Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  “She’s probably in class.”

  “Not all day. She ought to be in her office by now.” Summer let her head fall back against the cushions. “People could try to be a little more accessible at this time of year.”

  “Diane’s so stressed out about Todd’s college acceptances that she’s probably too jittery to sit by the phone. Judy’s either at work or with Emily, and you know better than anyone how busy your mom is.”

  Summer snorted in grudging acceptance.

  “Besides, if anyone’s inaccessible, it’s you,” remarked Sarah. “You rarely answer your email anymore and never answer your phone. All anyone can ever get is your machine. By the way, I think it might be broken. There’s no outgoing message anymore, just a beep.”

  “Oh. Thanks. I’ll look into it.”

  “You should. Last week I called three times in a row just to make sure I had the right number.” Sarah leafed through a pile of registration forms and sighed. “How does Agnes feel about canceling her appliqué class?”

  “She’d rather not. She doesn’t care if there are only four students. If they want to learn to appliqué, she’s willing to teach them.”

  “I guess we should keep it on the schedule, then.” Better that than writing apologetic letters to the four campers and trying to squeeze them into their second-choice classes.

  “Did you know Agnes started piecing the top for Sylvia’s bridal quilt?”

  Sarah set down the forms, instantly attentive. “No. Does that mean we have enough blocks?”

  “Not quite. She’s adding an elaborate pieced border to compensate.”

  Sarah smiled ruefully. “I had hoped to receive a better response.”

  “We still might. There’s a whole month before the deadline. Agnes just wanted to work ahead since camp starts in almost three weeks.” Summer studied the unlit fireplace. “Have you decided what block you’re going to make?”

  “I have no idea.” Sarah had been so preoccupied with the other blocks that she had never given her own a thought. She had not even checked her fabric stash to see if she had the right colors. “What pattern did you choose?”

  “I was hoping to steal some ideas from you.” Summer rose and stretched. “Back to work. Maybe my mom’s in her office by now.”

  Sarah nodded, lost in thought.

  What block could possibly convey all that Sylvia meant to her?

  Either Summer was unable to reach her mother or she forgot that she was supposed to contact Sarah with Gwen’s response, because Sarah did not hear from either woman until their business meeting the following Thursday evening. In the past Gwen had protested any cuts in her teaching schedule, insisting that holding a class with only one student was far preferable to disappointing the one camper who had registered. Sarah and Gwen had gone through the same debate so often that this time Sarah came prepared with documented evidence proving that one-student classes, while good enough in theory, could be a financial disaster. But when she took Gwen aside before the meeting and recommended that they cancel her dyeing workshops for the first two weeks of camp, Gwen merely shrugged. She added something vague about possibly directing a seminar on the sociopolitical implications of quilt contests instead, but she drifted off to the parlor before waiting for Sarah’s response.

  Throughout the meeting, Sarah gradually realized that Gwen was not the only one who seemed inordinately distracted. Bonnie looked tired and pale, as if she had not slept in days. Agnes, too, must have noticed, for she watched Bonnie all evening with a look of carefully muted concern. Summer paid more attention to her watch than to Sarah’s updates about enrollment, and twice Judy left the room to take calls on her cell phone. Their behavior was puzzling, but Diane’s was downright irritating; she stormed in twenty minutes late muttering about admissions counselors and tuition payments, then spent the rest of the meeting tapping her pen against her notebook and scowling.

  Finally Sarah had had enough. “While we’re on the subject of guest lecturers, Jane Smith has agreed to speak to our campers in August. That’s perfect timing because, as you know, Jane is the world-famous Naked Quilter, and she requires that all of her lectures be conducted entirely in the nude. Students included. I decided we should make all of Elm Creek Quilt Camp go naked for the whole week so her students don’t feel self-conscious. Matt, Andrew, and the rest of the male staff should wear fig leaves so our more sensitive campers aren’t offended.”

  Everyone but Sylvia nodded absently. “Are you out of your mind?” Sylvia gasped.

