The Wedding Quilt

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  After that, they spoke every night on the phone, and they enjoyed a wonderful weekend together when Russell’s travels brought him near Sacramento. Two weeks after that momentous plane ride, Sarah called Maggie with an offer of employment. Maggie, confident that Russell would surely be chosen for the second vacant spot on the faculty, gratefully accepted. And indeed, after hanging up with Maggie, Sarah had called Russell—but Russell, unaware that Maggie had already been hired and trusting her dire assessment of her performance during the job interview, turned down the offer so that he could remain on the West Coast, closer to her. By the time Russell spoke with Maggie, realized his mistake, and called Sarah back to rescind his refusal, Sarah had already offered the position to the Elm Creek Quilters’ third choice, Gretchen. Disappointed but undaunted, Russell quickly agreed to work as a visiting instructor whenever they needed a substitute.

  In all the years since, Maggie and Gretchen had proven to be wonderful additions to the faculty, and whenever Russell filled in for an Elm Creek Quilter who needed a week off for vacation or family obligations, he received glowing reviews from his students. As his romance with Maggie blossomed, he began visiting the manor more often even when quilt camp wasn’t in session. But for the most part, he continued to reside at his home in Seattle when he wasn’t traveling from quilt guild to art gallery, lecturing and teaching, although both he and Maggie wished it could be otherwise. They were in love and wanted to be together, but their careers kept them mostly apart.

  Of course now that Bonnie was leaving, Maggie would want them to hire Russell to replace her. As Maggie waited pensively for the verdict, Sarah and Sylvia exchanged a long look that communicated volumes. When Russell had interviewed for the two vacant faculty positions nearly four years earlier, the Elm Creek Quilters had intended to hire him. During his time as a visiting instructor, he had been amiable, productive, and diligent, never bemoaning the misunderstanding that had cost him the permanent faculty job. He had won the approval of the Elm Creek Quilters and the admiration of his students, and also—and this was by no means the least of Sarah’s considerations—having him join the faculty would make Maggie very happy.

  Sarah raised her eyebrows at Sylvia, a silent inquiry, and Sylvia returned the barest of nods. “I think that’s an excellent idea, Maggie,” Sarah said. “Do you think he’d be interested in the job?”

  “I know he would,” Maggie exclaimed, bounding to her feet. “I’ll go call him.” She bolted for the doorway, where she hesitated. “As long as it’s official?”

  Sarah laughed, and Sylvia said, “It’s official, my dear. Please let him know our intentions, and if he’s interested, Sarah will call him later to work out the details.”

  Thus Russell joined the Elm Creek Quilters, and Maggie’s happiness made the loss of Bonnie a little easier to bear. A few months later, Maggie and Russell married in the ballroom of Elm Creek Manor, a commitment they had long spoken of and wished for, but had deferred until they could be together. When Sylvia learned this, she declared that if she had known why they were deferring their marital bliss, she would have created a new position on the faculty especially for him. “You could have fired someone to make room,” Gwen remarked. “I nominate Diane.”

  “Too late,” retorted Diane, but like everyone else, she knew Gwen was only teasing. Although the departures of founding members never failed to introduce them to wonderful new teachers like Gretchen, Maggie, and Russell, the absence of dear friends sometimes made them wistful for the early days of Elm Creek Quilts, when their imaginations were full of plans and their days with hard work, when success was but a fond dream and the likelihood of failure daunting.

  So many years had passed, and now only Sarah remained of the original Elm Creek Quilters. The others had passed on, or had followed winding ways in pursuit of other dreams. But as Sylvia had predicted so many years before, despite the departure of beloved friends, Elm Creek Quilts endured.

  And that reminded Sarah of an important task they needed to fulfill. “Before we start collecting signatures on the Memory Album blocks,” she said, rising and smiling fondly at her friends, “we have an errand in the library.”

