The Wedding Quilt (5 page)

At last they were shown upstairs, Sarah traveling via wheelchair, her friends trailing along carrying her bags and coat. “Grandparents?” the young orderly pushing her along guessed as they waited for the elevator. “Great-grandparents?”

Breathing through a contraction, Sarah managed something halfway between a shrug and a nod, glad that she wasn't obliged to speak. At the moment she couldn't remember the hospital's policies, and she was afraid that if she explained they weren't related, they wouldn't be allowed to stay.

The birthing suite was spacious for a hospital room, with a bed for her, a futon sofa for visitors that Matt could sleep on at night, a couple of armchairs, a bathroom, and a small closet into which Sylvia and Andrew promptly stowed her things. The orderly helped Sarah from the wheelchair onto the sofa as two nurses bustled about checking instruments. After wishing her good luck, Andrew and Joe escaped for the waiting room. On their way out, they passed a tall, attractive woman who couldn't have been much more than thirty. She wore a long white coat over her tweed skirt and blouse, and her raven hair was pulled back into a smooth chignon. “The doctor will want to check how you're progressing,” explained one of the nurses, plump and matronly. “Let's get you up into bed, dear.”

“Wait,” said Sarah as the nurses helped her into the high hospital bed. “Where's Dr. Jamison?”

The doctor, for that was who she must have been, pulled a rueful face. “She was on her way back from vacation, but her flight was grounded at O'Hare this morning thanks to the storm. I'm the ob-gyn on call, Dr. Susan Granger.”

Sarah heard Sylvia gasp in recognition as she numbly shook the doctor's hand, her dismay at her usual doctor's sudden absence warring with astonishment at hearing the familiar name completely out of its expected context. “You're Dr. Granger?” she echoed. “Are you related to Jonathan Granger?”

“If you mean the ophthalmologist at Hershey Medical Center,” the doctor replied as she turned to the sink to wash her hands, “then the answer is yes. He's my brother.”

“No, I mean the Jonathan Granger who was a doctor in the Elm Creek Valley back in the Civil War era.”

Dr. Granger shot her a look of surprise as she dried her hands. “That Jonathan Granger was my great-grandfather. How in the world do you know about him?”

“Oh, my goodness, do we have some stories to share with you,” exclaimed Sylvia, just as Sarah cried out in pain from the worst contraction yet. “But I suppose they'll have to wait for another occasion.”

Before she knew it, Sarah was on her back with her feet in stirrups. Her momentary delight at the novelty of being treated by a descendant of the physician who had tended and befriended Sylvia's Bergstrom ancestors vanished with the crushing squeeze of another contraction. She mourned the absence of Dr. Jamison, whose brisk efficiency had earned Sarah's respect and confidence throughout her pregnancy. While she was not particularly warm or maternal, she possessed an aura of reassuring competency that only years of experience could give. This young doctor did not.

“Dr. Granger,” she gasped, her uncertainty augmented by the strangeness of addressing a young woman by that name, “forgive me for asking, but have you ever delivered a baby before? No offense, but you look—” The rest of her words were swallowed up in a wave of pain.

“No offense taken. I've delivered hundreds of healthy babies both as an attendee and a resident. Well, Sarah—may I call you Sarah?” Sarah quickly nodded, breathing in rhythm. “You're dilated to six centimeters, and the babies' heartbeats are strong and steady. Sometime today, you're going to become a mother.”

Dr. Granger patted Sarah's knee, beckoned the nurse to assist her into a more comfortable position, and ordered an epidural. Mulling over the doctor's words, Sarah felt joy and fear and hope welling up within her from a deep, deep source she had not known existed. She was going to be a mother. She blinked away tears and thanked the doctor, who smiled reassuringly and left to see to her other patients.

Before long the epidural took hold and she felt far more comfortable. Then she remembered Matt and her mother, driving through the gathering storm. Sylvia had gone to the waiting room to update Andrew and Joe on her progress, so Sarah asked Gretchen to search her tote bag for her cell phone. She felt dizzy with relief to see a text from Matt—“How are you? How are the babies?”—although she wished he had mentioned when he expected to arrive. Before responding to him she called her mother to tell her that she was fine, that the babies were fine, and that she should come straight to the hospital rather than stopping by Elm Creek Manor. The roads were slippery and becoming more so, her mother reported, but the salt trucks and snowplows were out in force and Sarah shouldn't worry.

