She felt a wave of shame wash over her, so intense it hurt to breathe. How could she have treated a neighbor’s unfortunate mistake like an amusing intellectual puzzle? It was one thing to eagerly pursue an anonymous villain, quite another to look into a neighbor’s eyes and find guilt and regret there. She wished she had not been so eager to hunt down the person responsible. Mary Beth had suffered enough.
8
The Elm Creek Quilters
Gretchen was just setting the last centerpiece on the last dining table in the banquet hall when the door near the butler’s pantry burst open and Diane swept in, breathless, a tote slung over each shoulder and a third clutched in her arms. “Anna said I would find you here,” she said, hurrying over, setting the totes on the floor between them one by one.
“My goodness, you’ve been busy,” Gretchen exclaimed, stooping over to peer into the nearest bag. “Are all these for decorating the ballroom?”
“Only this one,” said Diane, indicating the bag nearest Gretchen. “These hold Mary Beth Callahan’s donations for the boutique.”
“I want to see everything, but let’s start with your quilts.” Gretchen reached in and removed the first, a lovely unquilted top made up of Snow Crystals blocks in blue and gold on a silvery-white background. She admired it for a moment, but Diane was fidgeting, so Gretchen draped it upon the nearest table and took out the second, a stunning red-and-white unquilted top, an Ohio Star variation with the focus fabrics and background reversed, a simple artistic choice that made a traditional pattern seem entirely new. “This is very striking. What do you call this block?”
“Are you sure you want to know? It’s not very Christmasy.”
Gretchen smiled. “Yes, please do enlighten me.”
“It’s called Dolley Madison’s Star, but I changed the shading a bit.”
“Of course. I recognize it now. Well, the block name isn’t as merry and bright as one might wish, but the design still evokes the holiday spirit, and you can title the quilt whatever you like.”
Diane threw her an odd look. “So you do consider this a holiday quilt? It officially passes inspection?”
Gretchen laughed. “There’s no inspection, and I’m no more official than you are.” She set the red-and-white quilt top upon the Snow Crystals. “Come on, show me what else you brought.”
It seemed almost reluctantly that Diane reached into the bag and took out a larger bundle. When Gretchen helped her unfold it, she drew in a breath, captivated by the lovely Providence blocks arranged in a straight setting, resplendent in warmly cheerful red, green, gold, and ivory fabrics. “Diane, this is absolutely gorgeous.”
“Do you really think so? It was my fourth quilt, and when I look at it, every mistake leaps off the fabric at me. I know how it’s supposed to look, and I can see all too clearly how it falls short.”
“I think you’re being a little hard on yourself, especially if this was one of your first quilts. Although you chose a traditional holiday color scheme, the subtle variations of hue add wonderful depth and dimension. The layout too is very nice.”
“I can’t take full credit for that.” A faint flush rose in Diane’s cheeks. “I actually based my quilt upon one I saw at the Waterford Summer Quilt Festival years ago, Mary Beth’s Springtime in Waterford. I changed the colors slightly, but otherwise I just duplicated her quilt. Except that I added lots of mistakes not present in the original, to make it my own.”
“So you’re saying your mistakes were intentional artistic choices,” Gretchen teased, but then something else struck her. “Is the Mary Beth who designed the original Providence quilt the same Mary Beth who donated these quilts for the boutique?”
Wincing slightly, Diane nodded.
“Is something wrong?” Gretchen queried. “You keep making faces . . . Oh, I understand. This is your neighbor, the one whose son served out part of his sentence here this summer.”
Diane’s wince turned into a grimace. “One and the same. We haven’t always gotten along, which is why it’s especially important to me to acknowledge her as the designer of this quilt. I didn’t ask permission, but I’m hoping that apologetic flattery will help make amends.”
“It probably wouldn’t hurt.”
“I was thinking I could make a placard to post on the wall beside the quilt, with the same information one would see at a quilt show—the title of the quilt, the maker’s name, the source of the design, and the year.”
