An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (72 page)

She lit a candle, placed it in a small crystal votive holder, and held it in silence for a moment, remembering how Sylvia had held that same light at the beginning of the summer. So much had happened since then. So much had yet to happen.

She sent up a quick prayer for Sylvia, inhaled deeply to calm herself, and looked around at the faces of the newest guests of Elm Creek Manor. The dancing flame cast light and shadow over them as they watched her and waited for her to speak.

“Elm Creek Manor is full of stories,” she told them. “Some of these stories are joyful; some are full of regret; all are important. I have been lucky enough to call this beautiful place home for a little while, and now, for the week at least, Elm Creek Manor is your home, too. Now your stories will join those that are already here, and all of us will be richer for it.”

Carol explained the ceremony and handed the candle to the first woman in the circle.

The first week was the most difficult. Gwen had never realized how much Sylvia and Sarah did behind the scenes to keep the quilt camp running. The Elm Creek Quilters divided up Sylvia’s classes and other managerial duties, but they felt as if they were running day and night, just barely keeping on top of all the work. How had Sarah and Sylvia made it look so easy?

Gwen had asked Sarah that same question, but Sarah just shrugged and made no reply, as if she hadn’t really been listening. Gwen wasn’t surprised; all week long, Sarah had shown little reaction to the events around her, including her work. Summer had all but taken over her role in the company.

“I’m worried about her,” Summer confided late one night when she and Gwen finally went home after a long, exhausting day. “I’m trying to get her involved in camp to take her mind off things, but it’s like she’s on another planet.”

Gwen worried about Sarah, too. She had withdrawn from her friends ever since Sylvia’s attack, and the few times she did join them, she had a stricken, haunted look in her eyes. Inexplicably, she had not yet visited Sylvia in the hospital, even though the rest of them had done so several times each, and Sylvia asked for her frequently.

“Sarah will be all right,” Gwen said, because she knew Summer needed to hear it. “She just needs some time. This has been a shock for her.”

“For all of us.” Suddenly, Summer threw her arms around her mother. “I don’t ever want anything like this to happen to you, okay? You have to get regular checkups, and if there’s even the slightest warning sign of anything, you have to get help, understand?”

Gwen hugged her and patted her on the back. “I hear and obey, kiddo.”

She stroked Summer’s hair and told her everything was going to be all right, that Sylvia would be fine, and so would Sarah. As she said the words aloud, she began to believe them.

Late Thursday afternoon, Bonnie drove home from Elm Creek Manor exhausted and drained. All of the Elm Creek Quilters were worn to a frazzle, their nerves shot. There was so much to do and never enough time to get it all done. Bonnie felt as if she had been running a marathon barefoot, with the finish line still far off in the distance at the top of a steep hill. If they could just get through this week of camp, they would have Saturday afternoon to rest and recover. Surely next week would go more smoothly, once they worked out some of the bumps.

Bonnie was now teaching four classes a week, in addition to running Grandma’s Attic. Even with Summer’s help, it was too much. She felt as if she were being pulled in three different directions at once. All she wanted to do was rest, go to sleep and not wake up until Sylvia was better.

She stopped by the shop to help Summer close for the day. It took them longer than usual, for they could no longer put off organizing the fabric bolts and tidying the shelves. When Bonnie finally did drag herself upstairs, she decided that they’d have to get take-out for supper. She was too weary to make even something as simple as pasta. It would be the fourth time this week they’d ordered out. She hoped Craig wouldn’t mind.

When she opened the door, the delicious smells of cooking floated on the air, momentarily confusing her. Had she started dinner already and forgotten? She went to the kitchen, only to find Craig peering into the oven. The kitchen counter was littered with pans and Styrofoam meat trays and spice jars.

“What on earth?” Bonnie exclaimed, taking in the scene.

Craig jumped, startled, and shut the oven. “Hi, honey,” he said, coming forward to kiss her on the cheek. “Dinner will be another fifteen minutes or so. I think. The recipe on the back of the soup can called it ‘Easy Twenty-Minute Chicken,’ but I think that’s a typo. It’s taken me forty minutes already.” He shrugged and smiled. “Of course, I haven’t done this in a while, so maybe it’s me. The table’s already set, so why don’t you go change out of your work clothes and lie down for a while? I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Bonnie promptly burst into tears.

Craig looked alarmed. “What is it?” Then he glanced over his shoulder at the mess. “Oh. Don’t worry about it, honey. I’ll clean it up after we eat.”

