An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (67 page)

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.

Dear Sarah
,

Tomorrow I will be going home. It’s obvious you don’t want me here, and I no longer have the heart to stay when I know we’ll continue to fight. I want you to know that I’m truly sorry I could never be the mother you wanted. My intentions were good, but we all know where good intentions lead you.

I’m sorry I wrote those letters. You’re right, I should have kept my opinions to myself. If I wouldn’t have objected to Matt so much, maybe you wouldn’t have been so eager to marry him. You always did the opposite of what I told you to do. I should have known better.

You have wonderful friends and a wonderful life. They have shown you such generosity, and yet you won’t share even the smallest scrap with me. I wish things were different between us. I think I should leave before they get worse. At least we tried.

Love
,

Mother

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.”

“That’s insane,” Sarah snapped. “I’m sure Sylvia’s planned for that.”

“You’re sure?” Matt barked out an angry laugh. “You don’t know that. That’s not how you people run things. In any other company we’d have some security, some kind of safety net, but not here. It’s too risky, and I’m sick of living this way.”

“What are we supposed to do? What other way can we live?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out for months. How am I supposed to know what to do? You’re the one who got us into this mess. If not for your Elm Creek Quilts, we’d be a lot better off. I don’t know why I ever let you talk me into leaving my old job. Now everything’s in one basket and it’s all about to spill over. And you won’t let yourself see it!”

“No one forced you to quit your old job,” Sarah shouted back. “That was your decision.”

“Yeah, and it was the worst one of my life.” He shot Sarah a furious glare. “Make that the second worst.” He shoved past her and stormed into the house.

His words burned in her ears. She stood there, stunned, so hurt she could hardly breathe. Then, somewhere over her right shoulder, she heard a noise. She glanced up in time to see a figure move away from the kitchen window.

Oh, no. Was it Carol or Sylvia who had overheard their fight? Sarah went inside, heart sinking, praying that the figure at the window had been Andrew.

When she entered the kitchen, Sylvia stood in the center of the room, alone.

“Sylvia—” Then Sarah could go no further.

“Please forgive me for eavesdropping,” Sylvia said, her voice quiet. “I should have left the window as soon as I heard you, but—”

“He didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain he meant every word.” Sylvia sighed. “The question is, what shall we do now?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Sarah felt tears gathering. She couldn’t remember when she had last been so upset or so scared. She clenched her hands together to keep them from trembling.

“Don’t waste a single moment.” Sylvia placed her hands on Sarah’s shoulders. “You’ll have to go to them, to both of them, and apologize. Now, before it’s too late.”

Sarah froze, stunned. “Apologize?”

“Of course. It’s the only thing you can do.”

“I don’t understand.” Sarah shrugged off Sylvia’s hands. Apologize? Carol was the one who had given up and was running away. Matt was the one who had become angry and insulted Sylvia and the other Elm Creek Quilters.

“What’s to understand? March yourself upstairs and tell Matt you’re sorry for losing your temper. Then sit down and discuss the matter rationally. When you’re finished there, go speak to your mother.”

Sylvia’s tone was matter-of-fact, but her words sparked Sarah’s anger. “Wait a minute. Hold on. Matt’s the one who lost his temper. Why should I be the one to cave in? Why aren’t you telling him to apologize to me?”

“Because he isn’t the one who sought my advice. If he were the one standing here, I would have told him the same. Someone has to bend. What do you have to gain from being stubborn?”

“Stubborn?” Sarah gasped. “I’m stubborn? You ignore your family for fifty years after one little argument and
I’m
stubborn?”

A muscle twitched in Sylvia’s cheek, but her voice was cool. “That’s simplifying things a bit, wouldn’t you say? And we’re not talking about my mistakes now, but about yours.”

Sarah felt the blood pounding in her ears as Sylvia continued, telling her how to approach Matt and Carol, what to say, how to say it. She used words like
responsibility
, and
maturity
, and
selflessness—
words that jumbled up and spun around in Sarah’s mind until she thought she would explode.

