Elm Creek Quilts [09] Circle of Quilters (19 page)

In his first helpful move all evening, Gordon brought up some gossip that had been spreading around campus, and soon he and Theresa were dissecting the latest developments with the rapid enthusiasm of soap opera fans during sweeps month. The topic of conversation did not return to Anna or her future plans, but the damage had been done. Theresa ignored her for the rest of the evening, and when Gordon spoke to her, his tone was hesitant and apologetic. At least he apparently realized that he had not provided the help she had needed, but it was no comfort.

Afterward, the couples parted outside the restaurant as they had arrived, although Gordon gave Anna a quick kiss and Theresa and Jeremy shook hands. Gordon and Theresa drove away in her car, and Jeremy and Anna walked back to their apartment building.

They climbed the stairs to the third floor and paused outside their doors. “When do you want your first dessert?” Anna asked Jeremy as she dug around in her purse for her keys.

He shook his head. “Forget about it. You don’t have to.”

“But the deal was a dessert every night for a month.”

“I was just kidding. Who could eat that much dessert?”

Anna could, if she allowed herself. “So what did you think of Theresa?”

“She’s nice when she’s not being completely evil.” He waited a moment before adding, “She and Gordon get along well.”

Too well
, Anna thought, and she knew that was Jeremy’s point. “Do you think you’ll ask her out sometime?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“And by ‘maybe,’ you mean ‘no.’”

“Right.”

Anna couldn’t help smiling at the apologetic look on his face. “That’s okay. I figured out a long time ago that this wouldn’t work. Summer’s a very lucky girl.”

“Gordon’s a very lucky guy, but he obviously doesn’t realize it. You’re beautiful, you’re nice, and man, the way you cook—”

“Yeah, I’m nice and I’m a great cook,” said Anna, suddenly depressed. “Too bad that’s not enough. Gordon’s afraid I’m going to blow up like a Thanksgiving Day parade balloon if I don’t find myself a sugar-free, low-fat career.”

“I wondered what was going on with that.” Jeremy stepped forward and before she knew it he was wrapping her up in a bear hug. “Anna, you’re good enough for anyone. Don’t ever let Gordon make you feel otherwise. He is out of his mind not to realize how wonderful you are.”

“Said the man dating a skinny girl.”

Abruptly Jeremy released her. “What?”

“You call me beautiful to be polite and you say I’m good enough for anyone, but would you ever date someone who looked like me?” She heard the anger in her voice and knew she should stop. “What size is Summer? Four? Two?”

“I honestly don’t know,” said Jeremy. “I didn’t fall in love with Summer because of her size.”

“But if she had been my size, would you have been attracted to her? Would you have asked her out?”

Without pausing to consider it, he said, “If she had been the exact same person on the inside with twenty extra pounds on the outside? Yes.”

“Oh, please.”

“What?”

“You say that, but it’s not true.”

“How do you know it’s not true?”

“Because fat girls don’t get the cute guy.”

He shook his head, incredulous. “I can’t believe this. You’re deluded. Fat girls get the cute guy every day.”

“In what alternate reality?”

“In this reality. Okay. You want the truth? Yes, Summer is thin and pretty. Go ahead and call me shallow for noticing and appreciating that. But I didn’t fall in love with her because of that. I fell in love with her for her warmth and her strength and her smile, her kindness and her confidence and the way she can find the humor in any situation. That’s what makes her beautiful to me.” He looked at Anna closely, exasperated. “It’s kind of insulting that you don’t get that. And that you don’t think there’s anything more to Summer than her looks.”

Contrite, Anna said, “I’ve met Summer. I know she’s a wonderful person.”

“And so are you. And that’s another thing I didn’t say just to be polite.”

Anna felt mean and guilty. Why had she vented at Jeremy, and after he had been so nice to her? “I’m sorry,” she said. “The good news is you scolded the self-pity right out of me.”

He frowned and shook his head. “If Gordon has said anything to make you feel this way about yourself—”

“Don’t blame him,” said Anna quickly. “This goes back long before I ever met him. He’s a good person. Really. I guess we’re
just better by ourselves than with groups. Everything’s fine when it’s just the two of us.”

