A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel (24 page)

She met Kathryn for the first time at Victoria’s funeral. “She spoke of you often,” said Kathryn after they had embraced and shed a few tears of grief and welcome. “You were her favorite student. She was so proud of you, as proud of you as if you were her own daughter.”

At that, Gwen broke down again, and Kathryn held her comfortingly. When Gwen managed to regain some composure, she told Kathryn how grateful Victoria had been—how grateful everyone who loved Victoria had been—for her selfless gift of life. Kathryn demurred, saying that her pain had
been minimal and her recovery swift. Then, suddenly, her own composure shattered. “What good did it do in the end?” she asked, glancing to the sanctuary where Victoria lay at rest.

“You did a great deal of good,” Gwen insisted, and told her what Victoria had said at their last meeting. Kathryn seemed to take some comfort in the thought of the time Victoria had gained, and all she had put into those years. Kathryn’s gift and Victoria’s battle had not been in vain.

A
S
G
WEN SAT
by the fireside in Elm Creek Manor with Victoria’s quilt draped over her lap, a wave of grief washed over her. She stroked the quilt and breathed deeply until it receded. The soft greens, warm pinks, and rich browns soothed her troubled spirit, and she knew that when Kathryn received the quilt, she would understand how thankful Victoria had been for her generous gift of time and hope. Even though she had not lived to a ripe old age, she had lived longer, more comfortably, and with greater appreciation of life because of Kathryn.

At the end of an elegant swirl of quilting stitches, Gwen tied a knot in the thread and popped it through the back of the quilt so it was hidden within the warm batting. Snipping the trailing end of the thread, she set the scissors aside, loosened the screw holding the slender hoops together, and carried
quilt and hoops to a clear space on the parquet dance floor. She spread out the quilt, but before moving the hoops to a new section, she stood and admired Victoria’s handiwork, not only what was displayed before her but also what had been left in the hearts and minds of all who had known her. Victoria had left behind a rich legacy of historical scholarship, had inspired thousands of students, and had instilled in Gwen a passion for intellectual inquiry. Victoria had been as proud of Gwen as if she were her own daughter, Kathryn had told her. Gwen could not have asked for any greater benediction.

“It’s beautiful,” said Sarah, looking over from her seat on the floor nearby, where she was piecing together rows of blocks for her father-in-law’s quilt, Gretchen by her side. “Your quilting complements your friend’s piecing very well.”

Gwen smiled as her gaze traveled across the quilt, Victoria’s final masterpiece. “We’ve always been good collaborators,” she said, “and she’s never failed to broaden my perspective. I wouldn’t have chosen these colors or fabrics or even this block, but now that I’ve worked with them, I see the artistry I would have missed without her guidance.”

Victoria was ever the teacher, but now it was up to Gwen to complete the unfinished work she had left behind, a gift of gratitude to comfort a grieving friend.

S
ARAH PINNED THE
last row to the bottom of the quilt top, wondering how a gift begun with such good intentions could have so quickly turned into an empty gesture. The nearly finished top was turning out as beautifully as she had hoped, the cabins underneath the stars reminiscent of snug homes with fires on the hearth, of warmth and comfort on snowy winter nights. But she would not sleep soundly in the coming winter with Matt so far away.

She understood now that her father-in-law had never seen Matt’s job at Elm Creek Manor as anything more than an interim position, something to occupy his time until he decided
to settle down, return home, and take over the construction company. Perhaps Hank even believed that the approach of fatherhood would compel Matt to shoulder the responsibilities he had too long neglected.

But Matt had a home, a rewarding career, and many important responsibilities at Elm Creek Manor. Sarah could accept Matt’s absence over the winter, especially since Gretchen had promised to attend childbirth classes with her, but that didn’t mean she was happy about it, or that she would patiently endure his absence when the babies arrived and throughout all the days that followed. Nor would she give up the home, the friends, the life she had built for herself at Elm Creek Manor so that Matt could fulfill his father’s dream for him, a dream that had never been his own.

Matt needed to know that before he made any promises to his father on her behalf, promises she could not fulfill.

G
RETCHEN HELPED
S
ARAH
to her feet so she could carry the pinned quilt top to a sewing machine and attach the last row to her father-in-law’s quilt top. Although Sarah’s circumstances differed vastly from those of the young women Gretchen had known at Abiding Savior Christian Outreach, her need for support and for assurances that she was not alone at a critical time was the same. So, too, was the warmth and certainty
Gretchen felt upon knowing that she could help someone in need.

There was just no getting around it, Gretchen thought, smiling to herself. She was happiest and most content with the world when she was helping others.

She had been so busy since joining Elm Creek Quilts that she had lost touch with this essential part of herself. It was time to regain that connection. Making a quilt for the Christmas Boutique at Sylvia’s church would be a decent start, but it did not go far enough. Gretchen’s heart instinctively went out to mothers and their children. Although she was new to the Elm Creek Valley, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find a need she could fill within her new community.

We’re all very busy, but we should never become too preoccupied with our own concerns to help those in need,
Sylvia had said earlier that day, and the other Elm Creek Quilters had agreed. Perhaps, as a Christmas gift to herself and her new friends, Gretchen could find a way for the Elm Creek Quilters to give back to their community.

