Sylvia burst into laughter. The sound brought Carol and Diane running. “What happened? What is it?” Diane asked. The two women hovered in the doorway, concerned and anxious.
“Nothing,” Sylvia said. “Go make lunch.”
After a long pause, they reluctantly withdrew, whispering questions to each other as Sylvia and Andrew returned to their work.
The physical therapist agreed that quilting could be an important part of Sylvia’s therapy, so she added it to the routine. As the weeks passed, Sylvia slowly pieced her quilt top, and even more slowly regained the abilities the stroke had stolen from her. At least that’s how it seemed to Diane, but she was impatient. She wanted to see Sylvia walking briskly around the manor again, helping the students, running the camp, bossing them all around. It couldn’t happen soon enough to suit her, and she knew Sylvia felt the same.
Eventually, Sylvia progressed from a slow shuffle around the sitting room to a careful walk around the first floor of the manor. Once she confided to Diane that as soon as she was able, she was going to run up those stairs and corner Sarah in the library, where the young woman spent virtually every waking moment these days. “She’s been avoiding me,” Sylvia said, with only a trace of a slur in her voice.
“Some people don’t deal well with this kind of thing,” Diane said, but Sylvia made a scoffing sound and shook her head. Sylvia was right; Sarah had been behaving oddly. It was one thing not to visit Sylvia in the hospital; many people had an aversion to those places. But Sarah wouldn’t even come to the west sitting room, and she made the most unbelievable excuses to dodge Sylvia at mealtimes and other occasions. Each of the Elm Creek Quilters had asked her to go talk to Sylvia, and Diane had come right out and ordered her to, but Sarah refused, and she wouldn’t explain why. Diane didn’t understand it.
She also didn’t understand why no one else was alarmed by the news that Sylvia planned to hang her Broken Star quilt in the foyer. “But that’s where we planned to hang the round robin quilt,” she told Bonnie as they prepared for a workshop. “All our work will go to waste if she wants to hang some other quilt there instead.”
“We’ll sort it out later,” Bonnie assured her, smiling. “What counts is that Sylvia is quilting again.”
Diane thought about it and decided Bonnie was right. What mattered was that Sylvia was persevering despite the obstacles she faced.
That Broken Star quilt might just be the most important one ever made at Elm Creek Manor.
Matt wished he knew how to comfort Sarah, but how could he when she wouldn’t tell him what was wrong? “I’m fine,” she insisted, despite all evidence to the contrary, as she shut herself away in the library or set off on another solitary walk along Elm Creek. Matt longed to run after her, to take her by the hand and plead with her until she told him what was troubling her. Once there had been no secrets between them, but now it seemed that with each passing day, Sylvia grew stronger and Sarah drifted farther away from him.
Finally he couldn’t bear it anymore. One evening after supper, he was standing in the kitchen when Sarah passed on her way to the back door. He followed and called to her from the back steps. She froze, but didn’t turn around.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice hollow and so soft he barely heard her.
“We need to talk.” He joined her on the gravel road leading to the bridge, but she wouldn’t look up at him. “Can you come back inside?”
“I don’t feel like talking.” She looked off toward the barn. “I need to be alone.”
“You’re alone too much.” He reached out and stroked her back. “Please. It’ll only take a minute. I—I miss you.”
She inhaled shakily, but said nothing.
“Will you please tell me what’s wrong?” Gently, carefully, he took her in his arms. The top of her head barely reached his chin. She seemed so small and fragile as he held her that he wished he could hold her like that forever and never let anything hurt her.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Sarah, I know you too well to believe that.” He kissed her on the top of the head and stroked her hair. “If nothing’s wrong, why won’t you go see Sylvia? She asks for you every day.”
Sarah pulled away from him. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Instead of answering, she turned away and began to walk toward the bridge.
“Come on, Sarah.” He took a few steps after her. “Don’t leave. Talk to me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said over her shoulder as she broke into a run.