“That’s a wonderful idea. Perhaps you should do that for all of the quilts on display.”
“You’re right, I should. That would also make it clear which quilts are for sale in the boutique, and which are for display only.” Diane glanced at her watch. “I have plenty of time to collect the information and whip up some signs, if I can use the computer and printer upstairs in the library. But first . . .” She hesitated. “I think you’ve overlooked a rather obvious problem.”
Gretchen studied her, puzzled. “Could you give me a hint?”
“My quilts aren’t quilts. I mean, they’re not finished. They’re just unquilted tops.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s a problem, do you? Quilts, unquilted tops—for our purposes, I don’t think it matters.”
Diane gaped. “Are you serious? Unquilted tops were perfectly fine all along? If you had any idea how I’ve agonized over this—”
“Please tell me you’re exaggerating.” Diane’s woebegone expression gave Gretchen her answer. “Oh, Diane. You should never agonize over anything that could easily be resolved by one conversation with a friend.”
“Lesson learned.”
“I should certainly hope so.” Gretchen smiled and hugged her reassuringly. “Now, let’s have a look at Mary Beth’s donations for the boutique and decide which market stall to put them in.”
“Do you mind taking care of that yourself? I’d like to find Jeremy and any other tall person who isn’t too busy and ask them to help me hang these quilt tops so I can get to work on the signs.”
“Go right ahead,” said Gretchen, waving her off. “I can handle this. You’ll probably find Jeremy in the kitchen and most everyone else in the ballroom.”
Looking more cheerful than she had all day, Diane thanked her, picked up her quilt tops, and hurried off.
Alone, Gretchen opened the other bags and removed Mary Beth’s three quilts—fully finished quilts—of different sizes: one bed quilt, one lap quilt, and one wall hanging. All three were beautifully made, but the smallest moved Gretchen so deeply that she lingered over it much longer than the others. It was a Dove of Peace, intricately appliquéd and pieced, rendered in fabric but resembling a stained-glass window image of a dove in flight, holding an olive branch.
She could not think of any symbol that more perfectly represented the spirit of the Christmas Boutique.
The Elm Creek Quilters, their husbands and friends, and the volunteers from Good Shepherd worked late into the evening finishing their preparations for the grand opening of the Christmas Boutique, but eventually the visitors departed. The manor’s permanent residents complimented one another on a challenge well undertaken and they all went off to bed. Sylvia hoped for sweet dreams and a sound rest, for the next day was sure to be as busy and full of unexpected turns of events as any in the peak season of quilt camp.
On Friday morning, although the sun had not yet risen, so close were they to the longest night of the year, Sylvia and Andrew woke before their alarm. Soon they were on their way downstairs to the kitchen for their scheduled breakfast debriefing before the volunteer sales crew arrived. Not long after that, Sylvia would throw open the front doors to welcome what she hoped would be a steady stream of eager shoppers willing to pay fair prices for fine handcrafted goods in support of a worthy cause.
The delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen told Sylvia and Andrew that Anna was already awake and hard at work, and probably had been for quite some time. “You mean like a tip jar?” they overheard her say as they entered. Sylvia guessed even be
fore she spotted him setting platters of bagels and scones upon the long wooden table that Anna was speaking with Jeremy.
“I was thinking something larger, like a barrel,” Jeremy replied, but he broke off at the sight of Sylvia and Andrew. “Good morning. Sleep well? Ready for opening day?”
“Good morning to you, yes, and I hope so,” Sylvia said with a smile as she went to the cupboard to find her favorite mug and fill it with Anna’s freshly brewed coffee. “What’s this about collecting tips?”
“Jeremy thought that maybe we could collect donations for Good Shepherd during the boutique,” said Anna as she deftly stirred up a yogurt sauce for the delectable fruit salad sitting on the counter nearby. “We could set up a container and a sign near the food cashier and invite people to leave their change to help pay for the repairs to the community hall.”
