Elm Creek Quilts [04] The Runaway Quilt Read online

  “One of the most compelling storytellers I’ve read. . . . This is a series that has touched my heart. Chiaverini makes her characters and plots so real readers feel as if they’ve stepped back in time.”

  —JEAN PEERENBOOM, Green bay Press–Gazette

  After learning of her family’s ties to the slaveholding South, Sylvia Compson scours her attic for clues and discovers a window into the world of her ancestors: the memoir of her great–grandfather’s spinster sister, Gerda Bergstrom.

  Gerda’s memoir chronicles the founding of Elm Creek Manor and the tumultuous years when Hans, Anneke, and Gerda Bergstrom sheltered fugitive slaves within its walls, using quilts as a signal of sanctuary. But little did the staunchly abolitionist Gerda know that a traitor was among them, placing the Bergstroms in grave danger and leading to family discord, betrayal, and a secret held for generations.

  With the help of the Elm Creek Quilters and clues hidden within antique quilts discovered in the manor’s attic, Sylvia stitches together the pieces of her past and decodes the true nature of the Bergstrom legacy.

  “Chiaverini’s fourth offering in her Elm Creek Quilts series weaves a modern–day family mystery around a pre–Civil War tale of bravery, deception and the Underground Railroad. . . . Chiaverini manages to impart a healthy dollop of history in a folksy style, while raising moral questions in a suspenseful narrative.”

  —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

  JENNIFER CHIAVERINI is the New York Times–bestselling author of sixteen Elm Creek Quilts novels, as well as four collections of quilt projects inspired by the series, and is the designer of the Elm Creek Quilts fabric lines from Red Rooster Fabrics. She lives with her husband and two sons in Madison, Wisconsin. Visit her online at www.elmcreek.net.

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  THE SOURCE FOR READING GROUPS

  COVER DESIGN BY HONI WERNER

  ALSO BY JENNIFER CHIAVERINI

  The Aloha Quilt

  A Quilter’s Holiday

  The Lost Quilter

  The Quilter’s Kitchen

  The Winding Ways Quilt

  The New Year’s Quilt

  The Quilter’s Homecoming

  Circle of Quilters

  The Christmas Quilt

  The Sugar Camp Quilt

  The Master Quilter

  The Quilter’s Legacy

  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

  More Elm Creek Quilts: Inspired by

  the Elm Creek Quilts Novels

  Sylvia’s Bridal Sampler from Elm Creek Quilts:

  The True Story Behind the Quilt

  SIMON & SCHUSTER PAPERBACKS

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  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  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 © 2002 by Jennifer Chiaverini

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Simon & Schuster Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Simon & Schuster trade paperback edition October 2010

  SIMON & SCHUSTER PAPERBACKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Designed by Leslie Phillips

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows

  Chiaverini, Jennifer.

  The runaway quilt : an Elm Creek quilts novel / Jennifer Chiaverini.

  p. cm.

  1. Underground railroad—Fiction. 2. Female friendship—Fiction. 3. Quiltmakers—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3553.H473 R86 2002

  813'.54—dc21

  2001057567

  ISBN 978-0-7432-2226-6

  ISBN 978-1-4516-0609-6 (pbk)

  ISBN 978-1-4391-4261-5 (ebook)

  To Marty and Nicholas,

  with all my love.

  Thank you for purchasing this Simon & Schuster eBook.

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  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Author’s Note

  Reading Group Guide

  Introduction

  Discussion Questions

  Enhance Your Book Club

  Author Q&A

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book would not have been possible without the expertise and guidance of Denise Roy, Maria Massie, Rebecca Davis, and Tara Parsons. Thank you for your wisdom and your friendship.

  I am grateful to author Barbara Brackman for providing me with important historical information regarding Civil War–era quilts and the use of quilts as signals on the Underground Railroad.

  Thank you, Christine Johnson, for reading the manuscript of The Quilter’s Apprentice so many years ago and posing the question that became this novel.

  I thank my friends and family, especially Geraldine Neidenbach, Heather Neidenbach, Nic Neidenbach, Virginia and Edward Riechman, Leonard and Marlene Chiaverini, Martin Lang, Rachel and Chip Sauer, Anne Spurgeon, Vanessa Alt, the Mad City Quilters, and the members of RCTQ, for your encouragement and support.

  Most of all, I am grateful to my husband, Marty, and my son, Nicholas, who inspire me every day with their humor and their love.

  THE

  RUNAWAY

  QUILT

  1

  When her sister, Claudia, died childless at the age of seventy-seven, Sylvia Bergstrom Compson became the last living descendant of Hans and Anneke Bergstrom and the sole heir to what remained of their fortune. Or so she had thought. She had certainly searched long and hard enough for someone else who could assume responsibility of Elm Creek Manor, for as difficult as it was to believe now, at the time she had thought the estate in rural central Pennsylvania too full of unhappy memories to become her home again. Her lawyer had told her she was the sole heir, an opinion corroborated by her private detective.

