Elm Creek Quilts [12] The Winding Ways Quilt (4 page)

Sylvia allowed the expectant silence to swell before she explained the ceremony. The campers would pass the candle around the circle, and as each woman took her turn to hold the flickering light, she would explain why she had come to Elm Creek Quilt Camp and what she hoped to gain that week. There was a pause after Sylvia asked for a volunteer to speak first.

“Not me,” someone whispered so tremulously that a ripple of laughter went up from the circle.

A woman with a blue cashmere sweater thrown over her shoulders raised a hand. “I’ll volunteer, although this honor ought to go to someone with a grander vision.” She took the crystal candleholder from Sylvia and studied the small yellow light for a moment. “Where to begin…With my name, I suppose. I’m Nancy, and as the newly elected president of the Waterford Quilt Guild, I’ve come as an ambassador. Under our previous administration, relations with Elm Creek Quilts have been strained, to say the least. While some of our guild members have attended camp sessions on their own, our official guild policy was not to communicate with Elm Creek Quilts. You sent us invitations to free classes and special lectures, and our officers didn’t pass the information along to the rest of the guild. You asked us to participate in making a wedding quilt for your founder, and your request was returned to you in very rude fashion.”

“I’ll say,” muttered Diane, who had been present.

“I’m here to make amends,” said Nancy. “A personal disagreement between our longtime former president and an Elm Creek Quilter was the root cause of our estrangement. Our former president is no longer affiliated with our guild, and I hope whatever quarrel she had with your staff member can be put in the past. I believe that the Waterford Quilt Guild and Elm Creek Quilts have similar goals and interests, and we ought to work together to promote the art and heritage of quilting in the Elm Creek Valley. So I decided to see for myself what Elm Creek Quilts is all about, and I hope that in getting to know me, the Elm Creek Quilters will decide to give the Waterford Quilt Guild a second chance.”

“You may be sure of it,” said Sylvia, with a sidelong glance at Diane, the Elm Creek Quilter involved in the long-standing battle of wills. “I would like nothing more than to work together. I’m sure we have much to offer one another, but I must disagree with you on one point.”

Nancy’s eyebrows rose. “And that is?”

“That someone with a grander vision should speak first. What grander vision than peace and reconciliation, and what better way to begin our Candlelight?”

Nancy smiled, and as the other quilters murmured their approval, she passed the candleholder to the next woman in the circle. The shy, brown-haired woman Judy had assisted at registration accepted it with a faint squeak of alarm. Judy wished that Nancy had passed the candle around the circle in the other direction, so that the brown-haired woman could have gone last instead of second.

“My name is Marcia, and I’m from Illinois,” the brown-haired woman said in a voice little more than a whisper.

“Speak up,” someone boomed from the other side of the circle.

Marcia cleared her throat and raised her voice, but not by much. “My name is Marcia, and I’m from Illinois. This is my first visit to Elm Creek Manor, and I was almost too scared to come.” When a few giggles of surprise interrupted her, Marcia hunched in her chair so that her shoulders almost touched her ears. “I know how silly it sounds, but it’s true. I’ve never even been brave enough to join my church’s quilting guild. Usually I quilt alone, or with a few of my friends at work. Every Tuesday we sew together in the office lunchroom and once a month we spend our lunch hour at a quilt shop. Last spring, my friend Dana found the Elm Creek Quilts website and convinced us to sign up for a week of camp. Ordinarily I would have been petrified at the thought of coming so far to spend a week with so many strangers, but I thought with my three friends around, it wouldn’t be too bad.” She took a deep breath. “You might have noticed that I’m a little shy.”

No one said anything. Perhaps they feared frightening her into silence, or like Judy, they were wondering what had become of her three friends.

“We were all looking forward to the trip. Even me. Then our boss noticed that we had all scheduled the same week off and insisted that one of us stay. I volunteered, but he chose my friend because she’s more experienced. Then my other friend got hit by a boy on one of those motorized scooters and had to have knee replacement surgery, so a long plane trip was out of the question. We were down to two, but I still thought that would be okay. Then yesterday my third friend called me and said she couldn’t come because she had chicken pox.”

An exclamation of astonishment went up from the group.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Marcia, misunderstanding. “I had it in first grade. I didn’t bring it with me to infect everyone. Well, after all that, you can see why I wanted to cancel my trip.”

