Elm Creek Quilts [09] Circle of Quilters (38 page)

In this way their circle of quilters would endure even though they could no longer gather every morning in their favorite chairs by the windows with the view of the courtyard garden.

When it was time for Mrs. Stonebridge to go, Maggie escorted her outside and waited while her son loaded her belongings in the car. “I’ll miss you,” she said, hugging the older woman. She was startled by how thin and fragile Mrs. Stonebridge felt in her arms.

Mrs. Stonebridge patted her on the cheek. “You take care of yourself, my dear.”

Maggie nodded and blinked back tears as Mrs. Stonebridge’s son helped her into the front seat. Just as her son started the car, Mrs. Stonebridge rolled down the window. “I forgot to tell you,” she called over the noise of the engine. “Guess who’s going to be down the hall from me?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie replied. “Who?”

“Lenore Hicks.”

The car pulled away from the curb. “Don’t get between her and pie,” Maggie shouted.

Mrs. Stonebridge laughed and waved to her through the window until the car turned onto the main avenue and drove out of sight.

Anna did not hear from Gordon for almost a week after the macaroni and cheese dinner at his apartment. She wondered if he had been waiting for her to apologize or if it had simply taken him that long to discover she had left.

She had her answer when she returned home from working as the lead chef at a banquet for the provost, who had requested her by name. Gordon’s voice on the answering machine was clipped and irritable. “You were inexcusably rude to sneak out like that without even telling us you were going. Theresa’s feelings were hurt. We may not be able to cook like you, but we did our best. Call me if you want to apologize.”

Anna didn’t. She erased the message and went across the hall to share the banquet leftovers with Jeremy. She hoped Summer had told him whether the Elm Creek Quilters had made their decision, but he had not heard anything.

Two days later, she discovered another answering machine message: “Anna, kitten. I’m not mad anymore. Give me a call and let’s talk.”

Once again she hit the erase button and did not return his message. She was growing accustomed to his absence and found she did not mind it.

As the days passed, his messages became more worried, more forlorn. “I miss you,” he said once, and, “I’m sorry.” He did not elaborate, and she suspected he did not know exactly why he ought to be sorry, just that saying so might bring her back.

Maybe it would. He seemed genuinely remorseful, if not for the right reasons. But how would she know for certain unless she gave him another chance?

One afternoon, she came home from work to discover that Gordon had visited her apartment in her absence. He had left a dozen roses in a vase on the kitchen table and a heartfelt note asking her to call and let him know she was all right. In the postscript, he added the last lines of the sonnet he had written her: “Thou shalt in me, livelier than elsewhere, Anna’s image see.” The memory of a happier occasion pained her.

The sight of the roses had startled her so much that she had left the apartment door ajar, and as she stood gazing at the note
and wondering what to do, Jeremy peered in from the hallway. “Nice flowers.”

Quickly Anna returned the card to the envelope. “No one’s ever given me a dozen red roses before.”

“Very romantic.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic. He’s trying.”

“Have you called to thank him?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you going to?”

“I don’t know.” Anna tossed the note onto the table and touched a rose petal. “He hasn’t paid so much attention to me in months.”

“Take my advice and don’t call. That bouquet doesn’t mean anything. Anyone can buy flowers. I could buy you flowers.”

“It’s not just the flowers,” Anna insisted. “Gordon cares about me. He gave me a gift—a gift from the heart. He wrote me a sonnet. How many guys do you know who write their girlfriends a sonnet?”

“None,” said Jeremy flatly. “And I say that having met Gordon.

Let me see this alleged sonnet. I bet it came out of a greeting card.”

“I don’t have it on me,” said Anna, flustered. “Anyway, it’s private.”

He gestured for her to hand it over. “Come on.”

She hesitated, but he was resolute, and she wanted to prove to him that Gordon had written her a poem. Unless Theresa had written it—but she squelched that thought and went to her bedroom for the poem. Reluctantly, she gave it to Jeremy, who unfolded the page and read the words with a deepening frown.

“It’s not from a greeting card,” she told him.

“I know,” he said, and he looked as if he were sorry he had asked. “It’s by Sir Philip Sidney, a sixteenth-century English poet.

Gordon just changed the woman’s name from Stella to Anna. Every undergraduate English major knows this poem.”

Anna felt faint. She had been seconds away from calling Gordon to apologize and forgive him everything.

The Elm Creek Quilters were so divided in their opinions about the applicants that the evening of deliberation Sylvia had arranged quickly proved to be insufficient. If they could have chosen by a simple majority vote, they could have selected their two finalists within a day, but Sylvia insisted their decision be unanimous. It would not do to admit someone into their circle of quilters unless everyone could give the newcomer an unqualified welcome.

“But that doesn’t mean Summer and I aren’t leaving if we can’t agree,” said Judy.

“I know that,” said Diane so quickly that they all knew Judy had interrupted her in the midst of plotting an interminable filibuster.

Within four days they reached their first decision: Karen Wise would not be one of the two finalists. Diane thought that anyone incapable of finding a baby-sitter for a job interview was not resourceful enough to handle the various crises Elm Creek Quilters faced every day. The others considered this view too harsh, but they agreed that although Karen was a fine quilter, she was less experienced than the other applicants. Elm Creek Quilt Camp students expected a great deal from their classes and workshops, and it might be unfair to them—and to Karen—to give them a novice teacher.

“She’s never taught quilting, not even at a quilt shop,” said Diane, echoing an earlier concern. “I’m not sure why we invited her to an interview.”

Because of her letter, Sylvia explained. No other applicant had so perfectly articulated the spirit of Elm Creek Quilts. Sylvia had thought Karen deserved to make her case for that reason alone. If she had taught even a single class at a quilt shop, Sylvia might be willing to take a chance on her, but her teaching experience was
too different from what she would face at quilt camp. Karen was simply not ready.