  Gwen and Summer knew what she wanted, and as the friends left the kitchen, the mother and daughter paused in the back foyer long enough to take from their luggage their panels of the Winding Ways quilt. A contemplative hush fell over them as they climbed the grand oak staircase—slowly, to accommodate Gwen’s stiff knees—made their way down the second-floor hallway, and passed through the French doors to the library. Summer hung the two long-absent panels in place, her mother’s in the upper left corner, her own just below it. An empty place would remain in the lower right corner where Bonnie’s panel belonged, but soon Diane’s panel would fill the space beside it, and Judy’s the space next to that. Although the center panel had originally been intended to represent all future Elm Creek Quilters, over the years they had come to think of it as Gretchen’s own. She had been with Elm Creek Quilts so long and had contributed so much that they often forgot she was not a founder.

  And then the quilt would be almost complete, despite the absence of other beloved friends, because although Sylvia and Agnes and Gretchen could not be among them except in spirit, their sections of the Winding Ways quilt hung proudly, displayed in their memory.

  Chapter Five

  After admiring the Winding Ways quilt a little longer and reminiscing about days long past, Sarah took the Memory Album blocks from their hiding place in the bottom drawer of the large oak desk and divided them evenly among her friends. They also divided up the wings and floors of the manor, and, pens in hand, went forth to collect signatures and messages of love, hope, and congratulations for the bride and groom.

  Sarah worked one side of the third-floor west wing while Anna took the other side, but Anna moved from door-to-door more quickly, not only because several of the rooms on her side of the hallway were not yet occupied but also because everyone wanted to chat with the mother of the bride, and they were not about to pass up a rare opportunity when Sarah was not surrounded by well-wishers, as she was likely to be on the day of the wedding. Sarah meant to stop by each room only long enough to explain the project and collect signatures, but she ended up spending ten minutes chatting about Elm Creek Quilts with Leo’s sister-in-law, an aspiring quilter; fifteen more talking over old times with her favorite cousin, a children’s book illustrator from Duluth; and nearly an hour sitting cross-legged on the bed with her former college roommate, reminiscing about their favorite Penn State experiences—Nittany Lions football games, midnight snacks of grilled sticky buns at The Diner on College Avenue, and Thon, the annual dance marathon dedicated to raising funds to find a cure for pediatric cancer. Enjoying her friend’s company and their shared memories of long ago, Sarah quickly lost track of time.

  When she finally bade her former roommate good-bye and promised to continue their conversation later, it was time to meet Anna, Gwen, Summer, and the other Elm Creek Quilters in the library. Comparing notes, they discovered that several strokes of bad luck had prevented them from collecting more than a handful of signed blocks apiece. Most knocks on their guests’ doors had gone unanswered, since almost everyone was either out visiting with friends elsewhere in the manor or were enjoying the beautiful autumn day by exploring the estate. Maggie had narrowly escaped disaster when she had turned a corner and bumped into Caroline, barely managing to stuff the blocks into her bag before the bride-to-be got a good look at them. When Sarah admitted that a conversation with an old friend had kept her from collecting more signatures, her friends exchanged guilty looks, burst out laughing, and confessed that they, too, had spent more time standing in the hallways chatting with one another than knocking on doors.

  “We’ll try again this evening, when people are more likely to be in their rooms,” Sarah decided, collecting the blocks, signed and unsigned, and concealing them beneath a few empty folders in the bottom desk drawer. Before their next outing, she would sor
t the blocks and check off the names of guests they had already reached, so they would know where to focus their attention.

  The Elm Creek Quilters went downstairs to join the manor’s other residents and guests in the banquet hall for a delicious meal that was sure to build anticipation for the grand wedding feast yet to come. Gina and Anna earned well-deserved praise as their guests savored the spinach lasagna, sautéed green beans, and rosemary rolls, with Gina’s heavenly mocha ganache cupcakes for dessert. After the other guests left the banquet hall, the Elm Creek Quilters cleared away the dishes, tidied the kitchen, and lingered over coffee at the long wooden table where they had held countless business meetings and had shared nearly as many delicious meals through the years. Sarah couldn’t bear to break up the fun by asking everyone to get back to work collecting signatures, so the blocks remained in the library for the rest of the night.

