Elm Creek Quilts [12] The Winding Ways Quilt

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  “You’ll just have to wait and see for yourselves,” Judy said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I didn’t think there was until you said that,” said one of the women, alarmed.

  Judy’s only reply was to raise her eyebrows significantly and take another bite of one of Anna’s flavorful salads—couscous, corn, and black beans with a southwestern kick. She would miss teasing the newbies every summer Sunday. It had become a sport for Elm Creek Quilters and veteran campers alike, but it was all in good fun. If these newbies returned next year, they would find out that second-year campers were the most enthusiastic teasers of all.

  The registration rush subsided for a time after Judy returned from lunch, then surged in the late afternoon as long-distance travelers completed their journeys. Matt made several trips to the airport, bus, and train stations in the Elm Creek Quilts minivan, dropping off carloads of weary travelers whose fatigue seemed to fall away as soon as they entered the manor. Far-flung friends cried out in delight and rushed to reunite with campers they had not seen since the summer before, while some who had come alone, knowing no one, hung back, a bit overwhelmed by the bursts of laughter and emotional scenes going on all around them.

  “You’ll get to know everyone soon,” Judy promised a tentative brown-haired woman, offering her a room key and an encouraging smile. “I know it can seem that everyone knows everyone but you, especially your first time staying with us.”

  “I really hope you’re right,” the woman said timorously. She grasped the handle of her suitcase, rolled it across the foyer, and lugged it upstairs to the second floor. As far as Judy could tell, she didn’t pause to exchange a word or a glance with anyone.

  “Name badges,” said Sarah, who had observed the scene. “We should really start using name badges, like at the national quilt shows, with the campers’ names and hometowns on them. When people see where you’re from, they ask questions and you almost always find something in common.”

  “I don’t think in this case a name badge would have helped,” said Judy with misgivings. She wished she had thought to accompany the newcomer upstairs and introduce her to some especially friendly campers she remembered from previous years. Or she could have previewed the class rosters and helped the woman meet a soon-to-be classmate.

  As the number of room keys on the table in front of Judy dwindled, the other Elm Creek Quilters began closing down their stations and making ready for the evening’s events. The last straggler finally arrived shortly before six, looking rather frazzled and windblown, and muttering about construction on the turnpike. Judy signed her in, gave her the last room key, and hurried off to call her husband, Steve, before the Welcome Banquet. Delicious aromas drifted down the hallway from the kitchen. Judy’s mouth watered when she considered what Anna might do to top her amazing inaugural lunch.

  Steve answered on the first ring; he and Emily were on their way out the door to fetch pizza, DVDs, and Emily’s best friend, Courtney, as Steve had agreed to let Emily invite her friend to spend the night.

  “That’s a great idea,” said Judy. She wanted Emily to enjoy as much time as possible with her best friend before they had to part ways. Steve knew this, too, although he hadn’t said so. They had been married so long and so well that most of their communication took place in the silences between their words, in their own subliminal shorthand.

  After promising Steve she would return home soon to help him supervise the sleepover, Judy slipped away to Summer’s room to freshen up before the Welcome Banquet. By the time she returned downstairs to the banquet hall off the front foyer, nearly all of their guests had seated themselves. The room had been transformed from its more casual lunchtime atmosphere by white tablecloths, centerpieces of flower petals sprinkled amid candles, and Sylvia’s fine heirloom china, nearly translucent, with the Bergstrom rearing stallion in the center. Voices were hushed yet full of anticipation. Judy had only just found herself a place at the nearest table when the delinquents emerged from the servants’ door, neatly attired in black slacks, white shirts, black ties, and white aprons. They looked so professional that one would hardly know they had once destroyed an entire quilt shop just for fun.

