An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (90 page)

In another moment, her son’s wavering voice said, “Hello?”

“Hi, Robby, it’s Mom.”

“Mom?” he said. “Where are you? Are you coming home?”

Yes
, she almost cried out,
Right this minute. I’m on my way.
Instead she took a deep breath and said, “I’ll be home on Saturday, like I told you before I left, remember?”

“Y-yes.” He sniffled, and she could picture him wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “Are you sure you’re coming back?”

“Of course I’m sure.” She forced humor into her voice. “Did you think I’d get lost or something?”

“Well, you do get kind of lost sometimes, Mom.”

She’d walked right into that one. “Not this time. I have a map and everything. Besides, I have to come home. I left all my stuff there.”

He mulled that over. “That’s true,” he admitted.

She kept him on the phone until he was cheerful again, telling her all the fun plans he and his grandpa were making for the week. She listened and responded with just the right amount of enthusiasm, but inside she was aching and seething, wishing that Keith was there so she could shake him, so she could rage at him, so she could somehow make him see what his silence was doing to their precious child.

Julia sat on her bed looking over her notes from the Beginning Piecing class. The class had covered several of the terms on her list that morning, and the teacher had assured her they would get to the others later that week. For the first time since her plane had touched down in central Pennsylvania, Julia began to feel some hope that this trip wouldn’t be a wasted effort, after all.

To her surprise, she had actually enjoyed the lesson. The teacher, a strikingly pretty blond woman in her early forties named Diane, had a dry sense of humor that took some getting used to, but her explanations were clear and simple. The other five students had made templates for a Friendship Star block the previous day, but Diane had helped Julia while the other students cut out their fabric pieces, and before long, Julia had caught up to them. With Diane’s class and Donna’s private tutorials, Julia might just be able to convince Deneford she had been quilting for decades.

Suddenly a knock sounded on her door. “Megan! Are you decent?” a voice sang out as the door swung open. The white-haired woman stuck her head in the room, and when she spotted Julia, her eyebrows arched in surprise. “My goodness,” she said. “You’re decent, but you’re not Megan.”

“No.” Startled, Julia rose and smoothed her skirt self-consciously. “I’m afraid you have the wrong room.”

“Are you sure?” The woman, whom Julia now recognized as the same quilter from yesterday’s disastrous Quick Piecing class, peered around in puzzlement as if she might spy the woman she was looking for hiding in a corner. “I was sure she said first room on the left in the west wing.”

“I’m sorry.” Julia’s surprise was turning to impatience, but, remembering her image, she put on a pleasant expression. “There’s no one named Megan staying in this room.”

“Oh.” The woman frowned, thinking. “Well, I already knocked across the hall, so maybe she went down to lunch already. Are you coming?”

“Well, actually—”

“You’re not planning to skip lunch, are you? Someone as thin as you?”

“I’m expecting someone to bring me a tray.”

“Are you ill?”

“No, but—”

“Then you can’t stay up in your room all alone,” the woman protested, and before Julia knew it, she had entered the room and taken Julia’s arm. “You’ll miss all the fun.” Julia was too startled to do anything as the woman began to steer her toward the door and into the hallway. “I’m Vinnie, by the way.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but—”

“Tuesday is pasta buffet,” Vinnie said. “You pick what shape of pasta you like, what ingredients, and what sauce, and the cook mixes each order in a separate omelet pan. Everyone can have her lunch exactly the way she likes it.”

They had reached the stairs, and Julia saw no way to escape without knocking the older woman on her backside. “That sounds delicious,” she said instead, her stomach knotting at the thought of a crowd of quilters just waiting for her to slop marinara sauce down the front of her blouse. They passed Sarah on her way upstairs with a covered tray. “I’ll be lunching with the other campers today, thank you,” Julia said with all the dignity she could muster. In the banquet hall, she resigned herself to being the lunchtime entertainment for the day. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would remember to lock her door.

The meal itself wasn’t as tacky as she expected it to be; the cook prepared her penne with sundried tomatoes, fresh basil, and an excellent olive oil she was astonished to see this far from the West Coast. Vinnie ordered a plate of spaghetti and meatballs in a red sauce, then motioned for Julia to follow her to a nearby table where two other women were already seated. One of the women was Donna, who started at their approach.

“These are two of my newest quilting friends, Donna and Grace,” Vinnie said, and the two women greeted Julia with silent nods. “Donna and Grace, this is …” She looked up at Julia. “My goodness, dear, I didn’t even get your name.”

“Julia.” Was it possible the old biddy didn’t recognize her?

“Julia.” Vinnie nodded in satisfaction and sat down. “Well, pull up a chair, Julia, before your noodles get cold.”

“We can’t have that, can we?” Julia said as pleasantly as she could manage, seating herself between Vinnie and Donna.

Just then, another woman joined them. A slender brunette, she was the youngest of the four, but unlike the others, she looked unhappy. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, taking a seat between Grace and Vinnie. Then she bounded to her feet again. “Oh. I forgot my food.”

“What’s wrong with Megan?” Vinnie asked as the harried young woman headed for the pasta bar.

“She received a phone call in the middle of Color Theory class,” Grace said. “I hope it wasn’t bad news.”

When Megan returned, her eyes met Julia’s, and she nearly dropped her plate. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t even see you there.”

Vinnie reached for Megan’s hand in a grandmotherly gesture that completely escaped the younger woman’s notice. “Megan, this is Julia.”

“Yes, I know. Julia Merchaud.” She fumbled for her chair and sat down, still staring at Julia.

“You’ve met?”

“Well, no, but everyone knows Julia Merchaud.”

Vinnie turned to her. “Is that so?”

Before Julia could reply, Donna said, “You’re kidding, right? You’ve never heard of Julia Merchaud?”

