The Wedding Quilt (10 page)

He promised to have his sister call her soon, and the very next afternoon, the phone rang again. It was evening, and Sarah was in the kitchen sipping a cup of warm milk with vanilla, when Sylvia entered holding the cordless handset to her ear. From her bemused expression, Sarah guessed that Melissa apparently did consider Sylvia a kind of celebrity and was treating her as such. “Why, thank you,” Sylvia said again and again, taking a seat in the booth opposite Sarah. “Oh, you're much too kind.” Another pause, during which she shot Sarah a look of amazement and mild exasperation. “Melissa, dear, you're embarrassing me with so much praise. I hope you can learn to think of me simply as Cousin Sylvia or I don't know how we'll ever become true friends.”

Sarah smothered a laugh, amused that Sylvia seemed to be utterly unaware of her eminence in the quilting community. Years before, one of her quilts, “Sewickley Sunrise,” had been selected for the permanent collection of the Museum of the American Quilter's Society in Paducah, and earlier in her career she had traveled the country to lecture and teach at quilt guilds, but the founding of Elm Creek Quilts had garnered her more fame than any of her other professional or artistic achievements. Sarah had seen admirers become tongue-tied when Sylvia dropped by a camp workshop to offer advice and constructive criticism, and campers often arrived with permanent-ink pens and fabric swatches stabilized with freezer paper to collect her autograph. But despite all the admiration and praise she received, Sylvia could not think of herself as a celebrity. She had friends and acquaintances, not fans, for heaven's sake, and she certainly didn't have sufficient fame to overawe anyone, especially not a relative.

Fortunately Melissa managed to gather her wits, for the conversation turned from Sylvia to Elizabeth, a topic far more to the master quilter's liking. They enjoyed a lengthy chat about Melissa's first sewing lessons with Grandma Elizabeth, the quilts she had inherited from her grandmother, and how Triumph Ranch had come to be. But Melissa was at a loss to explain why her grandmother had fallen out of touch with the kinfolk she had spoken of so fondly and so often. Grandma Elizabeth had never said an unkind word about any of her distant family, except for a few rare remarks about her father, who was “a drinking man,” and she had spoken with particular affection of Sylvia and her aunt Eleanor, Sylvia's mother. Melissa was also confused about how Elizabeth could have written home about Triumph Ranch in 1925, upon her arrival in California, when all the family stories and preserved documents agreed that Grandpa Henry and Grandma Elizabeth had not purchased the farm until 1933. “Is it possible you've remembered the dates wrong?” she asked Sylvia, but Sylvia was adamant that Henry had set out from Elm Creek Manor with the deed to Triumph Ranch in his possession. He had shown the papers to Sylvia's parents on Christmas a few months before the wedding.

By the end of their chat, which endured long after Sarah had finished her warm vanilla milk and left the kitchen, Sylvia and Melissa were no closer to solving the mystery. “Maybe by the time you come out for the reunion, we'll discover the truth,” said Melissa, or so Sylvia told Sarah later. “Grandma didn't save many personal papers, but she did leave a journal and a few letters. I'll go through them and see what I can learn.”

“In the meantime, I'll see if my quilting friends can track down Elizabeth's Double Wedding Ring,” Sylvia said.

“You'll have to come to the reunion a few days early so we can spend some time together comparing notes,” said Melissa. “Everyone will be so eager to meet you, we might not have an opportunity at the reunion.”

“I don't think we should wait until the reunion to meet,” declared Sylvia. “I know you're busy with your work and family, but if you can get away for a week or two this spring, I'd be delighted if you'd come to Elm Creek Quilt Camp as my guest.”

Melissa was thrilled by the invitation, and over the next few days and several phone calls back and forth, she and Sylvia settled upon the third week of May for her visit. Sarah had never seen her dear friend so happy, with the exception of the Christmas Eve the year before when Sylvia married Andrew in the ballroom of Elm Creek Manor, surrounded by their closest friends.

