Elm Creek Quilts [09] Circle of Quilters (37 page)

Sylvia shook her head, smiling in amused sympathy. “No, dear, I don’t believe it was.”

“I get it,” said Summer. “You thought that if we couldn’t hire any replacement instructors, Judy and I wouldn’t leave.”

“You wouldn’t,” retorted Diane. “You’d never leave knowing how much we still need you. I’ve told you both a hundred times that you can’t be replaced, and you won’t be replaced, if I have anything to do with it.”

“I’m sorry,” said Judy to Diane. “I’ve accepted another job. I’ll miss all of you very much, but I’m still going.”

“And I start school next semester,” said Summer. “I couldn’t postpone my enrollment, not after they accepted my application past the usual deadline.”

“Brilliant strategy,” remarked Gwen. “Too bad it was doomed to fail on the grounds of sheer silliness. You do realize you’ve left us worse off than before, right?”

“What could be worse than Summer and Judy leaving us?” said Diane.

The dark-haired teacher who had invited Gretchen into her
classroom sighed. “Judy and Diane leaving us with two openings on our staff that can’t be filled because you’ve insulted and intimidated every applicant.”

“I’m still interested in the job,” said Gretchen.

All eyes fixed on her.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “If … if I’m still in the running. I know my employer gave me a terrible review, but—”

“Oh, please,” said Diane. “Anyone can see she’s just resentful that you were invited for an interview and she wasn’t. How stupid does she think we are?”

Gretchen stared at her. “Heidi applied for the job?”

“We really shouldn’t discuss the other applicants,” Sarah broke in quickly. “I think we’ve covered everything, don’t you?” The other Elm Creek Quilters nodded. Diane sniffed miserably, accepting the box of tissues Gwen passed her. “Is there anything you’d like to add, Gretchen?”

“Well, there’s my block—”

“Of course. Please, show us.”

Gretchen quickly brought out the Elm Creek Quilts block she had created and handed it to Sarah. They passed it around the circle, nodding and murmuring in appreciation—even Diane, who had abandoned her show of disapproval. When the block had traveled all the way around the circle, Sarah asked if anyone had any more questions.

“I have one,” said Sylvia. “You remind me of one of my star pupils from very early in my career. She was also named Gretchen, but her last name was not Hartley. You wouldn’t be her, by any chance, would you?”

Gretchen glowed. Sylvia had called her a star pupil. “Hartley is my married name. I was in your home economics course in college.”

Summer stared at Sylvia. “You taught home ec?”

“Only because they wouldn’t hire me to teach quilting in the
art department.” Sylvia fixed her gaze on Gretchen. “Why didn’t you mention that you’re one of my former students?”

Gretchen fidgeted and gestured to the copy of her résumé in Sylvia’s hand. “I described my educational background in some detail.”

“Yes,” said Gwen, amused, “and you somehow managed to omit that one important fact.”

“I honestly didn’t think Sylvia would remember me,” confessed Gretchen. “I didn’t want to seem as if I was taking advantage of an earlier acquaintance, especially since it was so long ago. It didn’t seem fair to the other applicants.”

“All’s fair in love, war, and job interviews,” said Sylvia, smiling faintly. “In the future, I hope you won’t be so reluctant to sing your own praises.”

Gretchen smiled back, her spirits rising. “I’ll remember that.”

After that the interview wrapped up quickly. Sarah waited while Gretchen retrieved her overnight bag from the car and then led her upstairs to a comfortable suite on the second floor where she would spend the night.

After unpacking her things and hanging up her change of clothes in the wardrobe, Gretchen returned downstairs to call Joe from the campers’ phone in the converted ballroom. She passed a white-haired woman perhaps not quite ten years older than herself sewing in an armchair in the foyer.

Suddenly the woman set down her work. “I’m going to flunk out of quilt camp. I just know it.”

Gretchen paused. “I don’t think you need to worry about that,” she said. “The teachers here don’t grade your work. All they ask is that you try.”

“That’s the problem. They’ll think I haven’t been trying very hard when they see this Rose of Sharon block. They’ll think I’ve been sleeping in class.”

“Nonsense. They’ll think no such thing.” The woman looked unconvinced, so Gretchen added, “Do you want some help?”

“Yes, please. If you have time.”

