The Wedding Quilt (2 page)

Sarah felt herself flush with pride as applause rang out again, but then her heart thumped and she checked her pad to be sure she had not accidentally deleted her speech.

“I'm sure Sarah McClure is well-known to all of you as the president and founder of Elm Creek Quilts,” James continued, “the world's most respected and renowned quilters' retreat. There she introduced countless thousands of aspiring quilters to the art, and inspired innumerable experienced quilters to more fully develop their creative gifts. Her contributions to the study of quilts and other textiles, including her three-volume series on the history of quilting from the medieval era through the early twenty-first century, have rightly earned her awards and accolades. Her latest book,
The Quilts of Pennsylvania,
is the most thoroughly researched and detailed state quilt documentation project ever undertaken, ten years in the making and well worth the wait. And I'm not saying that just because my name appears in the acknowledgments.”

A ripple of laughter went up from the audience.

“This afternoon our speaker will tell you more about Agnes Bergstrom Emberly, whom she was proud to call a friend and colleague, and in whose memory the Waterford Historical Society has dedicated their newly refurbished east gallery. When, afterward, you view this magnificent collection of antique quilts, displayed for the first time in its entirety, I hope you'll keep in mind that the collection would not exist if not for the foresight of Mrs. Emberly and the wisdom, tenacity, and generosity of our speaker. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great privilege to introduce to you my mother, Sarah Mallory McClure.”

Sarah smiled as she rose and took the podium to thunderous applause.

 

 

“You paused after saying ‘my mother' for dramatic effect,” she teased James afterward, as they strolled through the gallery admiring the collection. “You always do.”

“I had to,” said James, feigning innocence. “But not for dramatic effect. Their reaction would have drowned out your name. One hundred sixty people simultaneously saying ‘Awww' can get kind of loud.”

“One hundred sixty?”

James nodded. “I counted.”

“You always remember.” No wonder her hand was sore. She had signed books for nearly an hour after her speech, about half of them pen upon paper, the other half stylus to pad. A traditionalist where books were concerned, she preferred the look and smell and feel of paper, but she appreciated the convenience and frugality of electronic books, as well as the ability to enlarge the quilt photos so that every exquisite detail could be seen and admired.

Sarah paused in front of one of her favorite quilts, an Album quilt fashioned from green, Prussian blue, and Turkey red calicoes, the muslin center of each block signed by authors and politicians from the mid-nineteenth century. The ink had faded away long ago and, in some places, had deteriorated the muslin fabric, but the black embroidery over each signature remained. From her research for
The Quilts of Pennsylvania,
Sarah knew that in 1860, local women had sewn and raffled off the quilt to raise money to build the first library in the Elm Creek Valley, and that it had been displayed on the wall behind the circulation desk until the 1950s, when a new, larger, modern library was built a few blocks away. The quilt had been one of the first Agnes had acquired for the collection, a gift from University Realty, a local real estate rental and development company that had somehow obtained it when the original library was razed. At the time, Agnes and Sarah had privately agreed that the new CEO had donated the quilt not out of any particular love for quilts or local history, but to atone for the irresponsible behavior of their most notorious associate. “However they acquired it, and whatever public relations benefits they may gain from the donation, what matters most is that the quilt now belongs to the Waterford Historical Society,” Agnes had declared as she prepared the quilt for preservation. “We'll care for it properly and ensure that it will be here to educate and inspire for many years to come.”

The Waterford Historical Society had kept their promise, and Sarah had helped. Her first book, published by the Pennsylvania State University Press, was a study of the Authors' Album and included detailed biographies of each person who had signed the quilt, some of whom had long since slipped into obscurity. It was required reading for all eighth graders in the Elm Creek Valley School District, and teachers often brought their classes on field trips to Union Hall to see the quilt. Now students, teachers, parents, and citizens alike would be able to view the historic treasure at any time of year without needing to make arrangements for the quilt to be retrieved from protective storage.

