An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (15 page)

Sarah figured that if Bonnie couldn’t afford it, she certainly couldn’t either.

“You guys’ll have to take good notes and share them with us when you get back,” Summer said.

“It’ll cost you.” Diane nudged Summer with her foot. “Hey, you’re on the wrong side of the room.”

“Huh?” Summer rose and returned the appliqué block to Mrs. Emberly.

“This is where the real quilters sit. You belong over there with the machine people.”

Gwen turned to Bonnie and Sarah, shaking her head in sorrow. “Her mind has finally gone.”

“No, look,” Diane said. “Mrs. Emberly, Judy, and I always sit on this side of the room, and you, Bonnie, and Summer always sit over there.”

“I sit here because I want to be near Emily’s playpen,” Judy said.

“And I sit here because it’s next to the lamp and away from the window,” Mrs. Emberly added.

Gwen grinned. “So much for your theory.”

“And excuse me, but I resent that comment about real quilters.” Summer made a face and returned to her seat beside her mother.

“Oh, come on,” Diane protested. She looked to Mrs. Emberly and Judy for support. “We all know that true quilts are made entirely by hand.”

Bonnie sighed. “Here we go again.”

“That’s tradition. Hand piecing, hand quilting. It’s not that machine quilts aren’t pretty, but they aren’t true quilts. Even if you hand quilt a machine-pieced top, it’s not the same.”

Gwen set her sketch pad and colored pencils aside. “Diane, I do believe that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“You only think that because you’re a machine person. Come on. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Judy?”

“Don’t drag me into this.”

“Back me up here.”

“I would if I agreed with you, but I don’t. The only reason I hand piece and hand quilt is because I work with computers and lab equipment all day. The last thing I need is another machine in my life.”

Diane groaned. “You’re no help.”

“Sorry.”

“Looks like you’re outnumbered,” Gwen said.

Diane looked around the room, glaring. “You all know I’m right.” She stood, snatched up her plate, and stomped out of the room.

Shocked, Sarah watched her go. The others were smiling and shaking their heads. As Mrs. Emberly and Judy struck up a conversation on the other side of the room, Sarah turned to Gwen. “Should we go after her?”

“Why would we do that?”

“Because … because she feels bad.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Gwen said. “This happens at least twice a month.”

“Really?” Sarah craned her neck and tried to see into the kitchen.

“Sure. You’ll get used to it.”

“I thought you guys were friends.”

“We are friends.”

“But—”

“We are friends. All of us. We accept each other the way we are. Friends don’t demand that you overhaul your entire personality. They know your faults and love you anyway. That means we tolerate Diane’s moods—and my tendency to make speeches.”

Sarah smiled. “I think I’m catching on.”

“Good.” Gwen picked up her sketch pad and resumed coloring a quilt pattern. “Hmm … I wonder what we’re going to have to tolerate about you?”

Sarah laughed.

“So what are you working on, Sarah?” Bonnie asked.

“I’m working on a Double Nine Patch block now.” She took the Sawtooth Star block out of her bag and held it up. “I finished this one on Tues-day.”

“How pretty,” Summer said.

Gwen motioned for Sarah to hand her the block. “Time for inspection.” Sarah passed it over, and Gwen scrutinized the seams. “Not bad.” She passed it to Summer. As the block went around the circle, each person complimented Sarah on her piecing skills.

“Your first quilt block ever,” Mrs. Emberly said when it was her turn. “This is quite an occasion. I must say this looks much better than my first block did.”

“Mine, too,” Diane said as she came back into the room. “I chopped off all the tips of my triangles and the block buckled in the middle.” She sat down and gave Sarah a searching look. “So I guess the lessons are going well?”

Everyone looked at Sarah, and from their expressions she could tell that each had been wondering the same thing. “They’re going great. Mrs. Comp-son is a really good teacher.”

“See, ladies, I told you it would be all right,” Mrs. Emberly admonished them. She turned to Sarah. “She taught me how to quilt—or tried to, rather. I wasn’t the best student back then and our lessons didn’t go well. That was years ago, though, and I’ve learned a trick or two since.”

“Of course you have,” Bonnie said. “Your appliqué is the best of everyone here.”

The others chimed in their agreement.

