An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (18 page)

“Oh, really?” I was so surprised I almost laughed. “Well, I suppose ‘old Bergstrom’ would be delighted to hear that.”

“I bet he already knows.” He had continued around Rose’s hindquarters and was now on my side of the stall. “My father has plans, though. He thinks he’ll catch up to Bergstrom in a generation.”

“Those must be some plans.” My voice trembled as he drew closer, and I busied myself with Rose’s mane. “Will they work?”

He shook his head. “Not a chance. His ideas are a good start, but they don’t go far enough. And you can’t get anywhere in this life without taking a few chances.”

“My father would agree.”

“No, no one will catch Bergstrom for a while yet. But someday I’m going to breed horses that will rival his. Maybe even surpass them.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise and challenge. “Do you really think you can?”

“Oh, sure. Not soon, but someday. I have some ideas.” He stepped closer and took the brush from my hand. “May I?” I nodded, and he continued Rose’s grooming. “Hard to imagine there could ever be a finer horse than you, though, isn’t it?” he murmured in Rose’s ear. She nuzzled his face.

“Her name is Dresden Rose.”

“And what’s yours?”

I paused for a moment. “Sylvia.”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Sylvia. Lovely name.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m James Compson.”

I took in a breath. “One of Robert Compson’s sons?” Robert Compson raised horses in Maryland. He was my father’s nearest rival.

His smile turned wry. “The youngest of many.”

“I see.” I reached out for the brush.

He dropped the brush and took my hand in both of his. Startled, I moved as if to pull away.

“Please, don’t run off,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s taken me two days just to get up the courage to speak to you.”

“My father will be here soon.” My voice shook and I felt very strange, but I didn’t back away.

A hurt look flashed in his eyes, and he released my hand. “Do you want me to leave?”

I shook my head, and then I nodded, and then I just looked at him in dismay. I wanted him to take my hand again, and I wanted him to be gone.

“I’m sorry. This was foolish of me.” He opened the stall door and left.

By the time I finished caring for Dresden Rose, my hands had stopped shaking. By the time Father, Claudia, and Richard arrived to help me prepare for the competition, I was able to appear calm. I didn’t fool Claudia, though; she knew something had happened, but she wouldn’t press me to explain, not with Father and Richard there.

The competition began, and soon it would be my turn. I spotted my family cheering in the spectators’ seats, and I grinned as I waved back, my confidence bolstered.

Then, as I looked away from my family and into another part of the stands, my eyes met James’s. My stomach flip-flopped. His gaze was so steady and intense, and it so unsettled me, that I sawed on Rose’s reins. She whinnied in protest, jolting me back to alertness.

Then it was my turn. “Our fifth competitor,” the announcer’s voice rang out so that all could hear. “Sylvia Bergstrom.”

There was just enough time before I trotted into the ring for me to see James’s jaw drop.

“You see, he didn’t know who I was.”

“Yes, I figured that out,” Sarah managed to say through her laughter. “But when he asked for your name, why didn’t you say Sylvia Bergstrom instead of just Sylvia?”

Mrs. Compson looked abashed. “I was having too much fun at his expense, I’m afraid.” She laughed. “My goodness, how embarrassed he must have been. Can you imagine?”

“But everything worked out fine in the end, didn’t it?” Sarah teased. “I mean, you did marry him, right?”

Mrs. Compson smiled. “Yes, I did. So maybe everything will work out just fine for you, too, but I do hope you’ll be more cautious.”

“I will.”

They went downstairs to the sewing room, where Mrs. Compson helped Sarah draft her new templates. As they worked, Sarah realized that most of her anger had faded, but Matt’s criticism still stung. Was it because she knew he had been right—not just about divulging secrets but about everything? Was she subconsciously screwing up her search for a real job?

Sarah thought about it and decided that it couldn’t be true. Why would she want to do that, subconsciously or otherwise?

She concentrated on her quilting—and on figuring out a way to get Matt to apologize before she confessed that he’d been right.

Fifteen

T
hat week Sarah and Mrs. Compson finished the second suite and started a third, working on the manor in the mornings and quilting in the afternoons. On Thursday, Sarah completed the Contrary Wife block and began another, which Mrs. Compson called the LeMoyne Star. Mrs. Compson must have liked the pattern herself, since it appeared in several of the quilts she had taken from the cedar chest.

Thursday was also the day Sarah remembered Gwen’s request. “You know that group of quilters I told you about?” she asked as she traced a figure onto the template plastic.

Mrs. Compson kept her eyes on her quilting. “No, I’ve never made their acquaintance.”

“Actually, you do know one of them, Bonnie Markham. But you know what I mean. Do you remember them?”

“How could I remember them if I’ve never met them?”

Sarah decided to start over. “Last week when I went to the Tangled Web Quilters’ meeting, I met a woman named Gwen Sullivan. She’s a professor at Waterford College.”

“How very nice for her.”

“She’s teaching a course on the history of American folk art, and she wondered if you might be willing to be a guest speaker.”

“Really.” Mrs. Compson set down her quilt hoop. “Does she want me to teach the class how to quilt or to teach them about quilt history?”

“I think she wants you to talk about quilt history and folklore and stuff.”

“If Gwen is a quilter herself, why does she need me?”

Sarah hesitated. “Well, sometimes it’s more fun for the students to listen to someone other than the professor. And you tell good stories.”