“In a few years, perhaps, but not now,” said Sylvia, and with some regret, placed Karen’s portfolio on the pile with the other eliminated applicants.

Everyone loved Anna, and not only for the delicious cookies. “I ranked her first out of all the applicants,” said Bonnie. “If we ever open a quilt shop here in the manor, her experience at her aunt’s store will be invaluable.”

“Her aunt’s store went out of business,” reminded Diane.

“I’m sure that wasn’t Anna’s fault.”

“Gretchen has more relevant quilt shop experience than Anna,” said Sarah, who privately was not convinced that the manor ought to include a retail store. “But our most immediate need is for teachers. Anna has taught quilting, but not recently.”

“Anna has other talents,” remarked Sylvia.

The Elm Creek Quilters exchanged questioning looks. Then Sarah caught on. “Oh, yes. Please. Hire her today.”

Summer looked uncertain. “But she applied for a teaching position. Would she be insulted if we asked her to take a different job?”

“It won’t hurt to ask,” said Gwen.

“Indeed,” said Sylvia. “She can always refuse.”

She set Anna’s portfolio aside.

The Elm Creek Quilters needed another week to decide the fates of the remaining three candidates, who were so well-qualified in different ways that it was difficult to choose. All three had years of teaching experience, each had designed original quilt patterns, each had developed a following that might help boost camp enrollment. Each possessed qualities that made the Elm Creek Quilters eager to welcome them into their circle of quilters, and each raised questions about how they would fit in.

For all Maggie’s skill and depth of knowledge of quilt history, she was not very versatile in her style. Would she be willing and
able to teach other classes if their campers were not interested in reproducing the Harriet Findley Birch quilt?

“She has taught other classes,” said Sarah, reading from Maggie’s résumé. “Machine and hand appliqué. Machine and hand piecing. Hand quilting. The list goes on.”

“So does her list of upcoming speaking engagements,” said Diane. “How committed to us can she be if she’s going to be traveling all the time? Are we ever going to get to know her if she just shows up to teach her camp classes and then heads out to a quilt guild as soon as camp is over?”

“I didn’t get the impression that she intended to continue her exhausting travel schedule,” said Sylvia. “I believe that’s why working for us appeals to her so much.”

“Anyway, Russell McIntyre has the same problem,” said Sarah.

Everyone acknowledged that this was true, and the debate turned to him. All agreed that Russell was an accomplished art quilter who had developed his own style and techniques. As a man in a predominantly women’s field, he would indeed bring a new and valuable perspective to Elm Creek Quilts. But he seemed to know very little about quilting history and traditions, and out of all the applicants, he had been the only one to fail Agnes’s test.

“It wasn’t a fair test in his case,” reasoned Gwen, who had placed Russell at the top of her list. “He doesn’t do hand appliqué. We knew that.”

“He didn’t fail the test by not knowing how to help me,” said Agnes, removing her pink-tinted glasses and rubbing her eyes wearily. “He failed by not wanting to help.”

“But he was on his way out, and he wanted to leave as quickly as possible,” said Gwen. “Diane had insulted him.”

“Diane insulted everyone,” Judy pointed out. “Russell was the only one to leave before the interview was over. He was the only one who refused to help Agnes.”

“But …” said Gwen, then shrugged. “Never mind. You’re right.”

Gretchen, on the other hand, had soared through Agnes’s test. Not only had she been willing to take the time to help a stranger, she had offered a solution Agnes had never heard of before. “We should hire her at once,” said Agnes. “She has so much to offer our students.”

“But for how long?” asked Diane. “I like that she’s a traditionalist. No one loves quilting by hand more than I do. But isn’t Gretchen getting a little close to retirement to make such a drastic career change?”

“It’s not that drastic,” said Judy. “She’s been quilting and teaching for decades.”

“Maybe too many decades,” said Diane, sparing a furtive glance for the elder Elm Creek Quilters.

“We can’t discriminate on the basis of age,” said Sarah.

Diane held up her hands. “I’m just saying we need to think of how long the people we choose are likely to stay with us.”

Agnes regarded her coolly. “I’m older than Gretchen. Is my job in jeopardy?”

“Of course not,” said Diane. “Forget I mentioned it.”

But they could not forget, and as the intermittent discussion wore on, the Elm Creek Quilters pieced together a solution with as much care as if it were a quilt they hoped would become a cherished heirloom.

Their first unanimous vote came in favor of Maggie, whose strengths as a quilter, teacher, designer, and historian set her slightly ahead of the other two. After that, their second choice became clear. Most of Gretchen’s strengths overlapped with Maggie’s, but Russell possessed other skills and experiences Maggie did not. As a pair they complemented each other well, better than Maggie and Gretchen did.

The second unanimous vote came nearly three weeks after the interviews. Once Sylvia was assured all were at peace with their decision, she instructed Sarah to call the applicants.

When the phone rang, Maggie eagerly picked up, hoping the caller was Russell. Since his visit the previous weekend, he had called almost every evening from the road. His quilt guild tour was winding down and he was supposed to return home that afternoon. She had not expected him to call until later, but she was glad he had. She wanted to tell him that she had decided to accept his invitation to visit him in Seattle the following week. She was not sure why she had hesitated, prompting him to add that she should think about it and let him know. No hard feelings if she couldn’t come. The guest room would be ready either way.

But the voice on the line belonged to a woman. “Maggie?”

“Yes?”

“This is Sarah McClure from Elm Creek Quilts.”

“Oh, of course.” Here it came: the moment of rejection she had dreaded. “How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. I’m calling with good news. On behalf of all the Elm Creek Quilters, I’d like to offer you the teaching position. We would be delighted if you would join our faculty.”