An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler

by Jennier Chiaverini

  A ruler. Julia snatched up her notebook and quickly tore out a sheet of paper. The pages were eight and one half inches by eleven; she could fold it into sections and estimate an inch. Then she remembered the gridded plastic mat and scooted her chair closer to it. To her relief, she saw that the grid was marked in one-eighth-inch increments along two edges. Folding her paper to strengthen it, she lined it up against the edge of the mat and began marking off inches. By the time her makeshift ruler was completed, the rest of the class had already proceeded to the next step. Racing to catch up, Julia tore two more sheets of paper from her notebook and wrote “Dark” on one and “Light” on the other. She drew a wobbly-edged grid as the other students moved on to their sewing machines. She was too far behind to ever catch up, but she persevered grimly. Ares had sent her to this godforsaken place with none of the proper materials, but she needed that role and she was going to learn something while she was there.

  Suddenly a shadow fell over her table. “Is everything okay back here?”

  Julia looked up to find Sarah standing on the other side of her table. “I … Yes, everything’s fine,” Julia said. “Please continue.”

  Sarah looked dubious. “Did you leave your things in your room? You have time to run upstairs and get them.”

  “No, thank you.” The other students had paused in their work to watch. “Please, I don’t want to hold up the rest of the class.”

  “Wasn’t there a supply list in the course confirmation packet mailed to your home?”

  A supply list. Of course, there must have been a supply list, and it must have been sent to the agency. “There probably was,” Julia said, picturing her hands closing around Ares’s throat, “but I didn’t get it.”

  “I see,” Sarah said, with a puzzled frown that said she didn’t see at all.

  “I have some extra fabric,” said an older woman with a cloud of shockingly bright white hair. “What do you like? Red or blue?”

  “Oh, no, that’s quite all right,” Julia demurred.

  The woman was already making her way from the front of the room, a bundle of fabric in her arms. “Nonsense; I always bring plenty.” She placed the bundle on Julia’s table and held up a piece of kelly green fabric with wide red lines zigzagging across it. “Here’s a nice one. Or do you prefer calico?”

  “Calico,” Julia said quickly, recognizing one of the unfamiliar terms from Ellen’s script. The older woman smiled indulgently and handed her a piece of dark blue fabric sprinkled with tiny white flowers.

  “Here’s something you can use for the light fabric,” another woman called out, waving a cream-colored piece over her head like a banner. Sarah supplied her with one of the pizza-cutter tools, and soon everyone had joined in, showering Julia with extra rulers and pins and needles and so much extra fabric she wasn’t sure how she’d carry it back upstairs to her room. She felt her face flaming with embarrassment as she accepted their gifts and stammered out her thanks.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get the list. There must have been some oversight,” Sarah said. “After class, why don’t you show me your course list and I’ll send into town for the rest of the supplies you’ll need.”

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” Julia wished everyone would stop looking at her. Suddenly she couldn’t bear for the instructor to think that an experienced quilter would be so ignorant. She lowered her voice. “I’m sorry for the disruption, but I never quilted before.”

  The white-haired woman overheard, and her eyebrows shot up. “This is your first quilting class? Ever? My goodness, you’re ambitious, skipping the basics and going straight to this high-tech stuff.”

  “Skipping …” Julia’s voice trailed off, and she looked from the white-haired woman to Sarah. “This isn’t a beginner’s course?”

  “Most new quilters start out in Beginning Piecing,” Sarah said. “You’ve really never quilted before?”

  Julia shook her head, thinking Isn’t it obvious?

  “Then …” Sarah hesitated. “I don’t mean to question your judgment, but why did you sign up for Quick Piecing?”

  Julia had never even seen a course description. Ares had signed her up for this course, and suddenly Julia understood why. “Because I need to learn quickly.”

  The white-haired woman laughed as if Julia had made a joke, but Sarah only smiled kindly. “I think tomorrow morning we should switch you to Diane’s Beginning Piecing class, okay?”

  “That would be lovely, thank you.” Julia wished she could disappear.

