An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (63 page)

Once, Summer had asked her why they divorced, and Gwen told her quite honestly that a more baffling question was why had they married in the first place. Admittedly, much of that flower-child time was a bit hazy to her now, but one would think she’d be able to remember something as significant as that. Maybe they had been caught up in a wave of universal peace and love that blocked out all reason. Gwen could just picture the expression on her daughter’s face if she told Summer
that.

Gwen liked to joke that she and Dennis had been married for about five minutes, but it was actually closer to a year. She was taking time off from college, intending to expand her mind by hitchhiking across the country and engaging in other experimental behavior she now prayed that Summer wouldn’t dream of trying. She met Dennis at an antiwar rally, and somehow found him attractive as he stood in the middle of the Berkeley campus yelling epithets and burning Lyndon Johnson in effigy. Later she realized she had confused agreement with his politics with admiration for him, and his passion for justice with passion for herself. At the time, however, she thought she’d found true love.

After their barefoot ceremony—it was too cold to go barefoot in February, but Dennis insisted—they traveled the country with two other couples in a van plastered with peace signs and antiwar slogans. Gwen wasn’t sure how they had managed to support themselves, since self-preservation had been the least of their concerns. They went where they chose, with nothing to hold them down, nothing to bear them up but each other.

The carefree times ended when Gwen realized she was pregnant. She had always possessed a strong pragmatic streak, and after a long dormancy it finally began to reassert itself. Suddenly she began to care about where their next meal would come from, where they would live and how, what kind of life she wanted for her child, what kind of mother she would be. Dennis’s drug use, which had been only a minor irritant before, began to trouble her. When she tried to get him to quit, he told her she was just jealous because the two times she’d tried grass, she’d gotten migraines. “Relax, baby,” he said, blowing smoke in her face. Then he bent over to speak to her abdomen. “That goes for you, too, baby.”

Something about the way he threw his head back in a fit of helpless giggling raised Gwen’s ire. The next time they stopped for gas, she stuffed her few possessions into her backpack and left without saying good-bye to Dennis or her friends. How long had they waited for her, she wondered, before they realized she wasn’t coming back?

She went home to her parents, who made her feel profoundly guilty by weeping when she arrived. She hadn’t meant to abandon them, but it wasn’t easy to write letters on the road. When Summer was a year old, Gwen returned to college; by Summer’s eleventh birthday, Gwen had earned her Ph.D. and a position on the faculty of Waterford College.

Sometimes old friends passed through town, and they would talk long into the night about those days, about how they had tried to change the world and how they had indeed changed some small part of it. Some of their fellow travelers were still fighting the good fight; others had traded in their love beads for IRAs and BMWs. Occasionally these visiting friends had news of Dennis: He had remarried, he had divorced, he had opened a head shop, he was in Oregon chained to a giant sequoia to save it from loggers. He had never contacted Gwen to inquire about their child, and she had never asked anyone to pass along a message.

Should she have? Should she have insisted that he play a role in his daughter’s life?

The questions plagued her, but one look at Summer assured her that she had done all right. Summer was the kind of daughter every mother wished for. She was thoughtful and smart and strong, and Gwen admired her. Yes, she must have done something right somehow, despite their rather precarious beginning as a family.

Summer insisted she didn’t want Dennis at her graduation, and Gwen knew she was telling the truth. But if that wasn’t what was bothering her, what was?

As the weekend approached and Summer said nothing more on the subject, Gwen decided that it must have been pregraduation jitters. By Saturday afternoon, Summer must have overcome them, because she was the picture of happiness at the graduation party the Elm Creek Quilters threw for her. Husbands were invited as well, and Judy and Diane had brought their children. While Craig and Matt supervised the grill, the others sat on the veranda and talked, or threw Frisbees on the front lawn. Michael and Todd took turns riding a skateboard around the circular driveway, and Gwen persuaded them to teach her how. She nearly broke her neck after a kick-turn went awry, so she decided to sit on the grass and watch the boys instead.

“What did you do with the skateboard ramp?’ she asked them.

“We took it down and stored it in the garage,” Michael said.

“Did you find a new place to ride?”

He shrugged. “You mean like other than our driveway and here? No.”

