Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter (25 page)

When Judy asked for Bonnie’s help finding fabric for her block for Sylvia’s bridal quilt, Bonnie nodded and took her to a collection of fat quarters so perfectly suited to the project and complementary to one another that Judy surmised she must have set them aside for that very purpose. “I suppose many local quilters have asked for these same fabric suggestions,” she said.

“Not as many as you might think.” Bonnie shook her head. “I hope it’s because they already have suitable fabric in their stashes and not because they aren’t going to participate. Judging by the lack of local response, we’re having a little trouble getting the word out.”

“But all the quilters around here know Sylvia, at least by reputation. Should we send a letter to the Waterford Quilting Guild?”

“We tried that. President Mary Beth refuses to read the announcement.”

Recalling their unpleasant conversation at the Fabric Warehouse, Judy wasn’t surprised. “What does she have against Sylvia?”

Bonnie shrugged. “What does she have against any of us? Except Diane, of course. They’ve been unfriendly as long as they’ve been next-door neighbors. It’s amazing that their sons are such good friends.”

Judy suddenly remembered Todd and his companion from the Daily Grind. “Does Mary Beth’s son have dark, curly hair? Shorter than Todd, but good-looking, with a big cocky grin?”

“That sounds like Brent. Why?”

“I think I’ve seen them around.”

“Well, you usually can’t miss them.” Bonnie held out the basket of fat quarters to Judy. “They’re big men on the high school campus, and they want to be noticed wherever they go.”

After Judy selected her fabrics, Bonnie brought out a large carton from beneath the cutting table. Inside were sixty-six blocks from all across the country, including two from the United Kingdom and one from Australia. “Sixty-six?” asked Judy, taking a few packages from the top. “Isn’t that a bit short?”

Bonnie admitted that she would feel better if they were closer to 140 than that, but they still had time. Judy smiled. Bonnie, the eternal optimist, would not admit defeat long after the other team went home with the trophy.

Although the return addresses on the packages did indeed indicate the conspicuous absence of Waterford’s quilters, the blocks that had arrived were as beautiful and as varied as Judy could have hoped. She recognized some of the patterns as techniques taught in camp workshops, and many of their makers as favorite longtime students. One simple but striking block, an apparent variation on the Sawtooth Star, came from a camper who attended every year and could not help being the most recognized quilter there, with the exception of Sylvia herself.

February 20, 2002

Dear Elm Creek Quilters,

A bridal quilt for Sylvia—what an inspired idea! I’m honored and delighted to contribute a block, which you will find enclosed.

If you had told me on my first day of quilt camp that one day I would be asked to participate in such an important project, I never would have believed you. Actually, I probably would have called my agent and had him fax you a request for your terms, and I would have tried to exploit my benevolent donation for as much good PR as I could squeeze out of it, but thanks to friends I made at Elm Creek Quilt Camp, I have undergone a significant attitude adjustment since then.

Sylvia was the first to show me that the aloof, prima donna routine that served me so well in Hollywood would not go over well at Elm Creek Manor. My agent insisted that I take my meals in my room and that Sylvia forbid anyone to speak to me unless I addressed them first. But Sylvia would have none of that, and she told my agent so in her own inimitable style. She was right, and I knew it, but what impressed me most was that she managed to muzzle that arrogant loudmouth without breaking a sweat. This woman, I told myself, is someone to reckon with.

I came to learn later that she is also someone to trust, to respect, and to emulate. Her high standards for herself and her compassion for others inspire those of us inclined to selfishness and narcissism to do better. I can’t say knowing Sylvia has entirely cured me of my faults and weaknesses, but she has been an example I have tried to follow ever since I came to know her. Years ago I thought the most I could learn from Sylvia would be enough quilting to pass myself off as an accomplished quilter for a movie role. Now I know she has far more important lessons to offer for those of us not too self-absorbed to learn.

So, we return to the enclosed block. I could not find a block that, as your instructions requested, captured what Sylvia has meant to me. Any blocks that had ideal names were too difficult for me to make, and those I could handle had names that wouldn’t do. So I decided to take a simple block and change it just enough to make a unique block. (At least I hope it is. There are so many blocks out there I might have simply taken someone else’s design.) I call it Prima Donna, and I mean that in the absolute best sense of the phrase, for Sylvia is truly the First Lady of the quilting world.

