A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel

by Chiaverini, Jennifer

  What Gretchen had not expected was to round the corner and see the front porch, yard, and driveway filled with women and children, a richly diverse palette of skin tones, their ages spanning twenty years, accompanied by children of all ages. It was, she realized as they greeted her warmly, a reunion of former Abiding Savior residents whom she had taught through the years.

  Overwhelmed, she listened as they told the stories of their lives after they had departed the mission, the trials they had faced and hardships they had overcome thanks in no small measure to Gretchen and all she had taught them. “You were the first person who ever believed I could make something of myself,” Alicia told her, a sentiment that Gretchen was to hear again and again throughout the day. “When you believed it, I was able to believe it.”

  Later, when he caught her alone, Joe noted the surprising number of teachers in the group, all of whom claimed Gretchen as their inspiration. His face beamed with pride as he kissed her. At the end of the celebration, her former students presented her with a beautiful Album quilt, each block signed with a heartfelt message of gratitude for all she had done for them when they were most alone and in need.

  Gretchen stammered out her thanks and tried to explain that they were praising her too much. All she had done was to spare a few hours a week to support the mission Louis had begun. Everyone teased her good-naturedly and assured her that they knew how much of herself she had given to them even if she didn’t, and she deserved every expression of their thankfulness, and more.

  As the party broke up, Gretchen lingered to bid one last farewell to Louis and Andrea. Embracing them both in turn, Gretchen was suddenly inspired to say, “I’ll still make quilts for your residents just as I’ve always done. I’ll mail them to you.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” said Lewis. His hair had gone white since the day they had first met, but his deep voice had lost none of its warm accent.

  “Can’t let me?” Gretchen echoed. “You don’t mean you’d refuse my donations?”

  Louis scratched his head, stalling for time. “I wouldn’t have put it in those words, but I guess it’s fair to say that’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Why?” Gretchen protested, astonished. “It’s no trouble. I enjoy making the quilts, and we all know how much the residents appreciate having something warm and comforting to call their own. If you’re worried that my new job will keep me too busy, I promise you I won’t be working any more hours a day than I did at the quilt shop.”

  “It’s not that,” said Andrea, glancing at her husband and drawing closer to him as he put his arm around her shoulders. “You’ve blessed us with so many wonderful gifts, but now you’re moving on, and the time has come for you to share your talents with some other worthwhile group.”

  “Your former quilt guild has volunteered to provide us with as many quilts as we could ever need,” Louis explained. “I’m sure you’ll find a worthy cause in your new community that needs your gifts—both material and of the spirit. If you don’t find them, they’ll find you. You’re a good steward of your talents and the Lord will send someone who needs you your way.”

  Speechless, Gretchen nodded, wondering if the faint echo of Monsignor Paul’s words from so long ago was a sign.

  SHE WONDERED STILLas she sat among her new friends at Elm Creek Manor, enjoying the warmth of the fireside and the pleasure of their company, pinning together colorful fabric pieces to sew into whimsical stars. When Sylvia had explained that their quilter’s holiday was meant to give them time to work on Christmas projects, Gretchen had instinctively begun a new crib quilt, the same size and style as she used to make for the youngest residents of Abiding Savior. She had caught Sarah giving her work sidelong glances, and she was sure the younger woman wondered why Gretchen made baby quilts when she had no children or grandchildren of her own. Little did Sarah know that Gretchen also had two completed crib quilts lovingly folded and put away upstairs in her bedroom, until she could decide what to do with them. She could send them to Louis—despite what he had said, he wouldn’t waste money mailing them back—but he wanted her to find a worthy cause in her new community to support, and sending him the quilts would be an admission of failure. Surely someone in the Elm Creek Valley needed her quilts, perhaps the Holiday Boutique at Sylvia’s church.

  Suddenly, standing nearby with the phone pressed to one ear, Sylvia groped for Gretchen’s ottoman, and Gretchen quickly swung her legs out of the way just before Sylvia sat down. “Are you all right?” Gretchen asked, but Sylvia only gave her a trembling smile that was probably meant to be reassuring. Sylvia’s conversation with Summer had evidently shifted from Jeremy’s unexpected visit to something about someone named Thomas, a private detective, and the where-abouts of someone named Scott Nelson. Gretchen tried to parse out the details, but with only Sylvia’s half of the conversation to work with, she soon gave up. Then, as suddenly as she had sat down, Sylvia laughed, rose, and briskly crossed the parquet floor on her way to the portioned classrooms, leaving her friends staring after her.

