Round Robin (34 page)

Summer, Diane, and the boys cheered, but not Sarah. “You're not serious?”

“Of course. We can't give up now.”

Sylvia placed a hand on her arm. “Perhaps discretion is the better part of valor, at least for now.”

“Are you kidding? We have not yet begun to fight!”

“There are other ways to fight,” Bonnie said. “Can't you pick one of them for the rest of the day?”

Gwen stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “All right,”
she said good-naturedly. “No more public demonstrations today.” The boys groaned in disappointment. “Relax. I didn't say we're giving up. We're going to start a letter-writing campaign.”

Diane rolled her eyes. “Good luck with that one.”

Michael looked dubious. “Writing letters?”

“That sounds like school,” Todd said, uneasy.

“No, no, it'll be great,” Gwen said. As they all left the building together, she placed an arm around each boy and began to explain.

Later that evening over supper, Sylvia and Sarah told Andrew, Matt, and Carol about the protest and the scene at the police station. They took turns narrating the story, laughing so hard that they had to wipe tears from their eyes. Andrew chuckled, but Matt just kept his eyes on his plate and said nothing, and Carol declared that she was ashamed of their friends. “I don't know what they hope to gain by making a spectacle of themselves,” she said.

“They're hoping to draw attention to their concerns,” Sarah said. She hated the thin-lipped, prissy, disapproving expression her mother had assumed. Sarah had seen too much of it over the years.

“Maybe that's true, but they're drawing attention to themselves, not to the issue. And they're bringing Elm Creek Quilts negative publicity. This will damage the reputation of everyone who works here.”

Sylvia forced out a laugh. “I don't think it's as serious as all that.”

“I wish I had your confidence.” Carol shook her head, frowning as if she smelled something foul. “Maybe the rest of you can excuse their conduct, but I'm ashamed of them. Especially that Gwen. For a college professor, she doesn't have much sense. What kind of example is she setting for her students?”

“‘That Gwen' has more sense than some people I could mention,” Sarah snapped. She barely noticed as Matt abruptly rose, carried his dishes to the sink, and left the room without a word. “More courage, too. It's not easy to stand up for something you believe in, knowing that all eyes are upon you and that you'll have to accept the consequences of your words and actions. Some people are brave in that way. Others can only write nasty letters about people behind their backs.”

Carol set down her fork. “What are you talking about?”

“You know very well I'm talking about those letters you wrote about Matt.” She glanced up to be sure he was out of the room, then realized that she wished he had not left. It was about time he knew how his mother-in-law had tried to prevent their marriage.

“I was concerned, and I don't deny that.” Carol's voice was deliberate and calm. “Instead of writing a private letter to my daughter, should I have announced my concerns on national TV? Would that have been better?”

“You should have kept your concerns to yourself.”

“I'm your mother. I wanted to help.”

“Maybe you should try helping a little less. You're always trying to improve me, trying to make me better. All my life you've shoved my faults and problems in my face, and for years I tried to fix myself so I could be good enough for you. But you know what I finally realized? It's hopeless. As soon as I correct one flaw, you find another.” Sarah shoved her chair away from the table and stood up. “You win, okay? You win. I'm a worthless nothing. My marriage is failing and my friends are criminals. You've been right about me all along.”

Sarah turned away from them and stormed out of the room.

She sought seclusion in the library, but her thoughts were churning, making it impossible to concentrate on her work. Eventually she slipped out the back door, carefully and quietly, so that no one would know she had left. She used to wander the north gardens when troubled, but when Sylvia and Andrew starting going there so frequently, she had found herself another place, a quiet spot in the woods where a bend in Elm Creek created a still pool of deep water. The branches of a nearby willow fell like a curtain, nearly concealing a part of the pool and a large, smooth stone that overlooked it. Sarah had found the stone one day when a sudden gust of wind eased the branches aside. Resting on the cool stone with the murmur of the creek in her ears, she could feel her troubled thoughts clearing, her agitated spirits growing calm.

She wished she had not needed to visit the pool so often lately.

For the past two years, whenever she had needed sympathy or support,
she had always been able to turn to the Elm Creek Quilters. Carol changed all that. Her friends still felt comfortable sharing their secrets and concerns, but Sarah couldn't confide her worries in the presence of the person most responsible for them. Sarah couldn't talk about Matt, either, not with her mother there to give her those looks, the ones that said “I knew it” and “I told you so.” Instead she found herself withdrawing from the circle of friends—and Carol was only too eager to push her way into the space her daughter had vacated.

Sarah could understand why her mother wanted so badly to belong, to be a part of the group. Sarah had always managed to assemble a group of girls wherever she lived, but her mother had never done the same. Other mothers had friends, women they met for lunch, women they played bridge with in the evenings, but Carol did not, and for the longest time Sarah had not known why.

Then one day when Sarah was in the sixth grade, she had come home from a slumber party to find her mother scrubbing out the kitchen sink. Carol didn't ask about the party, but at that age Sarah still trusted her, so she began chattering away, buzzing from hours of talk and laughter and a near-overdose of sugar, replaying the party's events as much for herself as for her mother. All the while, Carol said nothing.

Suddenly, Sarah noticed her mother's odd silence, and it occurred to her that maybe her mother felt sad because she was too old for slumber parties. But even if she wasn't so old, whom would she invite over? Who would invite her?

“Mom,” Sarah asked, “how come you never go out with your friends?”

“What friends?” Her mother turned on the faucet full blast to rinse the sink. “What makes you think I have friends?”

“Well...” Sarah hesitated. “Don't you?”

