Her mother stared at her for a long moment, breathing rapidly, clutching the desktop. “Your father will never agree,” she managed to say.
“You will convince him.”
Agnes was correct; her mother did make him see reason. But he gave Agnes one condition. “If you marry that man,” he roared, “you leave this house forever. You will be dead to us.”
His words shocked her into silence. She could only stare at him, the man she had always admired and loved so deeply. He thought she had betrayed him, and perhaps she had.
She thought of Richard, and how he might not return from the war. She might have two weeks with him, two weeks in exchange for a lifetime with her family.
She was her father’s favorite daughter, and yet he could cut her out of his life with a word.
She wanted to ask her father if he meant it, but that would have been foolish. Her father never said anything he didn’t mean. She wanted to beg him to reconsider, but her father never backed down from an ultimatum.
So she spoke from the heart. “I will miss you all very much,” she said. Then she returned to the drawing room to tell Richard she would be his wife.
They had a simple civil ceremony. Andrew was one witness, one of Agnes’s school friends was the other. Agnes had wanted her sisters, but she could not ask them to defy their parents.
Later that day, James and Harold arrived, too late to stop Richard and Andrew from enlisting. James decided to enlist so that he would be in the same unit as his brother-in-law. Harold reluctantly said he would as well.
Agnes thought it was madness. “Don’t do it,” she had begged them. She clung to James’s arm. “Please. Think of Sylvia.”
Gently, James freed himself. “I am thinking of Sylvia,” he said, and then he and Harold left.
Agnes was not comforted by the knowledge that James and Harold would be looking after Richard on the battlefield. Their selflessness and courage would not stop a bullet. They should have tried to free Richard from his enlistment, not join him in it. It was madness. Utter madness. And she alone seemed to see it.
They returned to Elm Creek Manor together for a few bleak days of grievous good-byes. Harold proposed to Claudia, but they did not rush off and marry as Agnes and Richard had done, as so many other young couples had done. They wanted to wait until after the men returned so they could do it right. Agnes marveled at their certainty that they would have that chance.
And then, all too soon, the men departed.
Of the four, only Andrew and Harold returned.
Agnes’s hands trembled, and she stuck herself with the needle. She dropped the quilt as soon as she felt the pain, but she was not fast enough. A small drop of blood now stained the back of the block, a smear of red leaking through the gray fabric of the manor.
She shivered.
“Let me help you,” Bonnie said. She took the quilt and carried it over to the drinking fountain.
“Did you hurt yourself?” Andrew asked.
“Only a little needle prick,” Agnes said, but Carol had already taken her hand and was examining her finger. There was a tiny drop of blood on the pad of her left index finger. Carol insisted on taking her to the bathroom to wash the pinprick with soap and water. Then Carol carefully applied antibiotic ointment and a bandage, all from the small first aid kit she kept in her purse.
“What do you do for a cough?” Diane asked when they returned to the waiting room. “A lung transplant?”
The Elm Creek Quilters smiled, but no one had the heart to laugh.
“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Carol said.
“She’s right,” a voice broke in. “Hospitals are the worst places for picking up germs. I read that somewhere.”
It was Sarah who had spoken. They all turned to look at her. As far as Agnes knew, those were the first words she had spoken since arriving at the hospital.
“Then I’m fortunate Carol was here,” Agnes said gently, returning to her seat.
Bonnie handed her the quilt center. “The stain came out, but I’m afraid it’s a little damp.”
“That’s all right. I’ll finish when it’s dry.” All that was left was a tiny bit of the last tree, and then she could stitch the design in place in the center of the round robin quilt her friends had made. She tried not to, but in the back of her mind she wondered if Sylvia would ever see the completed quilt hanging in the front foyer to welcome the new quilt campers.
The quilt campers.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “It’s Sunday.”
Her friends exchanged looks of weary dismay, and she could tell they had forgotten, too.
Gwen said, “We’ll have to call everyone and tell them camp is canceled this week.”