Since then, Album quilts had held a particular fascination for Sarah. “I'm planning an Album quilt for your sister,” she confided to James as they strolled on. “I've already pieced dozens of Memory Album blocks, and at the reception, I'll collect signatures from the guests.”

“That's a great idea,” said James, stopping short in front of another quilt. “But don't you think Caroline would prefer something like this instead?”

Sarah looked to see which quilt he meant and had to laugh. The quilt James indicated was another of her favorites, but it was very different from the Authors' Album. The intricate designs of the sixteen large blocks always reminded Sarah of the traditional Baltimore Album quilts popular in the first half of the nineteenth century, with appliquéd pieces creating still-life portraits in fabric—a basket of garden vegetables, a red banked barn, a farmhouse, a school, a ring of maple leaves and seeds, a wooden bucket half encircled by flowers, branches of elm leaves framing four lines of embroidered words, a book, and other tableaus. The most unusual block depicted what looked to be a large black kettle hanging above an open fire from a pole suspended between two bare-limbed trees. But whereas most Baltimore Albums offered flat, stylized images of elegant subjects—floral bouquets, nesting birds, wreaths, beribboned baskets, urns of greenery—this quilt depicted more ordinary, homey things, and the buildings, especially, used perspective to create more realistic portraits of daily life in the Elm Creek Valley.

“It's a beautiful quilt,” Sarah said, tucking her hand into the crook of her son's arm as they walked on, “but it's not Caroline's style, and you know it. It's far too fancy and flowery for her taste.”

“And you'd never be able to finish something like this in time.”

“That too,” Sarah confessed with a smile. “But the Memory Album quilt will be a perfect wedding quilt, don't you think? Their friends and family will write personal messages to the bride and groom, and when the blocks are sewn together and the quilt is complete, it'll be a wonderful memento of their wedding day.”

“I couldn't agree more,” James hastened to assure her. “I was just teasing about the Creek's Crossing Album. It's a masterpiece, but it doesn't suit Caroline and Leo.”

“In a way it does,” Sarah mused. “It was a wedding gift. In the days when this quilt was made, in the mid-nineteenth century, girls would learn to sew by piecing quilts as a part of their domestic training. In this region, a properly brought up young woman was expected to complete twelve quilt tops by the time she reached marriageable age. The thirteenth quilt was meant to be her masterpiece, a beautiful, tangible sign that she had learned all the womanly arts of needlework she would need as a wife and mother. When the young woman became engaged, all the bride-to-be's female friends and family would gather for a quilting bee, where the thirteen pieced and appliquéd tops would be quilted and everyone would celebrate the engagement.”

“I remember,” said James. “I read about the custom in Gerda Bergstrom's memoir. But this quilt top was made by one woman and given to another, so it didn't follow tradition perfectly.”

“That's true.” Thinking of that lucky bride from long ago made her yearn to see the bride-to-be she loved and missed dearly. “Do you think we can duck out of here discreetly? I want to be home to welcome Caroline and Leo when they arrive.”

“It's not like they'll be showing up at an empty house. Dad and Grandma will be there, not to mention at least a few Elm Creek Quilters.”

“I know, but I want to be there too.”

James admitted that he didn't want to miss his twin sister's homecoming, either, but he suggested that rather than sneak away, they bid the president of the historical society a proper good-bye and explain that they were needed at home.

Soon they were on their way, James at the wheel of the Elm Creek Quilts shuttle, which hummed along almost noiselessly as they traveled south along the highway from downtown Waterford. After a time, James turned onto the narrow private road that wound through the leafy wood encircling the Bergstrom estate, and Sarah was struck by a sudden memory of the first time she had taken that route, riding along in Matt's red pickup truck as he tried to find the home of the reclusive woman who had hired him to restore the overgrown gardens. She remembered clutching her seat as the truck bounded jerkily up a gradual incline rife with potholes, hoping fervently that no one was approaching them from the opposite direction. She had doubted that both cars could stay on the narrow road without one of them scraping a side on a tree. Suddenly the leafy wood had given way to a clearing, and the road, which had become little more than two dirt trails an axle's width apart surrounded by overgrown grass, had climbed and curved around a two-story red barn built into the side of a hill. Just beyond the barn, the path crossed a low bridge over a burbling creek and then widened into a gravel road lined with towering elms. Then the manor came into view at last, and Sarah, who had been expecting a quaint cottage, could only stare in heartfelt admiration.

