Elm Creek Quilts [12] The Winding Ways Quilt (9 page)

“I’ll round up some strong, young guys to unload your things,” said Sarah, thinking frantically as she retrieved the keys to Gretchen’s rooms from her desk drawer. Where would the delinquents be at that time of the day? “Let me show you to your suite. I have you in the west wing. It’s older, but you have a great view of the cornerstone patio and the north gardens.”

“I’m sure we’ll be very comfortable,” said Gretchen, a smile lighting up her weary face. “It’s good to be here.”

“It’s wonderful to have you,” said Sarah, ashamed that Gretchen seemed unaware of the poor welcome she was receiving. Yesterday Sarah had planned to keep an ear tuned to the back parking lot so that she would know immediately when Gretchen arrived, and could race downstairs to meet her at the back door. She had intended to offer Gretchen and Joe refreshments before leading them upstairs to their immaculate, cozy suite. Now she wasn’t sure if anyone had even remembered to sweep their bedroom floor.

“The other Elm Creek Quilters are teaching right now, but you’ll see everyone at supper.” Sarah led Gretchen from the library past the oak staircase with the view of the grand front foyer below. Gretchen basked in the elegance of her new home, smiling, greeting campers they passed on the way. They turned left at the end of the hall, passed a few doors, and came to Gretchen’s suite. “I hope you don’t mind staying among all the campers. I considered putting you on the third floor for privacy, but you said Joe has a bad back, and I didn’t want to inflict that extra flight of stairs on him.”

“I’d prefer to be among the campers,” Gretchen assured her. “That’s where the action is.”

“We can always move you later.” Sarah unlocked the door and gestured for Gretchen to proceed her, hoping against hope that someone had remembered to clean it.

Gretchen let out a sigh of delight as she stepped into her new sitting room. “It’s perfect.” She went to the window to admire the view, tested the sofa, and spun around to take it all in.

“Thanks,” said Sarah, glancing through the bedroom door and, to her horror, spotting the price tags dangling from the new mattress, the new pillows still wrapped in plastic, and a vase of brown, wilted flowers on the bedside table. If she moved quickly—but it was already too late, as Gretchen’s explorations had led her to the bedroom.

“About the flowers…” said Sarah weakly.

Gretchen burst into laughter. “I hope they’re left over from last week’s campers and not a welcome bouquet. I’d have to wonder what you’re trying to tell me.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Sarah. “I meant to change those and set everything up for you, but it’s been a crazy day, and I’m more pregnant than I thought I was, and it completely slipped my mind—”

“Don’t give it a second thought,” said Gretchen. “I’m not one to fuss over such a little thing. It’s a lovely suite, and I feel quite at home already. You go ahead and get back to your work. Joe and I can take care of settling ourselves in.”

Relieved, Sarah insisted upon removing the dead flowers and drafting Michael and the other young men to unload the truck and carry the Hartleys’ belongings upstairs. Only after she had welcomed Joe and sat the couple down in the kitchen for iced tea and cookies did she excuse herself and search the manor for Sylvia, the only other Elm Creek Quilter who was not teaching that day. Someone ought to remain with the newcomers, not just to make up for Sarah’s shabby welcome, but to offer the assistance only someone familiar with the manor could give.

On a day with so many camp activities to enjoy and dozens of quilters eager to spend time with her, the last place Sarah expected to find Sylvia was inside her suite with the door shut, but the whirring of her Featherweight gave her away. “Sylvia,” Sarah called, rapping on the door, “are you busy?”

The sewing machine stopped and Sarah heard a mad scrambling on the other side of the door. “Just a minute,” Sylvia called back, her voice muffled. When she opened the door moments later, the table around her Featherweight was scrupulously clean, but Sylvia looked a bit distracted, tucking a loose lock of silvery hair behind one ear and brushing stray sewing threads from her lap and sleeves.

“Working on a top-secret project?” asked Sarah.

“Don’t be silly,” replied Sylvia. “Tell me, what’s the word from the doctor? You’re in tip-top shape, I presume.”

“Oh, yes. All three of us seem to be.”

Sylvia peered at her over the rims of her glasses. “She examined Matt, too?”

“No. By the three of us, I meant me, the baby, and the other baby.”

Sylvia drew in a slow breath, her hand flying to her heart. “Oh, my heavens. Twins.”

