Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter Read online

  Summer nodded. Michael had been something of a troublemaker since the fifth grade, but as his former and favorite babysitter, Summer tended to see harmless mischief where others saw an inmate-in-training. When Michael enrolled at Waterford College, Diane had been so relieved that she would have paid any amount of tuition without complaint. Now completing his sophomore year, Michael seemed to be thriving as a Computer Sciences major. When the time came, Summer hoped he would find a job outside of Waterford so that, unlike herself, he would be accepted as the adult he had become instead of perpetually seen as the child he had been.

  The morning passed with no word from Bonnie. When a call to Agnes went unanswered, Summer considered phoning Bonnie’s husband at work, but she had carried on only a handful of strained conversations with Craig in all the years she had known the Markhams. She didn’t want to risk making trouble by bothering him at his office. If something was seriously wrong, he wouldn’t be there, anyway. He would be with his wife.

  A slow but steady flow of customers kept Summer and Diane too busy to have much time to chat, but it tapered off long enough for them to go to lunch. After Diane’s turn, Summer went to the Daily Grind for coffee and a salad. Judy was there, an empty plate on the table beside her laptop. Summer did not want to interrupt her work, but when she stopped by to say hello, Judy invited Summer to join her. Summer agreed and, as she seated herself, she couldn’t resist a glance at the computer screen. She glimpsed what looked to be lecture notes before Judy shut it down.

  They chatted about quilt camp while Summer ate and Judy nursed a cup of black coffee. “Have you started your block for Sylvia’s quilt yet?” Summer asked.

  “I confess I forgot all about it,” said Judy. “I don’t even have the fabric yet.”

  “If you run out of time you could always buy one of those bargain kits at the Fabric Warehouse,” teased Summer, and had to laugh at her friend’s stricken expression. “I’m just kidding. You have plenty of time. I haven’t started my block, either.”

  “I don’t know what’s more insulting,” said Judy, tossing her straight black hair over her shoulder and feigning moral outrage. “That you think I have such poor time management skills or that I’d take my business anywhere but Grandma’s Attic.”

  Summer assured her she knew otherwise on both counts.

  She would have stayed to talk longer, but she couldn’t linger with a clear conscience knowing Diane was at the store alone. Judy encouraged her to stay, but she had her computer switched back on before Summer pushed in her chair. On her way out, Summer passed two young men joining the line at the counter, digging in their back pockets for folded bills. She recognized the tall blond on sight, although she hadn’t baby-sat Diane’s sons in years. The younger of the brothers, Todd was handsome, athletic, and therefore popular, and his companion seemed much the same. The boys laughed and talked loudly like the lords of the local high school class that they were, wanting and expecting to be noticed, oblivious to the utter lack of interest of the college students and professors who had no idea how important they were among their peers. Summer smiled and left the coffee shop. She shouldn’t be so hard on Todd and his friend, who looked vaguely familiar. Troubled Michael had always been her favorite, and Todd couldn’t help that his perfection made him so annoying.

  Back at Grandma’s Attic, the stream of customers slowed to a trickle by midafternoon, and despite Bonnie’s absence, Summer considered leaving early. Quilt camp would begin in almost three weeks, and Summer should have been at Elm Creek Manor helping Sarah. Out of guilt for her intended resignation, she had not reduced her hours at the quilt shop as she usually did by that time of year. Sarah rightly could have complained, but she probably had everything so well under control that she barely noticed Summer’s absence. Even so, come Monday, Summer would revert to her camp season hours. Maybe that would provide a natural transition into leaving permanently.

  Eventually customer traffic slowed so much that Diane suggested that to pass the time they read the letters accompanying the blocks for Sylvia’s bridal quilt. Summer agreed, but thoughts of her enormous workload nagged at her so much she could not enjoy herself.

  Just as she was about to ask Diane if she would mind closing on her own, the front bell jingled. A customer entered wearing a red wool coat trimmed with black fur, and black pumps rather than the snow boots nearly everyone else in Waterford favored this time of year. She removed a black fur hat and smoothed her platinum blond pageboy with a leather-gloved hand. “Isn’t Bonnie here today?”