  “What?” said Summer. “What did she say?”

  “If any of you had been listening, you would know.” Sarah took a deep breath and made herself count to ten. “Look. I realize you’re all busy and that you have lives and jobs outside of camp. But it seems to me that you’re beginning to take Elm Creek Quilts for granted. I realize we’ve been very successful very quickly, but contrary to appearances, this camp does not run itself. I can’t do it without you, so please, while you’re here, really be here, okay?”

  Abashed, the Elm Creek Quilters nodded and murmured apologies.

  “Jane Smith, the Naked Quilter, indeed,” said Sylvia. “I suppose there is no such person. Pity. That certainly would have been an interesting week.”

  “Jane Smith the who?” said Diane.

  “No one.” Sylvia shrugged. “Serves you right for not listening.”

  As far as Sarah could tell, they hung on her every word for the rest of the meeting.

  Whenever Sarah could find a spare moment from the frenzy of camp preparations, she pored through Sylvia’s library of quilt-pattern books trying to find the perfect block. With no time to idly admire the illustrations, she began with the index and read through the names, trying to find one that was suitable. A block called Homecoming evoked Sylvia’s return to Elm Creek Manor after a fifty-year absence and also the launch of Elm Creek Quilts, but one glance at the pattern told Sarah it would be too difficult. Many blocks incorporated the word Friendship into their names, but while Sarah liked several of the designs, she suspected everyone else would be looking for some sort of “Friendship” block, too, and she wanted her choice to be more distinctive. With only one week before the first day of camp, Sarah finally settled on Sarah’s Favorite, for Sylvia was certainly Sarah’s favorite quilter and ran a very close second with Matt for her all-around favorite person. The approaching deadline nagged her, but as the organizer of the project, she figured she could extend the deadline if circumstances warranted. Readying Elm Creek Manor for its first guests of the season certainly qualified.

  Sarah found a perfect rose-colored floral print in her stash and stopped by Grandma’s Attic to pick up a few coordinating fat quarters in blue and leaf green. She cut the squares and triangles that same day and sewed the pieces together late at night, after Sylvia retired.

  “Nice,” Matt remarked a few evenings later, when she had nearly finished. He had come to the sitting room adjoining their bedroom, Sarah’s de facto sewing room, to see when she planned to come to bed.

  Sarah thanked him and sighed as he began rubbing her shoulders. She hoped her block would be good enough. It was well made—she’d had an exacting teacher—but most of the blocks sent to Grandma’s Attic were far more elaborate.

  “You know,” she mused, “I think I might want shoulder rubs on alternate days rather than foot massages for the entire two weeks.”

  “I still have two more days to win this bet.”

  Sarah laughed. “I admire your confidence, misplaced though it is.”

  “You have to admit you skewed the odds in your favor with your codicil.”

  “And you have to admit that dropping hints to Sylvia would have been unfair.”

  “Explicitly telling her about the quilt would have been cheating,” Matt acknowledged. “But hints would have been fair. Tricking you into revealing the secret would have been the best of all.”

  Sarah turned in her chair and regarded him. “Why are you so eager for Sylvia to find
out about our surprise?”

  “I’m not. I just want those apple trees.” Matt paused. “Want to play double or nothing?”

  “When I’m this close to winning? No, thanks.”

  “You’d turn down four weeks of breakfast in bed? You must be closer to spilling the truth than I thought.”

  “Hardly. What are your terms?”

  “Double or nothing, Sylvia will find out about the quilt before it’s finished.”

  “Finished as in all the blocks sewn together or as in quilted and bound?” They were planning to set up the pieced top in Sylvia’s quilt frame on the ballroom dais so campers could contribute stitches throughout the spring and summer. Sarah had planned to present the pieced top to Sylvia before then, for they would be unable to conceal it and still allow the campers to work on it.

  She hid her glee when Matt said, “I want to pick out my trees soon, so let’s say until all the blocks are sewn into a top. But I want more leeway with this codicil.”

  “Sylvia can’t learn about the quilt from you,” Sarah warned.

