The Giving Quilt

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  Sylvia knew from the warmth in Jocelyn’s voice that she meant something even more significant than what she had learned in Gretchen’s quilting classes.

  As each quilter took her turn displaying her handiwork and sharing her memories, Sylvia and the Elm Creek Quilters looked on proudly from outside the circle, honored by the guiding roles they had played in each woman’s journey.

  After the last quilter had spoken, the Elm Creek Quilters gathered up the more than thirty quilts their guests had made that week. “On behalf of Project Linus, please accept my heartfelt thanks for your donations,” said Gretchen, smiling at everyone in the circle. “I promise you, all of your quilts will find loving homes.”

  “And on behalf of all the Elm Creek Quilters, I thank each and every one of you for joining us for Quiltsgiving,” Sylvia added. “I trust that you’ll continue to experience the joys of giving in this holiday season and throughout the New Year—and I hope you’ll visit us again soon.”

  With those closing words, a hush fell over the circle, and someone sighed. Every quilter had taken her turn to share her handiwork and her memories. Quiltsgiving was over, and it was time to say good-bye.

  As the campers reluctantly rose from their chairs and left the fireside, Sylvia approached Karen and touched her on the arm. “I beg your pardon, dear,” she said. “May I have a word?”

  When Karen nodded, Sylvia took her aside and waited until the other campers had moved out of earshot. “I understand that since we last met, you’ve taken a job at a quilt shop.”

  “That’s right,” Karen replied, visibly surprised that Sylvia knew. “I’ve been working at the String Theory Quilt Shop in Summit Pass for several years now.”

  “Oh, yes, I know the place. Such a charming little town. Have you ever been to the Wise Owl Teahouse?”

  Karen smiled. “Many times. There’s a table by the window I think of as my very own. I have you to thank for my new career, you know.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Don’t you remember? You explained that the reason I wasn’t hired here was that I didn’t have any experience teaching quilting.” Suddenly Karen looked pained. “Unless that was just a polite excuse.”

  “No, no, dear, of course not,” Sylvia assured her, patting her on the arm. “That was the real reason. Your understanding of the spirit of Elm Creek Quilts surpassed that of all our other candidates. I certainly don’t mean this as any slight against the ladies we did hire, but if you had taught even a single quilting class, you would have been at the top of my list. Am I correct to assume that you’ve acquired teaching experience since you’ve been working at String Theory?”

  “Yes,” said Karen, a strange hesitancy in her voice. “I teach quite a lot, actually, and I love it.”

  “I wonder, then, if you’d be interested in providing me with an updated résumé?” When Karen’s eyes went wide, Sylvia continued, “Do you remember Bonnie Markham? She’s a founding Elm Creek Quilter, and she was present at your interview.”

  “Yes, I remember her. Short, dark hair, loved folk art and homespuns?”

  Sylvia nodded. “That’s our Bonnie. A few years ago she helped launch a new quilters’ retreat on Maui, and since then, she’s been spending her winters teaching at Aloha Quilt Camp in Lahaina.”

  “How wonderful,” said Karen. “Wait until I tell Pauline that quilting on the beach isn’t just a dream job but a viable career option.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s a long story. Never mind.”

  “If you say so,” Sylvia said with a laugh. “Well, along the way Bonnie fell in love with a perfectly wonderful Hawaiian gentleman. They’re going to be married next month, and after that, she plans to live on Maui year round rather than returning to teach for us in the spring and summer.”

  “I suppose you can hardly blame her,” said Karen. “Pennsylvania is lovely, and Elm Creek Manor is especially so, but Hawaii is—well, Hawaii.”

  “It is difficult to compete with paradise,” Sylvia agreed, “especially when it’s your sweetheart’s childhood home. We’ll miss Bonnie terribly. Her absence leaves an empty place in our hearts—and on our faculty. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in giving us another try?”

  Karen stared at her for a long, silent moment. “Did someone put you up to this?”

