The men must have sensed that their wives were about to talk quilts for a while, for they broke off into conversations of their own.
“I don’t know how you managed to keep this a secret so long,” Summer said as she carefully folded the quilt and returned it to its box.
Sylvia laughed. “We quilters are full of surprises.”
“She has no idea,” Judy murmured to Gwen.
“You have to promise to hang that in your apartment in Philadelphia,” Bonnie said. “We want to make sure you never forget us.”
“I could never forget any of you,” Summer said with such feeling that Gwen had to reach for the tissues again.
“That’s not good enough,” Agnes teased. “You have to promise.”
“Go on, Summer,” Diane urged. “Raise your right hand and repeat after me: ‘I, Summer Sullivan, being about to graduate from the esteemed institute of higher learning known as Waterford College, do hereby solemnly swear to hang this quilt on the wall in my new apartment far, far away in Philadelphia—’”
“Don’t say ‘far, far away,’” Gwen protested. “It’s not that far.”
“Now you made me lose track. Well, you get the idea, Summer. Go on, promise.”
Summer looked around, flustered, as her friends began to chant, “Promise, promise, promise.”
“All right,” she finally called out above their voices, laughing. “I promise I’ll hang this quilt in—in my apartment. And I promise I’ll never forget the people who made it. Satisfied?”
“I thought my version was more eloquent,” Diane said.
“You thought wrong,” Gwen retorted.
The women broke into peals of laughter, but they could feel sadness creeping in. Summer would be the first of their group to leave since the founding of Elm Creek Quilts. They would have until autumn to enjoy moments like this, with all of them together and happy, but all too soon their circle would be broken.
As much as Gwen enjoyed the party, she was glad to have Summer all to herself the next day. While the other Elm Creek Quilters prepared for the arrival of a new batch of campers, Gwen and Summer got ready for the commencement ceremony. Gwen wanted Summer to wear her cap and gown as they walked through downtown Waterford to campus, but Summer begged off. “I’ll be wearing them for hours,” she said. “Can’t I put them on in your office instead?”
Since it was Summer’s day, Gwen reluctantly agreed. Gwen, too, would be wearing a cap and gown for the ceremony, since as a member of the faculty she would be marching in the procession. In her office, she helped Summer with her cap and gown first, then put on her own.
“You’ll have one of these, too, someday,” she said as she fastened the loop of her doctoral hood to the small button on the gown at the nape of her neck. She adjusted the hood’s folds and smiled at her daughter. Summer flushed and gave her a quick smile before looking away.
The ceremony Gwen had participated in so many times took on a poignancy that she had not felt since receiving her doctorate. Afterward, they somehow found Judy in the crowd of other faculty. Gwen gave Judy her camera and had her snap a picture of Gwen and Summer, then Judy handed the camera to a physics professor and had him take a shot of the three of them together, arms intertwined. Judy and Summer smiled happily, but Gwen was sobbing and laughing at the same time.
That evening, Summer pleased Gwen by coming home instead of returning to the downtown apartment she shared with two friends. Gwen knew how to make only one baked dessert, a three-layer German chocolate cake, but she made it well, and she had prepared one that night in Summer’s honor. As twilight fell, they sat on the back porch enjoying tea and cake, but most of all, each other’s company.
“I’ll miss you when you head off to Penn,” Gwen said. “Before we know it, it will be time for fall quarter to begin.”
“Actually, Mom, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that.”
Gwen reached out and stroked Summer’s long, auburn hair. “What is it, kiddo? Are you nervous about graduate school?”
“Well, actually, no, that’s one thing I’m definitely not.” She hesitated. “First, though, promise me you won’t get angry.”
“Angry about what?”
“Just promise.”
“No, I’m not going to promise, not without knowing what’s going on.” Suddenly she felt her stomach tighten into a knot. “Don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”
“No, Mom,” Summer exclaimed. “I don’t even have a boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Gwen thought for a moment. “A girlfriend?”
Summer rolled her eyes. “Of course not—”
“What is it, then? Are you sick?” She sat up straight, clutching the armrests of her chair. “Did your father call?”
