Elm Creek Quilts [09] Circle of Quilters (12 page)

Sick to her stomach, she turned to the clock. It was a quarter past two.

Swiftly she unbuckled Lucas from his booster seat and snatched him up. “Ethan, honey, please go potty,” she shouted toward the living room as she raced upstairs to change Lucas and put him in more presentable clothes.

“Why?”

“We’re going for a ride.”

She changed Lucas’s diaper at a record pace and dug around in the laundry basket for a clean pair of overalls and onesie. All the while she strained her ears, praying that she would hear the door open and Nate calling out apologies.

“Mom?”

Karen glanced over her shoulder to find Ethan lingering in the doorway. One look told her she would have to change his clothes, too, since he had apparently used his shirt for a napkin after eating his peanut butter and jelly. “Did you go potty, honey?”

“I don’t have to go.”

“You should try to go. We’re going to be in the car a long time.”

“I don’t have to pee. When I have to pee I feel a tickle in my penis and I don’t feel one right now.”

“I would like you to try. Just try. If you try and no pee comes out, that’s fine.”

Reluctantly, Ethan dragged himself from the doorway. She heard the sound of the toilet seat banging against the tank, and, a moment later, the boy who did not have to go potty doing exactly that.

“Okay, sweetie, you’re done,” she said, pulling on Lucas’s socks. She coached Ethan through washing his hands and rushed him into a clean pair of jeans and a polo shirt. He complained about the collar and buttons, which he despised, but Karen insisted. She brushed their teeth and hair and ushered them downstairs to the foyer and into their shoes. She checked the diaper bag for supplies, tossed in a few snacks and drinks, and snatched up her purse and car keys.

“Where are we going?” asked Ethan as she rushed them outside to the car.

A reasonable question. “To my job interview.”

Ethan climbed into his car seat glumly. “I don’t want to go.”

“Believe me, honey, this is not my first choice either.” She gave him a sympathetic smile and a quick kiss.

He peered at her. “Mom—”

“What is it?” she said, struggling for patience. “We’re in a very big hurry.”

Whatever it was, he thought better of it. “Never mind. I love you.”

Stabbed by guilt, she silently vowed to make it up to them. Later. She closed Ethan’s door and hurried around to the other side of the car, but as she leaned over to place Lucas inside, she caught a whiff of his bottom. Muffling a groan, she told Ethan she would be right back and raced inside to change Lucas’s diaper again.

They set out a full half hour later than Karen had originally intended. She might still make it, she thought grimly as she drove down Easterly Parkway toward 322, only slightly faster than the law permitted. She had no idea what she would do with the boys when she got there, but she would try to figure it out on the way.

“Muk,” said Lucas. “Mama, muk.”

“He wants milk,” translated Ethan.

“Hold on.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, she dug into the diaper bag on the front passenger seat and grasped his sippy cup. Straining to reach behind her, she asked Ethan to take the cup and hand it to his brother. She heard Ethan take a sip, and then something struck the back of her chair.

“No!” shouted Lucas. “Muk!”

“He wants
your
milk,” Ethan clarified. “And I’d like some music, please. Wasn’t that nice of me to say please?”

“Yes, honey. Very nice.” She turned on the CD player, struck by a sudden and alarming vision of her sweet elder son becoming the most notorious, ingratiating teacher’s pet in the history of elementary education.

“Muk!”

She really should have weaned Lucas a long time ago. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but I can’t nurse you while I’m driving.”

Lucas wailed.

“No, sweetie. Don’t cry,” she begged. “Come on. Sing with Mama. ‘The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round.’ Ethan, help me.”

Ethan joined in. “The wheels on the bus go round and round, all through the town!”

To Karen’s relief, Lucas quieted down. As long as she kept singing, he was content, but if she paused to check the directions or change lanes, he broke into tears again. Even the break between songs was enough to make him whimper.

Twenty minutes later, Ethan had turned his attention to a picture book, she had become a hoarse solo act, and a glance in the rear view mirror revealed that Lucas’s eyelids were starting to droop. She began singing louder, desperate to keep him awake. She knew her only chance at Elm Creek Manor would be if he slept through the interview, but he had already napped twice that morning and a third nap would guarantee active wakefulness for the rest of the day.

