The Wedding Quilt (34 page)

“So no one got trashed.”

He stifled a laugh. “No one's gotten ‘trashed' in fifteen years, Mom.”

“You know what I mean.” Sarah tried to remember the word the kids used. “No one got blonked.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “No one got blonked,” he assured her, “and if they had, I would have gotten them home safely. You know you can trust me.”

“I trust you,” she said. “And I hope you trust me.”

“Of course I do,” he said, surprised.

“Then tell me, what's really going on with you and Gina?”

He released her shoulders and inched a step backward, suddenly wary. “Why? What have you heard?”

“Nothing, which is why I'm asking you.”

He glanced at his watch. “Sorry, Mom. No time to talk. I have to go now or I won't be back in time for . . . stuff. Wedding stuff.” With a wave, he darted off at a pace more suitable for a sprint than a cross-country run.

“You can't evade the question forever,” she called after him as he raced over the bridge. Sighing, she went back inside, narrowly avoiding a collision with Caroline in the back foyer.

“Anna said I'd find you outside,” said Caroline, relieved. “Can you help me, Mom?”

“Sure, honey. What is it?”

Caroline took her by the arm and led her down the west wing toward the front foyer. “I'm having trouble finding something to wear tomorrow.”

“Okay,” said Sarah, eyeing her daughter curiously as Caroline led the way up the grand oak staircase. “This is just a suggestion, but why not wear that beautiful wedding gown you picked out a few months ago?”

Caroline managed a laugh. “I'm definitely wearing the gown, but I need a few things to wear with it or carry. Something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.”

“ ‘And a silver sixpence in her shoe,' ” Sarah completed the Victorian rhyme. “Sweetheart, you don't have to follow that tradition. It's meant to bring good luck, but you're not superstitious and I know you can't really be worried about warding off evil spirits.”

“Of course not, but I'd like to follow the tradition anyway. Didn't you?”

Sarah had, in fact. Brides wore or carried something old to represent their families and continuity with the past, and so Sarah had carried a beautiful lace handkerchief her grandmother had given her. Her wedding gown had counted as something new, a symbol of hope for a bright future, success, optimism, and the new union she and Matt would create together. A bride borrowed something to remind her that she would be able to rely on friends and family throughout her married life, and accordingly, Sarah had borrowed a rhinestone tiara from her best friend, had attached a fingertip veil and white silk roses, and had worn it as her headpiece. The baby blue lace trim on her garter had sufficed for something blue, which represented purity, faithfulness, and loyalty.

“Your gown is something new,” Sarah mused as they paused outside Caroline's room, “and the antique silver belt is something old. Finding something blue is usually the biggest challenge.”

“I have that covered,” said Caroline. “Dad's going to weave a beautiful dark blue ribbon into my bouquet.”

It didn't sound like Caroline needed Sarah's help after all, since all that remained was something borrowed. “You could borrow some earrings from one of your friends.”

“No, I want to wear the pearl earrings Leo gave me last Christmas.” Caroline fixed her with a tentative, hopeful smile. “According to tradition, it's important for a bride to borrow something from a happily married person, so that she can carry some of that person's marital bliss into her own marriage. I'd like to borrow something from you.”

Sarah hesitated. “Why me?”

Caroline laughed, surprised by the question. “Why not? You're my mom, and you're happily married. Right?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

“Of course I am,” replied Sarah quickly. “Well, let me think.” And then, suddenly, she knew the perfect piece to lend to her daughter.

She took Caroline's hand and led her farther down the hall to the room Sarah and Matt shared. An old jewelry box the size and shape of a small cabinet sat upon the bureau, and as Caroline seated herself upon the bed and absently traced the outline of the Hands All Around block in the sampler quilt, Sarah withdrew a shallow, rectangular case from a lower drawer. Sitting down beside her daughter, she lifted the lid, smiling as Caroline gasped at the sight of the beautiful pearl necklace.

