Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  Mary Beth wished the Sonnenbergs would move away, far away, and leave the neighborhood in peace, but she had prayed for that for years with nothing to show for it. Mary Beth was stuck with Diane the way other people were stuck with miserable allergies or chronic lower back pain. There was no getting rid of Diane permanently, so Mary Beth could only struggle to hold the symptoms in check.

  There was only one way to handle this most recent outbreak of Diane nastiness: file the invitation in her quilt room and hope no one else in the guild received one. There were factions in the guild—small and powerless, but still a presence—that might actually like to participate in the bridal quilt. Some members had even attended Elm Creek Quilt Camp! When the camp was in its third year, Mary Beth and her vice president considered adding a guild-wide boycott to the bylaws, but others on the board pointed out the rule would be difficult to enforce and might raise the ire of their members.

  Mary Beth had been forced to settle for passive resistance, ignoring the patronizing invitations to activities at Elm Creek Manor and taking her business to the Fabric Warehouse and mail-order companies rather than Grandma’s Attic. Fortunately, since all guild correspondence was sent to the Callahan home, she could filter out the junk before the other members discovered it.

  Mary Beth put the letter out of sight but not out of mind, fuming over it whenever she saw Diane—which was far too often but inescapable since she lived next door—or any of the other Elm Creek Quilters. Once when she spotted Sylvia leaving the hair salon she was tempted to run up and blurt out the secret, but that tough-looking Sarah McClure was with her and she didn’t dare. An anonymous note would ruin the surprise just as well, but in a much less satisfying manner. Eventually, since trying to forget the letter didn’t work, she decided to return it and let those annoying Elm Creek people know once and for all that her guild was off-limits.

  She waited until the first day of March, exactly one month before the quilt blocks were due—too little time for the Elm Creek Quilters to find an alternate way to reach her guild members but just enough to make them feel as if they ought to try. Let them scurry around like ants in a flooded anthill for the entire month. They deserved it.

  Bonnie Markham was a soft touch and still on good terms with most of the guild and, best of all, Mary Beth could reach her in a public place. Grandma’s Attic was a tolerable walk from her front door in fair weather, but not when the temperatures hovered at barely above freezing, so Mary Beth drove downtown. It might have been more convenient to leave the letter at Diane’s house, but she could only imagine what that psycho would be capable of when provoked on her own property.

  Mary Beth strode into the quilt shop and hid her consternation at the sight of Diane and a vaguely familiar auburn-haired girl looking at some quilt blocks spread out on the cutting table. She took off her hat, smoothed back her hair, and, addressing neither of them in particular, asked, “Isn’t Bonnie here today?”

  “No,” Diane shot back rudely. She sat down on a stool with her back to Mary Beth and removed a padded envelope from a large carton on the cutting table. The auburn-haired girl murmured something as Diane took from the envelope another quilt block and what looked to be a letter. Diane muttered a response that Mary Beth could not make out, so she drew closer, suspicious.

  The auburn-haired girl, who so strongly resembled a younger and much thinner version of Gwen Sullivan that she had to be her daughter, smiled and said, “Bonnie’s not here, but may I help you?”

  “I suppose so,” Mary Beth said, reluctant. She would much rather deal with Bonnie. “You’re Summer, right? Summer Sullivan?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Your name is in the letter, so I guess you’ll do.” Mary Beth produced the invitation and held it out. “I believe this was sent to me by mistake.”

  Summer took the page, skimmed it, and nodded. “We definitely meant to send it to you. Actually, to the entire guild. You’re listed as the guild contact, so we sent it to your home, hoping you would announce it at your next meeting.”

  Summer tried to return the letter, but Mary Beth would have none of that. She explained as firmly and clearly as she could that the Elm Creek Quilters were out of line to impose on her guild when their members had so many legitimate charities to support already, but Diane kept interrupting with obnoxious objections, which only encouraged Summer to whine and beg for Mary Beth to reconsider. There was no reasoning with them, and since she was outnumbered, Mary Beth decided she had made her point as clearly as they would allow and left after insisting they remove the Waterford Quilting Guild from their mailing list immediately. The consternation and outrage on Diane’s face were priceless, and as Mary Beth sailed out the door, she was glad Bonnie had not been there after all. She paused by the front window and peeked inside for one last glimpse and was rewarded with the sight of Summer throwing the invitation into the trash where it belonged.

  At supper that evening, she couldn’t resist boasting about how she had put Diane in her place. “And those blocks they had scattered all over the cutting table,” she said, “I just know those were the blocks for the bridal quilt.”

  Roger and Brent nodded and continued eating.

  “The ones I saw weren’t anything special,” she mused aloud. “I guess those Elm Creek people aren’t the wonderful teachers they consider themselves to be. Or the people who sent the blocks didn’t send their best work, which doesn’t say much for how they regard Sylvia.”

  “Or they were beginners,” said Roger, reaching for another piece of chicken, “and that was their best work.”

  “That couldn’t possibly be the case,” said Mary Beth. “Beginners know better than to ruin a group quilt with their sloppy blocks.”