“We can’t do that,” Judy said. “It’s already nine o’clock. If they’re driving a long distance, they might have left already.”
“And those who are flying already paid for their airline tickets,” Bonnie added.
“Can’t you refund their costs?” Andrew asked. “If you tell them what happened, they’ll understand.”
“No.” Sarah sat up and looked around at her friends. “We can’t do that. We have to hold camp as planned.”
Silence.
“Maybe you’re right,” Diane said. “That’s what Sylvia would have wanted.”
Sarah whirled on her, furious. “That’s what Sylvia would want.”
Chastened, Diane looked away.
Summer stood up. “Sarah’s right. We can’t let Sylvia think we’ll fall apart if she doesn’t watch us every minute. I’ll go back to the manor and start setting up.”
Gwen chimed in that she would join her daughter, and soon it was agreed: Agnes, Andrew, Sarah, Carol, and Matt would remain at the hospital; the others would return to Elm Creek Manor to await the arrival of their newest guests.
“Call us as soon as you hear anything,” Judy urged, and Agnes promised they would.
A strange silence hung over the waiting room after their friends left. Matt went to the hospital cafeteria and returned with steaming cups of coffee and warm muffins. Agnes accepted a cup of coffee gratefully, but her stomach was in knots and she knew she wouldn’t be able to choke down a bite of food. The heat from the cup soothed some of the chill out of her hands.
Sarah was right, Agnes knew. No matter what happened to Sylvia, they couldn’t let Elm Creek Quilts fall to pieces. It would be an insult to Sylvia, a betrayal, if they let her dream die. She needed to know that the life and joy she had restored to the manor would endure.
Sylvia blamed herself for Elm Creek Manor’s downfall—and the Bergstrom family’s decline—as if her departure had been the one killing blow that had ended it all. But Agnes knew the end had not come with such merciful swiftness. The Bergstrom legacy had ground to a halt over time in a way that was unbearable to witness. But Agnes had witnessed it. When Sylvia was far away, living first in Maryland with James’s parents and later in Pittsburgh alone, Agnes had remained behind, and she saw it all.
There had been so many arguments between the two sisters. It was only later that Agnes learned how that last argument had differed from all the others. At the time, Sylvia’s departure had shaken Agnes, but neither she nor Claudia ever dreamed Sylvia would stay away so long.
It had happened shortly after Andrew’s visit. He had decided not to finish school; he did not explain why. He was traveling to a new job in Detroit and had only stayed the night. That evening after supper, Agnes saw him go to the library where Sylvia was working. They spoke privately for a long time. Finally the door banged open and Sylvia stormed out, furious, tears streaking her face. Andrew had followed her as far as the library door. His face, too, was wet from tears.
“What happened?” Agnes asked him. As soon as the words left her lips, she felt a flash of panic. She did not want to know. She had too much pain already.
But Andrew had already taken her hand. “Agnes, there’s something you don’t know about the way Richard and James died.” He hesitate
d. “You should know the truth.”
“No.” She tore her hand away. “I don’t want to know.”
“But Agnes—”
“I don’t want to know!” she screamed.
Andrew took her in his arms and held her. “All right,” he said, trying to comfort her. “Shh. It’s okay.”
He did not understand, but she did not try to explain. What did it matter how Richard had died? All that mattered was that he was never coming back to her. That was burden enough for one woman. She could not bear to add to it the picture of her husband’s last moments—the explosion, Richard bleeding, limbs torn off or blasted away, screams of agony ripping from his throat—she imagined too much without hearing Andrew’s story.
He did not ask her again.
He left the next day. As far as Agnes could tell, he had not taken Claudia aside as he had Sylvia, as he had tried to do with her. She did not remember that until later, until years after Claudia’s wedding.