Sarah would worry less once she finally heard Matt's voice. She called his number and sighed with relief when he answered on the second ring. “Hey, honey,” he said cheerfully. “How are you?”

“I'm feeling much better now that I'm hooked up to the epidural. Where are you? When do you think you'll get here?”

Matt laughed, but then he abruptly stopped. “Wait. Epidural? You're already at the hospital?”

“Of course I am. What did you think? Didn't you get my text this morning? Didn't you get my voice mail?”

“Well, yes, but all you said was—”

“I said you needed to come home!”

“You said you hoped I was on my way home, but you've been saying that for days.”

“But this time I said it while I was having contractions!” Her panic soared. “Matt, where are you?”

Matt panted slightly, as if he were running. “I'm on a site.”

“You're still in Uniontown?”

“Not for much longer. I'm leaving the building and running to the truck.” Wind whipped past the microphone, drowning out most of his words. “I wanted to finish a few things, then what with the storm and everything I thought I'd call you after lunch and see if you really needed me to come home—”

“I really do.” Her tears spilled over. She felt Gretchen take her hand; Sarah threw her a stricken look and forced herself to take a deep breath, to calm down for the sake of the twins. “If you had listened to me from the beginning—”

“I'm sorry.” The truck's engine roared to life. “I'm really sorry. But you're not alone, right? Gretchen and Sylvia and your mom are there, right?”

“My mom's still on the way.” No, she wasn't alone, but she wanted Matt. She needed Matt. “Just try to get here as soon as you can.”

“I will. Sarah”—he hesitated—“I love you.”

“Drive carefully,” she said, and hung up. She set down the phone and burst into tears. She didn't need to explain; Sylvia and Gretchen had easily deduced what had happened.

“You're going to be fine,” Gretchen soothed her. “I know you want Matt here, but if he can't make it in time, you're still going to be fine. Haven't we taken all the childbirth classes together? I'm not as handsome as Matt, but I think I can fill in for him as coach just fine if need be.”

Sarah managed a shaky laugh. “You'll probably be a better coach, since you took the classes.” She could not say the same for her husband. She fought to calm herself, to regain control of her breathing, to recapture the steady, even rhythm that had helped her ride the waves of discomfort not dulled by the epidural. She tried to put her husband and her disappointment and the storm out of her mind and concentrate on her babies, the beautiful babies she would soon hold in her arms. She was considering asking Sylvia to retrieve the book from her tote bag when a knock sounded on the door.

“Don't start without us,” Gwen called, bursting into the room in a bright red wool coat that clashed merrily with her gray-streaked auburn hair. Following close behind was Diane, who beamed at Sarah before turning a wary eye upon the medical equipment surrounding her, and Agnes, petite and white-haired, her blue eyes joyful behind pink-tinted glasses.

Agnes hurried to her side and kissed her cheek, her rosewater scent lingering in the air. “Oh, my dear, you look beautiful.”

Sarah had to laugh. “I couldn't possibly.”

“I've been saying for years that Agnes needs new glasses,” Diane agreed, and when Gwen glared at her, she added, “What? You want me to lie? Sarah's in labor with twins, not preparing for a photo shoot.”

“Matt was going to take pictures,” Sarah suddenly remembered. “I left the camera in the library.”

“I brought mine,” said Agnes, patting her purse. “I'll lend it to Sylvia.”

“You aren't staying?” asked Sylvia.

“We figured you, Gretchen, and Carol would have everything under control,” said Gwen. “Is she on her way?”

Sarah breathed through a contraction and managed a nod.

“We just wanted to say hello and wish you well, Sarah,” Agnes said, patting her shoulder. “You couldn't possibly relax with all of us crowded in here.”

“This isn't all of us.” Diane looked around. “Where's the father-to-be?”

“He's on his way,” said Gretchen, squeezing Sarah's hand.

