Elm Creek Quilts [12] The Winding Ways Quilt (36 page)

Only the lower right corner remained empty. When her friends looked to her for understanding, Sylvia gestured to a single gift bag that remained on the floor beside her desk.

Judy’s quilt.

“The Winding Ways quilt will remind us of friends who have left our circle to journey far away.” Slipping the hanging rod from the sleeve, Sylvia removed Summer’s portion from the wall and returned it to her. “When one of our circle must leave us, she’ll take her section of the quilt with her as a reminder of the loving friends awaiting her return. The empty places on the wall will remind those of us left behind that the beauty of our friendship endures, even if great distances separate us. When the absent friend returns to Elm Creek Manor, she will hang her quilt in its proper space, and the loveliness of the whole will be restored.”

Summer held her quilt lovingly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’m not leaving for a few more weeks. Can’t I leave my quilt on the wall until then?”

Laughing, Sylvia assured her that she could, and as Summer returned her quilt to its proper place, Sylvia turned to Anna and Gretchen. “I have a confession to make. When I envisioned this quilt, I thought only of the founding members and not of those who would join our circle later.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” Gretchen said, and Anna nodded. “This quilt honors the founders of Elm Creek Quilts. We’re Elm Creek Quilters now, but we’ll never be founding members. That’s all right.”

“And yet you shouldn’t be excluded.” Sylvia nodded to their gift, the section in the center of the large quilt. “This section is for you, and for Maggie, and for every new Elm Creek Quilter that may join us. This way, as long as Elm Creek Quilts endures, no matter what becomes of the founding members, this section at the heart of the quilt will remain.”

Anna blinked away tears. “Thank you, Sylvia.”

As the others chimed in their gratitude, embracing her, Bonnie bit her lip and gazed at the lone gift bag by the desk. “I wish Judy could have been here for this.”

“Someone will just have to explain it to her,” said Diane with a shrug. “Summer’s a good writer. She can type up what Sylvia said and include it in the package when you send her her section of the quilt.”

“No,” said Gwen. “I have a better idea.”

A shriek of laughter outside distracted Judy’s attention from unpacking a box of cookware. She glanced out the kitchen window and spied Emily and Hannah riding their bikes in the long, tree-lined driveway, trying to balance on the wavy, winding chalk line Caroline had drawn. The three girls had been inseparable ever since the family had moved into the three-story Queen Anne home, and Judy had promised Emily she could invite her new friends to spend the night the following Friday to celebrate the first week of school. Emily and Caroline would be in the same third-grade class, thanks to an understanding principal who agreed that Emily would make a smoother transition to her new school if she shared a classroom with a familiar friend.

Judy had felt the same way on her first day at Penn. Rick was eccentric, but they had been friends since graduate school, and walking into the lab that first day had been easier knowing he waited inside to show her around and introduce her to her new colleagues. Steve, who had never known a moment’s shyness, spent his morning on the job meeting everyone in the
Philadelphia Inquirer
newsroom and had already signed up for the company soccer league. Judy smiled to herself as she bent down to shove a pair of muffin tins to the back of a low cupboard. Every day brought a fresh confirmation that they had made the right choice. Gradually but surely, they were beginning to feel at home.

“Car,” Judy heard one of the girls call out to the others, followed by squeals of excitement and exaggerated danger as they scrambled out of the way. Over the tinny clanks of cookware, Judy heard a car slowly pulling up the driveway, an engine shutting down, a door opening and slamming shut. Rising, she tucked a loose strand of hair into her ponytail, dusted off her hands, and glanced out the window. At the sight of Gwen coming up the front walk carrying a bag with a raffia bow, she gasped and hurried to the front door.

She yanked it open before Gwen had a chance to ring the bell. “What are you doing here?” she cried, stepping out onto the front porch and flinging her arms around her friend without waiting for a reply.

Gwen’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “Would you believe I came to help you unpack your fabric stash?”

“Sure,” said Judy, smiling, “and I bet my best batiks will somehow end up in your car instead of my sewing room.”

“Special delivery.” Gwen’s smile trembled as she handed Judy the gift bag. “This is from Sylvia. She said to tell you she’s sorry she didn’t finish it before your farewell party. There’s also a story behind it, which I’ll share after you open it.”

“Sylvia’s gifts always have stories behind them,” said Judy, sneaking a peek into the folds of the tissue paper. “This must be quite a story to warrant such a long drive.”

“That’s not the only reason I came,” said Gwen. “I’m sorry I missed your party. I should have been there to say good-bye and to tell you how much I’m going to miss you.”

Judy’s voice caught in her throat. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

“Good-bye, Judy.”

“Good-bye, Gwen.”

The three little girls looked on curiously as Gwen and Judy embraced each other, laughing, wiping away tears. “Are they happy or sad?” Caroline asked.

“Both,” said Emily. She hopped on her bike and led her new best friends on a winding way down the shady driveway, following the twists and turns and zigzags of a chalk line that would disappear with the next rain.