He was tempted to pursue her, but helplessness and worry rooted him in place. He watched as she disappeared into the trees on the other side of Elm Creek, wishing he knew what to do. He had never seen her like this before, so despairing, so alone.
As he returned to the manor, a small brown shape at the foot of the steps caught his eye. A faint memory tickled in the back of his mind as he nudged it with his foot. It was a soggy mess of brown paper and cardboard—and suddenly he recognized it. It was the carton of ice cream he had bought for Sylvia weeks ago. He had forgotten it there after the fight with Sarah.
Guilt stung him as he remembered what he had said to her. No wonder she wouldn’t confide in him now. Sarah deserved better than what he’d given her that night—and not just that night. All spring he had been sulky and irritable, snapping at her and stalking off whenever things didn’t go his way. Why should she trust him now, when he had let her down so many times in the past few months? Why should she ever forgive him?
Sarah deserved better.
Self-loathing and anger flooded him as he cleaned up the mess.
On a rainy Saturday afternoon in mid-June, Carol sat in her room writing a letter to her supervisor at Allegheny Presbyterian to explain that she planned to use the entire four months of her leave after all. She was tempted to ask for even more time, but she didn’t want to push her luck.
She looked up at the sound of a knock on the door. “Come in,” she called, hoping it was Sarah. To her surprise, Matt opened the door.
“May I speak with you?” he asked.
“Of course.” She set down her pen and gestured to a nearby chair.
“I’m worried about Sarah,” Matt said as he sat down. “She hasn’t been sleeping well, she’s lost weight, she talks about Sylvia all the time but never goes to see her. Do you think something’s wrong, something serious?”
He looked so distressed that Carol’s heart went out to him. “She loves Sylvia very much,” she said gently. “This ordeal has upset her.”
“If that’s all it is, shouldn’t Sarah be getting better now that Sylvia’s made so much progress? There’s something else wrong, I just know it.” He shook his head, his brow furrowed. “I want to help, but she won’t tell me what’s wrong. I thought since you’re her mom, she might be willing to talk to you.”
Carol felt a flicker of pride beneath her worry. Matt actually thought she and Sarah were close enough to have heart-to-heart talks, that Sarah would confide in her mother what she wouldn’t tell her husband. “I’ll talk to her,” she promised, and watched as relief came over her son-in-law’s face.
Matt thanked her and left. For a long while Carol sat in silence, her gaze fixed on the doorway. The past weeks had shown her a man she had not seen before. Without fail, Matt had treated Sarah with compassion and gentleness despite her inexplicable behavior. There were no orders for her to cheer up, no bitter reminders that he had been right to worry about their dependence upon an elderly woman, no complaints about the additional duties he had been forced to assume. He was so unlike Kevin that Carol wondered how she ever could have seen any similarity between the two men. Instead of manipulating the recent events to his own advantage, to score points in the battle of wills, Matt had set aside the old disagreements for the sake of his wife. His behavior was all Carol could have hoped for.
She had misjudged him.
She sighed and left the room. Someday soon she would make it up to him, to both of t
hem, but for now, she had to see to Sarah.
The library was the most logical place to begin the search. Sarah spent nearly all her time there these days, staring at the computer or at the cold, dark fireplace. Sometimes she left the manor without telling anyone and disappeared for hours. Carol had watched from the window once and saw her daughter cross Elm Creek and vanish into the woods, but where she went from there, no one knew. Everyone needed private time, but Sarah had been spending far too much time alone. Matt was right. It was long past time someone spoke to her about it.
When Carol opened the library door, she saw that the lights were off and the draperies were pulled over the windows. The only illumination came from the computer. Sarah sat motionless before it, leaning toward the screen, her hands flat on the desktop, as if they alone held her upright.
Carol softly closed the door behind her. “Sarah?”
She didn’t respond.
“Sarah, honey?” Carol said, raising her voice slightly.