  “What was that all about?” asked Carol.

  “I have no idea,” Gretchen replied. “It seemed like bad news about Jeremy, then surprising news about … something, but it seems to have ended well.”

  Carol looked bewildered. “Do all quilting bees at Elm Creek Manor take such unusual turns?”

  “Usually,” said Gwen, frowning in puzzlement. “Why wouldn’t Jeremy tell Summer he was coming for the weekend? She doesn’t like those kind of surprises.”

  “Maybe Anna knows,” offered Agnes. They all looked to the sewing machine the chef had been using recently, and only then realized she had not returned from—wherever she had gone.

  Gretchen tried to remember how long Anna had been absent, but her curiosity swiftly shifted to Sylvia as she reappeared clutching a scrap of paper in one hand and the phone in the other. “What did Summer say?” Gretchen asked. “Is it good news?”

  “Possibly.” Sylvia seated herself on Gretchen’s ottoman again. “It’s certainly promising.”

  “What’s promising?” asked Agnes eagerly. “Goodness, don’t keep us in suspense.”

  “Summer may have found a descendant of my cousin, Elizabeth Bergstrom Nelson.”

  A chorus of gasps and exclamations went up from the circle of quilters. “Isn’t Elizabeth the one who went to California in the 1920s and vanished off the face of the earth?” asked Sarah from the ironing board where she was pressing the seams of the two rows she had joined together. Her expression showed strain, but some instinct told Gretchen it had nothing to do with the weight of the twins.

  “I wouldn’t have put it with such dramatic flair, but yes, she is indeed.” Or rather, she was. “Thanks to my friend Grace Daniels, I was able to give Summer a place to focus her search of historical records, and now—” Sylvia held up the scrap of paper with a flourish. “I have the name, address, and phone number of Scott Nelson, who may be Elizabeth’s grandson.”

  “Are you going to call him?” asked Gwen.

  “Of course.”

  “What are you going to say?” asked Sarah.

  Sylvia hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  “It doesn’t really matter what you say,” said Carol. “He’ll be thrilled to hear from a long-lost relative.”

  “Perhaps.” Sylvia studied the scrap of paper. “On the other hand, it’s entirely possible he’s never heard of me, or of Elm Creek Manor, or of any of the Bergstroms. Elizabeth broke her ties to this family decades ago. How likely is it that she passed down any stories of us to her grandson?”

  “You can be the one to tell him,” said Gretchen. “Think of what a marvelous gift that would be, to restore a missing piece of his family history.”

  “Even so, it may come as quite a shock to hear from a first cousin twice removed that he never knew existed.” Sylvia appeared to mull it over, but then she placed the phone on the table beside Gretchen’s chair. “I’ll need to think this over carefully and pla
n exactly what I want to say.”

  “You could write him a letter instead,” suggested Agnes. “Sometimes when you have something difficult to say, it’s easier to express oneself in writing.”

  “Now you tell me,” said Anna, returning to her sewing machine, cell phone in hand. She flicked a switch on the side and tossed it into her bag. “If I reach for that thing again, I want someone to smack me.”

  “Let’s not resort to violence,” said Gwen. “Hey, Anna, do you know why Jeremy didn’t tell Summer he was coming to visit?”

  Anna was picking up fabric pieces from the table, and to Gretchen it appeared that she was packing up for the day. “He thought she would tell him not to come.”

  “Why would she do that?” asked Gwen, bewildered. “Why would he think she would?”

  “It’s a mystery,” said Anna shortly, folding the sections of her unfinished quilt and tucking them into her bag. “I’ve lost interest in this project. Does anyone want help?”

  “It’s a shame Diane left,” said Agnes, glancing out the windows at the swirl of blinding white. “She would’ve gladly taken you up on the offer.”

