But Gwen would leave nothing to chance. She wrote impassioned letters to the history departments of Cornell and Harvard, Victoria’s alma mater, to remind them of Victoria’s heroic ongoing battle, and she encouraged them to organize their own bone marrow donor drives. To her delight, they took up the challenge in admirable fashion, arranging a friendly competition between the two universities to see which could register the most donors. Between the three schools, more than three thousand potential bone marrow donors joined the registry, offering hope for a transplant and renewed good health to patients across the country.
Gwen’s intention at the outset was to find a donor for Victoria, but she celebrated each announcement that a match had been made—a student at Waterford College to a child in Michigan, a professor at Cornell to a young mother in Iowa, an executive assistant with the Department of Biology at Harvard to a teenage boy in Dallas. “We’ll find someone for you,” she assured Victoria, and then, remembering her vow not to paint bleak truths in rosy hues, she added, “If our drives don’t turn up a donor, someone else’s might.”
And that was what finally happened. A month after the last results came back from those tested at the university events, a woman in Georgia participated in a donor drive at her church organized on behalf of a fellow parishioner. She was an ideal match for Victoria. As Gwen rejoiced for her friend, she hoped that a donor would be found for the Georgia churchgoer. That was how it usually worked, she had discovered. Volunteers who signed up hoping to help someone they cared about ended up helping distant strangers, keeping their hopes alive that someday soon a stranger would be found to help their loved one.
One part of Victoria’s ordeal had ended and another had begun. She underwent radiation treatments to destroy her bone marrow and prepare her to receive the donor’s stem cells. Gwen waited apprehensively for updates from Victoria’s son during the long months of her hospital stay, wishing she could visit, but understanding the need to limit Victoria’s exposure to germs while the donor stem cells rebuilt her immune system.
Again Victoria’s indomitable spirit and optimism carried her through. As time passed, she regained her strength and was permitted to return home. After taking a year’s sabbatical, she was able to resume her duties at Cornell. She attended her son’s wedding and was present at the birth of her first grandchild. From time to time she returned to the hospital for brief stays to deal with anemia or perplexing infections, but her doctors said she showed no sign of rejection. The bone marrow transplant had cured her cancer.
Yet it seemed to Gwen that the battle waged on. She had not expected Victoria to be hospitalized so frequently so her doctors could track down the cause of a fever or unexpected fatigue. She had not expected Victoria to have to deal with inconvenient, uncomfortable side effects of her essential medications. But whenever she saw Victoria, active and self-assured, she took heart. Her mentor had been given a new lease on life, and she was clearly making the most of it.
As the years passed, Gwen grew accustomed to Victoria’s wry emails announcing that she was in the hospital yet again. She was relieved when Victoria mentioned that she planned to retire soon, for she worried that Victoria had been pushing herself too hard to make up for time lost to convalescence. Victoria told Gwen she planned to resume quilting in her retirement, for the demands of academic life had prevented her from “nurturing her inner artist” for too long. Her first project, she told Gwen, would be a quilt for her bone marrow donor, whom she had met two years after her transplant and had quickly befriended. Victoria and Kathryn had met in person three times and spoke on the phone weekly. “It’s remarkable how close we’ve become,” Victoria remarked. “She’s saved my life, and for that I’ll be forever grateful, but she’s also become as dear to me as a sister just because of who she is.”
Victoria wanted to thank Kathryn for her generous gift of life, and she could think of no more perfect gift than a quilt she made herself. She was out of practice, but she thought with a bit of effort she would remember her old skills. She had found a perfect block, too, a pattern that resembled an unusual forked star superimposed upon a square and named after Kathryn’s hometown, Augusta. If she applied herself, Victoria speculated, she might be able to finish the quilt in time for Christmas.
Through spring and summer, Gwen followed Victoria’s progress with delight, enjoying the amusing reversal of their old teacher and student roles. With Sylvia’s blessing, she invited Victoria to spend a week at Elm Creek Quilt Camp so she could work uninterrupted on her labor of love. She and Gwen spent so much time chatting and strolling through the lovely gardens of the estate that Victoria did not accomplish quite as much work as she had planned, but upon her departure, she declared that she had enjoyed herself thoroughly and might make Elm Creek Manor the spot for an annual getaway. Gwen, happy to have spent a week nurturing their long and enduring friendship, assured her she was welcome to return anytime.
But with autumn came news from Victoria’s son that she had been hospitalized again, and something in his tone warned Gwen that this visit was not routine. Her lungs and kidneys were inexplicably shutting down, and her doctors were fighting to halt her decline. She drifted in and out of consciousness, her son said, his voice breaking, but she had asked to see Gwen.
Immediately Gwen arranged for a graduate student to cover her classes and raced to Victoria’s side, painfully reminded of the many times she had covered for Victoria so she could be with her dying sister. But Victoria could not be dying, she told herself firmly as she drove through the rolling, forested Pennsylvania Appalachians, insensible to their breathtaking autumnal beauty. Victoria had survived the bone marrow transplant and countless infections and adjustments to her meds. Surely this was just another setback—more serious than the others, perhaps, but nothing she could not overcome.