“They’ll inevitably have to pay some of the repair bills before the insurance check comes through,” said Jeremy. “I think we can take up a collection to help them in the short term without detracting from the boutique sales.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” said Andrew, helping himself to a cup of coffee. He sighed gratefully between sips as he seated himself at the table and admired the continental breakfast taking shape before his eyes.
“I agree,” said Sylvia, “but first let’s ask Nancy and Melanie and have them consult with their pastor.”
“Good morning,” Sarah said, entering the kitchen bright-eyed and alert, having given up caffeine during her pregnancy and not needing the bracing beverages the rest of them depended on to get their day started. She eased herself onto the bench beside Sylvia and gazed longingly at the cranberry-orange scones. “When is everyone else due to arrive?”
“Any moment” was the answer, but those already present could not resist digging in to such a tempting breakfast right away. Soon their other friends and colleagues joined them around the table and in the nearest booths, and when everyone had filled plates and mugs with enough delicious food and drink to sustain them through the morning, Sarah reiterated everyone’s assignments and ran through the most important details of the day. The volunteers were due to arrive an hour before the doors opened; Nancy and Melanie were responsible for their shifts and schedules, so the Elm Creek Quilters could concentrate on other duties. The workers had been instructed to park in the rear lot, enter through the back door, and use the foyer closet for their belongings. Food and beverages would be available for them throughout the day in the kitchen. Jeremy had posted a sign by the first bridge across the creek so customers would take the route to the front of the manor and park in the circular drive.
“I’m still concerned that there won’t be enough space for parking out front,” said Andrew. “I’ll remind you, there never is for the first day of quilt camp. That’s why we valet park for them.”
Sylvia mulled it over. “If the circular drive becomes full, customers can park along the road. It’s at least a quarter mile to the edge of the forest, and Matt cleared the snowbanks from the shoulders during his last visit.”
“It’s too bad he’s not here to go over it once more before we open,” said Sarah wistfully.
“A quarter mile might be a long way for some people to walk,” said Gretchen, “especially if they’ll be carrying lots of purchases back to their cars afterward.”
“We definitely want to encourage that,” said Agnes.
“Why don’t we go with our original plan for now,” said Sarah, “but let’s monitor the situation and keep a few designated valet parkers on deck just in case.”
Andrew, Gwen, and Joe volunteered, but when Jeremy raised his hand too, Anna said, “Jeremy, I really could use you in the kitchen instead, if you don’t mind.” To Nancy and Melanie she added, “If you can spare some volunteers around lunchtime and dinner, I’d be grateful.”
Melanie nodded, and Nancy asked, “Do they need to have any particular culinary skills?”
Anna smiled. “No, I just need a few people to bus tables, keep an eye on the buffet, and carry food from the kitchen to the banquet hall to replenish it.”
Sarah finished covering her agenda with about fifteen minutes to spare before the volunteers arrived, so they all pitched in to clean up the kitchen and set it up as a rest and relaxation space for the workers.
“Before you go,” said Anna, raising her voice over the din of conversation as they prepared to report to their stations, “I want to give you a little something to look forward to at the end of the day.”
“You mean besides a chance to sit down and rest?” asked Joe.
“Yes, besides that,” said Anna over her friends’ laughter. “Sylvia, you stay seated right there.” She disappeared into the pantry and emerged carrying a jelly roll pan lined with parchment paper.
Sylvia smelled apples and cinnamon, and when Anna set the pan before her, she gasped in recognition. “Apple strudel,” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together as she admired the four perfectly rolled and lightly browned pastries lying side by side.
“I used your Great-Great-Aunt Gerda’s recipe,” said Anna. “This is my special good-luck gift to you, Sylvia, and a reward we can all enjoy after our customers leave, to celebrate our first successful day of the Christmas Boutique.”
“Hear, hear,” said Andrew, and everyone chimed in their agreement and applauded.