  “Goodness, no.”

  “I don’t mean as a joke. I mean, did someone ask you to offer me a job?”

  “Of course not. Who would do such a thing?”

  Instead of answering, Karen shook her head. “I—I’m thrilled and flattered—and I admit, a little stunned—”

  “More than a little, it would seem,” said Sylvia, amused. “But do send me an updated résumé when you get home, won’t you, dear? My friends and I are very interested in what you’ve accomplished since your previous visit to Elm Creek Manor. We do hope to welcome you—and your sons—back soon.”

  Karen nodded, speechless.

  Sylvia thanked her and patted her arm again for good measure, hoping she hadn’t dumbfounded the younger woman so much that it would be unsafe for her to drive home.

  The ballroom had all but emptied by then, as the campers returned to their suites to finish packing and to bid their newfound friends sad good-byes. They carried suitcases and tote bags downstairs, Sarah collected room keys, and Matt loaded luggage into the Elm Creek Quilts minivan for the first shuttle ride to the bus station and airport. Sylvia made sure to bid everyone a fond farewell and to thank them for coming. The twins joined her, when they weren’t busy playing, and Sylvia saw James give Linnea a picture he had drawn of a library with towers of books piled up to the ceiling. Linnea thanked him and assured him she would hang it in a place of honor above her desk in the library where she worked.

  Gradually the upstairs halls fell silent, the back parking lot emptied.

  The Elm Creek Quilters collected linens, emptied trash, discovered forgotten items under beds or in drawers. They broke for a simple lunch of soup and sandwiches, which they enjoyed in the cozy warmth of the kitchen, reminiscing about the week and Quiltsgivings past, sharing amusing stories about their favorite campers and unexpected mishaps. Afterward, they resumed their work until the manor was restored to order, closed for the season until quilt camp resumed in the spring.

  Weary but satisfied with a job well done, the Elm Creek Quilters returned cleaning supplies to storage closets and washed the dust from their hands and faces, and congratulated one another on another successful Quiltsgiving come and gone.

  And then they returned one last time to the ballroom to admire the quilts their guests had made that week—charming and whimsical, soft and bright, warm and comforting—precious gifts from the heart, one and all.

  * * *

  The moment Pauline arrived in baggage claim, Ray swept her up in a bear hug. “I missed you so much, sugar.”

  “I missed you too,” she said, laughing as her toes skimmed the floor. “Now please put me down before one of us gets hurt.”

  On the drive home, Ray updated her on all the news—amusing stories of the kids, the house, the neighborhood, the workplace. It was astonishing how much had gone on in her absence, what a difference a week made.

  “Jeanette stopped by this morning,” Ray said as they pulled onto their tree-lined street. “She thought you’d be home already. She’d like you to call her as soon as possible.”

  “She probably wants to tell me about the Cherokee Rose retreat,” said Pauline. “She knows I’m craving every detail.”

  Ray glanced at her as he pulled the car into their driveway. “Are you sorry you missed it?”

  “A little,” she admitted, “but I’m not sorry I attended Quiltsgiving instead. Not at all.”

  In fact, her stay at Elm Creek Manor had been exactly what she’d needed.

 
She was so busy working her way through the pile of small tasks and obligations that had accumulated during her week away that she couldn’t find a moment to call Jeanette until a few days later. They chatted about the retreat—the successes and mishaps, the grand total their fund-raiser had earned—and Jeanette assured her that everyone in the guild had missed her.

  Pauline was skeptical. “Everyone?”

  “Almost everyone,” Jeanette amended. “Speaking of Brenda, I have shocking news.”

  For a moment Pauline held her breath. “She’s quit the guild and joined a Tibetan monastery?”

  “No, silly. She and her husband have separated.”

  Pauline’s first response was an utter lack of surprise—she wouldn’t want to be married to Brenda either. Then, a moment later, it occurred to her how she would feel if her own marriage fell apart, and empathy won out. “Oh, that’s a shame. When did this happen?”

