Andrew looked dubious. “He could have ordered them through the mail.”
“That’s true, dear, but don’t you think it’s unlikely that a teenage boy would ever peruse a quilt supply catalog?” Sylvia turned to Diane and Gwen and urged, “Go on.”
“His story was that he got them from school, which turned out to be an easily disproven lie, but I digress,” said Gwen. “So Diane and I independently went to the police with our suspicions.”
“Weeks ago,” added Diane dryly.
“It wasn’t until later that we compared notes. Diane checked with her son, who told us my department chair’s son and Mary Beth’s son are friends. We passed that along to the police, too, but we haven’t heard anything since.” Gwen glanced at Diane. “At least I haven’t. How about you?”
Diane shook her head.
“Perhaps they needed time to put the pieces together,” said Sylvia. She hoped for Bonnie’s sake that the detective was not coming over to tell her the case had stalled again.
At that moment, Summer joined them. “Hi, guys.” She glanced around the circle quickly. “So we’re still waiting on Bonnie?”
As the others nodded, Sylvia impatiently said, “She has another two hours, for goodness’ sake. Sarah isn’t even here yet.”
Summer smiled. “Oh, she’ll be along.”
Gwen put her arm around her daughter. “How was your date last night?”
Summer’s smile deepened so that her dimple showed. “Fine.”
“Apparently it was better than fine,” said Andrew, a trifle sternly. “She didn’t come home until after midnight.”
The others laughed as Summer blushed. “We were just talking.”
“Uh-huh,” said Diane.
“No, really. We have a lot to talk about.”
Sylvia was glad that Summer and her young man had reconciled, but she couldn’t keep the regret out of her voice when she asked, “Does this mean you’ll be leaving us?”
Summer started. “Actually—if you mean am I moving out to move back in with Jeremy, no.”
From the corner of her eye, Sylvia saw Agnes heave a sigh of relief, her gaze still fixed on the notebook.
“But—” Summer hesitated, twisting her fingers together. “I think I will be leaving within a year.”
“Leaving the manor?” asked Sylvia.
“Yes.” Summer glanced at her mother. “And leaving Waterford.”
A gasp went up from the gathering of friends. “Why?” asked Diane. It was almost a wail.
“I’d like to go back to school.”
Gwen, who knew her best, looked the most shocked. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not,” said Summer. “I’ll hate to leave Elm Creek Quilts, but I really think I need to follow my dream.”
“You mean follow your heart,” accused Diane. “You’re just going to follow that boyfriend of yours.”
“That’s actually not true,” said Summer. “This is something I’m doing for myself. But Jeremy and I are going to make sure we end up in the same city eventually.”
Gwen embraced her daughter, tears in her eyes. Sylvia could not make out the words they exchanged, but when they released each other, both were smiling.
“Well.” Sylvia cleared her throat. “I’m sure you’ve given this a lot of thought, and I wish you all the best, but I hope you won’t be going soon. We will never be able to replace you.”
“I’ll finish out the season at least,” Summer promised. “After that, it depends on when I can get into grad school.”
“I can call my contacts at Penn,” offered her mother, but Summer laughed and told her she wanted to do this on her own.
“I guess this is a good a time as any to make my own announcement,” said Judy, who had arrived unnoticed in the excitement and lingered near the door looking at least twice as nervous as Summer had.
“Oh, Judy, not you, too,” said Diane, dismayed.
Judy nodded, unable to keep the broad smile off her face. “I’ve accepted a position on the faculty at Penn. I can’t imagine what I’ll do without my best friends around me every day, but it’s an opportunity I can’t pass up.”
“Yes, you can,” said Diane. “You just haven’t tried hard enough.”
Sylvia’s heart sank even as she joined in the laughter. As Judy shared the details of her new job, Sylvia thought ahead to the breaking of the circle of friends. Judy would leave them by autumn, and Summer would part soon after. Elm Creek Quilts would never be the same.
Just then Bonnie arrived, looking dazed. “You aren’t going to believe this,” she said.
After the bombshells Summer and Judy had dropped, Sylvia would believe just about anything, but she asked, “Do you have news from the police?”