Throughout the winter, Sylvia and Melissa became fast friends with weekly phone calls and occasional letters. Melissa read aloud to Sylvia from Elizabeth's journal, which she had kept sporadically in the late nineteen thirties and early forties, and Sylvia reminisced about the cousin she had so admired as a girl, telling Melissa the stories Sarah already knew well—the Christmas when Elizabeth had hidden the star for the top of the tree under Sylvia's pillow so that only she would win the prize for finding it, the New Year's Eve when Elizabeth had taught her the Charleston so they could show off at the St. Sylvester's Ball, the day of the newlyweds' departure when Sylvia had hidden Elizabeth's shoes in a vain hope that she would be obliged to stay at Elm Creek Manor. Melissa found it enormously funny that Sylvia had not bothered to hide Henry's shoes, for he couldn't leave soon enough to suit her. “Grandpa Henry was reserved and a little stern sometimes, but he was a good man,” she protested, laughing. “I don't know why you disliked him so much.”

“He stole Elizabeth from me,” replied Sylvia. “What was there to like about someone who would do such a dreadful thing?”

When Sarah repeated the story to Matt—over the phone, for Matt was off at one of his father's construction sites in Uniontown—he fell silent for a moment, and then said, “How do you feel about Melissa stealing Sylvia from you?”

Sarah laughed. “Oh, sure, I live in dire fear that someday Melissa's going to show up with a sack, stuff Sylvia in it, and carry her off to Triumph Ranch.”

“I guess it's good that you can joke about it,” said Matt, but he sounded dubious. “I'm glad it doesn't bother you.”

“You're glad what doesn't bother me?” The only things that really bothered her in those days were her weight gain, her inability to tie her own shoes, Matt's ongoing absence, and the way far too many of their phone conversations, which they scheduled for every evening right before bed, left her feeling dissatisfied and short-tempered.

“That Sylvia hasn't had much time for you ever since Melissa came along.”

“What are you talking about? I spend hours with Sylvia every day. We work together, eat together, hang out and quilt together—”

“Okay, fair point. You're right. I'm glad you aren't worried that Melissa is taking your place.”

“That never occurred to me.” At least not until Matt had planted the thought in the most insecure, anxious part of her brain. “Do you really believe Sylvia's friendship is so transient? Do you really think I was just filling in until a real relative came along?”

“I don't mean you've been filling in as her friend. I know Sylvia cares about you and that her friendship is genuine.” Matt hesitated. “You have to admit, though, in some ways you
have
been a surrogate relative to Sylvia. You took the place of a descendant when Sylvia believed she had no living family.”

Sarah needed a moment to decipher his meaning. “When you say I took the place of a relative, are you referring to Sylvia's will?”

“Yes, I'm referring to the will. Do you really think Sylvia would have named you her heir if she had known that her cousin Elizabeth had grandchildren living in California?”

His question left Sarah speechless. Two years after founding Elm Creek Quilts, a health scare had prompted Sylvia to put her affairs in order and revise her will. Dividing the business entity Elm Creek Quilts into shares, she had kept a twenty percent stake for herself, had given twenty percent to Sarah, and had offered each of the remaining Elm Creek Quilters ten percent each. She had also given away two parcels of land: a lot near Waterford College, which she donated to the city for the creation of a skateboard park, and the apple orchard, which she gave to Matt. He was not waiting to inherit the property; although the orchard was surrounded by land belonging to Sylvia, Matt already owned the orchard, free and clear, just as the city owned the skateboard park. What Sylvia had promised Sarah in her will was that upon Sylvia's death, Sarah would inherit Sylvia's twenty percent share of the business, the manor, the grounds, and all her personal property.

This was what troubled Matt; this was what he thought Sarah would lose. But she could not lose something that did not yet belong to her, and if Sylvia had a change of heart and decided to keep the Bergstrom estate in the family, Sarah could not prevent that. Nor could she honestly argue that this would be a misguided choice. As a quilter herself and one of Sylvia's admirers, Melissa was unlikely to use a stake in Elm Creek Quilts to ruin it. Perhaps Melissa would be willing to continue Sylvia's current arrangement and lease the manor to Elm Creek Quilts for a dollar a year. But to ponder such potential upheaval in the distant future when Sylvia had not offered the slightest hint that she might revisit her decision—and all because she had finally found other descendants of Hans and Anneke Bergstrom, something that brought her great happiness—seemed ridiculously premature to Sarah, and made her feel slightly ashamed, grasping, and greedy.

“I won't be sorry that Sylvia's found Elizabeth's descendants,” she told Matt firmly. “I'm happy for them, not concerned for myself. Sylvia entrusted the future of Elm Creek Quilts and the Bergstrom estate to me because she knows I'll cherish and protect them, not because she has to give it to
someone,
and in the absence of a blood relative, she might as well settle for me.”

