“Or in mine,” Sarah added.
“People need stories.” With some effort, Sylvia pushed herself out of her chair and beckoned for Linnea to accompany her to one of the bookshelves. “We use stories to teach, to learn, to make sense of the world around us. As long as we need stories, we will need books, and as long as there are books, there will be libraries.”
Linnea’s gaze traveled from Sylvia’s knowing eyes to the books upon the shelves, family heirlooms treasured by generations of readers. “I hope you’re right,” she said softly.
She had no doubt that private libraries like the Bergstrom family’s would endure. What she feared for were the even more essential libraries—those that were open to all, those that offered the opportunity for learning and discovery to those who could not find them any other place, to those who needed them most. Their fate, like the fate of her own beloved Conejo Hills Public Library, was far less certain.
CHAPTER FOUR
Michaela
M ichaela was lying on the floor awkwardly working her way through a series of yoga poses when she heard the plaintive chords of a familiar Bob Dylan song. She lumbered over to the nightstand and snatched up her phone. “Morning, Mom,” she said, flopping down on the unmade bed.
“Good morning, angel. How are you feeling today?”
“My foot and I are both fine, although we’re not on speaking terms.” Michaela scowled at the cast. “Why can’t it heal faster? If I don’t have a good aerobic workout complete with sweat and an elevated pulse soon, I think I’ll go crazy.”
“If you do your yoga properly, you’ll get there. Have you been drinking the herbal teas I blended for you?”
“Faithfully.” They tasted terrible, but most of her mother’s remedies did, in direct proportion to how swiftly they worked. Michaela knew she’d have been in much worse shape without them.
“That’s my girl. Keep it up, and think positive, healing thoughts.” Her mother sighed. “I was hoping time away from school would help you relax and boost your immune system, but if you’re stressed out and unhappy, it doesn’t justify all those missed classes.”
“Mom, relax,” Michaela said, and she heard her mother immediately take a deep, cleansing breath. “I’m having a great time, really. Elm Creek Manor is as gorgeous as you promised, and the food is way better than at school.”
“Have you made any friends? I’m guessing there isn’t anyone else your age around.”
Only rarely did Michaela find someone her own age within a gathering of quilters. “I’ve made a few friends,” she said, thinking of Jocelyn, the sisters, and the other two quilters she’d kind of been hanging out with lately. They were funny and nice, and they didn’t make any annoying, disparaging remarks about her age like that one lady at the Candlelight had.
Michaela told her mother about the previous night’s program, knowing she would appreciate it. Sarah McClure had given the campers blank journals covered in plain canvas, which they had decorated as their hearts desired—some with fabric, others with paint, ink, dye, or decoupage or a fantastic mixture of techniques. When everyone had finished, they had set their gloriously transformed journals on a table to dry and admired one another’s creations. Then Sarah had explained that these were Giving Journals, and that every night, they should describe five ways they had given of themselves to others that day and name five people for whom they were especially grateful.
“What if you can’t think of five of each?” a quilter had asked.
Sarah had smiled. “Then tomorrow, think of how you could live differently—more consciously, deliberately, and aware—so that you’ll have more than enough to write in your journal. Trust me, the more faithfully you keep your Giving Journal, the more abundant your life will be. The only problem you’ll have with writing your nightly entries is paring down the possibilities to only five.”
“I always did like Sarah McClure, and now I have another reason,” Michaela’s mom remarked. “I should start a Giving Journal of my own. Did you have any trouble coming up with your lists?”
“A little with the first one,” Michaela admitted. “I’ve been so focused on making the Giving Quilt and studying at night that I wasn’t thinking about giving to others. But today I will.” The second list had been much easier. Michaela was most grateful for her parents, of course, that day and every day. She had also listed Jocelyn, Linnea, and Karen, who had carried dinner trays and quilting supplies for her as she maneuvered around the manor on her crutches. Last but definitely not least on her list was her college friend Emma, who had promised to share her English Lit notes for the week Michaela was missing class—and no one had been more supportive than Emma throughout the dismal months surrounding Michaela’s accident.
“‘Incident’ is a better word for it than ‘accident,’” she muttered scathingly to herself after she and her mother hung up. Then she remembered her Giving Journal, heaved a sigh, and decided to give the two students who had injured her the benefit of the doubt. They wouldn’t know she had done so, but maybe, somehow, through karma or a weight of guilt lifted off their shoulders, they would feel it.
Or maybe they wouldn’t, if no guilt had weighed them down in the first place. Michaela would probably never know the truth, and it wouldn’t change anything if she did.
She sighed again and hobbled off to get dressed for breakfast.
* * *
With help from Jocelyn and Pauline—two people for the second part of that evening’s journal entry and it wasn’t even nine o’clock—Michaela managed to get from the buffet to a table to the classroom without dropping anything, falling on her backside, or injuring anyone.
“You know what occurred to me?” she mused as they took their usual seats—Pauline, Linnea, and Mona in the front row, Michaela and Jocelyn seated a row behind. Karen had broken her two-day-old tradition of sitting in the back row and had moved up to take the seat next to Michaela.