On the day of her arrival, Victoria was too ill for visitors, but Gwen was permitted to see her the next morning. Donning scrubs, mask, hairnet, and booties, Gwen sat at her bedside and forced back tears as Victoria weakly questioned her about her research, her ongoing battles with her department chair to investigate subjects he considered beneath notice, and her plans for the next season of Elm Creek Quilt Camp. “I don’t think I’ll be able to finish Kathryn’s quilt,” she said, after Gwen had run out of things to say that avoided the obvious matter of greatest concern.
“Of course you will,” said Gwen vehemently. “It’s your quilt, your gift. You’ll finish it on your own, and Kathryn will cherish it.”
Victoria replied with a look of mild reproach, too exhausted to manage the words. Gwen understood: Even now Victoria loathed false pleasantries, especially now, but Gwen could not bring herself to say what they both suspected was true.
“You won’t be able to finish the quilt in time for Christmas,” Gwen amended. “Not unless they let you bring your sewing machine here.” She frowned in mock disapproval and waved a hand to indicate the medical equipment surrounding her beloved mentor. “Frankly, with all these contraptions, I doubt there’s a spare outlet to plug it in anyway.”
Victoria smiled faintly. “Then you’ll finish the quilt for me and give it to Kathryn with my gratitude and deepest affection?”
“I’ll work on it while you’re in the hospital to keep things on schedule,” said Gwen. It was the most she could bear to promise. “It’ll be finished by Christmas.”
“Don’t let Kathryn blame herself for my death,” said Victoria. “The bone marrow transplant worked. I’m free of cancer. Her gift gave me more years, better years, than I would have known otherwise. I saw my son marry. I held my first grandchild. I won that NEH grant—”
Gwen choked out a laugh. “Well, thank goodness you lived to see that NEH grant.”
Victoria smiled, clearly pleased at the return of Gwen’s sense of humor.
“Don’t give up,” Gwen implored. “It’s not done until it’s done.”
“You should know better than to think you need to tell me that,” said Victoria. “I�
��m not one to stop fighting.”
“I know,” said Gwen. She reached out and held Victoria’s hand, feeling her lingering strength and undiminished love through the thin fabric that separated them.
Gwen returned to the Elm Creek Valley, where she awaited news from Victoria’s son and hoped for the best. Memories flooded her as she worked upon Victoria’s gift for Kathryn—her first months as Victoria’s student, their many discussions about history and jokes about department politics, the times Victoria had offered guidance as an experienced single mother, their ongoing professional relationship in all the years since Gwen left Cornell and forged her own path, their enduring friendship. Gwen couldn’t imagine what her life would have been if Victoria had not been a part of it. She did not want to learn what it would be without her.
Victoria died at the end of October. Gwen took a week’s leave of absence from Waterford College and told the Elm Creek Quilters she would be out of town to attend her mentor’s funeral. They offered sympathy and comfort, as she had known they would, but although she had mentioned Victoria throughout the years and they had met her during her visit to Elm Creek Quilt Camp, they did not understand all that Victoria had meant to her or the depth of her loss. Even Summer did not fully understand.
She met Kathryn for the first time at Victoria’s funeral. “She spoke of you often,” said Kathryn after they had embraced and shed a few tears of grief and welcome. “You were her favorite student. She was so proud of you, as proud of you as if you were her own daughter.”
At that, Gwen broke down again, and Kathryn held her comfortingly. When Gwen managed to regain some composure, she told Kathryn how grateful Victoria had been—how grateful everyone who loved Victoria had been—for her selfless gift of life. Kathryn demurred, saying that her pain had been minimal and her recovery swift. Then, suddenly, her own composure shattered. “What good did it do in the end?” she asked, glancing to the sanctuary where Victoria lay at rest.
“You did a great deal of good,” Gwen insisted, and told her what Victoria had said at their last meeting. Kathryn seemed to take some comfort in the thought of the time Victoria had gained, and all she had put into those years. Kathryn’s gift and Victoria’s battle had not been in vain.
AS GWEN SATby the fireside in Elm Creek Manor with Victoria’s quilt draped over her lap, a wave of grief washed over her. She stroked the quilt and breathed deeply until it receded. The soft greens, warm pinks, and rich browns soothed her troubled spirit, and she knew that when Kathryn received the quilt, she would understand how thankful Victoria had been for her generous gift of time and hope. Even though she had not lived to a ripe old age, she had lived longer, more comfortably, and with greater appreciation of life because of Kathryn.
At the end of an elegant swirl of quilting stitches, Gwen tied a knot in the thread and popped it through the back of the quilt so it was hidden within the warm batting. Snipping the trailing end of the thread, she set the scissors aside, loosened the screw holding the slender hoops together, and carried quilt and hoops to a clear space on the parquet dance floor. She spread out the quilt, but before moving the hoops to a new section, she stood and admired Victoria’s handiwork, not only what was displayed before her but also what had been left in the hearts and minds of all who had known her. Victoria had left behind a rich legacy of historical scholarship, had inspired thousands of students, and had instilled in Gwen a passion for intellectual inquiry. Victoria had been as proud of Gwen as if she were her own daughter, Kathryn had told her. Gwen could not have asked for any greater benediction.