  On their way to their first activity, Megan confided that she had some misgivings about signing up for the color theory course, but she felt reassured when Donna confessed her own doubts. Their reasons differed, though; Megan feared the class would be dull, while Donna worried that it would be too technical to understand. To their delight, their apprehensions vanished within a few minutes, mostly because their eccentric teacher made the material lively and interesting. Gwen was a stout, red-haired woman who wore a bright blue beaded necklace and a long flowing skirt in a wild print, and her enthusiasm for the subject matter was infectious. “How dare she say such a thing,” she had cried when a student timidly mentioned that her elementary school art teacher had insisted that red and purple didn’t go together. “Who is she, the color police? Let her make quilts in matchy-matchy colors if she wants, but don’t let her prevent you from being more adventurous!”

  Her good-humored indignation sent the class into peals of laughter, which turned into murmurs of surprise and delight as Gwen passed out boxes of crayons and sheets of paper. She instructed them in a coloring exercise meant to free their inhibitions and expand their “color sense.” Megan colored happily, feeling like a carefree first-grader as she and Donna talked and compared their work.

  “As long as we’re expanding our color sense, maybe you’ll finally give purple a try,” Donna said, waving a violet crayon before Megan’s eyes.

  Megan feigned a horrified shudder. “Get that thing away from me.”

  “You like blue and you like red. How can you not like purple?”

  “It’s simply a matter of personal preference. What do you care what colors I use or don’t use?”

  “I hate to see you limiting yourself.”

  Megan laughed. “This, from the woman who refuses to use white as a background fabric.”

  “That’s just a habit, not a phobia. And I have good reason. Off-white and cream don’t show the dirt as well.” Donna gave her a determined look. “I’m going to get you to use purple in a quilt if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Later, after Megan had completed her exercise and was looking around to see what the other quilters had done, she spotted Grace Daniels at a table on the other side of the room. She nudged Donna. “Look. There she is.”

  Donna’s head jerked up, but then she frowned, disappointed. “I thought you meant Julia Merchaud.”

  “Grace Daniels isn’t a big enough celebrity for you?” Megan teased. “Anyway, I don’t think Julia Merchaud is really here. Her room is supposedly across the hall from mine, but I haven’t seen her.”

  “Some people say they have.”

  “Yes, but some people say they’ve seen extraterrestrials and the Loch Ness Monster. Maybe these Julia Merchaud sightings are like that.”

  “Sure, Julia Merchaud is the Loch Ness Quilter.”

  Megan laughed, but her mirth faded as she watched Grace carefully select another crayon, her brow furrowed in concentration. “She seems sad.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Everyone else is having fun, but she looks like she’s taking the SATs.”

  “I saw her this morning, in the garden,” Donna said. “I thought she wanted to be left alone. Maybe she’s worried about her creativity, like she said at the Candlelight.”

  “She’s not talking to anyone.”

  “Maybe she’s shy.”

  Megan doubted that a famous quilt artist could feel shy among a crowd of admiring quilters, b
ut before she could say so, Gwen announced that class was over. “Let’s ask Grace to join us for lunch,” Megan suggested as they gathered their things. Donna agreed, but when they looked over at the other side of the room, Grace had already left.

  They looked for her outside, where the staff had arranged a picnic buffet on the veranda, but Grace wasn’t at any of the tables or standing in line for food. “Tomorrow we’ll sit near her in class,” Donna said as they joined the queue. “The worst she can do is ignore us, right?”

  “She won’t. Who would be crazy enough to deny themselves the pleasure of our illustrious company?”

  “Julia Merchaud, for one.”

  They laughed.

  “What are you two girls giggling about?” someone behind them in line asked. Megan turned to find a white-haired woman eyeing them with mock suspicion. She wore red tennis shoes and a T-shirt that read “Quiltoholics Anonymous.”

  Donna laughed and introduced Megan to the woman, Vinnie from Dayton, Ohio. Megan had remembered her from the Candlelight, and was pleased that Vinnie remembered her.

