Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter (4 page)

Sarah found a perfect rose-colored floral print in her stash and stopped by Grandma’s Attic to pick up a few coordinating fat quarters in blue and leaf green. She cut the squares and triangles that same day and sewed the pieces together late at night, after Sylvia retired.

“Nice,” Matt remarked a few evenings later, when she had nearly finished. He had come to the sitting room adjoining their bedroom, Sarah’s de facto sewing room, to see when she planned to come to bed.

Sarah thanked him and sighed as he began rubbing her shoulders. She hoped her block would be good enough. It was well made—she’d had an exacting teacher—but most of the blocks sent to Grandma’s Attic were far more elaborate.

“You know,” she mused, “I think I might want shoulder rubs on alternate days rather than foot massages for the entire two weeks.”

“I still have two more days to win this bet.”

Sarah laughed. “I admire your confidence, misplaced though it is.”

“You have to admit you skewed the odds in your favor with your codicil.”

“And you have to admit that dropping hints to Sylvia would have been unfair.”

“Explicitly telling her about the quilt would have been cheating,” Matt acknowledged. “But hints would have been fair. Tricking you into revealing the secret would have been the best of all.”

Sarah turned in her chair and regarded him. “Why are you so eager for Sylvia to find out about our surprise?”

“I’m not. I just want those apple trees.” Matt paused. “Want to play double or nothing?”

“When I’m this close to winning? No, thanks.”

“You’d turn down four weeks of breakfast in bed? You must be closer to spilling the truth than I thought.”

“Hardly. What are your terms?”

“Double or nothing, Sylvia will find out about the quilt before it’s finished.”

“Finished as in all the blocks sewn together or as in quilted and bound?” They were planning to set up the pieced top in Sylvia’s quilt frame on the ballroom dais so campers could contribute stitches throughout the spring and summer. Sarah had planned to present the pieced top to Sylvia before then, for they would be unable to conceal it and still allow the campers to work on it.

She hid her glee when Matt said, “I want to pick out my trees soon, so let’s say until all the blocks are sewn into a top. But I want more leeway with this codicil.”

“Sylvia can’t learn about the quilt from you,” Sarah warned.

“But anything else is fair game.”

For four weeks of breakfast in bed, why not? Since Agnes had already begun to assemble the top, surely Sarah would only need to keep the quilt secret until mid-April, at the latest. “You have a deal.” She extended her hand, but the words had barely left her lips before Matt bent down and kissed them.

A week of late nights and early mornings followed. Sarah finished her block on the last evening before quilt camp and spent most of that night lying awake, running over last-minute details in her mind. She fell asleep sometime after three and stumbled down to the kitchen the next morning, bleary-eyed and yawning, to find Sylvia, Andrew, and Matt already seated at the kitchen table. As Sarah took her seat beside Matt, the cook, recently returned from his annual monthlong vacation, placed steaming plates of blueberry pancakes before them.

“Sarah, dear, you look exhausted,” said Sylvia.

“She should,” said Matt. “She stayed up half the night quilting.”

“I did not.”

“Sarah,” scolded Sylvia gently. “You should have gotten more rest. Today’s a busy day.”

“That’s what I told her, but she kept at it,” said Matt.

“What on earth was so important that you had to finish last night?” asked Sylvia. “It couldn’t have been a class sample. You aren’t teaching this week.”

Sarah took a hasty bite of pancake. “These are delicious,” she called to the cook.

“Sarah?”

“Oh, Sylvia, don’t believe a word Matt says. I was done sewing by ten-thirty and in bed by eleven. You know how it is when you see a new quilt pattern and just have to try it out right away.”

“Hmph.” Sylvia looked dubious. “Well, do I get to see this amazing quilt block?”

Matt shot Sarah a look of triumph, but she did her best to sound unconcerned. “Sure. Later. If I remember.” It was the first day of quilt camp. She would have abundant excuses to forget.

