A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel (20 page)

“Are you going to call him?” asked Gwen.

“Of course.”

“What are you going to say?” asked Sarah.

Sylvia hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t really matter what you say,” said Carol. “He’ll be thrilled to hear from a long-lost relative.”

“Perhaps.” Sylvia studied the scrap of paper. “On the other hand, it’s entirely possible he’s never heard of me, or of Elm Creek Manor, or of any of the Bergstroms. Elizabeth
broke her ties to this family decades ago. How likely is it that she passed down any stories of us to her grandson?”

“You can be the one to tell him,” said Gretchen. “Think of what a marvelous gift that would be, to restore a missing piece of his family history.”

“Even so, it may come as quite a shock to hear from a first cousin twice removed that he never knew existed.” Sylvia appeared to mull it over, but then she placed the phone on the table beside Gretchen’s chair. “I’ll need to think this over carefully and plan exactly what I want to say.”

“You could write him a letter instead,” suggested Agnes. “Sometimes when you have something difficult to say, it’s easier to express oneself in writing.”

“Now you tell me,” said Anna, returning to her sewing machine, cell phone in hand. She flicked a switch on the side and tossed it into her bag. “If I reach for that thing again, I want someone to smack me.”

“Let’s not resort to violence,” said Gwen. “Hey, Anna, do you know why Jeremy didn’t tell Summer he was coming to visit?”

Anna was picking up fabric pieces from the table, and to Gretchen it appeared that she was packing up for the day. “He thought she would tell him not to come.”

“Why would she do that?” asked Gwen, bewildered. “Why would he think she would?”

“It’s a mystery,” said Anna shortly, folding the sections of
her unfinished quilt and tucking them into her bag. “I’ve lost interest in this project. Does anyone want help?”

“It’s a shame Diane left,” said Agnes, glancing out the windows at the swirl of blinding white. “She would’ve gladly taken you up on the offer.”

“I hope she’s made it home by now,” said Sarah, shaking her head and adjusting her partially completed quilt top on the ironing board.

“If no one needs me here, I’ll be in the kitchen,” said Anna, setting her stuffed tote bag out of the way so someone else could use the sewing machine. “I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee and see what I can throw together for supper, since it looks like we’ll all be spending the night.”

“Are there any leftovers from our Patchwork Potluck?” asked Sylvia.

“Leftovers of leftovers?” asked Gwen, dubious.

“Never fear,” said Anna. “I’m well practiced at turning nothing into something.”

“Whatever you make will be delicious, I’m sure,” said Sylvia, giving the scrap of paper one last look before folding it and slipping it into the pocket of her cardigan.

“Let me help,” said Carol, setting her quilt aside and rising. “Sarah was such a picky eater as a child that I learned a few tricks to make a tempting dish out of a bit of this and a bit of that. Besides, it’s her fault you have so few leftovers to work with.”

“I’m sure Anna already knows anything you might show her, Mom,” said Sarah, an edge to her voice.

“But I’d still welcome the help,” said Anna quickly. Shooting her daughter a perplexed frown, Carol rose and followed Anna from the ballroom. Moments after they left, Anna’s purse buzzed—or rather, not her purse, but the phone inside it.

“Should we answer?” asked Agnes. “What if it’s important?”

“They’ll leave a message,” said Sarah. “If Anna wants us to hit her rather than let her answer her phone, I think she’d prefer to let the call go to voicemail.”

They resumed sewing and waited for the insistent buzzing to cease. Sarah rubbed her lower back and took her freshly pressed rows from the ironing board to the parquet dance floor where the others lay in place. Gretchen watched as she carefully eased herself to the floor and reached for a new row to pin to those already sewn together, when suddenly her foot knocked her plastic box of pins over and sent them scattering.

Quickly Gretchen set her quilt aside and hurried over to help. “I’m so clumsy,” Sarah glowered, straining to reach a pin that lay just beyond her fingertips.

“Let me get those,” said Gretchen. “You get the ones within easy reach.”