Bonnie nodded and sat down as her friends peppered her with questions. The police had three suspects, she told them, including an additional friend of the two boys Diane and Gwen had named. The parents of all but one of the boys were cooperating with the police.
“Let me guess,” said Diane. “Mary Beth.”
Bonnie nodded. “Mary Beth still claims her son was home that night, but the police say the other boys refute that.” She sighed. “What the police can’t tell me is why. It’s no secret that Mary Beth and Diane don’t get along, but why destroy my store? They’re all about to graduate from high school and head off to good colleges in the fall. Why jeopardize their futures for a grudge?”
No one had an answer for her. Sylvia marveled that after all those three boys had done to Bonnie, she still looked as if she felt sorry for them.
“At least now you’ll be able to get the insurance settlement, right?” asked Summer.
“I suppose.” Bonnie smiled, rueful. “Unfortunately, it’s too little, too late.”
“Not necessarily,” remarked Sylvia. “I have a proposition for you. Why not reopen your quilt shop right here in Elm Creek Manor?”
Bonnie stared at her, and the others gasped in excitement. “That’s a fabulous idea,” exclaimed Judy. “We have plenty of unused space in the ballroom.”
“I was actually thinking of knocking out some walls in the first floor of the west wing, starting with the formal parlor,” said Sylvia. “We would have ample space, ideal lighting—”
“And all those captive shoppers when quilt camp is in season,” added Diane.
“True enough,” said Sylvia as the others laughed, although she hoped to draw most of their business from Waterford. If Waterford’s quilters were shown how welcome they were at Elm Creek Manor, perhaps the pointless estrangement between the Elm Creek Quilters and the Waterford Quilting Guild would cease once and for all. “Let’s not forget that if local quilters are willing to drive all the way to the Fabric Warehouse, they surely won’t object to driving here.”
Diane said, “Mary Beth won’t like it.”
“I think she has enough to worry about, don’t you?” said Judy. “Besides, I’ve heard through the grapevine that she withdrew from the election for guild president. I don’t know how much influence she’ll have anymore.”
“We haven’t heard whether Bonnie even likes the idea,” said Sylvia, watching her friend. “Perhaps she has other plans.”
All eyes went to Bonnie, who shook her head. “This is too much to absorb, too fast,” she said. “As much as I’d love to reopen, even in a different location, I have to worry about my basic living expenses first.”
“Maybe not,” sang out Agnes, holding up her notebook in triumph. “Your ex-husband-to-be isn’t as broke as he claims.”
She waved them over and held open the notebook so they could all view a curious drawing of an intertwined W, K, and M encircled by a wreath of ivy. “What’s that supposed to be?” asked Diane.
“I know I’ve seen this before, but I can’t place it,” said Gwen. “It resembles an insignia such as a silversmith’s mark, placed on the bottom of a piece to indicate who created it.”
“That’s very good, Gwen, although this particular craftsman
worked in wood and iron and cloth.” Agnes’s blue eyes were bright with excitement behind her pink-tinted glasses. “You’ll recall that a great many years ago I had the unfortunate chore of selling off items from the manor to help support Sylvia’s sister, brother-in-law, and myself. I met my husband, Joe, when an antique dealer advised me to consult a history professor from the college about particular pieces.” She laughed aloud. “My grandson insisted my notebooks were a valuable record, but I didn’t believe him until now.”
“What’s significant about this insignia?” asked Summer.
“It’s the mark of the famous designer Wolfgang Kauffmann Mueller,” said Agnes.
“I’ve heard of him,” said Gwen. “He had a unique style drawing from different elements of New England and Pennsylvania history—a little bit of Shaker, some Amish, some German. Scholars often credit him with initiating the Arts and Crafts movement fifty years before it really took off.”
Bonnie gasped. “That old furniture in Craig’s office.”
“Exactly,” said Agnes. “His assistant told me he refurbished the offices out of his own pocket, which was my first clue that something wasn’t quite right. No offense, Bonnie, dear, but it’s no secret Craig is a cheapskate.”