  “They decided a few days before the retreat and he moved out while she was at the Château Élan.”

  “Bless her heart. And their poor kids! They’re probably devastated.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Jeanette. “Apparently Brenda and her husband haven’t been getting along well for years. A divorce might actually come as a huge relief.”

  Pauline wasn’t so sure. From what she had observed of neighbors and friends—and the occasional 911 call—children usually wanted their parents to stay together and learn to get along, except when abuse figured into it. “I had no idea things were so bad for Brenda at home,” she said, unsettled by the peculiar sensation of feeling sorry for the one person who had made her so miserable. “She never talked about it, at least not in front of me. Not that I was ever her most cherished confidante.”

  “She never talked about it with anyone, no more than a few negative comments now and then that only make sense in hindsight.” Jeanette sighed. “Brenda dreaded going home from the retreat. Her husband had the kids, and he’d cleared out his stuff, so she would be going home to a quiet, half-empty house—”

  “Well, sure. Who’d be eager to go home to that?”

  “Daria and I are taking her out to lunch today, just to see how she’s doing.”

  Pauline almost told Jeanette to give Brenda her best, but it occurred to her that her sympathies might not be welcome. “I hope she’s doing okay. Let me know, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” Jeanette paused. “And how are you doing?”

  Compared to Brenda? Peachy. “I’m doing fine. Really. Don’t worry about me.”

  “You know, we all really do miss you.”

  “I miss you all too.”

  She missed her friends, the guild, and that sense of purpose, of belonging to something bigger than herself. After Karen’s pep talk, Pauline had made up her mind to attend the next guild meeting and not to let one unpleasant, selfish person keep her from doing good works and enjoying the company of her friends. But now, the broad, distinct lines of what she had viewed as a clearly defined battle between good and evil had blurred, leaving her less certain that she understood the whole story. Perhaps Brenda was not the heartless, cruel villain of the tale Pauline had spun for herself. Perhaps Brenda was simply desperately unhappy. Every day, Pauline went home to a husband who was absolutely crazy about her and teenage children who did well in school, never got into any serious trouble, and thought she was pretty cool for a mom, if a little strict. She went home to a house full of love and happiness and laughter. What had Brenda gone home to all these years?

  Pauline didn’t know, and she certainly was in no position to ask. What she did realize was that Brenda clearly needed the Cherokee Rose Quilters more than she did.

  Pauline could give her that.

  The following week, when the Cherokee Rose Quilters met for their annual holiday party, Pauline stayed home.

  The next morning, Jeanette sent her a text saying they had missed her. She followed that up with an e-mail asking when Pauline’s next day off was, because she and Daria wanted to take her to lunch. When Pauline didn’t write back promptly enough, Jeanette called, brushed off Pauline’s feeble excuses, and would not relent until Pauline chose a date, time, and restaurant for them to meet.

  Pauline had not seen Daria in ages and never saw enough of Jeanette, so they had a lot of catching up to do. They chatted and laughed through lunch, as well as dessert and two cups of coffee apiece afterward, to prolong their time together. It was not until after they paid the bill that Jeanette said, “As you know, we’ve been interviewing candidates to take your place in the guild.”

  Pauline tried to smile. “Well, I figured. It’s about time.”

  “We met a lot of fabulous quilters, but we all agreed that there’s only one person we want.” Daria took a red file folder from her purse and slid it across the table to Pauline. “It was unanimous.”

  Pauline looked from the folder to Daria to Jeanette, dubious. “And you want my opinion?” When they nodded, she muffled a sigh, quashed the stirrings of envy in her heart, and opened the folder.

  Her own face smiled up at her from a photo paper-clipped to the portfolio she had submitted several years before.

  Quickly she closed the folder and forced a laugh. “I can’t look at that hair. What was I thinking?”

  Jeanette reached for her hand. “Pauline, honey, we want you back.”