Sarah looked up slowly, and the sight of her wrenched at Carol’s heart. She looked as if she hadn’t eaten or slept for days, and her face was drawn and haunted. “Oh, sweetie,” Carol said, stricken. She swallowed and forced her voice into a nurse’s brisk tone. “You’re going straight to bed, and when you get up, I’m going to fix you something to eat. What would you like, soup and a sandwich, maybe?”
“I’m not hungry,” Sarah said distantly, returning her gaze to the computer screen. “I can’t rest. I have work to do.”
“Surely it can wait. Nothing is so urgent that it can’t wait an hour or two.” Or five or six, if Carol had her way.
“This can’t wait,” Sarah whispered. “This is important. This is urgent.”
Carol came closer, near enough to see that Sarah was running an Internet search. “What are you looking for?”
“Information about stroke.”
“Oh.” Carol hesitated, watching as Sarah highlighted some text on the screen and clicked the mouse. “Are you trying to find something to help Sylvia?”
“Yes.” Sarah’s voice shook. “I’m also looking for the causes, to see if stress, or a fight—to see if being upset can do it, if it can make someone—”
“Oh, Sarah.” Carol ached to see her daughter in such pain. “You didn’t make Sylvia have that stroke.”
Sarah took a shallow, quavering breath. “I think maybe I did.”
“You didn’t.” Carol put herself between Sarah and the computer screen, shaking her head. “You didn’t. That’s not how it works. It wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault.”
Sarah looked up at her mother for a long, silent moment before she began to sob. Carol bent down and embraced her, and Sarah clung to her as she hadn’t since she was a child. Carol brought her away from the computer over to the sofa, where she held her and rocked her back and forth, and told her that everything was going to be all right. Everything would be fine.
Sarah felt better after her mother described Sylvia’s progress. Sarah had noted some of these improvements from a distance, but she had been too ashamed to visit Sylvia and talk to her about them. That needed to change.
When she felt strong enough, she dried her tears, washed her face, and went downstairs to find Sylvia. She was out on the veranda with Andrew. The rain, though just a gentle shower, had been enough to keep them under shelter. When Andrew saw Sarah hesitate some distance away, he offered to get Sylvia a cup of tea. As he passed Sarah on his way into the manor, he paused long enough to clasp her shoulder and smile encouragingly.
Sylvia’s gaze followed Andrew as he went inside, and her eyebrows rose when she spotted Sarah. “Well,” she said, straightening in her chair. “Look who it is.”
Sarah took a hesitant step forward. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” Sylvia returned her attention to the Broken Star quilt pieces in her lap.
“How are you feeling?”
“Oh, just fine, thank you.” She gave Sarah a sidelong glance. “You can come closer. It’s not contagious.”
Sarah took the chair Andrew had left. “How’s the quilt coming along?”
“Slowly but surely. I’ll be ready to layer it soon.” She let her hands fall to her lap and regarded Sarah over the top of her glasses. “I suppose next you’ll be asking me what I think about the weather.”
Sarah gave her a wan smile. “How did you know?”
“I know all sorts of things about you, Sarah McClure.”
“There are a few things I’d just as soon have you forget.”
“Hmph.” A smile flickered in the corners of Sylvia’s mouth as she resumed her work.
Sarah watched as she pinned a green and a blue diamond together, her movements slow and deliberate, but confident. “Do you want me to thread the needle for you?”
“No, thank you. That would be cheating. My therapist wants me to practice my hand-eye coordination. Michael and Todd offered to let me borrow their video games, but I declined.”
Sarah laughed, but then she could think of nothing else to say. How could she explain why she had neglected her friend for so long? How could she ever express how sorry she was for the awful things she had said? How could she even begin to describe the terror she had felt watching Sylvia collapse, and the grief and loneliness she felt every time she thought about losing her?
“Sylvia,” she began, “I’m sorry. I wish I could—”
“All is forgiven, dear.” Sylvia reached over and patted her hand. “Let’s not waste any more time on our silly misunderstandings. I’m going to be fine. Let’s be grateful for that and be friends again, shall we?”
