“What will Matthew say?”
“He can survive without me for one night, I think.”
“Hmph. You may be surprised.” Mrs. Compson paused. “As you say, it might be fun.”
“You won’t have to do any of the work. I’ll take care of all the food and getting the rooms ready and everything.”
“Hmph. No, you won’t; I wouldn’t let you do all that alone.” She sighed. “How many people are we talking about?”
“Six. Seven including me.”
“Eight including me. That’s plenty of help for finishing the quilt.”
“Most of them you’ve met already, at the quilt show, I mean, and you already know Bonnie and Gwen pretty well, and—”
Mrs. Compson held up a palm. “You can stop babbling now, Sarah. I agree. We may have your quilting party.”
“Oh, thanks, Mrs. Compson.” Impulsively, Sarah hugged her. “This will be great. You’ll see.”
“I believe I may regret this. You have something up your sleeve, my dear, and don’t think I don’t know it.”
Sarah assumed her best wide-eyed-innocence expression. “Who, me? You’re the one with all the surprises.”
“Hmph. We’ll see.” Mrs. Compson passed the quilt top to Sarah, pushed open the door, and led Sarah to the large object in the corner of the ballroom. She grasped the edge of the sheet covering it. “This is the quilting frame I told you about, the one Claudia and I used before I left home. Let’s see if it still works.”
She pulled off the sheet, and a cloud of dust rose. Coughing and sneezing, Sarah peered through the cloud to find a rectangular wooden frame roughly four feet across and six feet long perched on four legs that raised it to table height. At the corners were strange assemblies of knobs and gears with slender rods running the length of the frame between them. On either side of the tablelike surface was a small wooden chair. And draped across the middle—
“Why, there’s a quilt still on the frame,” Mrs. Compson said when the dust had settled. “What on earth?” She bent over the faded cloth and studied the pieces.
Sarah could tell that it was a scrap quilt, and many if not most of the pieces were not typical cotton quilting fabrics. She guessed it was decades old, maybe as much as fifty years. Pieced blocks alternated with solid fabric squares of the same size. The block pattern resembled a star, but not quite. Eight narrow triangles with their smallest angles pointing toward the center formed an octagon in the middle of the block. There were eight squares, one joined to each edge of the octagon, and between the squares were eight diamonds, each with a tip touching a corner of the octagon. Four triangles and four parallelograms finished the design. The quilt sagged in the middle, as if the mechanism holding it taut and secure had weakened over time.
“Look over here,” Sarah said. “The points of these diamonds are chopped off. Didn’t you say that’s a sign of Claudia’s piecing?”
“Castle Wall,” Mrs. Compson murmured. “Well, if that doesn’t just fit. Castle Wall.”
“Mrs. Compson?”
“Safety and security and comfort behind the Castle Wall. Except you have to come back home before home can be your safe castle, your refuge. Of all the choices.”
“Mrs. Compson?” Sarah gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a small shake. Startled, Mrs. Compson gasped and tore her eyes away from the quilt. “Are you all right?” Sarah asked.
Mrs. Compson pulled away. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. This was just . . . a bit unexpected.”
“Is this Claudia’s work?”
Mrs. Compson nodded and turned back to the quilt. “And the Puz—and Agnes’s, too.” With a trembling finger she traced one of the quilt pieces, a blue pinstriped diamond. Then she reached out and stroked a central octagon made from tiny red flannel triangles. “See this?” She indicated the blue diamond. “That was from the suit James wore on our wedding day. And this red flannel—why, I spent a good part of my married life threatening to burn this wretched work shirt.” She touched a soft blue-and-yellow square. “This—” With an effort she steadied her voice, but Sarah saw tears spring to her eyes. “This was from my daughter’s receiving blanket. My lucky colors, you know, blue and yellow—” She choked up and pressed a hand to her lips. “They were making this for me. They were making me a memorial quilt.”
Sarah nodded. A memorial quilt, a quilt made from pieces of a deceased loved one’s clothing, made as much to comfort the living as to pay tribute to the dead.
