An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (17 page)

“Guess we’re running behind,” Mr. Hopkins said. “Sarah, do you mind finding your own way out?”

“No, not at all.”

“Follow this hall all the way down to the receptionist’s desk and you’ll see the exit. You’ll be hearing from us.” He smiled, then turned to the man in the armchair. “If you’ll give us a minute to regroup, we’ll be right with you.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said. Mr. Hopkins nodded and shut the door, and she turned to leave.

“Well, hello again,” the man in the armchair said.

Sarah looked at him closely. Where had she seen him before? “Oh … hi.”

“Tom Wilson. From the PennCellular waiting room? Hey, we really have to stop meeting like this. Although I guess it had to happen, so many accountants and so few jobs, and all.”

“Yes, of course. How are you?”

He shrugged. “Oh, you know. Same old, same old.” He grimaced and jerked his head toward the closed office door. “How was it in there?”

“Oh, fine. Very nice people.”

“Good, good. You must have done really well for them to keep you late like that. That’s a good sign. You must have impressed them.”

“Really? Do you think so?”

“Well, sure. My appointment was for ten, and here it is quarter after. They wouldn’t run overtime for just anybody.”

Sarah felt a small spark of hope. “You know, I think it went well, too. They really seemed interested in me. I almost wish—” She bit her lip.

“Wish what?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, what?”

“It’s just—” She glanced at the office door to assure herself that it was still closed. She lowered her voice. “It’s just that I was hoping to find something outside of accounting. I mean, I know that’s where all my experience is, and I know I can do the work, but—” She searched for the words.

“But what?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to try something different, something, well, more interesting. No offense.” He was an accountant himself, after all.

He chuckled. “None taken. But why are you applying for jobs you don’t want?”

“It’s not that I don’t want them. I need a job, and I’ll be grateful for whatever I get. I just wanted to try something else, maybe something I would enjoy more. You know, explore my options. Except I don’t seem to have any options. Like with PennCellular? I really wanted to apply for the opening in their PR department, but they wouldn’t even give me a chance. One look at my accounting degree and that was that.”

He shrugged. “At least you’re getting the interviews. And you’re still young. You have plenty of time to switch careers if you want. Me, on the other hand—well, like they say, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. They call us displaced workers. There’s so many of us we even have our own buzzword. Can you believe that?”

Sarah couldn’t decide what to say, so she shook her head.

“Besides,” he continued, “who’s going to hire a guy like me who wants to be paid what he’s worth and knows more about the boss’s job than the boss does? Not like some green college kid who—” Suddenly his gaze shifted over her left shoulder.

Sarah heard the door open behind her and Mr. Hopkins speaking to Mr. Steele. “I’d better go,” she said. Tom raised his hand in farewell, and she hurried down the hallway to the exit.

She met Matt at the square, a small downtown park near Waterford’s busiest intersection. They stopped home for a quick lunch, where Sarah told him about the interview. It had been a long time since she’d had good news to share about her job search, and even longer since she’d left an interview thinking she had a good chance of landing the job.

When she finished, Matt placed his elbows on the table and frowned. “I don’t know if it was such a good idea to tell that Tom guy how you felt about the job.”

Sarah’s smile faded. “Why? I made sure the door was shut first.”

“Maybe the interviewers didn’t overhear you, but that doesn’t mean they won’t find out.”

“What do you mean? You think he went in there and told them what I said?”

“No, I don’t think that, but—”

“Then what do you think?”

“I think you ought to be more careful, that’s all. If you want to get a job, you have to be smarter. You can’t keep screwing up your chances like this.”

“So you think I don’t have a job yet because I’m not smart enough or I’m messing up on purpose?”

“That’s not exactly how I put it.”

“It’s pretty close. God, Matt, that was the best interview I’ve had since we moved here, and all you can do is criticize me.”

“You’re overreacting. I’m not criticizing you.” Matt shoved his chair back from the table and stood. “But if you didn’t want my advice, then why tell me about it?”

“I am not overreacting.” She hated it when he said that. “I told you about the interview because I thought you might be interested in what goes on in my life, not because I want to be criticized every time I do something.”

“How do you expect to improve if you don’t get any feedback?”

“I don’t see how you know any more about the interviewing process than I do. I managed to find myself a job in State College, remember?”

“Fine. It’s my fault you don’t have that job anymore, and it’s my fault if you can’t find a new one. Satisfied?”

“I didn’t say it was your fault. Now who’s overreacting?”

“I’ll be waiting in the truck.” Matt grabbed his lunch dishes and stormed into the kitchen. Sarah heard them clatter in the sink, and then the front door slammed. Red-faced and fuming, she raced after him.

They drove out to Elm Creek Manor in silence. When the truck pulled up behind the manor, Sarah jumped out and slammed the door without a word. The truck sped away, its tires kicking up a shower of dirt and gravel.

Sarah went inside and paused in the back hallway, fuming. He was right, and she knew it. She shouldn’t have confided in Tom Wilson. But the other things he’d said were so wrong. He had no right to criticize her for not finding anything yet. Hadn’t she left her job in State College for his sake? Matt’s new job didn’t pay any more than Sarah’s old one had, so they weren’t any better off financially. Matt was better off—at least, he seemed happier—but what had Sarah gained?

“We should’ve stayed in State College,” Sarah said aloud.

The manor’s silence absorbed her words.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, her stomach tightening. Moving to Waterford had been a mistake. They should have stuck it out in State College a little while longer; surely Matt would have found something. He was more likely to find a job in State College than Sarah was to find something in Waterford.

She knew this as certainly as she knew that she could never tell Matt how she felt.

It was too late, anyway. She’d made her choice and she had to live with it. It would be a lot easier to live with, though, if Matt appreciated her sacrifice. Sometimes she thought he didn’t even realize she’d made one.

