An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler

by Jennier Chiaverini

  She found the back door; it was unlocked, as Bonnie had promised. Just inside the door there was a steep, narrow staircase, which Sarah climbed to the second-story landing while balancing her bag of quilting supplies on top of the box. She knocked on the only door.

  It swung open on the second knock, and Bonnie stuck her head into the hallway. “Welcome, new member,” she cried, and her eyes widened when she spotted the box in Sarah’s arms. “Ooh, what did you bring?”

  “Chocolate chip cookies. I can’t supply much in the way of quilting advice, but at least I can bring snacks.”

  “And we love you for it. You can never have too many snacks, not with this crowd.” Bonnie took the box out of Sarah’s arms and led her into the house. “Hey, everybody, Sarah’s here.”

  Mrs. Emberly, Gwen, Judy, and Diane greeted her from their places around a kitchen counter covered with goodies. Judy was holding her baby.

  “I guess that means we’re just waiting for the kid,” Gwen said, helping herself to a brownie.

  Judy put on a puzzled frown and looked from her baby to Gwen. “You mean Emily?”

  “No, you nut. I mean my kid.”

  “I bet she loves it when you call her that,” Diane said.

  “She doesn’t mind.”

  Mrs. Emberly smiled. “I hope when I’m not around you don’t call me ‘the old lady.’”

  “No, we call you Lady Emberly of the Perfect Stitches.”

  “What do you call me?” Diane asked.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  The door slammed, and Summer rushed in, breathless. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had to finish typing a paper.”

  “It’s nice of you to join us at all, instead of going to the bars like all the other students,” Diane said.

  Summer rolled her eyes. “Not all students live and die for beer.” She put an arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “I’m glad you’re here. If we bring down the average age of the group, they won’t be able to treat me like the baby anymore.”

  “You’ll always be my baby,” Gwen said.

  “That’s different. That, I expect.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “You’re not the youngest, anyway,” Judy reminded her, giving Emily a little pat on her diapered bottom and carrying her into the other room to her playpen.

  Sarah picked up a red plastic plate from the counter and joined the others in selecting treats. Carrying her plate and the bag of quilting supplies in one hand and a cup of diet soda in the other, she followed Summer into the living room.

  A breeze came in through the two large windows along the north wall, carrying with it the sounds of cars passing and people laughing on the street below. The Markham home seemed like an extension of Grandma’s Attic; a rose-and-hunter-green quilt hung above the sofa on the wall opposite the windows, and there was an old treadle sewing machine near the doorway. Sarah wished she could see the other rooms. She had expected a home above a store to be—well, she wasn’t exactly sure what she had expected, but she hadn’t expected a regular middle-class home.

  She found a seat in an armchair next to an upright piano at the far end of the room. Gwen and Summer sat side by side on a loveseat to her left, between the windows. Bonnie carried a rocking chair in from another room and placed it in the corner between Gwen and Sarah.

  When Mrs. Emberly entered, Judy jumped up from her place on the sofa beside Diane. “Here, take my seat.”

  “No, no, that’s all right,” Mrs. Emberly said, settling beside her in an armchair identical to Sarah’s. “This is comfortable. And I like being next to Emily.”

  Emily looked up and smiled when her name was spoken. She shook a plastic ring of keys at the older woman and squealed.

  “I guess Emily wants you there, too,” Judy said, laughing.

  “Just think, Judy,” Diane said. “Fifteen more years and she’ll want real keys, and a car to go with them.”

  Judy pretended to shudder. “Don’t remind me. I have enough to think about between now and then.” She reached into a tote bag and brought out a small quilt in primary colors.

  From across the room, Bonnie looked on in interest. “How’s that coming?”

  “Not bad, though I wish I had more time to work on it. At this rate it won’t be done until Emily’s in first grade.”

  “So I guess you won’t be entering it in the Waterford Summer Quilt Festival after all,” Summer said.

  “No, but I don’t mind. My Log Cabin will be there.”

  Mrs. Emberly reached over to stroke the quilt. “Didn’t I tell you the Jacob’s Ladder would be prettier than a Wandering Foot?”

