An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (34 page)

Then Sarah finished quilting the last section of the last design.

Mrs. Emberly, Mrs. Compson, and Bonnie removed the quilt from the frame and spread it flat on the dance floor. While Sarah carefully trimmed the backing and batting even with the edges of the quilt top, Diane folded the long binding strip in half, wrong sides facing inward, and pressed it with a hot iron so the crease would stay. She explained to Sarah that doubling over the strip increased its durability, which was important because the edges of a quilt experienced so much wear and tear. When that task was completed, the others relaxed on the veranda while Mrs. Compson showed Sarah how to sew the binding strip around the edges of the top of the quilt with the sewing machine. Sarah had to pull out stitches and try again when it came to mitering the binding at the corners, but in the end she was pleased with the results.

Sarah and Mrs. Compson carried the nearly finished quilt outside, where the others had arranged their chairs in a rectangle on the shady veranda. After a debate over whether blind stitches or whip stitches were best—the blind stitch advocates won—they showed Sarah how to fold the binding strip over the raw edges of the quilt and sew it to the quilt back. Each quilter worked on her one-eighth of the quilt circumference until the raw edges were covered by the smooth strip of fabric.

Sarah thought the quilt was finished, but to her surprise, the others flipped the quilt over to the back and turned to Summer. The youngest quilter reached into her sewing kit and pulled out a rectangular patch trimmed in blue, which she placed in Sarah’s lap.

“What’s this?” Sarah asked, lifting the piece and examining it. There were words printed on the right side, and she read them aloud:

SARAH’S SAMPLER
Pieced by Sarah Mallory McClure and Sylvia Bergstrom Compson

Quilted by the Tangled Web Quilters

August 3, 1996
Elm Creek Manor, Waterford, Pennsylvania

“It’s a tag to sew on the back,” Summer explained. “I ironed some fabric to freezer paper and ran it through my laser printer. That printing won’t wash out.”

Sarah gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Summer. Thanks a lot.” She looked around at her friends’ smiling faces. “That goes for all of you. I can’t thank you enough for all your help.”

“Well, sew on the tag so we can declare this quilt officially finished,” Diane urged.

Using an appliqué stitch, Sarah attached the tag to the back of the quilt in the lower-left-hand corner. She tied off the thread and rose, holding two corners of the quilt in outstretched arms. Mrs. Compson and Summer each took another corner, and the three women held the quilt open between them. The others stepped forward to look.

Sarah’s first quilt was finished, and it was beautiful.

Judy began to applaud and cheer, and the rest joined in.

“You just finished your first quilt, Sarah,” Bonnie said. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Sarah quipped, and the others laughed. Sarah realized she felt a little sad, too. She almost wished she hadn’t finished the quilt, because now she wouldn’t be able to work on it anymore.

“What are you going to do for an encore?” Diane asked.

“I don’t know,” Sarah said, then Mrs. Compson caught her eye. She was standing with an arm around Mrs. Emberly, smiling proudly at her student. Then again, maybe the perfect project already awaited her. Somewhere inside Elm Creek Manor there was a memorial quilt that needed to be completed.

It was almost four o’clock when the Tangled Web Quilters finished gathering their things and loading their cars. They left thanking Mrs. Compson for the wonderful party and hoping they could do it again sometime. Mrs. Compson and Sarah stood on the back steps and waved to their departing guests as they drove away.

Then they returned inside and started cleaning up the mess.

As Sarah finished washing the dishes, Mrs. Compson entered the kitchen carrying the last bundle of linens. “I’ll drop this off in the laundry room, but then let’s go sit outside on the veranda for a while. I’ll worry about the rest of this tomorrow.”

Sarah drained the sink, dried her hands, and followed her outside. Mrs. Compson eased herself into one of the Adirondack chairs with a sigh. Sarah sat beside her on the floor and leaned back against the chair. Not speaking, they enjoyed the peaceful stillness of the sun-splashed front lawn and the distant forest, broken only by the soothing waterfall sound of the fountain and the music of songbirds.

