Elm Creek Quilts [12] The Winding Ways Quilt (7 page)

The time to leave the protective circle at Elm Creek Manor was too quickly approaching. Nothing could replace these dear friends, their presence in her life or their place in her heart, but Judy had learned that wherever quilters were, friendship abided. Though miles would soon separate Judy from the other Elm Creek Quilters, their friendship would endure, and wherever the winding ways of her life’s path led her, there she would weave new ties, forge new bonds, and she would help her daughter to do the same.

The Elm Creek Quilters had shown her how.

Sylvia cut the last four pieces for Judy’s quilt, four triangular shapes with flat bases and concave sides, curving and narrowing until they met at a point. She had searched her stash for the perfect fabrics for her departing friend, silky prints with images of tortoises and cranes, symbols of the land of Judy’s birth. She chose reds and golds, Vietnamese colors of celebration, but mixed in reds and blues, the school colors for the University of Pennsylvania. The shifting hues marked the winding ways Judy had followed from Saigon to Elm Creek Manor to her new life in Philadelphia. For the lighter pieces, Sylvia plucked from her stash a half yard of a whimsical fabric—navy images that resembled computer circuits and diodes on a white background. For the life of her Sylvia could not remember purchasing such an odd print, but it had found its way into her stash somehow, and at last she had the perfect use for it. She smiled as she traced around her template on the wrong side of the fabric, imagining Judy’s laugh of delight when she held her quilt—or rather, her portion of a larger quilt—and interpreted the different symbols Sylvia had hidden within the scraps.

When that day would come, Sylvia did not know, but winding paths often curved back upon themselves, and Sylvia hoped Judy would not delay her return journey too long. Though Judy must leave them, she would always have a place at Elm Creek Manor. When she returned, Sylvia would present her with her gift of friendship and show her how it fit into the greater whole.

T
hey know,” Sarah told her husband, blinking up at the ceiling in the early morning sunlight.

Matt, already showered and almost dressed, sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks. “Are you sure? They’re acting perfectly normal. Normal for Elm Creek Quilters, anyway.”

“That’s only because they don’t know that I know they know. When they’re able to show that they know, that’s when the uproar will begin.”

Matt took a moment to puzzle out who knew what when. “We were going to tell them soon anyway.”

“Yes, but I wanted it to be on my terms, so I could keep the chaos under control.”

Matt grinned and bent over to kiss her on the cheek. “Hon, I think your days of keeping chaos under control are numbered. Better get used to it.”

Groaning, Sarah snatched up his pillow and covered her face—and then, abruptly, she realized that for the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel sick upon waking. Her nausea had vanished so completely that she had almost forgotten it. “Matt, what day is it?”

“Tuesday, August fifth. Why?” Suddenly Matt’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, no. Sarah, I’m sorry. I completely forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“It’s our anniversary.”

“Oh, right. Don’t worry about it. I forgot, too.’

“I didn’t even get you a card.”

“That’s okay. I didn’t get you anything, either.” As Matt sighed with relief, Sarah quickly counted the weeks, then bounded upright in bed, triumphant. “I am now officially in my second trimester, and look! No morning sickness, right on time. Don’t tell me chaos can’t be managed. This is one fetus who knows how to keep a schedule.”

She shrieked and ducked out of the way before he could swat her with a pillow.

Her friends hid it well, Sarah thought as she went downstairs, but surely they had already figured it out. How else did they account for her morning bouts with nausea, a prolonged stomach virus only prenatal vitamins could cure? She had experienced every typical symptom exactly when
What to Expect When You’re Expecting
warned her it might appear, and since all of the Elm Creek Quilters except for Summer had been pregnant at least once, they knew what to look for.

They were very good actresses, Sarah decided. They knew her so well that they couldn’t possibly have overlooked such a profound change in her life. Gracious friends that they were, they were waiting for Sarah and Matt to share their big news on their own schedule. That time had come.

She’d break the news at lunchtime, and it would be a relief to finally have everything out in the open. Sarah and Matt had so much to do to prepare, and only six more months to do it. They had to transform their suite’s sitting room into a nursery, purchase the layette, arrange for a diaper service, take baby CPR lessons—so many important tasks that Sarah could barely fit the spreadsheet on her computer screen unless she shrank the font. But less organized people than Sarah had babies every day, and if they could manage, she certainly could.

Breakfast was a pleasure for the first time in weeks, and not only because Anna’s orange-ginger waffles were sublime. If only she could have indulged in a cup of coffee—but medical research conflicted on this point, and Sarah had decided to err on the side of caution and eschew caffeine for the duration. Sylvia’s favorite mint tea didn’t pack the same wallop as Sarah’s favorite French roast, but she carried a steaming mug up to the office anyway, to sip as she plowed through the usual pile of daily paperwork. Judy’s impending departure had thrown her regular course schedule into disarray, but the replacement instructor, Gretchen Hartley, had assured Sarah that she had taught classes similar to Judy’s specialties and could step in at a moment’s notice.

