“If none of this matters, why haven’t you told anyone? And if you honestly believe you’re going to break up anyway, isn’t it rather foolish to move in with him?”
Summer had no answer for her.
Sylvia reached over and patted Summer’s hand. “I believe you two should have had this discussion before you gave up your old apartment, but you should still have it. Better late than much too late.”
Summer nodded. Sylvia was right, but that meant one more discussion she loathed to have. Speaking to Gwen seemed easy in comparison.
On Sunday, Summer decided to get it over with.
She waited until after supper, then, in a calm, controlled voice, told Gwen she had moved in with Jeremy. She omitted a few details, such as when the move had taken place and her former roommates’ assistance in deceiving Gwen. She waited for her mother to respond, but finally prompted, “Mom?”
“Why?” Gwen choked out.
With barely a tremor, Summer carefully went through the reasons again. Jeremy needed someone to share the rent. She was tired of her old place. The new apartment was better in every respect, including rent. She loved Jeremy and wanted to spend more time with him, something their busy schedules would not permit otherwise.
“But you’ve only been dating since last summer,” said Gwen, with remarkably less hysteria than Summer had anticipated. “How could you give up your freedom, your independence?”
Summer couldn’t help it; she rolled her eyes. “I knew you would say that. I’m not chained to the kitchen table. Jeremy doesn’t shove a toilet brush into my hand when he leaves for campus in the morning.”
Gwen shook her head. “I can’t believe you didn’t discuss this with me first.”
“I’m not a teenager, Mom.”
“But apparently still not mature enough to understand the consequences of your decisions.”
Gwen rose and began to clear the table, refusing Summer’s offer of help. Summer carried plates to the sink anyway and tried to change the subject by asking about Gwen’s progress on her new research project. Gwen told her she did not want to stir up more negative energy that evening, and maybe they could talk about it another day, when Gwen felt less hopeless.
Summer did not know what else to do, so she went home, where Jeremy was waiting to hear how it had gone. She told him both better and worse than she had expected, and left it at that. He gave her a searching look, but left his books and papers to make her a cup of her favorite chamomile tea.
Summer drank it curled up on the futon with a book that could not hold her attention. Her mother’s reaction was a disturbing echo of Sylvia’s. Summer trusted her own instincts, she was comfortable making her own decisions, and she enjoyed living with Jeremy. Still, somehow she wished she had talked to someone before making the move.
“Jeremy,” she finally said, “do you think moving in together has changed things?”
“You mean, between us?” A book closed. “Of course. For the better. Don’t you?”
She chose her words carefully. “I’m happy with the way things are right now.”
“So am I.”
“But you know, they can’t stay like this forever.”
A pause. “No, I guess not, but I love you, Summer, and when the time comes to take the next step, we’ll take it.”
She could only nod in reply. She wondered what he thought that next step was when they both knew he would be leaving Waterford someday.
The remaining two weeks before the first day of camp passed in a flurry of activity. The Elm Creek Quilters were too busy to spare much time for gossip, so Summer’s news spread more slowly than it would have at any other time of the year. Judy was the first to find out; she expressed surprise, but like Sylvia maintained a nonjudgmental front. When Summer admitted she had waited more than a month after moving to tell her mother, Judy seemed more impressed than shocked. “How did you keep it a secret for so long?” she asked admiringly. “The Elm Creek Quilters tell each other everything.”
“Not everything,” said Summer, thinking of Bonnie. One secret was enough to keep from Bonnie, Summer decided, so she mentioned her change of address casually during her next shift at Grandma’s Attic. Bonnie stared at her for a long moment before saying, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” When Summer assured her she did, Bonnie studied her for a moment before finding an excuse to work in the storage room. Later she emerged, forced a smile, and told Summer that she was probably right to test the relationship before making a more permanent commitment. Summer managed not to flinch as she nodded.
