Elm Creek Quilts [12] The Winding Ways Quilt

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  Tears sprang into Sarah’s eyes. “Is it all right? Is it supposed to sound like that?”

  “I hear a good, strong, steady heartbeat,” the doctor assured her. “At one hundred fifty beats per minute, it’s just right for fourteen weeks.”

  “But I’m only twelve weeks pregnant,” Sarah reminded her, but stopped short at the doctor’s sudden, thoughtful frown. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Matt reached over and took Sarah’s hand as the doctor slid the monitor around to the other side of her abdomen, pursing her lips slightly, frown lines deepening. Sarah shivered, but not from the cold. She knew something was wrong, but she dared not speak, not while the doctor was listening so intently. She wanted to know, and she didn’t want to know. She wanted to prolong the moment before the doctor announced that something was dreadfully wrong with her child, because the moment she heard those words, her world would come crashing down.

  Then a different sound filled the room, the same quick wooshing of the baby’s heartbeat, overlying a faint echo of the same pulse.

  “Holy crap,” said Matt. The doctor glanced up and nodded, with a faint, knowing smile.

  “What? What is it?” said Sarah with rising panic.

  “I’m detecting two heartbeats.”

  “Right,” said Sarah, puzzling it out. “Mine and the baby’s.”

  “No, yours is that slow, deep one, remember?” Dr. Jamison repositioned the monitor. “Do you hear them now?”

  Sarah felt dizzy. “You mean…twins? You can’t mean twins.”

  “I do indeed mean twins.”

  Matt let out a whoop of delight. “Twins! That’s awesome! Can you tell if they’re girls or boys? Or one of each? That would be so cool.”

  “I can’t determine that from the heartbeat, contrary to folk wisdom. I’ll definitely want to schedule an ultrasound under these circumstances, and if the babies cooperate, we might be able to get an answer for you then.” Dr. Jamison set the monitor aside, wiped most of the gooey gel from Sarah’s abdomen, and handed her a towel so she could finish. “You can sit up now. I’ll step out for a moment so you can dress.”

  Distantly, it occurred to Sarah that it was rather silly to be concerned for her modesty now, after all the doctor had just seen of her. She nodded, unable to speak.

  “Twins,” Matt kept repeating, shaking his head in disbelieving joy. “Twins!”

  “Let’s hope it’s only twins,” said Sarah shakily, buttoning her blouse. She was fourteen weeks pregnant, apparently, not twelve, and with two babies, not one.

  “Hey. It’s okay.” Matt embraced her gently. “I know this isn’t what we expected, but it’s going to be fine. Better than fine. It’s going to be wonderful.”

  “Matt—” She desperately did not want to disappoint him. “I was worried enough about taking care of one baby, but two?”

  He kissed her. “You’re not going to be alone. I’ll be there right beside you every step of the way, and so will a manor full of surrogate grandmas. Everything’s going to work out. Have a little faith.”

  She buried her face in his chest. She did have faith—in everyone but herself. None of her plans included two babies, two cradles, two of everything, and everything divided in two.

  She had not expected to trip over Gwen’s unsmoothable wrinkle so soon.

  As they left the medical center, Matt beamed proudly as he escorted her across the parking lot. “Twins run in my family, you know.”

  “Now you tell me,” she muttered. The August heat rippled in waves off the blacktop, and she felt her morning sickness threatening. It would be hotter in the truck, even with the windows rolled down. For the hundredth time, she wished Matt would arrange for a mechanic to fix the air conditioner. He kept insisting he could do it himself for a fraction of the price, but he never found the time.

  “Come on, you remember,” said Matt, lacing his fingers through hers. “My dad has a twin brother and my mom had a twin sister.”

  Matt had adopted the past tense whenever speaking of his mother, although she was probably still very much alive, somewhere. She had abandoned her husband and son when Matt was only five years old, and as the years passed, she had stopped keeping in touch with Matt’s father. Sarah could never be sure how much Matt truly remembered of her and how much his imagination had been reconstructed from photographs.

  “Uncle Carl is your dad’s twin?” asked Sarah, as if he had not mentioned his mother. She wondered how Matt could still speak of her so fondly. “They don’t look anything alike.”

