An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (66 page)

Sarah respected her friend’s feelings, so she didn’t persist. Then she allowed herself a small smile, thinking that if Sylvia wouldn’t talk about Gwen, maybe she’d talk about herself. “What were you and Andrew doing in the garden when I came to find you?” Sarah asked.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sylvia straighten. “What do you mean, what were we doing?”

Sarah shrugged. “It’s just that when I was looking toward the gazebo from the other side of the garden, it seemed like you two were sitting very close together. I thought maybe Andrew was having trouble with his hearing or something, or maybe he was helping you get something out of your eye.”

“We most certainly were not sitting very close together. We were no closer than you and I are now.”

“Oh. I guess it must have been an optical illusion. Maybe the spray from the fountain refracted the light rays or something.”

“All right, young lady, I know what you’re insinuating, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“What? What am I insinuating?”

“You know very well.”

“I don’t,” Sarah insisted, then began to laugh. “Tell the truth. Were you two being naughty?”

“Honestly, Sarah, I don’t know where you get these ideas.”

“Well, why not? He obviously likes you, and you’re always together—”

“Are we, indeed?” Sylvia looked left and right, up and down. “I don’t see him now.”

“Almost always, then. And you’ve been fixing your hair differently and wearing your best outfits. You can’t tell me Andrew isn’t the reason.”

“I most certainly can. I’ve been wearing my spring clothes, not my best. You’ve merely forgotten them over the long winter.” Sylvia patted her hair. “And I changed my hairstyle because Agnes recommended it. If I did it for anyone, I did it for her.”

“Is the lipstick for Agnes, too?”

“Sarah, you try my patience. He’s much younger than I am—almost seven years. He’s Richard’s age.”

Sarah glanced at her, skeptical. “Do you really think seven years matters at this point?”

“Well—” Sylvia hesitated. “I don’t suppose it does. Or rather, it wouldn’t, if I cared for him the way you think I do, which I don’t. Now, I must insist that you say no more about this.”

“But—”

“I insist,” Sylvia repeated, in a voice that would tolerate no disobedience.

So Sarah kept her curiosity to herself for the rest of the drive. Maybe Sylvia was telling the truth, or maybe she didn’t yet recognize what her friends saw. Either way, Sarah hoped Andrew would postpone his trip east a little while longer. His company was good for Sylvia, so as far as Sarah was concerned, he was welcome to stay forever.

With Sarah’s luck, it would be Carol who decided never to leave.

When they reached the police station, they went inside and followed signs that led to a waiting room. Bonnie was already there, talking to Judy’s husband, Steve. Michael and Todd, who hadn’t been arrested, stood close by, whispering to each other and looking around with wide eyes. Bonnie spoke excitedly, gesturing in frustration as Steve nodded and wrote in a small notebook. When Bonnie spotted Sarah and Sylvia, she looked so relieved that Sarah wished she had driven faster. “Thank God you’re here,” Bonnie said. “Diane is raising such a stink in there, I’m afraid they’re going to lock her up for good.”

“They can’t do that, can they?” Michael asked.

“Of course not,” Sarah assured him, hoping it was true.

“We came as quickly as we could,” Sylvia told Bonnie. “Naturally we couldn’t refuse a request to bail our friends out of the pokey.”

Bonnie almost smiled. “It’s not really bail, just a fine. They’re going to be released on their own recognizance once they pay. I feel so awful. I wanted to pay for everyone, but—”

“But you didn’t want Sarah and me to feel left out, since we already missed most of the fun. That was kind of you.”

Bonnie nodded, grateful, and Sarah knew that Sylvia was the one who had been kind, interrupting Bonnie before she had to admit that she didn’t have enough for all the fines. It was no secret that the Markhams had to watch every penny, but the Elm Creek Quilters pretended not to notice. In turn, Bonnie pretended that her friends really did need two yards of an expensive fabric rather than one and that, as they insisted, as the most experienced teacher she deserved higher pay for the classes she taught for Elm Creek Quilts.

Sylvia wrote a check, and as they waited for their friends, Bonnie gave them more details about the protest. The police had shown up about a half hour after Michael’s speech and had asked them to turn down the music and stop skating. When the protesters refused, the police listed several noise ordinances they were breaking, reminded them of the skateboard law, and warned them that they needed a permit to hold a public gathering in the square. Gwen began quoting from the Bill of Rights and told the police that if the city of Waterford wanted them to stop skating, they were going to have to arrest them. The police agreed and took her up on the suggestion. The adults were taken into custody, but despite their insistence on being arrested as well, the children were driven home to their parents. Bonnie had accepted responsibility for Todd and Michael.

“Will they have to go to trial?” Sarah asked.

Bonnie shook her head. “Not a trial, a hearing, but only if they decide to contest the fines.”

“I suspect they will,” Sylvia said.

Just then they heard their friends’ voices floating down the hallway. “What do we want? Skateboard freedom! When do we want it? Now!” they chanted, their voices growing louder and louder. Steve burst into applause at the sight of them. Sarah joined in, noticing that the ovation was unanimous, even though most people in the room had no idea what was going on.

Michael and Todd ran over to hug their mother. “I knew they couldn’t keep you locked up for long,” Michael told her.

“Were you in a cell?” Todd asked. “Did you get to see solitary confinement? Do they call it ‘the hole’?”

Diane embraced her sons. “No, we were all together in a conference room. This isn’t Attica, Todd. Michael, where’s your skateboard?”

“In Bonnie’s car.”

“Good,” Gwen said. “You’re going to need it. Come on, everyone. Back to the square.”

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.