“Don’t come back!” the server shouted.
Judy sighed and shook her head as the server took the tip jar to the sink, carefully poured out most of the coffee, and fished coins and soggy bills from the bottom in disgust. Judy wondered what Diane thought of her youngest son’s choice of friends. She was probably just relieved Todd got decent grades and kept his record clean, unlike his elder brother. To be fair, though, as far as Judy knew, Michael had given his parents no undue cause for worry ever since he had started college. Judy was thankful Emily was still young enough that she and Steve could exercise control over her social life, though she knew those days wouldn’t last.
She frowned, wondering if she should tell Diane about the prank. She would have, except she was so anxious about the campus invitation that had not yet come that she forgot about the young men by the time she left the coffee shop.
Technically the seventh day of March could not be considered the middle of the month even by the most generous estimate, but Judy still fretted over the lack of any word from Penn. She called home every afternoon to ask Steve if the campus invitation had arrived in the mail, even though she knew he would have called if it had. She could have managed more patience if Rick had sent her regular updates, but it would never occur to him to do so.
By the first business meeting of the month, Judy was a mess of distraction and worry. She drove to Elm Creek Manor mulling over her options and decided that the only reasonable choice was to wait until the fifteenth—indisputably mid-March—and contact Rick. In the meantime, she had other work to occupy her thoughts, plenty to do to keep herself from going crazy.
Even so, she had to force herself to concentrate on the business meeting, for every other topic reminded Judy of her job search. Enrollment reminded Judy of the possibility that Emily might enroll in a new school next autumn. Classroom assignments called to mind the wonderful new facility at Penn. The schedule for the first week of camp made Judy wince when she thought that if all went well, she would need Sarah to make additional changes to the plan she had worked so hard to arrange.
Then, suddenly, her cell phone rang. Quickly retrieving it from her bag, aware of Sarah’s subtle frown, Judy checked the display. She made a hasty apology and hurried into the hallway. “Steve?” she said breathlessly into the phone.
“Judy? I have great news.”
“What is it?”
“They just called. I got the job.”
A momentary rush of joy quickly dispersed. “You got the job?”
“Isn’t that fantastic? They want me to start as soon as I can—do you believe it? If everything goes well, I might even get my own political commentary column within a year.” He paused. “Honey?”
“Wow, Steve.” She forced more enthusiasm into her voice. “I knew you’d get it. How could they not recognize your talent?”
“There’s more, but we can talk about it when you get home. I just had to let you know.”
“I’m glad you did.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, then told him she had to get back to the meeting, but she’d come home immediately afterward.
They hung up, and Judy returned to the parlor with an apologetic smile for Sarah. She assumed a look of interest as Sarah continued on uninterrupted. Of course Steve got the job; he was talented and experienced. He deserved it. How soon would he have to respond? What could he say until Judy heard something from Penn? She had not even been asked to interview on campus yet. She might not be asked. How could she expect Steve to pass up this job when an opportunity like it might never come again?
The phone rang on her lap. She jumped, checked the display, and raced into the hall, treading on Bonnie’s tote bag on her way. “Steve?”
“Honey, I’m sorry I got carried away. I shouldn’t have interrupted your meeting.”
She forced a laugh. “If you know that, why are you doing it again?”
“Because—look, I don’t want you to think I have my heart set on this job.”
“Of course not,” she said, thinking, Of course you do.
“If you don’t get the Penn job, I’ll just tell them no.”
“Well …” She glanced back at the doorway to the parlor. “Would they let you work from Waterford? Telecommute?”
He hesitated. “I didn’t think to ask, but that’s an option. I don’t think that would be their first choice, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.”
“Don’t ask yet. I might still get the job.”
“Yeah.” He sounded deflated.
“We’ll talk when I get home, okay?”
He agreed. They ended the call and Judy returned to the meeting, pretending not to notice Sarah’s glare. She tried to listen carefully for the rest of the meeting, but her thoughts were in turmoil, and within minutes Sarah issued a plea for attention. She addressed the entire group, but Judy knew she was the only one there who had earned the reprimand.
The days passed. Judy prepared for midterm exams and the first week of quilt camp and waited, but the only news she received was Gwen’s mournful email telling her that Summer had moved in with her boyfriend. Judy wasn’t surprised; although she sympathized with Gwen’s tangible dismay, Summer was a grown woman and many grown women made similar choices these days. She tried not to think too much about what Emily would be doing at that age.
She decided a shopping trip to Grandma’s Attic would lift her spirits and distract her for a while. She still needed fabric for Sylvia’s block, and she also wanted to take Summer’s suggestion and examine the other contributors’ blocks. If several other people had used the same pattern she had selected, she would prefer to choose something else.
She took a chance on stopping by the quilt shop before work, glad to discover the late opening earlier that month must have been an anomaly. Perhaps that was because Bonnie herself was inside, rearranging a display of spring floral fabrics. She looked somewhat drained, as if it were the end of a busy workday rather than the beginning, but she was neatly attired in a pair of slacks and twin set Judy did not recognize.