  With them were Diane’s two sons, legitimate seasonal employees rather than part of the chain gang. The eldest, Michael, directed the others as they carried in the first course, but by this time, so late in the summer, they knew the choreography so well that they needed little guidance. With practiced nonchalance, they set the steaming bowls of mushroom and rosemary soup before the campers and their hosts, and Judy knew even before dipping her spoon into the bowl that this was going to be the best soup she had ever tasted. The organic baby green salad that followed was perfection itself, as were the salmon filets and eggplant ratatouille, which required all her willpower not to devour entire. It was a good thing she was leaving, or she would have to take up marathon running to fend off the pounds.

  She did manage to set down her dessert spoon after one bite of the chocolate mousse—not because it wasn’t delicious, but because she honestly couldn’t eat another bite. “You probably get tired of eating like this every day,” said one of her dinner companions enviously, licking the last rich chocolate morsel from her spoon.

  Judy would have explained that until recently, their campers had to make do with brownies from a box mix and ice cream, unless one of the Elm Creek Quilters had remembered to stop by the German bakery in downtown Waterford, but a sudden hush in the room distracted her. Evening had fallen; the floor-to-ceiling windows on the western wall opened onto a violet and rose sky in the distance beyond Elm Creek. Sylvia stood near the door, and in a clear voice that carried the length of the banquet hall, she invited everyone to follow her outside.

  It was time for every Elm Creek Quilter’s favorite part of quilt camp, when the week still lay before them promising friendship and fun, and their eventual parting could be forgotten for a while.

  Sylvia led the campers from the banquet hall through the west wing of the manor and outside to the cornerstone patio. When their voices rose above a murmur, Sylvia smiled and gestured for silence, adding to the aura of mystery. Earlier Matt and Sarah had arranged chairs in one large circle on the patio, and now Sarah beckoned the campers to sit. Murmuring, questioning, the campers took their places, and occasionally a nervous laugh broke the stillness. The quilters’ voices fell silent as Sylvia lit a candle, placed it in a crystal votive holder, and took her place in the center of the circle. As the dancing flame in her hands cast light and shadow on her features, Judy felt a tremor of excitement and nervousness run through those gathered around her.

  Slowly Sylvia turned around, gazing into the faces of her guests. “One of our traditions is to conclude the first evening of quilt camp with a ceremony we call Candlelight,” she told them. “It began as a way for our guests to introduce themselves to us and to one another. Since we’re going to be living and working together closely this week, we should feel as if we are among friends. But our ceremony has a secondary purpose. At its best, it helps you to know yourselves better, too. It encourages you to focus on your goals and wishes, and it helps prepare you for the challenges of the future and the unexpected paths upon which you might set forth.”

  Sylvia allowed the expectant silence to swell before she explained the ceremony. The campers would pass the candle around the circle, and as each woman took her turn to hold the flickering light, she would explain why she had come to Elm Creek Quilt Camp and what she hoped to gain that week. There was a pause after Sylvia asked for a volunteer to speak first.

  “Not me,” someone whispered so tremulously that a ripple of laughter went up from the circle.

  A woman with a blue cashmere sweater thrown over her shoulders raised a hand. “I’ll volunteer, although this honor ought to go to someone with a grander vision.” She took the crystal candleholder from Sylvia and studied the small yellow light for a moment. “Where to begin…With my name, I suppose. I’m Nancy, and as the
newly elected president of the Waterford Quilt Guild, I’ve come as an ambassador. Under our previous administration, relations with Elm Creek Quilts have been strained, to say the least. While some of our guild members have attended camp sessions on their own, our official guild policy was not to communicate with Elm Creek Quilts. You sent us invitations to free classes and special lectures, and our officers didn’t pass the information along to the rest of the guild. You asked us to participate in making a wedding quilt for your founder, and your request was returned to you in very rude fashion.”

  “I’ll say,” muttered Diane, who had been present.