Best regards to you all, and I wish you great success in the completion of this grand project.

Affectionately yours,
Julia Merchaud

PS: I hope you have all had the chance to watch my PBS series, “A Patchwork Life,” based upon my PBS movie of the same title. I adore the character of Sadie Henderson and hope you do, too, since I have drawn many of her characteristics and behavioral quirks from Sylvia. Our third season begins in September. Also, if you get the chance, I hope you’ll head to the theater to watch me in
Lethal Weapon Eight
. I play Mel Gibson’s grandmother (although I think I could pass for his mother) and my nursing home is beset by villains throughout almost the entire film. Wondering what happened to my resolution to appear in only highbrow, arty films? I assure you, making this movie was a momentary sacrifice more than compensated for by the many times I got to kiss Mel during rehearsals, even if it was only on the cheek.

Judy laughed. “Did you read Julia Merchaud’s letter?” she asked Bonnie.

Bonnie nodded and, a little mournfully, said, “I would have paid good money to be her stand-in for that role. Of course, we all know I don’t have the money, and with my luck, I would have ended up kissing Mel’s understudy.”

“I bet even his understudy is cute.” Then Judy detected an undercurrent of fear in Bonnie’s joke. “Are things really as bad around here as that?”

“Think of the worst they’ve ever been,” said Bonnie. “They’re worse this time.”

She looked away, and no matter how much Judy asked her to explain, Bonnie the eternal optimist would say nothing more than that she would keep the shop open as long as she could.

On March fifteenth, a Friday, Judy emailed Rick to ask if the campus interview invitations had been sent. She did not expect to hear from him over the weekend, but when an entire week passed with no reply, she assumed the worst. After encouraging her so enthusiastically to apply, he would be too embarrassed to tell her she had failed. An assistant would send her a rejection letter soon enough.

“Wait until the end of the month, then call,” Steve advised, unwilling to give up, reluctant to turn down his own job offer. Judy agreed, though she knew by that time the top three candidates would have concluded their campus visits, the selection perhaps already made.

The first day of camp came and went in a cheerful flurry of registration and welcoming ceremonies. Judy tried to find satisfaction in knowing she had not let down her friends by missing camp, but whenever she thought of Penn’s new computer facility—and when she observed Steve leafing discouragedly through the
Waterford Register
at breakfast—she wished things had turned out differently.

On Monday morning, the first day of classes, the phone rang a half hour before her alarm was set to go off. Steve rolled over with a groan and answered. “Hello?” He paused. “Yes, it is.” Another pause. “Yes, still married, and very happily. Do you want to talk to Judy?” He passed her the phone and put his pillow over his head. “It’s Wild Man Rick.”

Judy sat up and pressed the receiver to her ear. “Hello, Rick?”

“Hey, Jude.”

“What are you doing up so many hours before noon?” And why in the world was he calling? To commiserate? To tease her? Most likely the latter. For that, the least he could have done was let her sleep in.

“What are
you
doing still in bed, or still at home, for that matter? I thought you would have spent the night in Philly.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You must be as hung over as I am. Your interview, you dunce. Preceded by a lunch at the University Club and a campus tour, and followed by a multitude of other tedious activities. That’s not a commentary on your lecture or seminar, by the way.”

“You mean I’m one of the three finalists?”

Steve tore the pillow from his head and stared at her.

“Of course. It was all in the letter.”

Judy scrambled out of bed and threw on her robe. “I never received a letter.”

“I told you you’d hear by mid-March. Why didn’t you call?”

“I sent you an email asking if the letters were sent. You never answered.”

“Of course not,” Rick shot back, but he did sound somewhat abashed, if one knew what to listen for. “And when you never wrote me again to follow up on your unanswered email, I assumed the letter had arrived.”

“Rick, I swear—”

“Before you decide to kill me, may I remind you you’re wasting time? You can still make it if you leave now.”

“I can’t leave now! I have to shower and pack, and look after Emily, and make arrangements for my classes—”

“I thought you were on spring break.”