  “Oh, yes, you’re the one who won the contest.” Vinnie nodded toward the buffet and sighed happily. “Isn’t this marvelous? I love a buffet. You can take whatever you want and leave the crap behind.”

  “Vinnie!” Donna protested.

  “Relax, honey, I’m just teasing.” Vinnie added a generous helping of baked beans to her plate. “But I’d better not let the staff hear me or I might get expelled.” She raised her voice and looked around as if she feared unseen staff members were eavesdropping. “My, this food is so tasty.”

  “It’s too tasty,” Megan said. “I’ll probably gain fifty pounds this week.”

  “I don’t think you could gain fifty pounds if you tried.” Donna’s voice had a hint of envy in it. Megan watched as Donna returned the macaroni salad spoon to the bowl without taking any and reached for the tongs in a bowl of tossed salad instead. Donna noticed her scrutiny. “Before you ask, yes, I am trying to slim down.”

  “For the wedding?” Vinnie asked.

  Megan winced. “Don’t remind her.” Then she shot Donna a sharp look. “Is that really why?”

  “I’d happily gain two hundred pounds if I thought it would stop the wedding.” Donna’s voice was grim. She had reached the end of the line, and she quickly walked off with her plate to an Adirondack chair at the far end of the veranda.

  Megan and Vinnie exchanged a look and hurried after her. “Don’t you like the young man?” Vinnie asked as they took the empty chairs on either side of Donna.

  “I hardly know him. I’ve seen him and Lindsay together for—I don’t know, maybe a total of seven hours over the past two years.”

  “Maybe once you get to know him better, you’ll grow more fond of him,” Megan said.

  “Maybe.” Donna didn’t look as if she believed it.

  “There’s always hope,” Vinnie said. “Maybe she’ll leave him at the altar.”

  “That only happens in movies.”

  “It happened to my grandson.”

  Megan and Donna stared. “You’re kidding,” Megan said.

  “Well, maybe a little.” Vinnie shrugged and nibbled on a piece of fried chicken. “It wasn’t exactly at the altar. At least he was spared that indignity. But she did break off their engagement three months before the wedding.”

  “How awful for him,” Donna said.

  “Not really. She wasn’t good enough for him—as I’ve told him plenty of times, not that he listens. He deserves better. And he definitely deserved better than to be strung along, only to be jilted after the invitations had been sent out.”

  Megan murmured her sympathies and refrained from pointing out that they were only getting her grandson’s side of the story. In her experience, a woman who left a man usually had a very good reason for doing so. Then, with a pang, she thought of Keith, and his reason for leaving her—a blond Comparative Literature graduate student with no stretch marks and an uncanny ability to ignore Keith’s irritating quirks.

  Megan said, “If she was going to change her mind anyway, at least she did it before the wedding rather than after.”

  “He’ll find someone else,” Donna said.

  “Of course he will, with a little help from Nana.” Vinnie wiped her lips delicately with her napkin and set her plate aside. “How old is your daughter?” she asked Donna, reaching for the tote bag beside her chair.

  “Twenty.”

  Vinnie took a red plastic photo album from her bag and flipped through the pages, shaking her head with regret. “I was afraid of that. She’s too young for my Adam.”

  “She’s too young to get married, period.”

  “I married at seventeen.” Vinnie passed the open album to Donna. “But that was a different era. This is my grandson. Isn’t he a good-looking young man?”

  “Very.” Donna gave Megan a sidelong look. “He looks close to your age.”

  Vinnie brightened. “You’re single?”

  “I am now.” Donna held out the album to her, so Megan took it.

  “Oh, dear. Divorced?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Megan said. “Actually, I’m annulled and divorced.”

  Donna looked bewildered. “How does that work?”

  Megan hesitated, surprised by how much admitting his betrayal still hurt her. “When Keith first left me for another woman, a divorce was good enough for them. It was the quickest, easiest way to put me in the past. Later, though, she decided she wanted to get married in the Catholic Church, so he put in for an annulment. According to the Church, our marriage never existed.”