“What’s that?” asked Jocelyn with an encouraging, expectant look Michaela suspected she practiced a lot on her students.
“We’re all involved in education,” she said. “You’re a teacher, Karen teaches quilting, Pauline runs an annual quilting retreat where I’m sure lots of teaching goes on—”
“Ran,” said Pauline. “I ran retreats, past tense—and really, I only helped. I didn’t do it all myself.”
“That’s good enough,” said Michaela. “Linnea does a lot of work with literacy in her library, and I’m an education major. That’s probably why we all get along so well.”
“What about me?” said Mona.
“Well, you . . .” Michaela thought for a moment. “You’re related to a librarian. That counts.”
Everyone laughed—even Gretchen, who had caught the end of their conversation as she took her place at the front of the classroom. “I hope you did your homework and finished all thirty-two of your Resolution Square blocks,” Gretchen said as soon as all the students had taken their seats, “because today we’re sewing them together.”
A soft, forlorn wail went up from the back row, evoking a few sympathetic chuckles from other students.
“You have time to catch up,” Gretchen assured the student who was apparently trailing behind her classmates, and then she turned to Pauline. “May I please borrow a few of your blocks?”
“Take as many as you like,” said Pauline, clearly thrilled to have been chosen.
Gretchen thanked her and gathered up a few of her red-and-purple blocks, which were arranged in an orderly stack next to a nearly identical pile of green-and-pink blocks. “You’re awesome,” whispered Michaela, impressed.
Muffling a laugh, Pauline gazed heavenward and waved off the praise.
Taking Pauline’s blocks to the design wall, Gretchen turned one forty-five degrees and pressed it to the felt until it stuck. “This is called an on-point setting,” she exp
lained, arranging more blocks rotated to the same angle around it. “A straight, horizontal setting is more common, and a bit easier to assemble, but an on-point setting can often create new and interesting secondary patterns. That’s the secret to this Giving Quilt’s striking appearance.”
Michaela nodded along with the other students and typed a few notes on her smartphone.
“We’ll begin by sewing our blocks into rows—unequal rows,” Gretchen continued. “You’ll need two rows of three blocks each, two of five blocks each, and two of seven.”
Mona’s brow furrowed. “That leaves two blocks left over.”
“No, that leaves two rows of one block each,” Linnea said.
“Well, when you put it that way, it’s obvious,” replied Mona, tossing her sister a grin as she reached for her pile of purple-and-gold Resolution Square blocks.
The usual hum of conversation was more subdued that morning, as the campers concentrated on pinning their blocks together and joining them with quick, neat, quarter-inch seams. Some of her classmates pressed their blocks after every seam, and some pressed after completing a row, but Michaela decided to wait until she had assembled all of her rows and press the seams all at once to save herself trips to the ironing station.
As was her custom, Gretchen walked through the classroom while her students labored, offering a word of encouragement here and a helpful tip there. Michaela had just finished pressing her last seam when Gretchen returned to the front of the room and raised her hands for their attention. “I know some of you are still sewing your blocks into rows, but since class is half-over—” A few gasps and exclamations of astonishment interrupted her, and several quilters glanced sharply up at the clock on the side wall to see for themselves. “Time flies when you enjoy your work, doesn’t it? Now, don’t panic; you’ll have all afternoon to finish up, but I do want to demonstrate the next step, especially for you beginners, before we run out of time.”
She instructed them to cut four squares from their background fabrics, nine and three-quarters of an inch by nine and three-quarters of an inch, and then to cut each square on the diagonal twice from corner to corner. “These are your side setting triangles,” she explained, demonstrating with her own rotary cutter, ruler, and background fabric. “You’ll have two triangles left over, but unless you’re running short of fabric, the time you save using this quick-cutting technique is worth the waste. Besides, extra fabric is never really wasted, is it? You can always use those leftover pieces in another project.”
Her students nodded, watching in the overhead mirror as Gretchen deftly sliced the last of her side setting triangles. “Next you’ll cut your four corner triangles,” she said, giving them the proper measurements for two squares that they then cut in half along the diagonal. Borrowing Pauline’s block rows, she arranged block rows and setting triangles on the design wall so that the students could see how the various segments were meant to fit together. Although a diagram appeared in the handouts Gretchen had distributed the first day, Michaela snapped a photo with her phone as a backup. Before putting away her phone, she e-mailed the photo to her mom. Almost immediately, her mom texted back a smiley face.
The campers set themselves to work, and after they had been pinning and sewing for a while, Gretchen put on some stirring orchestral music to inspire them. After one particularly vigorous piece almost had Michaela fired up enough to attempt a back handspring despite her cast, she asked anyone within earshot what it was.
“That’s Symphony No. 9 in E Minor,” said Jocelyn. “It’s known as the New World Symphony because composed it in 1893 during a visit to the United States.”
“Oh. Classical stuff.” Michaela had assumed it was from a movie soundtrack. “Do you know that because you’re a history teacher?”