  “I hope she’s made it home by now,” said Sarah, shaking her head and adjusting her partially completed quilt top on the ironing board.

  “If no one needs me here, I’ll be in the kitchen,” said Anna, setting her stuffed tote bag out of the way so someone else could use the sewing machine. “I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee and see what I can throw together for supper, since it looks like we’ll all be spending the night.”

  “Are there any leftovers from our Patchwork Potluck?” asked Sylvia.

  “Leftovers of leftovers?” asked Gwen, dubious.

  “Never fear,” said Anna. “I’m well practiced at turning nothing into something.”

  “Whatever you make will be delicious, I’m sure,” said Sylvia, giving the scrap of paper one last look before folding it and slipping it into the pocket of her cardigan.

  “Let me help,” said Carol, setting her quilt aside and rising. “Sarah was such a picky eater as a child that I learned a few tricks to make a tempting dish out of a bit of this and a bit of that. Besides, it’s her fault you have so few leftovers to work with.”

  “I’m sure Anna already knows anything you might show her, Mom,” said Sarah, an edge to her voice.

  “But I’d still welcome the help,” said Anna quickly. Shooting her daughter a perplexed frown, Carol rose and followed Anna from the ballroom. Moments after they left, Anna’s purse buzzed—or rather, not her purse, but the phone inside it.

  “Should we answer?” asked Agnes. “What if it’s important?”

  “They’ll leave a message,” said Sarah. “If Anna wants us to hit her rather than let her answer her phone, I think she’d prefer to let the call go to voicemail.”

  They resumed sewing and waited for the insistent buzzing to cease. Sarah rubbed her lower back and took her freshly pressed rows from the ironing board to the parquet dance floor where the others lay in place. Gretchen watched as she carefully eased herself to the floor and reached for a new row to pin to those already sewn together, when suddenly her foot knocked her plastic box of pins over and sent them scattering.

  Quickly Gretchen set her quilt aside and hurried over to help. “I’m so clumsy,” Sarah glowered, straining to reach a pin that lay just beyond her fingertips.

  “Let me get those,” said Gretchen. “You get the ones within easy reach.”

  Together they picked up the pins and returned them to the box. Sarah spoke not a word, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone. Gretchen had seen that same look of quiet distress on the faces of many young women through the years, and she knew at once that something was troubling Sarah, something more than the storm, her mother’s careless insults, and the scattered pins.

  “Is something wrong, Sarah?” she asked, touching her on the shoulder.

  “I’m just tired.”

  Gretchen tucked her skirt beneath her and sat down. “I’m sure you are, but I don’t think that accounts for everything.”

  “Well—” Sarah hesitated and glanced at the fireside, where the remaining Elm Creek Quilters were engrossed in conversation. “It’s—it’s probably nothing, and I didn’t want to say anything in front of everyone and have everyone analyze and speculate. You know how it is.”

  Gretchen nodded, but she suspected that when Sarah said “everyone,” she meant her mother. “I won’t say a word to anyone. Promise.”

  Sarah flashed her a quick, tearful smile of thanks. “It’s Matt,” she said. “Ever since college—no, before that, even when Matt was still in high school—his father has made it clear that he expects Matt to take over his construction company someday.”

  Gretchen studied the blue, tan, and burgundy Log Cabin variations Sarah was assembling into a top, row by row. “This quilt is a Christmas gift for him, isn’t it?”

  Sarah laughed shortly. “Ironically, yes. All the while I’ve been working on this quilt for him to try to give him a sense of Elm Creek Quilts as a wonderful, thriving, creative place, he’s been redoubling his efforts to convince Matt to take over the family business.”

  “But Matt enjoys working here, doesn’t he? He’s contributed as much to Elm Creek Quilt Camp as any founding Elm Creek Quilter.”

  “I agree completely, and yes, he does enjoy his work here, but he’s also very loyal to his father.”

  “I would imagine that he’s more loyal to you,” said Gretchen. “You have a life here. Matt wouldn’t ask you to give up Elm Creek Quilts.”

  Sarah hesitated. “No, at least, he hasn’t yet.”

  “But you think he might?”

  “His dad injured his back a few years ago, and when it’s at its worst, as it is now, he can’t work.”