“They must have started it after I left, but—but why? After the way I left them? They must have thought I’d come back one day, but when I didn’t—yes, that must be why they didn’t finish it.”
Sarah touched her on the shoulder. “Mrs. Compson?”
She jumped. “Yes? Oh, don’t look so alarmed, poor girl. I’m perfectly all right.” She took a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. “Don’t worry. I was just caught off guard, like I said. I never thought—well, never mind. It can’t be helped, not now.” She forced her lips to curve into a smile. “There, see? All better.”
“I’m not fooled.”
“No? Well, I didn’t think you would be.”
Mrs. Compson stared at the quilt for a long while. Then, with Sarah’s assistance, she removed it from the frame and folded the unfinished layers. She placed the bundle on the raised dais at the south end of the room and stood there stroking the fabric, her eyes full of pain.
Twenty-Seven
They worked no more on Sarah’s quilt that day. Mrs. Compson isolated herself in the library, and Sarah worked alone in a west wing suite.
The next morning, though, Mrs. Compson met Sarah on the back steps. “I’ve been going over a list of things we’ll need for the party,” she said after greeting her. “Perhaps you and Matthew can pick them up sometime this week.”
Sarah agreed and stuffed the list into the back pocket of her denim shorts. She’d been half afraid Mrs. Compson would cancel the quilting party after the unexpected surprise the previous day. Sarah was relieved that she wouldn’t have to devise some other scheme. It had been difficult enough to come up with this one.
They went to the ballroom, where Sarah noticed that the quilt frame had been dusted and pulled away from the corner. Sunlight streamed in through the open windows, and a gentle cross breeze cooled the room. The memorial quilt was nowhere to be seen.
Mrs. Compson guided Sarah through the steps of placing the backing, the batting, and finally the quilt top around the rollers along the long sides of the quilt frame. By adjusting the gears, the three layers could be held firmly and smoothly without being stretched to the point of distortion. The middle of the quilt top was visible now, but when they finished that section they could bring the other parts into view by adjusting the rollers.
“James built me this frame,” Mrs. Compson remarked as she directed Sarah to one of the chairs. “Before then, we would lay our quilts on the floor and crawl around on our hands and knees thread basting. Not too gentle on the knees or the back, I assure you.” She dug through her tackle box. “I think we’ll start you off with a nine between, if I have any. I usually use twelves—ah, here we are.”
“A nine between what?”
“Hmm? Oh, that’s what quilting needles are called. Betweens. They’re thicker and sturdier than regular needles, which are called sharps. The number indicates the size. The higher the number, the smaller the size.”
“Then I’ll take the lowest number you have.”
“A nine will be just right. Don’t worry about making your stitches small at first; just concentrate on making them of equal length, both on the top and on the bottom. The more you quilt, the smaller your stitches will become. You’ll see.”
Mrs. Compson threaded two needles and handed one to Sarah. She showed Sarah how to tie a small knot at the end, to pull the needle from the back through to the front on one of the drawn quilting lines, then to give the thread a careful tug to pop the knot through the back and into the batting. It took Sarah a few tri
es before she could get the knot to stay in the middle of the quilt instead of popping right on through the top.
“Are you right-handed? Then put your thimble on your right hand and put your left hand underneath the quilt,” Mrs. Compson ordered, and she proceed to demonstrate how to sew through all three layers. First, using the finger protected by the thimble, she pushed the needle through the top of the quilt. When the tip of the needle touched her left forefinger on the other side, she pushed the tip of the needle back through the layers to the top. By rocking her right hand back and forth in this manner, she gathered a few stitches on her needle. Then she pulled the needle and the length of thread all the way through to the top, leaving behind four small running stitches in a straight row along the penciled quilting design.
Sarah tried it, awkwardly gathering three stitches on her needle before bringing the needle and thread completely through the layers. She paused to inspect her work. “They’re even and straight, but they’re huge.”
Mrs. Compson bent over for a look. “Those are toenail catchers for sure, but fine for your first try. Go ahead and see how it looks from the back.”
Sarah ducked her head beneath the quilt frame. “They look the same to me. Huge, but equally huge.”
