Round Robin

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  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 hesitated. “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 v
isited 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.

  When Joe asked her to marry him, she hardly dared hope that he meant it. His proposal sent a shaft of light into the dark room that was her life. She told him, honestly, cruelly, that she would never love him as she had loved Richard. Joe said he had enough love for both of them. No one had ever spoken to her so kindly or offered her so much while expecting so little in return.

  Claudia begged Agnes not to abandon her, for living with Harold without Agnes there would be worse than living alone. Her pleas pained Agnes, but she proceeded to show Claudia the household budget and accounts. When Claudia saw that Agnes would not be persuaded, she resorted to threats. “If you leave, you can forget about your inheritance,” she shouted. “If you betray my brother’s memory, you forfeit his share of the estate!”

  Agnes looked at her with genuine pity. “Oh, Claudia,” she said. “Do you really think that’s why I stayed so long?”

  She married Joe, and not a day went by that she didn’t thank God for bringing him into her life. She grew to love him sooner than she would have dreamed possible, and if she never felt the passion for him that she once had for Richard, she never regretted her decision. Joe gave her love, a home, and two beautiful children. She learned that she could love again, and she knew, somehow, that Richard was happy for her.

  But Claudia and Harold lived out their days in bitterness. Agnes mourned them long before they passed away.

  Now she, Andrew, and Sylvia were the only ones left from those old days. Sylvia had stayed away for more than fifty years, returning only after Claudia died. Even before their reunion, Agnes was proud that Elm Creek Manor was still there to take Sylvia in. She knew she ought to be grateful that she and Sylvia had been given the past two years to reconcile.

  But she was not grateful. She was angry. Two years was not enough. God owed her a reprieve. The God who had taken Richard, who had taken James, who had taken so much from the Bergstrom family, could not, must not, take Sylvia, not yet. Not yet. It was too soon. It would always be too soon.

  It was the angriest prayer she had ever made, but she meant every whispered word of it. Then, her anger spent, she sat with her friends and waited.

  They all looked up when the doctor entered. They rose as one and waited for him to approach. In the seconds it took him to cross the floor, Agnes tried to read his expression, but his face gave away nothing.

  Not until the very last moment, when he smiled.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She pulled through,” the doctor said, smiling. Thank God,” Sarah murmured. Her knees felt weak. If not for Matt’s arm around her waist, she would have fallen.

  “When can we see her?” Andrew asked.

  “In a few minutes. She’ll be a little groggy for a while. Don’t be alarmed if she doesn’t respond when you speak to her.” The doctor hesitated. “Mrs. Compson suffered a cerebral thrombosis. That means that a blood clot formed in an artery carrying blood to her brain, blocking the flow.”

  “Did you use TPA?” Carol asked.

  “Actually, yes, we did. It was a viable option in Mrs. Compson’s case, especially since we were able to treat her so soon after the onset of the attack.” He turned to the others. “TPA is tissue plasminogen activator, a drug that dissolves blood clots like the one Mrs. Compson had. TPA has its risks, but the benefits of treatment far outweigh the dangers. Ideally, TPA will clear the blockage and allow the blood flow to resume.”

  “Ideally?” Matt echoed. “Has it worked for Sylvia?”

  “It looks promising at this point, but we’ll have to wait and see.”

  It looks promising, Sarah repeated silently, relief washing over her. Thank God.

  The doctor continued. “Later we’ll have to discuss her long-term care and rehabilitation, but I’m sure you’d like to see her first.”

  Sarah started to follow him out of the waiting room, but then she stopped short. “Wait a minute. Long-term care? Rehabilitation?” She looked from the doctor to Carol and back, heart sinking. They looked at her with such compassion and regret that she knew at once she had felt relieved too soon. Something wasn’t quite right, something they knew that she didn’t.

  Carol took her hands. “Honey, recovery from a stroke can be
a long and difficult process.”

  Sarah stared at the doctor. “But—but you said she pulled through.”

  “She did pull through,” the doctor said. His voice was kind. “She will live. However, it’s too soon to tell how much damage her brain has sustained.”

  Carol stroked a lock of hair away from Sarah’s face. “Sarah, honey, when the clot blocked the artery, it prevented blood from reaching parts of the brain. If those parts die, they don’t regenerate.”

  “Rehabilitation can help,” the doctor said, trying to reassure her. “Typically, spontaneous recovery in the first month accounts for most of a stroke patient’s regained skills, but rehabilitation is still very important. It might even mean that Mrs. Compson can return home rather than be institutionalized.”

  “Oh, my God.” Suddenly, Sarah’s world went gray, and her legs buckled beneath her. She felt Matt helping her into a chair. Someone placed a paper cup of water in her hands. By instinct she clasped her fingers around it, but her hands shook so violently that she spilled the water all over herself. Her teeth chattered. Someone took the cup away and ordered her to take slow, deep breaths. She tried to cooperate, but when she closed her eyes she pictured Sylvia slumped over in a wheelchair, staring into the distance, lifeless.

  “I thought—” She struggled with the words. “When you said she pulled through, I thought—” She thought that meant Sylvia would be fine. How stupid of her. Of course she knew the devastating effects of stroke. She should have prepared herself. God, she was so stupid. They were only through the most frightening part of this ordeal. The most difficult part was still before them.

  What if Sylvia never fully recovered?

  Carol put one arm across her daughter’s shoulders and grasped Sarah’s arm with her other hand. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go see Sylvia.”