  “No,” said Diane abruptly, sitting down at the cutting table with her back to the woman and unfolding another letter.

  “Diane,” whispered Summer, incredulous.

  “Don’t worry. She’s not a customer.”

  Diane’s voice dripped with disgust, but fortunately she had spoken too softly for the woman to overhear. Suddenly Summer recognized her. She had been a brunette the last time Summer had seen her, but she was unmistakably Mary Beth Callahan, the perennial president of the Waterford Quilting Guild and Diane’s next-door neighbor.

  Summer decided to avoid giving Diane another opportunity to address Mary Beth, since their mutual loathing was legendary. “Bonnie’s not here, but may I help you?”

  “I suppose so. You’re Summer, right? Summer Sullivan?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Your name is in the letter, so I guess you’ll do.” Mary Beth withdrew an envelope from her purse and unfolded it. “I believe this was sent to me by mistake.”

  She held out the envelope until Summer took it. One glance told her it was the invitation to participate in Sylvia’s bridal quilt.

  “We definitely meant to send it to you,” Summer assured her. “Actually, to the entire guild. You’re listed as the guild contact, so we sent it to your home, hoping you would announce it at your next meeting.”

  She tried to return the letter, but Mary Beth waved it away. “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.”

  “Why not?” asked Diane.

  “I couldn’t impose on my fellow guild members like that. They’d probably feel obligated to participate, and that isn’t fair. Sylvia is not a charity case. If I endorse your project, where does it stop?”

  “We’re not asking you to endorse it, just announce it,” said Diane. “Just tell them about the quilt and let them decide whether they want to help.”

  Summer raised a hand to quiet her friend. “I understand your concerns, but many of your guild members have known Sylvia for years. Don’t you think they would want to know about her bridal quilt?”

  “Don’t you think once they see the finished quilt they’ll be ticked off that you kept them from participating?” Diane added.

  Mary Beth regarded her sourly. “If those few members of my guild are such good friends of Sylvia’s, I’m sure you have their addresses and can contact them individually. Our guild happens to be very busy, Diane, so regardless of their feelings for Sylvia, we would appreciate it if nonmembers didn’t come around begging for blocks.”

  “How would you know if you never ask them?” said Diane. “If they don’t want to participate, fine, but you won’t even give them the chance to refuse for themselves!”

  Mary Beth ignored her. “Make sure to take our address off your mailing list,” she called to Summer over her shoulder as she departed.

  “Gladly,” retorted Diane as the door closed behind her. “Can you believe that woman? What is her problem?”

  “I have no idea.” Summer tossed the letter into the trash. “She seems easily threatened.”

  “Absolutely. Remember how she freaked out when I opposed her for guild president? I would have been elected if she hadn’t reminded everyone that I had never won a ribbon in a quilt show.”

  “Winning lots of ribbons can’t make someone a good president,” said Summer. “You need an entirely different set of skills.” She didn’t point out that the Waterford Quilting Guild apparently believed Mary Beth possessed them or she wouldn’t
be elected every year. Diane would merely argue that she ran unopposed because everyone feared her wrath.

  “She’s deliberately trying to ruin Sylvia’s quilt,” said Diane, opening and closing her rotary cutter with an ominous glint in her eye.

  “Why would she do that?” Summer gently guided Diane to the cutting table. “Remember, that’s to cut fabric, not throats.”

  “Because she’s jealous of Sylvia’s success. And Bonnie’s. And mine, too, probably.”

  Summer couldn’t dispute that, but said, “She can’t ruin Sylvia’s quilt. It would have been nice to have some contributions from more local quilters, but we’ll have enough blocks without them.”

  “Oh, really? The mail came while you were at lunch. The three blocks we got today brings us to a grand total of fifty-eight. We need one hundred forty.” Diane frowned and tapped the rotary cutter on the table. “Think about it. Mary Beth has had our letter since the beginning of January. Why would she wait two months to tell us she can’t announce it at the guild meeting?”