“You must be disappointed.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” He came to a stop in front of her. He looked so dejected that Gwen was tempted to give him a comforting hug, but she wasn’t sure he’d welcome it.

“Yes, I’m sure I would,” she said. “So what are you going to do now?”

He shrugged again. “I dunno. I don’t think there’s anything I can do. I mean, they’re like the city government and everything.”

“They’re not just ‘like’ the city government; they
are
the city government.” She saw at once that the remark had gone over his head, but she was warming up to her subject and didn’t want to pause to discuss his grammar. “They’re elected officials, not gods. Law is a social construct, and in this country, at least, it’s subject to the will of the people.”

He sat down beside her, his brow furrowed. “You mean like voting and stuff?”

“That’s right.”

“But I can’t vote yet.”

“More’s the pity,” Gwen said. “We might have fewer stupid laws if you could. I bet you and your friends would shake things up around here, wouldn’t you?”

He grinned. “Maybe.”

“When I was a little older than you, my friends and I did more than just vote. We held demonstrations, sit-ins—anything to get our message out. We were trying to make our government get out of Vietnam.”

“I know about that. We studied it in history class.”

“Great,” Gwen said, feeling ancient.

He regarded her seriously. “Were you a hippie?”

“Yes, I suppose I was.” She was about to begin a long, nostalgic lecture about the passion for justice young people had felt in her day and how it compared to the callow selfishness of today’s youth, but Matt chose that moment to announce that dinner was ready.

They ate on the veranda, seated in Adirondack chairs or on the stone staircase. Afterward, the Elm Creek Quilters gave Summer her gift, a signature wall hanging quilt they had worked on all winter. Summer gasped with delight as she opened the box and took out the beautiful quilt. Gwen had pieced a large Mariner’s Compass block to symbolize Summer’s life journey, and around it she had sewn solid, off-white borders on which everyone had written her congratulatory messages. Gwen became teary-eyed as Summer read the loving wishes aloud. Summer hugged each of them, even Andrew and Matt and the other Elm Creek husbands. Todd didn’t want a hug, but Michael politely agreed to accept one.

The men must have sensed that their wives were about to talk quilts for a while, for they broke off into conversations of their own.

“I don’t know how you managed to keep this a secret so long,” Summer said as she carefully folded the quilt and returned it to its box.

Sylvia laughed. “We quilters are full of surprises.”

“She has no idea,” Judy murmured to Gwen.

“You have to promise to hang that in your apartment in Philadelphia,” Bonnie said. “We want to make sure you never forget us.”

“I could never forget any of you,” Summer said with such feeling that Gwen had to reach for the tissues again.

“That’s not good enough,” Agnes teased. “You have to promise.”

“Go on, Summer,” Diane urged. “Raise your right hand and repeat after me: ‘I, Summer Sullivan, being about to graduate from the esteemed institute of higher learning known as Waterford College, do hereby solemnly swear to hang this quilt on the wall in my new apartment far, far away in Philadelphia—’”

“Don’t say ‘far, far away,’” Gwen protested. “It’s not that far.”

“Now you made me lose track. Well, you get the idea, Summer. Go on, promise.”

Summer looked around, flustered, as her friends began to chant, “Promise, promise, promise.”

“All right,” she finally called out above their voices, laughing. “I promise I’ll hang this quilt in—in my apartment. And I promise I’ll never forget the people who made it. Satisfied?”

“I thought my version was more eloquent,” Diane said.

“You thought wrong,” Gwen retorted.

The women broke into peals of laughter, but they could feel sadness creeping in. Summer would be the first of their group to leave since the founding of Elm Creek Quilts. They would have until autumn to enjoy moments like this, with all of them together and happy, but all too soon their circle would be broken.

As much as Gwen enjoyed the party, she was glad to have Summer all to herself the next day. While the other Elm Creek Quilters prepared for the arrival of a new batch of campers, Gwen and Summer got ready for the commencement ceremony. Gwen wanted Summer to wear her cap and gown as they walked through downtown Waterford to campus, but Summer begged off. “I’ll be wearing them for hours,” she said. “Can’t I put them on in your office instead?”

Since it was Summer’s day, Gwen reluctantly agreed. Gwen, too, would be wearing a cap and gown for the ceremony, since as a member of the faculty she would be marching in the procession. In her office, she helped Summer with her cap and gown first, then put on her own.