Suddenly she couldn’t bear one more word of criticism, one more sentence of blame. “Stop it,” she burst out. “What do you know about any of this? Your mother died when you were five, so what do you know about dealing with someone like Carol? And how long were you married? I’ve been married three times as long as you were, so who are you to tell me what to do? You’re not my mother. Sometimes you don’t even act like my friend!”

All the color drained from Sylvia’s face.

In an instant, Sarah was shocked and sickened by her horrible words. She started to apologize, but Sylvia cut her off. “No, no, you’re quite right.” Sylvia wouldn’t—or couldn’t—look at her. “Who am I to be giving out advice? As you pointed out, I have little experience.”

“Sylvia, please. I was just upset about Matt and my mother. I didn’t mean—”

“You meant every word, just as Matthew did when he spoke his piece.” Sylvia sighed, and the sound wrenched Sarah’s heart. “Well. This won’t do. Such unhappiness won’t do.” Her voice was bleak. “I’ll say good night now. I’ve had enough of being a meddling old busybody for one day. Thank you for letting me know how you feel.”

“But that’s not how I feel, not really,” Sarah said, but it was too late. Sylvia was already leaving the kitchen, her shoulders slumped, her footsteps slow.

Sarah called after her, but the words caught in her throat, and only sobs came out. She clung to the kitchen counter, sick with remorse and shame.

A moment later, a movement caught her eye. It was Andrew, standing in the doorway of the west sitting room. He gave her a long, steady look as he passed her on his way through the kitchen after Sylvia. He spoke not a word, but she could sense his profound disappointment in her.

Never before in her life had she found herself so deserving of anyone’s censure. Never before had she been more aware of her own selfishness, her potential for cruelty. Never before had she been so alone.

Twelve

S
ylvia slept poorly. Andrew’s words had been kind, but they had not comforted her. “She’s just a young woman,” Andrew had said. “She loves you dearly. Don’t hold this one moment against her.”

Sylvia promised him she wouldn’t, but how could she ever forget how Sarah had lashed out at her? How could they go on as if nothing had happened? This could be the end of everything, everything, not just the hopes for a reconciliation between Sarah and Carol, but Elm Creek Quilts, the new life and joy they had restored to the manor, all of it.

Her dreams tormented her and shook her awake long before dawn.

As she lay in bed, waiting for the early morning grogginess to leave her, she felt uneasiness stirring, expanding until dread and worry filled her. Slowly she realized that there was something she had to do that morning, something urgent, something regarding Sarah and Carol. But what was it? What was it? She felt as if she had gone into a room to fetch something, only to realize she had forgotten what she had come for.

Sometimes retracing her steps helped her to remember. Yes. She would wake Sarah. As soon as Sylvia saw her, she would remember what it was that she must do. In the semidarkness, she sat up and groped for her glasses on the nightstand.

Just as her fingertips touched the fine silver chain, a searing pain shot through her skull.

She gasped.

Her left hand was numb, the left side of her face was numb, but her head was on fire.

This was wrong. The thoughts came slowly. Something was very wrong with her.

She should lie down and wait for it go away.

No. No. She couldn’t.

Somehow she made herself sit upright. She tried to force her feet into her slippers, but she could not get her legs to move properly. She could see her slippers there on the floor beside her bed, and yet somehow she could not determine where they were. She tried to focus, but nothing would obey her, not her perception, not her limbs.

Afraid now, and barefoot, she forced herself to stand. She fell twice on her way to the door. She fumbled with the knob, slamming her shoulder on the frame as the door finally opened into the hallway. The blow registered, but not the pain.

Sarah, help me, she screamed, but no sound came out.

Leaning against the wall, she shuffled down the hallway toward Sarah’s room. Right foot, left. Again, though she had no strength for it. Right foot. An eternity passed. Left foot.