“And if, after Sylvia gets to know Melissa better, she decides to leave everything to Melissa instead?”

Sarah took a deep breath and rested her hand on her abdomen, where her unborn twins squirmed restlessly as if sharing her emotions. “If Sylvia believes Melissa deserves her trust more than I do, then I'll have to accept that.”

“And that wouldn't disappoint you?”

“Of course it would. I'll be horribly disappointed. But not because I won't”—Sarah waved her arm to indicate the manor and everything in it, but over the phone, the gesture was lost on Matt—“not because I won't get her stuff. Because it would mean I've let her down. It would mean she no longer believed I was the best person for the job.” But not only for the job—for the Bergstrom legacy, their history, stories, and traditions. Though she was not a descendant of Hans and Anneke Bergstrom, Sarah felt that she was their true heir. She could not respect and honor them more if she shared their blood. Sylvia understood that, or so Sarah had always thought. But she couldn't deny that Sylvia had originally intended to leave the estate to a Bergstrom, and she might be overjoyed that, contrary to all her expectations, she would be able to fulfill that wish after all.

Matt said nothing while Sarah's thoughts churned. She sat down hard on the edge of the bed, wishing he had never brought up the subject, wishing he had more faith in Sylvia. When the silence dragged out too long, she asked, “Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Please don't worry about this.”

“How can I not worry about it? This is our future. Our livelihoods are at stake.”

“Okay.” Sarah took a deep breath, thinking. “Say Sylvia does leave everything to Melissa. You'll still own the orchard, I'll still own my twenty percent stake in Elm Creek Quilts, and I'll still have my salary as head of the company. We don't pay rent and we don't have a mortgage, so we're saving and investing a lot more of our income than most couples our age. We'll be okay, Matt. Really.”

“What if Melissa comes into her twenty percent and decides to fire you?” Matt countered, not mollified. “Or fire both of us? Do you really think we could earn a living off the orchard alone, assuming Melissa lets us cross her property to get to it?”

Muffling a sigh, Sarah lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. “Melissa couldn't fire me. She would have to convince two-thirds of the board that I had committed an act of gross negligence or irresponsibility, and none of my friends would vote against me unless I really, really deserved it. Which I wouldn't.” She was suddenly, overwhelmingly exhausted by the pointlessness of the conversation. Every worst-case scenario Matt brought up, while theoretically possible, was so unlikely to occur that her time would be better spent dreaming up a plan to protect Elm Creek Manor from meteor strikes than anything Matt seemed to fear. Then, all at once, she understood. Matt loved Elm Creek Manor and was terribly afraid of losing it. He loved his orchards, the gardens, working with agricultural students from Penn State in the summer, offering tours of the estate to campers, residing in the historic manor season after beautiful season—all of it, as much as Sarah did.

Sarah wished she knew how to make Matt see the situation as she did. “I'll do everything I can to make our jobs at Elm Creek Manor as secure as possible,” she promised. “There really isn't anything to worry about, so please, don't worry.”

“I'll try,” Matt said quietly. “I hope you're right.”

After they hung up, she lay awake in bed, stroking her abdomen and wishing Matt were there. If he were home, he would see that nothing between her and Sylvia had changed despite her new friendship with Melissa. If he were home, distance would lessen his father's influence. None of these strange new disturbances in their marriage would have erupted if Matt were home where he belonged, with her, preparing for the arrival of their children.

Then came the snowy February day when the time for preparation had passed. The babies arrived, mere minutes after Matt's return to Waterford. After four days in the hospital—her stay extended due to the emergency C-section—Sarah, Matt, James, and Caroline went home to Elm Creek Manor. In later years Sarah would remember those first few weeks with the twins as a blur of happiness, worry, wonder, exhaustion, pain, and awe. As if to make up for his long absence, Matt was as attentive a father as she could have hoped, dragging himself out of bed at all hours to bring a crying infant to her to be nursed, changing diapers, burping, bathing—all with utter devotion and concern. He took care of Sarah as she recovered from pregnancy and surgery, too, so that all she had to worry about was regaining her strength, feeding the children, and delighting in their exquisite perfection. Sylvia, Gretchen, Anna, and Carol were also nearby to make sure she wanted for nothing. Years later, Sarah would look back and realize that it was unlikely any new mother of twins had ever had an easier time of it than she had, surrounded by an attentive husband and caring friends who saw to her every need.