“These belonged to Sylvia,” said Sarah, gently removing the pearls from the case and unfastening the clasp. Her eyes widening, Caroline drew her blond curls out of the way as Sarah fastened the pearls around her neck. “She wore them on the day she married her first husband, James, the man your brother is named after. Sylvia's mother wore them on her wedding day too. They belonged to her own grandmother, who might have worn them as a bride herself, for all I know.” Sarah smiled. “Perhaps then, so long ago, they were her ‘something new.'”

Caroline rose and went to the mirror above the bureau, her mouth slightly open in astonishment as she admired them in the reflection. “They're so beautiful. Why don't you ever wear them?”

Sarah laughed. “Caroline, honey, those pearls are very precious. That's not a necklace I can throw on for a day at quilt camp.”

“Then you should definitely add some special occasions to your social calendar so you'll have an excuse to wear them.” Caroline turned, beaming, and flung her arms around Sarah. “Thank you so much, Mom. They're perfect. They'll even complement my earrings.”

“And they qualify as something borrowed. Someday they'll be yours, of course—”

“Oh, Mom, don't talk like that.”

“Don't talk like what?”

“Don't bring up your—you know, your mortality, not the day before my wedding.”

“I'm not bringing it up. I'm only letting you know that someday—” The sight of Caroline's unhappy frown cut her short. “Very well. Please borrow my pearl necklace and consider the tradition satisfied. I want them back in perfect condition for all the balls I'll attend throughout the upcoming social season.”

“Absolutely,” said Caroline, her good humor immediately restored. Reluctantly, she lifted her hair again so that Sarah could remove the necklace, and after returning it to the velvet-lined case, she thanked Sarah again and carried it off to her room, hugging it to her heart.

Sarah watched her go, smiling fondly, thinking of how happy Sylvia would have been to see Caroline wearing the pearls, a beloved and rare heirloom from her mother's side of the family. Sylvia had left nearly all of her family heirlooms to Sarah along with the estate, and like Caroline, Sarah had hated to hear Sylvia talk about her eventual passing and had changed the subject whenever it arose. She knew Sylvia intended her to be her heir, but Sarah avoided any discussion of the details.

One day shortly after her ninetieth birthday, Sylvia had enough of Sarah's nonsense, as she called it, and summoned her onetime apprentice for a frank and difficult discussion of her affairs. Sarah had no choice but to listen to Sylvia's instructions, nodding and blinking away tears as Sylvia told her the location of her private papers, the contact information for her lawyer, and the documents pertaining to her burial, which, ever efficient, she had arranged in advance.

“There,” Sylvia declared when she had finished. “That wasn't so bad, now, was it?”

“Yes, it was,” retorted Sarah, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes with the cuff of her blouse. “You know I hate to think of this kind of stuff.”

Sylvia gazed heavenward. “Refusing to discuss ‘this kind of stuff' won't prevent it from happening. But now the unpleasant task is done, and you're free to think of something else.”

Sarah nodded and gulped air.

“Sarah, dear.” Sylvia clasped her hand. “Please don't be unhappy. This day comes to us all. Remember what I told you when I wrote my will so many years ago, after I suffered the stroke?”

Sarah nodded, for she had never forgotten her beloved friend and mentor's words. “I need to know that the estate will be cared for when I'm no longer here to see to it myself,” Sylvia had told Sarah, with all their friends standing witness. “I need someone who understands that the true value of Elm Creek Manor doesn't reside in its price per acre. You are that person.”

The memory of Sylvia's plainspoken praise warmed Sarah's heart, and in a sudden upswell of love for her friend, she realized that her sorrow was nothing next to the deep and profound gratitude she felt for Sylvia, who had shared her life, her home, and her history generously for as long as Sarah had known her, asking nothing in return.

Well, that was not entirely true.

“Why are you smiling?” asked Sylvia. “Not that I wish to discourage you.”

“I was thinking of the day we met.”

“Oh, not that,” said Sylvia, exasperated. “Why would you want to remember that day? I was thoroughly unpleasant to you.”

“Yes, you were.” Sarah still remembered the heat and humidity of the day, oppressive in downtown Waterford, where she had concluded another dismal job interview, less so in the cool shade of the elms surrounding the manor. “You had hired the landscape architecture company Matt was working for, and they had sent him out to take photos of the grounds. You were cranky—”

“Because Matt was late.”

