A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel (19 page)

“I know,” Joe said, “but day after day, meeting all these girls who never wanted babies, and in the meantime, you and I …”

His voice trailed off, and Gretchen reached for his hand and held it. Yes, in her more selfish moments, she wondered why God had blessed those frightened youngsters with children and withheld them from her and Joe, but then she thought of the many, many babies she had rocked to sleep at the mission, how many bowls of rice cereal she had mixed and diapers she had changed, how many young women she had consoled and advised, and she could not consider her life empty or herself barren. She had loved so many children, and she was thankful for every life it had been her privilege to touch.

Every Christmas, the parishioners of Holy Family treated the residents of Abiding Savior to a celebration rich with the flavors of their Croatian traditions. Monsignor Paul would have a pair of young men of the parish haul a
badnjak
, or yule
log, to the outreach center, which he would sprinkle with holy water as they set it in the fireplace, reciting a prayer of blessing for the household. Louis and his eldest sons would set up a small Christmas tree in the front room, which the ladies of the parish would adorn with
licitarska srca,
gingerbread hearts decorated with colored frosting. On Christmas Eve, Gretchen’s grandmother or one of her friends would give the residents a round pastry called a
krstnica,
a cake inscribed with a cross adorned with a pastry bird at the end and a hole in the center into which a candle was placed. Gretchen, who had heard her grandmother explain the symbols many times, would tell the residents that the cake represented the world; the cross, redemption; the candle, Christ as the light of the world; the four birds, the Four Evangelists, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The residents always wanted to know why they had to keep the cake on the table and not eat it until the first day of the New Year, but Gretchen’s grandmother had never given her any reason other than it was tradition. Although not all the residents of Abiding Savior were Catholic, Monsignor Paul encouraged everyone to celebrate Midnight Mass at the church, and afterward, the women of the parish served a favorite traditional meal of baked ham,
kolbassi,
potato salad, horseradish, nut roll, and cookies. They sprinkled straw beneath the table to remind everyone of Jesus’s humble manger, a tradition that never failed to amuse the girls.

On Christmas morning, thanks to the generosity of the parish, the residents enjoyed sweet, flavorful apple strudel for breakfast and gifts beneath the Christmas tree. But despite all the merriment, Gretchen sometimes detected wistful longing in some of the girls’ eyes, as if they were missing their families or remembering the Christmases of their childhoods, as they were or should have been. She offered these girls extra hugs and a shoulder to cry on, if they needed it, or time alone away from the festivities if that was what they preferred. But for the most part, the holidays offered the girls a welcome respite from the cares of ordinary days, a time when they could enjoy luscious treats and joyful music, prayers and the warmth of the fireside. Winter would settle in around them soon enough, but the spirit of Christmas held it at bay for a little while.

Over time, perhaps because Abiding Savior reminded Gretchen daily of how richly she and Joe had been blessed despite the hardships they had faced, the hope and optimism of their newlywed years gradually returned. Gretchen began teaching quilting to neighborhood girls, their mothers, and then to their mothers’ friends as a quilting revival swept the nation. She traveled to quilt guilds in Ohio, West Virginia, and throughout Pennsylvania to lecture and teach, and—as she had hinted to the young residents in her first weeks at Abiding Savior—she nurtured a dream of opening a quilt shop. Eventually she fulfilled a version of that dream, obliged by
economic necessity to go into business with her on-again, off-again housecleaning employer. They enjoyed a long, successful run until her partner’s unquenchable need to have her own way in everything tarnished Gretchen’s dream—and then, just as she was wondering how she could keep her chin up and make the best of it indefinitely, she spotted a quarter-page ad in
Quilter’s Newsletter Magazine
announcing that Elm Creek Quilts needed two new teachers to join their accomplished circle of quilters.

What a lovely, enchanted place Elm Creek Quilt Camp had seemed to Gretchen five years before when she and her partner had visited, although their trip was more of a spy mission than a vacation. Gretchen’s business partner had heard about the marvelous success of the Elm Creek Quilters and was toying with the idea of creating a similar quilters’ retreat in Sewickley. Gretchen had enjoyed her week at quilt camp tremendously, but she was neither surprised nor disappointed when her partner had concluded that they could not possibly reproduce the Elm Creek Quilters’ achievement. “If I had inherited an enormous mansion in the middle of the country-side, I could do it, too,” Gretchen’s partner grumbled as they drove home. Gretchen refrained from pointing out that she had indeed inherited something very much like it, along with an impressive trust fund. What she lacked was a group of close quilting friends she could rely upon to help run the business as Sylvia had in the Elm Creek Quilters.