“No.” Vinnie looked from Donna to Julia and back. “Well, why should I have heard of her? She’s probably never heard of me. Are you another famous quilter, like Grace?”

“She’s famous, but she’s not a quilter,” Megan said.

“She most certainly is too a quilter,” Donna said hastily, stealing a quick glance at Julia. “You’re sure you’ve never heard of her? Julia Merchaud, Grandma Wilson from
Family Tree?
On television?”

Vinnie gave Julia a guilty smile. “I’m sorry, dear. I suppose I’m not watching the right channels. What day is your show on? I’ll be sure to watch for you.”

“It’s been canceled,” Julia managed. Eight years in the same role, one that earned her four Emmys and a Golden Globe, and someone from her core demographic didn’t even recognize her.

“It was a great show, though,” Megan ventured.

“It was my favorite,” Donna said. “I wrote a letter to the network and complained when it was canceled, but no one ever wrote back.”

Julia’s annoyance ebbed, no match for Donna’s admiration. “That’s typical of the networks,” she said, stabbing a piece of pasta with her fork. “They pay more attention to advertisers than viewers.”

“That’s a shame,” Vinnie said. “Well, dear, if Donna and Megan here are any indication, you have loyal fans who won’t rest until they see you on another show soon.”

“Do you have any other projects pending?” Grace inquired.

“I do have one that’s rather important. That’s why I came to quilt camp—to brush up on my skills. My agent insisted, unfortunately. I’d planned on a week at my favorite spa.” Julia sighed. She could be receiving a massage at that very moment. Instead her fingertips were sore with needle pricks, and she kept finding stray bits of thread all over her clothes. “I’ll be playing a quilter in a feature film that begins shooting in a few months.”

“How wonderful,” Vinnie exclaimed. “A movie about quilters. It’ll be a hit; I’m sure of it.”

Warming to her subject, Julia divulged some details about the plot, and about how Ellen, whom she generously described as a “promising new voice in filmmaking,” had based the story on her great-grandmother’s diaries. As the four women hung on her every word, Julia forgot that she had not desired their company in the first place.

“That sounds so exciting,” Donna said wistfully. “All I’ve ever done with my life is keep house and raise kids.”

“That’s all?” Grace said. “That’s everything. There’s no more important job in the world than raising your children. No job is more difficult, either.”

“Or more rewarding,” Vinnie said. “I raised four children and don’t regret for a moment any of the sacrifices I made for them. I don’t know how mothers these days can bear to leave their children in day care while they go off to work.”

Megan gave her a wan look. “It isn’t easy.”

“Your situation is different,” Vinnie said. “It’s not your fault that husband of yours left. I’m sure you’d stay home if you could.”

Grace laughed. “My husband left me, too, but even if he hadn’t, I still would have kept up with my career. Yes, motherhood is my most important calling, but I would have gone crazy if I hadn’t had some other outlet.”

“I would have gone crazy if I hadn’t stayed home,” Donna said. “I wouldn’t have been any use to an employer, anyway, on the phone all day checking in on the girls, staring out the windows fretting about what milestones I was missing.”

“Every family is different,” Megan said. “My son is loved and well cared for, and that’s what matters most.”

“Hear, hear,” Vinnie said, raising her coffee cup and clinking it against Megan’s.

“I like to think I set a good example for my daughter by being a mother and also pursuing my artistic career,” Grace said. “She grew up assuming that there are many possibilities for women.”

Megan nodded, looking hopeful for the first time since she had sat down. Then suddenly, her face fell. “Leaving my son for work is one thing—that’s a necessity—but I’m never going to leave him for a vacation again.”

“Let me guess. This is your first time away from your son overnight?” Grace asked, and Megan nodded. “He’ll be all right. When you come home, that will reassure him, and your next trip away will be much easier.”

“I don’t think I could leave him another time,” Megan said.

“You have to,” Vinnie cried. “Next year, during my birthday week. You are coming back to camp next summer, aren’t you?”

Megan looked dubious, as if she hadn’t planned on it but liked the idea.

Donna said, “You should, Meg. It will be good for Robby—and for you.”

“You have to come back, too,” Grace told Donna. “I have to hear how that wedding works out.”

“I guess that means you’ve already decided you’ll be here,” Megan said to Grace.

Grace let out a small, self-conscious laugh. “I suppose it does.”

“By that time you’ll have a new work in progress to show us,” Vinnie declared. When Grace winced, Vinnie added, “Have a little faith in yourself. A whole year to begin one quilt. A lot can happen in a year.”

Julia looked around the table, an observer rather than a participant. Only moments ago she had been the center of attention, but now the others seemed to have forgotten she was there—and not one had thought to ask her if she would return the next year. Why should they? They knew her trip was all business, no pleasure. No doubt they assumed she had better things to do—which she did, but it would have been nice if at least one of them had included her, if only to be polite.

Julia wondered what she was doing there, a childless woman among mothers whose shared experiences forged bonds among them she would never understand. They looked toward the future, each of them, because their love for their sons and daughters gave them a fierce and passionate stake in it. Julia’s parents were dead; her link to the past was broken and her link to the future never forged.

She had always believed her work made her immortal, but watching these women, who had neither fame nor fortune to compare to hers, she realized that they, and not she, would live on forever. Her work would one day be forgotten, and all memory of her would one day disintegrate with the videotape that had captured her image, but part of these women would always live in their descendants’ memories, in their very flesh and blood and bone.

Her work was nothing. What had she ever done to truly affect the life of another human being for the better? Throughout her career she had clawed and scratched and scrambled over competitors and colleagues alike to get where she was today, and for what?

Julia felt herself adrift in time, barren and alone.