“Certainly. It sounded as if they had a marvelous time, and what an opportunity to interact with other quilters and perfect one’s craft. Sensible critiques of one’s work are a crucial part of any artist’s development. Perhaps next year you and I could—” She inclined her head to one side, eyes narrowing. “Hmm. Are you about to propose what I think you’re about to propose?”
Quickly, before Mrs. Compson could voice any doubts, Sarah launched into a description of her plan to turn Elm Creek Manor into a year-round quilters’ retreat where artists and amateurs alike could share their knowledge and their love for quilting.
Nationally known quilters could be brought in to teach special programs and seminars, while Mrs. Compson and other members of the permanent staff would provide most of the instruction. Sarah would handle all of the accounting and marketing matters just as she had done at her previous job. She presented the financial details and legal requirements she had investigated, showing, she hoped, that they had the resources and the abilities to make the project work. Getting the project under way would be neither easy nor quick, but before long Elm Creek Manor could become a haven for the quilter who longed for a place in which to create—if only for a week, a month, or a summer at a time. Mrs. Compson would be involved in the activities she loved most, and best of all, Elm Creek Manor would be alive again.
When she finished her proposal, Sarah studied Mrs. Compson’s face for some sign of her inclinations, but Mrs. Compson merely gazed off at the distant trees.
Finally she spoke. “It sounds like a lovely dream, Sarah, but you’ve never even been to quilt camp. How do you even know you’d care for it?”
How could anyone not care for it? “Okay, that’s true enough, but I’ve done a lot of research and I plan to do more. You and I could attend a few sessions together and talk to their directors and their participants. We should also talk to the quilters who don’t attend and find out what’s been missing. I’m willing to invest all the time and energy it takes. That’s how much I believe in this.”
Mrs. Compson still looked doubtful. “That’s all well and good, but I fear you may be confusing running a quilters’ retreat with attending one. I thought you hated accounting and all things business. I wouldn’t want you to start a new business for my sake, only to find yourself unhappy in your work.”
“I don’t hate accounting, and I wouldn’t be unhappy.” That was the least of Sarah’s worries. “What I disliked about my old job was the sense that I was just going through the motions, plugging in the numbers and spitting out sums, and none of it mattered. I wanted my work to have some—some relevance. I wanted it to mean something.” She struggled to explain how she felt, how she had been feeling for so long. “This would matter. We would be creating something special. I would have a purpose here.”
Mrs. Compson nodded, and to Sarah her expression seemed less skeptical, if only by the smallest degree. “What about teachers for these classes? I couldn’t teach them all myself, and although you’re a fine quilter, you’re not quite ready for that yet.”
“I’ve already spoken to the Tangled Web Quilters. Mrs. Emberly would be able to teach appliqué, Diane could teach introductory piecing classes, Bonnie could teach some of her Celtic knotwork and clothing classes here in addition to those at her shop, and you could handle the advanced piecing and quilting sections. If it turns out we need more help, we can always hire someone by advertising in quilt magazines, or better yet, we could find someone local through the Waterford Quilting Guild.”
“Hmph.” Mrs. Compson drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “I spot one fundamental flaw in your plan.”
Sarah’s heart sank. “What’s that?” She had been sure she had covered everything. “If you don’t want to risk your own capital, I’m sure we can find investors.”
“That’s not it. I’m certainly not about to use someone else’s money for something I can well afford on my own.” She sighed. “It’s another matter altogether. I don’t think you considered how difficult it would be for me to take care of so many overnight guests by myself. I can’t be running up and down stairs at everyone’s beck and call all the time.”
“I guess I see your point.”
“There’s only one solution, of course. You’ll have to move in, and you can be at everyone’s beck and call instead.”
“Move in here? To Elm Creek Manor?”
“I can see if the playhouse is still standing, if you’d prefer it. Naturally, I’d expect you to bring Matthew along. Yes, I see no other way around this problem except having you move in, and I’m afraid that’s one condition I must insist upon, so if you don’t want to live here—”
Sarah laughed and held up her hands. “You don’t have to talk me into it. I’d be thrilled to live here.”
“Very well, then. But you should check with Matthew before packing your things.”
“I have a condition of my own.”
Mrs. Compson raised her eyebrows. “So, this is to be a negotiation, is it?”
“You could call it that. My condition is that you have to have a phone line installed so our clients can contact us.” Sarah rubbed her wrinkled, waterlogged hands together. “And a dishwasher.”
“That’s two conditions. But very well. Agreed. And now I have another requirement.” She gave Sarah a searching look. “You may not like it.”
“Go ahead.”
“I don’t know what kind of conflict stands between you and your mother, but you must promise me you’ll talk to her and do your best to resolve it. Don’t be a stubborn fool like me and let grudges smolder and relationships die.”
“I don’t think you know how difficult that will be.”
“I don’t pretend to know, but I can guess. I don’t expect miracles. All I ask is that you learn from my mistakes and try.”
Sarah took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “All right. If that’s one of your conditions, I’ll try. I can’t promise you that anything will come of it, but I’ll try, Mrs. Compson.”
“That’s good enough for me. And if we’re going to be partners, I must insist that you call me Sylvia. We’ll have no more of this Mrs. Compson this and Mrs. Compson that. You needn’t be so formal.”
For a moment Sarah thought Mrs. Compson was teasing her. “But you told me to call you Mrs. Compson. Remember?”
“I said no such thing.”
“Yes, you did, the first day we met.”
“Did I?” Mrs. Compson frowned, thinking. “Hmph. Well, perhaps I did, but that was a long time ago, and a great deal has happened since then.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Sarah smiled. “Okay. Sylvia it is.”
“Good.” Mrs. Compson sighed and shook her head. “An artists’ colony. Sounds like something right out of my college days.” She sat lost in thought for what seemed to Sarah to be the longest silence she had ever had to endure.
Say yes. Just say yes. Sarah clenched her hands together in her lap. Please please please please—
“I suppose all that’s left is for us to select a name for our fledgling company.”
Sarah felt as if she would burst. “Does that mean yes?”
Mrs. Compson turned to Sarah and held out her hand. Her eyes were shining. “That means yes.”
Sarah let out a whoop of delight and shook Mrs. Compson’s hand. Mrs. Compson burst into laughter and hugged her.
As they sat on the veranda brainstorming, Sarah’s heart sang with excitement. Mrs. Compson seemed even more delighted, if that were possible. Sarah suspected that, like her, Mrs. Compson could already envision the beautiful quilts and the strengthened spirits of their creators bringing the manor to life once more.
The first question was easily settled—the name for their quilters’ haven.
Elm Creek Quilts.
About the Author
Jennifer Chiaverini is the author of thirteen Elm Creek Quilts novels, as well as three collections of quilt projects inspired by the series, and is the designer of the
Elm Creek Quilts fabric lines from Red Rooster Fabrics. She lives with her husband and two sons in Madison, Wisconsin. Visit her at www.elmcreek.net.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1999 by Jennifer Chiaverini
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The Library of Congress cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Chiaverini, Jennifer.
The quilter’s apprentice : a novel / Jennifer Chiaverini.
p. cm.
I. Title.
PS3553.H473Q55 1998
813'.54—dc21 98-31179
CIP
ISBN-13: 978-0-684-84972-0
ISBN-10: 0-684-84972-0
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-5699-2 (pbk)
ISBN-10: 1-4165-5699-0 (pbk)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-4257-8 (eBook)
The Quilter's Apprentice Page 26