Together they picked up the pins and returned them to the box. Sarah spoke not a word, but her cheeks were flushed
and her eyes shone. Gretchen had seen that same look of quiet distress on the faces of many young women through the years, and she knew at once that something was troubling Sarah, something more than the storm, her mother’s careless insults, and the scattered pins.

“Is something wrong, Sarah?” she asked, touching her on the shoulder.

“I’m just tired.”

Gretchen tucked her skirt beneath her and sat down. “I’m sure you are, but I don’t think that accounts for everything.”

“Well—” Sarah hesitated and glanced at the fireside, where the remaining Elm Creek Quilters were engrossed in conversation. “It’s—it’s probably nothing, and I didn’t want to say anything in front of everyone and have everyone analyze and speculate. You know how it is.”

Gretchen nodded, but she suspected that when Sarah said “everyone,” she meant her mother. “I won’t say a word to anyone. Promise.”

Sarah flashed her a quick, tearful smile of thanks. “It’s Matt,” she said. “Ever since college—no, before that, even when Matt was still in high school—his father has made it clear that he expects Matt to take over his construction company someday.”

Gretchen studied the blue, tan, and burgundy Log Cabin variations Sarah was assembling into a top, row by row. “This quilt is a Christmas gift for him, isn’t it?”

Sarah laughed shortly. “Ironically, yes. All the while I’ve been working on this quilt for him to try to give him a sense of Elm Creek Quilts as a wonderful, thriving, creative place, he’s been redoubling his efforts to convince Matt to take over the family business.”

“But Matt enjoys working here, doesn’t he? He’s contributed as much to Elm Creek Quilt Camp as any founding Elm Creek Quilter.”

“I agree completely, and yes, he does enjoy his work here, but he’s also very loyal to his father.”

“I would imagine that he’s more loyal to you,” said Gretchen. “You have a life here. Matt wouldn’t ask you to give up Elm Creek Quilts.”

Sarah hesitated. “No, at least, he hasn’t yet.”

“But you think he might?”

“His dad injured his back a few years ago, and when it’s at its worst, as it is now, he can’t work.”

“That’s a shame. Is early retirement an option?”

“It wouldn’t even be early, but no, he can’t afford to retire. I also think it would break his heart to see a company he’s devoted his life to simply dissolve.” Sarah pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I understand how he feels. I certainly hope Elm Creek Quilts will endure long after I retire, but—” She patted her abdomen. “I’m not going to expect the twins to take it over for my sake.”

“And that’s what you suspect he wants Matt to do?”

“Suspect? I’m sure of it. I don’t mean I think he’s faking the back injury, but when it’s acted up in the past, he simply took on fewer jobs and asked Matt to help him on weekends. Now he says he needs Matt all winter.”

Gretchen had already guessed the answer, but she asked, “What did Matt tell him?”

“He agreed to do it. He didn’t even ask me first.”

“Oh, Sarah.” Gretchen shook her head. “He should have discussed it with you.”

“That’s what I think, but once he’d made up his mind, what else could I do but go along? Like he said, the orchard and gardens are dormant for the winter and camp is closed for the season. Winter is the one time of year Elm Creek Quilts can spare him.”

“But what about you?” asked Gretchen gently. “Can you spare him, for his father’s sake?”

“I don’t want to,” said Sarah tearfully. “I’m sorry if I sound like a spoiled brat, but we have so much to do before the babies arrive—childproofing the manor, decorating the nursery, taking childbirth classes, going through all those prenatal doctor’s appointments—and I want Matt with me for all of it.”

“Of course you do.” Gretchen put her arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “That’s perfectly understandable.”

“On the other hand, I don’t want his dad’s business to fail. It would be my fault for not allowing Matt to help him, and they would never forgive me.”

Gretchen thought the fear of resentment a poor reason for Sarah to agree to the arrangement against her wishes, but she kept that to herself. “How long will Matt be away? He’ll return in time for the birth, right?”

