The Quilter's Apprentice

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  Inspired by Mrs. Compson’s successful presentation, they decided to ignore the work waiting upstairs and spent the rest of the afternoon quilting. As Sarah and Matt drove home that evening, she told him about the presentation and, most importantly, the promise Mrs. Compson had given Gwen. “She said any time Gwen wants her to deliver another lecture, she will. That must mean that she’s thinking about staying, right? I mean, how could she give another presentation if she leaves Waterford?”

  Matt nodded, considering. “It could be a good sign, I guess.”

  “You guess? If she feels needed, that’s one more reason to stay, right?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up too high, honey. I don’t want you to be hurt if things don’t work out.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Well, if that doesn’t impress you maybe this will. She’s also thinking about joining the Tangled Web Quilters.”

  “Does she know Mrs. Emberly is a member?”

  Sarah paused. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “How are you going to work that?”

  “I don’t know.” Sarah frowned and sank back into her seat, deflated.

  They pulled into their parking lot. Matt draped an arm around Sarah’s shoulders as she unlocked the door and went inside. “Sarah, something about this University Realty deal bothers me.”

  “Everything about it bothers me.”

  Matt took off his baseball cap and ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking about how much it would cost to remodel the interior of the manor so that it could be used for apartments, and frankly, I don’t see how University Realty can hope to make any kind of profit. They’d have to charge incredible rents just to break even, and what college student has that kind of money to throw around? And most students want a place with all the modern amenities and aren’t willing to sacrifice them just to say they lived in a historic mansion. Especially one that isn’t within walking distance of campus.”

  “It never sounded very logical to me, either.”

  “The remodeling costs are only part of it. Tony’s currently working on a similar project but on a much smaller scale, a three-story home near downtown that the owners want to convert into three apartments. You wouldn’t believe all the laws and ordinances he has to follow and all the fees the owner has to pay just to get the place up to local code for rental units.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. It just seems to me that it would be more logical for University Realty to buy some land and start from scratch rather than try to make Elm Creek Manor into something it isn’t.”

  Sarah’s pulse quickened. “Maybe that’s what they’re doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe they’re only interested in the grounds, not in the manor itself.”

  Matt’s eyes widened. “You mean tear down Elm Creek Manor—”

  “And start from scratch, just like you said.” Sarah’s thoughts raced as she pictured how many modern efficiency apartments could be squeezed onto the grounds, each one pouring a generous rent into Gregory Krolich’s pocket every month. “That has to be what they have planned.”

  “But that’s crazy. Converting Elm Creek Manor is one thing, but tearing it down is another. Mrs. Compson would never sell knowing Elm Creek Manor would be demolished.”

  “I don’t think she does know. We don’t even know for sure. But think about how carefully Krolich chooses his words. Remember when Mrs. Compson said she was worried that students would trash the place, and he said it would never happen? I bet he meant it will never happen because there won’t be any Elm Creek Manor left for them to trash.”

  “We have to tell her.”

  “Not until we know for sure. I don’t want to upset her.”

  “I can talk to Tony. He’s been in this town a long time and knows everybody in the business.” Matt reached out and stroked Sarah’s head. “Don’t worry. We’ll find out what’s going on and tell Mrs. Compson before she signs anything. It’s her home, and we have to respect her decision even if we don’t like it, but she deserves to know the truth.”

  Sarah nodded. How could she not worry? Only a few moments before, she’d thought she would have Mrs. Compson and Elm Creek Manor all summer, at least. Now she felt as if they were already slipping away.

  Twenty-Three

  The next morning Sarah’s mood did not reflect the bright and pleasant weather outdoors as she trudged from the truck to the back steps of the manor carrying her best blue interview suit on a hanger.

  Mrs. Compson greeted her at the back door with a smile and a glint in her eye. “Let’s go right upstairs and get started, shall we?”