Summer knew Agnes had been told when the older woman began studying her mournfully when she thought Summer unaware. She became so flustered in Summer’s presence whenever certain words came up—apartment and boyfriend, of course, but also unavoidable words such as together, living, trouble, and wrong—that they could no longer carry on a conversation. Summer tried to put her at ease, but Agnes’s disappointment in her was so apparent than it became easier to avoid her. Dreading that Sarah, Diane, and the rest would share Agnes’s feelings, Summer decided to let them find out on their own rather than telling them herself. One friend’s dismay was difficult enough to bear.
Then the deadline for Sylvia’s bridal quilt, once so distant, was only a week away. Summer thought of all the blocks she had ever made, but none of the names captured what she felt for Sylvia. Unlike the quilters who had mailed blocks to Grandma’s Attic, she knew Sylvia too well to pick out one particular conversation or encounter that had transformed her life. She found the perfect fabrics in her stash—better organized than in years past, now that she had a room to herself—but the inspiration she waited for did not come.
On the morning of the first day of camp, Summer decided to ask for an extension. Surely the deadline was somewhat flexible for Elm Creek Quilters, and maybe the block choice guidelines were, too.
Summer made it to Elm Creek Manor by eleven, her worries momentarily forgotten in the excitement of the first day of camp. Sarah buzzed about the grand front foyer setting up tables and delegating tasks, her frenzy barely tempered by Sylvia’s reassuring confidence. When Sarah asked Bonnie to inspect the classrooms, Summer quickly volunteered to assist, determined to talk to her alone.
As they checked the classrooms for equipment and furnishings, Summer asked Bonnie why she had not shown up for work on the first of March. When Bonnie hesitated, Summer prompted, “Did it have something to do with the building?”
Bonnie busied herself with testing a sewing machine. “Yes, I guess you could say that.”
“Are they going to raise the rent?”
“Oh, sure, but only by seventy-five percent.”
“Seventy-five?” Summer dropped into a chair. “They can’t do that.”
“They can, and they’re going to.”
“How do they expect you to pay that much?”
“They don’t. They want me out.”
“Why? It can’t be that easy to find a new business to fill the vacancy.”
“Oh, they have big plans for the building. They’re going to turn it all into student apartments.”
“Even the condos?”
Bonnie nodded.
“They can’t,” said Summer, although she was beginning to wonder about the limits of their power. “You own the condo. They can’t force you to sell.”
“They assume I’d prefer that to living surrounded by partying sophomores. And these days I’m not too attached to the condo, so moving wouldn’t be the end of the world.” She paused. “But it is my one bit of leverage over University Realty. They want me to sell the condo, but they know I’ll dig in my heels if they force me out of my store. As long as we’re still holding on financially, I’ll never give up Grandma’s Attic.”
Summer clasped her hands together in her lap. “I know one way you can cut your expenses.”
“I know.” Bonnie nodded, resigned. “It’s awful, but it’s the most obvious solution. I have to fire Diane.”
“What? No, not that! I’ll resign.”
“Oh, Summer. It’s sweet of you to try to save Diane’s job, but I couldn’t manage without you. Your ideas are what have kept us afloat this long.”
“I was planning to quit anyway. I can’t keep holding down two jobs, and Elm Creek Quilts is my first choice.”
Bonnie managed the first smile Summer had seen from her all day. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I know Diane’s concerned about paying for Todd’s tuition—”
“That’s not it.” Summer placed her hands on Bonnie’s shoulders and looked her directly in the eye. “Let me make this as clear as I know how: I quit.”
Bonnie patted her hand and rose. “I’m glad people like you still exist in this world. Believe me, I’m in no hurry to fire my friend. I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep Diane on for another month. If we can turn things around by then, I won’t let her go. If not …” She took Summer’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. We still have three classrooms. Sarah probably thinks we ran off.”
“She wouldn’t let you quit?” Jeremy asked as they prepared for bed that evening. He had waited up for her to hear how the banquet and Candlelight welcoming ceremony had fared.
