The Wedding Quilt (8 page)

“They've been crammed in a suitcase all day. I'm sure they're already wrinkled.”

Sarah muffled a sigh. It wasn't worth arguing about. “They're your clothes. Do what you want.”

“When you say that, what you really mean is, ‘Do it the wrong way, if you insist.'”

Not so many years ago, when Caroline was in her rebellious teenage phase, a comment like that would have sent Sarah's temper flaring. Now she had to laugh. “That's exactly what I mean.” She took her daughter's hands and pulled her to her feet. “Anna's been in the kitchen most of the afternoon, making all of your favorite dishes.”

Caroline's eyebrows rose. “Surely not all of them.”

“No, not all, but close to it. You're right; unpacking can wait. Let's sit, enjoy a good meal, and talk for a while instead.”

“As long as we don't have to talk about the wedding,” Caroline declared, giving the panda a firm, defiant hug before returning it to her pillow.

Sarah regarded her with amusement. “Honey, I think you should expect the subject to come up.”

“Then I'll change the subject. I'm so tired of talking about me, me, me, like I'm the only person in the universe. I want to hear about what's been going on around here—about quilt camp, and the apple harvest, and what's new with the Elm Creek Quilters—”

“You're interested in quilt camp?”

“I've always been interested in quilt camp,” said Caroline. “Just because I've never wanted to work for Elm Creek Quilts doesn't mean I don't care about the Elm Creek Quilters.” Suddenly she frowned. “I wish I'd paid more attention when they tried to teach me to quilt.”

Sarah couldn't believe what she was hearing. “You do?”

“Just because I don't like to sew doesn't mean I don't admire beautiful quilts,” said Caroline, looking away. “And wish that I had one.”

Astonished, Sarah sat down on the bed beside her. “Sweetheart, you have dozens of beautiful quilts. You've saved every one ever made for you, from the pink-and-white Sawtooth Star Grandma Carol sewed before you were born to your graduation quilt.” Sarah had lovingly sewn it herself, using the Commencement block and the green-and-white colors of Dartmouth.

“I know, and I love them all.” Caroline sat up with a sigh, crossed her legs, and rested her head on her mother's shoulder. “I mean I wish I had a wedding quilt, one I made myself. It seems ridiculous that Leo marries the daughter of the famous Sarah McClure, Elm Creek Quilter, and he won't even have a wedding quilt to commemorate the occasion.”

Sarah was tempted to tell her about the Memory Album quilt, but she couldn't bear to spoil the surprise. “Leo doesn't need a quilt to commemorate the occasion. He's getting the world's most wonderful bride.”

Caroline laughed in spite of herself. “And that's your completely unbiased opinion.”

“Exactly.” Sarah sighed, torn. The moment she had longingly awaited for twenty-five years had come at last: Her daughter wished she were a quilter. But as extraordinarily talented and capable as Caroline was, no crash course Sarah could offer would enable her to whip up a stunning wedding quilt in five days, not when they had so many other tasks to complete before the ceremony. “You could make a quilt to commemorate your first anniversary instead,” she said. “That's what I did.”

“Only because you learned to quilt after you got married. If you had been a quilter all along, you would have made a wedding quilt.”

Sarah almost certainly would have. “I don't think this is something you need to worry about right now,” she said, stroking Caroline's blond curls away from her face and kissing her forehead. “If you want a refresher course in quilting, I'd be very happy to teach you, but it'll have to wait until you return from your honeymoon. In the meantime, don't let it trouble you. Agreed?”

Caroline smiled. “Agreed.”

They went down to the kitchen for supper, where it seemed that every one of the manor's year-round residents had gathered to welcome the bride and groom, summoned either by the sounds of their arrival or by the delicious aromas of cardamom and cumin wafting from Anna's kitchen. The eight booths and the long wooden table in the center, a Bergstrom family heirloom, offered more than enough seats to accommodate everyone for the welcome-home supper: the four McClures, Carol, and Leo; the three Del Maso–Bernsteins; Maggie Flynn and her husband, Russell, McIntyre, both longtime faculty members; and Emily DiNardo, the youngest Elm Creek Quilter and eldest daughter of founding member Judy Nguyen DiNardo. Emily was the third second-generation teacher at Elm Creek Quilt Camp, a distinction in which both she and her mother, a professor of computer engineering at Penn, took great pride. The other two second-generation employees were James, of course, and Summer Sullivan, but Elm Creek Quilter Diane often argued that Gwen and Summer didn't count since they had both been a part of Elm Creek Quilts since its inception, whereas “second-generation” implied the bestowing of a legacy from one original member to a descendant. Gwen thought Diane's definition of “second-generation” was unnecessarily narrow, as suited her unnecessarily narrow mind—and, not surprisingly, the discussion had devolved from there. Second-generation or otherwise, Summer had been one of the quilt campers' favorite teachers in the early years, and although she had resigned from Elm Creek Quilts even before the twins were born in order to earn her Ph.D. in history at the University of Chicago, she remained one of Sarah's dearest friends. Sarah was thrilled that Summer and Gwen would be making the trip from Palo Alto, where Summer was a professor at Stanford University and Gwen was enjoying her retirement, to attend Caroline's wedding.

Those who had not welcomed Caroline upon her arrival were awaiting her in the kitchen, and when she appeared there were again hugs, kisses, and good wishes all around. Everyone present had met Leo on earlier visits, and they offered him congratulations and teasing warnings that he had better treat their darling girl well, admonitions that he accepted amiably.

