A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel (10 page)

If she made it that far.

Bending almost double against the wind, she thrust her hands into her pockets and set off into the storm.

Sylvia

W
ITH MISGIVINGS
, S
YLVIA
watched Diane dash out of the ballroom, tote bag slipping off her shoulder. Perhaps Diane had indeed driven through worse storms in the past, but that was no reason to take unnecessary chances now. Still, Sylvia thought she understood her friend’s urgency. If she had been blessed with children, she would not want to be snowed in apart from them either, even if they were almost grown, almost on their own. She supposed good mothers never lost that sense of longing for their children, that instinct to protect and nurture, to preserve the family at all costs.

Of course, this was only conjecture based upon her experiences
as a daughter and sister and her observations of friends. Though Sarah was like a daughter to her and she was glad to be stepmother to Andrew’s grown children, she would never be so brash as to assume she truly understood what it felt like to be a mother. As she watched Diane rush off into a snowstorm rather than be parted from her sons, or when she observed Agnes contentedly stitch Christmas stockings for her grandchildren, she longed for family ties of her own, for a niece or nephew who shared the same roots and branches of the family tree, for a cousin to reminisce with about the same shared memories of holidays from years gone by. She had told stories of those long ago celebrations to her friends—and she had even revived some of her favorite traditions, such as placing symbols of gratitude into the Thanksgiving cornucopia— but although that was worthwhile and gratifying in its way, it was not the same as celebrating with people who knew those traditions as their own, people with whom she shared a common heritage.

Since returning to Elm Creek Manor after her sister’s death, Sylvia had first denied then eventually come to accept that she was the last living descendant of Hans and Anneke Bergstrom, her great-grandparents and the founders of Elm Creek Manor. The private detective she had hired as she put her sister’s affairs in order and wrote her own will confirmed the sad news, but even then she could scarcely believe it. She mourned the end of her proud family line but resolved not to
become so trapped in grief that she took for granted the new family she had created for herself through cherished friendships and marriage to Andrew. Still, she never stopped wondering what had become of all those dear aunts and uncles and cousins, how it could be that they had left behind not a single descendant. Most of all she wondered about her favorite cousin, Elizabeth Bergstrom Nelson, who lived on so vividly in Sylvia’s memory that it seemed impossible she had departed this earth without leaving her mark upon it.

Elizabeth illuminated Sylvia’s earliest memories of holiday celebrations at Elm Creek Manor, and she could not ring in a New Year without reflecting upon Elizabeth’s last New Year’s Eve at Elm Creek Manor. Sylvia had been scarcely five years old when the family decided to revive a New Year’s Eve tradition that Hans, Anneke, and Gerda Bergstrom had brought to America from Germany. The last time the Bergstrom family had celebrated the night of Holy St. Sylvester with a ball for family and friends had been before Sylvia was born, so Sylvia listened, entranced, as Great-Aunt Lucinda described the dancing, singing, and delicious things to eat and drink. Sylvia’s mother promised that she and her sister, Claudia, could stay up until midnight to welcome the New Year as long as they napped beforehand.

Sylvia and Claudia passed the morning of December 31 sledding and building snowmen until their mother called them inside for a nap. Claudia promptly complied, but Sylvia
pretended not to hear until her mother called out that no nap meant no Sylvester Ball for naughty little girls. At that, Sylvia reluctantly came inside and tugged off her coat and boots and mittens, leaving snow to melt in a puddle on the mat. As she dragged herself upstairs, Elizabeth passed her on the landing, her golden curls bouncing, her eyes alight with pleasure and mischief. “Hello, little Sylvia,” Elizabeth greeted her. “Where are you off to on this last day of the year?”

When Sylvia glumly reported that she had been sent to bed even though she wasn’t the slightest bit tired and naps were for babies, Elizabeth declared that the time would be much better spent preparing Sylvia for her first big dance. She took Sylvia by the hand and quickly led her upstairs to the nursery on the third floor, where she shut the door and slid a chair in place beneath the doorknob. “That’ll give you time to hide should anyone come snooping,” said Elizabeth. “We’ll have to keep our voices down. Take off your shoes and show me what you know.”

