Elm Creek Quilts [08] The Christmas Quilt (22 page)

“Why don’t you show her the rest, Mom?” prompted Stacey. “The letters and things?”

Agnes went pink. “Oh, not the letters. Not even after all this time. Forgive me, Sylvia, but Richard was a romantic and I couldn’t bear for anyone to see them. I don’t even know if Joe suspected I had kept this box of things hidden away from him. He wasn’t the jealous sort, but even so…”

“I won’t pry into your romance with my baby brother,” said Sylvia, amused. She tried to peer into the box, but the lid blocked her view. “If you have anything in that box of a less private nature, I would be grateful if you would share it with me.”

“Certainly.” Agnes looked much relieved. “Some of these things you’ve seen before, but it was so long ago…”

She handed over a stack of photographs: Richard and Andrew at school, Richard and Agnes on the front steps of Independence Hall, the three friends laughing on a sunny day along the Delaware River with the Philadelphia skyline behind them. There were other snapshots of Richard alone, including a formal portrait in uniform and other snapshots taken during the war. Sylvia lingered over a photograph of Richard and James in fatigues, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, grinning.

“You should keep that one,” said Agnes.

Sylvia thanked her softly.

“I suppose you should keep this, too,” Agnes remarked, taking from the box a ruby-and-gold glass star, with eight serrated points resembling the Feathered Star blocks Great-Aunt Lucinda had made so long ago. Only a small chip in one of the golden tips and a hairline seam where a ruby star point had been broken off and reattached with glue distinguished it from the one in Sylvia’s memory.

Sylvia stared, shocked into silence. “Where on earth did you find
that?
” she finally managed.

“It was Richard’s.” Agnes turned the star over in her hands, shook her head in bemusement, and handed it to Sylvia. “I’m not quite sure what the story behind it is. It was December, right before the semester holiday, when I first saw it. We were all out together one day when Andrew suddenly pulled this from his overcoat pocket, repaired exactly as you see it here, gave it to Richard, and said, ‘Merry Christmas. I guess you’ll win the prize this year.’ Richard laughed like it was the funniest joke he had ever heard and said, ‘I knew it was you! I knew it all along. I’m never playing poker with you again.’ And then they both had a good laugh, and Richard said, ‘I can’t wait to see their faces when they wake up Christmas morning and find this on the tree.’ But he must have forgotten about it in all the commotion because he didn’t put it on the tree after all.”

“What commotion?” asked Sarah.

Agnes threw Sylvia an embarrassed glance. “Well, in a manner of speaking, I invited myself along when Richard went home from school for the holidays. I met him at the train station with my suitcase and asked if I could join him. He said yes without a moment’s hesitation, although I’m sure he knew my parents didn’t know of my plans.”

“I suspected as much,” declared Sylvia. “I knew there must have been a very good reason Richard had not warned me you were coming.”

“Warned?” echoed Stacey.

“Told,” Sylvia hastily amended.

“The star was among Richard’s belongings from school,” Agnes explained. “He packed up so quickly after enlisting that I never took the time to sort through his trunk. After he died—well, it was simply too painful. I opened the trunk to put this box and his uniform and a few other things inside, but I couldn’t bear to sort through everything. When I left to marry Joe, I took the trunk with me. A few years later I wanted to see these old photos again, and that’s when I stumbled across the star.”

“But why didn’t you tell us you had found it?” asked Sylvia.

Agnes shrugged. “I didn’t know it was missing.”

“It isn’t missing anymore,” said Sarah. “Sylvia, why don’t you do the honors?”

Holding the star tenderly, Sylvia rose, went to the Christmas tree, and reached up to the highest bough, where she carefully fixed the ruby-and-gold glass star to the cut tree trunk. It caught the sunlight streaming in through the west windows and sent reflections of red and gold dancing on the walls and ceiling and floor just as it had on the long ago Christmas when Elizabeth had hidden the star beneath her pillow and her father had lifted her up in his strong arms to adorn the tree Uncle William and Aunt Nellie had chosen. From a distance the repair and the chip were hardly noticeable.

She would not go so far as to call any one of the unusual incidents of that day a Christmas miracle. The standard for miracle, she thought, stood a bit higher. But taken as a whole—that business with the tree, hearing from Elizabeth, even in an old letter—well, she would be a fool to ignore the signs. She didn’t need a burning bush or Jacob Marley rattling chains in the halls to know when she ought to pay attention.

Very well, Claudia
, she thought, smiling.
I can take a hint.

Sylvia was forgiven. She knew that now. Despite their differences, despite Sylvia’s mistakes, her sister loved her, and always had. But the realization was bittersweet because Claudia was not there to enjoy the wonder of that Christmas Eve, the Christmas that joy and hope returned to Elm Creek Manor.

But she could still make a difference in the life of a friend.

Sylvia turned to Sarah. “I’ve tried reasoning with you. I’ve hinted and suggested and resorted to subterfuge, but nothing has worked. But you must do it, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Sarah stared at her. “No for an answer to what?”

“Visiting your mother for Christmas.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “We’ve been over this. I thought you understood—”

“I understand, all right. I understand that you and your mother need to make peace before you end up like me—realizing too late where I went wrong and reconciling with memories instead of living, breathing people.” She tapped Sarah on the chest, and the young woman was too startled to step back out of the way. “You, young lady, are not going to make that mistake. I’m going to see to it.”

Warily, Sarah asked, “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“I’m throwing you out.”