  “The vote was unanimous, you say?”

  Jeanette and Daria exchanged a guilty glance. “Yes, it was,” said Daria. “Brenda happened to be absent the day we voted.”

  “Really.” Pauline regarded them skeptically. “The woman who skipped opening night of her son’s senior class play rather than miss a guild meeting happened to be absent on that particular night.”

  “We called an emergency meeting and didn’t invite her,” Jeanette admitted. “Look. We’ve all agreed. What Brenda did was completely out of line, and allowing you to walk away rather than holding her accountable is not in the spirit of the Cherokee Rose Quilters.”

  “If you don’t feel comfortable returning to the guild as long as Brenda’s around, that won’t be an issue,” Daria said. “If you come back, we’re going to ask her to leave.”

  Pauline stared at them. “You’re going to do what? Now?”

  “Not right this minute,” Daria said. “We’ll meet her in person some time before the next meeting.”

  “No, I mean now, as in mere days after her husband moved out. The timing”—Pauline gestured, searching for the words—“really stinks.”

  Jeanette sighed. “It does. That can’t be helped.”

  “You can’t kick her out now,” Pauline insisted. “That would be cruel. She needs the guild now more than ever. She needs friends.”

  “You need friends too,” Daria pointed out. “Don’t you?”

  Pauline felt a catch in her throat. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “You left for the good of the guild. We get that.” Jeanette leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “We let you. That was our mistake.”

  Daria nodded. “For the good of the guild, we want you back, and we want the person who caused the whole ugly incident to step aside. It’s the only fair way to resolve the situation.”

  Pauline shook her head in disbelief. Her friends were at last standing up for her, speaking up for her, the way she had wished they would, but instead of feeling vindicated, she felt appalled and unhappy.

  “That’s not the only way to resolve the situation,” Pauline said firmly. “I want to come back. Really, I do. And I will, under one condition.”

  Daria brightened, and Jeanette asked, “What’s that?”

  “That you don’t ask Brenda to leave.” Pauline raised a hand to silence their astonished protests. “Surely even a small guild like ours is big enough for both of us. Brenda’s your friend, and she’s
going through a lot right now. If it’s up to me, I say we should choose mercy over justice. Let’s give her another chance.”

  Daria beamed, and Jeanette smiled, and both agreed to her condition.

  Pauline knew it wouldn’t be easy to work with Brenda after so much ugliness had passed between them. She knew that Brenda might slap the olive branch out of her outstretched hand.

  Giving could often be as difficult as it was necessary, and gifts of the heart were sometimes rebuffed. But Pauline knew she had to try.

  Maybe, in the spirit of the season, Brenda would decide to give Pauline a second chance too.

  * * *

  After leaving Elm Creek Manor, Michaela drove home to Pheasant Branch to do her laundry—for free and with appliances that didn’t shrink her clothes, unlike those at school—and to have dinner with her parents. Her mother hung on every detail of her Quiltsgiving week, and she especially admired Michaela’s Giving Journal and the handouts Gretchen had distributed in class.

  Michaela had so much to share that she started back to St. Andrew’s College later than she had intended. The snow-covered campus was dark and quiet by the time she parked in the student lot and pulled her wheeled suitcase across campus, planting her crutches carefully on the sidewalk wherever the sprinkling of rock salt had failed to do its job.

  “Stupid ankle,” she muttered as she struggled through the doors into the lobby of her dorm. Stupid guys who dropped me, she thought as she punched the button to summon the elevator. She was so sick of cast and crutches that when she was finally through with them, she thought she might either hurl them out of her dorm room window or set them on fire, or perhaps both.

  She spent the next week catching up in her classes and writing a report on her Quiltsgiving experience in order to earn her community service credit. When she dropped off the paper at her adviser’s office, she spoke so enthusiastically about Elm Creek Quilts and Project Linus that her adviser, a longtime quilter herself, declared that she intended to sign up for the next Quiltsgiving.