  “Fraternal. My mom and her sister, though, they were identical twins.”

  “You never told me any of this. I would have remembered.” They approached the red pickup and, as Matt reached for the car keys, Sarah stopped short. “Oh, this won’t work. This is no good at all.”

  “What?”

  “This.” Sarah gestured at the truck, suddenly tearful. “How are we going to fit an infant car seat—two car seats—in a pickup? What are we supposed to do, strap them in back with the cargo?”

  Matt shot her a look of utter bewilderment. “It’s no big deal. When we take the babies out, we’ll use the Elm Creek Quilts minivan.”

  “What if one of the Elm Creek Quilters needs it for camp business?” cried Sarah, bursting into sobs. “What if Sylvia and Andrew are traveling? They always take the minivan in winter.”

  Matt stared at her. “I hope this is hormonal, and I hope it passes. Sarah, honey, we’ll figure it out. We’ll buy another car if we have to.”

  Sarah nodded and climbed into the truck, wiping away tears. Part of her wanted to snap at him for tossing the wordhormonal around, while another part hoped he was right. Six more months of weeping at the sight of an unsuitable car would be unbearable.

  Five and a half more months, she reminded herself. Not six. In her mind’s eye she ripped up her calendar, spreadsheet, and plans and scattered the pieces on the medical center sidewalk behind them.

  The other Elm Creek Quilters were busy with their classes when Sarah and Matt returned to the manor, so Sarah stopped by the kitchen for a glass of water before heading upstairs to the library. Anna stood at the counter chopping vegetables and directing Diane’s eldest son as he stirred something on the stovetop. It smelled wonderful, rich and fragrant, and all thoughts of morning sickness melted away. She suddenly realized she was starving.

  “How did your appointment go?” asked Anna as Sarah dug into the refrigerator.

  Sarah snatched up cheese, sliced turkey breast wrapped in deli paper, whole-grain organic bread, and spicy mustard. “Twins.”

  A knife clattered on the counter. “Did you say twins?”

  “Yep.”

  Sarah barely had time to set down her sandwich fixings before Anna cried out in joy and embraced her. “How wonderful! Congratulations times two. Twice the cuteness, twice the joy.”

  “Twice the diapers,” said Michael.

  Anna waved that off as a minor detail. “Just think how nice it will be for your kids to always have a playmate near while they’re growing up. They’ll never be lonely.”

  Sarah felt tears welling up again, but this time they were infused with happiness. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I guess you’re right.”

  “You’re assuming they’ll get along,” said Michael. “Sometimes siblings hate each other.”

  “These two won’t,” said Anna so decisively that Sarah never thought to question how she could possibly know that. As Sarah reached into the cupboard for a plate, Anna added, “Here, let me make that for you. You should get off your feet.”

  Sarah had to laugh. “Thanks, but I’m not an invalid. I’m going to keep my usual routine until I can’t anymore. Then you’re welcome to wait on me hand and foot.”

  Anna insisted on making her a glass of decaf ginger iced tea, an offer Sarah gratefully accepted. It was so refreshing that Sarah almost wished she had let Anna make the sandwich as well. Their new chef had a gift for bringing out the flavor of the most o
rdinary ingredients, much like a master quilter transformed the most humble scraps of cotton fabric into a work of art.

  Later, up in the office, Sarah dived into her work with a new vigor, knowing that next week’s ultrasound was likely to prove Dr. Jamison right and move up her due date by two weeks. She fervently hoped it would be no more than that.

  She shuffled papers and balanced accounts for most of the afternoon, enjoying the muffled, familiar sounds of quilt camp—voices and footsteps in the halls, laughter and birdsong through the open window, a delivery truck pulling into the parking lot, a lawn mower, the back door swinging open and banging shut. It was a happy, industrious sound, the background music of Sarah’s days. She appreciated it most in those last weeks of summer as the end of the camp season approached. Next year would be so different with a baby—two babies—around. The melody of camp life would change key, taking on the sweet notes of babies’ coos and music boxes, rattles and cries. By the end of summer, the twins would be crawling, and what a job of baby-proofing she and Matt would face before then! That oak staircase was an accident waiting to happen, and all the outlets would need covers—

  A quick rap on the library door startled Sarah from her reverie. “Come in,” she called, tapping keys to save the open document on her computer.