“He assures me he will, but—” Sarah pushed the quilt rows away, frustrated. “What if he changes his mind? What if after the babies are born, he decides that his father can’t get along without him? What if he gives up his job here to take over his father’s business after all? What if he expects me to follow him?”

“That’s a lot of ‘what ifs,’ ” said Gretchen. “You don’t know if any of that will happen. There’s no sense in worrying.”

Sarah didn’t seem to hear her. “I won’t leave the manor. I love Elm Creek Quilts. I’d miss quilt camp. I’d miss my friends. I couldn’t do it. He’ll have to commute, but then the twins will hardly ever see him, and what kind of life is that?”

“Sarah, dear,” said Gretchen, cupping Sarah’s face in her hands. “You’re getting yourself all worked up over possibilities that may never occur. Take a deep breath, honey.”

To her relief, Sarah did. She took one deep, shaky breath and let it out, and then another. “I don’t want to go through this pregnancy alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Gretchen told her firmly. “I know you want Matt by your side every moment, and if not for his father’s troubles, he would be. But you won’t be alone. Agnes has been beside herself wanting to help you decorate the
nursery; she would have offered before but she didn’t want to intrude. Joe can childproof the manor; he’s brought far more treacherous buildings than this up to code. And as for your childbirth classes, I know it’s best to have your husband along, but if Matt can’t be there, I’ll go with you.”

Sarah was so surprised that she choked out a laugh. “You would? You’d do that for me?”

“Of course. I’ll coach you with your breathing and feed you ice chips and take care of anything else you might need.” She had accompanied frightened girls little more than half Sarah’s age through the birthing process and had witnessed nearly every possible complication. “I’m not as handsome as Matt, but I’m far more experienced, and I promise you, you’ll be in good hands.”

As Gretchen explained how it was that a woman with no medical degree and no children of her own had acquired so much experience helping new mothers, she remembered Louis Walker’s prediction that a worthy cause needing her support would find her, if she did not find it first. Sarah was surrounded by people who loved her, and if Gretchen had not offered to attend childbirth classes with her, her mother or one of the other Elm Creek Quilters would have, but Gretchen knew there were other women who had no friends to turn to, who could not make quilts to keep their children warm.

Since moving to the Elm Creek Valley, Gretchen had spent far too little time beyond the borders of the Bergstrom
estate, too little time exploring her new community and discovering where she could best contribute.

If she were to remain a good steward of her talents, it was time to look beyond the walls of Elm Creek Manor and seek a greater purpose.

Gwen

I
DIDN’T HAVE A
lonely Thanksgiving,” Summer assured Gwen. “Our apartment was full of starving graduate students from all around the world. It was a veritable feast of international cuisine.”

“And afterward you all hit the books?” Gwen inquired, delighting in the sound of her daughter’s voice, even over the phone. She would be content to sit and listen to Summer recite the University of Chicago Winter Quarter Course Catalog if they had nothing better to discuss, but they never ran out of conversation.

“Actually, afterward we attended the Day of Mourning
rally on the Midway sponsored by the Native American Students Association. It was powerful and moving. You would have loved it.”

Gwen probably would have, but she couldn’t help teasing, “So you celebrated the holiday, and then you denounced it?”

“Not quite,” said Summer. “There’s a difference between gathering with loved ones to express gratitude for one’s blessings and endorsing the official national holiday of Thanksgiving, which ignores the tragedy of the Pilgrims’ early encounters with the indigenous peoples.”

Summer was preaching to the choir, but Gwen didn’t interrupt as her daughter explained that the official holiday, meant to commemorate the Pilgrims and Native Americans sharing the harvest in peace and harmony, was instead a painful reminder of genocide, the theft of native lands, and the unrelenting, ongoing assault on native culture. At the rally, students of Native American heritage had accompanied chants with drums and denounced the atrocities their people had endured ever since the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. Until American schoolchildren were taught an accurate version of the Puritans’ treatment of indigenous peoples, their fishing and hunting rights were restored, the hundreds of treaties made with the United States government were fully observed, and Native Americans were granted complete self-governance would Thanksgiving truly be a day to express gratitude rather than shame.