“No, it’s not anything like that. I’m just not going to graduate school.”
Silence.
Then, in a small voice, Gwen said, “You mean you’ve changed your mind about going to Penn?”
“I’ve changed my mind about graduate school altogether. I’m not going. I’m sorry.”
Gwen felt dazed. “But … why?”
“It’s just not what I want for my life.” Summer reached out and took Gwen’s hand. “I’m sorry about this. I know you must be very disappointed in me, but—”
“You have to go to graduate school,” Gwen interrupted, confused. “It’s what we’ve been planning for years. What—what—what else would you do?”
“That’s just it, Mom. It’s not what we’ve been planning; it’s what you’ve planned for me.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to stay here in Water-ford. I’m going to ask Sylvia for a larger role in Elm Creek Quilts and keep working for Bonnie. I want to own the business someday.”
“Elm Creek Quilts? You could never afford it, you know that.”
“Not Elm Creek Quilts. Grandma’s Attic. Working there has been more rewarding than anything I’ve done in my major. I enjoy working with quilters and thinking up new ways to promote the shop. It’s a challenge, and I’m never bored when I’m there. Unlike school,” she added in an undertone.
Slowly the words sank in. Summer wanted to own a quilt shop. Instead of Summer Sullivan, Ph.D., she wanted to be Summer Sullivan, storekeeper. It couldn’t be true. Gwen must have misunderstood.
With a sinking feeling, she realized that she hadn’t.
“Mom, say something.”
“What’s left for me to say?” Gwen said. “It seems like you’ve made your decision, and since you obviously didn’t want my opinion when you were making all of these secret plans, why would you want it now?”
“Don’t talk like that, please,” Summer begged. “I haven’t made any secret plans. No one knows but me and you.” She hesitated. “And the registrar at Penn.”
“You mean you already declined your acceptance?”
Summer nodded.
Gwen sank back into her chair. “You turned down Penn without even checking with Bonnie and Sylvia first?” She knew from Summer’s expression that it was true.
“I’m sorry,” her daughter said again.
Her eyes were large and troubled. Gwen couldn’t bear to look into them any longer, so she rose and began stacking up their dessert dishes. “Well, there’s nothing more we can do about it now,” she said briskly. “Tomorrow’s Monday. You’ll just have to phone Penn and tell them you made a mistake. I know people there. I can make a few calls myself if necessary. We’ll get this straightened out somehow.”
Summer placed a hand on her arm. “There’s nothing to straighten out. I’m not going.”
Gwen didn’t trust herself to speak. She pulled away from Summer, snatched up the dishes, and hurried inside to the kitchen.
Summer followed. “You’ve always said that everyone has to choose their own path.”
Gwen set the dishes in the sink with a crash. “Yes, but not this path.”
“I can’t believe you said that. That’s so hypocritical.”
“No, it’s not. It is not hypocritical to w
ant what’s best for your daughter.”
“Why do you assume that graduate school is what’s best for me?”
“Because—” Because the world was an uncertain place. Because a woman had to be as prepared as possible to face its dangers. Because Gwen couldn’t bear to think that her daughter would waste even a particle of her promise, her potential. Because Summer was meant for much greater things than what her mother had achieved.
“Think of it this way,” Summer said. “You didn’t want me to leave, and now I’m not going to.”
That did it. Gwen burst into tears. Summer held her and patted her on the back, but Gwen was not comforted. Was that it? Had she made Summer feel guilty for leaving her? “I’ll be all right,” she said. “You don’t have to stay in Waterford for me. I have my work, my friends—yes, I’ll miss you, but I’ll be all right. Don’t stifle yourself for me. I never wanted that.”
“That’s not what this is about. Staying here wouldn’t stifle me. I don’t need a Ph.D. for what I want to do with my life.” She stepped back to meet her mother’s gaze. “Can you understand that, please? Can you try?”
