The Wedding Quilt (38 page)

“I remember being amazed that a second-grade boy would be willing to scrub his hands so well just to read a book,” Matt remarked.

“That wasn't just any book,” James reminded him, returning his gaze to the letter. “Sylvia then says, ‘Seeing how captivated you were by Gerda's memoir, it occurred to me that you might also be interested in my story. Thus I began writing my own memoir, from my earliest childhood memories through the present day. I won't claim that my tale is as exciting as Gerda's, but I think it is nonetheless a significant part of the history of the Bergstrom family and of Elm Creek Manor, and I know that both are very important to you. I'm entrusting my chronicle to you, my dear James. One day, I believe, your mother will entrust the future of Elm Creek Manor to you. It is only fitting that you should also be the steward of its rich history. Be a good boy. Yours most affectionately, Sylvia Bergstrom Compson Cooper.'”

“Sylvia wrote a memoir,” breathed Sarah. She could only imagine what riches it would offer—untold stories of the Bergstrom children, Sylvia's parents, her time in exile from Elm Creek Manor, and her impressions of the manor's transformation into a world-renowned artist's retreat. What a treasure Sylvia had given her son!

“It would seem so.” James smiled, and his eyes shone. “I promise I'll let you read it when I've finished.”

“If you wash your hands first,” Caroline added, and they all laughed, and for a moment it seemed as if Sylvia were among them, laughing along and enjoying their happiness. Then Caroline started, as if she had only just remembered the unwrapped box resting on her lap. She lifted the white cardboard lid, brushed aside layers of tissue paper, and gasped. “It's a quilt.” She took the soft, folded bundle from the box and stood, and Sarah quickly stepped forward to help her unfold it.

Then Sarah, too, gasped as recognition struck her. Sylvia's gift was a Double Wedding Ring quilt in a gradation of pink and green hues, embellished with floral appliqués—the reproduction of the beautiful, long-lost quilt the women of the Bergstrom family had made for Sylvia's beloved cousin Elizabeth.

The letter Sylvia included with the quilt explained everything, how Elizabeth had taken the original quilt with her when she moved to California as a new bride, how it had been mysteriously lost, and how a photograph of the quilt had been discovered in a book. When the original quilt could not be found, Sylvia and Melissa decided to collaborate on two versions of the quilt, one for each of them, but over time Melissa had lost interest in the project, so Sylvia had finished hers alone. “You may not remember this, my darling Caroline,” Sylvia had written, “but when you were young, you often watched me as I worked upon this quilt, and I knew how much you admired it. One day you asked me, very sweetly, if I would please make a quilt just like it for you when you became a bride like Elizabeth. I told you I would try my very best to do so, but even then my fingers were failing me, and I soon realized that this would be my last quilt. And so it is, and so, my dear, it is yours. I hope your marriage is blessed with love and happiness, and when you and your new husband sleep beneath this quilt, I pray it brings you good, peaceful dreams.”

Caroline's eyes brimmed with tears as she reached the last lines. A hush fell over the library, and after a long moment, Caroline folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. They all admired the quilt, Sylvia's last masterpiece, knowing that every stitch had been sewn with love.

“Leo will appreciate this very much,” Caroline said at last, softly. “I wish he had known Sylvia.”

“He'll know her,” said James. “He'll know her through the stories of her you'll tell.”

Caroline nodded, and she seemed cheered by the thought. Just then, there was a clamoring of laughter and voices in the hall outside the library, and then the French doors swung open and the bridesmaids burst in, lovely in their burgundy silk sheath gowns. Gina led them inside, her eyes bright and happy, her smile deepening as her gaze fell upon James. Soon there would be another wedding at Elm Creek Manor, Sarah thought, and she almost laughed aloud thinking of how much fun she and Anna would have planning it together.