  One of the double doors opened, and a slight, gray-haired woman in a floral skirt, lavender blouse, and sensible shoes entered. “Hello, Sarah,” she said. “Anna said I might find you here. Joe and I just arrived. I’m sure you heard the truck out back. I hope the racket didn’t disturb you.”

  “Gretchen,” exclaimed Sarah, rising. In all the excitement, she had completely forgotten that their newest faculty member was moving in that afternoon—and she had done nothing to prepare the second-floor suite Gretchen and her husband would share. “How was the drive from Ambridge?”

  “Oh, treacherous, just as I expected,” said Gretchen with a laugh. “Neither of us has ever driven a panel truck before. Fortunately we sold most of our large pieces of furniture ahead of time, so we were able to rent a smaller truck than if we hadn’t downsized first.”

  “I’ll round up some strong, young guys to unload your things,” said Sarah, thinking frantically as she retrieved the keys to Gretchen’s rooms from her desk drawer. Where would the delinquents be at that time of the day? “Let me show you to your suite. I have you in the west wing. It’s older, but you have a great view of the cornerstone patio and the north gardens.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be very comfortable,” said Gretchen, a smile lighting up her weary face. “It’s good to be here.”

  “It’s wonderful to have you,” said Sarah, ashamed that Gretchen seemed unaware of the poor welcome she was receiving. Yesterday Sarah had planned to keep an ear tuned to the back parking lot so that she would know immediately when Gretchen arrived, and could race downstairs to meet her at the back door. She had intended to offer Gretchen and Joe refreshments before leading them upstairs to their immaculate, cozy suite. Now she wasn’t sure if anyone had even remembered to sweep their bedroom floor.

  “The other Elm Creek Quilters are teaching right now, but you’ll see everyone at supper.” Sarah led Gretchen from the library past the oak staircase with the view of the grand front foyer below. Gretchen basked in the elegance of her new home, smiling, greeting campers they passed on the way. They turned left at the end of the hall, passed a few doors, and came to Gretchen’s suite. “I hope you don’t mind staying among all the campers. I considered putting you on the third floor for privacy, but you said Joe has a bad back, and I didn’t want to inflict that extra flight of stairs on him.”

  “I’d prefer to be among the campers,” Gretchen assured her. “That’s where the action is.”

  “We can always move you later.” Sarah unlocked the door and gestured for Gretchen to proceed her, hoping against hope that someone had remembered to clean it.

  Gretchen let out a sigh of delight as she stepped into her new sitting room. “It’s perfect.” She went to the window to admire the view, tested the sofa, and spun around to take it all in.

  “Thanks,” said Sarah, glancing through the bedroom door and, to her horror, spotting the price tags dangling from the new mattress, the new pillows still wrapped in plastic, and a vase of brown, wilted flowers on the bedside table. If she moved quickly—but it was already too late, as Gretchen’s explorations had led her to the bedroom.

  “About the flowers…” said Sarah weakly.

  Gretchen burst into laughter. “I hope they’re left over from last week’s campers and not a welcome bouquet. I’d have to wonder what you’re trying to tell me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Sarah. “I meant to change those and set everything up for you, but it’s been a crazy day, and I’m more pregnant than I thought I was, and it completely slipped my mind—”

  “Don’t give it a second thought,” said Gretchen. “I’m not one to fuss over such a little thing. It’s a lovely suite, and I feel quite at home already. You go ahead and get back to your work. Joe and I can take care of settling ourselves in.”

  Relieved, Sarah insisted upon removing the dead flowers and drafting Michael and the other young men to unload the truck and carry the Hartleys’ belongings upstairs. Only after she had welcomed Joe and sat the couple down in the kitchen for iced tea and cookies did she excuse herself and search the manor for Sylvia, the only other Elm Creek Quilter who was not teaching that day. Someone ought to remain with the newcomers, not just to make up for Sarah’s shabby welcome, but to offer the assistance only someone familiar with the manor could give.

