The Wedding Quilt Page 7

  Sarah was grateful that, as busy as it would be, the wedding weekend would bring about many reunions with loved ones she had not seen in far too long. Letters, e-mails, phone calls, and virtual reality helped them to keep in touch over time and distance, but as she grew older, she appreciated time spent in the company of others more and more. She had cultivated this respect and esteem over the years with the help of a wise mentor and friend, Sylvia Bergstrom Compson Cooper. Sylvia had taught Sarah the value of family and community, and the peril of isolation, as their unlikely friendship took root and flourished as they worked side by side in Elm Creek Manor.

  Sarah and Matt had been newlyweds not much older than Caroline and Leo when they moved to Waterford so Matt could take a job with a landscape architecture company. After a fruitless search for an accounting position in her new town, Sarah reluctantly agreed to work for one of the company’s clients, an elderly recluse who had recently returned to town to prepare her family estate for sale after her sister’s death. As part of Sarah’s compensation, the curmudgeonly woman agreed to teach her to quilt, and as the summer months passed and her grand family estate was gradually restored to its historic splendor, Sylvia shared stories of the manor’s golden age, stories from her childhood through her years as a young wife on the World War II home front. As Sylvia’s apprentice, Sarah learned that after the master quilter’s husband and younger brother had been killed in the South Pacific, her sister had broken her heart and betrayed her trust by marrying the man Sylvia blamed for their deaths. Estranged from her sister for fifty years, Sylvia had lost touch not only with Claudia, but also with all of their extended family.

  Once there had been many Bergstroms, Sylvia reminisced, aunts and uncles and cousins scattered around Pennsylvania and as far away as California. Upon hearing of her sister’s death, Sylvia had, at first, wanted no part of the family estate that held so many painful memories. She hired a private detective to find someone else to inherit the estate and relieve her of the weighty burden. Quickly—curiously quickly, or so Sylvia realized years later—the detective concluded that Sylvia had no living blood relations, that she was the last descendant of Hans and Anneke Bergstrom, the first members of the family to come to America. Even at the time Sylvia had wondered how the detective had reached his conclusion so soon, and how out of all the cousins and second cousins she had played with in childhood, not one had left a son or daughter behind. But she accepted his report, and on one frigid, lonely New Year’s Eve, she resolved that despite her past mistakes, she would not fail to complete the last, crucial task that had fallen to her. She would find a buyer who would restore the manor to its former glory, who would fill the halls with love and laughter once more.

  Then along came Sarah, with her idealism and her fanciful scheme to transform Elm Creek Manor into a quilters’ retreat, and Sylvia realized that she had found the perfect steward for the Bergstrom legacy. With the help of their friends, the manor became again as wonderful as it had been in Sylvia’s childhood—and in many ways, even more so, because its welcome extended beyond the Bergstrom family to a greater community of women and men who longed for such a place, if only for one week each summer. At Elm Creek Manor they could explore their untapped artistry and take creative risks within a nurturing, supportive community of others who understood their longing. Over the years, Sylvia forged cherished friendships, created a thriving business, rediscovered the artist within herself, fell in love, married—but for all her success and happiness, she yearned for family ties of her own, for a niece or nephew who shared the same roots and branches of the family tree, for a cousin with whom to reminisce about the same shared memories of holidays in the years gone by. Sharing stories of her ancestors with her new friends and reviving her favorite traditions were worthwhile and gratifying in their way, and yet left her feeling incomplete. She longed to celebrate with people who knew those traditions as their own, people with whom she shared a common heritage, but she knew this was not to be.

  Even as Sylvia mourned the end of her proud family line, she vowed not to take for granted the new family she had created for herself through cherished friendships and marriage to Andrew. And yet she still wondered what had become of all those dear aunts and uncles and cousins, how it could be that they had left behind not a single descendant. Most of all she wondered about her favorite cousin, Elizabeth Bergstrom Nelson, who lived on so vividly in Sylvia’s memory that it seemed impossible she had departed the world without leaving her mark upon it.