“Good. That’s what you want: nice even stitches the same length on the bottom as on the top.”
They continued for a while, Sarah on one side of the quilt frame and Mrs. Compson on the other. At first Sarah tried to match the other woman’s brisk pace, but soon gave up and proceeded more slowly, trying to make her stitches even and small. The quilt came alive beneath their needles as the quilting stitches added dimension to the pieced pattern. Before an hour had passed, Sarah’s shoulders and neck ached and her left forefinger stung from so many needle pricks. She withdrew her hand from beneath the quilt and stuck her sore finger in her mouth, stroking the quilt with her other hand.
Mrs. Compson looked up. “You’ll develop a callus there eventually, and it won’t hurt as much. But perhaps that’s enough quilting for now.”
Sarah popped her finger out of her mouth. “No, let’s go on just a little while longer, okay?”
Mrs. Compson laughed and shook her head. She tied a knot in her thread, popped it into the batting, and trimmed the trailing end. “No, it’s important to rest every once in a while. Besides, you want to save something for your friends to do this weekend, don’t you?”
“Even if we worked eight hours a day between now and then, there would still be plenty left,” Sarah said, but she set her needle and thimble aside.
They spent the rest of the day working in the west wing. That evening Sarah phoned the Tangled Web Quilters and invited them to the party. She called Mrs. Emberly last and spoke with her for almost an hour.
On Wednesday, Sarah and Mrs. Compson bustled about arranging six bedrooms with fresh linens and pretty quilts for their guests. Twice they interrupted their work to spend some time quilting. They stitched and discussed the upcoming party with growing excitement. Mrs. Compson was cheerful and animated, and Sarah was about to burst with anticipation and nervousness. So many things could go wrong, but she tried not to think about that.
Finally she had to say something. “Matt’s finished the north gardens,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “How about if we take a look at them on Friday before our guests arrive?”
Mrs. Compson set down her rag and brushed the dust from her hands. “I’m ready for a rest. Why don’t we go now?”
“No,” Sarah exclaimed, and Mrs. Compson jumped. “I mean, I’d rather go Friday, Friday afternoon around four. I want to make sure we get this cleaning done. How about this—visiting the gardens can be our reward when we finish getting everything ready for the party, okay?”
Mrs. Compson studied her, bemused. “Very well, then. Friday it is.” She walked off, shaking her head.
Idiot, Sarah berated herself. She had almost ruined everything.
Thursday passed quickly, with little time for quilting. At the Tangled Web Quilters’ meeting that evening, Sarah explained her plan to everyone and made sure Mrs. Emberly understood her part. Mrs. Emberly’s eyes were wide with worry, but she nodded. Sarah was sure she looked just as anxious herself.
At home that night, Sarah packed an overnight bag while Matt sat on the bed and watched her. “Mrs. Compson’s important to me, too, and I’d like to help. Are you sure I can’t come?” he asked.
“If you come you’ll spoil my surprise for you.” She kissed him on the cheek. “But you already have an important role. I couldn’t pull this off without you.”
“All I get to do is play chauffeur,” he complained, but he cheered up a little.
Friday morning came. Matt dropped Sarah off with a kiss, an encouraging grin, and a promise to be at the appointed place on time. As he started to drive away, Sarah waved him to a stop and jogged over to his window. She took an envelope from her bag, held on to it for a moment, then passed it to him. “Do you think you’ll have time to mail this for me today?”
“Honey, for you I’ll make the time,” he said, grinning. Then he noticed the address. “What’s this? Your response to Hopkins and Steele?”
Sarah nodded.
“You’re refusing their offer, right?”
“That’s right.” Sarah shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
“Have you thought this through? Shouldn’t you wait and see if your plan works first?”
“If Mrs. Compson doesn’t like this idea, I’ll keep trying until I find one she does like. But if I take a new job, that will be the end of my days at Elm Creek Manor. If I’m not here, I think it will be much more difficult to come up with a new plan.”
“I guess I can’t argue with that.” He leaned his head out of the window for another kiss. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I,” Sarah replied as he drove away.
