The Quilter's Apprentice Page 4

  She paused for a reply, but Sarah just looked at her, stone-faced.

  “I don’t know anybody else, you see,” Mrs. Compson continued, and to Sarah’s astonishment, her voice faltered. “I’m planning to sell the estate, and I need someone to help me collect my late sister’s personal belongings and take an inventory of the manor’s contents for auction. There are so many rooms, and I can’t even imagine what could be in the attic, and I have trouble with stairs.”

  “You’re going to sell the estate?”

  The old woman shook her head. “A home so big and empty would be a burden. I have a place of my own, in Sewickley.” Her lips twisted until they resembled a wry smile, but it looked as if she were out of practice. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Work for this crotchety old thing? Never in a million years.’”

  Sarah tried to compose her features so that her expression wouldn’t give anything else away.

  “I know I can be difficult sometimes, but I can try to be—” Mrs. Compson pursed her lips and glanced away as if searching for the proper adjective. “More congenial. What would it take to persuade you?”

  Sarah studied her, then shook her head. “I’ll need some time to think about it.”

  “Very well. You may remain here or in the kitchen if you like, or feel free to explore the grounds. The orchards are to the west, beyond the barn, and the gardens—what remains of them—are to the north. When you’ve decided, you may join me in the west sitting room. I believe you already know where that is.” With that, she turned and made her way up the stairs and into the manor.

  Sarah shook her head in disbelief as she watched Mrs. Compson go. When she said she needed some time to think about the offer, she’d meant a few days, not a few minutes. Then again, she had already made up her mind. Wait until Matt heard about this. As soon as he stopped laughing Sarah would get him to take her home, and with any luck she’d never have to see that strange old woman again.

  Her eyes scanned the front of the manor. Mrs. Compson was right; she was impressed with the place. Who wouldn’t be? But she doubted she could tolerate an employer like Mrs. Compson in order to work there. She was impressed, not masochistic. She walked around the tree-lined north side of the building and the west wing. She walked briskly, but it still took her ten minutes to reach the barn and another five to reach the orchard, where she found Matt retrieving some tools from the back of the pickup.

  “You aren’t going to believe this,” she greeted him. “Mrs. Compson needs someone to help her get the manor ready for sale and she wants to hire me.”

  But Matt didn’t burst into laughter as she had expected. Instead he set down his tool kit and leaned against the tailgate. “That’s great, honey. When do you start?”

  For a moment Sarah was too surprised to do anything but blink at him. “When do I start?”

  “You’re going to help her, aren’t you?”

  “I wasn’t planning to,” she managed to say.

  “Why not? Why wouldn’t you want the job?”

  “It should be obvious. She hasn’t been exactly nice to me, as you very well know.”

  “Don’t you feel sorry for her?”

  “Of course I feel sorry for her, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend every day working with her.”

  “That’s got to be better than moping around the house all day, right?”

  “Not necessarily. If I’m sweeping porches around here, I won’t be sending out résumés and going on interviews.”

  “I’m sure you could work something out.”

  “Matt, you don’t get it. I’ve invested years in my career. I think I’m a little overqualified for cleaning up a house.”

  “I thought the whole idea was to start fresh.”

  “There’s starting fresh and then there’s starting over at the very bottom. There are limits.”

  Matt shrugged. “I don’t see any. Honest work is honest work.”

  Sarah stared at him, perplexed. He had always been the first to point out that her career was her business, but now here he was practically pressuring her into a job that didn’t even require a high school diploma. “Matt, if I take this job, my mother will have a fit.”

  “Why does it matter what your mother thinks? Besides, she wouldn’t care. If anything, she’d be glad you’re helping out an old lady.”

  Sarah started to reply, then held back the words and shook her head. If he only knew. She could almost hear that familiar chorus of shrill “I told you so”s already. If she took this job, she’d prove that her mother had been right all along when she’d insisted that leaving State College for Matt’s sake would send Sarah’s career into an inevitable spiral of downward mobility.