  Sylvia admired her beautiful, vivacious cousin, loved her fiercely, and considered it the unhappiest day in all her five years when Elizabeth married Henry Nelson and moved away with him to Southern California, where he had purchased a thriving cattle ranch, sight unseen, with every dime of his life savings. Sylvia found some comfort in Elizabeth’s letters, filled with enchanting tales of splashing in the Pacific Ocean, strolling down the streets of Hollywood, and plucking apricots and oranges from her own groves on the rolling, sun-drenched hills of Triumph Ranch in the Arboles Valley. But over the years, perhaps as Elizabeth’s responsibilities as ranch wife and mother grew, her letters became fewer and farther between, until they stopped coming.

  Sylvia never saw Elizabeth again, and forever after she puzzled over what had become of her and why she had broken off ties with the family who loved and missed her so dearly. Inspired by the success of other searches into Bergstrom family history, Sylvia decided to launch an investigation. She enlisted the help of Elm Creek Quilter Summer Sullivan, whose historical research skills had unearthed a wealth of information about Sylvia’s ancestors before, and she also consulted longtime friend Grace Daniels, a quilter, former museum curator, and antique quilts expert. Elizabeth had left Elm Creek Manor with two precious wedding quilts made by the Bergstrom women, a Chimneys and Cornerstones scrap quilt and a more elegant Double Wedding Ring variation embellished with exquisite floral appliqués. Elizabeth never would have parted with such cherished gifts, and if they had not worn out or suffered another sad fate, she surely would have passed them down to her children. If the quilts could be found, their provenance could trace a path back to Triumph Ranch and Elizabeth.

  While Grace addressed that daunting task, Summer searched online databases and archives for any mention of Henry and Elizabeth Nelson or Triumph Ranch. On the quilter’s holiday before the twins were born, Summer called with news of an astonishing discovery. While poring over indexes to California vital records and voter registration lists, Summer had found the names and birth dates of Elizabeth and Henry Nelson’s three children. Not only that, but by exploring these new leads further, she had uncovered evidence of at least two grandchildren, one of whom, Scott Nelson, was born in 1961 and currently resided in Newbury Park, California.

  And Summer had his address and phone number.

  Sylvia could scarcely believe that after so much longing and searching, she had possibly found not only an answer to the question of Elizabeth’s fate but also one of her descendants, a blood relative—a second cousin once removed, to be precise. Sylvia decided it would be best to contact him by letter, since a phone call out of the blue might be too disruptive, especially since Nelson was not an uncommon name, nor was Scott. He might be no relation whatsoever.

  With hope and a prayer, Sylvia wrote to Scott Nelson to introduce herself and asked him to be in touch if he were indeed her cousin Elizabeth’s grandson. On December 6, the Feast of St. Nicholas, he called. Not only was he the grandchild of Elizabeth and Henry Nelson, but he and his sister, Melissa, were also planning a Nelson family reunion over Labor Day weekend at a cousin’s farmhouse on what remained of the old Triumph Ranch land. If Sylvia cared to attend, she would be able to meet Scott, Melissa, their cousins, and many other relations, including Elizabeth’s great-grandchildren. Far from being the last living descendant of Hans and Anneke Bergstrom, Sylvia was one of many.

  Overwhelmed with joy, Sylvia declared that she wouldn’t miss the reunion for the world. “My sister can’t
wait to meet you,” Scott replied. “I didn’t know there was any such thing as a quilting celebrity, but apparently there is, and you must be one of them. Melissa’s heard of your work, and something she calls . . . a quilt camp? Is that right?”

  Laughing, Sylvia assured him it was so. “Is Melissa a quilter?”

  Scott confirmed that she was, having learned from Grandma Elizabeth as a child. Melissa had inherited several of their grandmother’s heirloom quilts—and among them, Sylvia soon learned, was the Chimneys and Cornerstones quilt Elizabeth had received as a wedding gift.

  Tears of joy filling her eyes, Sylvia told Scott the history of the quilt, how Sylvia’s great-aunt Lucinda had sewn it for Elizabeth in the months leading up to her wedding. Sylvia clearly recalled standing at Lucinda’s knee as she had stitched the blocks and explained the symbolism of the pattern. The dark fabrics represented the sorrows in a life, the light colors the joys, and each of the red squares was a fire burning in the fireplace to warm Elizabeth after a long journey home. Sylvia hoped the Chimneys and Cornerstones quilt and memories of home had comforted Elizabeth during the long years she had been inexplicably estranged from her family.

  “Maybe Melissa knows why Grandma Elizabeth lost touch,” Scott said, after admitting that he had no idea why Elizabeth had severed ties. “They spent hours sewing together and talking. Grandma Elizabeth might have confided something to her that she never told me.”