“You don’t have to rule out continuing your education entirely,” Gwen said. “Maybe you want to take some time off first. I understand. I did the same thing myself. Maybe you won’t go to Penn in the fall, but that doesn’t mean you never will.” She clutched at Summer’s sleeve. “Promise me you won’t rule it out completely.”
“Mom—”
“Please.”
Summer rolled her eyes. “Okay, I won’t rule it out entirely. Maybe when I’m seventy years old and retired I’ll decide I want to go back to school.”
Gwen tried to smile. “I suppose that will have to do.”
“Are you okay with this?”
“Sure,” Gwen lied. “Never better.”
Summer looked dubious, but she said nothing more. Together they rinsed the dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher. When Summer left, Gwen went to the quilt room they had shared for so many years, but not even the bright colors of her fabric stash or the pleasure of working on the round robin quilt comforted her.
The next day, Diane and Carol greeted her with alarm when she went to Elm Creek Manor to teach her workshop. She had dabbed her eyes with witch hazel, but still they were red and swollen.
“That must have been some ceremony,” Diane remarked, inspecting her.
“The ceremony was fine,” Gwen said, then told them about Summer’s decision.
“Oh, how terrible,” Carol said, stricken. “You must be heartbroken.”
Gwen nodded. Carol looked like she understood completely, which Gwen had not expected.
“Just tell Summer she has to go to Penn, period,” Diane said.
“I can’t do that. She’s a grown woman. I can’t tell her what to do.” Gwen tried to calm herself. She couldn’t get all worked up now, not with class about to start. “What bothers me most is that she didn’t feel she could talk to me about her decision. I wonder. How much do our children conceal from us about their lives, about themselves?”
“How much do we conceal from them?” Carol said softly.
Gwen and Diane looked at her, surprised, but she did not seem aware of their scrutiny.
When she got home, Gwen thought about what Diane had said. No, she couldn’t order Summer to go to graduate school, but she could make it possible for Summer to enroll, should she change her mind. Gwen could undo that mistake, at least.
She phoned the registrar’s office at Penn, but they could not reinstate Summer without permission from the director of Summer’s department. Fortunately, Gwen and the chair of the philosophy department were old friends. She called him at home, explained that Summer had accidentally sent in the wrong forms, and asked if he wouldn’t mind sorting out the problem with the registrar. He agreed and promised to take care of it that afternoon. Gwen hung up the phone, relieved. Now she would have the rest of the summer to change her daughter’s mind.
Summer did not come to see Gwen that day but on Tuesday she phoned. They spoke briefly on trivial subjects; neither mentioned graduate school. Gwen sensed that Summer was tentative, testing the waters, making sure that her mother was all right. Gwen did her best to sound cheerful, but she wasn’t sure if Summer was convinced.
On Wednesday, Gwen was fixing herself lunch when she heard the front door open and slam shut. “Hey, kiddo,” she sang out as her daughter entered the kitchen. “You’re just in time. Want a sandwich?” Then Summer’s expression registered—face pale, jaw set—and Gwen fell silent.
“I just received a very interesting phone call,” Summer said in a tight voice.
Gwen’s stomach flip-flopped, but she tried to sound nonchalant. “Did you?”
“Penn wants to know if I’m interested in on-campus housing.” Summer folded her arms and fixed Gwen with a furious glare. “Why do you suppose they’d do that, a month after I told them I wasn’t coming?”
“A month?” Gwen exclaimed. Summer had kept this secret a full month? “I—I don’t know, kiddo. I guess someone must have gotten their wires crossed.”
“Yes, and that someone is you. I can’t believe you did this. What were you thinking?”
“Me?” Gwen tried to sound wronged, innocent, but her voice came out shrill and false. “What did I do?”
“You tell me. Did you call the registrar or did one of your professor friends take care of it for you?”
“Take care of what?” Then Gwen realized there was no point in pretending anymore. “Summer, honey, what else was I supposed to do? You can’t expect me to sit idly by while you ruin your life.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Summer exclaimed, incredulous. “How am I ruining my life? I’m not dropping out of high school to join the circus.”
“You might as well be. What kind of job can you get with a B.A. in philosophy?”