The motion of the car proved irresistible, and ten minutes later, Lucas was asleep. Karen switched off the CD player and wished she had thought to bring a bottle of water for herself. The singing had left her dry-mouthed and thirsty. She dug around in the diaper bag for a juice box and managed to puncture the foil with the straw without driving the car into a ditch or pouring apple juice down the front of her skirt.

“Mommy?” asked Ethan from the back seat. “What does ‘tuck you’ mean?”

“You mean like ‘tuck you into bed’?” asked Karen. Ethan was always asking her to define words that he used every day, words whose meanings were, to Karen, so self-evident that she struggled to explain them without using the word itself in the definition. The other day he had asked her, “What is a bird?” She listed the standard details about feathers, nests, and eggs, to which he
had replied, “No, Mommy. What
is
a bird?” Either he was a budding Zen master or he was trying to drive her insane.

“Mommy?”

“I’m thinking. Well, it means to snuggle your blankets and quilts around you so that you’re warm and cozy in bed.”

“What does it mean when there’s no bed?”

“No bed?”

“What does it mean when you’re mad at someone? Does it mean they should go to bed right now?”

Karen paused. “Honey, I don’t understand.”

“Like when someone takes your animal crackers at snack time and you hit them and they yell, ‘Tuck you!’ Does that mean they think you’re naughty and you have to go to bed even though it’s still daytime?”

“One of the kids at school said that?” gasped Karen. “Who?”

Ethan was silent.

“Who, Ethan? Who said that?”

“Well …” said Ethan slowly. “It definitely wasn’t Graham. And he definitely didn’t say it to Owen.”

Ah. Graham. She should have guessed. Ethan had come home with several interesting Graham stories over the past school year.

“That’s a naughty thing some people say when they’re angry. I don’t want to hear you saying that, okay?”

“Okay,” said Ethan, disappointed.

“Muk,” murmured Lucas in his sleep.

Karen put in another CD.

She did not know whether to be grateful or alarmed when Ethan, too, drifted off to sleep. She was glad for the peace and quiet in which to collect her scattered thoughts, but she knew any chance that the boys would sleep peacefully in the tandem stroller while she chatted with the Elm Creek Quilters was long gone. If nothing else, they at least ought to be well rested and cheerful.

Both boys woke about fifteen miles from Waterford. She had made good time and wanted to press on, but Ethan’s announcement that he had to go potty abruptly altered her priorities. Out of options, she pulled into the parking lot of McDonald’s, and Ethan cheered in joyful disbelief at the sight of the golden arches. “Do
not
tell your father we came here,” she instructed Ethan as she rushed the boys inside to the bathroom. She waited outside the stall trying to prevent Lucas from tipping over the garbage can while Ethan sat, asked for knock-knock jokes, told her another hair-raising Graham story, asked for fries and a shake, and did everything but go to the bathroom.

He looked up at her, swinging his feet, and his smile turned quizzical. “Mommy?”

“Honey, please, are you going to go or aren’t you?” She checked her watch. “We are in a humongous hurry.”

“Ooh-kay,” he said, drawing out the word. “I guess I’m done.”

“You may have fries but no ketchup,” she said, wiping his bottom and quickly washing both boys’ hands and her own. She made good on her promise, but the stop had cost them precious minutes. She would need a minor miracle to make it on time.

If she had not been to Elm Creek Manor before, she might have missed the turn completely, but she hit the brakes hard, turned the steering wheel sharply, and drove into a dense forest. The boys complained as the little car bounced over the gravel road. “Look! See? There’s the creek,” she said brightly as the water sparkled into view through the trees. She could not afford to put them in a bad humor now. “Just wait until you see the manor. It looks like a castle.”

“Really?”

“Fwy!” shouted Lucas. A french fry whizzed past Karen’s shoulder and landed on the dashboard. He had a remarkable arm for a toddler.

At a fork in the road, Karen took to the right. The left fork led
to the parking lot behind the manor, but she would save time by parking closer to the front entrance.