“Good morning,” Judy said with a smile, hoping to cheer up her friend. “I love that outfit. Is it new?”
Bonnie glanced down at her clothing absentmindedly. “Oh. Yes, it is. Thanks. Agnes helped me pick it out.”
“Did she? Maybe I’ll ask her to go with Steve next time he shops for my birthday present. Remember that cardigan he bought me two years ago, the one Diane called the lightning bolt sweater?”
Bonnie rewarded her joke with a smile. “Did he ever find out you always changed into something else when you got to the lab?”
“Are you kidding? He thinks it’s still in the back of my closet, awaiting the right occasion.”
Judy knew it was more likely he had completely forgotten the sweater, which was just an afterthought to the tickets to Vail they had bought for each other that Christmas, but Bonnie laughed, so Judy didn’t mind a little exaggeration at her husband’s expense. Bonnie herself often joked about Craig’s annoying habits until she had the Elm Creek Quilters doubled over in laughter, but come to think about it, Bonnie had not shared any amusing stories about him in a long time. Maybe Craig just wasn’t funny anymore.
When Judy asked for Bonnie’s help finding fabric for her block for Sylvia’s bridal quilt, Bonnie nodded and took her to a collection of fat quarters so perfectly suited to the project and complementary to one another that Judy surmised she must have set them aside for that very purpose. “I suppose many local quilters have asked for these same fabric suggestions,” she said.
“Not as many as you might think.” Bonnie shook her head. “I hope it’s because they already have suitable fabric in their stashes and not because they aren’t going to participate. Judging by the lack of local response, we’re having a little trouble getting the word out.”
“But all the quilters around here know Sylvia, at least by reputation. Should we send a letter to the Waterford Quilting Guild?”
“We tried that. President Mary Beth refus
es to read the announcement.”
Recalling their unpleasant conversation at the Fabric Warehouse, Judy wasn’t surprised. “What does she have against Sylvia?”
Bonnie shrugged. “What does she have against any of us? Except Diane, of course. They’ve been unfriendly as long as they’ve been next-door neighbors. It’s amazing that their sons are such good friends.”
Judy suddenly remembered Todd and his companion from the Daily Grind. “Does Mary Beth’s son have dark, curly hair? Shorter than Todd, but good-looking, with a big cocky grin?”
“That sounds like Brent. Why?”
“I think I’ve seen them around.”
“Well, you usually can’t miss them.” Bonnie held out the basket of fat quarters to Judy. “They’re big men on the high school campus, and they want to be noticed wherever they go.”
After Judy selected her fabrics, Bonnie brought out a large carton from beneath the cutting table. Inside were sixty-six blocks from all across the country, including two from the United Kingdom and one from Australia. “Sixty-six?” asked Judy, taking a few packages from the top. “Isn’t that a bit short?”
Bonnie admitted that she would feel better if they were closer to 140 than that, but they still had time. Judy smiled. Bonnie, the eternal optimist, would not admit defeat long after the other team went home with the trophy.
Although the return addresses on the packages did indeed indicate the conspicuous absence of Waterford’s quilters, the blocks that had arrived were as beautiful and as varied as Judy could have hoped. She recognized some of the patterns as techniques taught in camp workshops, and many of their makers as favorite longtime students. One simple but striking block, an apparent variation on the Sawtooth Star, came from a camper who attended every year and could not help being the most recognized quilter there, with the exception of Sylvia herself.
February 20, 2002
Dear Elm Creek Quilters,
A bridal quilt for Sylvia—what an inspired idea! I’m honored and delighted to contribute a block, which you will find enclosed.
If you had told me on my first day of quilt camp that one day I would be asked to participate in such an important project, I never would have believed you. Actually, I probably would have called my agent and had him fax you a request for your terms, and I would have tried to exploit my benevolent donation for as much good PR as I could squeeze out of it, but thanks to friends I made at Elm Creek Quilt Camp, I have undergone a significant attitude adjustment since then.
Sylvia was the first to show me that the aloof, prima donna routine that served me so well in Hollywood would not go over well at Elm Creek Manor. My agent insisted that I take my meals in my room and that Sylvia forbid anyone to speak to me unless I addressed them first. But Sylvia would have none of that, and she told my agent so in her own inimitable style. She was right, and I knew it, but what impressed me most was that she managed to muzzle that arrogant loudmouth without breaking a sweat. This woman, I told myself, is someone to reckon with.
I came to learn later that she is also someone to trust, to respect, and to emulate. Her high standards for herself and her compassion for others inspire those of us inclined to selfishness and narcissism to do better. I can’t say knowing Sylvia has entirely cured me of my faults and weaknesses, but she has been an example I have tried to follow ever since I came to know her. Years ago I thought the most I could learn from Sylvia would be enough quilting to pass myself off as an accomplished quilter for a movie role. Now I know she has far more important lessons to offer for those of us not too self-absorbed to learn.