  Sarah almost dropped her block. “You shouldn’t make a Wandering Foot quilt for Emily.”

  The others looked at her and smiled.

  “I’m only teasing her, honey,” Mrs. Emberly said. “How did you learn about that old superstition? I thought only senior ladies like me believed them anymore.”

  Sarah felt her cheeks growing warm. “I don’t believe it, exactly. Mrs. Compson told me about it.”

  Everyone’s hands froze over their work. The room went quiet.

  After a moment Mrs. Emberly resumed sewing. “Oh. Of course.”

  The others exchanged glances and continued quilting.

  Summer met Sarah’s gaze for the briefest instant before turning to Mrs. Emberly. “What’s that you’re working on? Is it something new?”

  “No, just another Whig Rose block, same as last time.”

  “Can I see it?”

  Mrs. Emberly smiled as Summer came over and sat down on the floor by her feet. She took the block from the older woman and held it up for the others to see.

  Gwen shook her head in admiration. “Beautiful. How are you going to set them?”

  “Oh, I haven’t decided yet. I have to make six more blocks first. Maybe I’ll use a Garden Maze setting.”

  “What’s that?” Sarah asked.

  “You sew dark strips around each block, and then you sew the blocks to each other, separated by light strips.”

  Sarah tried to picture it and couldn’t.

  Mrs. Emberly smiled. “I’ll bring a photo next time.”

  “That’s at my place,” Diane told Sarah. “I’ll draw you a map if you want.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  “Won’t you guys be too tired from quilt camp to have a bee that night?” Summer asked.

  Gwen rolled her eyes. “Right, kid. We’d better just sit around in our rocking chairs recuperating.”

  “What’s quilt camp?” Sarah asked.

  “Next week a few quilt instructors are running a three-day session of workshops and seminars in the Poconos,” Bonnie said. “It’s a fun way to get together with lots of other quilters, learn some new techniques, stuff like that.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “Everyone’s going but you, me, and Bonnie,” Summer said. “And Emily. I have classes.”

  “I wish I could go,” Bonnie said. “But someone has to run the store. Besides, Craig and I are trying to watch the money, what with all three of the kids in college.”

  Sarah figured that if Bonnie couldn’t afford it, she certainly couldn’t either.

  “You guys’ll have to take good notes and share them with us when you get back,” Summer said.

  “It’ll cost you.” Diane nudged Summer with her foot. “Hey, you’re on the wrong side of the room.”

  “Huh?” Summer rose and returned the appliqué block to Mrs. Emberly.

  “This is where the real quilters sit. You belong over there with the machine people.”

  Gwen turned to Bonnie and Sarah, shaking her head in sorrow. “Her mind has finally gone.”

  “No, look,” Diane said. “Mrs. Emberly, Judy, and I always sit on this side of the room, and you, Bonnie, and Summer always sit over there.”

  “I sit here because I want to be near Emily’s playpen,” Judy said.

  “And I sit here because it’s next to the lamp and
away from the window,” Mrs. Emberly added.

  Gwen grinned. “So much for your theory.”

  “And excuse me, but I resent that comment about real quilters.” Summer made a face and returned to her seat beside her mother.

  “Oh, come on,” Diane protested. She looked to Mrs. Emberly and Judy for support. “We all know that true quilts are made entirely by hand.”

  Bonnie sighed. “Here we go again.”

  “That’s tradition. Hand piecing, hand quilting. It’s not that machine quilts aren’t pretty, but they aren’t true quilts. Even if you hand quilt a machine-pieced top, it’s not the same.”

  Gwen set her sketch pad and colored pencils aside. “Diane, I do believe that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  “You only think that because you’re a machine person. Come on. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Judy?”

  “Don’t drag me into this.”

  “Back me up here.”

  “I would if I agreed with you, but I don’t. The only reason I hand piece and hand quilt is because I work with computers and lab equipment all day. The last thing I need is another machine in my life.”

  Diane groaned. “You’re no help.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Looks like you’re outnumbered,” Gwen said.