  He promised to have his sister call her soon, and the very next afternoon, the phone rang again. It was evening, and Sarah was in the kitchen sipping a cup of warm milk with vanilla, when Sylvia entered holding the cordless handset to her ear. From her bemused expression, Sarah guessed that Melissa apparently did consider Sylvia a kind of celebrity and was treating her as such. “Why, thank you,” Sylvia said again and again, taking a seat in the booth opposite Sarah. “Oh, you’re much too kind.” Another pause, during which she shot Sarah a look of amazement and mild exasperation. “Melissa, dear, you’re embarrassing me with so much praise. I hope you can learn to think of me simply as Cousin Sylvia or I don’t know how we’ll ever become true friends.”

  Sarah smothered a laugh, amused that Sylvia seemed to be utterly unaware of her eminence in the quilting community. Years before, one of her quilts, “Sewickley Sunrise,” had been selected for the permanent collection of the Museum of the American Quilter’s Society in Paducah, and earlier in her career she had traveled the country to lecture and teach at quilt guilds, but the founding of Elm Creek Quilts had garnered her more fame than any of her other professional or artistic achievements. Sarah had seen admirers become tongue-tied when Sylvia dropped by a camp workshop to offer advice and constructive criticism, and campers often arrived with permanent-ink pens and fabric swatches stabilized with freezer paper to collect her autograph. But despite all the admiration and praise she received, Sylvia could not think of herself as a celebrity. She had friends and acquaintances, not fans, for heaven’s sake, and she certainly didn’t have sufficient fame to overawe anyone, especially not a relative.

  Fortunately Melissa managed to gather her wits, for the conversation turned from Sylvia to Elizabeth, a topic far more to the master quilter’s liking. They enjoyed a lengthy chat about Melissa’s first sewing lessons with Grandma Elizabeth, the quilts she had inherited from her grandmother, and how Triumph Ranch had come to be. But Melissa was at a loss to explain why her grandmother had fallen out of touch with the kinfolk she had spoken of so fondly and so often. Grandma Elizabeth had never said an unkind word about any of her distant family, except for a few rare remarks about her father, who was “a drinking man,” and she had spoken with particular affection of Sylvia and her aunt Eleanor, Sylvia’s mother. Melissa was also confused about how Elizabeth could have written home about Triumph Ranch in 1925, upon her arrival in California, when all the family stories and preserved documents agreed that Grandpa Henry and Grandma Elizabeth had not purchased the farm until 1933. “Is it possible you’ve remembered the dates wrong?” she asked Sylvia, but Sylvia was adamant that Henry had set out from Elm Creek Manor with the deed to Triumph Ranch in his possession. He had shown the papers to Sylvia’s parents on Christmas a few months before the wedding.

  By the end of their chat, which endured long after Sarah had finished her warm vanilla milk and left the kitchen, Sylvia and Melissa were no closer to solving the mystery. “Maybe by the time you come out for the reunion, we’ll discover the truth,” said Melissa, or so Sylvia told Sarah later. “Grandma didn’t save many personal papers, but she did leave a journal and a few letters. I’ll go through them and see what I can learn.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll see if my quilting friends can track down Elizabeth’s Double Wedding Ring,” Sylvia said.

  “You’ll have to come to the reunion a few days early so we can spend some time together comparing notes,” said Melissa. “Everyone will be so eager to meet you, we might not have an opportunity at the reunion.”

  “I don’t think we should wait until the reunion to meet,” declared Sylvia. “I know you’re busy with your work and family, but if you can get away for a week or two this spring, I’d be delighted if you’d come to Elm Creek Quilt Camp as my guest.”

  Melissa was thrilled by the invitation, and over the next few days and several phone calls back and forth, she and Sylvia settled upon the third week of May for her visit. Sarah had never seen her dear friend so happy, with the exception of the Christmas Eve the year before when Sylvia married Andrew in the ballroom of Elm Creek Manor, surrounded by their closest friends.