Before long Anna announced that dinner was served, and soon everyone was enjoying pleasantly spicy chicken doro wat, sweet potato peanut stew, lentils in savory broth, spinach sautéed in garlic, and the sour tang of injera flatbread—Caroline's favorite meal. She had fallen in love with Ethiopian cuisine in middle school when introduced to it by a new friend, Ayana, who had moved to the Elm Creek Valley in the seventh grade when her father accepted a short-term position as a visiting professor at Waterford College. Two years later, when the assignment concluded and Ayana's family moved away, the usually ebullient Caroline was inconsolable. It had been Gina's idea to remind her of happier times by re-creating the meals she had occasionally shared at her friend's house, so Anna learned a few East African recipes and encouraged Caroline to help her prepare them. At first Caroline balked, reluctant to be reminded of the friend who had, in her young eyes, abandoned her, but Anna's cheerful persistence eventually won her over. Caroline and Ayana had stayed in touch, and had even managed a few visits through the years when their academic and work schedules allowed. To Caroline's delight, Ayana, now living and working in Manhattan, had eagerly agreed to be a bridesmaid.

Thankful for the power of a wedding to bring together friends and family from near and far, Sarah enjoyed the meal and the conversation, hardly able to take her eyes from her radiant daughter, so full of hope and happiness and love. At the table beside her, Leo seemed content, affectionate, and happy, not at all overwhelmed by the number of people gathered for what was, for them, an ordinarily family dinner at home, nor did he seem fazed by their abundance of enthusiasm.

As Gina and James began to clear away the dishes and Jeremy jumped up to put on a pot of coffee, Russell raised his voice to be heard over the din. “How did you two meet?” he called to the bride and groom from the corner booth where he sat with Maggie.

“In college at an aughts party,” Caroline replied from the center table, evoking knowing laughter from Leo, James, Gina, and Emily.

Sarah, Matt, Carol, Jeremy, and Anna had heard the story before, so they understood the reference, but most of the others regarded the young people with bewilderment. “A whats party?” asked Russell.

“An aughts party,” Caroline repeated, smiling. “You know, aught-aught, aught-one, aught-two—”

“Or,” Sarah broke in, “as we referred to it back in the day, the year two thousand, two thousand one, oh-two, oh-three . . .” She gestured, waving her hand to indicate the rest of the years of the decade rolling on and on.

“What does one do at an aughts party,” asked Maggie, “aside from meeting one's future spouse?”

“Well, the girls straighten their hair,” Caroline began, “and some of the more daring guys shave their heads.”

“For a party?” asked Matt, incredulous.

James shrugged. “Some people take their partying very seriously.”

“We scour thrift shops for aughts fashions, like skinny jeans and Crocs or Ugg boots,” said Gina. “Some people dress Gothic, like vampires, or like Harry Potter.”

“That's Goth, not Gothic,” said Jeremy, “and Harry Potter was neither.”

“James wore my old Dunder Mifflin T-shirt to an aughts party in high school once,” Matt recalled.

“Yes, but no one understood it,” said Caroline. “Everyone thought he forgot to wear a costume.” To her brother she added, “You should have worn the Obama 2008 shirt instead.”

“Next time I will,” James assured his sister. “The guys wear their pants low on their hips so you can see their boxer shorts. Seriously, why did you people dress like that? You can't dance, you can barely walk, and you definitely can't ride a bike.”

“No one rode bikes back then,” Gina reminded him, nudging him with her shoulder. Even if Sarah had been completely unaware of their blossoming romance, she couldn't have dismissed the touch as a friendly or sisterly gesture. “They all drove around in their hundred-gallons-per-mile Hummies.”

“That's Hummers,” corrected Jeremy, “and not everyone drove them, and some of us did bike, like me, and some used public transportation, like your mother.”

“And not everyone wore their pants so that they would fall off if you stumbled on a curb,” said Anna, smiling as she brushed her long gray French braid off her shoulder. “If your father had dressed like that, I never would have dated him.”

“Yes, you would have,” countered Jeremy. “You couldn't resist me.”

“If you had worn your pants falling off your rear end, I would have found a way.”

Everyone burst out laughing, and as the young people went on to describe the parties and thus reveal what, to them, best represented the era, their elders were alternately amused and chagrined. Although Caroline, James, Gina, and Leo did not intend to be unduly harsh, people their age found it nearly impossible to discuss Sarah's generation—their follies, crimes, wars, mistakes, and outrages against the environment—without implicit criticism. Sarah could hardly blame them. Out of greed, self-indulgence, fear, and hatred, they had almost destroyed the world their children would inherit. A global youth movement in the teens had inspired governments worldwide to take action to pull the human race back from the edge of self-destruction. What kids Caroline and James's age sometimes forgot, however, was that their parents were the ones who had sacrificed to save the world they and generations before them had almost ruined utterly.

“So you're at this aughts party,” said Russell, drawing the conversation back to his original question. “And Leo impressed you with his ability to keep his pants hovering above his knees with no visible means of support?”

“No,” said Caroline, nearly drowned out by laughter. “I was hip-hop dancing with my friends and he was on the other side of the room catching the end of the
Lord of the Rings
movie marathon on this little old forty-eight-inch television.”

“Little,” Matt echoed, raising his eyebrows.

“Dad, for us, that's little.”

“I saw her dancing and went over to introduce myself,” said Leo.

“No, you came over and tried to impress me with your dance moves,” said Caroline, smiling. “You didn't say a word to me.”

“I let my moves do the talking.”

“Then the movie ended and someone put on this old television show where professional dancers perform with movie stars and athletes—
Dance with a Celebrity
or something?” Caroline shook her head, puzzled by the show's title or perhaps the entire concept. “They were performing a waltz, and suddenly someone switched the sound system from the music files to the television.”