Gretchen didn’t, not really. She wanted to call Joe right away so she would have time to properly prepare for dinner with the Elm Creek Quilters, where they would surely continue to evaluate her even though the official interview had ended. It was too bad she had not run into this woman before her interview, when she had so much time to fill. “I’m in no hurry,” she said, crossing the foyer.

The woman handed her the Rose of Sharon block, and Gretchen quickly spotted what had so frustrated her: a slight bulge in the side of an appliqué leaf where a perfectly smooth curve should have been. “Your stitches are excellent,” remarked Gretchen, inspecting the underside of the block. “The problem must be in the preparation of the appliqué. From the feel of it, I’m guessing you used freezer paper. Did you place it wax-side up on the wrong side of the fabric and iron the seam allowance down so it stuck to the wax?”

The woman nodded. “That’s right.”

“You might want to try placing it wax-side down instead and ironing it so the whole appliqué sticks to the wrong side of the fabric.”

“Wax-side down?” echoed the woman, puzzled.

“That’s right. Then take a little glue stick and glue the seam allowance to the smooth side of the freezer paper. Your edges will be smoother and they’ll stay put until your appliqué is sewn in place on the background fabric. When you want to remove the paper, just cut through the back as you ordinarily would, and press the block with a damp cloth between the block and your iron to loosen up the glue. The paper will come right off.”

Gretchen returned the block to the woman, who was staring at her. “That’s very clever.”

“I’ve found it to be a very useful technique.”

“I have honestly never heard of that method, not in all my years of quilting.”

“I didn’t invent it,” said Gretchen, startled by a curious look in the woman’s eye. “I just picked it up along the way.”

“Even so,” said the woman, rising. “Even so. Thank you very much, Gretchen.”

Gretchen nodded a good-bye and watched as the white-haired woman disappeared into the parlor where the Elm Creek Quilters were still conferring, or perhaps comforting Diane. Only then did Gretchen realize that she had not told the woman her name. She was almost completely certain she had not.

Curious, she almost knocked on the parlor door on the way to the ballroom but decided against it. As she hurried off to tell Joe about her day, she thought of Diane and her desperate, misguided, and rather poorly conceived plan to prevent her friends from leaving. How wonderful it must be to work with friends who loved you enough to risk utter foolishness to keep you close.

The place where one worked and the work one did was not enough. Without the company of good friends, even the most interesting job could become drudgery, something to be endured rather than enjoyed. No wonder Gretchen had been dissatisfied with Quilts ’n Things, a place that most quilters regarded as the mortal world’s closest equivalent to heaven.

Whatever else happened, Gretchen knew she could not go back to work for Heidi. Their partnership had fractured beyond repair, and it was long past time for Gretchen to move on. She had made her decision and nothing would change her mind. She did not need to talk it over with Joe, who had been encouraging her to quit for years. She did not need to rehearse her departure speech, or spend hours writing and rewriting a letter of resignation, or worry about what other people would think of her or how Heidi would explain things to their customers after she was gone.

Tomorrow she would stop by Quilts ’n Things on her way home and break the news to Heidi.

Whatever the Elm Creek Quilters decided, Gretchen’s days at Quilts ’n Things were over.

P
erhaps to convince Diane that nothing could prevent them from leaving, Summer and Judy wanted to begin discussing the candidates right away, but Sylvia thought they needed some time alone to reflect—and in some cases, to allow their tempers to cool. She announced that they would meet in the parlor the following day between supper and the campers’ evening program to deliberate.

Before dismissing them, Sylvia instructed the Elm Creek Quilters to evaluate the applicants based upon everything they had presented since the selection process began, and not only upon the applicants’ performances in the interview. It was fair to say that, thanks to Diane, the applicants would have fared better in a classroom with only the questions and problems of real students to confront them.

“We must consider all of the applicants’ qualities,” said Sylvia.

“Not only how many years they’ve quilted, or how much teaching experience they have, or how many awards and accolades their quilts have won, but all of those things, and more. Why do they want to work here? What will they bring to our circle of quilters, beyond their technical expertise? How will they fit in with us, and how will they complement one another? What will their presence here mean for the future of Elm Creek Quilt Camp? Our choice will say as much about us and what we want for Elm Creek Quilts as it says about those we decide to hire.”

“Can’t we just draw straws?” grumbled Diane.

Sylvia smiled. “No, dear. I’m afraid there’s too much at stake.”

Heidi’s eyes went wide. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” said Gretchen. Already the office felt like a stranger’s. “Please ask your daughter to contact me about purchasing my share of the business. If she isn’t interested, I’ll find someone else.”