  Throughout the winter, Sylvia and Melissa became fast friends with weekly phone calls and occasional letters. Melissa read aloud to Sylvia from Elizabeth’s journal, which she had kept sporadically in the late nineteen thirties and early forties, and Sylvia reminisced about the cousin she had so admired as a girl, telling Melissa the stories Sarah already knew well—the Christmas when Elizabeth had hidden the star for the top of the tree under Sylvia’s pillow so that only she would win the prize for finding it, the New Year’s Eve when Elizabeth had taught her the Charleston so they could show off at the St. Sylvester’s Ball, the day of the newlyweds’ departure when Sylvia had hidden Elizabeth’s shoes in a vain hope that she would be obliged to stay at Elm Creek Manor. Melissa found it enormously funny that Sylvia had not bothered to hide Henry’s shoes, for he couldn’t leave soon enough to suit her. “Grandpa Henry was reserved and a little stern sometimes, but he was a good man,” she protested, laughing. “I don’t know why you disliked him so much.”

  “He stole Elizabeth from me,” replied Sylvia. “What was there to like about someone who would do such a dreadful thing?”

  When Sarah repeated the story to Matt—over the phone, for Matt was off at one of his father’s construction sites in Uniontown—he fell silent for a moment, and then said, “How do you feel about Melissa stealing Sylvia from you?”

  Sarah laughed. “Oh, sure, I live in dire fear that someday Melissa’s going to show up with a sack, stuff Sylvia in it, and carry her off to Triumph Ranch.”

  “I guess it’s good that you can joke about it,” said Matt, but he sounded dubious. “I’m glad it doesn’t bother you.”

  “You’re glad what doesn’t bother me?” The only things that really bothered her in those days were her weight gain, her inability to tie her own shoes, Matt’s ongoing absence, and the way far too many of their phone conversations, which they scheduled for every evening right before bed, left her feeling dissatisfied and short-tempered.

  “That Sylvia hasn’t had much time for you ever since Melissa came along.”

  “What are you talking about? I spend hours with Sylvia every day. We work together, eat together, hang out and quilt together—”

  “Okay, fair point. You’re right. I’m glad you aren’t worried that Melissa is taking your place.”

  “That never occurred to me.” At least not until Matt had planted the thought in the most insecure, anxious part of her brain. “Do y
ou really believe Sylvia’s friendship is so transient? Do you really think I was just filling in until a real relative came along?”

  “I don’t mean you’ve been filling in as her friend. I know Sylvia cares about you and that her friendship is genuine.” Matt hesitated. “You have to admit, though, in some ways you have been a surrogate relative to Sylvia. You took the place of a descendant when Sylvia believed she had no living family.”

  Sarah needed a moment to decipher his meaning. “When you say I took the place of a relative, are you referring to Sylvia’s will?”

  “Yes, I’m referring to the will. Do you really think Sylvia would have named you her heir if she had known that her cousin Elizabeth had grandchildren living in California?”

  His question left Sarah speechless. Two years after founding Elm Creek Quilts, a health scare had prompted Sylvia to put her affairs in order and revise her will. Dividing the business entity Elm Creek Quilts into shares, she had kept a twenty percent stake for herself, had given twenty percent to Sarah, and had offered each of the remaining Elm Creek Quilters ten percent each. She had also given away two parcels of land: a lot near Waterford College, which she donated to the city for the creation of a skateboard park, and the apple orchard, which she gave to Matt. He was not waiting to inherit the property; although the orchard was surrounded by land belonging to Sylvia, Matt already owned the orchard, free and clear, just as the city owned the skateboard park. What Sylvia had promised Sarah in her will was that upon Sylvia’s death, Sarah would inherit Sylvia’s twenty percent share of the business, the manor, the grounds, and all her personal property.

  This was what troubled Matt; this was what he thought Sarah would lose. But she could not lose something that did not yet belong to her, and if Sylvia had a change of heart and decided to keep the Bergstrom estate in the family, Sarah could not prevent that. Nor could she honestly argue that this would be a misguided choice. As a quilter herself and one of Sylvia’s admirers, Melissa was unlikely to use a stake in Elm Creek Quilts to ruin it. Perhaps Melissa would be willing to continue Sylvia’s current arrangement and lease the manor to Elm Creek Quilts for a dollar a year. But to ponder such potential upheaval in the distant future when Sylvia had not offered the slightest hint that she might revisit her decision—and all because she had finally found other descendants of Hans and Anneke Bergstrom, something that brought her great happiness—seemed ridiculously premature to Sarah, and made her feel slightly ashamed, grasping, and greedy.