“Twins,” Sarah confirmed, smiling.

Sylvia embraced her. “My dear girl, how wonderful. Congratulations. What did your mother say? She’ll have to make another crib quilt to match the first, won’t she?”

“I wouldn’t expect her to do that. My mother makes one quilt every two years. She’d never finish in time.”

Sylvia held her at arm’s length. “You still haven’t told her,” she scolded, easily guessing the truth. “You’ve been home for hours and you couldn’t find a moment to pick up the phone?”

Sarah couldn’t explain that she needed to recover from her own shock first. “I’ll call her today, I promise, but first, I need your help.” She explained about Gretchen’s arrival and the haphazard welcome she had received.

“I meant to greet her at the door, too,” said Sylvia, already heading into the hall on her way to Gretchen’s suite. “I must have lost track of time, and I suppose I didn’t hear the truck over the sewing machine.”

“I thought you said you weren’t working on anything.”

“Not at all. You asked if I was working on a top-secret project and I asked you not to be silly.” She held up a finger before Sarah could complain about the evasive reply. “I must say it troubles me to think that we’ve lost sight of the simple rules of hospitality. Gretchen is an Elm Creek Quilter now and she deserved a proper greeting.”

“We’ll make it up to her. Tonight before the evening program, I can bring her onstage and introduce her to the whole camp. There’s nothing like a round of applause to make a person feel welcome.”

“I hope you’re right. Honestly. Dead flowers at her bedside.” Shaking her head, Sylvia continued down the hall. “You go back to the library, put your feet up, and write your little speech. I’ll see to Gretchen.”

“I don’t need to put my feet up,” Sarah said as Sylvia hastened away. Still, she did as instructed, crafting a warm, generous introduction from Gretchen’s resume and the notes Sarah had taken during her interview earlier that summer. Gretchen’s career as a quilter spanned four decades and gave Sarah ample material to draw upon. She had taken her first quilting lesson from none other than Sylvia herself, as a high school student in Ambridge, Pennsylvania, just down the river from Pittsburgh. After working many years as a substitute home economics teacher, Gretchen had helped keep the traditions of quilting alive in the years before the “quilting renaissance” of the 1970s by sharing her knowledge with friends. Eventually that small circle of quilters grew into a thriving guild, and Gretchen became so renowned as a teacher that guilds from hundreds of miles away invited her to lecture and teach. Gretchen and a friend—with whom Sarah gathered she’d had a falling out, a detail she would omit from her introduction—had founded the most successful quilt shop in western Pennsylvania. Sarah had seen for herself that their newest teacher possessed flawless technical skills, and if she was a bit reluctant to innovate or to adopt the latest trends, her devotion to traditional quilting compensated for that. Gretchen was a marvelous addition to the circle of quilters at Elm Creek Manor, and after Sarah introduced her to their campers, everyone there would know it.

That ought to make up for the vase of wilted daylilies.

While her document printed, Sarah turned her attention to the second assignment Sylvia had given her. She took a deep breath and dialed her mother’s number.

Carol answered on the fourth ring, just when Sarah had begun to hope for the answering machine. Not that she would have given her mother the big news on a recording, but an excuse to hang up and call back later would have been nice.

“Sarah?” her mother said when she picked up, breathless. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Is something wrong there? You sound winded.”

“I’m in the backyard working in the garden. Gardening is a relaxing hobby, you know.”

Early in their relationship, Carol had referred to Matt as “that gardener” too often for Sarah to miss her underlying meaning: Gardening was meant to be a hobby, not a career, certainly not a respectable way for a man to support a family. Carol could not or would not understand that Matt, with his college degree in Landscape Architecture and responsibility for the entire Bergstrom estate, did not spend his days merely digging aimlessly in the dirt.

“You don’t sound relaxed,” Sarah said, ignoring the barb, wondering if she should call back later. Then she imagined Sylvia’s disapproving frown and realized she’d never be able to invent an acceptable excuse for not sharing the news now that she finally had her mother on the phone.

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m on the cordless, and you know how that is. I can hear it ring, but I can only answer if I’m within ten feet of the base station. I saw your name in the caller ID and made a run for it.”