  Sarah had slept poorly, too worried about Elm Creek Manor to rest. To make matters worse, she felt ill prepared for her job interview later that day. She hooked the hanger over the doorknob and returned Mrs. Compson’s cheery greeting halfheartedly. “I wanted to remind you that I have another job interview this afternoon,” she added as she climbed the stairs behind the older woman.

  Mrs. Compson gave a start. “Oh, of course. That’s fine. I’m sure you’ll do well.” She continued down the hall, past the suite they had begun two days before but had not yet finished.

  Sarah hesitated at the door. “Mrs. Compson?”

  “Hmm?” Mrs. Compson turned. “Oh, yes, that. Don’t bother with that room right now. I want you to work somewhere else today.” She resumed her pace, motioning for Sarah to accompany her.

  Sarah trailed after her, wondering what had gotten into Mrs. Compson that morning.

  Mrs. Compson stopped in front of a door near the end of the hall. “This was my sister’s room,” she said, placing her hand on the doorknob. “I admit I’ve put off this suite as long as possible, but yesterday I thought of—well, never mind. You’ll see for yourself.” She pushed open the door and waved Sarah in ahead of her.

  This room had been used more recently than the others. A pink-and-white quilt was spread across the queen-size bed, and a white lamp with a frilly pink shade sat on a bedside table. White eyelet lace curtains stirred in the breeze from the open west-facing window. A small, square quilt of pink, yellow, and white triangles arranged in the shape of a basket hung opposite the bed.

  Mrs. Compson motioned for Sarah to follow her into the suite’s adjoining room. Most likely it had been Claudia’s sewing room, Sarah guessed, noting the sewing machine nearby. It resembled Mrs. Compson’s other machine, except the interlocking pattern painted in gold on the shiny black metal was slightly different, and it was set into a wooden table with a single drawer.

  Mrs. Compson pulled back the chair and gestured for Sarah to take a seat. “What do you think? Like it?”

  Sarah ran a hand over the smooth, polished surface of the table. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “It’s yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “Consider it an employee-of-the-month bonus. Now, it’s not the same model as mine, but in my opinion it sews just as well. It just isn’t portable because of the table. The light’s on the back of the machine rather than above the needle, but a good lamp at your left will illuminate the area sufficiently.”

  “Mrs. Compson, I can’t accept this. It’s too—”

  “What? Don’t you like it?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I like it. I love it.”

  “Then take it and be grateful.” Sarah started to speak, but Mrs. Compson silenced her with a raised palm. “Make an old lady happy by accepting her gift in the spirit in which it has been given. Surely you don’t want to insult me?”

  Sarah grinned. “Definitely not. Anything but that.”

  After Sarah dashed downstairs to fetch her Sister’s Choice block pieces, Mrs. Compson showed her how to operate the machine. It had all kinds of attachments whose uses Sarah couldn’t discern, and she soon realized that she could operate the machine better in her stocking feet than with her shoes on, since the foot pedal was actually no more than a single button she could depress with her right big toe.

  Matt sur
prised them by arriving early for lunch.

  “Look at my new toy, honey,” Sarah greeted him, making Mrs. Compson laugh.

  Matt gave them a tight-lipped smile. “That’s great, Sarah. Mrs. Compson, I hope you don’t mind if I take Sarah to her job interview early? I have a meeting with my boss in town and I can’t be late.”

  “Oh, and we were having so much fun.”

  “I’ll come back after the interview,” Sarah promised. “After all, we should get some work done today, shouldn’t we?”

  With an anxious Mrs. Compson barking out directions and warnings as they went, Sarah and Matt carried the sewing machine downstairs and set it up in the west sitting room opposite the sofa. Sarah changed into her suit and joined Matt in the truck.

  “I don’t really have a meeting, Sarah,” he said as soon as she shut the door. “I had something to tell you, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  “What is it?”

  Matt started the truck. “Tony checked with a friend in the city licensing department. University Realty has applied for a demolition permit.”