Sarah’s heart was full. “I’d like that very much.”
“Good.” Sylvia gave her hand one last brisk pat before she picked up her quilt pieces again. They sat in silence for a long moment, listening to the gentle fall of rain on the veranda roof.
Then Sylvia spoke. “Did I ever tell you that when Andrew first saw you on television, he thought you were my granddaughter?”
“No.” Sarah inhaled deeply, then breathed out what felt like a lifetime’s worth of grief and regret. “You never told me that.”
“Well, it’s true. That’s what he said.”
“I think that’s just about the nicest compliment I’ve ever received.”
“I’m sure it’s not the nicest one,” Sylvia scoffed, but a faint tremor in her voice betrayed her true feelings.
When Andrew returned with Sylvia’s tea, Sarah left the two alone and returned inside. She walked through the manor to the back door, intending to go to her secret place beneath the willow on Elm Creek, but then she thought of another place she’d rather be. As soon as she thought of it, the urgency to be there spurred her on, so that she hurried out the back door without bothering to put on her raincoat. She ran across the bridge, along the gravel road past the barn, beyond it to the orchard, where she knew she would find Matt.
She searched the rows until she spotted him. She almost didn’t see him, so well did his earth-tone rain poncho blend into the trees around him. He was checking the soil at the base of a newly planted sapling when Sarah called his name.
“Sarah?” he called out in disbelief, rising as she approached. “What are you doing out here without your jacket? You’re soaked.” Then he grew alarmed. “Is something wrong? Are you all right?”
It was only then that Sarah noticed how the cool rain had soaked her clothing and plastered her hair to her face, and she suddenly felt self-conscious and foolish. “I’m fine,” she said. “I just—” She broke off and shrugged. “I missed you.”
His expression grew serious. Sarah held very still as he walked through the mud toward her.
“I missed you, too.”
Then he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
As the June days lengthened and the dark nights grew milder, Sylvia finished piecing her Broken Star quilt. She layered and basted it by hand, by ritual, each step performed methodically, patiently. This quilt was not meant for
a quilt frame, where her friends would pitch in and help her finish it in a fraction of the time. No, this was one project she could not rush. She would quilt it alone, in a hoop held snugly on her lap. Her friends could support and encourage her in her work, as she knew they would, but this quilt was hers alone to see through to the end.
It was just as well that she decided this, for her friends were already using the quilt frame for a project of their own, one made by many hands and with an abundance of love.
Chapter Fifteen
Sylvia studied her face in the mirror, then tried to force her features into a smile. One side of her face moved naturally into place; the other did not. Sylvia sighed and pushed back the disobedient flesh with her fingertips. There. Now, if she could just think of some excuse to walk around with her hand on her face all day, she’d be fine.
She turned away from the mirror and reminded herself to focus on the gains she had made in the weeks since the stroke rather than dwell upon the little that had been lost. She had been able to return to her room on the second floor; she could walk with barely a stumble; her speech, though not as crisp as it had once been, was clear. Her quilting abilities had survived the experience virtually intact. She had even managed to finish her Broken Star quilt in time for the brunch the Elm Creek Quilters were having that Sunday morning as a farewell party for Carol and Andrew.
It was a shame they had chosen the same day to leave. Sylvia was thankful that the purpose for Carol’s visit had at last been accomplished: Carol and Sarah had finally begun to resolve their differences. They still had more work to do, but the gulf between them had been bridged, and both seemed committed to the healing. Carol promised to return for a visit over the Christmas holidays, so they would be seeing her again soon.
As for Andrew—she did not know when she would see him again. He had stayed so much longer than he had intended, and recently his daughter had been phoning every week to ask when she should expect him. Sylvia understood that he had obligations elsewhere, commitments to fulfill. She knew that he had to leave, but she would miss him.
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