Sylvia took off her Mary Janes and bravely demonstrated the few ballet steps her mother had taught her and Claudia, half-afraid that Elizabeth would laugh and send her off to take a nap after all. “Well, you’re not a lost cause,” said Elizabeth after Sylvia finished, “but that’s not the kind of dancing we’re doing tonight. You have a lot to learn and not a lot of time.”

Elizabeth took her hands and, over the next two hours, introduced Sylvia to grown-up dances called the foxtrot, the
quick step, and the waltz. When Sylvia proved to be an apt pupil, Elizabeth praised her and taught her the tango and the Charleston. Dancing hand in hand with her cousin, gliding over the wood floor in her stocking feet, smothering laughter and asking questions in stage whispers, Sylvia happily rehearsed the new steps until suddenly Elizabeth noticed the time and sent Sylvia off with a warning not to let anyone see her on the way. Giggling, Sylvia crept downstairs to her bedroom, where she rumpled her quilt, opened the blinds, and woke her unsuspecting sister, mere moments before their mother arrived to help them dress for the party.

Face scrubbed, hair brushed, and neatly attired in her best winter dress, Sylvia nearly burst with excitement as she awaited the moment she and Elizabeth would dance together at the ball. First she had to sit through a traditional New Year’s feast of lentil soup, followed by pork and sauerkraut, foods meant to bring good luck. Afterward, the party resumed in the ballroom, where musicians struck up a lively tune that beckoned couples to the dance floor. Sylvia looked around for Elizabeth, but Claudia dragged her off to play ring-around-the-rosie just as she spotted Elizabeth on the arm of her fiancé, Henry Nelson. When the song ended, Sylvia slipped away from her sister and wove through the crowd to Elizabeth, but her cousin was already waltzing with her father.

Her turn would come, Sylvia told herself, but dance after dance went by and always Elizabeth was with Henry, or her father,
or Henry’s father, or one of her uncles. Mostly she was with Henry. Hours passed, and just as Sylvia reluctantly concluded that her cousin had forgotten her, Elizabeth smiled at her and said, “Are you ready to cut a rug?”

Her happiness restored, Sylvia nodded and took her cousin’s hand. Elizabeth led her to the dance floor, counted out the first few beats, and threw herself into a jaunty Charleston. Sylvia struggled to keep up at first, but she stoked her courage and persevered, kicking higher and broadening her smile as if she believed herself as beautiful and admired as her cousin. Soon the other guests stopped dancing to gather in a circle around the two cousins as they danced side by side. Sylvia mirrored her graceful cousin’s spirited steps as closely as she could, praying her family and the guests wouldn’t notice her mistakes.

All too soon the song ended. Breathless and laughing, Elizabeth took Sylvia’s hand and led her in a playful, sweeping bow. She blew kisses to the crowd as she guided Sylvia from the dance floor while the musicians struck up a mellow foxtrot and the couples resumed dancing. Henry promptly claimed Elizabeth as his partner, but for once Sylvia didn’t mind. She and Elizabeth had shown everyone what Bergstrom girls could do, just as Elizabeth had promised as they practiced in the nursery.

They danced together again at Elizabeth’s wedding a few months later, but soon afterward the newlyweds left for Southern
California. Heartbroken, Sylvia took little comfort in Elizabeth’s letters, despite her enchanting tales of splashing in the Pacific Ocean, strolling down the streets of Hollywood, and plucking apricots and oranges from her own groves on the rolling, sun-drenched hills of Triumph Ranch in the Arboles Valley. Over the years, perhaps as Elizabeth’s responsibilities as ranch wife and mother grew, her letters became fewer and further between, until they stopped coming. Sylvia never saw her cousin again and never stopped wondering what had become of her.

The distant thud of the back door closing tugged Sylvia from her reverie, and Agnes’s sigh echoed her own. Sylvia realized then that she was not the only Elm Creek Quilter who had hoped Diane would change her mind before she put on her coat and boots.