  They sat in the drawer undisturbed all the next morning, too, for from the moment Sarah woke she was preoccupied with other wedding preparations, fielding phone calls from the minister and the musicians. After lunch, running late for an errand downtown, she delegated the Memory Album project to Summer, who assured her she would collect as many signatures as she could as discreetly as possible. “I’ll tell my mom to be prepared to distract Caroline,” she promised with a grin. “She’s been looking forward to it.”

  “I wouldn’t want her rehearsals to go to waste,” Sarah replied, sorry that she would miss whatever theatricals Gwen had contrived. She hoped Gwen didn’t resort to slapstick. The priceless Bergstrom family antiques were even more priceless and antique than they had been when Elm Creek Quilts began, and they wouldn’t serve well as props.

  Calling for James—and finding him in the kitchen with Gina, wearing a suspiciously happy grin—she enlisted his help rounding up the groomsmen while she went to the north gardens, where she found Matt pulling weeds from the rose terraces while Russell swept fallen leaves from the cobblestones. The freshly painted gazebo gleamed white in the autumn sunshine, and a cool breeze stirred the chrysanthemums, sedum, purple coneflowers, and black-eyed Susans blooming amid the decorative grasses. It would be a picture-perfect setting for a wedding, as long as the weather cooperated.

  When Matt spotted her, he rocked back on his heels and brushed the dirt from his hands. “Is it time already?”

  “Just about. You have a few minutes to clean up while James is getting the boys together, but if you’re too busy here, I could pick up your tux for you.” She secretly hoped he would insist upon coming, because he knew much more about fitting a tuxedo than she did. For all the time she had spent in front of a sewing machine, her knowledge of fabric and stitchery was limited to quilts. “If it doesn’t fit perfectly, Emily could alter it for you. She’s been sewing her own clothes since the fifth grade.”

  “Stay home and miss all the fun?” Matt stood and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. “I’m not going to miss this, especially since the search for a wedding gown was girls only. But if you have too much to do here—”

  “I wouldn’t miss this for anything either,” she said, smiling. James and his friends rarely dressed up, and she would enjoy seeing them in tuxedos. Also, someone had to keep a sharp, critical eye out for mistakes. If the shop gave them the wrong suits or mismatched their shoes or hemmed their pants legs too long, she wanted to be on hand to insist that they make things right. Leo and James, especially, ought to be capable of noticing such problems on their own, but she could imagine glaring errors going undetected until Caroline spotted them in the wedding photos.

  By the time Matt had washed his face and hands and changed his shirt, James, Leo, and the other groomsmen had gathered in the kitchen, where they munched Gina’s freshly baked cookies and joked about forgoing tuxedos and donning Halloween costumes for the ceremony instead. Sarah thought she heard the dreaded phrase “bachelor party” come from the corner booth, but when she fired a curious glance in the three groomsmen’s direction, they returned smiles of perfect innocence. Yes, something was definitely afoot.

  When Leo’s parents returned from a walk through the fragrant orchard, they all climbed aboard the Elm Creek Quilts shuttle and set out for the formal-wear shop, crossing the bridge over Elm Creek, rounding the barn and passing the orchard, traveling through the red and gold and russet woods of the Bergstrom estate, until they came to the road that led to downtown Waterford. Students toting backpacks and cups of coffee filled the sidewalks on their way to and from apartments and classes at Waterford College, but Matt turned off on Church Street before they reached campus. A block from the town square, they passed an old churchyard enclosed by a low iron fence. Few citizens had been buried there since a larger cemetery was established east of town in the 1950s, but the Bergstroms had owned a family plot, and many generations had been laid to rest in the shadow of the old church steeple. Involuntarily, Sarah gazed at the churchyard and sighed as they drove past. Matt took her hand and gave it a gentle, comforting squeeze.

