Sylvia tackled the kitchen first, but hours of labor made little headway. Exhausted, she made up a bed on the sofa in the west sitting room, for the thought of spending the night in the room she and James had once shared was unbearable. When she woke the next morning in the empty house, she felt pinned to the bed by the sheer weight of the enormous task awaiting her. The manor was hers, now, as well as the remaining lands that Claudia had failed to or forgotten to sell off. She had to meet with the lawyer and pay her sister’s debts. Every room had to be cleared, the rubbish sorted from items worth keeping. There were details and entanglements to sort out, papers to sign, accounts to close. It would take her at least a month, and she had packed for only a few days. She would have to make a trip into Waterford for groceries and pray that the old stove and icebox still worked.
Waterford had changed since she had seen it last—progress, she supposed some people would call it—and it seemed both familiar and strange. The college had expanded; a few buildings downtown had been demolished and replaced. There was a new quilt shop on Main Street, so she stopped in to browse for a while and chatted with the friendly owner. At least if she was forced to extend her stay, she needn’t fear running out of quilting supplies.
Spending a solitary Christmas at Elm Creek Manor was out of the question. Bygone seasons of warmth and laughter now seemed shrouded in perpetual mourning. Every room, every possession reminded her of faces she would never see again, voices she would never hear. She closed up the old house and returned to Sewickley to spend the holiday in the company of friends. As dear as they were to her, they knew little of her past before she came to Sewickley as a young widow. Some believed she had lived all her life in Sewickley and were surprised to learn of a long-lost sister and family estate in the Elm Creek Valley. They offered condolences for her loss and assistance in tying up the loose ends of Claudia’s estate, but Sylvia knew the task was hers alone—and a more arduous task than they suspected. Not wanting to boast, she had not been completely honest about the size of the estate or its former elegance. She certainly hadn’t referred to it as a “manor.”
“You won’t be leaving us for your old family home in the country, will you, Sylvia?” asked one friend, half in worry, half in jest.
“There’s little chance of that,” said Sylvia. “I left home fifty years ago. Nothing remains for me there.”
Later, another friend took Sylvia aside and urged her not to make any hasty decisions. “When my husband died last year, I couldn’t bear to see any of his things,” Alice confided. “I told my sons to take anything they wanted, and I gave everything else to Goodwill. I saved only photographs, his war medals, and his wedding ring. Now my house is clean and tidy, and there are days when I miss him so much I want nothing more than to slip into one of his old flannel shirts and read a book by the fire and pretend he’s there with me. And I can’t.”
“Oh, Alice.” Sylvia embraced her. “I’m so sorry.”
“Who would have thought that what I’d miss most would turn out to be his favorite flannel shirt?” said Alice wistfully. “If I had waited another month for the weather to turn colder, I’m sure I would have known. Sylvia, I understand you can’t sit on that old place forever, especially since it’s so far away, but please don’t make my mistake. Don’t get rid of everything until you’ve had time to carefully reflect upon what it might mean to you later. I can guess that you and your sister didn’t get along, but there must be a few mementos you’d like to keep. If not your sister’s belongings, then perhaps your parents’.” Alice pressed her arm. “There’s no rush. Promise yourself you won’t do anything you can’t undo.”
Sylvia thanked Alice for her wise advice and promised to take heed.
Two days after Christmas, she returned to Elm Creek Manor with a renewed sense of purpose. The details of Claudia’s estate were nearly resolved, and a decision loomed before her. As she deliberated over the fate of the manor, she chose a precious few family keepsakes to treasure always. Her friends assumed she would follow the most sensible course—sell the property and return to Sewickley. Still, Sylvia had been away from the manor so long that she didn’t care to hasten her final leavetaking. It troubled her, too, to think of selling the estate to a stranger when it had belonged to the Bergstroms since the day Hans, Anneke, and Gerda Bergstrom had set the cornerstone in place.
