The Wedding Quilt Page 8

  “I won’t be sorry that Sylvia’s found Elizabeth’s descendants,” she told Matt firmly. “I’m happy for them, not concerned for myself. Sylvia entrusted the future of Elm Creek Quilts and the Bergstrom estate to me because she knows I’ll cherish and protect them, not because she has to give it to someone, and in the absence of a blood relative, she might as well settle for me.”

  “And if, after Sylvia gets to know Melissa better, she decides to leave everything to Melissa instead?”

  Sarah took a deep breath and rested her hand on her abdomen, where her unborn twins squirmed restlessly as if sharing her emotions. “If Sylvia believes Melissa deserves her trust more than I do, then I’ll have to accept that.”

  “And that wouldn’t disappoint you?”

  “Of course it would. I’ll be horribly disappointed. But not because I won’t”—Sarah waved her arm to indicate the manor and everything in it, but over the phone, the gesture was lost on Matt—“not because I won’t get her stuff. Because it would mean I’ve let her down. It would mean she no longer believed I was the best person for the job.” But not only for the job—for the Bergstrom legacy, their history, stories, and traditions. Though she was not a descendant of Hans and Anneke Bergstrom, Sarah felt that she was their true heir. She could not respect and honor them more if she shared their blood. Sylvia understood that, or so Sarah had always thought. But she couldn’t deny that Sylvia had originally intended to leave the estate to a Bergstrom, and she might be overjoyed that, contrary to all her expectations, she would be able to fulfill that wish after all.

  Matt said nothing while Sarah’s thoughts churned. She sat down hard on the edge of the bed, wishing he had never brought up the subject, wishing he had more faith in Sylvia. When the silence dragged out too long, she asked, “Are you still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please don’t worry about this.”

  “How can I not worry about it? This is our future. Our livelihoods are at stake.”

  “Okay.” Sarah took a deep breath, thinking. “Say Sylvia does leave everything to Melissa. You’ll still own the orchard, I’ll still own my twenty percent stake in Elm Creek Quilts, and I’ll still have my salary as head of the company. We don’t pay rent and we don’t have a mortgage, so we’re saving and investing a lot more of our income than most couples our age. We’ll be okay, Matt. Really.”

  “What if Melissa comes into her twenty percent and decides to fire you?” Matt countered, not mollified. “Or fire both of us? Do you really think we could earn a living off the orchard alone, assuming Melissa lets us cross her property to get to it?”

  Muffling a sigh, Sarah lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. “Melissa couldn’t fire me. She would have to convince two-thirds of the board that I had committed an act of gross negligence or irresponsibility, and none of my friends would vote against me unless I really, really deserved it. Which I wouldn’t.” She was suddenly, overwhelmingly exhausted by the pointlessness of the conversation. Every worst-case scenario Matt brought up, while theoretically possible, was so unlikely to occur that her time would be better spent dreaming up a plan to protect Elm Creek Manor from meteor strikes than anything Matt seemed to fear. Then, all at once, she understood. Matt loved Elm Creek Manor and was terribly afraid of losing it. He loved his orchards, the gardens, working with agricultural students from Penn State in the summer, offering tours of the estate to campers, residing in the historic manor season after beautiful season—all of it, as much as Sarah did.

  Sarah wished she knew how to make Matt see the situation as she did. “I’ll do everything I can to make our jobs at Elm Creek Manor as secure as possible,” she promised. “There really isn’t anything to worry about, so please, don’t worry.”

  “I’ll try,” Matt said quietly. “I hope you’re right.”

  After they hung up, she lay awake in bed, stroking her abdomen and wishing Matt were there. If he were home, he would see that nothing between her and Sylvia had changed despite her new friendship with Melissa. If he were home, distance would lessen his father’s influence. None of these strange new disturbances in their marriage would have erupted if Matt were home where he belonged, with her, preparing for the arrival of their children.