  “For Elm Creek Manor?”

  Matt nodded, eyes fixed on the dirt trail as they drove past the barn into the forest.

  “But they haven’t even bought it yet,” she exclaimed. “How can they apply for permits already?”

  “Tony says the Waterford Zoning Commission can take as long as six months to grant approval to raze historic buildings. Apparently Krolich wants to be able to tear down the place as soon as his check clears.”

  “I can’t believe he’d buy Elm Creek Manor without telling Mrs. Compson what he plans to do with it. We have to do something.”

  “I know.”

  Sarah thought for a moment. “Let’s go see him right now.”

  Matt glanced at her, then quickly returned his gaze to the narrow road. “What about your interview?”

  “We have time.”

  Soon Matt was parking the truck in front of the three-story Victorian building that housed University Realty’s downtown office. Sarah raced up the front stairs as Matt fed coins into the meter. He joined her inside at the receptionist’s desk, where Sarah was asking to see Mr. Krolich.

  “Who may I say wishes to see him?” the receptionist asked as she reached for the phone.

  “Just tell him it’s important.” Sarah craned her neck, trying to see the work space beyond the desk. Men and women in solemn business attire strode though the hallway, but Krolich was not among them.

  “I’ll need your names.”

  “Sarah and Matt McClure. He knows us.”

  The receptionist phoned Mr. Krolich’s office, exchanged a few words, then replaced the receiver. “I’m sorry, but he’s due in a meeting. If you’d like to schedule an appointment he’d be happy to see you sometime next month—”

  Then Sarah spotted a familiar figure. She grabbed Matt’s sleeve. “There he is.” She marched down the hallway with Matt close behind, ignoring the receptionist’s protests. Krolich’s back disappeared around the corner into an office. By the time Sarah and Matt burst in, he had reached his desk.

  He paused only slightly before settling down into the high-backed leather chair. “Hello again, Sarah, Matt.” He gestured toward two chairs facing his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

  “We’ll stand,” Sarah said.

  Krolich shrugged. “Suit yourself. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit? Are you interested in that job after all, Sarah?”

  “We want the truth about your plans for Elm Creek Manor.”

  Krolich frowned. “You must realize I can’t discuss confidential business matters with anyone other than my clients and other involved parties. As much as I’d like to help you, well, you can understand the spot I’m in.”

  “Sarah is Mrs. Compson’s personal assistant,” Matt said. “And both of us are her friends. That makes us involved parties.”

  “So you might as well tell us your plans for tearing down Elm Creek Manor,” Sarah said.

  Krolich’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “Oh, so you’ve heard about that.” He picked up a gilded letter opener and fingered it. “Tell me, have you mentioned this to Mrs. Compson?”

  “Not yet, but we plan to.”

  “I see.” He returned the letter opener and folded his hands, resting his elbows on the desk. “I was planning to tell her myself, you know.”

  “Yeah, right,” Matt said. “When? Before or after she signed the place away?”

  “If Mrs. Compson wants to sell Elm Creek Manor, that’s her business. Who are you to interfere?”

  Sarah tried to keep her voice steady. “We’re her friends, and we care about her, which is more than you can say.”

  “It’s not that I don’t care.”

  “Then why hide your plans from her?”

  Krolich sighed. “Are you sure you won’t sit down?” When Sarah and Matt didn’t move, he nodded in acceptance. “Okay. I guess you’re determined to see me as the villain here. But hear me out. I do care about Mrs. Compson. I’m trying to do right by her.”

  Matt snorted. “You have a funny idea of what’s right.”

  Krolich’s expression became earnest. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that she already knows we plan to raze Elm Creek Manor?”

  Sarah shook her head. “No way. She would’ve told me.”

  “Think about it, Sarah. My offer is the only one she’s had, the only one she’s likely to get. If she accepts it, she’s agreeing to have her family home torn down. Do you think she’d admit to knowing that, even to herself?”