James greeted Gina with a kiss, and then he and Matt had to hurry off for the north gardens to prepare for the ceremony. Caroline's friends immediately surrounded her, showering her with praise and admiration, assurances and embraces. Sarah wished, for a moment, that she could be alone with her daughter one last time, so she could tell her that her wedding day didn't mark a happily ever after, a still life frozen in time at a moment of perfect happiness. Instead it would mark the day she and Leo began to create something new and potentially wonderful together, piecing together love and promises and mistakes and laughter and tears and little things like cooking breakfast together and life-changing moments like the birth of their children—sickness and health, good times and bad, all stitched together with hope and commitment, forgiveness and love. The union of their shared lives could be a masterpiece, even if the colors of one piece clashed with another, even if uneven stitches showed, even if, from time to time, they had to pick out seams, realign the pieces, and sew them back together again. It would not be perfect, but it could be beautiful, if they worked together and persevered. Sarah longed to tell Caroline all this, but she could not find the words for all she wanted her daughter to know. And yet she knew, too, that Caroline had already learned all Sarah could possibly teach her, by watching her, day by day, from the time she was a very young child. She had learned from her mother's mistakes as well as her triumphs, and Sarah was content, knowing the confident, brave, loving young woman her daughter had become. For as long as she lived, Sarah would always be there whenever her daughter needed a compassionate listener or a shoulder to cry on, but now she must have faith and let her daughter go on without her, her husband by her side.

Soon the appointed hour arrived. Sarah and the bridesmaids escorted Caroline from the manor to the edge of the north gardens, where, through the evergreens, they glimpsed the rows of white chairs—sufficiently dry, or so Sarah hoped—filling with guests as the ushers led them to their seats. The minister stood in the gazebo, clasping his prayer book and smiling broadly as he faced the gathering of friends and family. Seated behind him, the string quartet played “Simple Gifts,” which made Sarah think fondly of Bonnie, who had loved the traditional Shaker tune. So many dear friends would have wanted to be there that day, to celebrate and to share in their happiness, but although Sarah missed them all, she knew they were with her in spirit, blessing her with their love, blessing the day.

“It's a good thing we didn't ask the musicians to come to yesterday's rehearsal,” Caroline murmured in her ear. “We don't have an umbrella big enough for that cello.”

Sarah muffled a laugh and squeezed her daughter's hand. Then James appeared, and she had only time enough for one last hug and a quick, whispered, “I love you, Caroline,” before James escorted her to her chair in the front row, where her mother already waited, beaming proudly. Everyone murmured expectantly at the sight of the mother of the bride taking her seat, the signal that the ceremony was about to begin.

As the string quartet struck up Beethoven's “Ode to Joy,” Sarah smiled up at Leo, who stood in the gazebo between the minister and his brother, his gaze eager as he looked for his bride. One by one the groomsmen escorted the bridesmaids down the aisle, the couples parting when they reached the gazebo and taking their places on opposite sides.

Then the music swelled, and everyone rose, and through a glimmer of happy tears, Sarah watched her daughter enter on her father's arm, as radiant and happy, as excited and nervous, as sure to find joy and hope, laughter and tears with the man she loved as any bride had ever been.

As she drew closer, Caroline's eyes met Sarah's, and she smiled.

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It is a privilege and a pleasure to work with Denise Roy, Maria Massie, Ava Kavyani, Christine Ball, and everyone at Dutton, and I'm grateful for their contributions to
The Wedding Quilt
and the Elm Creek Quilts series.

I wish to thank my friends and family for their support as I wrote this book, especially Geraldine Neidenbach, Heather Neidenbach, Marty Chiaverini, and Brian Grover, who read early drafts and provided useful feedback. Many thanks to Nic Neidenbach for his informed predictions regarding the future of gaming and to James Antony for his thorough explanation of the university tenure process.

Most of all, I thank my wonderful husband, Marty, for his love and encouragement, and my sons, Nicholas and Michael, for filling my life with laughter, hope, love, and joy. You have enriched my life beyond measure, and I am forever thankful.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jennifer Chiaverini
is the author of the
New York Times
bestselling Elm Creek Quilts series, as well as five collections of quilt projects inspired by the novels. A graduate of the University of Notre Dame and the University of Chicago, she lives with her husband and sons in Madison, Wisconsin.

ALSO BY JENNIFER CHIAVERINI

 

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Return to Elm Creek
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More Quilt Projects Inspired by the Elm Creek Quilt Novels

 

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Inspired by the Elm Creek Quilt Novels

 

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Sylvia's Bridal Sampler from Elm Creek Quilts
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Traditions from Elm Creek Quilts