Mrs. Compson smiled. “Very well, then. You may tell your friend it would be my pleasure to speak to her class.”

“Great. Gwen will be glad to hear that.” Sarah paused. “You could come to the Tangled Web Quilters’ meeting with me tonight and tell her yourself.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary. I’m sure you’re responsible enough to carry the message.”

“Of course I am, but—”

“Then it’s settled.”

Sarah gave up.

They worked without talking for a few minutes until Mrs. Compson broke the silence with a chuckle. “So I tell good stories, do I?”

“Of course you do. It’s too bad you don’t like to tell them.”

Mrs. Compson looked astonished. “Why, what on earth do you mean?”

“Getting information out of you is like pulling teeth, or—or like setting in pieces.”

“That’s not so.”

“It is too. You started to tell me about James on Monday, and here it is Thursday already and you still haven’t explained how you ended up together. I’ve been wondering about it all week, but you haven’t said a word.”

“My, all week,” Mrs. Compson teased. “If you think that’s long, I have to wonder if you have the diligence and perseverance it takes to finish a quilt.”

“It’s not the same thing and you know it.”

“Very well, then. If only to prove that I’m not as reticent as you think.”

James avoided me for the rest of the fair that summer. I know, because I looked for him everywhere, but I saw neither hide nor hair of him the rest of the week. I supposed he must have been terribly embarrassed, and perhaps he thought I had been making fun of him by not telling him who I was. And perhaps he felt that he had insulted me by suggesting he could one day challenge Father’s business. I wasn’t insulted, however; I just knew he was wrong. The very idea—to surpass Bergstrom Thoroughbreds.

In autumn Father was invited to teach a course in the agricultural school at your alma mater, though it was called Pennsylvania State College then. Richard begged and pleaded to be allowed to accompany him. Oh, how Richard wanted to see the world, even at that age. Father refused, saying that he would not have time to care for a young boy and that Richard could not miss school. But he refused so reluctantly—he hated to be away from his son—that Richard must have thought there was still a chance.

He came running out to the garden, where Claudia and I were having a party with some of our friends. It was a picnic of sorts, to say a sad good-bye to the summer and welcome in the new school year. One fellow was especially fond of Claudia, though he was too shy to even look her in the eye, much less speak to her. I used to tease her about him mercilessly, of course. She was not the only one who interested the boys, either. I had two young men who adored me, too, although I was indifferent to them both and had told them so. They still insisted on courting me, though, which I found highly irritating—did they think I didn’t know my own mind? Honestly. Since they were determined to pine away rather than heed my words, well, I decided to let them. I used to enjoy watching them glower at each other when I would seem to prefer one more than the other, and would pretend not to notice when they fought for the next dance or the empty seat by my side.

One of the young men was telling a joke when Richard burst into the party. “Sylvia, Sylvia,” he cried, tugging at my hand.

“What is it, darling? Are you hurt?”

“No, no.” He glared, impatient. I had forgotten that he had made me promise not to call him “darling” in front of the older boys anymore. “I figured out how to get Father to take me with him.”

I pulled him onto the gazebo seat by my side. “I thought Father already told you no.”

“But we can change his mind. If you come, too, Sylvia, you can look after me. Then Father has to say I can go.”

“But what about school?”

“I won’t mind missing school.”

I laughed. “I realize that, but you have to go to school if you want to run Bergstrom Thoroughbreds someday. And I have to go to school, too, if I want to go to college.”

Claudia had been listening in. “Have you forgotten something?” she asked, approaching us from across the gazebo. She stood behind Richard and placed her hands on his shoulders. “I’ve graduated already, so I wouldn’t miss any school. I could look after you.”

“But Sylvia and I would have fun.” Richard’s face assumed its familiar stubborn frown. Claudia pursed her lips, and I shot my brother a look of warning. “We would, too, Claudia, but Elm Creek Manor couldn’t get along without you for so long.”

You charmer
, I thought, as he tried to hide a grin. Good thing Claudia couldn’t see his face. “Since Claudia is needed here, and I can’t leave school—I’m sorry, Richard, but it doesn’t sound feasible.”

Richard looked down at the gazebo’s wooden floor, crestfallen. “I know you want to go to college, Sylvia. I’m sorry—I didn’t think about you missing school. But just think of it—the chance to go somewhere.”

I was thinking about it, and as much as I loved my home, I too wanted to see some of the world before I returned to Elm Creek Manor to settle down. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Maybe when you’re older.”

“When I’m older. That’s what Father said. Everything’s when I’m older.”

Claudia sighed. “I’m sure they have schools near the college. You could both probably transfer easily enough. It’s only for a semester, after all.”

Richard brightened. “Do you think so?”

“I don’t see why not, if Father agrees. And if Sylvia wants to transfer.”

“Of course I want to,” I exclaimed. “It would almost be like going away to college myself. Think of all the new things to see and people to meet.”

My two young men frowned uneasily at that.

Richard crowed triumphantly and hopped down from the seat. He grabbed my hand and began to run from the gazebo toward the house, pulling me after him.

We spoke to Father, and without too much wheedling on our part, he agreed. Before long all the arrangements were made. We were to live in a faculty house on campus, and Richard would be able to attend a nearby elementary school. But the best part was that I would be allowed to continue my studies at the college.