“And when we get a bit closer to Christmas,” Anna continued, smiling, “I’m going to fill up your Santa Claus cookie jar with Lebkuchen, Anisplätzchen, and Zimtsterne baked from your Great-Aunt Lucinda’s recipes.”
Sylvia blinked away tears. “Thank you, dear,” she said warmly. Anna nodded, her own eyes shining.
How could the Christmas Boutique fail when it was driven by such affection, determination, and goodwill? Sylvia was certain they would have good reason to celebrate their success at the end of the day. She intended to enjoy every morsel of Anna’s delicious strudel, as well as all the fond memories of childhood Christmases the familiar flavors and aromas evoked.
Sarah and her friends and colleagues had barely taken their places when the first group of volunteers arrived, chatting excitedly, eager to get to work. Sarah’s task was to welcome them in the rear foyer, assist them with their coats and scarves, show them where to find refreshments in the kitchen, and direct them down the corridor to Melanie, who waited just inside the front foyer with a clipboard and the master schedule. It was a bit chilly back where Sarah was stationed, since each newly arrived group let in frosty gusts of air when they opened the door, but she had prepared well for that, layering a long cardigan over a soft, warm turtleneck and adding a scarf for good measure.
By half past nine, all but one of the morning shift’s volunteers had checked in, so Sarah left her post and made the rounds of the kitchen, banquet hall, and ballroom to make sure that everything was in order. The rooms were decorated so beautifully that her heart rose with joy as she took in the scene, and the bustle of anticipation as the volunteers made last-minute adjustments to their market stalls sent a thrill of anticipation through her. The quilts displayed on the walls of the ballroom set a warm, cozy, festive mood that Sarah hoped would inspire shoppers to take some of that holiday spirit home in the form of handcrafted treasures.
She and Sylvia had arranged to meet at the front entrance at ten minutes to ten to welcome early arrivals, who could gather in the foyer, hang their coats on the portable wardrobe racks, and admire the decorations until Gwen and Gretchen opened the ballroom and banquet hall doors to mark the official start of the Christmas Boutique.
Sarah arrived five minutes early, and while she waited for her friend and mentor, she drew back a curtain from one of the windows flanking the tall double doors and steeled herself for what she might glimpse outside. She hoped to find two or three cars parked in the circular drive with several customers waiting in each, but she told herself it would be fine if she saw only one waiting there, or even none at all. Friday was a workday for most people, after all, and according
to Nancy, tomorrow’s attendance was what really mattered. Saturday was traditionally the boutique’s busiest day, when the crowds were largest and sales the briskest. Sarah should not jump to any conclusions about the overall success of the Christmas Boutique based upon the first fifteen minutes of opening day.
“Procrastination by analysis,” she murmured, and forced herself to peer outside.
The circular drive was already full, and more cars were parked along one side of the driveway at least a quarter of the way across the lawn toward the forest. Clusters of people stood on the veranda or climbed the curved stone staircases, chatting in small groups, sliding back gloves and coat sleeves to check watches, their breaths faint white puffs in the crystalline cold.
Sarah let the curtain fall and stepped back from the window. “Okay,” she said aloud. “No problem.” They should have heeded Andrew’s warnings and planned for valet parking from the beginning. But it would be fine; this was not a crisis. She would just pull Andrew, Gwen, and Joe from their posts and reassign volunteers to cover their roles. It might take a bit of wrangling, but once the traffic jam was cleared, arrivals and departures would be quick, smooth, and convenient for their visitors.
She turned away and set out to alert her designated drivers, but halfway to the ballroom, she halted in the middle of the foyer at the sight of a familiar figure entering from the west wing.
“Matt,” she said, stunned. “You’re here.”
“Morning, sweetheart.” He swiftly crossed the black marble floor and swept her up in a gentle hug, releasing her to rest his hands upon her abdomen. “How are you feeling? How are Harry and Hermione?”
“Oh, that’s good,” said Sarah with a laugh, placing a hand on top of his. “We might have to seriously consider those names.”
“Your mom would have a fit.”
The Christmas Boutique Page 26