They passed over Elm Creek on a narrow bridge, and soon afterward, they emerged from the midday twilight of the forest into sunshine. The gravel road gave way to a smooth, paved drive that gently curved across a broad, gently sloping green lawn. At last, just ahead, Karen caught sight of the three-story, gray stone manor graced by tall white columns. It was such a welcome, comforting sight that she let out a sigh of relief and forgot the clock for a moment.

The road ended in a circular driveway directly in front of the manor. “Look at the horse,” exclaimed Ethan, pointing as they drove around a fountain of a rearing stallion in the center of the drive.

“Hort!” cried Lucas.

Karen pulled up to the curb as close to the manor as she dared. She didn’t see any signs marking it as a fire lane, but with her luck, her car would get towed. “Yes, it’s lovely, isn’t it?”

“It
is
a castle,” declared Ethan. “You were right, Mommy.” Lucas babbled something that might have been agreement.

Karen turned off the car and glanced at her watch. She had exactly one minute before her interview was scheduled to begin. “Okay, boys. Lots of cooperation, remember?” She bounded from the car, briefcase and diaper bag in hand, and took the stroller from the trunk. Ethan stood by patiently as she tried to pry Lucas out of her arms and into the stroller, but he had had quite enough of sitting for one day and not nearly enough nursing, and he clung to her like a barnacle on a whale. She compromised by holding him and using the stroller to trundle the briefcase and diaper bag to the nearest of the two semicircular staircases leading from the driveway to a broad veranda. Too late, she remembered the wheelchair ramp at the rear entrance.

She managed to dislodge herself from Lucas, who stood at
the bottom of the stairs wailing as she hefted the stroller up the stairs. Just then, one of the tall double doors opened and a tall, slender woman exited the manor. She wore a blue blazer and tan slacks, and her light brown hair hung in gentle waves to her shoulders. Her large brown eyes looked startled, and perhaps even annoyed. Karen guessed that she was probably somewhere in her late thirties.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, Karen thought the woman was going to offer to help. Instead she said, “Watch out for the blonde,” and hurried past. Surprised, Karen turned to watch her go, but the boys and the stroller needed her attention. What blonde? Lucas? She
was
watching out for him, although from the sound he was making, an outsider might think he was neglected. Why did everyone feel obliged to comment on her parenting?

On the veranda, she set down the stroller and dashed back downstairs for the boys. Carrying Lucas, holding Ethan’s hand, and propelling the stroller along with her hip, she crossed the veranda and paused at the entrance. “Okay, boys,” she said, catching her breath. “This is very important to Mommy. I need you to be on your absolute best behavior. Understand?”

Lucas didn’t, of course, but Ethan nodded solemnly. Karen took a deep breath to steady herself and pulled a funny face to make Ethan grin. Then she pushed the door open and went inside.

She had remembered the grand foyer, with its ceiling open to the third story and the balconies adorned with quilts, but she had forgotten the steps dividing the black marble floor into the entranceway and the foyer proper. This was as far as the stroller would go. She nudged it out of the way against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, released Ethan’s hand, and picked up her briefcase and the diaper bag. Ethan seized as much of her hand as he could reclaim, clinging to her fingertips and shoving the handle of the briefcase over her knuckles.

“Do you need a hand?” a woman called.

Karen wished that she had been able to find a moment to freshen up first, wished that she had been able to make a more graceful entrance, but it was too late now. She fixed a confident smile in place and turned to find a white-haired woman in pink-tinted glasses gazing down at her from the top of the stairs. She held a sewing basket in one hand and a small bundle of fabric in the other.

“Hi. I’m Karen Wise. I’m here for an interview.” Karen studied the woman, certain she had seen her before. “You’re one of the Elm Creek Quilters, aren’t you?”

The woman let out a tinkle of a laugh. “Oh, aren’t we all Elm Creek Quilters at heart? Camp’s in session, you know. I’m just on my way outside to work on my quilt block in the fresh air.” She nodded to a row of chairs lining the wall just outside the hallway leading to the west wing of the manor. “I saw Sylvia Compson and some of the others go into that parlor just around the corner. I believe if you wait outside in one of those chairs, someone will come out for you soon.”

“The thing is … I’m a little late.”

The woman shrugged cheerfully. “Seems to me they are, too, or someone would be standing here waiting for you.” She came down the stairs and smiled at the boys on her way to the door. “Adorable.”