In the kitchen she discovered her Great-Aunt Lucinda’s cookie cutters. She set those aside in the west sitting room, along with photograph albums and her father’s watch. She wanted one of her mother’s quilts, perhaps her New York Beauty wedding quilt or the Elms and Lilacs anniversary quilt, but she did not find either spread on any of the beds. They were such exquisite quilts that very likely they had been put away for safekeeping, so she decided to continue her search for them later. To her surprise she found a Featherweight sewing machine in the parlor; Agnes or Claudia must have purchased it after Sylvia’s departure.
Suddenly Sylvia remembered Great-Grandmother Anneke’s sewing machine in the west sitting room. Sylvia spent part of every day there, and it was strange she had not thought of it before. When she reached the doorway, she understood why: It had been pushed into the corner away from its customary spot and draped with a graying bedsheet.
“Customary spot,” Sylvia said with a derisive sniff. More than fifty years had passed since she had known what was “customary” around Elm Creek Manor.
She tugged off the sheet and sneezed as a cloud of dust encircled her. Waving the motes away, Sylvia blinked her watering eyes and sighed with relief at the sight of the priceless treadle sewing machine Anneke had brought with her to America. Family stories handed down through the generations claimed that she had helped support the family by taking in sewing from a dressmaker in town. Her skills with a needle and thread were as legendary as Gerda’s reputation as a cook.
Then Sylvia peered closer. Wedged between the foot pedal and the sewing machine cabinet were two overstuffed laundry bags. Curious, Sylvia carefully extricated them from their hiding spot and untied the drawstrings of one of the bags. Inside, she discovered the Bergstrom women’s scrap collection, as well as folded yardage of more recent acquisitions.
Sylvia settled down on the floor, her heart pounding with anticipation. Gazing into the bag, she quickly recognized strips of bright calico her Great-Aunt Lucinda had cut for cousin Elizabeth’s Chimneys and Cornerstones quilt. She found pretty florals from which she and Claudia had carefully cut squares for the Nine-Patch quilt they had sewn for a newborn cousin. Pastel scraps left over from her mother’s Elms and Lilacs anniversary quilt mingled with red patches from Agnes’s failed attempt to make a Double Wedding Ring quilt for Richard. Fabrics familiar and unknown kept a jumbled account of landmark moments in the Bergstrom women’s lives, occasions they had marked with the creation of a quilt. Births and celebrations, times of learning and times of teaching others—Sylvia could find a memento of each within the soft cotton scraps so long forgotten.
Blue and yellow had always been her lucky colors. As if she could feel the Bergstrom women gathering nearby, urging her on, Sylvia searched through the bags and withdrew all the blue and yellow-gold scraps she could find.
It was New Year’s Eve, the time for reflection. As Sylvia cut fabric and traced templates, she thought back upon all the New Year’s Eves she had spent sheltered within the gray stone walls of the manor and within the even stronger circle of love of her family. As she sewed a Good Fortune block into the center of a Mother’s Favorite pattern, memories of decades of New Years greeted far from home cast melancholy shadows upon the seasons past, but she did not flinch. If she were to take an honest look at her life and her choices, she could not pick and choose what to remember. The New Year had not always fulfilled its promise of good fortune, and when it had not, it had been up to her to make the most of what was given, to learn and to grow, and in so doing, to turn ill fortune into good. In the stillness of her heart, she knew she had sometimes stumbled along the way, had allowe
d fear or anger or resentment to prevent her from living as fully as she could have. She could not change the mistakes of the past, but she could learn from them.
Sylvia worked on her New Year’s Reflections quilt, adding a Peace and Plenty block in tribute to Josephine Compson and the New Year’s blessing she had bestowed upon her family so many years before. She pieced a Memory Chain block so she would never forget the hard lessons learned from the unexpected course her life had taken. She sewed, lost in thought, until the clock struck midnight. There were no noisemakers, no champagne toasts, no kisses and cries of “Happy New Year” ringing through the halls, but this New Year’s Day would mark a new beginning for Sylvia, for she had resolved what course to pursue in the year ahead.