Then Sarah decided that she wasn’t likely to find a better time to speak. She turned and looked up at Mrs. Compson.

“About that better offer I’m supposed to think up,” she said. “I can put on one of my interview suits and give you a formal proposal with visual aids and the works, or I can just tell you what I have in mind right now, as is. Which method would you prefer?”

Twenty-Nine

T
his will do,” Mrs. Compson said, folding her hands in her lap. Sarah rose and took the seat beside her. “You’re an art teacher, correct?”

“If thirty years in the Allegheny County School District count for anything, yes.”

“And you enjoyed giving that lecture for Gwen’s class, the party this weekend, and teaching me how to quilt, right?”

Mrs. Compson nodded. “Especially your lessons.”

“So I can conclude that you find fulfillment in many ways, three of the most significant being quilting, teaching, and being with people you care about, am I right?”

“You demonstrate wisdom beyond your humble years.”

“Thank you. I try. I also noticed that you paid particular attention to the Tangled Web Quilters’ conversation about the quilt camp they recently attended.”

“Certainly. It sounded as if they had a marvelous time, and what an opportunity to interact with other quilters and perfect one’s craft. Sensible critiques of one’s work are a crucial part of any artist’s development. Perhaps next year you and I could—” She inclined her head to one side, eyes narrowing. “Hmm. Are you about to propose what I think you’re about to propose?”

Quickly, before Mrs. Compson could voice any doubts, Sarah launched into a description of her plan to turn Elm Creek Manor into a year-round quilters’ retreat where artists and amateurs alike could share their knowledge and their love for quilting.

Nationally known quilters could be brought in to teach special programs and seminars, while Mrs. Compson and other members of the permanent staff would provide most of the instruction. Sarah would handle all of the accounting and marketing matters just as she had done at her previous job. She presented the financial details and legal requirements she had investigated, showing, she hoped, that they had the resources and the abilities to make the project work. Getting the project under way would be neither easy nor quick, but before long Elm Creek Manor could become a haven for the quilter who longed for a place in which to create—if only for a week, a month, or a summer at a time. Mrs. Compson would be involved in the activities she loved most, and best of all, Elm Creek Manor would be alive again.

When she finished her proposal, Sarah studied Mrs. Compson’s face for some sign of her inclinations, but Mrs. Compson merely gazed off at the distant trees.

Finally she spoke. “It sounds like a lovely dream, Sarah, but you’ve never even been to quilt camp. How do you even know you’d care for it?”

How could anyone not care for it? “Okay, that’s true enough, but I’ve done a lot of research and I plan to do more. You and I could attend a few sessions together and talk to their directors and their participants. We should also talk to the quilters who don’t attend and find out what’s been missing. I’m willing to invest all the time and energy it takes. That’s how much I believe in this.”

Mrs. Compson still looked doubtful. “That’s all well and good, but I fear you may be confusing running a quilters’ retreat with attending one. I thought you hated accounting and all things business. I wouldn’t want you to start a new business for my sake, only to find yourself unhappy in your work.”

“I don’t hate accounting, and I wouldn’t be unhappy.” That was the least of Sarah’s worries. “What I disliked about my old job was the sense that I was just going through the motions, plugging in the numbers and spitting out sums, and none of it mattered. I wanted my work to have some—some relevance. I wanted it to mean something.” She struggled to explain how she felt, how she had been feeling for so long. “This would matter. We would be creating something special. I would have a purpose here.”

Mrs. Compson nodded, and to Sarah her expression seemed less skeptical, if only by the smallest degree. “What about teachers for these classes? I couldn’t teach them all myself, and although you’re a fine quilter, you’re not quite ready for that yet.”