“If you say so. You know him better than I do.” Jeremy turned to unlock his door. “But don’t forget what I said, promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good.”

They entered their separate apartments. Anna closed her door and watched through the peephole until he closed his.

On the morning of her interview, Anna woke filled with the same nervous energy that accompanied her throughout the day of an important banquet. She had taken the day off work, and with nothing to do until it was time to catch the bus out to Elm Creek Manor, she decided to bake cookies. She had to run down to UniMart for a shockingly overpriced pound of butter, but the rest of the ingredients were already in her cupboard—Madagascar cinnamon, Penzey’s pure vanilla extract, organic flour. She mixed the sugar cookie dough and let it chill while she ironed her tan suit and organized her interview materials. Back in the kitchen, she rolled out the dough and cut cookies in the shape of quilt blocks using the cutters her aunt had sent as a souvenir of her trip to the Road to California quilt show the previous January. She decorated them with pink, yellow, and lavender tinted frosting, which hardened while she dressed and braided her hair. She packed the cookies carefully in a plastic storage bin with a snap-on handle, put her papers and Elm Creek Quilts block in a tote bag, and met her bus at the stop on the corner.

Uncertain how long the bus ride to Elm Creek Manor would take, Anna left home two hours before her interview. Only three other passengers rode her bus, and they remained on board after Anna disembarked at a remote spot along the main highway where a gravel road led into a forest. The place looked exactly as
Summer had described it, but Anna still eyed the shadowed path worriedly before venturing forward. She picked her way through the loose stones, grateful she had worn her lowest heels but aware too late that she should have packed them in her tote and worn tennis shoes for the walk from the bus stop.

The road was narrow and winding, with no shoulder for her to scramble onto if a car came along. She passed a burbling creek, crossed a bridge, and was relieved when she finally emerged from the leafy wood onto a broad, green lawn divided by a paved road leading to the gray stone manor. If she did get the job and had to make this trip every day, she might finally get in shape.

She had seen pictures of Elm Creek Manor in the
Waterford Register
, but the real thing was far more impressive. It was easily larger and grander than the most impressive fraternity house near campus, although the comparison was probably not fair, considering that the quilters were not obligated to nail four-foot-tall Greek letters to the façade and adorn the veranda with spent kegs and beer cans.

Three women in workout clothes emerged through the tall double doors, descended the gray stone steps, and strode briskly along the front of the building, disappearing down a path through the trees. Another pair sat in Adirondack chairs on the veranda while a third woman held up a quilt block for them to admire. Anna considered going inside, but she was more than an hour early and did not want to annoy the Elm Creek Quilters by throwing off their schedule. She decided to explore the grounds on her own to get a feel for the place.

She wore a run in her nylon knee-highs from walking in the inappropriate shoes, but she enjoyed herself, stopping to chat now and then with some of the quilt campers, admiring the abundant fruit trees in the orchard, and relaxing for a while in a gazebo in a secluded garden. She followed a group of campers into the manor through the rear entrance and couldn’t resist peeking into the
kitchen, which turned out to be larger than her own, but not at all what she expected to find in what was essentially an inn. How they managed to feed fifty-plus people three meals a day with that four-burner gas stove was a mystery. The pantry was well stocked, but she shook her head at the state of the cooking utensils. The whisk looked to be at least fifty years old, which she could have excused had it not been so bent out of shape. The hand mixer had rust, actual rust, on the handle. A sudden noise from an adjacent room startled her back out into the hallway before she could peek in the refrigerator. Realizing that it would probably not work in her favor if she were caught snooping, she quickly left through the back door, lost herself in a crowd of women crossing the parking lot, and walked around the manor to the front entrance.

On the stone staircase, she hesitated. She was still more than forty-five minutes early. Punctual was one thing; unable to tell time, quite another. If not for the blister developing on her heel and the sense that she ought to gather her thoughts before venturing inside for the interview, she would have made a second tour of the estate.