  Now she wondered if they had overlooked something, a familial connection lost to memory but documented in a thread-bare antique quilt.

  She had never seen the quilt before; that much she knew to be true. She saw it for the first time after a speaking engagement for the Silver Lake Quilters’ Guild in South Carolina. One woman had stayed behind to help Sylvia and her companion, Andrew Cooper, pack up Sylvia’s lecture materials. As the three folded Sylvia’s quilts and placed her slides carefully into boxes, the woman int
roduced herself as Margaret Alden and said that they had met before, for she was a former camper.

  “Of course I remember you,” Sylvia declared, but after a skeptical look from Andrew, she confessed otherwise. Margaret laughed and said she understood completely. So many quilters attended Elm Creek Quilt Camp each year that it was impossible to remember every one, although Sylvia felt that she ought to at least try. The campers were, after all, guests in her own home.

  They chatted about quilt camp as they carried Sylvia’s lecture materials to Andrew’s motor home, but even after Sylvia thanked her for the help, Margaret lingered. “If you could spare me another few minutes,” she said, “I’d like to show you a quilt. It’s been in my family for generations, but I think it might have some connection to Elm Creek Manor.”

  “I beg your pardon?” said Sylvia. “What sort of connection?”

  “That’s what I hoped you might know.”

  Andrew and Sylvia were eager to begin the first leg of their long drive back to central Pennsylvania, but Sylvia rarely passed up the opportunity to see a quilt, and certainly couldn’t resist seeing one so intriguingly described. Margaret hurried to her car and returned carrying a bundle wrapped in a cotton bedsheet. With Sylvia’s assistance, she unfolded it to reveal a quilt—or rather, what remained of one.

  The pattern caught Sylvia’s eye first: Birds in the Air blocks, each a square divided along the diagonal, a solid right triangle of medium or dark fabric on one side, three small right triangles surrounded by lighter background fabrics on the other. The blocks were arranged on point so that all the right angles of the triangles, large and small, pointed in the same direction. The fabrics themselves seemed to be primarily muslins and wools, so faded and worn that Sylvia could only guess their original colors. Water stains and deterioration suggested age as well as rough handling, as did the muted colors of the once bright dyes and the worn binding, through which the cotton batting was visible. Fine stipple quilting held the three layers together—where they were still held together. Elsewhere, the thread had been removed or torn out by accident, and the middle batting layer it should have held in place was long gone.

  Only a reluctance to appear hypocritical prevented Sylvia from scolding Margaret for risking further damage to the quilt by bringing it to the quilt guild meeting, for Sylvia was very glad to see it. “It’s lovely, dear.” She bent closer and peered through her bifocals at the quilting stitches. There was something unusual about them, something she couldn’t yet place.

  “Lovely?” Margaret laughed. “Most people look at it and say, “‘Hmm. Interesting.’”

  “You can tell Sylvia’s a true quilter,” said Andrew. “She never fails to see through the wear and tear and find the beauty.”

  “True beauty stands the test of time,” said Sylvia, straightening. “Although I must say it’s a pity its previous owners did not take better care of it.”

  “I know,” said Margaret apologetically. “But my mother says it was just one of many quilts her grandmother had around the house. They didn’t realize they were sleeping under a family heirloom.”

  “Of course not. I’m not faulting you or your ancestors. I’m not one of those who believes quilts should be showpieces kept safely away from anyone’s bed.” Sylvia returned her gaze to the quilt. “It’s a simple pattern, pieced from scraps. It wasn’t intended as the family’s best quilt. I’d say by using it so well, your family was acting well within the quiltmaker’s wishes.”

  Margaret smiled, pleased. Then Andrew caught Sylvia’s eye, and she was suddenly aware of how her lecture had wearied her and how long they planned to drive before stopping for the night. She couldn’t imagine what possible connection the quilt could have to Elm Creek Manor, unless Margaret hoped Sylvia would buy it and display it there. Briskly, she said, “Now, were you looking for an appraisal of the quilt or an estimate of its age? If so, I’m afraid I can’t help you. I could place it in the mid-to late nineteenth century, but you’ll need to consult a textiles expert for a more precise answer. As for what it’s worth in terms of dollars and cents—”

  “Oh, I could never sell it,” said Margaret, shocked.

  “I’m pleased to hear that.” Sylvia wished all families would show such appreciation for the heirloom quilts their foremothers had so lovingly made. “Then tell me, what did you mean by a connection between this quilt and my home?”

  Margaret turned the quilt so that only the solid muslin backing was visible. “When you look at the quilting stitches, what do you see?”