Gretchen and her husband were moving into the manor on Wednesday, so Gretchen would have a few days to observe the daily camp routine before anyone thrust her unprepared into a classroom. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in the tall leather chair, closing her eyes and resting her hands on the cool oak desk. She loved her office in the manor’s stately library, which spanned the entire width of the manor’s south wing. Light spilled in through tall diamond-paned windows on the east and west walls, and between the windows stood tall bookcases, shelves bowing slightly under the weight of hundreds of volumes. Gentle cross breezes cooled the room in summer, and in winter, a fire burning in the large stone fireplace on the south wall kept the library warm and snug. Two armchairs and footstools sat before it, while more chairs and sofas were arranged in a square in the center of the room, awaiting other Elm Creek Quilters who might stop by to discuss camp business or to relax during breaks from the busy classrooms downstairs. Sylvia and Summer worked in the office, too, but everyone saw it as primarily Sarah’s domain, since she spent most of her work days there, handling the camp’s finances, marketing, and operations. Come September, when Summer left for graduate school, Sarah would also take over her curriculum, personnel management, and Internet duties. Sarah doubted she would teach classes anymore, but she didn’t mind that her contribution to Elm Creek Quilts took place mostly behind the scenes. Not teaching gave her a certain flexibility that she knew she would need once the baby came.

They would have to set up a little play area in the library, with a bouncy seat, a little swing, toys, and a cradle so Sarah could work while the baby slept. She would make a crib quilt for the baby, of course, something cute and simple like a Nine-Patch or Sawtooth Star, in cheerful rainbow colors suitable for either a girl or a boy. If she started in September, after the last week of camp, she would be able to put the last stitch in the binding well before the baby arrived.

At noon, the hour she had chosen to make the big announcement, it was no small task to get all the Elm Creek Quilters together before they dispersed throughout the banquet hall. On days like this, Sarah regretted Sylvia’s decree that the faculty should dine with a different group of campers every day instead of clustering at their own table. By stationing herself in the foyer and taking her friends aside as they exited the ballroom, she was able to herd them together, although Gwen kept eyeing the buffet table longingly through the open doorway. Summer was the last to arrive; she always lingered until every student’s questions were answered. It was little wonder the campers’ evaluations never failed to list her as a favorite teacher.

“I’m sure you know what I’m going to say, so I’ll make it quick,” said Sarah when she had gathered her friends around her. “Matt and I are going to have a baby.”

Sylvia nodded sagely and Agnes clasped her hands together and exclaimed with delight, but the others just stared at her.

“You’re having a baby?” Gwen echoed. “Now?”

“Not now, as in today, but yes. I’m having a baby.”

Summer peered at her. “And…this is good news, right?”

“Of course it’s good news. It’s great news.” Or at least Sarah had thought so, until that moment.

Something in her expression must have told her friends that she had expected an entirely different reaction, for they suddenly roused themselves and offered the fond hugs and joyful congratulations more befitting the occasion. “You knew all along,” Sarah teased, hugging each of her friends in turn. “You can drop the act.”

“I did have my suspicions,” Sylvia admitted, but the others declared that her announcement had come as a complete surprise. Sarah wasn’t sure she believed them.

“You’re going to make a wonderful mother,” said Judy.

Tears sprang into Sarah’s eyes. “Thank you.” Until then, she had not realized how much she had wanted someone to reassure her of that.

“What did your mother say when you told her?” asked Bonnie. “How many years ago was it that she started that crib quilt here at camp? She must be thrilled that you’re making her a grandmother at last.”

“I’m sure she will be,” said Sarah, “when I tell her.”

Her friends groaned and exclaimed in dismay.

“You should have told her first,” Sylvia admonished. “She’s your mother.”

“And she’s been praying for this news for years,” added Diane. “She probably gave up all hope long ago.”

“I’m going to tell her,” Sarah protested. “I have my first prenatal appointment tomorrow morning. I promise I’ll call my mother afterward.”

“Your first appointment?” asked Gwen. “How far along are you?”

When Sarah told them she had just entered her second trimester, there were more exclamations. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” cried Bonnie.

“I thought you had already guessed.” Honestly, didn’t they pay any attention to her at all? “Besides, the later you hear the news, the less time you have to worry.”

“And the less time we have to work on quilts for the baby,” said Diane accusingly.

“You should have seen your ob-gyn before now,” said Judy.

“When would I have had time?” Sarah said, somewhat defensively, for she knew her friend was right. “If I’d had any unusual symptoms, I would have called urgent care, but I wanted a particular doctor and she was fully booked. To be taken on as a new patient, I had to wait until she had an opening. My research indicated that she would be worth it.”