  On a day with so many camp activities to enjoy and dozens of quilters eager to spend time with her, the last place Sarah expected to find Sylvia was inside her suite with the door shut, but the whirring of her Featherweight gave her away. “Sylvia,” Sarah called, rapping on the door, “are you busy?”

  The sewing machine stopped and Sarah heard a mad scrambling on the other side of the door. “Just a minute,” Sylvia called back, her voice muffled. When she opened the door moments later, the table around her Featherweight was scrupulously clean, but Sylvia looked a bit distracted, tucking a loose lock of silvery hair behind one ear and brushing stray sewing threads from her lap and sleeves.

  “Working on a top-secret project?” asked Sarah.

  “Don’t be silly,” replied Sylvia. “Tell me, what’s the word from the doctor? You’re in tip-top shape, I presume.”

  “Oh, yes. All three of us seem to be.”

  Sylvia peered at her over the rims of her glasses. “She examined Matt, too?”

  “No. By the three of us, I meant me, the baby, and the other baby.”

  Sylvia drew in a slow breath, her hand flying to her heart. “Oh, my heavens. Twins.”

  “Twins,” Sarah confirmed, smiling.

  Sylvia embraced her. “My dear girl, how wonderful. Congratulations. What did your mother say? She’ll have to make another crib quilt to match the first, won’t she?”

  “I wouldn’t expect her to do that. My mother makes one quilt every two years. She’d never finish in time.”

  Sylvia held her at arm’s length. “You still haven’t told her,” she scolded, easily guessing the truth. “You’ve been home for hours and you couldn’t find a moment to pick up the phone?”

  Sarah couldn’t explain that she needed to recover from her own shock first. “I’ll call her today, I promise, but first, I need your help.” She explained about Gretchen’s arrival and the haphazard welcome she had received.

  “I meant to greet her at the door, too,” said Sylvia, already heading into the hall on her way to Gretchen’s suite. “I must have lost track of time, and I suppose I didn’t hear the truck over the sewing machine.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t working on anything.”

  “Not at all. You asked if I was working on a top-secret project and I asked you not to be silly.” She held up a finger before Sarah could complain about the evasive reply. “I must
say it troubles me to think that we’ve lost sight of the simple rules of hospitality. Gretchen is an Elm Creek Quilter now and she deserved a proper greeting.”

  “We’ll make it up to her. Tonight before the evening program, I can bring her onstage and introduce her to the whole camp. There’s nothing like a round of applause to make a person feel welcome.”

  “I hope you’re right. Honestly. Dead flowers at her bedside.” Shaking her head, Sylvia continued down the hall. “You go back to the library, put your feet up, and write your little speech. I’ll see to Gretchen.”

  “I don’t need to put my feet up,” Sarah said as Sylvia hastened away. Still, she did as instructed, crafting a warm, generous introduction from Gretchen’s resume and the notes Sarah had taken during her interview earlier that summer. Gretchen’s career as a quilter spanned four decades and gave Sarah ample material to draw upon. She had taken her first quilting lesson from none other than Sylvia herself, as a high school student in Ambridge, Pennsylvania, just down the river from Pittsburgh. After working many years as a substitute home economics teacher, Gretchen had helped keep the traditions of quilting alive in the years before the “quilting renaissance” of the 1970s by sharing her knowledge with friends. Eventually that small circle of quilters grew into a thriving guild, and Gretchen became so renowned as a teacher that guilds from hundreds of miles away invited her to lecture and teach. Gretchen and a friend—with whom Sarah gathered she’d had a falling out, a detail she would omit from her introduction—had founded the most successful quilt shop in western Pennsylvania. Sarah had seen for herself that their newest teacher possessed flawless technical skills, and if she was a bit reluctant to innovate or to adopt the latest trends, her devotion to traditional quilting compensated for that. Gretchen was a marvelous addition to the circle of quilters at Elm Creek Manor, and after Sarah introduced her to their campers, everyone there would know it.

  That ought to make up for the vase of wilted daylilies.