“It’s not that she wouldn’t let me. She didn’t believe that I wanted to.” Summer vigorously brushed her long auburn hair. If she had quit weeks ago, she wouldn’t be in this mess. Neither would Diane.
“Put it in writing,” said Jeremy. He lifted her hair off her shoulders and kissed the nape of her neck. “Then stop showing up for work.”
“I still have a month to save Diane’s job,” she reminded him, but resolved to write a letter of resignation first thing in the morning.
The next day, she had just kissed Jeremy good-bye and was settling down at her computer with a cup of tea when Sarah phoned. “Would you mind teaching Judy’s four o’clock Computer Design class this week?” Sarah asked. “I know you’re busy Wednesday afternoon, but I thought your mom could sub then.”
“Sure,” said Summer, puzzled. She had arranged that schedule herself and knew she had not overlooked a conflict. “What happened to Judy?”
“She had to go out of town unexpectedly on business.” Sarah sounded even more frazzled than usual. “I think we have her other class covered, though.”
“Are you sure?”
Sarah let out a bleak laugh. “Unfortunately, yes.” She said something about needing to prepare for some hand-quilting, said a hasty good-bye, and hung up.
Summer shook her head, hung up the phone, and typed her letter of resignation. She rehearsed what she would say on the drive to Elm Creek Manor. Bonnie spent her mornings at Grandma’s Attic, so Summer didn’t bother to look for her until after the morning sessions. She found her at lunch engaged in an animated conversation about quilted clothing over burritos and margaritas. “I’m sure you understand how much I regret this,” said Summer, jumping into a momentary pause in the discussion. She handed Bonnie the letter and smiled at the assembled campers, who looked on curiously. “This is to prove I’m serious.”
Bonnie laughed and tucked the letter into her pocket without reading it. “Sure you are. Remember, you work the closing shift on Wednesday.”
Summer frowned. And Sylvia said men ignored what they did not want to see. She left to grab a sandwich before her afternoon classes. Obviously Bonnie would not wish to discuss her resignation in front of the campers but, like it or not, she would have to accept it.
Summer’s classes were full of fun and over too soon, reminding her again why, when forced to make a choice, she had chosen Elm Creek Quilts over Grandma’s Attic. Her students’ energy and enthusiasm rekindled her own passion for quilting and reminded her anew why she had first begged Gwen to teach her the art.
Except for Judy’s absence, camp seemed to be off to a fine and unusually smooth start, from classes to evening entertainment programs to the mundane details such as laundry and parking. Summer thought so as late as Wednesday morning, as she began the third day of her weeklong workshop in color theory. At half past ten, she noticed two students lingering in the doorway, but they moved on when they realized she had seen them. Then, five minutes later, three other students slipped into the room and quietly took seats in the back. A murmur of voices came from the hallway, rising, falling, and yet another student entered the room. Apologizing to her students, Summer quickly went to see what was happening.
The source of the commotion was the room next door; Summer had to wait for two students to exit before she could enter. Six students remained within, talking irritably. They fell silent when they caught sight of Summer. “Are you our new instructor?” one woman asked.
“What happened to Bonnie?” demanded another.
“I don’t know,” said Summer. “Did she have to leave?”
“She never showed up,” said another peevishly. “I’ve never seen anything so unprofessional in my life.”
“Oh, hush up, Phoebe,” said a third student. “Emergencies happen. She was so nice to us at lunch yesterday.”
“Let me see what I can do,” said Summer, and hurried from the room. She ran from the ballroom into the front foyer, where through the tall double doors she glimpsed Matt working outside. She called him over and asked him to run upstairs and inform Sarah what had happened. Then she hurried back to her own students and carried on with the class.