Diane rolled her eyes. “We wouldn’t want to contest your research.”

“Your baby’s due in February,” said Summer, thinking ahead, and then her face fell. “And I won’t be here to welcome her. Or him.”

Judy reached over and patted Summer on the shoulder consolingly.

“You can meet the baby when you come home for spring break,” said Sarah. “I’ll send lots of pictures, too. I promise.”

“What are you going to do about work?” asked Agnes, her blue eyes large and inquisitive behind her pink-tinted glasses. “I must say, I always considered you one of those career girls who never really wanted to start a family.”

“I won’t have to take any time off of work,” Sarah promised. When her friends regarded her skeptically, she added, “At least, not much. The baby’s due in February, which should give me plenty of time to recover before the start of the new camp season at the end of March. I’ll work ahead and get most of the summer’s marketing, scheduling, and registration out of the way. Things should run as smoothly as ever.”

Diane burst into laughter. “Are you trying to convince us, or yourself?”

“You, I suppose. I’m not worried.” Sarah noticed the other Elm Creek Quilters struggling unsuccessfully to hide their grins. “Why, do you think I should be?”

“A baby changes everything,” said Bonnie. “From this point on, you should expect the unexpected.”

“Nothing’s completely unexpected if you plan ahead.”

This time, Diane was not the only one to laugh.

Sarah looked around the circle, shaking her head. “Thanks for your support, oh ye of little faith.”

“Sarah, if anyone can have a by-the-book pregnancy, it’s you,” said Gwen. “We won’t hold you to it, that’s all.”

“You shouldn’t hold yourself to it, either,” added Agnes. “If you need to take some time off, we’ll cover for you. If you need extra help now and then, don’t be afraid to ask for it. This would be an excellent time for you to learn to delegate more, and to be more flexible.”

As her friends chimed in with promises of help, it was Sarah’s turn to laugh. “That’s what you say now, but we’ll see how many of you volunteer when it’s time to change diapers.”

Everyone laughed, and as the circle broke up to enter the banquet hall, Gwen caught Sarah’s eye. “You are going to use cloth diapers rather than poison the environment with disposables, right?”

“That’s an excellent idea.” Sarah decided to practice delegating. “You’re just the person to help me find an affordable, environmentally sensitive diaper service. Still eager to help?”

Gwen accepted the assignment, but she warned, “Not all wrinkles will be ironed out so easily. Some, you just have to learn to live with.”

“I know,” said Sarah cheerfully, although as a quilter, she had yet to encounter a wrinkle she couldn’t smooth out with the right iron and sufficient time.

The next morning, Sarah and Matt drove the pickup into downtown Waterford, a college town of about 35,000 permanent residents and 15,000 young adults, who swelled the population when Waterford College was in session. The downtown bordered the campus, and aside from a few city government offices, it consisted mainly of bars, trendy restaurants, and shops catering to the students and faculty. The local residents knew they owed their livelihoods to the transient student population, and although they were grateful for the income, many resented the dependence. Sometimes the town’s collective annoyance erupted in a flurry of housing and noise ordinances, and the students would strike back with boycotts and sarcastic editorials in the school newspaper. Since Sarah had friends on both sides of the fray, she stayed out of it and enjoyed Waterford’s small-town appeal as well as the cultural amenities the college offered.

They passed the square, a popular park near Waterford’s busiest intersection, and ascended Hill Street on their way to the medical office. Sarah was relieved they would avoid Main Street bordering the college campus because she still found it difficult to drive past the empty storefront where Bonnie’s quilt shop had once been. Not long after moving to Waterford, lonely and miserable in her unsuccessful job search, Sarah had passed the shop while running errands and had paused to admire a beautiful Lone Star quilt in the window. Its bright colors and intricate design charmed her inside, where she met Bonnie, Summer, and several other future friends—and learned that the reclusive owner of Elm Creek Manor had made the Lone Star quilt in the window. Sarah often wondered how different her life would have been had she not wandered past the shop that day. Now the thought of seeing an empty space where the red-and-gold
GRANDMA’S ATTIC
sign had once so proudly hung pained her. She could only imagine how much worse Bonnie felt.

Inside the clinic, Sarah left a urine specimen and stepped gingerly on the scale, steeling herself that those numbers wouldn’t be coming down for quite some time. After leading Sarah and Matt to a private room that smelled of antiseptic soap and tongue depressors, the nurse asked Sarah to climb onto the examination table so she could take her vitals. “Your blood pressure is slightly elevated,” said the nurse, a woman with short, tight red curls and a wild abundance of freckles on her face and forearms. On her scrubs, penguins in red scarves skied down snowy mountains in defiance of the hot August sunshine outside.