How wonderful it would be, Gretchen thought wistfully, to become one of the lucky applicants invited to join that elite circle of quilters. Well, why couldn’t she? The more she considered the idea, the more she realized that the job had come along at precisely the right time and could be an answer to her prayers. She could leave the tarnished dream of the quilt shop shared with an unbearable partner and yet remain at the center of the quilting world. The ad mentioned that a live-in arrangement within the manor was possible, which would fulfill Joe’s fond wish of retiring to the country. The estate was large enough that they could surely find a place for him to set up a woodworking shop—perhaps in the caretaker’s red barn between the manor and the orchard.

But moving would mean leaving behind cherished friends and their home of several decades—and the end of Gretchen’s days at Abiding Savior.

As much as it pained her to think of leaving, she assembled her application packet with her résumé, letters of recommendation from favorite quilting students, sample lesson plans, and photographs of her very best quilts. She murmured a prayer as she took them to the post office and sent them to Elm Creek Manor. Six weeks later, Sarah called to invite her for an interview, and before she knew it, she was offered the job.

It was a dream come true, a prayer answered, and yet she could not move away from Ambridge without regret.

As the summer ended and moving day approached, Gretchen prepared herself for her last day at Abiding Savior, for tearful good-byes and promises to keep in touch, and for photographs with Louis, Andrea, and their children. Joe planned to take the day off to accompany her and offer moral support as well as to offer his own farewells. Gretchen took comfort from the assurances of a former resident, now a teacher herself, who had promised to take over Gretchen’s responsibilities and enlist the help of other teachers from her district to carry on her unfinished endeavors. Still, even though it comforted Gretchen to know that she was not leaving Louis understaffed, she expected her last day at Abiding Savior to be bittersweet.

What Gretchen had not expected was to round the corner and see the front porch, yard, and driveway filled with women and children, a richly diverse palette of skin tones, their ages spanning twenty years, accompanied by children of all ages. It was, she realized as they greeted her warmly, a reunion of former Abiding Savior residents whom she had taught through the years.

Overwhelmed, she listened as they told the stories of their lives after they had departed the mission, the trials they had faced and hardships they had overcome thanks in no small measure to Gretchen and all she had taught them. “You were the first person who ever believed I could make something of myself,” Alicia told her, a sentiment that Gretchen
was to hear again and again throughout the day. “When you believed it, I was able to believe it.”

Later, when he caught her alone, Joe noted the surprising number of teachers in the group, all of whom claimed Gretchen as their inspiration. His face beamed with pride as he kissed her. At the end of the celebration, her former students presented her with a beautiful Album quilt, each block signed with a heartfelt message of gratitude for all she had done for them when they were most alone and in need.

Gretchen stammered out her thanks and tried to explain that they were praising her too much. All she had done was to spare a few hours a week to support the mission Louis had begun. Everyone teased her good-naturedly and assured her that they knew how much of herself she had given to them even if she didn’t, and she deserved every expression of their thankfulness, and more.

As the party broke up, Gretchen lingered to bid one last farewell to Louis and Andrea. Embracing them both in turn, Gretchen was suddenly inspired to say, “I’ll still make quilts for your residents just as I’ve always done. I’ll mail them to you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” said Lewis. His hair had gone white since the day they had first met, but his deep voice had lost none of its warm accent.

“Can’t let me?” Gretchen echoed. “You don’t mean you’d refuse my donations?”

Louis scratched his head, stalling for time. “I wouldn’t
have put it in those words, but I guess it’s fair to say that’s exactly what I mean.”

“Why?” Gretchen protested, astonished. “It’s no trouble. I enjoy making the quilts, and we all know how much the residents appreciate having something warm and comforting to call their own. If you’re worried that my new job will keep me too busy, I promise you I won’t be working any more hours a day than I did at the quilt shop.”