“—get directions—”

“Don’t worry about those. I’ll email them right away.” In the background she heard the clattering of keys on a keyboard and a woman’s voice, muffled. “Oh. Angie says she can watch Emily if you need to bring her.”

“Tell her she’s very generous and she deserves much better than you, but Emily’s in school and Steve doesn’t need the spouse job placement conference, so he’s staying here.”

Rick sighed. “You’re coming alone, and here I am, engaged to someone else. Ow! Sweetheart, that hurt.”

“Tell Angie to hit you again for me.”

“I’ll do that. Send me an email if the directions don’t come through.”

“Will you bother to answer it?”

“Maybe. You’re wasting time, you know.”

“I know.” She promised—or threatened—to see him later, and hung up. A glance at the clock told her she had just enough time to race through a shower and throw some things into a suitcase. And call Sarah. Her elation dimmed for a moment. She had to call Sarah. But first she bounded back into bed to tell Steve the good news he had already guessed.

O
n the first day of March, Diane’s phone rang while she was scrambling to get her husband and youngest son out of the house and on their way to work and school. Her assumption that the morning chaos would lessen by one-third when her eldest son started college had thus far proven to be laughably naïve.

She snatched the receiver a moment before the answering machine would have picked up. “Hello?”

“Hello, Diane? It’s Agnes. Sorry to call so early, but I’m afraid there’s an emergency.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s not really an emergency. Let’s call it—a situation.”

“Call it whatever you like. Just tell me what’s up.” Diane covered the mouthpiece with her hand as Todd passed, selecting items from the kitchen counter and pantry at random and tossing them into a brown paper lunch sack. “Todd, leave one of those bananas for your father.”

“He said he didn’t want it.”

“Then leave it for me. You ate both of my oranges for breakfast and there isn’t any more fruit in the house.”

Todd rolled his eyes, but he returned the banana to the otherwise empty fruit bowl. Diane uncovered the phone. “Sorry, Agnes. Where were we?”

“Todd’s a growing boy. He needs fruit.”

Diane sighed. “Todd,” she called. When he turned, she tossed him the banana. “Okay, Agnes. Whatever crisis you called about, it will be over by the time you tell me.”

“Bonnie can’t make it into work this morning. Are you free to open Grandma’s Attic today?”

“Why can’t she come in? Is she sick?” Diane paused to kiss her husband, Tim, on his way to the door. “Why didn’t she just call me herself?”

“It’s a rather long story, and it doesn’t sound as if you have time for a lengthy chat.”

That was certainly true. Todd waved at her and, with a hopeful expression, held out a pen and a blue piece of paper. Diane scanned it. Oh. Right. That permission slip for the senior trip. She held the phone to her ear with her shoulder and scrawled her signature on the line.

“Thanks, Mom,” whispered Todd as he carefully folded the form and tucked it into his backpack. “Come on. We’ll be late.”

“Just a minute.” She glanced at the clock. “I’d be glad to work today, Agnes, but I can’t get there right at nine. I have a dentist appointment and some errands I can’t postpone.”

“That’s all right. As soon as you can get there will be good enough. I’m sure Bonnie would be grateful.”

Diane wanted to believe that, but sometimes she wondered if any of her work at Grandma’s Attic was appreciated or even noticed. “I’ll call Bonnie at home when I get in.”

“Mom, we have to go.”

“Don’t bother,” said Agnes quickly. “She needs her rest.”

“Okay, I won’t.” Diane nodded apologetically to her son, bid Agnes good-bye, and hung up. “Can you get another ride home?” she asked Todd as she snatched up her purse and followed him out the side door into the garage. “I might have to work late at Grandma’s Attic.”

“No problem. Brent will drive me.”

“Great.” Diane managed not to clench her teeth. Since Todd was a little boy, she had tried to steer him toward other children in the neighborhood, but Brent had been his best friend since the second grade. In her own defense, she didn’t object because Brent was the son of her worst enemy; she disliked him on his own terms. If Todd were a more rebellious, sullen sort—in other words, more like his elder brother—Diane would have suspected him of befriending Brent merely to annoy her, but Todd genuinely liked Brent and often mentioned his many admirable qualities in what he thought was a subtle attempt to win her over. Tim occasionally pointed out that if Brent were anyone else’s son, Diane would be pleased Todd had chosen for his best friend a well-behaved, pleasant, athletic young man who earned good grades. While Diane couldn’t deny the tiny grain of truth in her husband’s mild censure, she had overheard Brent mock her eldest son, then turn around and speak to her with the utmost respect through an innocent grin far too many times. What bothered her most, though, was that Todd never defied Brent to defend his elder brother. She didn’t like to think of Todd as a conformist follower, especially if Mary Beth’s son was the designated leader.