At noon, Summer found Sarah in the foyer on her way to the banquet hall with an armful of schedules and other papers. She had no idea what had become of Bonnie. “She never called,” said Sarah. “I’ve tried Grandma’s Attic and her home, but all I get are answering machines. Something strange, though. Craig seems to have recorded over Bonnie’s family greeting on the home machine.”
“It’s probably nothing,” said Summer, thinking of her own answering machine problems. “Their youngest moved out years ago. They were overdue for a change.”
Sarah nodded dismissively. “You’re right. I don’t know why I even mentioned it. We have enough to worry about.”
“I’m going to Grandma’s Attic right now,” said Summer. “I’ll call you as soon as I find out what’s wrong. Maybe she just had car trouble.”
“Car trouble and phone trouble?” said Sarah. “Unlikely.”
In response, Summer nodded and ran up to the office for her backpack. In a few minutes she was driving through the leafy wood surrounding the estate on her way downtown. She wished she had her mother’s cell phone so she could try to reach Bonnie. Why had she failed to call—again?
Fifteen minutes later she pulled into the employee parking space behind Grandma’s Attic and ran around the block to the front entrance.
Parked in front of Grandma’s Attic were two police cars.
Summer stopped short for a heartbeat, then caught her breath and hurried inside.
“Bonnie?” she cried, searching for her friend. The quilt shop was a shambles. Notions were scattered across the floor, bolts of fabric knocked from their shelves and unrolled in a snarl of color, books and patterns flung about as if by a great wind.
Bonnie looked up from a far corner of the room, her face ashen, but she did not break off her conversation with the two uniformed officers before her. She leaned against an empty bookcase as if she might faint without its support.
“I’m afraid you can’t come in, miss,” said a third officer Summer had not noticed. “This is a crime scene.”
“What?”
“We had a break-in,” said Bonnie, picking her way across the room. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears, but she held out her arms to comfort Summer.
Summer embraced her. “What did they take?”
“Everything in the cash register.” Bonnie clung to her, trembling. “Last night’s deposit. I didn’t have time to take it to the bank after closing.”
Why didn’t you take it upstairs? Summer almost cried out, but she held back the instinctive criticism. It was pointless.
“Some rotary cutters and scissors, pens, a s
ewing machine.” Bonnie’s voice was distant, disbelieving. “And the quilt blocks.”
“What?”
“All of the blocks for Sylvia’s bridal quilt, except for those I had already given to Agnes.” Bonnie shook with sobs. “They’re gone.”
CHAPTER THREE
Gwen
As soon as the spring semester began, Gwen began checking her office mailbox twice daily for official notice that she had been named chair of the Department of American Studies. She waited, but in the first three weeks of January, the most interesting piece of mail she received was the invitation to participate in Sylvia’s bridal quilt, and she had already known about that. Of course, she already knew what the committee’s letter would say, too, but before she told all her friends and celebrated, she wanted official confirmation of the hints and veiled promises the outgoing chair had dropped during the past year and a half.
They would have to reveal their selection soon. Although the official transition would not take place until the end of May, the incoming chair traditionally assumed some of the duties by the end of January. Every summer the Society for the Study of American Culture held a four-day conference at Waterford College, which the department chair directed. A good portion of the work had already been completed, but the incoming chair would be expected to take over just in time for reviewing paper submissions, scheduling speaking times, and making sure Food Services remembered to order enough alcohol for the opening reception, which never failed to set the tone for the entire conference. Gwen had seen chairmen’s careers falter over too little wine or the wrong brand of beer.
“Chairmen” was the accurate term to use, too, even for someone who generally eschewed gender-exclusive language. Only three women had directed the department in its entire history, and the last had retired fourteen years earlier. The department was long overdue to select another woman, but Gwen considered herself the strongest candidate regardless. She had seniority over the other professors who had not yet served, her record of publications was outstanding, her graduate students performed well and consistently found tenure-track positions in respected universities, and her undergraduate teaching evaluations were excellent. So why did the committee’s reticence trouble her so much?
Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter Page 7