  Then came the snowy February day when the time for preparation had passed. The babies arrived, mere minutes after Matt’s return to Waterford. After four days in the hospital—her stay extended due to the emergency C-section—Sarah, Matt, James, and Caroline went home to Elm Creek Manor. In later years Sarah would remember those first few weeks with the twins as a blur of happiness, worry, wonder, exhaustion, pain, and awe. As if to make up for his long absence, Matt was as attentive a father as she could have hoped, dragging himself out of bed at all hours to bring a crying infant to her to be nursed, changing diapers, burping, bathing—all with utter devotion and concern. He took care of Sarah as she recovered from pregnancy and surgery, too, so that all she had to worry about was regaining her strength, feeding the children, and delighting in their exquisite perfection. Sylvia, Gretchen, Anna, and Carol were also nearby to make sure she wanted for nothing. Years later, Sarah would look back and realize that it was unlikely any new mother of twins had ever had an easier time of it than she had, surrounded by an attentive husband and caring friends who saw to her every need.

  The weeks passed, her son and daughter grew, and suddenly it was March and time for a new season of quilt camp. Before the twins were born, Sarah had confidently assumed that she would be ready to return to work part-time by then; she figured she could slip off to the library to catch up on paperwork when the twins napped and squeeze in a few extra hours of work after supper, when Matt would be around to care for them. Instead she discovered that the twins rarely napped at the same time, and whenever she did manage to steal a few moments for herself, all she wanted to do was crawl off to bed to try to make up for the broken, intermittent sleep of the night before. Sylvia told her not to worry; she had retired from teaching camp classes years before, and since she and Andrew didn’t have any travel plans except for the Nelson family reunion that summer, she would be able and willing to take care of Sarah’s usual duties until she felt ready to return. “Take all the time you need,” Sylvia urged her. “Any number of people can run Elm Creek Quilts in the interim, but only you can be mom to those precious twins.”

  Sarah gratefully accepted Sylvia’s help, but the implication that Sarah was not absolutely indispensable to Elm Creek Quilts reawakened the doubts that Matt had sown in her imagination weeks before. Not that she wanted quilt camp to fracture into chaos without her, but it would reassure her to think Sylvia and her friends needed her a little more. Even so, it was a tremendous relief to stop worrying about all the work she wasn’t doing and focus entirely upon the twins. James was a good sleeper, cheerful and good-natured, while Caroline fussed whenever anyone but Sarah or Matt held her. She also had difficulty latching on, so that nursing was a chore both mother and daughter struggled to endure. After many tearful, bewildering days, Sarah and Caroline eventually forged a truce, but from the very beginning Caroline was as restless as her brother was content, and Sarah felt that she had to work twice as hard to please her. She never had to worry about James the way she did Caroline, that she was overtired or undernourished or simply not thriving. If Sarah had been obliged to worry about campers’ accommodations and teachers’ scheduling conflicts and evening programs, too, she would have found it impossible to get through the days.

  May brought the fullness of spring to the Elm Creek Valley, and before long the twins were sleeping through the night, or nearly so, and Sarah gradually began taking back some of her usual duties from Sylvia. Between the demands of motherhood and work, she was so busy and preoccupied that she forgot to worry about Melissa or dread her upcoming visit or count the days until she returned to California. It was Matt who reminded her on the eve of Melissa’s arrival by urging her to think of the following day of quilt camp as no different than any other.

&
nbsp; “I was, until you said that,” she replied gloomily, but Matt’s attempt to reassure her only emphasized the significance of one of their arriving guests. When Melissa arrived, should Sarah make a fuss over her, as befitted the return of a long-lost Bergstrom descendant to Elm Creek Manor? Should she maintain her distance and treat Melissa warily, rather than let a potential rival learn her weaknesses? Should she treat Melissa as if she were any other camper, in order to send a clear message that Sarah was secure in Sylvia’s trust and did not see Melissa as a threat? A few months earlier, Sarah would have pondered the options and agonized for hours over exactly what to say and do, but the twins left her no time for such ruminations. Without giving it more than five minutes’ consideration as she sank into sleep, she decided that she would welcome Melissa as warmly as Sylvia had always welcomed Sarah’s family, and she would do her best to make sure Melissa had a wonderful week at camp, which was exactly what she tried to do for all of their campers.