For the longest time, Agnes blamed herself for the last fight between Claudia and Sylvia. Sylvia had become withdrawn, locked deeply in grief. She had tried to help Claudia with her wedding plans, but after Andrew’s visit, she seemed to lose all interest. If anything, she became hostile to Harold. Often Agnes saw her staring at him, brooding. Agnes would have sworn she saw hatred in Sylvia’s eyes, and she did not understand it.
Eventually, Claudia sensed something, too. “She’s jealous,” she told Agnes as they worked on her wedding gown. “She can’t bear knowing that my man came back and hers didn’t.”
Agnes felt a stabbing pain in her heart. Her man had not come back, either. She could only nod as she fought to hold back her tears. Claudia hadn’t meant to hurt her. She still thought of Richard as her younger brother, not Agnes’s late husband.
Agnes didn’t think Sylvia was jealous, but she herself was. Secretly she resented Claudia, who would be able to grow old with the man she loved, who would bear his children and be allowed to love him. Agnes would never have that life.
When Claudia asked Agnes to be her bridesmaid, Agnes accepted, wondering why Claudia had not asked Sylvia first. But, of course, she had. When Sylvia learned of the change, she was stunned. Agnes blamed herself and fled the room in tears as their argument escalated. She heard their shouts, but from a distance she could not make out their words. She did not want to.
But something had been said in that argument, something that compelled Sylvia to leave that very day and not return.
“She’ll be back,” Claudia had said that day and every day for several weeks. “Where would she go? This is her home.”
Agnes, who knew how certain words could prevent one from ever returning home, wasn’t so sure.
Claudia’s wedding day came, but to Agnes the occasion seemed shrouded in grief. First there was Sylvia’s absence, then the overwhelming sense that Elm Creek Manor was not ready for a celebration, not so soon after so much death. And there was what Claudia had said to her moments before she walked up the aisle.
She was deathly pale as she turned to Agnes and asked, “Is it wrong for me to marry him? Will I regret this?”
Agnes was too shocked to speak. She could hear organ music coming from inside the church. It was almost time.
Claudia’s eyes were distant. “Sylvia told me something the day she left, something about Harold—” She hesitated. “But she was always jealous of me. She never wanted me to have what she couldn’t have.” She turned a pleading gaze on Agnes. “Do you know any reason why I shouldn’t marry Harold?”
“Only one.” Agnes met her gaze solemnly. “What you’re telling me right now. If you have any doubts at all about marrying Harold, then you should not walk down that aisle. Once you say those vows, it will be too late to change your mind.”
Claudia’s voice was barely audible. “It’s too late already.”
In the months that followed, Agnes came to wish she had not let Claudia leave that room.
At first, the newlyweds seemed so happy that Agnes convinced herself that Claudia’s fears had been nothing more than a nervous bride’s last-minute jitters. Claudia and Harold seemed suited for each other. It wasn’t their marriage that Agnes worried about, but their behavior. They threw parties nearly every week, spending money enough to make up for all the restrictions of the war. They lived as if to fight off death, as if by laughing and dancing they could undo all the pain they had suffered. Agnes looked on in dismay and prayed for Sylvia’s return.
Harold became the head of Bergstrom Thoroughbreds, but he neglected the business. Hungry for cash, he sold off prized horses for a fraction of their true value. He and Claudia spent the money frivolously, as if it were a game, as if Elm Creek ran green with cash instead of water. Fearing disaster, Agnes searched her memory for every bit of financial knowledge she had gleaned over the years from her father and his friends, but the couple rarely heeded her advice. Secretly, Agnes began to channel some of the money into stocks and bonds; Harold and Claudia were such poor accountants that they never noticed the missing funds.
They seemed happy, but as the first year passed, Agnes began to detect an odd note in the couple’s conversations, an undercurrent of hostility and accusation in Claudia’s tone, a sullen defensiveness in Harold’s. Once, inexplicably, Claudia asked Agnes if Andrew had told her how Richard and James had died.
Her heart leaped into her throat. “No, he didn’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t let him.”
“Of course.” Claudia laughed strangely. “Well, if it were true, if it were important, he would have insisted on telling you, right?”