  “It’s a gift to congratulate a bride and groom, not a masterpiece to display in a show. If beginners want to express their good wishes, they shouldn’t be criticized for the number of stitches per inch they use.”

  “Stitches per inch refers to quilting, not piecing,” snapped Mary Beth. “Which just shows you don’t know anything about it.”

  Roger shrugged and continued eating without another word.

  “Mom, you’ve been going on about this stupid quilt for months,” said Brent. “You should really just forget about it. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “It is a big deal. Diane and those Elm Creek Quilters think they’re the best thing that happened to quilting in Waterford since my guild was founded, and it’s not fair. They ignore everything my guild has done for this town as if it never happened.”

  When she said “my guild,” she meant herself, but she didn’t want to brag.

  Brent shook his head. “I still say you should just forget about it. You’re driving yourself crazy.”

  When he said “yourself,” his expression suggested he meant “us,” as did the affirming grunt from his father.

  Tears sprang into Mary Beth’s eyes. “This is what I get for living in a house full of men,” she said, voice shaking. She rose and gathered up her dishes. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”

  She saw them exchange a look of distress as she carried her dishes into the kitchen and dumped them in the sink. She worked so hard, for her family, for the guild, and all anyone ever did was criticize.

  When she returned downstairs later that evening, she found that the dishes had been loaded into the dishwasher, the leftovers stored in the refrigerator, the table wiped clean. She smiled, seeing their apology in the completed chores.

  As the week went by, she tried to take her son’s advice and forget the quilt, but she could not shake the uneasy sense that Diane was plotting revenge. Brent said nothing to suggest he had overheard anything unusual at the Sonnenberg home, but Mary Beth wasn’t sure if he would recognize the signs of a covert plan if he happened to stumble across them. She could never tell how much Brent absorbed and what he ignored. She might mention an upcoming appointment every night for a week only to return from it and find him genuinely surprised that she
had not been home to greet him after school. Other times she might compliment only once, in passing, a book or blouse she had seen in a store, and receive it as her next birthday or Christmas present. Unfortunately, unless she came right out and asked him to spy on Diane, he wasn’t likely to uncover anything. She was tempted, but not quite willing to resort to that.

  As another week passed uneventfully, Mary Beth’s sense of impending confrontation began to ebb. Maybe this time Diane realized that she was beaten, that retaliation was futile. By the third Monday of March, Mary Beth felt secure enough to savor her triumph, and as she dressed for the monthly meeting of the Waterford Quilting Guild, she decided to share her secret victory with Sandra, her closest friend and loyal vice president. Sandra didn’t care for those Elm Creek Quilters either, although her spite was reserved for Bonnie, who had refused many requests to hire Sandra to work in her quilt shop, as if it were so grand a place only experienced salespeople could be permitted to don one of those ridiculous aprons.

  Not since Diane sought the presidency had Mary Beth felt so at home behind the podium in Meeting Room C of the public library. At two minutes to seven, she tested the microphone and noted the filling seats with satisfaction, then returned to the officers’ chairs long enough to bend close to Sandra’s ear and whisper that she had big news to share later. She started the meeting at precisely seven o’clock, welcoming the members who were already seated and pointedly ignoring those who scurried in late.

  Five prospective new members were in attendance, a number Mary Beth noted with satisfaction. One of her goals for the term was to increase the membership, which for no discernible reason had been declining over the past few years. She hoped the newcomers noticed how efficiently the officers went about presenting the business of their respective offices. When Diane and her crones had been in the guild, the announcements had been periodically interrupted by wisecracks and laughter, which wasted valuable time and almost always added an extra half hour to the meeting. Without their interference, the guild business was attended to in reasonable time, and before long Mary Beth reassumed her position at the podium and asked if any of the other guild members wished to make an announcement.

  At that moment, on the chair several paces behind her, her cell phone began to ring. She pretended not to hear it, then pretended it belonged to someone else, but the distinctive tones Brent had downloaded from the internet were her signature ring and everyone in the room knew it. Come to think of it, all of her friends were in that room, it was too late for a call from Waterford High School, and her boys had been warned never to phone during guild meetings. “Anyone? Any other announcements?” she asked, raising her voice to drown out the phone.

  At that moment, the ringing finally ceased. “Voicemail,” she said, relieved, and the guild members laughed and nodded in sympathy. She cleared her throat. “Well, if no one has any announcements, our program chairwoman would like to introduce—”

  The phone started up again. Mary Beth flushed and hurried back to her chair. “I’m sorry,” she said, snatching up her purse. “It must be an emergency. Sandra, will you take over?”

  She raced from the room without waiting for a reply. In the hallway she dug through her purse, seized the phone, and pressed it to her ear, all while hurrying away from the meeting room so that her conversation would not distract the guild while Sandra introduced the guest speaker. “Hello?” she barked. When there was no reply, she moved closer to the outside door to pick up a better signal. “Hello?”

  Silence. She grimaced and read the display: “You have 1 new number!”

  That made no sense; Roger’s cell and their home phone were already programmed. She pressed the keys to bring up her Caller ID, but she did not recognize the number that appeared. Probably a wrong number, or worse yet, a telemarketer. She jabbed the key to clear the display, switched off the phone, and tossed it back in her purse.