Jocelyn smiled. “I know that because I love music. My husband plays—” She hesitated. “My late husband played the French horn. There are some achingly beautiful horn solos in this symphony, so he listened to it a lot at home.” Her gaze turned inward. “His friends from the orchestra played an excerpt from the largo movement at his funeral.”
Michaela held her breath for a moment, stunned by the sudden, naked pain on Jocelyn’s face. Jocelyn had mentioned her husband a few times that week, but she had never called him her late husband, and she had not mentioned a funeral. Michaela definitely would have remembered that. “I thought you said your husband was a science teacher,” Michaela asked faintly. She didn’t know if she should say she was sorry Jocelyn’s husband was dead—of course she was, but if he had died a long time ago, it might seem like a dumb thing to say. Suddenly she realized it didn’t matter how much time had passed—Jocelyn was obviously still very sad and Michaela was truly very sorry for her grief. She should have said so right away, but she had asked that other lame question instead and now it would be too awkward.
“He was a teacher, and a very good one,” Jocelyn replied. “The orchestra was a part-time gig, mostly for fun. He used to say his stipend barely paid for his sheet music.”
Jocelyn smiled briefly, but her gaze was faraway, and Michaela felt as if she were intruding on a precious, private memory. As she looked away, her eyes met Linnea’s, and from the shocked sympathy she saw there, she knew Linnea hadn’t known about Jocelyn’s grief either.
* * *
Before breaking for lunch, Gretchen demonstrated how to add a mitered double border to their quilt tops. Michaela had mastered that technique while she was in middle school, so she merely listened politely as she pinned her last two rows together instead of taking notes. She was not the only camper who was not quite ready for that last step; only Karen and Pauline had finished sewing all of their rows together.
“The classroom and the workstations throughout the ball-room will be available for the rest of the day,” Gretchen reminded them. “I’ll be around if you need my help, but if you can’t find me, feel free to ask any of the Elm Creek Quilters, or seek help from one another. I’m sure none of you kind and generous ladies would need the extra incentive, but if you give another camper help with her quilt, that’s something to list in your Giving Journal.”
A light ripple of laughter went through the classroom, and then everyone got back to work. No one, not even Pauline and Karen, finished assembling her quilt top before the end of class, and nearly everyone left her supplies and works in progress at her place.
Jocelyn and Michaela headed off to lunch together as they had the previous two days, and this time, Karen fell in step beside them. “All I have to do is press my borders,” she said, “and I’m done with my top.”
“I’m nowhere near that point,” said Jocelyn, shaking her head. “I have only half of my rows sewn together.”
“After lunch I was going to work on some UFOs I brought from home, but I’d be happy to help you if you like,” said Karen.
“That’s kind of you, but I’d like to do this on my own,” said Jocelyn. “I’ve wanted to learn to quilt for a very long time, and I think it will be more satisfying if I sew every stitch myself.”
“You should have plenty of time,” Karen assured her.
“Oh, I’m not worried. I’ll skip the evening program if I have to.”
They had reached the banquet hall, where Pauline stood holding open the door so that Michaela could swing through on her crutches. “You can’t miss the evening program,” she exclaimed. “The Waterford College Chamber Ensemble is coming to play for us. Sarah says they’re marvelous.”
“I’ve heard them before, and they’re quite good,” Karen added. “Sylvia said the program includes ‘music for the season.’”
“Thanksgiving carols?” said Michaela, dubious. “I didn’t think there were any.”
Karen smiled. “I think she meant Christmas music, but you never know.”
“I would hate to miss that,” admitted Jocelyn.
“Just get a
s much done as you can between lunch and supper, and then take a break for some fun,” said Mona, who stood just ahead of them in the lunch buffet queue with her sister. “That’s what I’m going to do, and I’m even farther behind than you are.”
“I don’t think either of you is technically behind schedule,” said Karen. “We don’t really need to have our tops finished until tomorrow morning.”
Linnea dug into her tote bag and pulled out the syllabus. “Tomorrow’s agenda includes pressing our quilt tops and longarm machine-quilting them.”
“That will be so awesome,” said Michaela. “I’ve always wanted to use one of those big machines. I keep trying to talk my mom into buying one, but she loves to quilt by hand. I would too, if it didn’t take a million years to finish a single quilt.”
The others chimed in with their agreement, all except for Jocelyn. “I was actually hoping we would learn to hand-quilt,” she said, picking up a plate for herself and one for Michaela. “That’s more my style. I was looking forward to learning a more traditional method.”
“Must be the history teacher in you,” Linnea remarked.
“I’m sure one of the Elm Creek Quilters would be happy to teach you during free time,” Karen said. “Really, though, machine-quilting is the way to go if time is of the essence.”
Jocelyn nodded. “In this case, it definitely is.”
“I suppose the only solution is to come back for a week of Elm Creek Quilt Camp in the summer so you can take a hand-quilting workshop,” said Linnea.
Jocelyn laughed. “I like that idea.”
“I think we all do,” said Pauline.
They found a vacant table and seated themselves around it. Michaela set her crutches aside and thanked Jocelyn for helping her carry her lunch. “I never would have guessed you were a beginning quilter,” she added. “Your quilt is coming together so well.”
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