  “But anything else is fair game.”

  For four weeks of breakfast in bed, why not? Since Agnes had already begun to assemble the top, surely Sarah would only need to keep the quilt secret until mid-April, at the latest. “You have a deal.” She extended her hand, but the words had barely left her lips before Matt bent down and kissed them.

  A week of late nights and early mornings followed. Sarah finished her block on the last evening before quilt camp and spent most of that night lying awake, running over last-minute details in her mind. She fell asleep sometime after three and stumbled down to the kitchen the next morning, bleary-eyed and yawning, to find Sylvia, Andrew, and Matt already seated at the kitchen table. As Sarah took her seat beside Matt, the cook, recently returned from his annual monthlong vacation, placed steaming plates of blueberry pancakes before them.

  “Sarah, dear, you look exhausted,” said Sylvia.

  “She should,” said Matt. “She stayed up half the night quilting.”

  “I did not.”

  “Sarah,” scolded Sylvia gently. “You should have gotten more rest. Today’s a busy day.”

  “That’s what I told her, but she kept at it,” said Matt.

  “What on earth was so important that you had to finish last night?” asked Sylvia. “It couldn’t have been a class sample. You aren’t teaching this week.”

  Sarah took a hasty bite of pancake. “These are delicious,” she called to the cook.

  “Sarah?”

  “Oh, Sylvia, don’t believe a word Matt says. I was done sewing by ten-thirty and in bed by eleven. You know how it is when you see a new quilt pattern and just have to try it out right away.”

  “Hmph.” Sylvia looked dubious. “Well, do I get to see this amazing quilt block?”

  Matt shot Sarah a look of triumph, but she did her best to sound unconcerned. “Sure. Later. If I remember.” It was the first day of quilt camp. She would have abundant excuses to forget.

  Satisfied, Sylvia let her off with a warning that she should make sure to go to bed early that night. Sarah laughed, knowing how impossible that would be, but assured Sylvia she would try. As the conversation turned to other matters, Sarah raised her eyebrows at Matt, smug. He lifted his coffee mug to her to acknowledge his defeat, but she suspected he considered it a temporary setback. Matt wanted those apple trees, and he intended to fight dirty.

  At twelve o’clock, the first sixty quilters of the new camp season began to arrive. The Elm Creek Quilters had gathered well before then to arrange registration tables in the grand front foyer and to go through the guest rooms to be certain no detail had been overlooked. Agnes and Diane arranged fresh flowers from the cutting garden on each bedside table to assure every guest received a proper welcome, while Judy and Gwen checked with the cook to be sure all was ready for the Welcome Banquet. Bonnie and Summer gave the classrooms one last inspection, as Sylvia helped Sarah set out forms and organize room keys. Matt and Andrew stood ready to assist arriving guests with their luggage, while the rest of the staff bustled about, filled as they all were with the expectation and excitement that heralded each new season of Elm Creek Quilt Camp. As far as Sarah could discern, the distraction that had afflicted her friends earlier that month had completely disappeared.

  A few minor problems surfaced during registration: Two friends who had wanted to room together had been paired with total strangers, and a woman who had registered for the following week had shown up early, totally unaware of her mistake. Sarah and Sylvia resolved these minor crises before anyone had time to become too anxious, and once again Sarah marveled at their illusion of flawless service. No wonder people assumed the camp ran itself!

  The Welcome Banquet was the best one yet, and the Candlelight ceremony at sunset on the cornerstone patio was like a warm embrace, drawing campers and faculty alike into a close circle of friendship. After the last guests retired for the night—or, more likely, gathered in neighbors’ rooms to renew old friendships and initiate new ones—Sarah returned to her library office to go over a few last-minute details for the classes that would begin the following morning. She could not keep the smile off her face as she listened to footfalls going from room to room and laughter muffled behind closed doors. Elm Creek Manor had become her home and she loved it in any season, but it truly came to life when it was filled with quilters.

