A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel (14 page)

The look her words inspired suggested that Jeremy had rarely heard such a bizarre question, and that was saying
something since he had taught Introduction to World History to college freshmen. “Of course.”

“Of course,” she replied, and then she shut the door and waved as he drove away. How was she to know whether he’d be in touch while he was gone? Yes, they saw each other mornings and evenings before and after work even when Jeremy didn’t drive her to the manor, and they usually spoke on the phone once or twice in addition to that, and they texted back and forth throughout the day, but she didn’t expect that to go on when he was spending time with Summer. Obviously he’d rather talk to Summer, but when Summer wasn’t available, Anna would do.

Anna watched Jeremy’s car round the bend and disappear behind the red barn built into the side of the hill, and she caught herself sighing disconsolately. That’s what she was: a friend to joke around with and spend time with when the woman Jeremy preferred wasn’t around. But it was fine. Summer was the girlfriend, and Anna was just a friend. It was the way things were, and she was okay with it.

Most days, anyway.

Anna had liked Jeremy from the start, from those first perfunctory greetings they exchanged when they happened to leave their apartments at the same time to the numerous occasions he had held the outside door for her when he was leaving the building and she was returning with her arms full of grocery bags. She didn’t learn his name until that day a few
years ago when she had taken some of his mail to him after it had been erroneously delivered to her mailbox, and they had spent a good twenty minutes chatting about the weather, their landlord’s terrible record on maintenance issues, and the ridiculous rent increase he had recently announced.

Over time, she learned more about Jeremy in quick, casual conversations whenever they crossed paths in the hallway or the lobby, like picking up crumbs from a tablecloth. He had written his master’s thesis on the Battle of Gettysburg, he taught two undergraduate classes each semester, and he had recently passed the candidacy exam to be accepted as a Ph.D. student in the Department of History. She considered asking him over for coffee some evening for a study break, but she lost her courage when she realized how stupid that sounded, considering that she was a university employee rather than a student and therefore had no studying from which she needed a break. Hoping a better, less obvious invitation would occur to her, she contented herself with accidental meetings in and around their building—until one night, completely unexpectedly, Jeremy knocked on her door.

“I hope this isn’t too late,” he said, shifting the weight of a large cardboard carton he carried. His brown eyes were warm and friendly and the exact color of melted chocolate behind his round, wire-rimmed glasses and, as usual, his curly dark brown hair tumbled into his eyes.

“Not at all,” said Anna, although she had been seconds
away from slipping into her pajamas and dragging herself wearily off to bed. Her alarm woke her at five o’clock each morning so that she could do the breakfast prep work for the faculty cafeteria.

“The Waterford College Key Club is collecting nonperishable food items to make Thanksgiving baskets for needy families in the Elm Creek Valley.” Jeremy offered her a familiar, endearing, lopsided grin. “You probably saw the flyers posted in the lobby.”

“Oh, I think I did,” she said, opening the door wider, unsure if he wanted to come in. “On the light blue paper?”

“Next year they should use bright orange,” he said. “Apparently not many people noticed them because the cartons by the mailroom were almost empty.”

“That might not be the only problem,” said Anna, wincing. “I think I might have seen that guy from the first floor—you know, the one who chains his bike to the emergency exit— taking a box of cereal and a plastic bottle of apple juice from the carton.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Great. That explains a lot. I might have to explain the principle of giving to the needy a little more clearly to him.”

“Be careful. He’s in great shape from all that biking and I don’t think he’s very nice.”

“Someone has to stand up to bullies or they’ll take over the world. Anyway, the cartons are due to be collected tomorrow
and I don’t want to endure the shame of knowing we’re the only building on College Avenue that turned in only—” gesturing to the meager contents of the carton, he continued, “a few boxes of pasta, a canister of raisins, and a package of granola bars.”

“That would be embarrassing,” Anna agreed, smiling. “So you’ve taken it upon yourself to collect door to door?”

“Exactly, and after what you’ve told me, I’m also appointing myself Guardian of the Carton, which means I’ll keep it in my apartment and leave a note telling the Key Club where they can pick it up.”

“That’s very decent of you.”