“As a matter of fact, we were five minutes early, which was pretty good considering how difficult it is to find Elm Creek Manor when you've never been here. You called me ‘Uh, Sarah'—”

“That was how you introduced yourself. ‘I'm—uh, Sarah. I'm Matt's wife.' Honestly, I don't know why you would want to make this particular trip down memory lane.”

“You offered me a glass of lemonade, and when I accepted, you told me to get it myself because you weren't going to wait on me.” She had to laugh as Sylvia waved her hands as if to ward off embarrassment. “Then you whisked Matt away to take the photos and left me behind in the kitchen.”

“And you decided to go exploring.”

Sarah nodded, remembering how she had wandered into a sunny, pleasant sitting room, larger and wider than the kitchen, with overstuffed furniture arranged by the windows and before the fireplace, and cheerful watercolor landscapes on the walls. A small sewing machine had sat on a nearby table, a chair pulled aside as if someone had left it only moments before. On the largest sofa Sarah had discovered a beautiful quilt, which she had unfolded for a better look. Small diamonds of all shades of blue, purple, and green had been joined into eight-pointed stars on a soft ivory background. Tiny stitches had formed smaller diamonds within each colorful piece, and the lighter fabric was covered with a flowing, feathery pattern, all made from unbelievably small, even stitches. A narrow, leafy vine of deep emerald green meandered around the edges, framing the delicate stars in foliage. She would have admired the quilt longer, had Sylvia not suddenly reappeared and scolded her.

“I thought you might spill lemonade on my quilt,” Sylvia made an excuse.

“I wouldn't have.”

“Well, I didn't know you then. For all I knew, you might have been a very reckless and irresponsible young woman.”

“Yes, I'm sure that's exactly the impression I made in my best business suit and sensible heels.”

Sylvia laughed and removed her glasses to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, I'm utterly ashamed of myself. I can't think of a single word to say in my own defense. I was a dreadful hostess, I freely confess. And yet you came to work for me anyway.”

“Matt wanted me to, and I needed a job.” But they both knew those were not the only, nor the most compelling, reasons Sarah had accepted Sylvia's offer to work as her assistant, helping her prepare for a sale that, thankfully, never happened. “I fell in love with that beautiful quilt, and I knew you could teach me to make one of my own.”

“And so I did.” Sylvia's gaze was far away. “I wonder whatever became of that quilt.”

“It's on the bed in one of the third-floor suites,” Sarah said. “Do you want it?”

“No, dear. That's exactly where it should be, offering warmth and comfort to our guests.” Sylvia gave Sarah's hand a brisk pat and smiled, and with that affectionate gesture all the lingering unhappiness between them broke and fell away.

In the time that followed, their friendship endured and thrived. Sarah cared for Sylvia in her sunset years, and she was among the few at Sylvia's bedside when she passed away at the age of ninety-three, peacefully, her hand in Andrew's. Hundreds of friends, colleagues, and former students came to Elm Creek Manor for her memorial service, but only those closest to her attended her burial in the small family plot in the old cemetery on Church Street. Melissa, her brother, and their spouses flew out from California to pay their respects, and Sarah was touched to see how genuinely saddened they were by her passing. Sylvia had been their sole link to their Bergstrom ancestors, and although they had known her only briefly, they would be forever grateful that she had mended the broken chain.

Andrew took the loss of his beloved wife harder than anyone, and although Sarah and her friends did what they could to comfort him, he was bereft and lonely. Without Sylvia, Elm Creek Manor no longer felt like home to him. If he had not sold his RV, he might have driven away, traveling coast to coast as he had after his first wife's death, until the solitude of the road eased his grief. Instead he accepted his son and daughter-in-law's long-standing invitation to join them in California. They found him a condo in a retirement community near their residence in Santa Susana, and a month after Sylvia's death, he packed his belongings and moved away. It was a tearful parting, and Sarah promised Andrew that they would keep a room for him if he ever decided to return, but she suspected he would not. She hoped that in time, the sunny skies of Southern California and the cheerful company of his granddaughters would temper the sharpness of his grief.