  Then suspicion crept into her thoughts. “Matt, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on. What do you mean?”

  “First you brought me out here after my interview. Then, without checking with me first, you promised her that I’d come see her. You didn’t look at all surprised when I told you she offered me a job, and now you’re pushing me to take it. You knew she was going to offer me this job, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t know for sure. I mean, she hinted, but she didn’t come right out and say it.” He looked at the ground. “I guess I like the idea better than you do.”

  Exasperated, Sarah struggled for something to say. “Why?”

  “It would be nice if we worked at the same place. We’d get to see more of each other.”

  “That might be part of it, but what else?”

  Matt sighed, took off his cap, and ran his fingers through his curly hair until it looked even more unruly than usual. “You’re going to think I’m being silly.”

  Silly was more benign than the adjectives Sarah considered using. “Maybe, but tell me anyway.”

  “Okay, but don’t laugh.” He tried to smile, but his eyes were sad. “Mrs. Compson, well, she reminds me of my mom. Same mannerisms, same way of dressing; she even looks kind of the same. Except her age, of course. I mean, I know she’s probably old enough to be our grandmother . . .”

  “Oh, Matt.”

  “It’s just that, well, my mom’s probably out there all alone somewhere, and I’d like to think that if some young couple had a chance to look out for her they’d take it.”

  If your mother’s out there alone, it’s her own fault for running out on you and your dad, Sarah thought, pressing her lips together to hold back the automatic response. She went to him and hugged him tightly. How could Matt remember his mother’s mannerisms? Mrs. McClure had left when he was only five years old, and although Sarah would never say so, she suspected Matt knew his mother only from photographs.

  Matt stroked her hair. “I’m sorry if I was being pushy. I didn’t mean it. I should’ve come right out and told you what I was thinking.”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  “I’m sorry. Really. I won’t do it again.”

  Sarah almost retorted that she wouldn’t give him the chance, that she’d be on her guard for the rest of their marriage, but he looked so remorseful that she changed her mind. “Okay,” she said instead. “Let’s just forget it. Besides, you’re right. It would be nice if we worked at the same place.”

  “We might not run into each other much during the day, but at least we can have lunch together.”

  Sarah nodded, thinking. She’d wanted the chance to do something different with her career, and this job was certainly different. Besides, it would only be for a few months at most. It would help fill up the days and take her mind off her unsuccessful job search.

  Then she remembered the quilt she’d seen on her first visit to the manor, and found another reason to take the job.

  “So what do you say?” Matt asked.

  “The house is gorgeous, and it’s so much cooler out here, too, like you said.” Sarah took Matt’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m going to go back there right now and tell her I’ll take the job, okay?” She turned and started back for the manor.


  “Okay,” Matt called after her. “See you at noon.”

  As she walked, Sarah decided that the situation had enough advantages to outweigh Mrs. Compson’s eccentricities. She could always quit if things didn’t work out. Besides, she knew the perfect way Mrs. Compson could pay her. She hurried up the back steps and knocked on the door.

  Immediately, Mrs. Compson opened it. “Have you decided?” She pursed her lips as if she expected bad news.

  “I’ll take the job, on one condition.”

  Mrs. Compson raised an eyebrow. “I already planned to feed you.”

  “Thank you, but that’s not it.”

  “What, then?”

  “Teach me how to quilt.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Teach me how to quilt. Teach me how to make a quilt and I’ll help you with your work.”

  “Surely you don’t mean it. There are several fine teachers in Waterford. I could give you some names.”

  Sarah shook her head. “No. That’s the deal. You teach me how to quilt, and I’ll help you take inventory and prepare the manor for sale. I’ve seen your quilts, and—” Sarah tried to remember what Bonnie had said. “And you’re in the QAS permanently. You ought to be able to teach me how to quilt.”