  “I’m here to make amends,” said Nancy. “A personal disagreement between our longtime former president and an Elm Creek Quilter was the root cause of our estrangement. Our former president is no longer affiliated with our guild, and I hope whatever quarrel she had with your staff member can be put in the past. I believe that the Waterford Quilt Guild and Elm Creek Quilts have similar goals and interests, and we ought to work together to promote the art and heritage of quilting in the Elm Creek Valley. So I decided to see for myself what Elm Creek Quilts is all about, and I hope that in getting to know me, the Elm Creek Quilters will decide to give the Waterford Quilt Guild a second chance.”

  “You may be sure of it,” said Sylvia, with a sidelong glance at Diane, the Elm Creek Quilter involved in the long-standing battle of wills. “I would like nothing more than to work together. I’m sure we have much to offer one another, but I must disagree with you on one point.”

  Nancy’s eyebrows rose. “And that is?”

  “That someone with a grander vision should speak first. What grander vision than peace and reconciliation, and what better way to begin our Candlelight?”

  Nancy smiled, and as the other quilters murmured their approval, she passed the candleholder to the next woman in the circle. The shy, brown-haired woman Judy had assisted at registration accepted it with a faint squeak of alarm. Judy wished that Nancy had passed the candle around the circle in the other direction, so that the brown-haired woman could have gone last instead of second.

  “My name is Marcia, and I’m from Illinois,” the brown-haired woman said in a voice little more than a whisper.

  “Speak up,” someone boomed from the other side of the circle.

  Marcia cleared her throat and raised her voice, but not by much. “My name is Marcia, and I’m from Illinois. This is my first visit to Elm Creek Manor, and I was almost too scared to come.” When a few giggles of surprise interrupted her, Marcia hunched in her chair so that her shoulders almost touched her ears. “I know how silly it sounds, but it’s true. I’ve never even been brave enough to join my church’s quilting guild. Usually I quilt alone, or with a few of my friends at work. Every Tuesday we sew together in the office lunchroom and once a month we spend our lunch hour at a quilt shop. Last spring, my friend Dana found the Elm Creek Quilts website and convinced us to sign up for a week of camp. Ordinarily I would have been petrified at the thought of coming so far to spend a week with so many strangers, but I thought with my three friends around, it wouldn’t be too bad.” She took a deep breath. “You might have noticed that I’m a little shy.”

  No one said anything. Perhaps they feared frightening her into silence, or like Judy, they were wondering what had become of her three friends.

  “We were all looking forward to the trip. Even me. Then our boss noticed that we had all scheduled the same week off and insisted that one of us stay. I volunteered, but he chose my friend because she’s more experienced. Then my other friend got hit by a boy on one of those motorized scooters and had to have knee replacement surgery, so a long plane trip was out of the question. We were down to two, but I still thought that would be okay. Then yesterday my third friend called me and said she couldn’t come because she had chicken pox.”

  An exclamation of astonishment went up from the group.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” said Marcia, misunderstanding. “I had it in first grade. I didn’t bring it with me to infect everyone. Well, after all that, you can see why I wanted to cancel my trip.”

  “Not me,” Judy overheard one camper whisper to another. “I’d get the heck out of there before the next calamity struck.”

  “When I told my husband I couldn’t possibly go without my friends, he insisted that I come anyway. He packed my suitcase, drove me to the airport, dropped me off at the curb, and told me he’d see me in a week. It was all I could do to get on the plane. I’m so worried that it’s going to be like high school all over again—no one to sit with at lunch, no one to chat with before class, and watching all the fun from the outside of the circle. So. Why am I here?” Marcia fell silent. “To improve my quilting, of course. My friends are counting on me to share everything I learn with them. But I’m also hoping to make some new friends. I’ve joined a few Internet quilt lists, and the ladies are always talking about how much fun they have with their quilting friends when they finally meet in person, and how quilters are such wonderful, welcoming people. I decided to be brave and find out for myself. Honestly, if I can’t make friends among quilters, then I must really be a hopeless case.”

  A few murmurs of protest went up from the circle, but they quickly fell silent.