  “I imagine you’re about to tell me.”

  “To make sure we couldn’t get around her, that’s why. Even if we do send letters to someone else in the guild and ask her to make the announcement, and even if she manages to sneak it past Czarina Mary Beth, the guild members won’t have enough time to make any blocks.”

  Summer had to admit that Diane’s explanation of Mary Beth’s motives sounded plausible, but she couldn’t believe that one spiteful woman could ruin the entire quilt. They had plenty of time. She had not started her own block yet, but she would definitely complete it before the deadline.

  Summer left shortly afterward, making Diane promise to call her if she received word from Bonnie. Over the weekend she worked on sample projects for a new course she hoped to teach later that season, and on Sunday afternoon, she phoned Bonnie to remind her she intended to cut back her hours in preparation for camp. She left messages at Bonnie’s home as well as at Grandma’s Attic, but Bonnie did not return them.

  Before driving out to Elm Creek Manor Monday morning, Summer dropped by Grandma’s Attic just in case Bonnie failed to show. To her relief, the quilt shop was open, and Bonnie was inside helping a customer. Summer stopped in just long enough to remind Bonnie about her changed schedule—and to notice the dark circles beneath her friend’s eyes. Bonnie apologized for not returning her messages but offered no explanation for her silence, and with a customer listening in, Summer could not ask.

  Summer spent the rest of the day in the library of Elm Creek Manor helping Sarah prepare for the start of the new camp season. After several hours arranging and rearranging the course schedule, they finally acknowledged that they would have to cancel a few classes. Summer volunteered to phone some of the Elm Creek Quilters to confirm schedule changes, wanting to spare her overworked friend that unpleasant task. Summer contacted Agnes, but could not track down her mother, Diane, or Judy.

  Frustrated, Summer hung up and flung herself into a chair in front of the library fireplace, complaining about their friends’ inaccessibility. Sarah laughed and as usual offered a logical explanation for their absence, then added that Summer was the least accessible of them all. “All anyone can ever get is your machine. By the way, I think it might be broken. There’s no outgoing message anymore, just a beep.”

  “Oh,” said Summer guardedly. “Thanks. I’ll look into it.”

  “You should. Last week I called three times in a row just to make sure I had the right number.”

  Summer nodded. So Sarah was the mysterious caller.

  That evening, Summer told Jeremy what she had learned, making light of the misunderstanding and the argument that had followed. Jeremy laughed with her about it, adding, “I don’t want another fight over something so stupid. Record whatever message you want. My callers will just have to get used to it.”

  “No, you record it. If my mom calls, problem solved.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure that’s the best way for her to find out?”

  “No, it’s not. Now I’ll have some incentive to tell her soon.”

  She resolved to do so before the Elm Creek Quilters’ next business meeting.

  On the following Thursday, she tried all day to reach Gwen and offer her a ride out to the manor. They could talk in the car. Summer would time it so she delivered the bad news just as they were crossing the bridge over Elm Creek. Gwen would have to settle down for the meeting, and by the time Summer drove her home, she might be better able to conduct a rational discussion. Unfortunately, Gwen did not cooperate with her daughter’s plans. She did not respond to calls to home, office, or cell phone, so eventually Summer gave up and drove to the meeting alone. She still hoped for a few minutes alone with Gwen beforehand, but Gwen arrived just as Sarah opened the meeting.

  “Mom, hi,” whispered Summer, edging her chair closer. Sarah frowned slightly but continued speaking. “Listen, can we talk after the meeting?”

  “Hmm? Oh, hi, kiddo. Sure, if things wrap up before eight-thirty. I have to get back to the library before it closes.”

  So that was where she had been hiding. Summer hoped Sarah would get through the meeting with uncharacteristic brevity. She willed Sarah to quicken her pace, instinctively checking her watch every time Sarah paused between topics, but as the minutes passed, her thoughts wandered from Gwen to Jeremy to Bonnie’s still unexplained absence from Grandma’s Attic. Summer would have asked for an explanation, but considering her own secrets, it seemed hypocritical—

  “Are you out of your mind?” Sylvia cried out.