Hand on her abdomen, Sarah rose from her sewing machine and went to the window. “Diane’s car is almost completely buried,” she said. “It looks like an igloo. I think I’ll go outside and try to talk her out of leaving.”

“Send Matt,” Sylvia advised, worried that Sarah might lose her footing and fall, injuring herself or the twins.

“That might not be wise.” Sarah’s voice had a brittle edge. “He probably thinks this is a perfect day for a drive and won’t do anything more than help her clear the snow from her roof. He can be completely oblivious to hazards sometimes.”

Gwen raised her eyebrows inquisitively and looked as if
she might speak, but Sarah strode from the ballroom before Gwen had the chance. She returned only a few minutes later looking none the chillier, which implied that she had taken Sylvia’s advice and sent Matt in her place.

“I don’t know why Diane insisted upon going,” fretted Agnes. “I should have offered to help her with those calendars. I could finish my stockings at home another day.”

“Diane seemed perfectly happy working on the calendars on her own,” said Carol.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Agnes turned a slight frown on Gwen. “You could have been more considerate, you know.”

“Me?” protested Gwen. “What did I do?”

“You could have encouraged her when she showed us the magazine picture, but instead you called it ‘cute’ and said it would be more suitable for younger children.”

“I still think that’s true,” said Gwen. “Should I have lied? She hadn’t started yet so I thought I’d give her an opportunity to reconsider and choose something more likely to please them. Anyway, she ignored my advice as she always does, so what does it matter?”

“I don’t think Diane left because of anything Gwen said,” said Anna. Suddenly she jumped in her seat and took her furiously buzzing cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans as if she had forgotten it was there. She read something on the screen, bit her lower lip, and painstakingly typed a response with both thumbs.

“Of course you shouldn’t have lied, dear,” Agnes told Gwen contritely, just as a car started up in the parking lot, the sound of the engine almost drowned out by the wind. Apparently Matt had not convinced Diane to stay.

Sarah sighed heavily and settled back down at the sewing machine, joining rows of blocks at a brisk, determined pace. One by one the Elm Creek Quilters resumed their work, pausing to cast anxious glances at the window, turning as one at the sound of the ballroom door opening.

Red-cheeked, hair standing up in wild disarray as if he had yanked off a stocking cap moments before, Matt blew on his hands and shook his head as he entered the ballroom. “She wouldn’t listen,” he said, joining Sarah at the sewing table. “She’s on her way home.”

“We heard the car,” said Sarah without looking up.

“Did you watch to make sure she made it out of the parking lot?” asked Gwen.

“I kept an eye on her until she rounded the barn and went out of sight. She was doing fine, taking it nice and slow.”

“She has a cell phone on her, right?” asked Anna.

“Yes,” said Sarah, “but it’s fifty-fifty odds whether the battery’s charged.”

“She has a terrible habit of letting it run out.” Sylvia watched as Matt bent to kiss Sarah’s cheek, but Sarah was so intent on her work that she did not respond until Matt stroked her hair. Even then, the smile she offered seemed a bit forced.

Sylvia wished she had thought to ask Diane to call the manor when she reached home so that they would know she had arrived safely.

Sighing to herself, she settled back down to work, finishing the final seam of the last Star of the Magi block she needed to complete her quilt top. She had finished the complementary Chimneys and Cornerstones blocks in October, knowing that she wanted to make the focal point blocks from a star pattern but uncertain which would look best. It wasn’t until later that it had occurred to her that she might have unwittingly chosen the Chimneys and Cornerstones blocks in memory of a quilt Great-Aunt Lucinda had made for Elizabeth as a wedding gift. Simple in design and pieced from scraps, it nonetheless seemed as precious to Elizabeth as her official bride’s quilt, an elegant Double Wedding Ring embellished with floral appliqués made by all the women of the family. Both had been lovingly packed into Elizabeth’s trunk before she left Elm Creek Manor for the last time.