  Mary Beth stormed back to the meeting room, vowing to call that number back and let them have it as soon as the meeting ended. As she drew closer, she heard a lone voice speaking over the portable sound system, but none of the usual oohs and ahhs and applause that accompanied a guest speaker’s trunk show. Curious, she tried to return unobtrusively, but she froze just inside the doorway, reeling from the sight of Diane at her podium reading the invitation to participate in the bridal quilt.

  At first she was too shocked to do anything, but when Diane smirked, put away the letter, and asked for questions, she flew into action. “This—this is an outrage!” she exclaimed, hurrying forward.

  “Yes, it is,” someone called out. “Why didn’t you contact us sooner?”

  Another chimed in, “You aren’t giving us much time. I already have two baby quilts to finish by the end of the month.”

  Other voices swelled, but Mary Beth, horrified, managed to pry the microphone from Diane’s grimy fist and tried to regain order. “May I remind you that this woman is not a member of our guild?” she said, ready to remind them under what circumstances Diane had left. “She isn’t authorized to make announcements.”

  Some traitor laughed derisively; Mary Beth ignored decorum and shoved Diane toward the nearest door. “I’m terribly sorry if I’ve broken any rules,” Diane called out with false innocence, leaning close to the microphone.

  “Wait, don’t go,” another woman cried. “What colors should we use again?”

  “Ladies, ladies, please,” Mary Beth shouted over the clamor. “Obviously Diane’s only reason for coming here tonight was to create a disturbance. Please just ignore her. If she really wanted you to participate in this quilt, she would have told you about it sooner.”

  “We tried,” retorted Diane, holding up an envelope. “We sent an invitation to the guild, care of Mary Beth. She returned it to us and said you couldn’t be bothered. I have the envelope right here if anyone wants to check the postmark and the address.”

  Horror-struck, Mary Beth tried to snatch it away, but Diane suddenly blurted a hasty good-bye and sprinted for the door. Suddenly Sandra was at Mary Beth’s side, gently taking the microphone from her hand. “Calm down, everyone,” Sandra said, returning to the podium, her deep, gravelly voice making little impact on the rising din. “Don’t pay any attention to that troublemaker.”

  “Is it true?” a voice rang out. “Did you deliberately keep that invitation from us?”

  Mary Beth held up a hand as if it would keep back the accusing voices. She took a deep breath and willed herself to calm as she joined Sandra at the podium, her station of order. “I did, and I’ll tell you why. I know how busy you are already, especially since so many of you have already been so generous with your time and talents for our service project, and I didn’t want you to feel obligated to participate in something so, well, frivolous.”

  She cringed at the incredulous echo of her last word.

  “That’s for us to decide!” someone shouted.

  “I’m the elected president. I had to use my best judgment. If I made a mistake, I apologize.” Mary Beth forced a shaky smile. “From now on, I’ll be sure to bring you every solicitation the guild receives, but don’t be surprised when you’re overwhelmed by all the requests.”

  “I don’t care about next time,” wailed a woman in the second row. “Sylvia’s wonderful. I want to participate in this quilt.”

  Mary Beth tried to look apologetic. “I’m sorry, but as someone has already pointed out, it really is too late.”

  “There’s plenty of time to make one block,” said a woman in the back row. She had joined a year ago after moving to Waterford from Wisconsin; Mary Beth couldn’t recall her name. Lee something. “I’ve been on the Elm Creek Quilts mailing list ever since I attended quilt camp last summer. I received an invitation, too, and I’d be happy to make copies for everyone who wants them. Give me your names before you leave and I’ll make a list.”

  A crowd of clamoring quilters quickly surrounded her. “Maybe this can wait until after the meeting,” Mary Beth shouted into
the microphone. “Let’s not forget we have a very special guest tonight, a talented quilter from Boalsburg and a member of the Centre Pieces Quilt Guild …”

  She trailed off when she realized no one was listening. The crowd around the traitor in the back row thickened. Mary Beth glanced at the guest speaker, who had taken a flyer from the table along the wall and was writing something on the back. Her address, Mary Beth realized, as she rose and carried the paper to the back of the room.

  “Sandra.” She plucked at the sleeve of her closest friend and ally, who was gaping at the scene. “Take over, will you? I think I’m—I think I should—”

  Sandra gave no sign she heard. Mary Beth left the sentence unfinished and stepped away from the podium.

  She drove home in a daze. Inside, she clung to Roger and sobbed out the story. Brent had come downstairs to see what was wrong and now sat by her side, listening, wide-eyed and incredulous, as the story of her humiliation spilled from her.

  Roger patted her back and sighed. “I guess maybe now you’ll finally drop this silly feud with the Sonnenbergs.”

  “Dad,” said Brent. “She’s upset.”

  “That’s your response?” Mary Beth pulled away from her husband and groped on the end table for a box of tissues. “Your wife is dishonored in front of all her friends, and that’s how you respond?”

  “Well, what do you want me to do? Run next door and challenge Tim to a duel?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, dabbing at her eyes. “This is between me and that—that evil witch. How can you call it a silly feud? It’s much more than that, and that woman’s behavior tonight proves it.”