Sarah told them about her lessons, but she mentioned nothing about Claudia or the other Bergstroms she had come to know through Mrs. Compson’s stories because it would have been like divulging a secret. She also told them about the Wandering Foot superstition and the meaning of the Log Cabin pattern with a black center square, but here, too, she omitted the personal details about Elm Creek Manor.

“I’ve heard those stories before,” Gwen said. “I came across them in my research when I was planning the syllabus for my history of American folk art course.” She hesitated for a moment. “Sarah, are you and Mrs. Compson friends?”

“I think so. At least, I think we’re getting there.”

“Do you think Mrs. Compson would be interested in visiting my class sometime as a guest lecturer?”

“I don’t know. She likes to talk about quilts, but—”

“Sylvia is a teacher—or, rather, she was,” Mrs. Emberly broke in. “She has a degree in art from Carnegie Mellon. Perhaps she’d enjoy talking to students again.”

Gwen turned to Sarah. “What do you think?”

“I can ask,” Sarah said. “The worst she can do is say no, right?”

Mrs. Emberly sighed. “No, she can do far worse than that.”

“What do you mean?” Sarah asked, surprised.

“Nothing,” Bonnie said quickly. “So, what are you all going to enter in the Waterford Quilting Guild’s Summer Quilt Festival?”

“There’s no need to change the subject,” Mrs. Emberly told her, then turned to Sarah. “Sylvia and I had a falling out a long time ago.”

“She’s had a falling out with most of the quilters around here,” Diane muttered.

Mrs. Emberly silenced Diane by patting her wrist. “I won’t pretend it doesn’t still trouble me, but I don’t like to talk about it.”

Sarah nodded, uncomfortable. She was growing fond of Mrs. Compson, but knew how abrasive the older woman could be sometimes.

“I do miss Elm Creek Manor, though. It was so lovely once.”

“She’s going to sell it,” Sarah responded automatically, immediately regretting it when she saw Mrs. Emberly’s shocked expression.

“What do you mean?” Judy asked.

Sarah shrugged, wishing she could just drop it. Maybe Mrs. Compson didn’t want anyone to know. “She said University Realty may buy the estate.”

Summer and Gwen exchanged a quick look.

“University Realty manages my apartment building,” Summer said.

Her mother nodded. “All of their holdings are student apartments. That’s what they do. They’re in property management, not home sales.”

“You don’t think—” Mrs. Emberly looked around the circle. “You don’t think they’d take that lovely manor and turn it into a student apartment building, do you?”

“If they do, I’m going to enroll next semester,” Diane said.

“Now, don’t you worry about anything.” Bonnie shot Diane an exasperated look before turning back to Mrs. Emberly. “We don’t know that she’ll sell it to them—or to anyone, for that matter. And think about how impractical it would be to turn Elm Creek Manor into an apartment building. They’d have to spend a fortune.”

“I suppose.” But Mrs. Emberly still looked doubtful.

“I probably heard her wrong,” Sarah said. “She probably meant some other company.”

Mrs. Emberly tried to smile, then busied herself with her appliqué.

Gwen quickly changed the subject, and before long the earlier spirit of the gathering returned. Mrs. Emberly remained quiet, however, and Sarah noticed her deep frown of concern. She looked as worried as Sarah felt. Sarah understood that the students had to live somewhere, but did they have to live in Elm Creek Manor?

Thirteen

M
rs. Compson spent the next morning sorting through documents in the library while Sarah worked alone in Aunt Clara’s suite. It took all the self-discipline she had to keep from dashing down the hallway and confronting Mrs. Compson with her worries about the future of Elm Creek Manor. She knew, though, that if she burst out with her questions, the older woman would just purse her lips and walk away.

Not long after lunch Sarah finished the suite, which gave her the perfect excuse to join Mrs. Compson in the library. The older woman was sitting at the desk behind a stack of yellowing papers, one hand resting on the arm of her chair, the other holding up a water-stained document.

When Sarah lingered in the doorway Mrs. Compson looked up and peered at her over her glasses. “Finished already?”

Sarah nodded. “What should I work on next?”

“Leave the work for now. I’ll finish up here and then we can have a quilt lesson.” Her gaze returned to the paper.

“What’s that?” Sarah asked, pointing at the paper and walking over for a closer look.