  “I’m going to try my best, but I have a favor to ask of all of you.” Marcia’s voice had fallen to a near whisper again. “I know it’s easy to forget us outsiders when you’re having so much fun with your old friends, but please try to be more aware of the people who sit outside your usual circle of quilters, and consider stretching that circle a bit to let in someone new.”

  Quickly Marcia passed the candle to the next quilter, her face flushed and eyes downcast. Judy doubted she had ever said anything so confrontational in her life. As confrontations went, it was fairly mild, but Judy knew that some of the women were bound to take Marcia’s plea the wrong way, as criticism instead of a cry for acceptance. Sure enough, Judy saw one woman roll her eyes and whisper in the ear of a friend, whose shoulders shook with silent laughter. Disappointed, Judy looked away, but then she was heartened to see the three women who had arrived in matching fuchsia T-shirts whispering and nodding together as they cast smiles in Marcia’s direction. The shy woman completely missed their friendly glances, so intently was she staring at the gray patio stones beneath her brown sandals. Judy hoped the fuchsia-clad women planned to invite Marcia to sit with them at breakfast the next morning. Time would tell.

  The woman seated at Marcia’s right was at least twenty years her senior, with short, wild curls and bifocals. She regarded Marcia with maternal fondness as she took the candle. “Thank you, Marcia, for reminding us that circles can exclude as well as include. I hope we will all resolve not to be miserly with our friendships.” She looked around the circle of shadowed faces in a way that reminded Judy of her fair-minded but firm seventh-grade teacher. “My name is Doris and I’m from Lincoln, Nebraska. Three summers ago, I could barely sew on a button—unlike my four best girlfriends, who had quilted for years and were always going on quilt retreats and shop hops. Whenever the four of us got together, they would talk about their adventures and I would feel terribly left out and, I admit, the tiniest bit jealous. I decided to learn to quilt just to keep up with them, so I signed up for a week of Elm Creek Quilt Camp, and I was hooked. Now, not only do I get to join in my friends’ quilting adventures back home, but I’ve also made more wonderful friends here.” She smiled and looked around the circle of faces, warmly illuminated by candlelight. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember which came first, the quilting or the friendships, they’re so closely intertwined in my memory. This week I hope to rekindle old friendships, make new ones, and return home with some new sewing tricks to impress my friends.”

  As she passed on the candle, approving murmurs rose into the night sky, harmony restored after the discordant note of Marcia’s shy confession. Doris had spoken of quilters the way they wanted to see themselves, Judy thought, and not the way they could sometime
s be when they forgot to look beyond their own familiar circle. She hoped Marcia’s humble plea for acceptance would not be too quickly forgotten.

  The next quilter eagerly seized the candleholder. “I’m Sue Anne, and I came because I’m sick of getting third-place ribbons in my quilt guild’s annual show.” Her declaration met with a burst of laughter. “Every year the judges’ comments are the same: borders are crooked, borders are wavy. Binding isn’t full enough. Binding should be cut on the bias. Binding should not fall off the quilt.” More laughter. “Those nitpickers take off points for everything. So I asked my sister-in-law for advice, and she should know, because she’s forever throwing extra scallops into her borders just to show off. I thought she would give me a few pointers, but instead she urged me to sign up for Judy DiNardo’s seminar at Elm Creek Quilt Camp. I called the next day, and it’s a good thing, too. The girl who answered the phone told me that this is my last chance to take Judy’s class because she’s leaving!”

  Judy’s heart fluttered nervously as all eyes suddenly went to her. She smiled weakly and managed an apologetic shrug.

  “You’re leaving?” another woman gasped. “How could you?”

  “I have a new job—”

  “What new job could be better than this? I’d sweep the floors for room and board if they’d let me.”

  As others chimed in their agreement, Sylvia quickly stepped in. “That’s a story for another time, if Judy chooses to share it.” With a gracious smile, she gestured for Sue Anne to pass the candle on to the next quilter, one of the three wearing fuchsia T-shirts. As soon as Sue Anne handed off the candle, she frowned as if suddenly remembering that she had not finished her story.