on television, he thought you were my granddaughter?”
“No.” Sarah inhaled deeply, then breathed out what felt like a lifetime’s worth of grief and regret. “You never told me that.”
“Well, it’s true. That’s what he said.”
“I think that’s just about the nicest compliment I’ve ever received.”
“I’m sure it’s not the nicest one,” Sylvia scoffed, but a faint tremor in her voice betrayed her true feelings.
When Andrew returned with Sylvia’s tea, Sarah left the two alone and returned inside. She walked through the manor to the back door, intending to go to her secret place beneath the willow on Elm Creek, but then she thought of another place she’d rather be. As soon as she thought of it, the urgency to be there spurred her on, so that she hurried out the back door without bothering to put on her raincoat. She ran across the bridge, along the gravel road past the barn, beyond it to the orchard, where she knew she would find Matt.
She searched the rows until she spotted him. She almost didn’t see him, so well did his earth-tone rain poncho blend into the trees around him. He was checking the soil at the base of a newly planted sapling when Sarah called his name.
“Sarah?” he called out in disbelief, rising as she approached. “What are you doing out here without your jacket? You’re soaked.” Then he grew alarmed. “Is something wrong? Are you all right?”
It was only then that Sarah noticed how the cool rain had soaked her clothing and plastered her hair to her face, and she suddenly felt self-conscious and foolish. “I’m fine,” she said. “I just—” She broke off and shrugged. “I missed you.”
His expression grew serious. Sarah held very still as he walked through the mud toward her.
“I missed you, too.”
Then he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
As the June days lengthened and the dark nights grew milder, Sylvia finished piecing her Broken Star quilt. She layered and basted it by hand, by ritual, each step performed methodically, patiently. This quilt was not meant for a quilt frame, where her friends would pitch in and help her finish it in a fraction of the time. No, this was one project she could not rush. She would quilt it alone, in a hoop held snugly on her lap. Her friends could support and encourage her in her work, as she knew they would, but this quilt was hers alone to see through to the end.
It was just as well that she decided this, for her friends were already using the quilt frame for a project of their own, one made by many hands and with an abundance of love.
Fifteen
Sylvia studied her face in the mirror, then tried to force her features into a smile. One side of her face moved naturally into place; the other did not. Sylvia sighed and pushed back the disobedient flesh with her fingertips. There. Now, if she could just think of some excuse to walk around with her hand on her face all day, she’d be fine.
She turned away from the mirror and reminded herself to focus on the gains she had made in the weeks since the stroke rather than dwell upon the little that had been lost. She had been able to return to her room on the second floor; she could walk with barely a stumble; her speech, though not as crisp as it had once been, was clear. Her quilting abilities had survived the experience virtually intact. She had even managed to finish her Broken Star quilt in time for the brunch the Elm Creek Quilters were having that Sunday morning as a farewell party for Carol and Andrew.
It was a shame they had chosen the same day to leave. Sylvia was thankful that the purpose for Carol’s visit had at last been accomplished: Carol and Sarah had finally begun to resolve their differences. They still had more work to do, but the gulf between them had been bridged, and both seemed committed to the healing. Carol promised to return for a visit over the Christmas holidays, so they would be seeing her again soon.
As for Andrew—she did not know when she would see him again. He had stayed so much longer than he had intended, and recently his daughter had been phoning every week to ask when she should expect him. Sylvia understood that he had obligations elsewhere, commitments to fulfill. She knew that he had to leave, but she would miss him.
She sighed again and sat down in a chair by the window. The summer had come to Elm Creek Manor at last. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that those dark green hills had ever been covered with snow, that in the mornings the sound of wind in the bare elms had woken her rather than birdsong. She thought she could still detect the fragrance of apple blossoms on the breeze, though she knew the orchards were past flowering for the year. The trees had grown thick and lush so that she could barely see the barn on the other side of Elm Creek through the leaves.
Except for the newly paved parking lot behind the manor, the scene from her bedroom window was unchanged from the time she was a young girl greeting the days with a heart full of happiness and expectation. An entire summer day would have awaited her, full of promise and fun. If Richard wanted, she would take him riding; together they would head out to the far edge of the estate that Hans Bergstrom had established so many years ago. If Sylvia was in an especially good mood, she might have invited Claudia to join them—if only because Claudia would pack them a picnic lunch. The sisters and brother would spend the whole day outdoors, returning hours later, hungry and happy, just in time for supper. Later that evening, Sylvia would steal off alone to her favorite place on the estate, a large, flat stone beneath a willow on the bank of Elm Creek, where she would listen to the murmur of the water flowing over rocks and watch the fireflies as the stars came out far overhead. And she would dream of her future, and plan, and wish, and promise herself that she would travel and have adventures and fall in love with a handsome man who liked horses, but she would always come back to this place, to Elm Creek Manor, to home.