“I don't have time for friends,” Carol said shortly. “Some people have friends. I have a husband, a job—and you.”

Shocked into silence, Sarah mumbled an apology and slunk off to her room. Until that moment it had never occurred to her that she'd prevented her mother from having friends of her own. Maybe that was why
her mother rarely smiled, why her voice was so sharp with criticism. Carol probably resented the way Sarah's needs had swallowed up every bit of her life until there was nothing left for her to call her own.

But if that was the reason, why hadn't things improved between them in recent years? Now that Carol was a widow, now that her daughter had married and moved away, she surely had plenty of time to herself. And if so much time on her own didn't suit her, she had her job and the Elm Creek Quilters' friendship to fill up the hours. But Carol might not have any friends back home, which was where she needed them. Was that why she had stuck around, even though it was surely obvious to both of them that their reconciliation wasn't going to happen?

Or, unlike Sarah, did Carol still hope that they would find a way?

Sarah lay down on her back upon the stone, her head resting on her hands. When she looked up she could see the willow branches gently moving with the wind. She watched until twilight fell, then, reluctantly, she left her hiding place and made her way carefully through the darkening woods, following Elm Creek until she reached the bridge between the barn and the manor. From there she could see the back of the manor clearly; some of the windows were aglow, including the kitchen and the west sitting room, Sylvia's favorite place to quilt. The suite Sarah and Matt shared was lit up, too.

Matt must be there. Sarah quickened her pace. She would try again to talk to him. She prayed that this time, when she needed him most, he would be willing to listen.

But when she went upstairs, she arrived just in time to see Carol turning off the light before leaving Sarah's suite. Sarah stopped short in the hallway. “Mother? What are you doing?”

Carol looked up, startled, but she said nothing as she closed the door and went down the hall to her own room.

Sarah hesitated. Should she go after her? She decided against it and went to her own room instead, glancing around to see if her mother had disturbed anything. Matt wasn't there, but there was an envelope on the bed with Sarah's name on it.

Sarah tore it open and found a letter.

 

 

Sarah read the letter again to make sure she had understood it correctly. Yes, Carol would leave in the morning. Why wasn't Sarah relieved at the news? Instead she felt hurt—and angry. How like Carol to throw another barb at Matt in what was supposed to be an apology. How like her to heap on one last serving of criticism.

Sarah sank into a chair by the window. What should she do now? Run down the hall to her mother's room and beg her to stay? Help her pack? She felt a sting of guilt for her thoughts earlier that day, when she had sat by the creek and wished her mother would go away. She still wanted her life to go back to normal, but not if it meant having her mother leave in a huff. If Carol left now, Sarah knew that the chances for reconciliation would be more remote than ever.

Just then, she saw headlights outside the window moving past the
barn, across the bridge, and toward the manor. She recognized their truck as it circled the two large elms in the center of the parking lot and stopped. Matt was home. Where had he been?

She raced downstairs and through the manor to the back door. Matt was just coming up the back steps, carrying a grocery bag. “Did you go into town?” she asked. “I didn't even know you had left.”

“I would have asked if you needed me to pick up anything, but I couldn't find you.”

Sarah wished he didn't sound so defensive. She tried to keep her voice light. “So, what did you buy me?” she asked, grinning and trying to peer into the bag.

“Ice cream. The real kind, as Sylvia calls it. She tried some of that fat-free stuff you bought and said it tastes like plastic. I offered to get her something better.”

Ordinarily, Sarah would have reminded him that Sylvia was supposed to watch her blood pressure, but she couldn't afford to annoy him. “Matt, I need to talk to you.”

“Let me put this away first before it melts.”

“It will only take a minute.” As soon as he got inside, he'd think of a dozen other things he had to do, anything but talk to her. “My mother's leaving in the morning.”

He stared at her. “Why? Why now? Did you tell her to go?”

“No, of course not,” she said, annoyed that he would think that of her. Quickly she read him the note, omitting only the part about Carol's letters.

Matt set down the bag. “Do you have any idea what brought this on? Yes, you two fight a lot, and sure, you're jealous of the time she spends with the Elm Creek Quilters, but that was true yesterday and the day before, too, and she knew it. They weren't reasons to leave then. Why are they now?”

His confirmation of Carol's complaints irked her. “If you had stuck around instead of taking off as soon as you finished eating supper, you'd know.”

“I didn't want to listen to any more fights. Is that a crime?”

Sarah tried to calm herself. She had to get this conversation back on track. “I think the skateboard demonstration upset her. You know how she is. She kept going on and on about how their arrest will damage the reputation of Elm Creek Quilts.”

“She has a good point.”

“What?” Sarah stared at him. “Matt, these are our friends she's criticizing.”

“Friends or not, they used poor judgment. You haven't thought this through. How do you think prospective campers will feel when they learn half your employees were thrown into jail for disturbing the peace?”

“My friends aren't criminals,” Sarah said in a tight voice.

“Yes, they are. They broke the law. Even if they don't agree with it, it's still the law.”

“I can't believe you're saying this. You sound just like my mother.”

“Maybe she knows what she's talking about.” Matt's voice rose until it was nearly a shout.

“Matt, calm down.”

“Don't tell me to calm down. Don't you get it? We're dependent on this business for everything. Everything. What if all this crap with the police scares your customers away? What then? And what if something should happen to Sylvia? Who will get the business? Who will get the manor? Not us, that's for sure. We may live with her, but we aren't her family. She probably doesn't even have a will. She'll have heirs crawling out of the woodwork, and the first thing they'll do is close down the quilt camp and kick us out of the manor.”