The Aloha Quilt (42 page)

“I left the paper square whole because I wasn’t sure if you liked to pin the pattern
to your fabric or cut on a drawn line,” Hinano explained, handing her the intricate
pattern he must have spent days creating.

Bonnie held it up and admired it, her breath catching in her throat. “Hinano, this
is beautiful. It’s so much more complex than any quilt I’ve ever made. I hope I’m
up to it.”

“Don’t think about the whole quilt. That’s too daunting. Take it one stitch at a time.
You can do one stitch, right? Then do another, and then another, and eventually you’ll
have a quilt.”

“Well said.” Bonnie smiled as she carefully folded the beautiful
pattern and tucked it into her carry-on for safekeeping. “Maybe you should teach at
Aloha Quilt Camp.”

“Maybe I already have enough to do.”

Bonnie laughed and hugged him, but the hour had grown late and she had to get to her
plane. “I’ll miss you,” she murmured close to his ear.

“I’ll see you in September, snowbird.” He kissed her and reluctantly let her go. “Aloha,
Bonnie. Come home soon.”

“I will, Hinano. Aloha.”

And then she had to leave.

Tears came as she sat awaiting takeoff, but she pulled the scratchy blanket up to
her chin and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. She was sad to leave, but full of joy
and anticipation for the path she had finally chosen. Half the year in Pennsylvania
with cherished friends, the manor, and Elm Creek Quilts; the other half in Maui with
Aloha Quilt Camp, Claire, Eric, Midori, and Hinano. Only months before she had thought
she had lost everything, but she had emerged with a new business partnership, new
friends, a new understanding and respect for Claire—and new love. And a new quilt
to look forward to creating, from choosing the fabric to cutting out the appliqué
to reminiscing about her Hawaiian adventure as she took one careful stitch after another.
She remembered what Midori had told her so many weeks before, that all true Hawaiian
quilt patterns were unique, made for a particular person, purpose, or occasion. “An
original quilt pattern is a precious gift and a sign of great friendship,” Midori
had said, “because of the prayers and good wishes—part of the very spirit of the designer—that
go into its creation.”

She knew this was true of the quilt Hinano had designed
for her, and that, perhaps without realizing it, he had captured the meaning and purpose
of her journey and all the blessings it had bestowed upon her in every bird of paradise
blossom he had drawn, in every graceful curve and elegant point of his pattern. She
knew then that she would always think of it as the Aloha Quilt, for it conveyed the
spirit of aloha as beautifully and perfectly as any creation of human hands ever could.

She slept restlessly on the plane, awakened by the clattering of flight attendants’
carts and the conversation of other passengers. It was six o’clock when they landed,
the skies over Phoenix barely pink with dawn. She felt strangely only half-present,
as if she were not heading home but had left her real life behind in Lahaina.

Though she had little appetite, she bought a raisin bagel with cream cheese and a
small coffee in the terminal but ended up tossing most of her breakfast in the trash
before boarding her flight to Philadelphia. She slept better on the second leg of
her trip, dozing off shortly after the plane reached its cruising altitude and not
waking until the flight attendant came by to remind her to raise her seat back in
preparation for landing.

On the ground in Philadelphia, she checked her voicemail and found messages waiting
from Claire, who wanted Bonnie to let her know when she had arrived safely, and all
three of her children, who welcomed her home and wanted to make plans to see her.
Matt McClure had left the last message, reminding her that he and Sylvia would pick
her up at the Elm Creek Valley Regional Airport and bring her home to the manor, where
Sarah would be waiting to introduce her to their newborn twins, whom Bonnie had seen
only in emailed photographs.

The last flight was the shortest of the three, the tiny plane reminiscent of the one
she and Hinano had taken to Oahu. As the propellers roared to life, Bonnie found herself
suddenly eager to complete her journey and reunite with Sylvia, Sarah, and the others.
Even though they had not stood up for her against Craig the way Claire had boldly
driven him off from the Hale Kapa Kuiki, they were still some of her dearest friends
in the world, and she missed them.

As the plane soared away from the city and above the rolling Appalachians, light green
with the first verdant rush of spring, images of Elm Creek Manor flooded Bonnie’s
thoughts—Candlelight ceremonies on the cornerstone patio, quilters’ scavenger hunts
on the moonlit grounds of the estate, plucking the first apples of the season in the
orchard, collaborating on new quilt designs or classes with friends, sharing good
times and bad, happiness and tears. Although she was no longer a part-owner of Elm
Creek Quilts, she was and would always be an Elm Creek Quilter. She knew her friends
would be delighted for her that she had become part-owner of Aloha Quilt Camp, even
though it meant she would be spending half of the year far away.

She smiled as the tiny plane touched down on the single runway of Elm Creek Valley
Regional, imagining her friends’ reactions when they heard her good news. Yes, they
would miss her, but they would be delighted to know they each had a standing invitation
to visit her at the Hale Kapa Kuiki.

Bonnie forgot her fatigue as she made her way to baggage claim. She spotted Matt first,
his blond curly head standing above the crowd. He caught sight of her, grinned and
waved, and as Bonnie emerged from the opposite side of the security barrier, she saw
Sylvia. Clad in a lavender cardigan,
her silver-gray hair worn straight except for the slightest curl just above her shoulders,
Sylvia beamed at Bonnie and held out her arms. Bonnie hurried to embrace her, so overwhelmed
that tears filled her eyes. She hugged Matt, too, and asked about the babies. He and
Sarah weren’t getting much sleep, he told her, but they had never been happier.