She would clear the manor of Claudia’s detritus, bringing in a forklift if necessary. She would hire workers to make repairs and get the grounds in decent shape. Then, when the manor was no longer an embarrassment to the Bergstrom name, she would sell it and return to her home and friends in Sewickley.
For as much as she wanted to blame her sister for the manor’s disrepair, she knew that she was at least as much at fault. She had abandoned home, family, and business, knowing that Claudia and Harold were not fit stewards of the Bergstrom legacy. What had befallen Elm Creek Manor was as much her responsibility as Claudia’s, perhaps more.
Sylvia resolved that although she would sell the manor, she would not entrust the Bergstrom estate to just anyone. As long as it took, she would wait for a buyer who would restore the manor to its former glory, who would fill the halls with love and laughter once more. She had no idea who could possibly fit the bill, but she would wait until that person came along. She had mishandled the Bergstrom legacy once, but she would not fail her family a second time.
As long as she lived, the New Year’s Reflections quilt would remind her of her resolution.
AS SYLVIA made small, neat stitches to secure the binding to the back of the quilt, she smiled when she thought of the resolution she had made in the first minutes of that New Year and the unexpected way she had kept it.
The following summer, she had hired a young woman named Sarah McClure to help her clean out the manor and prepare it for sale. One prospective buyer had spoken of turning the manor into a residence hall for students of Waterford College, and Sylvia had been tempted to accept his offer. No one else with a more attractive plan had appeared in all the months the estate had been on the market, and as a retired teacher, Sylvia liked the idea of offering students such a beautiful place to live. To Sylvia’s everlasting gratitude, Sarah became suspicious of the developer’s plans and secretly investigated his company. When Sarah learned that the developer intended to raze Elm Creek Manor and build condos on the property, Sylvia immediately broke off negotiations. At a loss for what to do next, she asked Sarah to help her find a way to bring the manor back to life. Sarah’s ingenious and unlikely suggestion was to turn Elm Creek Manor into a retreat for quilters, a place for them to stay, to learn, to find inspiration, and to enjoy the companionship of other quilters. The new owners she had resolved to find turned out to be herself, Sarah, and a group of local quilters who became the first staff members of Elm Creek Quilt Camp.
Thank heavens Sylvia had accepted Sarah’s proposal, or her beloved home would now be rubble in a demolition landfill. What a blessing it was that Elm Creek Quilts had prospered, or Sylvia might have been forced to sell the manor anyway, and she would have been a hundred miles distant when Andrew pulled up in his motor home for the surprise visit of a lifetime. She had thought he had forgotten her long ago, and she had been delighted to resume their friendship. She never would have guessed that their feelings would grow deeper and that they would fall in love.
The New Year’s wish Mrs. Compson had made for her so many years ago had come true at last.
AS THEY DROVE through Hartford, Sylvia smiled up at Andrew, her heart full of joy and affection. “I’m so glad you came back to Elm Creek Manor,” she told him. “I’m thankful I was there when you came.”
“Not half as thankful as I am,” he said.
She realized, then, that no matter what Amy decided, whether she chose the wise course of reconciliation or resolved to close her heart to her father, Sylvia and Andrew would be all right. Their love and their gratitude for the blessing of that love would help them endure whatever difficulties came their way.
They turned onto a broad, tree-lined street, recently cleared after what must have been a heavy snowfall. A few houses sported snowmen in the front yards, others impressive snow forts where children in snowsuits and mittens pelted one another with snowballs.
Andrew pulled into the driveway of a sage-green Victorian home with a broad front porch and an octagonal turret on the southeast corner. Evergreen boughs wrapped with small, gold Christmas lights graced the front porch railing and a wreath of fresh holly adorned the front door.
He shut down the engine and paused with his hand on the keys as if tempted to start the car and tear back down the driveway. But Andrew never lacked for courage, so instead he pocketed the keys and gave Sylvia what he probably thought was an encouraging grin. “We’re here.”