  Diane looked around the room, glaring. “You all know I’m right.” She stood, snatched up her plate, and stomped out of the room.

  Shocked, Sarah watched her go. The others were smiling and shaking their heads. As Mrs. Emberly and Judy struck up a conversation on the other side of the room, Sarah turned to Gwen. “Should we go after her?”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “Because … because she feels bad.”

  “Oh, it’s all right,” Gwen said. “This happens at least twice a month.”

  “Really?” Sarah craned her neck and tried to see into the kitchen.

  “Sure. You’ll get used to it.”

  “I thought you guys were friends.”

  “We are friends.”

  “But—”

  “We are friends. All of us. We accept each other the way we are. Friends don’t demand that you overhaul your entire personality. They know your faults and love you anyway. That means we tolerate Diane’s moods—and my tendency to make speeches.”

  Sarah smiled. “I think I’m catching on.”

  “Good.” Gwen picked up her sketch pad and resumed coloring a quilt pattern. “Hmm … I wonder what we’re going to have to tolerate about you?”

  Sarah laughed.

  “So what are you working on, Sarah?” Bonnie asked.

  “I’m working on a Double Nine Patch block now.” She took the Sawtooth Star block out of her bag and held it up. “I finished this one on Tues-day.”

  “How pretty,” Summer said.

  Gwen motioned for Sarah to hand her the block. “Time for inspection.” Sarah passed it over, and Gwen scrutinized the seams. “Not bad.” She passed it to Summer. As the block went around the circle, each person complimented Sarah on her piecing skills.

  “Your first quilt block ever,” Mrs. Emberly said when it was her turn. “This is quite an occasion. I must say this looks much better than my first block did.”

  “Mine, too,” Diane said as she came back into the room. “I chopped off all the tips of my triangles and the block buckled in the middle.” She sat down and gave Sarah a searching look. “So I guess the lessons are going well?”

  Everyone looked at Sarah, and from their expressions she could tell that each had been wondering the same thing. “They’re going great. Mrs. Comp-son is a really good teacher.”

  “See, ladies, I told you it would be all right,” Mrs. Emberly admonished them. She turned to Sarah. “She taught me how to quilt—or tried to, rather. I wasn’t the best student back then and our lessons didn’t go well. That was years ago, though, and I’ve learned a trick or two since.”

  “Of course you have,” Bonnie said. “Your appliqué is the best of everyone here.”

  The others chimed in their agreement.

  Sarah told them about her lessons, but she mentioned nothing about Claudia or the other Bergstroms she had come to know through Mrs. Compson’s stories because it would have been like divulging a secret. She also told them about the Wandering Foot superstition and the meaning of the Log Cabin pattern with a black center square, but here, too, she omitted the personal details about Elm Creek Manor.

  “I’ve heard those stories before,” Gwen said. “I came across them in my research when I was planning the syllabus for my history of American folk art course.” She hesitated for a moment. “Sarah, are you and Mrs. Compson friends?”

  “I think so. At least, I think we’re getting there.”

  “Do you think Mrs. Compson would be interested in visiting my class sometime as a guest lecturer?”

  “I don’t know. She likes to talk about quilts, but—”

  “Sylvia is a teacher—or, rather, she was,” Mrs. Emberly broke in. “She has a degree in art from Carnegie Mellon. Perhaps she’d enjoy talking to students again.”

  Gwen turned to Sarah. “What do you think?”

  “I can ask,” Sarah said. “The worst she can do is say no, right?”

  Mrs. Emberly sighed. “No, she can do far worse than that.”

  “What do you mean?” Sarah asked, surprised.

  “Nothing,” Bonnie said quickly. “So, what are you all going to enter in the Waterford Quilting Guild’s Summer Quilt Festival?”

  “There’s no need to change the subject,” Mrs. Emberly told her, then turned to Sarah. “Sylvia and I had a falling out a long time ago.”

  “She’s had a falling out with most of the quilters around here,” Diane muttered.

