Elm Creek Quilts [09] Circle of Quilters
ALSO BY JENNIFER CHIAVERINI
The Christmas Quilt
The Sugar Camp Quilt
The Master Quilter
The Quilter’s Legacy
The Runaway Quilt
The Cross-Country Quilters
Round Robin
The Quilter’s Apprentice
Elm Creek Quilts:
Quilt Projects Inspired by the Elm Creek Quilts Novels
Return to Elm Creek:
More Quilt Projects Inspired by the Elm Creek Quilts Novels
Circle
of
Quilters
An Elm Creek Quilts Novel
JENNIFER CHIAVERINI
SIMON & SCHUSTER PAPERBACKS
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2006 by Jennifer Chiaverini
All rights reserved,
including the right of reproduction
in whole or in part in any form.
First Simon & Schuster paperback edition 2007
SIMON & SCHUSTER PAPERBACKS and colophon are registered
trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases,
please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales: 1-800-456-6798
or business@simonandschuster.com.
DESIGNED BY LAUREN SIMONETTI
Manufactured in the Unites States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Chiaverini, Jennifer.
Circle of quilters : an elm creek quilts novel / Jennifer Chiaverini.
p. cm.
1. Compson, Sylvia (Fictitious character)—Fiction.
2. Female friendship—
Fiction.
3. Quiltmakers—Fiction.
4. Quilting—Fiction.
5. Quilts—Fiction.
6. Women—Fiction.
I. Title.
PS3553. H473C7 2006
813′.54—dc22
2005054092
ISBN-13: 978-0-7432-6020-6
ISBN-10: 0-7432-6020-1
ISBN-13: 978-0-7432-6021-3 (Pbk)
ISBN-10: 0-7432-6021-X (Pbk)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-5189-8 (ebook)
To Nicholas and Michael Chiaverini.
I love you a million billion.
I love you infinity.
Acknowledgments
I am more thankful for the friendship, dedication, and expertise of Denise Roy, Maria Massie, and Rebecca Davis than I could ever adequately express. I am also grateful for Annie Orr’s tireless efforts behind the scenes and the beautiful artistry of Honi Werner and Melanie Marder Parks. How fortunate I am to work with such brilliant, talented women!
Hugs and thanks to Lisa Cass and Jody Gomez, who cared for my boys and gave me time to write, and to Anne Spurgeon, who laughs with me, commiserates with me, and answers obscure historical questions with remarkable speed and accuracy.
Many thanks to Brenda Papadakis and Ami Simms for inspiring me with their quilts, creativity, and contributions to the quilting world. Thanks also to Lee Keyser for her suggestions for the romantic date in Seattle that appears in this book, and to Joelle Reeder of Moxie Design Studios, who created my fabulous new website.
Thank you to the friends and family who have supported and encouraged me through the years, especially Geraldine Neidenbach, Heather Neidenbach, Nic Neidenbach, Virginia and Edward Riechman, and Leonard and Marlene Chiaverini.
Above all else, I am grateful to my husband, Marty, and my sons, Nicholas and Michael. Whenever the frustrations, disappointments, and loneliness of the writing life get me down, you remind me that I already have everything I ever wanted.
Circle
of
Quilters
Are You an Accomplished Quilter
Seeking a New Adventure?
Seeking qualified applicants to join
the circle of quilters at the country’s finest
and most popular quilters’ getaway, located
in beautiful rural central Pennsylvania.
Applicants should demonstrate mastery of two
or more of the following subjects: hand piecing,
machine piecing, machine quilting, pattern
drafting, computer-aided design, quilt history,
quilted garments, hand dyeing, or other notable
quilting technique. Seasonal work, flexible
schedule, and/or live-in arrangement available
if desired. Teaching experience and sense of
humor required. Ability to tolerate quirky
coworkers, emotional turmoil, and the occasional
minor disaster highly recommended. If that
didn’t scare you off, send résumé and portfolio,
including sample lesson plans for two courses,
photos of completed quilts, and letters of
recommendation from at least three students to
Elm Creek Quilt Camp
Attention: Sarah McClure
Elm Creek Manor
Waterford, Pennsylvania
16807
ADA EOE
Maggie
Every morning after breakfast, the Courtyard Quilters gathered in the recreation room of Ocean View Hills Retirement Community and Convalescent Center to quilt, swap stories about their grandchildren, and gossip about the other residents. Nothing escaped their notice or judgment, and woe be it to the new resident or visitor who pulled up a chair to their circle uninvited. No one made that mistake twice, not if they coveted the friendship of seventy-year-old Helen Stonebridge, the leader of the circle of quilters and the most popular woman in the facility.
Within days of coming to work at Ocean View Hills—a name she had trouble saying with a straight face considering they were in Sacramento—Maggie Flynn joined the ranks of Mrs. Stonebridge’s admirers. Maggie had heard other members of the staff mention the woman as a sort of unofficial leader of the residents, but it wasn’t until she witnessed Mrs. Stonebridge in action that Maggie understood how influential she truly was. On that day, Maggie was sorting art supplies in the recreation room not far from where the quilters gathered every morning after breakfast. Their conversation turned to an altercation in the cafeteria the previous day in which a certain Mrs. Lenore Hicks had knocked over another resident in her haste to be first in line.