Sarah, who often didn’t pick up when she saw her mother’s number in her own caller ID, felt a twinge of guilt, likely the first of many depending on the length of their conversation. “Sit down and catch your breath,” said Sarah. “I have some news.”

“Why should I sit down? People only tell you to sit down when they have bad news.” Sarah heard the metallic scraping sound of a patio chair being dragged across concrete. “Is Sylvia all right? She didn’t have another stroke, did she?”

Sarah held back the instinctive retort that any other worried mother would have asked first about her son-in-law, not her daughter’s friend and business partner, even one as dear as Sylvia. “Sylvia’s fine and so is Matt,” she said. “We’re all fine. In fact, Matt and I have great news.”

“Really? What’s that?”

“I’m pregnant!”

There was a pause. “Huh.”

Sarah waited for more, but her mother was silent. “I tell you I’m pregnant and all you can say is ‘Huh’?”

“Did the doctor tell you this or did you just take a home test?”

“Mom, you’re a nurse. You know the home tests are as accurate as the ones the doctor offers.”

“Yes, technically, but there’s always user error to consider.”

“I think I know how to pee on a stick. Even if I could mess that up, the doctor confirmed it today. I’m definitely pregnant.” And her friends wondered why she had put off this call. “Honestly, Mom, I expected a much more enthusiastic response considering you’ve been warning me about my ticking biological clock for years.”

“I have not.” Her mother inhaled deeply as if the news were an aroma of suspicious origin. “If I seem restrained, it’s just that I’ve been waiting for this news for so long that I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Should I have waited to tell you until I was on my way to the hospital to deliver them?”

“Of course not. I just need time for it to sink in.” She paused. “Did you say ‘to deliver
them
’?”

“That’s why I thought you should sit down.”

“Twins?”

“We heard two heartbeats.”

“Oh, no, Sarah. I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” said Sarah, incredulous. “Matt and I are thrilled.” Maybe that was overstating it, but she was compelled to make up for her mother’s lack of enthusiasm, as if the babies had overheard their grandmother’s lament. “If one grandchild is wonderful, aren’t two even better?”

“Certainly, if they’re spaced a few years apart. Twins will be so much harder, and the potential for complications is so much greater. I hope you won’t have to have a C-section.”

Sarah winced. “Thanks for planting that worry in my head.”

“It’s a very real possibility with multiple births. Surely your doctor mentioned it. Maybe I should call him and speak to him myself.”

“He’s a she, and no, Mom, you are not speaking to my doctor.”

“At least give me her name so I can check her out.”

“Absolutely not.”

“There aren’t that many ob-gyns in that little town. I’m sure I could figure it out.”

“I’m begging you not to try.” Sarah held the phone at arm’s length, closed her eyes, and counted to five before returning it to her ear. “This is how it’s supposed to go: I call you, I give you the happy news, you jump up and down for joy, you declare how happy you are, and you tell me everything’s going to be fine and not to worry.”

“Everything
is
going to be fine,” her mother said. “And I’m very happy. I don’t know why you think I’m not.”

“The ‘huh’ remark was something of a clue.”

“Sarah, I know you’re hormonal but there’s no need to be snippy. I already explained that I was surprised. It’s such good news that I can hardly believe it.”

“Great. I’m glad.”

“You don’t sound like you mean it.”

She didn’t. “I’ll call you this weekend after we have the ultrasound, okay? Maybe I’ll know if you’ll have granddaughters or grandsons or one of each.”

“I’m rooting for two granddaughters,” her mother said, “and I hope they’re exactly like you were when you were a child.”

“Yeah, that’ll show me. Thanks, Mom,” said Sarah, and hung up the phone.

Sarah had suspected her mother would find a way to sour her good news, and sure enough, she had. She hadn’t even wished Sarah and Matt a happy anniversary, not that Sarah could complain after forgetting the date herself. The only good to come of the phone call was that at supper Sarah was able to tell Sylvia that she had fulfilled her filial duty. “What did your mother say?” Sylvia asked, passing Sarah the basket of warm, flaky rolls seasoned with rosemary. “I imagine she was speechless with delight.”

If Carol had been speechless, that would indeed have been a delight. Sarah didn’t want to spoil her appetite for Anna’s marvelous cooking, so she told Sylvia that her mother had been surprised but happy, and that as a medical professional she was mindful of potential complications with multiple births.