Agnes did not know how to answer.
The cash reserves drained swiftly the second year. A day came when there were only three horses in the stable, and then two, and then none. Claudia dismissed the last remaining stable hands, some of whom had been with the family for decades.
Agnes saw to it that they left with enough money to tide them over for a year. Since she had no money of her own, she sold off some antique furniture to raise the funds. She picked pieces at random from the empty bedrooms, forbidding herself to wonder about their sentimental value to the Bergstrom family. The Middens, not the Bergstroms, ran Elm Creek Manor now, and they were running it into the ground.
She visited the antiques shop frequently, hating herself for selling off the Bergstrom legacy, knowing she had no choice. That was where she met Joe, a history professor at Waterford College. He occasionally appraised items for the store owner, and he admired the pieces Agnes brought in. One day he asked her if he could take her to lunch in exchange for the story of how she had come to find so many lovely pieces. She agreed. When she had told him everything, he offered to put her in touch with some of his colleagues in New York, who would be able to offer her a much better price than what she could obtain in Waterford. She was so grateful she threw her arms around him. He laughed and patted her on the back awkwardly, but he didn’t seem offended.
Then Claudia and Harold began selling off the land.
Agnes fought for every acre, but each time a tract came up for auction, Claudia and Harold reminded her that they had no other source of income.
“Sell one last parcel and invest the cash,” she begged them. “Live off the dividends. Economize.”
They ignored her.
She pleaded with Claudia to ask Sylvia to return. Claudia flew into a rage and shouted that they did not need anyone’s help, least of all her hateful sister’s.
Agnes knew she had to act or there would be nothing left. She did it for Richard, and she did it for Sylvia, in case she ever came home, so she would have a home to return to.
She found as many of the remaining deeds as she could; Joe helped her find the right lawyer. With his help, Agnes transferred the deeds into Sylvia’s name so that as long as Sylvia lived, no one but she could sell those properties. Agnes replaced the old deeds with the new ones, berating herself for not thinking of this earlier. As the third year began, the Middens were finally thwarted. They could
not touch the area that Agnes had saved, the acres bordered by forest and gardens to the north, Elm Creek to the south and east, and the orchard to the west. They blamed Mr. Bergstrom, never suspecting Agnes’s role. No one but she, Joe, and the lawyer ever knew of it.
With no more land to sell, the period of frenzied gaiety came to an abrupt halt. The last remaining servants were fired. Claudia and Harold began to argue. Agnes threw herself into the cultivation of the orchard. It was their only source of income aside from Agnes’s investments, which she claimed Mr. Bergstrom had made. They didn’t check her story.
Agnes had nearly forgotten Andrew’s untold story when Claudia mentioned it again. She told Agnes about Sylvia’s accusations, that Harold had been responsible for Richard’s and James’s deaths.
“Do you think it could be true?” Claudia asked, her voice distant.
“I don’t know.” But Agnes knew Andrew would not have invented such a horrible tale, and she doubted Sylvia would have, either. Now she understood why Sylvia had gone away, and she longed to do so herself. But she could not. She had not completed her education, so she had no way to support herself. She could not return to her parents, and her pride was too great to allow her to seek help from her Philadelphia acquaintances. She was trapped in that dying house, and she saw no way out of it.
That night she was awakened by the sound of Claudia shrieking and Harold sobbing. At last Claudia had confronted him, and he had admitted the truth. Agnes pulled the covers over her head as if she were a little girl, but she could not block out the fighting.
The next day Claudia moved to another bedroom in the west wing, as far away from Harold’s room as possible. After that, they no longer lived as husband and wife. They spoke only when necessary and spent little time in each other’s company. Agnes thought she would drown in their silence. After a few months, she asked Claudia why they did not simply separate.
“It is my penance,” she said, and never spoke of it again.
Once again Agnes felt surrounded by madness, madness she alone could see.
An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler Page 54