  “That’s a shame. Is early retirement an option?”

  “It wouldn’t even be early, but no, he can’t afford to retire. I also think it would break his heart to see a company he’s devoted his life to simply dissolve.” Sarah pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I understand how he feels. I certainly hope Elm Creek Quilts will endure long after I retire, but—” She patted her abdomen. “I’m not going to expect the twins to take it over for my sake.”

  “And that’s what you suspect he wants Matt to do?”

  “Suspect? I’m sure of it. I don’t mean I think he’s faking the back injury, but when it’s acted up in the past, he simply took on fewer jobs and asked Matt to help him on weekends. Now he says he needs Matt all winter.”

  Gretchen had already guessed the answer, but she asked, “What did Matt tell him?”

  “He agreed to do it. He didn’t even ask me first.”

  “Oh, Sarah.” Gretchen shook her head. “He should have discussed it with you.”

  “That’s what I think, but once he’d made up his mind, what else could I do but go along? Like he said, the orchard and gardens are dormant for the winter and camp is closed for the season. Winter is the one time of year Elm Creek Quilts can spare him.”

  “But what about you?” asked Gretchen gently. “Can you spare him, for his father’s sake?”

  “I don’t want to,” said Sarah tearfully. “I’m sorry if I sound like a spoiled brat, but we have so much to do before the babies arrive—childproofing the manor, decorating the nursery, taking childbirth classes, going through all those prenatal doctor’s appointments—and I want Matt with me for all of it.”

  “Of course you do.” Gretchen put her arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “That’s perfectly understandable.”

  “On the other hand, I don’t want his dad’s business to fail. It would be my fault for not allowing Matt to help him, and they would never forgive me.”

  Gretchen thought the fear of resentment a poor reason for Sarah to agree to the arrangement against her wishes, but she kept that to herself. “How long will Matt be away? He’ll return in time for the birth, right?”

  “He assures me he will, but—” S
arah pushed the quilt rows away, frustrated. “What if he changes his mind? What if after the babies are born, he decides that his father can’t get along without him? What if he gives up his job here to take over his father’s business after all? What if he expects me to follow him?”

  “That’s a lot of ‘what ifs,’ ” said Gretchen. “You don’t know if any of that will happen. There’s no sense in worrying.”

  Sarah didn’t seem to hear her. “I won’t leave the manor. I love Elm Creek Quilts. I’d miss quilt camp. I’d miss my friends. I couldn’t do it. He’ll have to commute, but then the twins will hardly ever see him, and what kind of life is that?”

  “Sarah, dear,” said Gretchen, cupping Sarah’s face in her hands. “You’re getting yourself all worked up over possibilities that may never occur. Take a deep breath, honey.”

  To her relief, Sarah did. She took one deep, shaky breath and let it out, and then another. “I don’t want to go through this pregnancy alone.”

  “You’re not alone,” Gretchen told her firmly. “I know you want Matt by your side every moment, and if not for his father’s troubles, he would be. But you won’t be alone. Agnes has been beside herself wanting to help you decorate the nursery; she would have offered before but she didn’t want to intrude. Joe can childproof the manor; he’s brought far more treacherous buildings than this up to code. And as for your childbirth classes, I know it’s best to have your husband along, but if Matt can’t be there, I’ll go with you.”

  Sarah was so surprised that she choked out a laugh. “You would? You’d do that for me?”

  “Of course. I’ll coach you with your breathing and feed you ice chips and take care of anything else you might need.” She had accompanied frightened girls little more than half Sarah’s age through the birthing process and had witnessed nearly every possible complication. “I’m not as handsome as Matt, but I’m far more experienced, and I promise you, you’ll be in good hands.”

  As Gretchen explained how it was that a woman with no medical degree and no children of her own had acquired so much experience helping new mothers, she remembered Louis Walker’s prediction that a worthy cause needing her support would find her, if she did not find it first. Sarah was surrounded by people who loved her, and if Gretchen had not offered to attend childbirth classes with her, her mother or one of the other Elm Creek Quilters would have, but Gretchen knew there were other women who had no friends to turn to, who could not make quilts to keep their children warm.