  They reached the formal-wear shop, one of several businesses occupying the renovated original city hall, one of the oldest buildings in the Elm Creek Valley. The phrase “Creek’s Crossing, Penn,” engraved in stone above the main entrance, paid homage to the town’s first name, almost forgotten except by local history buffs. Sarah had discovered the name—and the reason local officials had changed it—within the pages of a memoir written by one of Sylvia’s ancestors, Gerda Bergstrom. Although dozens of customers every day passed beneath the engraved words without noticing them, whenever Sarah saw them, she felt the strong, sudden pull of history, so vividly had Gerda described her arrival in America, the founding of Elm Creek Farm, her family’s dangerous and important role as stationmasters on the Underground Railroad, and the conflict that had divided Creek’s Crossing in the years leading up to the Civil War. Thanks to the Waterford Historical Society, the story of the town’s fascinating past was better known now than it had been when Sarah and Matt had moved there, but for all the society’s hard work and research, Sarah was sure many more secrets awaited discovery.

  As Matt and Leo led the other young men and Leo’s parents into the building, Sarah paused on the front portico and turned to admire the grand Greek Revival edifice across the street, where only a few days before she had spoken at the dedication of the new quilt gallery named in honor of her old friend and fellow Elm Creek Quilter, Agnes. Nearly as old as the former city hall, Union Hall had been restored to its stately 1863 appearance and was tended by a dedicated staff of docents and local historians. Over the past two decades, it had become Waterford’s most recognized landmark and the jewel of the historic district. As Sarah watched a groundskeeper trim hedgerows in the front garden and a group of schoolchildren on a field trip follow their teacher up the white marble front stairs and through the tall double doors, she marveled that the historic building had ever fallen into such disrepair that it had once been slated for destruction. The story of its rescue still served as both a warning and an inspiration to preservation societies across the country—and Agnes was the story’s heroine.

  The twins had been in third grade, Sarah recalled, when the Waterford Register ran a front-page article about a proposal to replace the long-vacant and neglected building with a complex of modern, efficient condominiums. A local realty company had appeared before the town zoning commission and had offered to take the eyesore off their hands, but their proposal had encountered a few snarls: The city of Waterford didn’t actually own the property and therefore couldn’t authorize the sale, and several members of the board were reluctant to permit a modern, multiresidential high-rise in the middle of the town’s historic district. According to the article, University Realty president Gregory Krolich expected to “iron out the wrinkles” in a closed-door meeting to be held the following week.

  “Wait. Did you say Gregory Krolich?” Sarah interrupted Andrew, picking up her coffee mug and sliding into the booth beside him. He and Sylvia often read bits of the newspaper aloud t
o each other over breakfast, and the familiar name had caught Sarah’s attention as she served the twins their oatmeal.

  Andrew jerked his thumb at the page. “That’s the name, all right. Why? You know the fellow?”

  “Hmph,” sniffed Sylvia. “I should say she does. She thwarted his attempt to buy Elm Creek Manor from me back in the day. He told me he intended to transform it into student housing, which I thought was a fine idea—it certainly would have livened up the place—but Sarah did a bit of sleuthing and discovered that he planned to tear down this wonderful manor and put up condos in its place.”

  “He’s the guy who worked with Craig to buy Bonnie’s condo after Craig locked her out,” added Matt, scowling. “The man has no scruples.”

  “My old nemesis,” Sarah muttered, picking up the folded paper and skimming the article. “He never saw a lovely historic building he didn’t dream of running over with a bulldozer. And seriously, what is his obsession with condos? Does everything have to be replaced with a condo?”

  “Condos are lucrative,” said Matt. “It’s all about the bottom line.”

  “I don’t disagree that old Union Hall is an eyesore,” said Sylvia, “but a contemporary high-rise would stick out like a sore thumb on that street. Well, this is why we have a zoning commission. They won’t let the project go through.”

  “Don’t count on it,” said Sarah darkly. “I bet ‘closed-door meeting’ is code for a smoke-filled back-room deal where Krolich will pay his way into an exemption.”

  “Surely not,” protested Sylvia. “The zoning commission wouldn’t even let Diane’s husband build a skateboard ramp in their own backyard. These condos would be an even more egregious violation of city ordinances.”