“I’ve already spoken to the Tangled Web Quilters. Mrs. Emberly would be able to teach appliqué, Diane could teach introductory piecing classes, Bonnie could teach some of her Celtic knotwork and clothing classes here in addition to those at her shop, and you could handle the advanced piecing and quilting sections. If it turns out we need more help, we can always hire someone by advertising in quilt magazines, or better yet, we could find someone local through the Waterford Quilting Guild.”

“Hmph.” Mrs. Compson drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “I spot one fundamental flaw in your plan.”

Sarah’s heart sank. “What’s that?” She had been sure she had covered everything. “If you don’t want to risk your own capital, I’m sure we can find investors.”

“That’s not it. I’m certainly not about to use someone else’s money for something I can well afford on my own.” She sighed. “It’s another matter altogether. I don’t think you considered how difficult it would be for me to take care of so many overnight guests by myself. I can’t be running up and down stairs at everyone’s beck and call all the time.”

“I guess I see your point.”

“There’s only one solution, of course. You’ll have to move in, and you can be at everyone’s beck and call instead.”

“Move in here? To Elm Creek Manor?”

“I can see if the playhouse is still standing, if you’d prefer it. Naturally, I’d expect you to bring Matthew along. Yes, I see no other way around this problem except having you move in, and I’m afraid that’s one condition I must insist upon, so if you don’t want to live here—”

Sarah laughed and held up her hands. “You don’t have to talk me into it. I’d be thrilled to live here.”

“Very well, then. But you should check with Matthew before packing your things.”

“I have a condition of my own.”

Mrs. Compson raised her eyebrows. “So, this is to be a negotiation, is it?”

“You could call it that. My condition is that you have to have a phone line installed so our clients can contact us.” Sarah rubbed her wrinkled, waterlogged hands together. “And a dishwasher.”

“That’s two conditions. But very well. Agreed. And now I have another requirement.” She gave Sarah a searching look. “You may not like it.”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t know what kind of conflict stands between you and your mother, but you must promise me you’ll talk to her and do your best to resolve it. Don’t be a stubborn fool like me and let grudges smolder and relationships die.”

“I don’t think you know how difficult that will be.”

“I don’t pretend to know, but I can guess. I don’t expect miracles. All I ask is that you learn from my mistakes and try.”

Sarah took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “All right. If that’s one of your conditions, I’ll try. I can’t promise you that anything will come of it, but I’ll try, Mrs. Compson.”

“That’s good enough for me. And if we’re going to be partners, I must insist that you call me Sylvia. We’ll have no more of this Mrs. Compson this and Mrs. Compson that. You needn’t be so formal.”

For a moment Sarah thought Mrs. Compson was teasing her. “But you told me to call you Mrs. Compson. Remember?”

“I said no such thing.”

“Yes, you did, the first day we met.”

“Did I?” Mrs. Compson frowned, thinking. “Hmph. Well, perhaps I did, but that was a long time ago, and a great deal has happened since then.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Sarah smiled. “Okay. Sylvia it is.”

“Good.” Mrs. Compson sighed and shook her head. “An artists’ colony. Sounds like something right out of my college days.” She sat lost in thought for what seemed to Sarah to be the longest silence she had ever had to endure.

Say yes. Just say yes.
Sarah clenched her hands together in her lap.
Please please please please—

“I suppose all that’s left is for us to select a name for our fledgling company.”

Sarah felt as if she would burst. “Does that mean yes?”

Mrs. Compson turned to Sarah and held out her hand. Her eyes were shining. “That means yes.”

Sarah let out a whoop of delight and shook Mrs. Compson’s hand. Mrs. Compson burst into laughter and hugged her.

As they sat on the veranda brainstorming, Sarah’s heart sang with excitement. Mrs. Compson seemed even more delighted, if that were possible. Sarah suspected that, like her, Mrs. Compson could already envision the beautiful quilts and the strengthened spirits of their creators bringing the manor to life once more.

The first question was easily settled—the name for their quilters’ haven.

Elm Creek Quilts.