  “You mean AQS, but that’s not the point. Of course I could teach you. It’s not a question of my ability.” The old woman eyed her as if she found her quite inscrutable, then shrugged and extended a hand. “Very well. Agreed. In addition to your wages, I’ll teach you how to quilt.”

  Sarah pulled her hand away an instant before she would have been grasping Mrs. Compson’s. “No, that’s not what I meant. The lessons are my wages.”

  “Goodness, child, have you no bills to pay?” Mrs. Compson sighed and looked to the heavens. “Don’t let these somewhat dilapidated conditions deceive you. My family may not be what it once was, but we aren’t ready to accept charity quite yet.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course you didn’t. But I simply must insist on some sort of payment. My conscience wouldn’t give me a moment’s peace otherwise.”

  Sarah thought about it. “Okay. Something fair.” She wasn’t about to take advantage of someone who was obviously lonely, no matter how rude she was.

  They settled on a wage, but Sarah still felt that she was receiving the best part of the bargain. When they shook on it, Mrs. Compson’s eyes lit up with triumph. “I think you would have held out for more if you knew how much work there is to be done.”

  “I’m hoping that I’ll have a real job before long.”

  Mrs. Compson smiled. “Forgive me if I hope not.” She held open the door, and Sarah went inside. “Would you really have swept the veranda for free if I had asked you nicely?”

  “Yes.” Sarah thought for a moment and decided to be honest. “Maybe. I’m not sure. I’ll do it now, though, since I’m on the payroll.”

  “Let me know when you’re ready for lunch,” Mrs. Compson said, as Sarah continued down the hallway toward the front entrance.

  Four

  As she had promised, Sarah swept the veranda. When every dead leaf had been gathered up and even the corners were surely neat enough to win Mrs. Compson’s approval, most of the morning still stretched ahead of her. She decided to move on to the staircases, and swept twigs and leaves and crumbling fragments of mortar to the ground as she descended each curving step. Often she had to stoop over and pull up weeds and tufts of grass that had grown in the spaces between the gray stones. She hadn’t noticed the cracks and the scrawny pale shoots earlier, and she reminded herself to tell Matt about them. From the looks of things, he might need to replace some of the mortar, maybe even some of the stones on the lower steps.

  As she worked, the manor’s shade and a gentle southwest breeze kept the worst of the sun’s heat from troubling her. And as noon approached, she felt her thoughts unsnarling until she realized with a start that she was enjoying herself. If her mother could see her now. Sarah pictured her mother’s reaction when she learned the truth about her daughter’s new career, and had to smile.

  At lunchtime, Sarah returned to the kitchen to find Matt setting the table and Mrs. Compson stirring a bowl of tuna salad. While they ate, Mrs. Compson quizzed them on their morning’s accomplishments, nodding in satisfaction at their replies. When Matt tried to show Mrs. Compson some preliminary sketches of the north gardens, though, she gave them only the barest of glances, nodded, and abruptly rose from her seat.

  Matt and Sarah exchanged a puzzled look. Did that nod mean she liked Matt’s ideas or not? “Here, we’ll help clean up,” Sarah said, standing.

  Matt jumped to his feet and began collecting the dirty plates. “No, you two go on. I’ll take care of it.”

  Mrs. Compson stared at him. “You’ll take care of it?”

  “Sure.” He grinned and carried the dishes to the sink. “Don’t worry. I won’t drop anything.”

  “I should hope not.” Mrs. Compson turned to Sarah. “Well, I suppose this would give us more time to talk about quilts later. But first, Sarah, come with me.”

  Sarah kissed Matt good-bye and followed Mrs. Compson out of the room. Mrs. Compson stopped at a small closet on the right and retrieved a bundle of dust rags, which she deposited in Sarah’s arms before moving on down the long hallway.

  “We’ll start upstairs,” Mrs. Compson announced as they turned right in the front foyer. “Or rather, you’ll start upstairs.”

  Sarah trailed after her. “Where do these doors lead?”