“You’ll have one of these, too, someday,” she said as she fastened the loop of her doctoral hood to the small button on the gown at the nape of her neck. She adjusted the hood’s folds and smiled at her daughter. Summer flushed and gave her a quick smile before looking away.

The ceremony Gwen had participated in so many times took on a poignancy that she had not felt since receiving her doctorate. Afterward, they somehow found Judy in the crowd of other faculty. Gwen gave Judy her camera and had her snap a picture of Gwen and Summer, then Judy handed the camera to a physics professor and had him take a shot of the three of them together, arms intertwined. Judy and Summer smiled happily, but Gwen was sobbing and laughing at the same time.

That evening, Summer pleased Gwen by coming home instead of returning to the downtown apartment she shared with two friends. Gwen knew how to make only one baked dessert, a three-layer German chocolate cake, but she made it well, and she had prepared one that night in Summer’s honor. As twilight fell, they sat on the back porch enjoying tea and cake, but most of all, each other’s company.

“I’ll miss you when you head off to Penn,” Gwen said. “Before we know it, it will be time for fall quarter to begin.”

“Actually, Mom, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that.”

Gwen reached out and stroked Summer’s long, auburn hair. “What is it, kiddo? Are you nervous about graduate school?”

“Well, actually, no, that’s one thing I’m definitely not.” She hesitated. “First, though, promise me you won’t get angry.”

“Angry about what?”

“Just promise.”

“No, I’m not going to promise, not without knowing what’s going on.” Suddenly she felt her stomach tighten into a knot. “Don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

“No, Mom,” Summer exclaimed. “I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Gwen thought for a moment. “A girlfriend?”

Summer rolled her eyes. “Of course not—”

“What is it, then? Are you sick?” She sat up straight, clutching the armrests of her chair. “Did your father call?”

“No, it’s not anything like that. I’m just not going to graduate school.”

Silence.

Then, in a small voice, Gwen said, “You mean you’ve changed your mind about going to Penn?”

“I’ve changed my mind about graduate school altogether. I’m not going. I’m sorry.”

Gwen felt dazed. “But … why?”

“It’s just not what I want for my life.” Summer reached out and took Gwen’s hand. “I’m sorry about this. I know you must be very disappointed in me, but—”

“You have to go to graduate school,” Gwen interrupted, confused. “It’s what we’ve been planning for years. What—what—what else would you do?”

“That’s just it, Mom. It’s not what we’ve been planning; it’s what you’ve planned for me.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to stay here in Water-ford. I’m going to ask Sylvia for a larger role in Elm Creek Quilts and keep working for Bonnie. I want to own the business someday.”

“Elm Creek Quilts? You could never afford it, you know that.”

“Not Elm Creek Quilts. Grandma’s Attic. Working there has been more rewarding than anything I’ve done in my major. I enjoy working with quilters and thinking up new ways to promote the shop. It’s a challenge, and I’m never bored when I’m there. Unlike school,” she added in an undertone.

Slowly the words sank in. Summer wanted to own a quilt shop. Instead of Summer Sullivan, Ph.D., she wanted to be Summer Sullivan, storekeeper. It couldn’t be true. Gwen must have misunderstood.

With a sinking feeling, she realized that she hadn’t.

“Mom, say something.”

“What’s left for me to say?” Gwen said. “It seems like you’ve made your decision, and since you obviously didn’t want my opinion when you were making all of these secret plans, why would you want it now?”

“Don’t talk like that, please,” Summer begged. “I haven’t made any secret plans. No one knows but me and you.” She hesitated. “And the registrar at Penn.”

“You mean you already declined your acceptance?”

Summer nodded.

Gwen sank back into her chair. “You turned down Penn without even checking with Bonnie and Sylvia first?” She knew from Summer’s expression that it was true.

“I’m sorry,” her daughter said again.

Her eyes were large and troubled. Gwen couldn’t bear to look into them any longer, so she rose and began stacking up their dessert dishes. “Well, there’s nothing more we can do about it now,” she said briskly. “Tomorrow’s Monday. You’ll just have to phone Penn and tell them you made a mistake. I know people there. I can make a few calls myself if necessary. We’ll get this straightened out somehow.”