  Mrs. Emberly silenced Diane by patting her wrist. “I won’t pretend it doesn’t still trouble me, but I don’t like to talk about it.”

  Sarah nodded, uncomfortable. She was growing fond of Mrs. Compson, but knew how abrasive the older woman could be sometimes.

  “I do miss Elm Creek Manor, though. It was so lovely once.”

  “She’s going to sell it,” Sarah responded automatically, immediately regretting it when she saw Mrs. Emberly’s shocked expression.

  “What do you mean?” Judy asked.

  Sarah shrugged, wishing she could just drop it. Maybe Mrs. Compson didn’t want anyone to know. “She said University Realty may buy the estate.”

  Summer and Gwen exchanged a quick look.

  “University Realty manages my apartment building,” Summer said.

  Her mother nodded. “All of their holdings are student apartments. That’s what they do. They’re in property management, not home sales.”

  “You don’t think—” Mrs. Emberly looked around the circle. “You don’t think they’d take that lovely manor and turn it into a student apartment building, do you?”

  “If they do, I’m going to enroll next semester,” Diane said.

  “Now, don’t you worry about anything.” Bonnie shot Diane an exasperated look before turning back to Mrs. Emberly. “We don’t know that she’ll sell it to them—or to anyone, for that matter. And think about how impractical it would be to turn Elm Creek Manor into an apartment building. They’d have to spend a fortune.”

  “I suppose.” But Mrs. Emberly still looked doubtful.

  “I probably heard her wrong,” Sarah said. “She probably meant some other company.”

  Mrs. Emberly tried to smile, then busied herself with her appliqué.

  Gwen quickly changed the subject, and before long the earlier spirit of the gathering returned. Mrs. Emberly remained quiet, however, and Sarah noticed her deep frown of concern. She looked as worried as Sarah felt. Sarah understood that the students had to live somewhere, but did they have to live in Elm Creek Manor?

  Thirteen

  Mrs. Compson spent the next morning sorting through documents in the library while Sarah worked alone in Aunt Clara’s suite.
It took all the self-discipline she had to keep from dashing down the hallway and confronting Mrs. Compson with her worries about the future of Elm Creek Manor. She knew, though, that if she burst out with her questions, the older woman would just purse her lips and walk away.

  Not long after lunch Sarah finished the suite, which gave her the perfect excuse to join Mrs. Compson in the library. The older woman was sitting at the desk behind a stack of yellowing papers, one hand resting on the arm of her chair, the other holding up a water-stained document.

  When Sarah lingered in the doorway Mrs. Compson looked up and peered at her over her glasses. “Finished already?”

  Sarah nodded. “What should I work on next?”

  “Leave the work for now. I’ll finish up here and then we can have a quilt lesson.” Her gaze returned to the paper.

  “What’s that?” Sarah asked, pointing at the paper and walking over for a closer look.

  “Don’t point, dear. It’s nothing of your concern, just the family accounts. Claudia was never a good bookkeeper, and she became even more careless after her husband passed.” She shook her head and pushed the chair away from the desk. “She and Harold made a mess of things, though it’s not their fault alone.”

  “Maybe I could help. I know something about accounting.”

  “That’s right. You do indeed, don’t you?” Mrs. Compson rose and returned the document to the top of the pile. “How is your search for a real job going, by the way?”

  Only Sarah’s faint blush showed that she realized Mrs. Compson’s emphasis was a teasing imitation of her own. “I have another interview Monday morning. I meant to tell you about it. It’s in the morning so I won’t be in until after lunch, if that’s okay.”

  “You don’t sound particularly enthusiastic.”

  Sarah shrugged.

  Mrs. Compson smiled. “Well, don’t get discouraged. You need to be confident. Show them what you’ve got. Something will come along.”

  “Sometimes I wonder.”

  “Now, none of that. You’ll have plenty of time for self-pity when you’re old and gray, like me.”

  “You’re not old.”

  “Oh, I’m not, then? How very interesting. I’ll have to remember that.” She patted Sarah’s arm. “Now, dear, I’m only teasing you. Surely you must be used to that by now.”