She went inside and found Mrs. Compson in the kitchen humming and mixing something in a large bowl. “I thought I’d make us some sweet treats for tonight,” she explained with a smile. “I know how much quilters like to nibble.”
“You’re going to fit in just fine with this crowd,” Sarah said, laughing.
They hurried to finish all the last-minute preparations. Mrs. Compson had gathered wildflowers from around the barn and placed them in each quilter’s room. Sarah made sure the kitchen was well stocked with snacks and beverages while Mrs. Compson checked for extra quilting supplies. As the day passed, Sarah’s anxiety grew. Maybe her plan was a bad idea. Maybe she would make things worse.
But Mrs. Compson didn’t have a phone, so Sarah had no way to call things off. She tried to force the negative thoughts from her mind. She had no choice but to go ahead with her plan, so there was no point to worrying about it.
At four o’clock she met Mrs. Compson in the front foyer. “Everything’s ready, I believe,” Mrs. Compson announced. She looked excited and happy.
Sarah hoped she wasn’t about to change all that. “We still have an hour before everyone’s due to arrive. Why don’t we go see the gardens now?”
Mrs. Compson agreed and returned to the kitchen for her hat. They left by the cornerstone patio exit and strolled along the gray stone path toward the gardens.
“I hope Matt worked some miracles out here,” Mrs. Compson said. “There was so much work—” Her voice broke off at the sight of the gardens.
Large bushes encircled the oval clearing where only weeds had grown before; although they would not bloom now, so late in the summer, in the spring the garden would be fragrant with the scent of lilacs. In the four planters, rosebushes and white bachelor’s buttons were surrounded by lush ivy and other green foliage. The weeds and grass had been removed from between the gray stones beneath their feet, and the fountain of the mare and two foals had been cleaned and polished. The gazebo’s fresh coat of white paint was dazzling in the sunlight. The terraces behind the gazebo had been rebuilt, and now displayed blossoms of every color and variety.
A breeze carried refreshing mist from the fountain and the scent of roses to them as they stood at the edge of the garden, taking in the beautiful sight.
“I can’t believe it. I never would have thought it possible,” Mrs. Compson gasped. “It’s as lovely now as it ever was. Even lovelier.”
Just then a small figure stepped out from behind the gazebo.
Mrs. Compson stared.
Sarah’s heart thumped heavily in her chest. She clenched her hands together and swallowed. “Mrs. Compson, this is—”
“Agnes,” Mrs. Compson breathed.
Hesitantly, Mrs. Emberly approached them. “Hello, Sylvia.”
“Mrs. Emberly is one of the Tangled Web Quilters,” Sarah said. “I thought—I thought maybe you two would like to see each other before the rest of the group shows up.”
“It’s been a long time, Sylvia.” Mrs. Emberly stopped a few paces in front of them. She gave Mrs. Compson a slow, sad smile, and clutched her purse like a shield. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Mrs. Compson stared at her, her lips pursing then separating slightly as if she struggled to speak.
Sarah willed Mrs. Compson to speak, to say hello, to say something, anything.
Agnes’s lower lip trembled. “I’ve—I’ve missed you. We all did, when you went away.”
“I found the quilt.”
Mrs. Emberly blinked. “The—”
“The memorial quilt. The one you and Claudia were working on for me.”
Mrs. Emberly’s mouth formed an O. “Of course. The Castle Wall quilt.”
“You did well. Both of you. Fine workmanship.”
“Thank you.” She looked grateful, and then her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Sylvia, is there any chance we could ever be friends? I know I wasn’t the sister-in-law you hoped for, but now that everyone else is gone—”
Mrs. Compson strode forward and gripped Mrs. Emberly’s shoulders. “Now, you stop that. We’ll have no crying here today. My behavior all that time ago had nothing to do with you. I was selfish and wanted Richard all to myself. I was wrong to treat you so badly, and I was a fool to leave home.” She took Mrs. Emberly’s hands in her own. “Richard loved you, and if I were any kind of decent sister I would have respected that.”
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