I
N THE KITCHEN
, Anna and Carol took inventory of the refrigerator and pantry and discussed how to assemble a tasty meal for their impromptu dinner party out of the leftover leftovers. Anna welcomed the distraction. Her distress over her last conversation
with Jeremy—and it could very well be the last— had only increased since she had hung up the phone. What kind of idiot admitted she had fallen in love with her best friend and then ended that friendship, all within a matter of minutes? Whenever they’d had misunderstandings in the past, Jeremy had always called or texted her to clear the air before things went too far awry. This time he was not reaching out to her, and she could only assume that she had either scared him off with her declarations of love or he had agreed that it was best to end their friendship since he could not feel for her what she felt for him.

She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes against tears. If only she hadn’t called him. If only she had waited until she had cooled down and could have composed her thoughts rather than blurting out what she had felt in the moment. She didn’t want to end their friendship, she just wanted—

She took a deep breath and let out a long, shaky sigh. What did she want? Only for Jeremy to think of her as more than a friend. Only for him to love her instead of Summer. Only the impossible. He had not intentionally treated her as his “fallback girl,” or whatever Anna had called it. He had always treated her as a friend, and they could have remained very good friends if Anna hadn’t wanted more.

“Are you all right?” Carol asked, a head of arugula in one hand, a package of bleu cheese in the other. “If you’re worried
about dinner, you really shouldn’t be. We’ll make some gourmet turkey sandwiches, toss a salad, and everyone at Elm Creek Manor will leave the table satisfied. We don’t have to be extravagant. They want something quick and easy so they can get back to quilting, remember?”

“You’re right,” said Anna, managing a smile. “But what about dessert?”

Carol nodded toward the pantry. “You have a ton of apples in there. Matt really overdid it with the harvest this year. How about making that apple strudel Sylvia’s family always served for Christmas?”

Anna couldn’t help laughing. “That’s an all day project— peeling the apples, stretching the dough—but I think I could put together a simple cranberry apple crisp. We might even have some ice cream to go with it.”

Carol nodded in satisfaction, took the last remaining loaf from the breadbox, and started on the sandwiches. As Anna turned away, she let her smile fade. She had convinced Carol that all was well, but Jeremy knew her better, and he would read the heartbreak on her face the next time they bumped into each other in the hallway outside their apartments. She dreaded their first accidental meeting. Maybe she should reconsider Sylvia’s offer and move into the manor rather than endure the awkwardness of living only a few feet away from her former best friend.

Anna tied on the holiday print apron Sylvia had given her, the pride of her great-aunt Lydia’s collection, and forced Jeremy from her thoughts. She would have time enough to deal with her broken heart, to mourn the loss of her most precious friendship, and to figure out how she had let her feelings run away with her so wildly. For now, other dear friends needed her, and she would not let them down.

W
HEN
A
NNA AND
Carol called their friends to supper, Sylvia carefully set aside her work, brushed stray threads from her slacks, and joined them around the table for the second time that day. As much as she enjoyed their company, her thoughts kept turning to her dear cousin Elizabeth, lost and possibly found. She had borne three children, and if the Scott Nelson that Summer had tracked down was Elizabeth’s grandson, Sylvia was not the last Bergstrom after all. She had family. Distant family, family she had never known, but family all the same. It was also possible that Scott Nelson and his younger sister had cousins, children, other siblings—more descendants of Hans and Anneke Bergstrom, more relatives than Sylvia had ever hoped to find.

Surely they deserved to know about their heritage, assuming Elizabeth had not passed down the stories of her
youth to her children and grandchildren. But how should Sylvia reach out to this newly discovered possible second cousin? An unexpected phone call might be too much of a shock for Scott Nelson and too unsettling for Sylvia, since she would not know until she spoke with him whether he welcomed the news of a long-lost relative or if he would have preferred to keep Elizabeth’s severed ties as they were.

A letter would be best, Sylvia decided. Such news as hers required the reflection and thoughtful composition of a letter, not the haste of email or the sudden intrusion of a phone call from a stranger. After their quilter’s holiday had ended and her guests had departed, she would sit down and compose a letter explaining her search for Elizabeth’s kin and inviting Scott Nelson to contact her if he wished to learn more about his grandmother’s side of the family.

In his place, Sylvia would have joyfully welcomed the discovery of a long-lost cousin, but she did not fully understand why Elizabeth had become estranged from her family back home in Pennsylvania, and thus could only imagine what she had told her descendants about the Bergstroms. Perhaps Elizabeth had had more reason than embarrassment about her apparent misfortunes in the Arboles Valley to sever ties. Sylvia vaguely recalled that Uncle George, Elizabeth’s father, had been a drinker. Sylvia’s mother had worried about him, although Sylvia’s father had assured her that Uncle George was
nursing invisible wounds from the Great War and would be fine if left alone. Sylvia wasn’t supposed to know about Uncle George’s problem, and in the decades that had passed, she had forgotten about it until her curiosity about Elizabeth had pushed the memory to the surface. Perhaps her cousin had kept other secrets long before she left Pennsylvania.

Sylvia would never know unless she contacted Scott Nelson. She would write him a letter, extend a hand—and hope that he took it.

N
UMB FROM THE
cold, Diane trudged down the icy road, wishing she had never left her car. Twice she had fallen, and the wind swept her breath away so that every step forward was a struggle. She should have stayed in the car and awaited rescue. She should have heeded her more cautious friends’ warnings and never left the manor. If only she could start the whole day over, she would live it differently. She would live entire seasons differently.

A sudden gust of wind drove icy crystals into her face. She gasped and turned her back to the wind, dismay overcoming her as she saw the path she had broken already disappearing as it filled with the blowing snow. She had made so little progress since setting forth, but she knew she had no choice
but to press on. She was halfway between the car and the barn, and with an equal distance to cover in either direction, her best bet was the barn.