Sylvia was seized by a sudden fear. “Please tell me they’re expecting us.”
“I called from the 1863 House,” he assured her, peering up at the house’s darkened windows. Small, icy crystals of snow fell upon the windshield, gently threatening to obscure the view. “But…that doesn’t mean they’re here.”
“Perhaps they left town when they heard we were on our way.”
Andrew snorted, but the question was promptly settled when the front door opened and Amy stepped out on the front porch, unsmiling, folding her arms over her chest against the cold.
Chapter Five
Amy disappeared into the house but returned to the porch dressed in a coat and boots just as Andrew and Sylvia finished unloading their suitcases from the Elm Creek Quilts minivan. “Here, Dad, let me help you with that,” Amy said, hurrying down the front steps.
“I think I can handle two suitcases,” said Andrew.
Sylvia had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Already it had begun. “If she wants to help, let her,” she murmured, but Andrew pretended not to hear. He carried both suitcases into the house, with Amy and Sylvia trailing after.
Daniel and the three lanky teenagers—grandsons Gus and Sam, granddaughter Caitlin—welcomed them in the foyer with warm hugs and cheerful smiles. Only Amy seemed ill at ease. The grandchildren, thankfully, seemed unaware of any conflict between the adults, which Sylvia took as a hopeful sign.
“I have pot roast in the oven,” Amy announced, taking their coats and hanging them on a mahogany coat tree in a corner near the door. “It’ll be ready in a half hour, so please, come on inside and make yourselves at home.”
It was certainly a much warmer welcome than Sylvia had anticipated. She prayed that Andrew would not spoil it by blurting out a wedding announcement.
Amy led them into the living room and offered them hot beverages. Sylvia gladly accepted a cup of peppermint tea and settled down on the comfortable sofa. In the fireplace, blazing pine logs crackled cheerfully and gave off steady warmth. In front of the picture window stood a stately Norway pine, festooned with small white lights. Blown glass figurines hung amidst glittering silver tinsel, candy canes, and ornaments the children must have made in school many years before. Every fragrant bough offered a glimpse of a family as it grew and changed, from the crystal swans engraved with the year Amy and Daniel married, to the gilt frames bearing school photographs, to keepsake ornaments revealing the children’s favorite sports and cartoon characters. Sylvia’s gaze fell upon a pair of delicate white snowflakes, embroidered with pale blue silk threads and as intricate as lace. “How lovely.”
“My mother made those,” said Amy. “She didn’t have much time for crafts, but she loved Hardanger embroidery. One year when Bob and I were still in elementary school, the women of the neighborhood had a Christmas ornament
exchange party. My mom made dozens of these, and I begged her to let me have these two. She was surprised that I wanted them but I think she was flattered, too. I’ve placed them on my Christmas tree every year since.” She gazed at the feathery snowflakes and smiled wistfully. “I miss her so much at this time of year. The holidays just aren’t the same without her.”
Andrew put his arm around her and she briefly rested her head on his shoulder. Sylvia’s heart lightened as she witnessed the silent exchange between father and daughter. Despite their recent disagreements, they surely loved each other too much to allow Andrew’s remarriage to divide them forever. If Amy’s pride and Andrew’s stubbornness did not get in the way, surely they would choose reconciliation over estrangement.
When supper was ready, the family gathered in the dining room, where a centerpiece of candles and poinsettias gave the antique cherry dining table a festive air. The roast and potatoes made for a hearty meal, perfect for a snowy winter evening. Sylvia found it encouraging that although Amy had set out the good china, she had chosen a homey, comforting meal one would serve at a gathering of friends and family rather than a stuffy, formal menu meant to impress a not-entirely-welcome guest. Two hours into the visit, all was going well—so well that Sylvia wished she and Andrew had agreed to wait until the morning to make their announcement.
The New Year's Quilt (Elm Creek Quilts Novels) Page 17