Bonnie shrugged. “No offense taken. I’ve called him far worse.”
“So that’s where he’s been hiding his assets,” said Judy.
“Just out of curiosity, Agnes,” said Andrew, “how much is this furniture worth?”
“Bonnie’s lawyer will have to seek an appraisal, of course,” replied Agnes. “But I can tell you I sold a Wolfgang Kauffmann Mueller loveseat for ten thousand dollars, and that was more than fifty years ago.”
Gwen’s eyebrows shot up. “Considering how much more his work is appreciated now, Bonnie could be looking at hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
Bonnie put a hand to her heart and reached behind her for a chair. “He redecorated his office five years ago. That’s how long he’s been planning this. That … that …”
“Jerk,” finished Agnes.
“That’s not the word I had in mind, but it suits him.”
The door to the manor swung open and Sarah poked her head outside. “What suits whom?” She scanned the circle of friends without waiting for an answer. “Good. Everyone’s here.”
Sylvia glanced at her watch. “And none too soon. You’re only an hour and forty-five minutes early.”
“We have a little business to take care of before the campers arrive.” Sarah stepped onto the cornerstone patio carrying a large box that appeared to be wrapped in fabric rather than paper, her husband Matt close behind. “Sylvia and Andrew, this is for you.”
Speechless, Sylvia turned to Andrew to see if he knew what on earth was going on, but he looked as surprised as Sylvia felt.
Diane grinned as Andrew accepted the box. “It’s a belated wedding gift from the Elm Creek Quilters.”
“And one hundred thirty-three of your dearest friends,” added Gwen.
“My goodness.” Sylvia reached over to help Andrew open it. “And you wrapped it in fabric. Wasn’t that clever of you!”
“We thought you could use the fabric later in a quilt,” said Summer. “That’s much better than tossing more paper into a landfill.”
“We should have tied it with fishing line so that Andrew would have a little something extra, too,” remarked Judy.
“We’ll keep that in mind for their anniversary,” said Sarah.
Sylvia eagerly lifted the lid and dug through tissue paper until her hands touched fabric. “Oh, my word, I knew it. You ladies are wonderful.”
Diane nudged Gwen. “She hasn’t even seen it yet.”
“She knows a quilt when she feels one,” said Andrew, helping Sylvia unfold it.
Her friends came forward to take the edges of the quilt and hold it open between them. “Oh, my,” said Sylvia, and then she could only clasp her hands to her heart in joy.
It was a sampler quilt top in blue, rose, and greens of every hue, all blending and contrasting harmoniously in a frame of split LeMoyne Stars. Sylvia took in the arrangement of rows of blocks and quickly calculated that there were one hundred forty blocks, in every pieced and appliquéd pattern imaginable. Some of her favorites caught her eye: LeMoyne Star, Snow Crystals, Carpenter’s Wheel.
“It’s very nice,” said Andrew, “but you forgot to finish it.”
The women burst into laughter.
“We intend for our quilt campers to help us with the quilting,” explained Agnes. “We couldn’t put it in the quilt frame without you noticing, so we decided to surprise you with the quilt top.”
“Don’t feel bad, Andrew,” said Matt. “I said the same thing the first time I saw it.”
“It is exquisite,” breathed Sylvia, tracing the appliquéd flower petals in a Bridal Wreath block with a fingertip. “I’ve never seen anything so lovely. How did you manage to keep this a secret?”
“It wasn’t easy,” said Sarah, with a sidelong look for her husband. She went on to explain how the quilt had come to be: an invitation sent out to Sylvia’s friends and quilting colleagues, the requirement that the blocks represent the maker’s relationship to Sylvia, the theft and reappearance of dozens of blocks, and the mad scramble at the end to complete the top.
Sylvia insisted that each of her friends point out her block and explain why she chose it. Sarah eagerly offered to go first, and pointed to an unfamiliar block in the fifth row. “This pattern is called Sarah’s Favorite,” she said. “And it should be obvious why I chose it, since Sylvia is my favorite person.”
As her friends chimed in with their approval, Matt said, “Hey. What about me?”