“It’s not that,” she managed to say. She hugged him and cried, feeling foolish and unexpectedly relieved. She had held it together throughout that difficult week, and now here she was, weeping like a crazy woman in the middle of her filthy kitchen, and all because her husband had made supper.

Sylvia was getting better—that was the one bright spot of the week. She could sit up in bed now, and she was awake and alert. There was some lingering paralysis on the left side of her body, and it was difficult for her to speak clearly. Judy had visited her earlier in the day, but had left feeling frustrated and upset. She could not understand a word Sylvia spoke, and it rattled her. Andrew understood everything and had translated Sylvia’s muffled, slurred speech for her, but that only made Judy feel worse, ashamed, as if she had failed Sylvia somehow. By failing to understand Sylvia’s speech, Judy had made it impossible to pretend that Sylvia was just fine. She hated herself for it.

“You’ll understand more when you get used to it,” Andrew had told her privately. “Sylvia’s getting better every day. She’s not upset with you, so don’t you be upset with yourself, okay?”

She nodded, but she couldn’t change her feelings like switching off a light.

She was so tired. They all were, worn out from work and from worry. Once Sylvia came home, everything would be so much easier. Even if she couldn’t resume her normal activities, her presence would bring the Elm Creek Quilters much-needed comfort and reassurance.

When Judy got home, she heard voices coming from the kitchen—Steve and someone else, a woman. As she walked down the hall, Judy thought the second voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

When she reached the kitchen, she immediately recognized the blond woman sitting across the table from Steve. “Kirsten?”

The conversation broke off as Kirsten and Steve looked up. “Hi, Judy,” Kirsten said, rising. She came over and embraced her.

Judy returned the hug, her thoughts in a whirl. “Hi. What are—what are you doing here?” Her utter bewilderment kept her words from sounding rude.

“Steve called and told me about your friend. I have a couple of weeks off before summer session begins at UW, so I decided to come and see if I could help.”

“But I thought you were in pediatrics,” Judy said. “How can you help take care of Sylvia?”

Kirsten smiled, her face full of understanding and sympathy. “I didn’t come to take care of Sylvia. I came to take care of you.”

At that moment, Judy realized that she truly did have a sister.

On Wednesday of the third week, Sylvia came home. Andrew had worried about getting her up those stairs, so he was relieved when Carol suggested they make the west sitting room into a bedroom for her. “Temporarily, of course,” Carol added. “She’ll be up and around in no time.”

“That’s a good idea,” Matt said. “This way Sylvia won’t feel like she’s shut away in a sickroom. She’ll be able to be in the center of things.”

Carol didn’t reply, but Andrew caught something unexpected in her gaze when she looked at Matt—surprise, or maybe even respect. This was quite a change from what Andrew had observed between them since his arrival at Elm Creek Manor. Usually, Carol pretended Matt wasn’t in the room.

Matt and Andrew removed one of the sofas and replaced it with a twin bed from one of the second-floor suites. Carol took care of arranging everything else, so when they finally brought Sylvia home, the pleasant, cheery room right off the kitchen was ready for her. She seemed pleased by the surprise, but said she was tired and wanted to rest.

Andrew left the room while Carol helped Sylvia into bed. When Carol went to the kitchen to help Diane prepare lunch, Andrew returned and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Sylvia seemed agitated, and Andrew thought he knew why. “Don’t get too comfortable in here,” he said. “You’ll be back upstairs in your old room soon.” He knew he had guessed correctly when her shoulders relaxed and the strain around her eyes eased.

She wanted to sit up in bed, so he helped her arrange her pillows. She asked for something, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. She patted the bedcovers, exasperated. “Quilt. Quilt.” After a few more exchanges, he understood. She wanted a different quilt, one that was in her bedroom.

He went upstairs to Sylvia’s room, took the quilt off the bed, and brought it back down to her. “This one?”

She shook her head. “No. Scrap quilt.”

“But this is a scrap quilt.” He studied it. “Isn’t it?”

“Wrong one.”

Andrew made two more trips up and down the stairs before he found the quilt Sylvia wanted. It was an older quilt, and it had been wrapped in a clean white sheet and tucked away in the back of her closet. “Why do I suspect you hid this quilt ahead of time just so you could enjoy watching me hunt around for it?’ he said as he spread the quilt over her. He had never seen the pattern before, not that he had seen many quilts before his return to Elm Creek Manor. The design almost resembled a star, but the sewing lacked the precision he usually saw in Sylvia’s work. The pieces of fabric looked like they had come from old clothing. He even thought he saw a few velvets and corduroys in there.