“What?”

“Just for the holiday. You’re welcome back any time after Christmas.”

Sarah shook her head. This is crazy.

“It’s been a crazy sort of day. I suppose it’s infectious.” Sylvia held up her hands to forestall an argument. “Now, I’ve made up my mind, so don’t argue. I realize I can’t force you to visit your mother. I suppose you could sleep outside in the truck or take a hotel room somewhere, but I can only hope you won’t be that stubborn.”

“Sylvia …” Sarah studied her, shaking her head in bewilderment. “Why is this so important to you?”

Sylvia grasped her gently by the shoulders. “Because you are important to me. I don’t want you to look back on your life someday and wonder if you did everything you could to make the best possible use of your time on this earth. We all are responsible for bringing the peace of Christmas into the world, Sarah. Starting with our own families.”

“I can’t make peace with my mother if she doesn’t meet me halfway,” Sarah retorted, but then she hesitated. “If it means that much to you, I’ll try. I’ll go see her. But I can’t promise that she’ll welcome us with open arms.”

“As long as you greet her with an open mind, that’s all I ask.”

“What about you?” asked Sarah. “You can’t spend Christmas here alone.”

Sylvia shrugged. “We’ll have our celebration tonight. You and Matthew can leave for your mother’s place first thing in the morning.”

“Sounds good to me,” offered Matt.

Sarah was not satisfied. “That still leaves you alone on Christmas Day.”

“Sylvia can spend Christmas at my home,” said Agnes. “With me and the girls and the grandkids. There’s always room for one more.”

“No, there isn’t,” said Sylvia, remembering their phone conversation earlier that day. “So you and your family should spend Christmas with me.”

Agnes brightened. “Here at Elm Creek Manor?”

“We could spend it in the barn if you prefer but the manor will be warmer.” Sylvia smiled. “Why not here? We have a tree, all the fixings for a Christmas dinner, and plenty of room for the children to run around.”

Agnes looked inquiringly at her daughter, who said, “It’s fine with me, Mom, and I know Laura will agree. She was worried about the kids trashing your house, so this will be a load off her mind.”

“The children are more than welcome to trash my house instead,” declared Sylvia.

Agnes beamed, and for a moment, Sylvia glimpsed in her lined face the girl her brother had loved. “In that case, we’d be delighted to accept your invitation.”

On Christmas morning, Sylvia, Sarah, and Matt rose early for church and returned home to a breakfast of Agnes’s apple strudel. The famous Bergstrom recipe was as delicious as Sylvia remembered. The cinnamon spiced apples and flaky crust immediately took Sylvia back to those Christmas mornings of childhood, when the people she loved gathered around the table and reminisced about Christmases past and absent loved ones. Gerda Bergstrom could not have done any better.

They exchanged gifts, and after Sylvia reassured them that she would be perfectly content, Sarah and Matt loaded their suitcases into the red pickup and drove off to Uniontown to spend a few days with Sarah’s mother. Sarah called later that afternoon to tell Sylvia that her mother had loved the Hunter’s Star quilt. Carol had given Sarah and Matt jeans, identical blue-and-white striped sweaters, and knit Penn State hats. “Can you believe it?” said Sarah in a low voice so she would not be overheard. “Matching outfits, like we were five-year-old twins or something.” But she sounded pleased.

Not long after Sarah and Matt departed, Agnes and her brood showed up, and the children promptly filled the manor with enough noise and play and laughter for twice their number. Santa had apparently gone on a Christmas Eve shopping spree, too—in a red pickup rather than a sleigh—because there were toys for each child beneath the tree. After some consideration, Sylvia decided against reviving the tradition of hiding the ruby-and-gold glass star.

It was a wonderful, blessed day.

When her guests departed, Sylvia tidied the kitchen and settled down in the sitting room with a cup of tea, her heart content. She put on her glasses and read Elizabeth’s letter once more, then sighed, folded it, and tucked it away for safekeeping. Somewhere out in California, Elizabeth’s children and grandchildren might be gathered around their own Christmas tree, thinking of Elizabeth fondly just as Sylvia was. Or perhaps Elizabeth was present among them, watching over her family from a favorite spot near the fireplace, the Chimneys and Cornerstones quilt on her lap. Wherever she was, she was also with Sylvia in Elm Creek Manor, for as the Christmas Quilt had shown Sylvia that day, those she loved lived on in their handiwork and in the hearts of those who remembered them.

Tomorrow, Sylvia decided, she would string popcorn and cranberries into garlands and decorate a tree near the creek.

The wildlife of Elm Creek Manor had gone too long without a Christmas feast of their own. She would search through Claudia’s old papers and see if she could find the letter Elizabeth had promised to send, and perhaps with it, an address, a promising lead to the descendants she might have left behind.

But that was for tomorrow. Tonight, in the last few hours of Christmas Day, Sylvia intended to work on the Christmas Quilt, to complete a task too long neglected. In her home full of memories, she felt the presence of all those whom she loved, blessing her and wishing her well. At last she understood the true lesson of the Christmas Quilt, that a family was an act of creation, the piecing together of disparate fragments into one cloth—often harmonious, occasionally clashing and discordant, but sometimes unexpectedly beautiful and strong. Without contrast there was no pattern, as Great-Aunt Lucinda had taught her long ago, and each piece, whether finest silk or faded cotton, would endure if sewn fast to the others with strong seams—bonds of love and loyalty, tradition and faith.