“She plowed right into Rita Talmadge’s walker,” tsked one of the quilters. “Rita tumbled head over heels, and Lenore didn’t even stop to help her up.”
“Lenore must have seen the banana cream pie on the dessert tray,” another quilter explained. “Never get between that woman and pie.”
“Rita could hardly dodge out of the way,” said the first quilter indignantly. “She’s had three hip replacements.”
Maggie was puzzling out how someone with only two hips could have three hip replacements when the youngest of the group, Mrs. Blum, piped up, “This isn’t the first time Lenore’s bumped into a lady with a walker. Remember Mary Haas and the Mother’s Day brunch? Margaret Hoover and the reflecting pool? Velma Tate and the Christmas tree?”
The quilters considered and agreed that Lenore did appear t
o have a habit of barreling into the less agile residents of Ocean View Hills. So far none of her victims had suffered more than bumps and bruises—and in Margaret Hoover’s case, an unexpected al fresco bath—but if the pattern continued, it was only a matter of time before someone broke a bone.
“I would be less concerned if these incidents didn’t happen so frequently,” mused Mrs. Stonebridge. “It’s also troubling that Lenore didn’t help Rita to her feet. No pie is worth adding insult to injury.”
The other ladies waited expectantly while Mrs. Stonebridge deliberated, her needle darting through two small squares of fabric with small, even stitches. Maggie found that she, too, had stopped sorting out watercolor paints in anticipation of the verdict.
After a few moments, Mrs. Stonebridge spoke again. “Dottie, would you please tell Lenore that I would enjoy chatting with her whenever she has a spare moment?”
Mrs. Blum, the spriest of the group, nodded and hurried off. Maggie suspected that Mrs. Stonebridge expected an immediate response despite the casual wording of the request, and sure enough, Mrs. Blum returned several minutes later with a tall, solidly built woman with a slight stoop to her shoulders and a look of puzzled wariness in her eye.
Mrs. Stonebridge greeted her with a warm smile. “Oh, hello, Lenore. Won’t you sit down?”
Mrs. Hicks nodded and seated herself in the chair Mrs. Blum had vacated. Mrs. Blum frowned and glanced about for another chair to drag over into the circle, but the only empty seats were heavy armchairs near the fireplace. She folded her arms and stood instead.
“You wanted to speak to me?” asked Mrs. Hicks, anxious.
“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Stonebridge. “You see, I’m worried about you.”
Mrs. Hicks, who had clearly expected to be reprimanded for some forgotten offense, relaxed slightly. “Worried? About me? Why?”
“I’m concerned that you might have an inner ear disorder. You seem to have some balance problems. I’m referring, of course, to your unfortunate collision with Rita in the cafeteria yesterday. Anyone can have an accident, but you must have been feeling especially unsteady on your feet to be unable to help Rita up after you had knocked her down.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Hicks, uneasy. “Well, I was in a hurry, you see, and her friends were there to help her, so I thought she was all right.”
“It turns out she was,” Mrs. Stonebridge reassured her. “But I’m sure you saw that for yourself when you went back later to apologize.”
Mrs. Hicks said nothing, a guilty, pained expression on her face.
“Oh. I see,” said Mrs. Stonebridge, sorrowful. “Well, I’m sure your balance troubles are nothing to worry about, but you should get yourself checked out just in case.”
“I’ll see the doctor today,” said Mrs. Hicks in a small voice.
“And—this is just a thought—since poor Rita is still bruised from her fall, perhaps you could bring her meals to her until she recovers.”
“The busboys can do that, can’t they?”
“It will mean so much more coming from you, don’t you agree?” Mrs. Stonebridge smiled. “Should we say … a month? Do you think that would do?”
Mrs. Hicks agreed, and for the next month, three times a day, Rita Talmadge waited at her favorite lunch table while a repentant Mrs. Hicks brought her meals to her on a tray. Mrs. Talmadge was satisfied, and Mrs. Hicks, who received a clean bill of health from the staff physician, learned to be more courteous of her fellow residents.
Maggie marveled at the simple elegance of Mrs. Stonebridge’s solution and how well it restored harmony to Ocean View Hills—and at how willingly Mrs. Hicks and Mrs. Talmadge had complied. Over time Maggie learned that conflicts were often resolved with Mrs. Stonebridge’s guidance and she found herself thinking that it was a shame the former professor of anthropology could not lend her services to heads of state in troubled regions of the world. Mrs. Stonebridge read the Sacramento Bee daily and the New York Times on Sunday, and her opinions on world events were always thoughtful and well reasoned. At least Maggie thought so. She had no doubt Mrs. Stonebridge could offer brilliant and graceful solutions to conflicts around the globe if only political leaders knew where to find her—and if those same leaders could be persuaded to submit to her decisions with the same humility and desire for harmony as the residents of Ocean View Hills.