“Not me,” Judy overheard one camper whisper to another. “I’d get the heck out of there before the next calamity struck.”

“When I told my husband I couldn’t possibly go without my friends, he insisted that I come anyway. He packed my suitcase, drove me to the airport, dropped me off at the curb, and told me he’d see me in a week. It was all I could do to get on the plane. I’m so worried that it’s going to be like high school all over again—no one to sit with at lunch, no one to chat with before class, and watching all the fun from the outside of the circle. So. Why am I here?” Marcia fell silent. “To improve my quilting, of course. My friends are counting on me to share everything I learn with them. But I’m also hoping to make some new friends. I’ve joined a few Internet quilt lists, and the ladies are always talking about how much fun they have with their quilting friends when they finally meet in person, and how quilters are such wonderful, welcoming people. I decided to be brave and find out for myself. Honestly, if I can’t make friends among quilters, then I must really be a hopeless case.”

A few murmurs of protest went up from the circle, but they quickly fell silent.

“I’m going to try my best, but I have a favor to ask of all of you.” Marcia’s voice had fallen to a near whisper again. “I know it’s easy to forget us outsiders when you’re having so much fun with your old friends, but please try to be more aware of the people who sit outside your usual circle of quilters, and consider stretching that circle a bit to let in someone new.”

Quickly Marcia passed the candle to the next quilter, her face flushed and eyes downcast. Judy doubted she had ever said anything so confrontational in her life. As confrontations went, it was fairly mild, but Judy knew that some of the women were bound to take Marcia’s plea the wrong way, as criticism instead of a cry for acceptance. Sure enough, Judy saw one woman roll her eyes and whisper in the ear of a friend, whose shoulders shook with silent laughter. Disappointed, Judy looked away, but then she was heartened to see the three women who had arrived in matching fuchsia T-shirts whispering and nodding together as they cast smiles in Marcia’s direction. The shy woman completely missed their friendly glances, so intently was she staring at the gray patio stones beneath her brown sandals. Judy hoped the fuchsia-clad women planned to invite Marcia to sit with them at breakfast the next morning. Time would tell.

The woman seated at Marcia’s right was at least twenty years her senior, with short, wild curls and bifocals. She regarded Marcia with maternal fondness as she took the candle. “Thank you, Marcia, for reminding us that circles can exclude as well as include. I hope we will all resolve not to be miserly with our friendships.” She looked around the circle of shadowed faces in a way that reminded Judy of her fair-minded but firm seventh-grade teacher. “My name is Doris and I’m from Lincoln, Nebraska. Three summers ago, I could barely sew on a button—unlike my four best girlfriends, who had quilted for years and were always going on quilt retreats and shop hops. Whenever the four of us got together, they would talk about their adventures and I would feel terribly left out and, I admit, the tiniest bit jealous. I decided to learn to quilt just to keep up with them, so I signed up for a week of Elm Creek Quilt Camp, and I was hooked. Now, not only do I get to join in my friends’ quilting adventures back home, but I’ve also made more wonderful friends here.” She smiled and looked around the circle of faces, warmly illuminated by candlelight. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember which came first, the quilting or the friendships, they’re so closely intertwined in my memory. This week I hope to rekindle old friendships, make new ones, and return home with some new sewing tricks to impress my friends.”

As she passed on the candle, approving murmurs rose into the night sky, harmony restored after the discordant note of Marcia’s shy confession. Doris had spoken of quilters the way they wanted to see themselves, Judy thought, and not the way they could sometimes be when they forgot to look beyond their own familiar circle. She hoped Marcia’s humble plea for acceptance would not be too quickly forgotten.

The next quilter eagerly seized the candleholder. “I’m Sue Anne, and I came because I’m sick of getting third-place ribbons in my quilt guild’s annual show.” Her declaration met with a burst of laughter. “Every year the judges’ comments are the same: borders are crooked, borders are wavy. Binding isn’t full enough. Binding should be cut on the bias. Binding should not fall off the quilt.” More laughter. “Those nitpickers take off points for everything. So I asked my sister-in-law for advice, and she should know, because she’s forever throwing extra scallops into her borders just to show off. I thought she would give me a few pointers, but instead she urged me to sign up for Judy DiNardo’s seminar at Elm Creek Quilt Camp. I called the next day, and it’s a good thing, too. The girl who answered the phone told me that this is my last chance to take Judy’s class because she’s leaving!”