  Pursing her lips, Sylvia carefully scrutinized the quilt. Without the distraction of color and pattern, the stitches were more clearly visible. “The stippling pattern isn’t consistent,” she said. “Some of the stitches are long, others quite small, and the small ones seem to be grouped together.”

  Margaret’s nod told Sylvia she had responded just as the younger woman had hoped. “When I told my mother I had attended quilt camp at Elm Creek Manor, she told me that she had an old family quilt her grandmother had called the Elm Creek Quilt.”

  Sylvia looked up in surprise. “Did she, indeed?”

  “At first I thought its name came from the quilting pattern used in the border. See the elm leaf motif, and how these wavy lines look like running water?”

  “I suppose.” Sylvia saw the leaves now that they had been pointed out, but in her opinion, the wavy lines resembled a common cable pattern more than a creek.

  “It had another name, too. The Runaway Quilt.”

  “Runaway?” Andrew chuckled. “I’ve heard of quilters getting carried away with their work, but I didn’t know a quilt could actually run away.”

  “Perhaps the quilt turned out much larger than its maker had intended,” said Sylvia. “Perhaps she felt it ran on and on, with a life of its own.”

  “Maybe, but my mother says it was most often called the Elm Creek Quilt,” said Margaret hastily.

  Sylvia nodded and exchanged an amused glance with Andrew. Margaret seemed most eager to prove her point, but she had said nothing yet to persuade Sylvia.

  “Now look at these designs.” Margaret pointed out groups of stitches that she said resembled, in turn, a tobacco leaf, a star, a mountain pass, a group of horses—

  “And these,” said Margaret, watching Sylvia expectantly, “form a picture of Elm Creek Manor.”

  Sylvia could no longer nod politely at the woman’s wild imaginings. “I’m sorry, dear. I just don’t see it.”

  “Remember the quilter was working from the other side,” said Andrew, more mindful of Margaret’s feelings than Sylvia had been. “The designs would be in reverse.”

  Sylvia carefully unfurled the quilt before the motor home’s full-length mirror and studied one small section near the top. To her amazement, the reflection revealed a perfect outline of a pass between several low mountains.

  She stared at the quilt, speechless. “My goodness,” she finally managed. “I must admit, that bears a striking resemblance to the pass into the Elm Creek Valley.” She held up another section. “This could indeed be the west wing of Elm Creek Manor.”

  “You told us at camp that the west wing predates the rest of your home,” said Margaret.

  “It would have been the only part standing at the time this quilt was made.” Sylvia traced the design with a fingertip. “The original entrance is in the proper place.”

  “So it’s a side view now,” said Andrew. “But back then—”

  “This would have been the front view of the house.” Sylvia shook her head, is if to clear it of nonsense. “I admit I’m tempted to believe there’s some connection, but I’m afraid it’s all a bit too fanciful for me. Many houses share a similar design, and elm trees and creeks are hardly exclusive to my family’s estate . . .”

  Her voice trailed off in disbelief.

  Not far from the image of Elm Creek Manor appeared the outline of another building, one so unique and remarkable that there could be no mistaking it: a two-story barn, partiall
y concealed by the slope of the hill into which it was built, exact in proportion and scale to the barn on the grounds of Sylvia’s estate.

  Andrew photographed the quilt, front and back, with close-ups of the quilted images, while Sylvia recorded Margaret’s memories. Margaret surmised, based upon family stories, that her grandmother’s grandmother had sewn the quilt, but the five years Margaret had spent researching her family’s genealogy had turned up little information from that era, since many important documents had been destroyed during the Civil War. Then Margaret added, almost as an aside, “If my grandmother’s grand-mother didn’t make the quilt, I suppose one of her slaves could have.”

  “Her slaves?” echoed Sylvia. “Goodness. Your family owned slaves?”

  “Yes,” said Margaret, “but you don’t have to look at me like that. I never owned any.”

  “My apologies, dear. I didn’t mean to be rude.” Sylvia composed herself. Of course, she had probably met the descendants of slave owners before, just as she had certainly met the descendants of slaves. It was just unexpected to hear someone admit to one’s ancestors’ moral failings with such nonchalance, especially since Sylvia’s family had treated their forebears with respect bordering on reverence.

  “It seems to me, the person who made this quilt must have seen Elm Creek Manor,” said Margaret.

  “Could be she was recording memories of a visit,” said Andrew.

  “I suppose there’s no way to know for certain.” Sylvia gazed at the sections of the quilt where the thread had been removed. What patterns would they have found within those stitches?

  “Sylvia,” asked Margaret. “Did any of your ancestors leave the family estate and move South?”

  “Do you mean to say you think our families might be related?”

  “I think it’s possible. I had hoped your family records would be more complete than mine.”

  “I suppose it’s not entirely unlikely. My cousin Elizabeth left Elm Creek Manor when I was a young girl, but she and her husband went to California . . .”