“It’s not that,” said Andrea, glancing at her husband and drawing closer to him as he put his arm around her shoulders. “You’ve blessed us with so many wonderful gifts, but now you’re moving on, and the time has come for you to share your talents with some other worthwhile group.”

“Your former quilt guild has volunteered to provide us with as many quilts as we could ever need,” Louis explained. “I’m sure you’ll find a worthy cause in your new community that needs your gifts—both material and of the spirit. If you don’t find them, they’ll find you. You’re a good steward of your talents and the Lord will send someone who needs you your way.”

Speechless, Gretchen nodded, wondering if the faint echo of Monsignor Paul’s words from so long ago was a sign.

S
HE WONDERED STILL
as she sat among her new friends at Elm Creek Manor, enjoying the warmth of the fireside and the
pleasure of their company, pinning together colorful fabric pieces to sew into whimsical stars. When Sylvia had explained that their quilter’s holiday was meant to give them time to work on Christmas projects, Gretchen had instinctively begun a new crib quilt, the same size and style as she used to make for the youngest residents of Abiding Savior. She had caught Sarah giving her work sidelong glances, and she was sure the younger woman wondered why Gretchen made baby quilts when she had no children or grandchildren of her own. Little did Sarah know that Gretchen also had two completed crib quilts lovingly folded and put away upstairs in her bedroom, until she could decide what to do with them. She could send them to Louis—despite what he had said, he wouldn’t waste money mailing them back—but he wanted her to find a worthy cause in her new community to support, and sending him the quilts would be an admission of failure. Surely someone in the Elm Creek Valley needed her quilts, perhaps the Holiday Boutique at Sylvia’s church.

Suddenly, standing nearby with the phone pressed to one ear, Sylvia groped for Gretchen’s ottoman, and Gretchen quickly swung her legs out of the way just before Sylvia sat down. “Are you all right?” Gretchen asked, but Sylvia only gave her a trembling smile that was probably meant to be reassuring. Sylvia’s conversation with Summer had evidently shifted from Jeremy’s unexpected visit to something about someone named Thomas, a private detective, and the where-abouts
of someone named Scott Nelson. Gretchen tried to parse out the details, but with only Sylvia’s half of the conversation to work with, she soon gave up. Then, as suddenly as she had sat down, Sylvia laughed, rose, and briskly crossed the parquet floor on her way to the portioned classrooms, leaving her friends staring after her.

“What was that all about?” asked Carol.

“I have no idea,” Gretchen replied. “It seemed like bad news about Jeremy, then surprising news about … something, but it seems to have ended well.”

Carol looked bewildered. “Do all quilting bees at Elm Creek Manor take such unusual turns?”

“Usually,” said Gwen, frowning in puzzlement. “Why wouldn’t Jeremy tell Summer he was coming for the weekend? She doesn’t like those kind of surprises.”

“Maybe Anna knows,” offered Agnes. They all looked to the sewing machine the chef had been using recently, and only then realized she had not returned from—wherever she had gone.

Gretchen tried to remember how long Anna had been absent, but her curiosity swiftly shifted to Sylvia as she reappeared clutching a scrap of paper in one hand and the phone in the other. “What did Summer say?” Gretchen asked. “Is it good news?”

“Possibly.” Sylvia seated herself on Gretchen’s ottoman again. “It’s certainly promising.”

“What’s promising?” asked Agnes eagerly. “Goodness, don’t keep us in suspense.”

“Summer may have found a descendant of my cousin, Elizabeth Bergstrom Nelson.”

A chorus of gasps and exclamations went up from the circle of quilters. “Isn’t Elizabeth the one who went to California in the 1920s and vanished off the face of the earth?” asked Sarah from the ironing board where she was pressing the seams of the two rows she had joined together. Her expression showed strain, but some instinct told Gretchen it had nothing to do with the weight of the twins.

“I wouldn’t have put it with such dramatic flair, but yes, she is indeed.” Or rather, she
was.
“Thanks to my friend Grace Daniels, I was able to give Summer a place to focus her search of historical records, and now—” Sylvia held up the scrap of paper with a flourish. “I have the name, address, and phone number of Scott Nelson, who may be Elizabeth’s grandson.”