Judy’s heart fluttered nervously as all eyes suddenly went to her. She smiled weakly and managed an apologetic shrug.

“You’re leaving?” another woman gasped. “How could you?”

“I have a new job—”

“What new job could be better than this? I’d sweep the floors for room and board if they’d let me.”

As others chimed in their agreement, Sylvia quickly stepped in. “That’s a story for another time, if Judy chooses to share it.” With a gracious smile, she gestured for Sue Anne to pass the candle on to the next quilter, one of the three wearing fuchsia T-shirts. As soon as Sue Anne handed off the candle, she frowned as if suddenly remembering that she had not finished her story.

“I’m Connie, and I’m one of the Flying Saucer Sisters,” the next camper began, indicating the other fuchsia-clad women. “We aren’t related by blood or marriage, but by our one sad affliction: Our closets are stuffed full of UFOs. Those are Unfinished Fabric Objects,” she added for the beginners’ benefit. “Since we rarely finish anything we start, our beds have store-bought quilts on them and our walls are bare. This must stop.” She jabbed her finger in the air for emphasis. “We’ve made a pact. Before we’re allowed to start a new project, we have to cut our UFO backlogs in half. We’re a support group and we also keep one another from cheating. Some of us are more honest than others.” She cast a sidelong look upon one of her friends, who covered her eyes and shook her head in shame. “My goal is to finish five UFOs this week, and at that pace, I’ll be able to start a new quilt when I return to camp next year.”

Around the circle the candle went, passed from hand to hand as the violet sky deepened and the stars came out. Women who could barely sew had come for their first lessons; accomplished quilters had come for the opportunity to learn new skills or to work uninterrupted on masterpieces they could as yet only envision. They had come to sew quilts for brides and for babies, to cover beds or to display on walls, for warmth, for beauty, for joy. Through the years Judy had heard similar tales from other women, every summer Sunday as night fell, and yet each story was unique. One common thread joined all the women who came to Elm Creek Manor. Those who had given so much of themselves and their lives caring for others—children, husbands, aging parents—were now taking time to care for themselves, to nourish their own souls. As the night darkened around them, the cornerstone patio was silent but for the murmuring of quiet voices and the song of crickets, the only illumination the flickering candle and the light of stars glowing high above them as their voices rose into the sky.

Occasionally a camper would steal a curious glance at Judy as if unable to fathom her decision. What, they surely wondered, could compel an Elm Creek Quilter to leave the manor? It was, for that brief time they lived within its gray stone walls, the world as it should be: women of all ages, from widely varied backgrounds, coming together in harmony to create objects of beauty and comfort. Differences were not merely tolerated but accepted and even admired. For one week the world was not so much with them, the stress and monotony of daily routines could be forgotten, and they could quilt—or read, or wander through the garden, or take a nap, or stay up all night laughing with friends—as their own hearts desired. Patient teachers stood by willing to pass on their knowledge; friends offered companionship and encouragement. Confidences were shared at mealtime and in late-night chats in cozy suites or on the moonlit veranda. Resolutions were made, promises kept. Quilters took artistic and emotional risks because they knew they were safe, unconditionally accepted.

If only the same could be said of the world they would return to when the idyll was broken.

The darkness hid Judy’s wistful smile as she gazed out upon the campers, drinking in their fellow quilters’ stories, blissfully unaware of all the effort it took behind the scenes to create their serene oasis. They thought the Elm Creek Quilters were on vacation, too. For an Elm Creek Quilter to choose to leave the manor put cracks in the illusion, tarnish on the magic of Elm Creek Quilt Camp. Judy wished her eager student had not announced her impending departure, not then, not there.

Marcia’s fears that she would not find friendship at Elm Creek Manor had also cast shadows of doubt on the sunny summer week that lay ahead. As confident as Judy was that Marcia would not spend the days isolated and lonely, she could not guarantee it. Marcia had to be willing to venture out of her room and cast off some of her shyness, and the other campers had to meet her halfway. For all the vaunted generosity and kindness of quilters, Judy knew that the admirable qualities of the group did not always manifest in certain members, at least not every day. Quilters were individuals with their own quirks and foibles. Although she hoped Marcia would find herself embraced by friends soon, Judy knew all too well that becoming a quilter did not guarantee acceptance into a loving circle, no matter how much one deserved to belong.