“It’s beautiful,” said Sarah, looking over from her seat on the floor nearby, where she was piecing together rows of blocks for her father-in-law’s quilt, Gretchen by her side. “Your quilting complements your friend’s piecing very well.”
Gwen smiled as her gaze traveled across the quilt, Victoria’s final masterpiece. “We’ve always been good collaborators,” she said, “and she’s never failed to broaden my perspective. I wouldn’t have chosen these colors or fabrics or even this block, but now that I’ve worked with them, I see the artistry I would have missed without her guidance.”
Victoria was ever the teacher, but now it was up to Gwen to complete the unfinished work she had left behind, a gift of gratitude to comfort a grieving friend.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SARAH PINNED THElast row to the bottom of the quilt top, wondering how a gift begun with such good intentions could have so quickly turned into an empty gesture. The nearly finished top was turning out as beautifully as she had hoped, the cabins underneath the stars reminiscent of snug homes with fires on the hearth, of warmth and comfort on snowy winter nights. But she would not sleep soundly in the coming winter with Matt so far away.
She understood now that her father-in-law had never seen Matt’s job at Elm Creek Manor as anything more than an interim position, something to occupy his time until he decided to settle down, return home, and take over the construction company. Perhaps Hank even believed that the approach of fatherhood would compel Matt to shoulder the responsibilities he had too long neglected.
But Matt had a home, a rewarding career, and many important responsibilities at Elm Creek Manor. Sarah could accept Matt’s absence over the winter, especially since Gretchen had promised to attend childbirth classes with her, but that didn’t mean she was happy about it, or that she would patiently endure his absence when the babies arrived and throughout all the days that followed. Nor would she give up the home, the friends, the life she had built for herself at Elm Creek Manor so that Matt could fulfill his father’s dream for him, a dream that had never been his own.
Matt needed to know that before he made any promises to his father on her behalf, promises she could not fulfill.
GRETCHEN HELPED SARAHto her feet so she could carry the pinned quilt top to a sewing machine and attach the last row to her father-in-law’s quilt top. Although Sarah’s circumstances differed vastly from those of the young women Gretchen had known at Abiding Savior Christian Outreach, her need for support and for assurances that she was not alone at a critical time was the same. So, too, was the warmth and certainty Gretchen felt upon knowing that she could help someone in need.
There was just no getting around it, Gretchen thought, smiling to herself. She was happiest and most content with the world when she was helping others.
She had been so busy since joining Elm Creek Quilts that she had lost touch with this essential part of herself. It was time to regain that connection. Making a quilt for the Christmas Boutique at Sylvia’s church would be a decent start, but it did not go far enough. Gretchen’s heart instinctively went out to mothers and their children. Although she was new to the Elm Creek Valley, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find a need she could fill within her new community.
We’re all very busy, but we should never become too preoccupied with our own concerns to help those in need, Sylvia had said earlier that day, and the other Elm Creek Quilters had agreed. Perhaps, as a Christmas gift to herself and her new friends, Gretchen could find a way for the Elm Creek Quilters to give back to their community.
IN THE KITCHEN, Anna and Carol took inventory of the refrigerator and pantry and discussed how to assemble a tasty meal for their impromptu dinner party out of the leftover leftovers. Anna welcomed the distraction. Her distress over her last conversation with Jeremy—and it could very well be the last— had only increased since she had hung up the phone. What kind of idiot admitted she had fallen in love with her best friend and then ended that friendship, all within a matter of minutes? Whenever they’d had misunderstandings in the past, Jeremy had always called or texted her to clear the air before things went too far awry. This time he was not reaching out to her, and she could only assume that she had either scared him off with her declarations of love or he had agreed that it was best to end their friendship since he could not feel for her what she felt for him.
She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes against
tears. If only she hadn’t called him. If only she had waited until she had cooled down and could have composed her thoughts rather than blurting out what she had felt in the moment. She didn’t want to end their friendship, she just wanted—
She took a deep breath and let out a long, shaky sigh. What did she want? Only for Jeremy to think of her as more than a friend. Only for him to love her instead of Summer. Only the impossible. He had not intentionally treated her as his “fallback girl,” or whatever Anna had called it. He had always treated her as a friend, and they could have remained very good friends if Anna hadn’t wanted more.
“Are you all right?” Carol asked, a head of arugula in one hand, a package of bleu cheese in the other. “If you’re worried about dinner, you really shouldn’t be. We’ll make some gourmet turkey sandwiches, toss a salad, and everyone at Elm Creek Manor will leave the table satisfied. We don’t have to be extravagant. They want something quick and easy so they can get back to quilting, remember?”
“You’re right,” said Anna, managing a smile. “But what about dessert?”
Carol nodded toward the pantry. “You have a ton of apples in there. Matt really overdid it with the harvest this year. How about making that apple strudel Sylvia’s family always served for Christmas?”
Anna couldn’t help laughing. “That’s an all day project— peeling the apples, stretching the dough—but I think I could put together a simple cranberry apple crisp. We might even have some ice cream to go with it.”
A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel Page 18