Satisfied, Sylvia let her off with a warning that she should make sure to go to bed early that night. Sarah laughed, knowing how impossible that would be, but assured Sylvia she would try. As the conversation turned to other matters, Sarah raised her eyebrows at Matt, smug. He lifted his coffee mug to her to acknowledge his defeat, but she suspected he considered it a temporary setback. Matt wanted those apple trees, and he intended to fight dirty.

At twelve o’clock, the first sixty quilters of the new camp season began to arrive. The Elm Creek Quilters had gathered well before then to arrange registration tables in the grand front foyer and to go through the guest rooms to be certain no detail had been overlooked. Agnes and Diane arranged fresh flowers from the cutting garden on each bedside table to assure every guest received a proper welcome, while Judy and Gwen checked with the cook to be sure all was ready for the Welcome Banquet. Bonnie and Summer gave the classrooms one last inspection, as Sylvia helped Sarah set out forms and organize room keys. Matt and Andrew stood ready to assist arriving guests with their luggage, while the rest of the staff bustled about, filled as they all were with the expectation and excitement that heralded each new season of Elm Creek Quilt Camp. As far as Sarah could discern, the distraction that had afflicted her friends earlier that month had completely disappeared.

A few minor problems surfaced during registration: Two friends who had wanted to room together had been paired with total strangers, and a woman who had registered for the following week had shown up early, totally unaware of her mistake. Sarah and Sylvia resolved these minor crises before anyone had time to become too anxious, and once again Sarah marveled at their illusion of flawless service. No wonder people assumed the camp ran itself!

The Welcome Banquet was the best one yet, and the Candlelight ceremony at sunset on the cornerstone patio was like a warm embrace, drawing campers and faculty alike into a close circle of friendship. After the last guests retired for the night—or, more likely, gathered in neighbors’ rooms to renew old friendships and initiate new ones—Sarah returned to her library office to go over a few last-minute details for the classes that would begin the following morning. She could not keep the smile off her face as she listened to footfalls going from room to room and laughter muffled behind closed doors. Elm Creek Manor had become her home and she loved it in any season, but it truly came to life when it was filled with quilters.

Sarah did not get to bed as early as she had promised Sylvia, but Matt was even a few minutes later. As the manor’s caretaker, his workload increased exponentially when the estate was full of visitors. He seemed so content, though, that Sarah knew he had come to enjoy his role in the company as much as she did hers.

Still, as they lay down beneath the sampler quilt she had made for him as an anniversary gift so many years before, she could not resist teasing him. “I sure hope camp runs as smoothly as Sylvia’s bridal quilt project,” she said, exaggerating a yawn. “Agnes finished her pieced border, and is just waiting for the last blocks to arrive so she can sew it all together.”

Matt feigned sleep, punctuating Sarah’s remark with a snore.

Sarah’s alarm woke her at half past six, and by seven she was descending the carved oak staircase and hurrying to the kitchen. The cook and his two assistants had breakfast well in hand—and seemed surprised and even hurt that Sarah had felt it necessary to check—so she returned to the banquet hall to join Matt. Sylvia and Andrew, both early risers, had already finished eating and were nursing cups of coffee and chatting with a group of campers. Matt had joined them, so Sarah hurried through the buffet and took the seat he had saved for her. So many enthusiastic campers came by to greet her that Sarah had barely managed to take a few quick gulps of coffee before she was summoned to the phone.

She grabbed half a bagel and munched on it as she hurried to the nearest private phone, in the formal parlor. Judy was on the line, breathless. “Sarah, I’m so sorry to do this—”

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to go out of town, so I can’t teach my classes today or tomorrow. I might be able to make it back by Wednesday, but I won’t know until later today. I’m sorry I can’t at least teach my ten o’clock today, but I have to leave for Philadelphia by nine—”

“Is your mom all right?”

“Yes, yes, she’s fine. It’s for work. I have to meet with some professors at Penn.”

“But it’s spring break.” They always scheduled the first week of camp to coincide with spring break, to lighten the burden on Judy and Gwen.