If it were warmer, she would make Todd walk home from school. If Mary Beth had not bought Brent a new car for his sixteenth birthday, Todd would have had no choice. But since Diane could not fairly accuse Brent of poor driving, she could not withhold her permission without seeming unreasonable.

She dropped off Todd at school with time to spare and headed for the dentist. One routine examination later, she was back in the car en route to the post office and the bank. She hurried through her errands as quickly as she could, wondering about Bonnie’s absence. It was odd that Agnes had called instead of Bonnie, but not surprising that Agnes had called her instead of Summer. Whenever Bonnie needed extra help around the store, she invariably contacted Diane. Although Diane had originally accepted the part-time job because she did not want to work any more than she had to, with all the extra shifts, she had regularly worked a two-thirds schedule for more than a year. She spent more time in a Grandma’s Attic apron than Summer did, but Diane suspected neither Bonnie nor Summer realized that. Diane’s name appeared on the official work schedule posted in the back office less frequently than theirs, and the fact that she worked more often escaped their notice.

Not that Diane minded the extra shifts; she welcomed them. It was not only to help Bonnie, although Diane was glad to do anything to take some pressure off her friend who, despite her outward optimism, had seemed shadowed by a cloud of gloom and worry for months. It was also not only because she appreciated the extra money, although she did, especially with Todd impatiently awaiting an acceptance letter from Princeton. She simply liked the job. The work was never boring or stressful, since Bonnie handled all the financial matters herself, and the customers were generally pleasant and not too demanding. Diane felt useful there, which was a good feeling considering that her sons seemed to need her less and less each day, and she enjoyed having shoppers ask her opinion about fabric selections or new patterns. When Todd went off to college, Diane hoped to work full-time officially. The next time she caught Bonnie in a good mood, she would suggest it.

Diane parked in the employee space behind the building and hurried around to the front door. To her surprise it was unlocked, and through the front window she spotted Summer on the phone. Disgruntled, she wondered if Bonnie or Agnes—or both—had called Summer in, doubting Diane’s ability to handle the store by herself. If they had that little faith in her, she would be glad to point to the calendar and show them how many times in the past month she had opened and closed the store on her own.

Diane pushed open the door just as Summer hung up the phone. “Oh, hi,” she said brightly, shrugging off her coat. “I thought no one else was working today.”

Summer looked surprised to see her. “I work every Friday when camp isn’t in session. Bonnie should be here, too, but she didn’t show up this morning. I’m worried. No one answered the phone upstairs, either.”

“She’s not coming in today.” Diane hung up her coat and put her purse in its usual place, on a shelf beneath the cutting table. “Agnes called and asked me to open the store. I guess she didn’t know you would be here.”

“Agnes? Why would Agnes have called?”

Diane shrugged. “I have no idea. I imagine Bonnie asked her to.”

“But Bonnie knew I was working and she would have called you directly.”

“Well …” Diane mulled it over, but all she could conclude was that the whole situation was a little odd. “I don’t know. But I’m here, so I’m going to work. I need the hours. Todd is still holding out for Princeton. Do you have any idea how expensive that is? Thank goodness Michael decided to go to Waterford College so we could take advantage of the family tuition waiver.”

She figured Summer would understand that, because she had attended Waterford College for the same reason. Or so Gwen had claimed at the time. In Diane’s opinion, which no one had requested, Summer would have thrived at a larger university with more opportunities. She was certainly bright enough to succeed anywhere, and Gwen could have afforded even private school tuition. Diane had suspected Summer was afraid to leave Waterford and her mother, and that was why she had stayed. Her opinion was confirmed four years later when Summer turned down a generous fellowship to attend graduate school, in favor of Waterford, Grandma’s Attic, and Elm Creek Quilts. At least Summer had those to fall back on; other young people who were too intimidated to leave their small town ended up underemployed in dead-end jobs unless they were fortunate enough to inherit a thriving family business. Diane was relieved her two sons had their sights set outside Waterford but, to be fair, she might not feel that way if she had not already made plans for their bedrooms.