  As it happened, aside from witnessing Sylvia and Melissa’s joyful meeting at camper registration in the foyer and dining at the same table on several occasions, Sarah saw very little of Melissa throughout the week. Even so, Melissa made such a warm and friendly impression that Sarah found it impossible to think of her as a lurking, opportunistic enemy. Melissa had arrived at Elm Creek Manor, suitcase in hand and joyful tears in her eyes, with a happy embrace for Sylvia and a smile for everyone. At the Welcome Banquet that evening, seated at the head table as Sylvia’s special guest, she overflowed with praise for the manor, the Elm Creek Quilters, and Sarah in particular, exclaiming that Sylvia had spoken of her so often and so glowingly that Melissa felt like they were already friends. She was quite an accomplished quilter, and as the week went on, both Gretchen and Gwen remarked that her cheerful willingness to help less experienced students made her a joy to have in class. She devoted her spare hours to Sylvia, and occasionally Sarah came upon them in the north gardens or in the library, engrossed in conversation about Elizabeth, Elm Creek Manor, and the elusive Triumph Ranch. Sarah was heartened to see a new energy in Sylvia’s step, an ease in her smile, and only then did she truly understand how it had grieved her dear friend to believe she was the last Bergstrom. How could Sarah begrudge Sylvia a friendship that had obviously done her so much good?

  At the show-and-tell over breakfast on the cornerstone patio on Saturday, Melissa was so effusive and genuine in her praise for the Elm Creek Quilters that Sarah believed with absolute certainty that she had no designs on Sarah’s job and would be horrified by the very thought of ruining the idyllic retreat Sarah and her friends had created. When the Elm Creek Quilts minivan was ready to take Melissa and a few other campers to the airport, she sought out Sarah and hugged her, thanking her profusely for a week that had been a dream come true. Sarah returned her embrace and was able to tell her, sincerely, that she was very glad Melissa had come. After the last camper left, the Elm Creek Quilters cleaned up after them and prepared for the next group’s arrival the following afternoon. A contemplative quiet settled upon the manor as it always did during the brief respite between sessions. Curious to hear whether Sylvia had learned anything new about her long-lost cousin Elizabeth during her many conversations with Melissa, Sarah searched the manor for her old friend and found her at last, and unexpectedly, in the spacious room on the third floor that had once been the Bergstrom children’s nursery. Sylvia was sitting on the window seat and gazing wistfully out the window at the vast green front lawn, sewing basket on the floor by her feet, scraps of fabric spread out on her lap and on the faded blue cushion she sat upon.

  “Sylvia?” Sarah asked her.

  When Sylvia looked up, her face seemed drawn and tired. “Yes, dear?”

  Sylvia seemed so melancholy that Sarah was reluctant to bring up Melissa, whom Sylvia obviously missed very much. “What are you doing up here?” she asked instead.

  “Reliving some childhood memories of my cousin Elizabeth.” Sylvia gave a light, self-deprecating laugh as she began to gather up her sewing. “The manor always seems so quiet after the campers leave, doesn’t it?”

  “If it’s noise you want, I’m sure Matt and Gretchen would love to have you join them and the babies in the parlor.”

  “That’s a fine idea. Nothing makes one forget one’s own sorrows and disappointments than the smiles and laughter of a happy baby, and you’ve thoughtfully provided us with two.”

  It pained Sarah to think that Sylvia had any thoughts of sorrow and disappointment after enjoying such a lovely visit with Melissa. “Is everything okay? You seem unhappy.”

  “I’ll be fine, dear. I’m just feeling a little lonely today, with cares weighing heavily on my mind. It will pass. A cuddle with sweet Caroline and that darling James is exactly what I need to set things right.” She stood, smoothed her skirt, and then looked around on the floor as if she had dropped something.

  Sarah spotted a few bright patches of pink and green and hurried over to pick them up. “Pretty colors,” she said, handing the fabric pieces to Sylvia. They were not scraps, as she had assumed from their irregular edges, but carefully traced and cut shapes that resembled a complex pattern she herself had never attempted. “Are you making a Double Wedding Ring quilt?”