Since Mrs. Stonebridge kept herself apprised of events in the lives of the staff members with the same thoughtful diligence she applied to her fellow residents and to world events, when Maggie’s personal life took an unexpected turn, she decided to tell Mrs. Stonebridge right away. She would ferret out the truth eventually anyway, and Maggie would not want to hurt her feelings by having her hear it secondhand.
On the morning after her twenty-fifth birthday, Maggie came into work early so she would have time to deliver the news before her shift started. She found the Courtyard Quilters gathered in the recreation room, their chairs arranged in a circle in front of the windows with the view of the garden, just like always. Mrs. Stonebridge looked up from her sewing to smile at her. “Well, there’s the birthday girl. How was your party last night?”
“It was all right,” said Maggie. After work, she had met her two best friends for happy hour at La Hacienda, where they filled up on free nachos, sipped margaritas, and discussed the men at the bar—at least her friends did. Maggie merely played along, pretending to admire the cute guy in the tan suit who had smiled at her. She had little interest in meeting someone new a mere four hours after breaking Brian’s heart.
“Well?” inquired Mrs. Blum, trying to get a good look at Maggie’s left hand, which she quickly concealed in her pocket. “Did he pop the question or didn’t he? Don’t leave us in suspense.”
“He didn’t,” Maggie said. “We broke up.”
The Courtyard Quilters’ exclamations of astonishment and dismay brought an orderly running from another room. Mrs. Stonebridge waved him away with a shake of her head and a reassuring word.
“That louse,” said one of the quilters. “I always knew he was no good.”
“He’s a good man,” Maggie defended him. “He’s just not the right man.”
“How can you call him a good man after he broke your heart?” said Mrs. Blum, tears in her eyes. “And I’ve already started your wedding quilt!”
“I warned you not to,” said another quilter. “That’s bad luck. Never start a wedding quilt until you’ve seen the engagement ring on the bride-to-be’s finger.”
“He didn’t break up with me,” explained Maggie. “I broke up with him.”
This time, the quilters responded with exclamations of incredulity. “It’s not because of that sense of humor thing, is it?” demanded one. “Because that’s a lot of malarkey. Who cares if a man laughs at your jokes?”
“That’s not it.” At least, that wasn’t the only reason, although Maggie had always been troubled by how out of sync their senses of humor were. She could not remember a single time in three years that any of her small witticisms or amusing anecdotes had made Brian laugh. Smile politely, perhaps, but not laugh out loud in pleasure or joy. If he had no sense of humor at all, she could have excused it, but he laughed loudly enough at movies—even dramas—and at his friends’ corny jokes. What made a person laugh spoke volumes about one’s way of looking at the world. Brian’s stoic response to things that amused Maggie made her feel as if they were gazing upon the same landscape but facing opposite directions.
She understood the Courtyard Quilters’ astonishment. In their three years together, she and Brian had occasionally discussed marriage, but Maggie had assumed their discussions were purely hypothetical. They had attended friends’ weddings and confided how they intended to do things differently when their time came—but neither of them explicitly said that they were talking about marrying the other. Then came the day Brian’s mother invited Maggie to try on her late mother-in-law’s emerald engagement ring, a treasured family heirloom. “You’ll need to get it sized,�
�� she had advised her son as the ring slipped too easily past Maggie’s knuckle.
Inexplicably, Maggie had been seized by panic. She quickly removed the ring and replaced it in the jewelry box, managing a fleeting smile for Brian’s mother. Had everything been decided without her? Brian’s family seemed to assume that he would propose and that when he did, that she would accept. The thought filled her with dread. She liked Brian; she liked him very much. He was friendly and cute and loyal and easy to please—“All qualities one would look for in a golden retriever,” Mrs. Stonebridge had remarked only weeks ago, when Maggie confided in her after the engagement ring incident. “But do you love him?”
Maggie wasn’t sure. She enjoyed spending time with him and believed they could have a decent, steady life together. But she had to believe there was something more, something greater, in store for her. It was unbearable to think that she had nothing more to look forward to but a good old reliable ordinary life.
She had hoped for more time to sort things out, but as her birthday approached, Brian hinted that he had a very special evening planned. He reserved a table at the finest restaurant in Sacramento two weeks in advance, and she found a bottle of expensive champagne hidden in the back of his refrigerator. Alarmed, Maggie began making excuses not to see him, but he knew her shifts, her haunts, her home so well that he merely showed up wherever he knew she would be, forlorn and determined to put things right. He was so hurt and bewildered by her sudden, inexplicable coolness that she knew she would never have the courage to turn down his proposal. So she broke up with him before he had a chance to ask. Worse yet, she broke up with him by email, which was so cowardly of her that she couldn’t admit it to the quilters.
“What was it, then?” asked Mrs. Blum, bewildered. “Brian seemed like such a nice young man.”
“He was. He is,” said Maggie. “But he’s not the one.”
“Maybe he’s not the one but he’s good enough,” retorted one of the quilters, whom Maggie knew had never married.