Once Diane knew Summer had not come in to supervise her, she was able to enjoy the day. Business was brisk in the morning, more like the old days before the Fabric Warehouse opened. She and Summer even found an interval between customers to look through the carton of blocks for Sylvia’s bridal quilt. The only unpleasantness—Mary Beth Callahan—arrived in the afternoon. The Neighbor from Hell apparently had nothing better to do than to complain about the letter Sarah had sent the Waterford Quilting Guild inviting members to participate in Sylvia’s bridal quilt. Diane happened to know that quilters enjoyed making blocks for projects like this and were far more likely to be hurt if they were not asked to help than to be annoyed by “block begging” or whatever Mary Beth had called it.

Everything from Mary Beth’s gleeful tone to the fact that she had waited two months to respond to the invitation told Diane she was determined to ruin Sylvia’s quilt. And Diane knew why. Mary Beth wanted to be Waterford’s best known and most respected quilter and, until Sylvia’s return to Waterford, only Bonnie and perhaps Gwen had given her any competition. It was not Mary Beth’s quilting that set her apart, of course; although she could count on collecting a ribbon at her guild’s own quilt show each summer, she had either never aspired to enter the more competitive national shows, or they had rejected her entries. Her role as perpetual guild president, however, had lent her a certain local notoriety for years. Now all the Elm Creek Quilters were better known in the quilting world than Mary Beth—even Diane herself, the least able quilter among them.

Mary Beth couldn’t stand it.

Diane usually enjoyed watching her neighbor stew in her jealousy, but she knew that concealed behind Mary Beth’s impeccable makeup and designer clothes and perpetual, if insincere, perky smile lay a heart capable of plotting the most malicious vengeance. Diane would never forgive Mary Beth for complaining to the Zoning Commission and forcing the Sonnenbergs to demolish the skateboard ramp they had built in their backyard for Michael, just as she would never forgive her if she ruined Sylvia’s quilt. Diane would not
allow
Mary Beth to ruin it.

After Summer left for the day, Diane fished Mary Beth’s discarded invitation out of the trash. She had not received one herself, so once she figured out how to infiltrate the Waterford Quilting Guild, she would read from Mary Beth’s. She rather liked the irony.

She unfolded the letter and was about to rehearse reading it aloud when her own name jumped out at her. “‘Diane says Sylvia deserves to go without’?” she read, aghast. She had never said that! She had thought it, but not said it, and that didn’t count, certainly not enough to be included in a letter sent out to hundreds of people!

She was going to have a little chat with Sarah as soon as she finished with Mary Beth.

When Diane returned home at six, Todd and Brent were watching music videos in the living room, open books and papers strewn on the coffee table before them. “No television during homework,” she called out as she set her purse on the kitchen counter.

Todd, who knew the rule and usually obeyed it, turned off the television without complaint, but Brent grinned at her over his shoulder and said, “We’re second-semester seniors. Homework doesn’t really count anymore.”

She returned his grin with a tight smile. “Homework always counts in this house. And yes, I realize colleges won’t see your second-semester grades until after they’ve accepted you.”

Brent shrugged and began closing books and collecting papers. “You should just be glad we’re doing it at all. Most kids in our class just blow it off.”

“If that’s true, which I doubt, I’m thrilled you two have a better work ethic.” Diane would have added something about wondering what his mother thought of his smart mouth, but just then the phone rang and she snatched it up. “Hello?”

“Hi,” a young woman responded. “Is, um, is Todd Sonnenberg there?”

“Yes.” She glanced at the clock. Right on schedule. Ever since word got out that Todd and his girlfriend had broken up soon after she received an acceptance letter to a West Coast university to which Todd had not applied, the Sonnenberg phone had rung almost continuously from the end of the school day until ten o’clock at night, when Tim switched off the ringer on each extension. An unusual day of silence meant they had forgotten to turn the ringers back on in the morning. “May I tell him who’s calling?”