He gave her a self-deprecating shrug. “Anyone could have done it. I just thought of it first. And, when I thought of who might have food to give away, I naturally thought of you.”

Her heart sank. Of course he had naturally thought of her, the plump girl, because big girls always had food stashed away and ought to be all too happy to have someone carry it off before they gorged themselves. Flustered, she smiled, beckoned him inside, and had almost persuaded herself to just let the innocent insult go when she heard herself say, “Why did you think of me?”

“Because you’re always bringing home bags full of organic produce from the natural foods market way over on Campus Drive rather than shopping at the convenience store across the street like almost everyone else around here.” He
spotted the table in her tiny kitchenette and set the carton upon it. “Also, you told me you’re a chef for College Food Services, so you probably have a well-stocked pantry with extra staples in reserve. And lastly, anyone nice enough to sign for as many packages for an across-the-hall neighbor as you have without demanding a tip is surely generous enough to share some of those extra staples with the less fortunate.”

She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “I bet you say that to all your neighbors you beg food from.”

“No, just you.” He raised his eyebrows, hopeful. “So, what do you say?”

So charmed was she by his altruism and humor that she was inclined to give him as much of her pantry as he could carry away, but instead she settled for giving him two boxes of pasta, a canister of oats, and some other staples of which, as he had guessed, she had extras. Jeremy seemed alternately fascinated and amused by the more exotic items on her shelves, and after she found herself passionately defending her expensive imported extra virgin olive oil and Belgian dark chocolate, he began opening various cupboards, pulling out three items at random, and asking her what she could make using all three. The whole-wheat chocolate cappuccino brownies she suggested on his fifth attempt to stymie her sounded so tasty that they decided to make some, right then and there, and Anna had to laugh at how impressed Jeremy was that she invented a recipe on the spot. While the brownies were
baking, she accompanied him on his rounds through the three-story apartment building collecting items for the Thanksgiving baskets. Later, they enjoyed the brownies in all their warm, tasty, chocolate-cappuccino goodness right from the pan as they watched
A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving
on television, sitting cross-legged on her sofa, licking chocolate from their fingertips, as comfortable as if they had been friends for ages.

From then on, their accidental meetings in the hall usually turned into lengthy conversations unless one of them was running late, and at least once every two weeks Jeremy came over for dinner or dessert. They met less frequently after Anna began dating Gordon—Jeremy thought Gordon was a pompous blowhard and Gordon didn’t like Anna to pay attention to anyone but him—but they still talked almost every day.

Anna had been involved with Gordon for more than a year when Jeremy mentioned meeting a beautiful girl at the library, so the sting of jealousy caught her completely off-guard. A few months later, when the stunning, auburn-haired beauty moved in with him and turned out to be as friendly, kind, and interesting as she was gorgeous, Anna silently chastised herself for not being more delighted for Jeremy, her friend. When Summer moved out about two months later, Anna naturally assumed they had broken up, but apparently they were still a couple even though Summer had decided to
stay at Elm Creek Manor until her departure for graduate school. It was Summer who helped Anna land the chef’s job, Summer who encouraged Jeremy to drive her back and forth to the manor on days the bus ride would be too inconvenient. But it was Jeremy who seemed the most relieved and satisfied when Anna broke up with Gordon, and Anna who was secretly delighted when Summer’s absence gave Jeremy more free time—which he seemed very glad to spend with her. Their old companionship resumed, stronger than ever, and Anna had come to think of Jeremy as her best friend, although he probably thought of Summer as
his
best friend. It didn’t matter. She was simply glad he was a part of her life, in whatever way that was possible.

Entering through the back door of the manor, Anna left her coat and boots in the hall closet and went to the kitchen, still fragrant with spices from the Thanksgiving feast she had prepared the day before. The sight of the gleaming new appliances, granite counters, cozy seating areas, and spacious, well-organized workstations delighted her anew every time she entered. The blank wall above the nearest booth awaited the quilt she and Sylvia were collaborating on, piecing together scraps from a favorite but worn gingham tablecloth and the salvageable fabric from Sylvia’s great-aunt’s feedsack aprons. They had set the quilt aside recently to work on holiday projects, but when it was finished, it would boast an appliqué
still life in the center framed by blocks that reminded them of the kitchen: Broken Dishes, Cut Glass Dish, and Honeybee, among others that they had not yet chosen.