So, we return to the enclosed block. I could not find a block that, as your instructions requested, captured what Sylvia has meant to me. Any blocks that had ideal names were too difficult for me to make, and those I could handle had names that wouldn’t do. So I decided to take a simple block and change it just enough to make a unique block. (At least I hope it is. There are so many blocks out there I might have simply taken someone else’s design.) I call it Prima Donna, and I mean that in the absolute best sense of the phrase, for Sylvia is truly the First Lady of the quilting world.
Best regards to you all, and I wish you great success in the completion of this grand project.
Affectionately yours,
Julia Merchaud
PS: I hope you have all had the chance to watch my PBS series, “A Patchwork Life,” based upon my PBS movie of the same title. I adore the character of Sadie Henderson and hope you do, too, since I have drawn many of her characteristics and behavioral quirks from Sylvia. Our third season begins in September. Also, if you get the chance, I hope you’ll head to the theater to watch me in Lethal Weapon Eight. I play Mel Gibson’s grandmother (although I think I could pass for his mother) and my nursing home is beset by villains throughout almost the entire film. Wondering what happened to my resolution to appear in only highbrow, arty films? I assure you, making this movie was a momentary sacrifice more than compensated for by the many times I got to kiss Mel during rehearsals, even if it was only on the cheek.
Judy laughed. “Did you read Julia Merchaud’s letter?” she asked Bonnie.
Bonnie nodded and, a little mournfully, said, “I would have paid good money to be her stand-in for that role. Of course, we all know I don’t have the money, and with my luck, I would have ended up kissing Mel’s understudy.”
“I bet even his understudy is cute.” Then Judy detected an undercurrent of fear in Bonnie’s joke. “Are things really as bad around here as that?”
“Think of the worst they’ve ever been,” said Bonnie. “They’re worse this time.”
She looked away, and no matter how much Judy asked her to explain, Bonnie the eternal optimist would say nothing more than that she would keep the shop open as long as she could.
On March fifteenth, a Friday, Judy emailed Rick to ask if the campus interview invitations had been sent. She did not expect to hear from him over the weekend, but when an entire week passed with no reply, she assumed the worst. After encouraging her so enthusiastically to apply, he would be too embarrassed to tell her she had failed. An assistant would send her a rejection letter soon enough.
“Wait until the end of the month, then call,” Steve advised, unwilling to give up, reluctant to turn down his own job offer. Judy agreed, though she knew by that time the top three candidates would have concluded their campus visits, the selection perhaps already made.
The first day of camp came and went in a cheerful flurry of registration and welcoming ceremonies. Judy tried to find satisfaction in knowing she had not let down her friends by missing camp, but whenever she thought of Penn’s new computer facility—and when she observed Steve leafing discouragedly through the Waterford Register at breakfast—she wished things had turned out differently.
On Monday morning, the first day of classes, the phone rang a half hour before her alarm was set to go off. Steve rolled over with a groan and answered. “Hello?” He paused. “Yes, it is.” Another pause. “Yes, still married, and very happily. Do you want to talk to Judy?” He passed her the phone and put his pillow over his head. “It’s Wild Man Rick.”
Judy sat up and pressed the receiver to her ear. “Hello, Rick?”
“Hey, Jude.”
“What are you doing up so many hours before noon?” And why in the world was he calling? To commiserate? To tease her? Most likely the latter. For that, the least he could have done was let her sleep in.
“What are you doing still in bed, or still at home, for that matter? I thought you would have spent the night in Philly.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You must be as hung over as I am. Your interview, you dunce. Preceded by a lunch at the University Club and a campus tour, and followed by a multitude of other tedious activities. That’s not a commentary on your lecture or seminar, by the way.”
“You mean I’m one of the three finalists?”
Steve tore the pillow from his head and stared at her.
&nb
sp; “Of course. It was all in the letter.”
Judy scrambled out of bed and threw on her robe. “I never received a letter.”
“I told you you’d hear by mid-March. Why didn’t you call?”
“I sent you an email asking if the letters were sent. You never answered.”
“Of course not,” Rick shot back, but he did sound somewhat abashed, if one knew what to listen for. “And when you never wrote me again to follow up on your unanswered email, I assumed the letter had arrived.”
“Rick, I swear—”
“Before you decide to kill me, may I remind you you’re wasting time? You can still make it if you leave now.”
“I can’t leave now! I have to shower and pack, and look after Emily, and make arrangements for my classes—”
“I thought you were on spring break.”
“—get directions—”
“Don’t worry about those. I’ll email them right away.” In the background she heard the clattering of keys on a keyboard and a woman’s voice, muffled. “Oh. Angie says she can watch Emily if you need to bring her.”
“Tell her she’s very generous and she deserves much better than you, but Emily’s in school and Steve doesn’t need the spouse job placement conference, so he’s staying here.”
Rick sighed. “You’re coming alone, and here I am, engaged to someone else. Ow! Sweetheart, that hurt.”
“Tell Angie to hit you again for me.”
“I’ll do that. Send me an email if the directions don’t come through.”
“Will you bother to answer it?”
“Maybe. You’re wasting time, you know.”
Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter Page 20