“Don’t point, dear. It’s nothing of your concern, just the family accounts. Claudia was never a good bookkeeper, and she became even more careless after her husband passed.” She shook her head and pushed the chair away from the desk. “She and Harold made a mess of things, though it’s not their fault alone.”

“Maybe I could help. I know something about accounting.”

“That’s right. You do indeed, don’t you?” Mrs. Compson rose and returned the document to the top of the pile. “How is your search for a
real
job going, by the way?”

Only Sarah’s faint blush showed that she realized Mrs. Compson’s emphasis was a teasing imitation of her own. “I have another interview Monday morning. I meant to tell you about it. It’s in the morning so I won’t be in until after lunch, if that’s okay.”

“You don’t sound particularly enthusiastic.”

Sarah shrugged.

Mrs. Compson smiled. “Well, don’t get discouraged. You need to be confident. Show them what you’ve got. Something will come along.”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“Now, none of that. You’ll have plenty of time for self-pity when you’re old and gray, like me.”

“You’re not old.”

“Oh, I’m not, then? How very interesting. I’ll have to remember that.” She patted Sarah’s arm. “Now, dear, I’m only teasing you. Surely you must be used to that by now.”

“Not as used to it as I’m going to be, I bet.”

Mrs. Compson laughed and motioned for Sarah to follow her out of the library. “How are you coming with the Double Nine Patch?”

Sarah followed her down the hallway and to the stairs. “I finished it last night. There’s a group called the Tangled Web Quilters, some people I met at Grandma’s Attic. They get together and quilt once a week, and they asked me to join them.”

“How nice.”

“You could come next week, too. It would be fun.”

Mrs. Compson shook her head. “They didn’t invite me.”

“But I’m a member now. They invited me, and I’m inviting you.”

“That’s not the same thing and you know it. I used to belong to the local guild—Claudia, too. We started going to meetings with my mother when we were young girls and sometimes held quilting bees here. We would set up several quilt frames in the ballroom and everyone would come over, and we would have such a grand time.” Mrs. Compson paused on the bottom step, her eyes distant. Then she sighed and continued across the marble floor and down the hallway leading to the west wing. “But we left the guild when the other women showed us we weren’t welcome.”

“What did they do?”

“Hmph. Their feelings were obvious, believe me. Even Claudia noticed.”

“When was this?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Fifty years ago, give or take.”

“Fifty years? But—well, don’t you think it’s time to give it another chance, maybe? The Tangled Web Quilters are really nice. You’d have a good time. Besides, they’re a different group, not the Waterford Quilting Guild.”

“Now, dear.” Mrs. Compson stopped outside the kitchen and placed a hand on Sarah’s arm. “No more of this. The local quilters made it clear I was not welcome, and until they let me know they’ve changed their minds, I must assume their feelings haven’t altered. I’d rather quilt with you or alone than with a group of strangers who don’t want me among them in the first place. Now, are we agreed?”

Sarah opened her mouth to protest, but Mrs. Compson’s expression silenced her. She nodded instead, reluctantly.

They went to the sitting room, where Sarah was struck by the feeling that something was different about the room. She looked around for a moment before realizing that the neatly folded pile of sheets and pillows Mrs. Compson usually kept on the sofa was gone.

Mrs. Compson noticed her staring at the sofa. “I decided to move back into my old room, if you must know,” she said crisply, before Sarah even spoke a word.

Mrs. Compson leafed through a pattern book and found Sarah’s third quilt block, Little Red Schoolhouse. For this block Sarah needed to make templates for several rectangles in different sizes, a parallelogram, and another four-sided figure. When she had cut pieces using all but the last template, Mrs. Compson showed her how to “reverse a template” by tracing around it to make one piece, then flipping the template over and tracing around it again to make its mirror image.

When Sarah had finished piecing some of the straight seams, Mrs. Compson showed her how to set in pieces, sewing a third piece of fabric to two others that met at an angle. Sarah attached the new piece to the first by sewing a straight seam into the angle where the three pieces would meet. Then she pivoted the new piece around her needle until the next edge was aligned with the edge of the second piece, and continued her running stitch to join them. She hoped Mrs. Compson was right and that setting in pieces would become easier each time she did it.