  Without breaking her stride, Mrs. Compson pointed to the double doors on the right. “Banquet hall. No mere dining room for Elm Creek Manor.” She pointed to the other set of doors, directly in front of them and to the left of the wedge-shaped steps leading into the corner. “Ballroom. At one time the entire first floor of this wing was devoted almost exclusively to entertaining.” She reached the staircase, grasped the railing, and led Sarah upstairs. “We’ll begin in the library. It’s directly above the ballroom.”

  “What’s above that?”

  “The nursery. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. Why on earth would any family need a nursery so large? Well, I agree. It’s much larger than necessary.”

  Sarah nodded, wondering what an acceptable size for a nursery would be. As they continued up the stairs, she considered offering the older woman her arm. She suspected she’d be reprimanded for the attempt, though, and decided not to risk it.

  Halfway to the second floor, Mrs. Compson paused on the step, breathing heavily. “As for the rest of it,” she said, waving a hand in no particular direction. “Bedrooms, each with its own sitting room.”

  “Why so many?”

  “This was supposed to be a family house—several generations, aunts, uncles, and cousins, all living together happily under one roof. Hmph.”

  “Which room’s yours?”

  Mrs. Compson glanced at her sharply, then continued her climb. “I have my sitting room downstairs.”

  “You mean you sleep on the sofa? Aren’t the bedrooms furnished?”

  Mrs. Compson said nothing. Sarah bit the inside of her upper lip in a belated attempt to restrain the question. When they reached the top step, Mrs. Compson let out a relieved sigh and turned left down another hallway. “My sister saved everything,” she finally said as they passed two closed doors on the right. When the hallway widened and dead-ended at another set of double doors, Mrs. Compson stopped. “And I do mean everything. Old magazines, newspapers, paperbacks. I want you to help me sort the rubbish from anything salvageable.”

  With her lips firmly pursed, Mrs. Compson swung open both doors, and they entered the library. The musty, cluttered room spanned the width of the south wing’s far end. Dust specks floated lazily in the dim light that leaked in through tall windows on the south-, east-, and west-facing walls. Oak bookcases, their shelves stacked with books, knickknacks, and loose papers, stood between the windows. Two sofas faced each other in the center
of the room, dusty lamps resting on end tables on either side of both, a low coffee table turned upside down between them. More books and papers were scattered on the floor near the large oak desk on the east side of the room. Two high-backed, overstuffed chairs stood near a fireplace in the center of the south wall, and a third chair was toppled over onto its side nearby.

  Sarah sneezed.

  “God bless you.” Mrs. Compson smiled. “Let’s open these windows and see if we can clear out some of the dust with some fresh air, shall we?”

  Sarah set the dust rags on the desk and helped her carefully swing open the windows, which were made of small diamond-shaped pieces of glass joined with lead solder. Some of the panes were clear, but others were cloudy with age and weathering. Sarah leaned her head and shoulders out of one of the south windows. She could see the roof of the barn through the trees.

  She smiled and turned back to her new employer, who was trying to set the overturned chair onto its feet. “Where do you want me to begin?” she asked, hastening to help.

  “Begin wherever you like. Just see that you get the job done.” Mrs. Compson brushed the dust from her hands. “Separate all of the old newspapers into a pile for recycling, and do the same for the magazines. Loose papers may be recycled—or discarded, if you think it best. Gather the old paperbacks somewhere. Later we can box them and donate them to the public library, if they’re in suitable condition. I’d like to keep the hardcover books, at least for now. Those you may dust off and return to the shelves.”

  “Waterford Library may have to open up a new branch for all of this,” Sarah remarked, scanning the shelves. “Your sister must’ve liked reading.”

  The older woman gave a harsh laugh that sounded more like a strangled cough. “My sister liked reading junk—the cheapest romances, the most trivial tabloid magazines. In her later years she saved newspapers, too, but I don’t think she actually read them. No, she just piled them up here, creating a fire hazard, leaving them for someone else to clean up later.” She shook her head. “The finer books were my father’s. And mine.”