The road through the forest was paved now, and wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other safely at low, cautious speeds. Matt's sunlit apple orchard filled the once grassy clearing, but the manor still captivated Sarah whenever it came into view—three stories of gray stone and dark wood, its unexpected elegance enhanced by the rambling, natural beauty of its surroundings. Most important of all, it was home.

James parked in front of the solar charging station and plugged in the car. “Looks like Anna and Gina aren't back yet,” he said, noting the absence of the other shuttle as they climbed the four stone stairs to the back door.

“Anna said they were going all the way to her favorite specialty market in Harrisburg.” There, Sarah suspected, Anna and her daughter, Gina, had probably spent far more than they should have on delicacies for the wedding week. Soon after Caroline and Leo had announced their engagement, Anna and Gina had offered to cater the entire celebration as their family's gift to the bride and groom. At first Caroline had reluctantly demurred, since Gina was also the maid of honor and Caroline didn't want to burden her with too many responsibilities, but she couldn't withstand the combined persuasive power of the two Del Maso–Bernstein women. And thank goodness for that. Sarah couldn't imagine anyone else doing the job half as well—or with a quarter of the care and affection—as Gina and Anna would. Anna was Sarah's best friend, and their daughters, who were two years apart in age but had grown up together in the manor, were as close as sisters.

Together they went upstairs to the library, where Sarah put away her pad and James checked his personal messages and then those for Elm Creek Quilts. A breeze fragrant with ripe apples stirred the long cotton curtains hanging in the west windows, and Sarah jumped at the sound of wheels crunching fallen autumn leaves on the road they had just traveled. “At last,” she cried, hurrying to the window and drawing back the curtain, but instead of Caroline and Leo's car, she spied the other Elm Creek Quilts shuttle. After it came to a halt in its usual place at the charging unit, Anna emerged from the driver's side and plugged it in, her long gray French braid slipping over her shoulder as she chatted merrily with her daughter. Then Gina appeared, climbing out the side door and reaching back inside to fill her arms with grocery bags, laughing at something her mother said. Gina's black, close-cropped curls were as dark as Anna's had once been, but she was petite and slender, whereas Anna was taller and had always carried a few more pounds than she preferred. Sarah was about to suggest that she and James hurry outside to help Anna and Gina when she heard the back door squeak open and bang shut. It was Jeremy, calling out a greeting to his wife and daughter as he descended the back stairs. The three made short work of distributing the bags among themselves, and within moments they had brought everything inside, the back door banging shut again behind them.

When Sarah sighed and let the curtains fall back into place, James joined her at the window, wrapped Sarah in a hug, and rested his chin on the top of her head. “Poor Mom, waiting by the window for her baby. You know Caroline wasn't planning to get here until suppertime.”

“I know that's what she said, but I thought maybe they were able to set out earlier.”

“I'd bet money that Caroline stayed at her desk studying until the last possible moment before they had to leave.”

“She could study on the way, if Leo's driving.” Sarah wondered if she should encourage Caroline to leave her pad at the manor instead of taking it on her honeymoon, but Caroline had been reading for twenty-two of her twenty-five years, and she wasn't likely to be parted from her beloved books now. That's all the twins were, twenty-five years old. Sarah recalled feeling quite mature and adult at that age, but from her new perspective, twenty-five seemed shockingly young to make a lifetime commitment. If only Caroline would have taken Sarah's advice and—