  “So you’re saying she’s known all along, and she’s lied to me?”

  “Not exactly. I’m saying she doesn’t want to know.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Sarah shot back, but doubt trickled into her mind. She shoved it away. “You deliberately glossed over your plans for Elm Creek Manor because you knew she wouldn’t sell it to you otherwise.”

  “I knew nothing of the sort.”

  “You had to suspect it, at least, or you would’ve told her.”

  “You’re letting sentiment cloud your judgment. Not a good practice for an aspiring businesswoman.” He shook his head as if regretful. “This discussion is getting us nowhere. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you both to leave.”

  Sarah opened her mouth to retort, but Matt caught her arm. “Let’s go, Sarah. It’s not worth it.” He gave Krolich a hard look. “Anyway, we got the answers we came for.”

  Krolich frowned but said nothing.

  Sarah and Matt hurried down the hallway, ignoring the stares of Krolich’s employees. “We have to tell her right away,” Sarah said as they climbed into the truck.

  Matt shook his head and pulled into traffic. “Your interview, remember?”

  “That’s right.” Her heart sank. “But what if he gets her to sign something before I’m done?”

  “You go to your interview, and I’ll go talk to Mrs. Compson.”

  “I think I should be the one to tell her,” she argued. Then she sighed. “But we can’t risk waiting. You’re right. You tell her.”

  They pulled into the accounting firm’s parking lot and exchanged a quick kiss before Matt drove away and Sarah hurried inside. She glanced at her watch, relieved to see she was still two minutes early.

  A clerk took her name and guided her to a waiting room, where she took a few deep breaths to compose herself. An image of Matt breaking the bad news and Mrs. Compson’s grief-stricken face flashed through her mind. She tried to shake it off.

  Not five minutes later the clerk returned and led her to another office. “You’ll be meeting with our new assistant director of operations, Thomas Wilson,” he said.

  Sarah started. She knew that name. The clerk opened the door for her and she entered the room.

  From behind his desk Thomas Wilson looked up in surprise. “So you’re Sarah McClure.” He rose and shook her hand. “How funny. I’ve seen you twice before and I never got your n
ame. Please, have a seat.”

  Sarah sank into the opposite chair, smiling uncertainly. Usually her interviews began with introductions between strangers, and the change was disconcerting. “Congratulations on your new job,” she said, then wondered if she should have.

  He smiled. “Thanks. Sure beats constant interviewing. Well, let’s get started, shall we?”

  He began with the few perfunctory questions she had heard so often before, and she provided her familiar responses. At first she felt hopeful, thinking that he was sure to be a sympathetic listener since until recently he had been on the other side of the interviewer’s desk himself. Before long, however, her confidence began to erode. She noticed that he never once looked her in the eye or wrote down any remarks. The more Sarah tried to sound positive and confident, the more she began to wonder if this man really was the same person who had been so talkative only a few weeks ago.

  When she was in the middle of responding to his question about why she left her former employer, he suddenly pushed her résumé aside. “Sarah, I’m a busy man. Let’s save ourselves a lot of time and trouble and call it quits, okay?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We both know you don’t want this job.”

  “But I do. I wouldn’t be here if—”

  He raised his voice to drown out her protests. “Did you think I had forgotten our conversation—oh, what was it, two, three weeks ago? You made it clear that you really aren’t interested in accounting work. I’m afraid I can’t in good conscience hire you knowing you won’t be satisfied with us.”

  “I will be satisfied. You know I can do the work and—”

  “Being able to do the work isn’t enough. If the desire isn’t there, productivity won’t be, either.”

  Sarah’s cheeks grew warm. “I’ve always done the very best I could at every job I’ve ever held. I’d do the same here, I promise you.”

  “Thanks for stopping by. We’ll let you know.” He turned back to his papers as if Sarah had vanished.

  Sarah knew she should leave, but his abrupt dismissal angered her. “Are you even going to consider me?”