She took slow, deep breaths until most of her irritation subsided. She felt the manor surrounding her, comforting and quiet, more like home than the duplex would ever be.

Another quiet minute passed before Sarah opened her eyes and went upstairs.

She found Mrs. Compson in the suite next to Aunt Clara’s. She was sitting on the floor on top of a folded quilt and removing faded clothing from the bottom drawer of a bureau.

“I’m here,” Sarah said as she came into the room.

“So I see.” Mrs. Compson eyed her. “Should I not ask how it went, then?”

“Hmm? Oh. The interview. No, the interview was fine.”

“Of course. That explains why you’re so cheerful this afternoon.”

Sarah almost smiled.

Mrs. Compson set aside a flannel work shirt. “Well, then, since you clearly aren’t in the mood for working today, why don’t we have a quilt lesson instead?”

“But I haven’t done any work yet today.”

“True, but I’ve been working all morning.”

Sarah shrugged. “Okay. You’re the boss.”

“Indeed I am,” Mrs. Compson said. She motioned for Sarah to help her to her feet. “You’ll be starting a new block today, the Contrary Wife.”

Sarah snorted. “Got one called the Contrary Husband instead?”

Mrs. Compson raised an eyebrow. “Do I detect a note of discord? That can’t be, not with the two lovebirds.”

“Matt was being a pain today. I told him about my interview, and all he could do was pick apart everything I said.”

“That doesn’t sound like him.”

“And I didn’t even do anything wrong.” Sarah explained what had happened.

Mrs. Compson drew in a breath and grimaced. “I’m afraid I have to agree with Matthew.” She raised a hand when Sarah opened her mouth to protest. “With what he said, not with how he said it. He should have been more tactful. But I think he’s right to caution you against speaking too freely with others who are competing for the same jobs.”

Sarah plopped down on the bed. “I knew you’d take his side.”

“Oh, is that what I’m doing? I thought I was merely offering my opinion.” Mrs. Compson sat down beside her. “If I am taking his side, it’s because he’s right. This Tom Wilson didn’t need to know how you feel about your profession.”

Sarah sighed. Maybe Mrs. Compson and Matt were right. She’d really blown it this time.

“I don’t think this Tom Wilson will divulge your secret, however,” Mrs. Compson said.

“I hope not, but why wouldn’t he?”

“Because he’ll seem terribly unprofessional if he does. Why should they believe him, anyway, someone spreading rumors about another applicant?”

“That’s probably true.”

“However, I do hope you’ve learned a lesson. Be careful to whom you divulge your secrets. You never know—” Mrs. Compson paused, smiling to herself.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing.” Mrs. Compson’s smile grew. “I was just thinking about how I met my husband.”

“You met him at a job interview?”

“No, no.” Mrs. Compson laughed. “But the day we met, he was even less discreet than you were today, much to his later embarrassment.”

I told you before how every year at the state fair Claudia and I would show our quilts, and how I would compete in the riding events. Father would show his prize horses and spend hours debating the merits of various breeding and training practices with the other gentlemen. Richard hung on every word; he wanted to be ready for the day he would take over Bergstrom Thoroughbreds. He spent nearly every moment with Father and the horses. Despite my efforts, however, he did not have the same diligence for his schoolwork. I suppose that isn’t unusual for a nine-year-old boy.

I was sixteen, and I loved the fair. And I loved to ride. I must have annoyed some of the other girls, since I took first place in every competition I entered. But I didn’t care as much about the ribbons and trophies as they thought I did. What I loved was flying like the wind, feeling the horse gather all its strength before soaring over a jump, the delicate power of the flashing hooves and flowing manes—oh, it was wonderful. Seeing the pride in Father’s eyes when I won on his horses—well, that was wonderful, too.

One morning I was riding Dresden Rose in the practice ring when I noticed a young man leaning against the fence, watching us exercise, just as he had for the past two mornings of the fair. After returning his greeting with a nod I pretended to ignore him, but it was difficult not to watch him out of the corner of my eye as I rode. It was also rather annoying to have him there again. I had my first competition coming up and needed to concentrate, and I couldn’t do so very well with someone staring.

Afterward in the stable, I was brushing Dresden Rose, checking her feed, and murmuring to her encouragingly to build up her confidence for the afternoon’s events. Then I heard the stall door open behind me.

I whirled around, startling Rose. The young man from the practice ring stood there grinning at me.

“Beautiful animal,” he said.

“Yes, she is,” I replied, my voice tinged with irritation. I stroked Rose’s neck and spoke soothingly to calm her.

The man reached over to stroke her muzzle. “A Bergstrom?”

“Yes.” Then I realized he meant Rose, not me. “Yes, she is.”

His admiring gaze turned to me. “You’re a fine rider.”

My cheeks flushed, although I willed them not to. He was quite handsome, tall and strong with dark eyes and dark, curly hair. I was very aware that there was no one else around, and how I probably looked to him. I was never the beauty Claudia was, but in my own way I was quite pretty back then, or at least he seemed to think so.

“Thank you,” I finally managed, half hoping that Richard or Father would suddenly appear, and half afraid that they would.

He moved along Rose’s side, and I stepped back involuntarily even though the horse was between us. “Don’t worry,” he murmured to Dresden Rose as he stroked her neck. “I don’t mean you any harm.” He ran a hand along her flank, looking her over with a practiced eye. “Do you get to ride Bergstroms often?”

I looked at him in disbelief. “Of course.”

“They’re supposed to be the finest horses around.”

“A lot of people think so.”

He grinned at me. “I know I shouldn’t admit this, but the best of my family’s stable can’t match the worst of old Bergstrom’s.”