“It’s Waterford College’s spring break, not Penn’s. I’m so sorry for the short notice. I just found out five minutes ago. Apparently they sent a letter, but I never received it.”

“That’s all right,” said Sarah bleakly. “These things happen. We’ll find someone to cover for you.”

“Thank you, Sarah. Thank you. I swear I’ll make it up to you. Look, I have sample quilts for display and handouts and lesson plans. I’ll drop them off on my way.”

“That would be great.” It was as far from great as Sarah could imagine, but what else could she say?

Judy thanked her profusely and hung up. Sarah tossed her bagel in the trash and raced upstairs to the library. Ordinarily she could recite the teaching schedule from memory, but at the moment, she couldn’t think of a single available instructor. She rifled through her files, found the weekly class schedule, and let out a moan. Judy’s morning workshop was Bindings and Borders, and only Diane was free from ten o’clock until noon. Judy’s class taught participants how to draft original pieced borders and how to finish the quilted tops in unusual fashions—scalloped edges, spiral bindings, contrasting piping, prairie points. While Diane might be able to handle the drafting-borders segment of the class, she had never attempted the unusual bindings. For that matter, neither had Sarah.

She sank into the high-backed leather chair and spread the papers out on the desk. Judy’s afternoon class was a weeklong program in computer-aided design. Summer knew how to use that software—Sarah shuffled some pages—and she was free from four until five every day that week except Wednesday, when she worked a longer shift at Grandma’s Attic. Agnes had that afternoon off, as did Bonnie and Gwen. Gwen. Perfect.

The door opened and Sylvia entered. “I thought I’d find you here.” She crossed the room and set a steaming cup of coffee on a coaster on the desktop. “When you didn’t come back to breakfast, I made some inquiries and discovered you had been spotted racing upstairs, a look of sheer panic on your face.”

Sarah filled Sylvia in on Judy’s abrupt cancellations and her attempts to adjust the schedule. “The afternoon class should be fine, as long as Summer and Gwen agree. As for this morning—” She folded her arms on the desk and buried her face in them. “I don’t see how to resolve this.”

“It’s simple, really,” said Sylvia, patting Sarah’s shoulder. “I’ll teach it. I’ve made all of those bindings and borders more times than I could count.”

“You? But you have …” Sarah sat up and shifted around some papers. “You have your Hand-Quilting class from ten to eleven. Do you mean change the seminar from eleven until one? Because we can’t. We need the classroom, and the students will need time for lunch.”

“No, dear, that’s not what I mean. I’ll take over Judy’s seminar. You’ll teach my Hand-Quilting class.”

“Me?”

“Why not? You’re a fine hand-quilter.”

“But I’ve never taught that class before.” She had only taught Beginning Piecing and Quick Piecing, and she always planned the classroom time down to the minute and would rehearse for weeks in advance. “There must be someone else.”

“I’m sure Andrew would do it if we asked, but since he’s never quilted before, I’m confident the students would much prefer you.”

Sarah tried to laugh, but it came out as a whimper. “Maybe we should cancel.”

“Out of the question. There are twelve eager campers waiting to learn hand-quilting, and we can’t disappoint them. You’ll do just fine. Just go in there and teach them everything I taught you. What could be easier?”

Canceling the class, for one, but Sarah took one look at Sylvia’s raised eyebrows and folded arms and decided against saying so. Sylvia would never admit that Sarah might not be up to the task, perhaps because she honestly believed Sarah capable of it. Worse than disappointing the twelve students would be disappointing Sylvia by not even trying.

“After I call Summer and Gwen, I’ll run downstairs and bring back some breakfast,” said Sarah, resigned. “I’ll start preparing while I eat.”

“You go ahead and get ready,” said Sylvia. “I’ll fix you a plate myself.”

Sylvia did more than that; before leaving for her own nine o’clock lecture, she helped Sarah outline the topics she should cover the first morning and gather the appropriate supplies. Sarah went over her notes until the very moment class began, and although the students seemed disappointed by Sylvia’s absence, the lesson went better than Sarah had expected.