Sylvia peppered Bonnie with questions as they waited for her luggage and loaded it
into the Elm Creek Quilts minivan. The route to the manor seemed so wonderfully familiar
and yet entirely new, adorned with the freshness of spring. Even the narrow, bumpy
gravel road that wound through the woods and over Elm Creek made her nearly laugh
aloud with delight.

As the early evening sunlight broke through the boughs above, they emerged from the
leafy wood and came upon the apple orchard, gracefully adorned with buds that would
soon become fragrant blossoms. The road wound past a red barn, climbed a low hill,
and rambled across the bridge over Elm Creek. All at once the manor came into view—three
stories of gray stone and dark wood, elegant and charming, and suddenly Bonnie felt
as if she had come home.

On the other side of the creek, the road broadened and became a parking lot circling
two towering elms. “Anna’s preparing a special welcome home supper for you,” Sylvia
promised as Matt parked the van.

“Sounds wonderful,” said Bonnie, although she felt unsettled at the thought of facing
Anna for the first time since she had purchased Bonnie’s share of Elm Creek Quilts.
“I’m famished.”

Matt helped her carry her luggage, overstuffed with gifts and souvenirs, up the back
stairs, but before he could open the door it burst open and suddenly Bonnie was surrounded
by welcoming friends—Andrew, Sylvia’s husband; Anna, clad
in an apron with her dark brown hair in a long French braid; Gretchen, one of the
newest Elm Creek Quilters who had joined them only weeks before Bonnie’s departure;
and another woman who, although she looked only vaguely familiar, welcomed Bonnie
like a long-lost friend.

“I’m sure you remember Maggie Flynn,” said Sylvia, coming to her rescue.

“Of course,” said Bonnie. Maggie was the second of their new hires and had moved into
the manor from Sacramento just in time for the start of the new camp season. Bonnie
had liked her during the interview process and looked forward to getting to know her
better in the months to come.

“We have more friends waiting inside,” said Andrew, taking the suitcase Bonnie carried.

Bonnie, assuming he meant the newborn twins, let herself be swept along by her friends
into the manor. She stopped short in the kitchen doorway, transfixed by her first
glimpse of the newly remodeled room—twice the size she remembered, with gleaming new
cabinets, countertops, appliances, and seating. “I barely recognize the place,” she
marveled, and then stopped short again at the sight of two women seated in a charming
breakfast nook. Sarah, cradling one of the twins, rose to meet her, as did her companion,
who held the other baby and beamed with pleasure at Bonnie’s surprise.

“Judy?” Bonnie exclaimed. She rushed forward to embrace her, was quickly distracted
by the adorable babies, and hugged Sarah in congratulations before embracing Judy
again. She had missed all of her friends, but it was an unexpected delight to find
Judy among them.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Dare I hope that you’ve moved back permanently?”

Judy laughed. “No, I love my new job at Penn too much
to give it up. This is just a weekend visit. I couldn’t miss your homecoming and wouldn’t
dream of spending National Quilting Day anywhere but here.”

“Even if it’s only for the weekend, I’m glad you came. I’ve missed you.” Bonnie hugged
one friend after another. She had missed them so much, more than she had realized.
“I’ve missed you all.”

“Judy also came to conduct a bit of business,” remarked Sylvia. “Perhaps we can discuss
it after supper.”

“The chicken needs another twenty minutes,” said Anna, with an eager glance at Bonnie.
“Why don’t you go ahead?”

“First,” said Sarah, passing one of the babies to Bonnie, who drew back the edge of
the swaddling quilt to offer the little one a fingertip to grasp, “let’s make sure
Bonnie’s divorce is absolutely, completely, and irrevocably final.”

“It’s about as final as you can get,” said Bonnie. “Why? Has Craig been coming around
bothering you again? I can call the authorities on him, thanks to that protection
from abuse order.”

“We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him,” Sylvia assured her, gesturing to one of the
tables. “Why don’t you sit down?”

Bonnie had been sitting down for most of the previous twenty-four hours, but Sylvia
clearly had something on her mind, so Bonnie slid into the comfortable booth. Judy,
Sarah, and Sylvia joined them, while Anna returned to the stove, where she stirred
a large copper pot simmering with something that smelled so delicious Bonnie could
almost taste it.

“We know how distressed you were to sell your share of Elm Creek Quilts.” Sylvia reached
across the table to pat Bonnie’s hand sympathetically.

“Oh, it’s all right now,” said Bonnie, eager to share her good news. “I understand.
It was a necessary precaution, and it
worked. It kept Elm Creek Quilts safely out of Craig’s reach. If I had to do it all
over again, I’d make the same choice.”

Sarah frowned and shook her head. “It was a choice you never should have been forced
to make.”

“What’s done is done. I’m at peace with it.” Bonnie caught Anna’s eye. “And I hope
all of you are too. I don’t want there to be any awkwardness. I know what Sylvia says
is true: Once an Elm Creek Quilter, always an Elm Creek Quilter.”

“I agree completely,” declared Judy. “Ownership doesn’t make us more or less an integral
part of our circle of quilters, and yet ownership should belong first to those of
us who are still actively involved in the quilt camp.”

“Especially when that person is a founding member,” said Gretchen, who was not.

Bonnie glanced around at the smiling, expectant faces of her friends. “What’s going
on? I haven’t been away so long that I’ve forgotten what you look like when you’re
plotting something.”

“I want to sell you my share of Elm Creek Quilts,” said Judy. “You still work here;
I don’t. I wanted to make a career change; you didn’t. It’s not fair that Craig forced
you to sacrifice something you loved and had worked so hard for.”