  “Melissa and I are making one together—or rather, two.” Sylvia tucked the fallen pieces into her sewing basket with many other similar shapes, some of which had been sewn into colorful arcs and semicircles of greens and roses in a gradation of hues. “Since it seems unlikely that Elizabeth’s wedding quilt will ever be found, we decided to make two copies of it, one for her and one for me. I’m going to piece the rings for both quilts, and Melissa will do all the appliqué.”

  “That’s quite a project,” said Sarah, trying to imagine how they would collaborate on two such elaborate quilts when separated by more than twenty-five hundred miles.

  “If you think that’s ambitious, guess when we intend to have them completed.”

  “Christmas?”

  “Oh, if only that were so. No, our deadline is the Nelson family reunion over the Labor Day weekend.”

  “Are you serious? With all those curved pieces and appliqué?” When Sylvia nodded, Sarah asked, “You mean that you’d like to have the tops completed by then, right?”

  “I suggested that, but Melissa thought that unveiling finished quilts would impress everyone more than tops alone. Naturally, both will be quilted by hand as Elizabeth’s original was. Melissa declared that we should set high goals for ourselves and adjust our expectations later if we must.” Sylvia smiled as she tucked her arm through Sarah’s and walked her to the door. “Remind you of anyone?”

  “Summer Sullivan?”

  Sylvia laughed. “I meant you, dear. Elm Creek Quilts exists because you weren’t afraid to dream big. Even with your own professional future uncertain all those years ago, you saw before you a lonely old woman and her neglected old house and recognized extraordinary potential. It takes a very special person to see with the heart rather than the eye, with imagination rather than cynical assumptions.”

  Sarah’s ability to accept praise graciously was inversely proportional to how deeply it touched her. “Well, I don’t know about that. I might have dreamed up Elm Creek Quilts, but I needed all of our friends’ help to make it happen.”

  “What great achievement is ever accomplished by one person alone?” Sylvia patted her arm as they walked down the hall, and then gestured toward the foyer two stories below, where in less than a day they would welcome more campers, full of anticipation and excitement for the week ahead. “And yet without you, none of this would exist.”

  “Without your generosity, it wouldn’t exist either. Without Elm Creek Manor, there is no Elm Creek Quilt Camp.”

  “Yes,” said Sylvia, her voice suddenly distant. “I’m mindful of that, my dear.”

  Her grip on Sarah’s arm tightened as they reached the stairs, and her mouth pursed in an expression Sarah had learned from long familiarity indicated trouble
d thoughts Sylvia was not yet ready to discuss. Sarah did not pressure her to unburden herself, knowing she would speak when she was good and ready and not one moment before.

  The weeks went by. The twins flourished, surrounded by love; Elm Creek Quilts thrived, introducing aspiring quilters to their time-honored art and encouraging experienced quilters to explore new artistic challenges. Piece by piece, Sylvia and Melissa re-created Elizabeth’s wedding quilt, discussing their progress and working out problems over the phone several times a week, and sending partially completed sections back and forth through the mail significantly less frequently. Sarah expected Matt’s concerns about their friendship to heighten once he discovered they were collaborating on such an extensive, emotionally rich project, but he said nothing of it. Nor, as Sarah had feared, did he propose that—what with the construction business entering its busiest time of the year and Sarah managing so well with the twins—he could spend a few weekends now and then helping out his father.

  Sarah had expected and dreaded the request ever since the end of April when Hank came to Elm Creek Manor to meet his grandchildren, but from the moment he first saw the babies, Hank was so smitten that McClure Construction never entered the conversation. He predicted that Caroline would grow up to be “a knockout” and James the starting quarterback of the Nittany Lions. It was he who first called the children “Carrie” and “Jim,” nicknames that Sarah fervently hoped would swiftly disappear from memory as soon as his visit ended, but unfortunately, “Jim” stuck, so that as the years went by, only his parents and Sylvia called him by his given name.