  “But you have a child,” Donna said, aghast.

  Vinnie shook her head and clicked her tongue. “It’s far too easy to get an annulment these days, if you want my opinion. Not like when I was young. Then, you had to stick around and work on it whether you wanted to or not.”

  “And too many people spent their lives miserable in unhappy marriages,” Megan said. “No, I’m better off single again than married to someone who cheated.” Someone who didn’t love me as much as I thought he did, she added silently. Who didn’t love me as much as I loved him.

  “If only Adam had that attitude,” Vinnie said with a sigh.

  Then Megan remembered the album, and she glanced down at the photo. What she saw made her gasp.

  Vinnie’s eyebrows rose. “Goodness, dear, he’s handsome, but not that handsome.”

  “I don’t believe this. This is the guy from the diner.”

  Donna’s eyes widened. “The apple pie guy?”

  As Megan nodded, Vinnie looked from her to Donna and back, perplexed. Quickly Megan told her the story of their meeting on the road to Elm Creek Manor.

  “Did you like him?” Vinnie asked anxiously.

  “Well, yes. I mean, I didn’t talk to him very long, but he seemed nice.”

  Vinnie clasped her hands together, delighted. “Your meeting must have been fate! No, something stronger than fate—divine intervention. You live in Ohio, isn’t that right? So does Adam.”

  Megan shot Donna a look of alarm, a look that meant Save me. “It might not have been fate.”

  Donna quickly added, “There are only so many routes to Waterford from Ohio, and not many places to stop to eat along the way. It was just a coincidence.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Vinnie said, a stubborn set to her chin. “There are no coincidences. I believe that in life, you meet the people you need to meet, the people who will help you become the person you ought to be.”

  “Maybe so, but maybe Megan needed to meet your grandson so he could help her find Elm Creek Manor, so she could meet us,” Donna said. “Maybe we’re the ones she needs to meet.”

  “I think that’s true,” Megan said quickly.

  “Maybe you need to meet all of us,” Vinnie declared, but then she smiled and reached over to pat Megan on the knee. “I think we’re going to become quite good friends this week, my dear.”

  Donna was e
njoying her conversation with Megan and Vinnie so much that she was almost late for her appliqué workshop. She rushed in, breathless, and took the first open seat she found, at a table in the back. Donna hated to be late, not because it suggested that she was scatterbrained—which she sometimes feared she was—but because she hated to be rude.

  She greeted the few campers she recognized, then took out her supply list and checked her bag to make sure she had remembered everything. She was glad Megan wasn’t there to see her; Donna had checked the bag twice before leaving her room and once at lunch, which Megan found hilarious. “Do you think something jumped out of your bag and wandered off while your back was turned?” she had teased.

  “It could happen,” Donna had retorted. Something had to account for those dozens of rotary cutters and thimbles she had lost over the years.

  She put the list away and listened attentively as the teacher introduced herself as Agnes Emberly. A woman slipped into the seat beside her, but Donna pretended not to notice. She had been the recipient of too many annoyed frowns for her own tardiness to feel anything but sympathy for this latecomer.

  It wasn’t until Agnes passed out pattern sheets and Donna turned to hand them to her table partner that she realized she was sitting next to Julia Merchaud.

  She was so surprised that she forgot to let go of the pages when Julia took them. Julia tugged at the pages in vain, and then her famous hazel eyes met Donna’s. “I have them, thanks,” she said.

  Donna released the pages as if they were on fire. “Sorry.”

  Julia Merchaud nodded in response and turned to the front of the classroom as if she had already forgotten Donna was there. Donna felt like a fool, but she couldn’t help staring. It was Julia Merchaud, wasn’t it? It had to be. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a French twist, just the way she had worn it the day the oldest Wilson child got married. Donna had seen every episode of Family Tree since the premiere. Becca thought it was one of the corniest shows ever created, but Becca had a low opinion of television in general, and Donna had never let her youngest daughter’s teasing discourage her from watching.