“On his way from the manor, not from Uniontown, right?” queried Diane, glancing to the window, where thick clumps of heavy, wet flakes obscured the view. “If not, he'll never make it, and he'd be stupid to try.”

Sarah winced.

“Don't pay any attention to her,” Gwen said. “She's been a nervous wreck about driving in the snow ever since she slid off the road last year.”

“Tim doesn't know it yet,” said Diane, shuddering at the memory, “but someday we're retiring to Arizona.”

“You can't leave,” protested Gwen. “First Judy, then Summer, then Bonnie, and now you?”

“I didn't say we'd move anytime soon,” said Diane, looking mildly affronted that Gwen would think her so near retirement age. “Anyway, Bonnie's coming back next month.”

“I spoke to her a few days ago,” remarked Sylvia. “She said she would be sorry to miss this happy day.”

“She doesn't have to,” said Gwen. “We can hook up a Webcam and stream the entire birth live on the Internet.”

“No, thanks,” declared Sarah, prompting laughter from her friends. She managed a smile and shifted in her bed. Quickly Gretchen was there to plump her pillow and adjust the blanket. The epidural was wearing off, and she was becoming more uncomfortable with each passing moment. Gretchen spoke to her gently and encouragingly, reminding her to breathe deeply and evenly, to rest and to relax. Sarah closed her eyes and nodded, remembering everything they had practiced in their weekly classes. How fortunate she was that Gretchen had offered to fill in for Matt, and that her other friends were close at hand. If she were lying in this hospital room utterly alone, she knew her strength and courage would falter.

“This takes me back,” said Gwen, sitting down on the sofa and resting her elbows on her knees. “Remember how we all met? Well, not all of us, just those of us who were here before Sylvia's return to Waterford.”

“It was at Bonnie's quilt shop,” said Diane. “On a beautiful autumn Saturday.”

“I was in charge of the Waterford Quilting Guild's annual charity raffle quilt,” Agnes recalled. “Diane and I were shopping for fabric to make it.”

“Bonnie was helping me and Summer at the cutting table,” said Gwen. “Judy came in with a Baby Bunting quilt top, finished except for the border.”

“She looked as if she were nine and a half months pregnant,” Diane added for the benefit of Sarah, Sylvia, and Gretchen, who had not been present.

“That's perhaps not the best time to go fabric shopping,” said Gretchen.

“She desperately wanted to finish the quilt before her baby arrived,” said Agnes. “But it gradually became clear to the rest of us that she was in labor.”

“It's hard to pinpoint what gave it away,” said Diane, tapping her chin with a finger. “Was it when she kept groaning from the pain of the contractions, or was it when her water broke all over the quilt shop floor?”

“You're kidding me,” said Sarah, shocked and delighted.

“The truly funny part is,” said Gwen, “that when we insisted upon calling nine-one-one, she told us she couldn't be in labor yet because”—Diane and Agnes joined in gleefully—“her due date wasn't for three more days!”

“As if a baby could read a calendar,” said Diane.

Sylvia laughed and Gretchen smiled, but Sarah said, “That's an easy mistake to make.”

Gwen laughed so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. “Be that as it may, Baby Emily had no intention of keeping anyone's schedule but her own. The ambulance came and whisked Judy off to the hospital—”

“And you went along to keep her company,” Agnes broke in.

Gwen nodded. “And while she was recovering, the rest of us got together and finished the Baby Bunting quilt so Judy would be able to bring Emily home from the hospital snuggled up in it, just as she had wanted. And that, as they say, was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“I can't believe I never heard this story before.” Sarah had to wait for a contraction to rise, crest, and pass before she could speak again. “I thought you met through your quilt guild.”

“A few of us knew one another in passing from the guild,” Diane acknowledged, “but we weren't really close. I'd known Agnes since the time she babysat me as a girl, but Gwen—well, I thought Gwen was a loud, obnoxious hippie.”

“You still think so,” said Gwen cheerfully.

“Of course, but now I realize that's part of your charm,” Diane teased. “I wouldn't want you any other way, now that I've figured out you're all bluster. If I ever suspected that you might actually
do
something to foist your liberal values on the rest of us, I might worry, but I know you're harmless.”