“Let me amend that,” said Sarah, hugging him. “Sylvia is my favorite woman, but you’re definitely my favorite husband.”
Everyone laughed as Matt shrugged and kissed his wife.
“My turn,” said Diane, proudly indicating a block made of triangles, narrow rectangles, and a checkerboard trim along the bottom edge.
“Lincoln’s Platform?” asked Sylvia.
Sarah looked perplexed. “Maybe it’s one of those patterns that has several names.”
“No, just Lincoln’s Platform,” said Diane, beaming. “I found it in a book. Oh, come on. Don’t you get it?”
No one wanted to disappoint her, but one by one they shook their heads.
“Because Sylvia’s such a good speaker,” said Diane, exasperated. “You know, like Abraham Lincoln. I admire that about Sylvia. Her way of speaking her mind with sensitivity to other people’s feelings is an example I try to follow.”
“She has a long way to go,” remarked Gwen in an aside that was a trifle too loud to be an aside.
“At least no one else chose the same pattern,” offered Judy. “It adds variety.”
“Thank you, Judy,” said Diane. “Someone had to break free of all those Steps to the Altar and Wedding Ring clichés.”
“As someone who gave in to cliché and made a Bridal Wreath—” began Agnes.
“I wasn’t talking about you,” said Diane. “Honestly. I should have just ignored the rules, made a Nine-Patch, and spared myself this interrogation.”
Everyone but Diane burst into laughter. “Well, this is my Bridal Wreath block, cliché or not,” said Agnes, then she smiled slyly and pointed to a block in the top right corner. “I made this one, too. I imagine Sylvia knows why.”
It was a Bachelor’s Puzzle block. Shocked, Sylvia shot an accusing look at Sarah, the one person she told about the nickname she and Claudia had secretly given Agnes so long ago. Sarah shook her head, wide-eyed and clearly just as surprised as Sylvia.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Sylvia. “Perhaps because it’s a puzzle why Andrew married me?”
“Not to me it isn’t,” said Andrew, taking her hand.
“That’s not it,” said Agnes. “Give it some more thought. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“If not, maybe the answer is in one
of Agnes’s notebooks,” said Diane.
Sylvia ignored the rising heat in her cheeks. Oh, the things Agnes could have written about her back in those days! “If you insist on making me guess, I suppose I’ll have to try. Later. How about you, Summer?” she asked, ignoring Agnes’s laughter. “What block did you make?”
Summer pointed out a Mariner’s Compass block with sixteen points in the center of the quilt. “I thought this pattern suited you best,” she said, “because you’re beautiful, you’re difficult, and you guide us along our way.”
A murmur of approval went up from the circle of friends. “Oh, nonsense,” Sylvia scoffed. “I’m none of those things, except, perhaps, difficult. On a bad day.”
“You can hide behind modesty all you like, but that won’t change what you mean to us,” said Summer, so affectionately that Sylvia thought she might be forced to return the quilt top to its box rather than endure any more embarrassing praise.
Fortunately, Judy announced that her block was made with Andrew in mind. “Sometimes we focus so exclusively on the bride that the groom feels incidental to everything related to the wedding. I made a Handy Andy block so he would know this quilt is a gift to him, too.”
Matt gave Andrew a quizzical look. “‘Andy’?”
“Handy Andrew, if you prefer,” said Judy with a laugh.
“This one is mine.” Gwen pointed out a block near the center of the quilt. Sylvia did not recognize the pattern, which resembled a gold comet streaking across a sunset-violet sky. “I adapted it from a design in a quilt entered in the 1933 World’s Fair quilt competition. I chose it because while Sylvia is definitely an original, her art and influences are deeply rooted in quilting’s oldest and best traditions. Since I don’t know the original name of the block, I call it Sylvia’s Shooting Star.”
“‘Sylvia’s Shooting Star.’” Sylvia smiled, amused. “I like it.”
“It’s high time someone named a block after you,” remarked Andrew.
“Thank you all so very much.” Sylvia rose and reached out to embrace her friends. “I can’t imagine a lovelier wedding gift. The stories of how you chose your blocks make it even more special.”
Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter Page 32