“I’ve already told you my plans—”
“Yes, and then you run off and burn your bridges before getting even the smallest confirmation from Sylvia or Bonnie.”
“Don’t you think I considered that? Do you think this is just a whim? I’m sure they’ll want me, but either way, I’m not going to Penn.” Summer’s voice was brittle with anger. “Listen very carefully, okay? I don’t want to be a philosophy professor. I don’t want to be any kind of professor. That’s you. That’s not me.”
“But it should be you. The best and the brightest always find their way into the academy. That’s where you belong. You shouldn’t squander your talents—”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” Summer shouted. “You’re so—so impossible. You can’t ever see anything from anyone else’s point of view. Look, if that’s how you want to see it, fine. I’m not going to try to convince you. But don’t forget they’re my talents to squander. It’s my life to ruin. Not yours. Not yours, mine. Understand? If I’m making the biggest mistake in my life, that’s my prerogative. So just stay out of it.”
She turned and stormed out of the house without waiting for a reply.
Gwen sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Summer had shouted at her, had ordered her to stay out of her life. Gwen couldn’t remember when they had last argued like that, if they ever had. She wanted to chase after Summer, but found herself too sick at heart, too upset to move. What could she do? What could she do?
She should apologize—yes, and quickly, anything to win back Summer’s approval. Before long Gwen would forget her disappointment, and everything would be fine between them again.
But just as she reached for the phone, she knew she couldn’t cave in simply to win back Summer’s favor. No. She had to do what was best for Summer, and that meant getting her into Penn. Summer might not understand now, but someday she would. When she had her advanced degree and a fine job at a prestigious university, she would, and she’d be grateful. Gwen had to put Summer’s interests ahead of her own need for her daughter’s approval. Gwen would endure anything, anything, rather than let her daughter throw aw
ay her future.
But what could she do? Reasoning with Summer wouldn’t work, not after today. Summer would have to choose Penn on her own. Gwen had to make graduate school the only logical choice, the only possible option.
The next afternoon, Gwen drove out to Elm Creek Manor to speak to Bonnie. She couldn’t talk to her freely at Grandma’s Attic, since Summer might be working. Besides, she wanted to speak to Sylvia, too.
Gwen managed to take them aside before Bonnie’s workshop. Diane had already spread the word about Summer’s decision. When Gwen told them that it broke her heart to see Summer’s brilliant academic career ended so soon, they comforted her and assured her everything would be all right in the end.
“I hope so,” she said. “I think with your help, everything will be fine.” She saw Sylvia and Bonnie exchange a quick glance. “What I mean is, I don’t think it would be such a terrible thing if you were to realize that you couldn’t give Summer the extra work she wants.”
“You can’t mean that,” Bonnie said, appalled.
Gwen plowed ahead. “Bonnie, maybe you’ll find that you don’t have enough money to give Summer more hours at Grandma’s Attic. And Sylvia, maybe you and Sarah don’t need the extra help with Elm Creek Quilts.”
“We most certainly do,” Sylvia said.
“But maybe Summer doesn’t need to know that.”
Sylvia frowned. “Gwen Sullivan, I’m surprised at you.”
Bonnie gave her a pleading look. “Please don’t ask us to lie to Summer.”
“It’s for her own good,” Gwen said. “You know sometimes we don’t give our children the whole truth when it might hurt them. Summer doesn’t know how irrevocable her decision is. I can’t bear to sit back and watch her jeopardize her entire future. She’s meant for so much more than—than—”
“Than life as a quilt shop owner?” Bonnie finished.
Gwen felt heat rising in her face. “I didn’t mean it that way. You know I respect what you do.”
“Apparently, you don’t respect our work quite as much as you thought,” Sylvia said.
Her voice was gentle, but Gwen felt it as strongly as a shout. She clasped her arms around herself, thoughts churning. She had insulted her friends by questioning their integrity and the value of their work; she had gone behind her daughter’s back in an attempt to undermine her chosen career. Summer had been right to tell her to stay out of it. She had made a mess of everything.
An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler Page 49