  Sarah did not get to bed as early as she had promised Sylvia, but Matt was even a few minutes later. As the manor’s caretaker, his workload increased exponentially when the estate was full of visitors. He seemed so content, though, that Sarah knew he had come to enjoy his role in the company as much as she did hers.

  Still, as they lay down beneath the sampler quilt she had made for him as an anniversary gift so many years before, she could not resist teasing him. “I sure hope camp runs as smoothly as Sylvia’s bridal quilt project,” she said, exaggerating a yawn. “Agnes finished her pieced border, and is just waiting for the last blocks to arrive so she can sew it all together.”

  Matt feigned sleep, punctuating Sarah’s remark with a snore.

  Sarah’s alarm woke her at half past six, and by seven she was descending the carved oak staircase and hurrying to the kitchen. The cook and his two assistants had breakfast well in hand—and seemed surprised and even hurt that Sarah had felt it necessary to check—so she returned to the banquet hall to join Matt. Sylvia and Andrew, both early risers, had already finished eating and were nursing cups of coffee and chatting with a group of campers. Matt had joined them, so Sarah hurried through the buffet and took the seat he had saved for her. So many enthusiastic campers came by to greet her that Sarah had barely managed to take a few quick gulps of coffee before she was summoned to the phone.

  She grabbed half a bagel and munched on it as she hurried to the nearest private phone, in the formal parlor. Judy was on the line, breathless. “Sarah, I’m so sorry to do this—”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I have to go out of town, so I can’t teach my classes today or tomorrow. I might be able to make it back by Wednesday, but I won’t know until later today. I’m sorry I can’t at least teach my ten o’clock today, but I have to leave for Philadelphia by nine—”

  “Is your mom all right?”

  “Yes, yes, she’s fine. It’s for work. I have to meet with some professors at Penn.”

  “But it’s spring break.” They always scheduled the first week of camp to coincide with spring break, to lighten the burden on Judy and Gwen.

  “It’s Waterford College’s spring break, not Penn’s. I’m so sorry for the short notice. I just found out five minutes ago. Apparently they sent a letter, but I never received it.”

  “That’s all right,” said Sarah bleakly. “These things happen. We’ll find someone to cover for you.”

  “Thank you, Sarah. Thank you. I swear I’ll make it up to you. Look, I have sample quilts for display and handouts and lesson plans. I’ll drop t
hem off on my way.”

  “That would be great.” It was as far from great as Sarah could imagine, but what else could she say?

  Judy thanked her profusely and hung up. Sarah tossed her bagel in the trash and raced upstairs to the library. Ordinarily she could recite the teaching schedule from memory, but at the moment, she couldn’t think of a single available instructor. She rifled through her files, found the weekly class schedule, and let out a moan. Judy’s morning workshop was Bindings and Borders, and only Diane was free from ten o’clock until noon. Judy’s class taught participants how to draft original pieced borders and how to finish the quilted tops in unusual fashions—scalloped edges, spiral bindings, contrasting piping, prairie points. While Diane might be able to handle the drafting-borders segment of the class, she had never attempted the unusual bindings. For that matter, neither had Sarah.

  She sank into the high-backed leather chair and spread the papers out on the desk. Judy’s afternoon class was a weeklong program in computer-aided design. Summer knew how to use that software—Sarah shuffled some pages—and she was free from four until five every day that week except Wednesday, when she worked a longer shift at Grandma’s Attic. Agnes had that afternoon off, as did Bonnie and Gwen. Gwen. Perfect.

  The door opened and Sylvia entered. “I thought I’d find you here.” She crossed the room and set a steaming cup of coffee on a coaster on the desktop. “When you didn’t come back to breakfast, I made some inquiries and discovered you had been spotted racing upstairs, a look of sheer panic on your face.”

  Sarah filled Sylvia in on Judy’s abrupt cancellations and her attempts to adjust the schedule. “The afternoon class should be fine, as long as Summer and Gwen agree. As for this morning—” She folded her arms on the desk and buried her face in them. “I don’t see how to resolve this.”