“But—but what about the shop? Who will cover for you?”

“I’m sure one of our part-timers would be glad to go full-time.”

Heidi’s expression was both lost and trapped. “But we’ve been together so long.”

“Perhaps too long.” Gretchen shouldered her purse and rose from her chair. “Good-bye, Heidi.”

She turned and left the office with her head held high, prouder of herself than she had been in many years.

But she could not deny the small ache of regret that a longtime friendship was over, and that something that had begun with so much promise had ended in disappointment.

The morning after her disastrous interview, Karen woke to a soft rapping on the door to find sunlight streaming in through the window. She sat up with a gasp and frantically searched the bed beside her for the baby. Lucas was not there, nor could she remember getting up in the night to nurse him.

“Good morning, honey.” The door eased open and Nate entered, carrying a tray. She caught the aroma of coffee.

“Where’s Lucas?”

“Downstairs in the kitchen.”

“Alone?” She threw back the covers.

“No, honey, stay in bed. He’s not alone. Ethan is keeping an eye on him.”

“Our four-year-old is keeping an eye on the baby?”

“Just for a minute. They’re eating oatmeal. They’re fine.”

“When did Lucas wake up?”

“Around four, four-fifteen.”

“I didn’t hear him. He was in his crib crying for”—she glanced at the clock—“four hours, and I didn’t hear him?”

Nate shook his head. “He wasn’t crying. I got up with him and gave him a sippy cup. He fell asleep and I put him back in his crib. He slept until about a half hour ago.”

“You’re telling me he willingly went back to sleep without nursing?”

“And now he’s downstairs having breakfast with his brother. I think you’re up to date now, just in time for your own breakfast.” He unfolded the legs of the tray and set it across her lap. “I made waffles.”

“Breakfast in bed.” She sat up as Nate placed a pillow behind her back. “Looks like the sufferings of a guilty conscience.”

“You could just say thank you.”

“Thank you,” she said, after a moment. “But you know this doesn’t make everything all right.”

“I know.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “What will?”

She studied the tray he had prepared for her—waffles in maple syrup, coffee with soymilk, veggie faux sausage, and orange juice. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your shot at the job.”

She shrugged and picked up her fork. “They haven’t said no yet.” But she knew it was only a matter of time.

“Daddy!” came Ethan’s shout from downstairs.

“Da-Da!” echoed Lucas.

“I think you’re being summoned.”

Nate nodded and turned to go, but already they heard footsteps scampering on the stairs. Nate snatched up the tray and moved it to the dresser just in time to avoid the two little boys who ran into the room and hurled themselves at Karen. “Mama,” cried Lucas, delighted, as he and his brother tumbled over her, burying her in hugs and kisses.

“Hello, Lucas. Good morning, Ethan,” she said, hugging Lucas and tousling Ethan’s hair. “Did you have a good night?”

“Pretty good. Are you still mad at Daddy?”

She glanced up at Nate, who looked back at her anxiously. “Not so much. And how about you, pumpkin?” She kissed Lucas on his soft cheek. “You were such a good boy, going back to sleep for Daddy so nicely.”

“Good,” agreed Lucas, snuggling closer for another kiss. He patted her chest. “Muk.”

“Oh, muk, is it?” she growled, tickling the boys, who shrieked in delight and tried to get away. “That’s all I am to you people: milk in a shirt!”

Nate stood outside the play, closed off from them, watching, but Karen did not draw him in.

Mrs. Stonebridge kept her promise to stay at Ocean View Hills as long as at least one friend remained, but two days after Mrs. Blum left, her son arrived to take her to a new residence near his home in Santa Cruz.

Mrs. Stonebridge was in her eighties now. She had acquired a walker and white hair and aches and pains in her hands that made quilting a challenge, but to Maggie she was the same admirable, diplomatic leader, sorting out differences and disagreements with grace and humor. She had comforted her departing friends and had organized a round-robin quilt project among the Courtyard Quilters. In the days leading up to their separation, each quilter
sewed a sixteen-inch block in her favorite pattern. Before the first of many departures, they exchanged blocks. Each quilter would add a border of her own favorite blocks to the center she had received, and on the last day of the month, she would mail the growing quilt top to the next quilter in the circle. After each quilter had added a concentric border to every other quilter’s center block, the tops would be returned to their owners in their new residences, a keepsake of dear friends.