She glanced down the veranda. The group of three women had left, and now one white-haired woman sat alone, bent over a quilt block. As Anna watched, the woman shook her head and exclaimed to no one in particular, “I ought to just throw it in the scrap bag.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Anna. She sat down next to the woman, setting her tote bag and container of cookies on the floor. After all that walking, that Adirondack chair felt very good.

“I’ve been fussing with this silly block all day and haven’t accomplished a thing.” The woman flung the block onto her lap with an exasperated sigh. “I honestly don’t know why I bother.”

“It can’t be that bad,” said Anna. “Want me to take a look at it?”

The woman handed her the block, a traditional floral appliqué
pattern Anna had seen before but whose name she could not remember. She examined the block, front and back, and tried to figure out what the woman was complaining about. Most of the quilters who had taken classes at her aunt’s quilt shop would have been thrilled to master such tiny, even stitches. “I’m not quite sure what the problem is.”

“This piece here,” said the woman, indicating a small, leaf-shaped piece half attached to the background fabric. A small indentation marred the perfect smoothness of the curve, but not enough that anyone would notice it in a completed quilt.

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” said Anna cautiously, not wanting to offend. “Why don’t you set this project aside and work on something else for a while? You can always come back to this when you’re feeling less frustrated.”

The woman regarded her with astonishment. “Of all the techniques you might have recommended, I never expected you to suggest I give up.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Anna. “Quilting is supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to bring you joy. It shouldn’t be such a struggle. If it’s making you miserable, it’s time to move on. Some quilts were born to be UFOs.”

“UFOs?”

“You know. Unfinished Fabric Objects.”

“Of course.” The woman smiled. “I believe I’ve accumulated enough of those already. The trouble is, as much as I might like to try my hand at something else for a while, I must finish this block. It’s for a guild exchange and I can’t let the other ladies down.”

“Oh. That’s different.” Anna took a second look at the block. Based upon what the woman had already sewn, Anna did not understand why she was struggling so much with that one particular, relatively easy piece. “I prefer to machine appliqué, but it wouldn’t look very pretty if you switched in the middle of the block. Can I watch you sew for a few stitches?”

“Certainly, if you think it will help.” The woman took a few labored, clockwise stitches around the curve of the leaf.

Anna watched and immediately spotted the potential problem. “Have you tried sewing in the other direction?” The woman peered at her inquisitively through her pink-tinted glasses. “You’re right-handed, but you’re sewing in a clockwise direction. It’s a more natural movement for right-handers to sew counter-clockwise.”

“Why, I never thought of that.” The woman rotated her block and turned her needle. “I think that might just do the trick once I get used to it. Thank you, my dear.”

“In all honesty, you were doing just fine before I came along.” Anna glanced at her watch, glad to see the conversation had used up another fifteen minutes. “Are you hungry? Would you like a cookie?”

“A cookie?”

Anna opened the container. “I baked three dozen. Help yourself.”

“Oh, how charming. An Ohio Star.” The woman took a cookie, her eyes alight with pleasure. “And a LeMoyne Star, too. These are far too pretty to eat.”

“No, you have to eat them.” Anna handed her a second cookie. “They taste even better than they look.”

“If you insist, I will eat them, and I’ll enjoy every bite.” The woman smiled. “You are definitely going to make a wonderful impression. On whomever the lucky recipient of these cookies is, I mean.”

“I didn’t do it to make a good impression. When I’m nervous, I get this compulsion to bake, and it’s either share the treats or eat them all myself. Not a good idea.”

“I understand completely.” The woman nibbled a point of the Ohio Star. “Delicious.”

Anna thanked her for the compliment and bade her good-bye.
She returned the lid to the cookie container and entered the manor through the tall double doors. The foyer was grand and imposing, but Anna’s attention was immediately captured by a young boy leaping from one black marble square to another, while a woman not much younger than herself nursed a toddler in a nearby metal folding chair.

The little boy looked up from his game and smiled at her. “Hi!”

“Hello,” she answered, and glanced at his mother uncertainly. Campers wouldn’t bring kids along, so she must be one of the Elm Creek Quilters. “I’m here for the job interview.”

The woman gestured to the row of metal folding chairs next to a closed door. “I think this is the line.”