Taking a crisp white apron from the hook on the back of the pantry door, Anna tied it on and noted a few signs that someone had come downstairs to breakfast earlier: The coffee pot was a quarter full and keeping warm, a few crumbs had fallen on the counter near the toaster, and Andrew’s favorite coffee mug sat drying upside down on a towel beside the sink. Anna smiled. No matter how often she and Sylvia encouraged him to put his dishes in the dishwasher, when he had but a single cup, he preferred to wash it by hand. Old habits were difficult to break in a man his age, she supposed.

Working from memory, Anna gathered the ingredients for her favorite ginger pumpkin bisque soup. As she set a large copper stockpot on the stove, she thought about the two days earlier that autumn when she and Sylvia had emptied all the cupboards and drawers in preparation for the kitchen remodel, sorting tools and pots and pans in good condition from others long past their usefulness. Sylvia had entertained Anna with stories of her family’s holiday traditions, including the history of the cornucopia centerpiece and the tale of the famous Bergstrom apple strudel. Anna planned to surprise Sylvia with a scrumptious apple strudel on Christmas morning, and she was toying with the idea of introducing some of her favorite dishes from her own family’s holiday celebrations,
perhaps the
panettone
recipe handed down through her mother’s side of the family or the
pangiallo
from her father’s. She still remembered standing on her tiptoes to peer over the counter while her father’s mother, whom she called Nonna, mixed the dough for the sweet bread, which despite its name—”yellow bread” in English—was not yellow at all but dark, rich, and full of nuts, fruits, and bits of chocolate.

Anna loved to hear Nonna’s stories of the holidays she had enjoyed as a girl back in her village in the mountains of Abruzzi, before she married Nonno and came to America. Instead of decorating the home with a Christmas tree like those in American homes, Nonna’s father would build a
ceppo
, a wooden pyramid with several shelves and a frame wrapped in festive garland. Upon the bottom shelf, Nonna’s mother would arrange the family’s cherished Nativity scene, a wedding gift from a beloved uncle and a symbol of the gifts from God. On the center shelves she would place greenery, nuts, fruits, and other small presents, symbolizing the gifts of the earth and of humankind. At the very top of the
ceppo
she would set an angel, a star, or a pineapple, representing hospitality. Lit candles on the shelves’ edges illuminated the scene and gave the
ceppo
its other name, the “Tree of Light.”

In years gone by Anna had listened, entranced, as Nonna described the elaborate Nativity scenes or
presepi
displayed throughout villages across Italy, life-size tableaus in front of churches, businesses, and residences of the wealthy, and
smaller but no less beloved figures at homes of people of modest means. The figures resembled the Holy Family and the shepherds, wise men, angels, and animals that had attended them, and sometimes also the people of the town—fishermen, merchants, farmers, whatever trades were most prominent. Often the wealthy paid artisans handsomely to create figures for their
presepi
that resembled the members of their own family, and one of Nonna’s uncles, a talented woodcarver, had earned a nice living doing so. The much smaller figurines he had carved for Nonna’s mother had become one of the Del Maso family’s most cherished heirlooms.

On Christmas Eve, Nonna’s family would fast all day and, since their Catholic faith forbade them to eat meat on
La Vigilia,
they would feast upon fish instead, seven dishes to symbolize the seven sacraments, the seven days of creation, or the seven virtues of faith, hope, charity, temperance, prudence, fortitude, and justice. Nonna could describe the Christmas Eve dinners of her youth in mouthwatering detail: baked baccalà, a type of salted cod; roasted eel; shrimp; sea bass roasted with garlic, thyme, and rosemary; fried calamari; octopus sautéed in lemon, oil, and parsley; and her favorite, linguini in clam sauce. Afterward, the children might entertain the rest of the family with poems and songs they had learned in school, or the family might pass the hours before Midnight Mass playing
tombola,
a gambling game that sounded to Anna
something like Bingo, but with a colorful board of ninety squares, each marked with a number and a picture.