Would she be able to find that stone again, that willow, if she searched for them? Should she even try? Perhaps it would be better to leave the past in the past and embrace the future that she had almost not been granted. She did not want to seem ungrateful to the fate that had given her so many second chances.
A tap on her door inter
rupted her reverie. “Are you watching for our friends?” Agnes asked.
Sylvia turned away from the window and smiled. “No, just enjoying the view.”
“It’s a beautiful day.” Agnes crossed the room and peered outside. “A beautiful day for a drive, don’t you agree?”
Sylvia said nothing.
Agnes sat down in the opposite chair. “It’s a shame Andrew has to leave so soon.”
“Hmph. I’m surprised he stayed as long as he did. His daughter in Connecticut has been asking for his visit for weeks now.”
Agnes reached over and took her hand. “Sylvia, Andrew will stay if you ask him to.”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“He wants you to.”
For a moment Sylvia was too startled to speak. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t impose on him like that. I can’t have him staying on because he feels sorry for me.”
“That isn’t how he feels, and that’s not why he’d stay.”
Sylvia hesitated, then nodded. For several weeks now, she had been unable to ignore her growing affection for Andrew. Ever since he had sat on the edge of her bed and helped her remember how to quilt, she had known his heart as plainly as her own. It was nonsense, she had told herself, for a woman her age to be falling in love—but that was not what had held her back.
When she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. “He isn’t my James.”
Agnes’s eyes were warm with compassion. “He doesn’t have to be.”
Sylvia pressed her lips together and nodded. Yes. Of course, Agnes was right. James had loved her too much to begrudge her this. He would not have wanted her to live without love for so long.
Agnes squeezed her hand and smiled. “Let’s go downstairs and wait for the others, shall we?”
Arm in arm, the two women went downstairs to the kitchen, where Sarah and Carol were preparing the meal. They offered to help, but the mother and daughter assured them everything was nearly ready. While Agnes sat down at the kitchen table to chat, Sylvia excused herself and went outside.
She spotted Andrew from the back steps. He had raised the hood on his motor home and was peering inside. Sylvia felt a surge of hope as she approached him, for surely engine trouble would require him to postpone his departure. But as she drew closer, her heart sank. He was only putting a quart of oil in the motor.
“All ready to leave, I see,” she said briskly, forcing a smile onto her face.
Andrew glanced up from his work. “Not quite ready.”
“It was very nice having you with us for so long.” Sylvia wished she could retrieve her words. She could have been talking to the meter man for all the warmth in her voice.
“I’m glad I came.” He emptied the last of the oil, checked the level with the dipstick, and shut the hood. He set the bottle on the ground and wiped his fingers on a rag, watching her all the while.
“Will it be a long drive?”
“Too long.” He tossed the rag onto the empty bottle and smiled. “I’ve gotten comfortable, staying in one place so long. It won’t be easy getting used to the road again.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t be.” She hesitated. “Perhaps you shouldn’t. What I mean is, it’s a shame for you to make such a long, hard drive when you could, perhaps, just stay here instead.”
His eyebrows rose. “Stay here? For good?”
“Well—” Sylvia hesitated. “Well, yes. For good, or for as long as you wish. I wasn’t planning to lock you in.”
“Does that mean I can have a room?”
“Of course you can have a room. You always could have had a room. You’re the one who insisted on staying in—in—” She gestured toward the motor home. “In this thing. That wasn’t my idea.”
He folded his arms and leaned back against the grill, studying her. “Would you like me to stay?”
“Of course I would.” He was making this very difficult. “Would I have invited you if I didn’t want you to stay?”
He shrugged, thoughtful. “No, I suppose not.” He rubbed at his chin. “My daughter will be disappointed if I cancel my visit.”
Sylvia felt a sharp stab of regret. “Oh. Of course. I understand.” She gave him a tight smile and turned so he wouldn’t see her expression change. “Well, brunch won’t be much longer. I’ll see you inside.”
“Wait.” He caught her by the arm before she could leave. “What I meant was, I can’t cancel my visit, but I’ll come right back afterward.”
“You will?”
“I’ll just be gone a week or two.” His hands were light and strong on her shoulders. “Why don’t you come with me? I’d like for you to meet my daughter and my grandkids. Maybe later this summer we could even head out to the West Coast and I’ll introduce you to my son.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Why, that sounds like a fine idea. I’d like to meet your family.”
