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 interrupted 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 ret
urned 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 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—”
“But your quilt does the same, only in a different way. Your quilt reminds us of cooperation, and friendship, and—”
“Who says we can only have one quilt on that wall?” Summer broke in. “Why don’t we hang them both? There’s plenty of room.”
Gwen hugged her. “Didn’t I tell you guys my daughter’s a genius?”
“At least once a week for the past two decades,” Diane said.
Everyone laughed, and the sound of their voices warmed Sylvia nearly as much as the beautiful quilt in her arms.
“Why don’t we hang them now?” Matt suggested. The others chimed in their agreement and moved toward the door.
“Not just yet, if you please,” Sylvia called out above the clamor. “I have a few more surprises for you.”
She saw them exchange curious glances as they settled back into their seats. She picked up the folder and opened it on her lap, enjoying every extra moment she kept her friends in suspense.
“My attack gave me much to think about,” Sylvia said. And so did that argument she had overheard between Sarah and Matthew, but she wouldn’t remind them of that awful time. “I decided that it was time for me to put my affairs in order. I met with my lawyer several times in the past few weeks, and I’ve made some arrangements which I’m sure you’ll find quite interesting.”
Diane looked dubious. “Interesting in a good way, I hope.”
“Oh, most definitely.” Sylvia turned to the first page in the folder and put on her glasses. “I’ve decided that it’s time for me to change my role in Elm Creek Quilts. I won’t be teaching any longer or organizing the activities. Instead I plan to supervise, pitch in here and there as I’m needed, work one-on-one with our campers now and again, and just generally enjoy myself. However, I don’t expect Sarah to add all my duties to her already substantial workload.” She peered over the top of her glasses at Summer. “In other words, dear, that full-time job you wanted is yours, if you’re still interested.”
“Absolutely,” Summer exclaimed.
“Good. Then that’s settled.”
As the others congratulated Summer, Sylvia moved on to the next item on her list. “Then there’s this little matter of demonstrations and skateboards and what have you.”
They felt silent as all eyes turned to Diane.
“I’m concerned about the effect of continuous incarceration upon company morale,” Sylvia said dryly. “I believe I have a solution. We’ll arrange for the construction of a skateboard park—a legal skateboard park.”
Diane’s eyes were wide with astonishment. “You mean here? On the estate?”
“Heavens no. Far too many of our campers come here to escape teenagers; it wouldn’t do to give them another whole crop to contend with. I own a small piece of property adjacent to the Waterford College campus. I plan to donate it to the city with the understanding that they will use it for this purpose. I imagine they could put up a swing set or two as well, something nice for the younger children. My lawyer has been speaking with the city planners, and they’ve nearly reached an agreement.”
“This is wonderful, Sylvia,” Diane cried. “My sons will be thrilled.”
“Good, because the city of Waterford plans to put them to work. They’re going to assemble a planning committee to research construction, costs, insurance, maintenance—countless other matters. Your sons will participate, as will several other children from local schools. I imagine it will be quite educational.” She licked a fingertip and turned to the next page in the folder. “If nothing else, it will keep them busy and off the streets, so they won’t be mowing down helpless old ladies like myself.”
Andrew grinned and shook his head at her. “You’re many things, but you’re not helpless.”
She smiled at him.
“You’re too generous, Sylvia,” Bonnie said.
“Oh, I’m just getting started.” Sylvia checked her list. “Ah, yes. The company. I’m going to di
vide it all up into shares, which will be distributed among the Elm Creek Quilters.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over their exclamations and gasps of astonishment. “Not in equal shares, I’m afraid. Each will receive a ten percent share, except for Sarah, who will receive twenty percent, and, of course, I’m keeping twenty percent for myself. My twenty percent will revert to Sarah after my demise, but don’t hold your breath, Sarah, dear, for I plan to live forever. Now, where’s Matthew?”
Matt raised his hand to catch her attention. He looked stunned. They all did, which delighted Sylvia beyond measure. “Ah, yes. Matthew. You get the orchard. Let’s see, what’s next? Oh, yes—”
“The orchard?”
Sylvia raised her eyebrows at him. “Why, yes, Matthew. The orchard. The one on the west side of the estate, where you were working just yesterday. Surely you remember it.”
“Yes, but—”
“It’s yours. The land, the trees, everything. The deed has been transferred to your name. If you don’t want it, you can sell it, but I hope you won’t.” She paused. “I also hope you’ll remain as our caretaker, but I’ll understand if you don’t. You’re an essential part of our operation, Matthew. You’re our—our secretary of the interior, as it were. I hope that the orchard will give you the independence you desire and the security any man would want for himself and his family, so that you keep your role in Elm Creek Quilts because you want to, not because you must.”
“Thank you, Sylvia. I’m very grateful,” he said, and Sylvia knew he spoke from the heart. “But the orchard—what am I supposed to do with it?”
“Do with it?” Sylvia looked around the circle in surprise. “For goodness sake, what does anyone do with an orchard? Grow apples and cherries if you like. Develop your own hybrids. Build a cider mill. Experiment. Learn. Tear everything up and plant a vineyard if you like, but have fun.” She snapped the papers and hid a smile. “And here I thought you had a green thumb. What do I do with an orchard, he asks. What a question.” She glanced at Andrew, and she could see that he knew how much she was enjoying herself.
Round Robin Page 32