  “What?” said Summer, looking from Sarah to Sylvia and back. “What did she say?”

  “If any of you had been listening, you would know.” Clearly distressed, Sarah begged her friends to pay attention. Summer, who already felt guilty over helping Sarah less that year than in the past, resolved to concentrate on Elm Creek Quilt Camp for the rest of the meeting. When Sylvia and Diane exchanged a few quips about some naked woman, Summer paid no attention and nodded at Sarah to encourage her to continue.

  The meeting concluded at eight twenty-five. “What did you want to talk about, kiddo?” Gwen asked as she put on her coat.

  “Nothing.” Nothing they could discuss in five minutes. “I just wanted to catch up. Let’s talk on Sunday, okay? Want to try supper again?”

  Gwen agreed, gave her a quick hug and kiss, and hurried out the door. Summer was reaching for her own coat when she felt a hand on her arm. “Summer, dear,” said Sylvia. “Do you have a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  Sylvia beckoned her to take a seat and waited for the others to leave the room. “I hope you won’t think me a nosy old biddy, but I wonder how you’re doing these days. You seem somewhat troubled.”

  Summer forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

  “I see. Apparently I was mistaken, then, when I assumed all was not well with your, shall we say, domestic situation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I phoned yesterday and was greeted by a pleasant young man’s voice on the answering machine. A familiar voice—Jeremy’s, I believe.”

  “Oh. Right.” Summer tried to sound nonchalant. “Actually, I moved in with Jeremy in February.”

  “In February? Goodness, you can keep a secret. I assumed this was a much more recent development.”

  Feeling foolish, Summer said, “I have my own bedroom.”

  “Of course you do,” said Sylvia, without missing a beat. “I assume you haven’t told your mother?”

  “I haven’t told anyone except you.” Summer hesitated. “I guess you’re going to tell her?”

  “Oh, my, no,” said Sylvia with a little laugh. “I’m afraid that’s in your hands. It’s not my place to tattle on you, nor to judge. However, as your friend, and as someone who cares about your well-being, I’m compelled to ask why you would choose to do anything you’re ashamed for your mother and your friends to know about.”

  “I’m not ashamed.” Summer sl
umped against the backrest. “But I know how everyone will react and I’m not looking forward to it. They still think of me as a little kid.”

  “Some of our friends would object to your living with Jeremy whether you were twenty-seven or fifty-seven. It’s not a question of age, but of marital status.”

  “They have a right to object,” Summer countered, “but I have the right to make my own choices.”

  “So you do,” said Sylvia, nodding. “Then you believe Jeremy is ‘the one’?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose not.”

  “My understanding is that moving in together is often a precursor to marriage.”

  Summer shook her head. “Jeremy has to know that isn’t possible. My life is here, right?”

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “My career, my mom, my friends are all right here in Waterford,” said Summer firmly. “I couldn’t leave if I wanted to.”

  Sylvia’s eyebrows rose. “Couldn’t you?”

  Summer let the question pass. “Jeremy will eventually get his Ph.D. and move on to some faculty position elsewhere. He knows I can’t come with him.”

  “Are you certain he knows? Men have a way of ignoring what they don’t want to see.”

  Summer couldn’t argue with that. She toyed with a loose string on her shirtsleeve. They had never discussed marriage or made any long-term plans. Summer loved Jeremy, and she would be brokenhearted when he left, but she knew it would happen and accepted it. He occasionally mentioned different colleges he aspired to work for after receiving his degree, and Waterford College was not among them. Even if he did prefer a small, rural school, departments seldom hired their own Ph.D.s for tenure-track positions. It was just the way things were.

  “I know our time together is limited,” said Summer. “One of the reasons I moved in with Jeremy was to make the most of that time.”

  “I see.”

  “He has less than a year before he graduates.” Summer forced a laugh. “Most couples break up sooner than that. Jeremy and I probably will, too, and so none of this will matter.”