“And I’d like them to meet you.”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment before Andrew kissed her. She was so startled that for an instant she just stood there, frozen—but then she kissed him back.
Then he offered her his arm and escorted her inside.
When their friends arrived, they gathered in the dining room around the table Sarah and Carol had prepared. For Sylvia, the entire day had been transformed now that she would not have to say good-bye to Andrew. The day she’d thought would be filled with partings and loneliness now marked the beginning of what felt like her next grand adventure.
She looked around the table at the smiling faces of her dear, dear friends and knew with all her heart that no woman had ever been so richly blessed.
When the meal was over, everyone helped clear away the dishes; then, at Sylvia’s suggestion, they gathered on the veranda. While her friends seated themselves, Sylvia remained standing. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to fetch something.”
“Wait,” Diane said. “Don’t rush off. We have to show you something.”
“I have to show you something, too,” Sylvia called over her shoulder as she returned inside. She retrieved the bag and the folder from the ballroom, where she had left them earlier that day. She couldn’t wait to see her friends’ faces when she gave them her news.
When she returned to the veranda, all her friends had arranged their chairs around the one Sylvia usually chose, and on that chair rested a large white box.
“What on earth?” Sylvia exclaimed. She nearly dropped her own burdens she was so surprised. Her friends were beaming at her. “What is going on here?”
Sarah moved the box out of the way so Sylvia could sit down. “It’s a surprise.”
Sylvia took her seat. “But I have a surprise for you, too.” Sarah tried to hand her the box, but Sylvia’s arms were full. “Goodness, where should we begin?”
“You go first,” Judy urged, and the others agreed.
“Well—” Sylvia composed herself. “Very well. I’ll go first.” She set the folder aside and opened the bag. “I finished my Broken Star quilt last night.” Sarah and Carol came forward to help her unfold the quilt, and then other hands reached out to take a corner or an edge, holding the quilt open so all could admire it.
It was lovely; even Sylvia was not too modest to admit it.
The small blue, purple, and green diamonds had been joined together to form a large, eight-pointed star in the center of the quilt. Framing the star were large diamonds, identical to the eight sections of the star, each pieced from sixteen small diamonds. The arrangement of colors created the illusion that the star glowed, adding depth to the Celtic knotwork patterns quilted into the cloth.
Sylvia had made other quilts like it, but although these points were not as sharp as usual, nor the quilting stitches so fine and straight, she was prouder of this quilt than of any other she had ever made. This quilt was a testament not to her skills but to her courage, to her refusal to give up. She had hoped that her friends would understand that, because she wanted them to know what it would mean to her when this quilt hung in
the foyer and welcomed their guests to Elm Creek Manor. She hoped her friends did not need her to explain, because what she had put into that quilt she did not think she could put into words.
“It’s the most wonderful quilt I’ve ever seen,” Sarah said softly, and when she looked up and met Sylvia’s gaze, Sylvia knew that Sarah, at least, understood.
“It’s lovely, but I hope you’re not planning to hang it in the foyer,” Diane said. Judy nudged her.
“That’s precisely what I planned to do with it,” Sylvia said. “Why do you object? I assure you, no machine touched this quilt.”
Diane hesitated. “It’s not that I object, not exactly—”
“Just give her the box,” Gwen said, laughing.
Sarah handed it to Sylvia. “Here’s our surprise for you.”
Sylvia let her friends take the Broken Star quilt from her and accepted the box. Her friends drew closer as she removed the lid and moved the tissue paper aside.
Her fingers touched cloth, and Sylvia gasped.
In the box was a quilt almost the same size as the one she had made. Her eyes filled with tears as she unfolded it—oh, it was beautiful, simply beautiful. It was a medallion quilt, with borders in several different patterns: Square in a Square, Pinwheel, Mariner’s Compass, and Crazy Patch. In the center was a portrait of Elm Creek Manor in appliqué, so painstaking and perfect that it surely must have been Agnes’s handiwork. And the outermost border’s whimsy spoke of Gwen, as the Mariner’s Compass’s precision did of Judy: every inch of that quilt bore signs of her dearest friends.
“You made this for me?” she finally managed to say. “It truly is the loveliest gift I’ve ever received.” She looked around the circle. “Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I’ll cherish this always. Diane’s right. This must be the quilt we hang in the foyer.”
“No, we’ll find another place for it,” Bonnie said. “Your quilt should be the first one our campers see when they arrive at Elm Creek Manor. It represents everything we try to teach them about quilting—perseverance, setting goals, overcoming obstacles—”
An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler Page 57
