Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter (39 page)

“What’s significant about this insignia?” asked Summer.

“It’s the mark of the famous designer Wolfgang Kauffmann Mueller,” said Agnes.

“I’ve heard of him,” said Gwen. “He had a unique style drawing from different elements of New England and Pennsylvania history—a little bit of Shaker, some Amish, some German. Scholars often credit him with initiating the Arts and Crafts movement fifty years before it really took off.”

Bonnie gasped. “That old furniture in Craig’s office.”

“Exactly,” said Agnes. “His assistant told me he refurbished the offices out of his own pocket, which was my first clue that something wasn’t quite right. No offense, Bonnie, dear, but it’s no secret Craig is a cheapskate.”

Bonnie shrugged. “No offense taken. I’ve called him far worse.”

“So that’s where he’s been hiding his assets,” said Judy.

“Just out of curiosity, Agnes,” said Andrew, “how much is this furniture worth?”

“Bonnie’s lawyer will have to seek an appraisal, of course,” replied Agnes. “But I can tell you I sold a Wolfgang Kauffmann Mueller loveseat for ten thousand dollars, and that was more than fifty years ago.”

Gwen’s eyebrows shot up. “Considering how much more his work is appreciated now, Bonnie could be looking at hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Bonnie put a hand to her heart and reached behind her for a chair. “He redecorated his office five years ago. That’s how long he’s been planning this. That … that …”

“Jerk,” finished Agnes.

“That’s not the word I had in mind, but it suits him.”

The door to the manor swung open and Sarah poked her head outside. “What suits whom?” She scanned the circle of friends without waiting for an answer. “Good. Everyone’s here.”

Sylvia glanced at her watch. “And none too soon. You’re only an hour and forty-five minutes early.”

“We have a little business to take care of before the campers arrive.” Sarah stepped onto the cornerstone patio carrying a large box that appeared to be wrapped in fabric rather than paper, her husband Matt close behind. “Sylvia and Andrew, this is for you.”

Speechless, Sylvia turned to Andrew to see if he knew what on earth was going on, but he looked as surprised as Sylvia felt.

Diane grinned as Andrew accepted the box. “It’s a belated wedding gift from the Elm Creek Quilters.”

“And one hundred thirty-three of your dearest friends,” added Gwen.

“My goodness.” Sylvia reached over to help Andrew open it. “And you wrapped it in fabric. Wasn’t that clever of you!”

“We thought you could use the fabric later in a quilt,” said Summer. “That’s much better than tossing more paper into a landfill.”

“We should have tied it with fishing line so that Andrew would have a little something extra, too,” remarked Judy.

“We’ll keep that in mind for their anniversary,” said Sarah.

Sylvia eagerly lifted the lid and dug through tissue paper until her hands touched fabric. “Oh, my word, I knew it. You ladies are wonderful.”

Diane nudged Gwen. “She hasn’t even seen it yet.”

“She knows a quilt when she feels one,” said Andrew, helping Sylvia unfold it.

Her friends came forward to take the edges of the quilt and hold it open between them. “Oh, my,” said Sylvia, and then she could only clasp her hands to her heart in joy.

It was a sampler quilt top in blue, rose, and greens of every hue, all blending and contrasting harmoniously in a frame of split LeMoyne Stars. Sylvia took in the arrangement of rows of blocks and quickly calculated that there were one hundred forty blocks, in every pieced and appliquéd pattern imaginable. Some of her favorites caught her eye: LeMoyne Star, Snow Crystals, Carpenter’s Wheel.

“It’s very nice,” said Andrew, “but you forgot to finish it.”

The women burst into laughter.

“We intend for our quilt campers to help us with the quilting,” explained Agnes. “We couldn’t put it in the quilt frame without you noticing, so we decided to surprise you with the quilt top.”

“Don’t feel bad, Andrew,” said Matt. “I said the same thing the first time I saw it.”

“It is exquisite,” breathed Sylvia, tracing the appliquéd flower petals in a Bridal Wreath block with a fingertip. “I’ve never seen anything so lovely. How did you manage to keep this a secret?”

“It wasn’t easy,” said Sarah, with a sidelong look for her husband. She went on to explain how the quilt had come to be: an invitation sent out to Sylvia’s friends and quilting colleagues, the requirement that the blocks represent the maker’s relationship to Sylvia, the theft and reappearance of dozens of blocks, and the mad scramble at the end to complete the top.

Sylvia insisted that each of her friends point out her block and explain why she chose it. Sarah eagerly offered to go first, and pointed to an unfamiliar block in the fifth row. “This pattern is called Sarah’s Favorite,” she said. “And it should be obvious why I chose it, since Sylvia is my favorite person.”

As her friends chimed in with their approval, Matt said, “Hey. What about me?”

“Let me amend that,” said Sarah, hugging him. “Sylvia is my favorite woman, but you’re definitely my favorite husband.”

Everyone laughed as Matt shrugged and kissed his wife.

“My turn,” said Diane, proudly indicating a block made of triangles, narrow rectangles, and a checkerboard trim along the bottom edge.

“Lincoln’s Platform?” asked Sylvia.

Sarah looked perplexed. “Maybe it’s one of those patterns that has several names.”

“No, just Lincoln’s Platform,” said Diane, beaming. “I found it in a book. Oh, come on. Don’t you get it?”

No one wanted to disappoint her, but one by one they shook their heads.

“Because Sylvia’s such a good speaker,” said Diane, exasperated. “You know, like Abraham Lincoln. I admire that about Sylvia. Her way of speaking her mind with sensitivity to other people’s feelings is an example I try to follow.”

“She has a long way to go,” remarked Gwen in an aside that was a trifle too loud to be an aside.

“At least no one else chose the same pattern,” offered Judy. “It adds variety.”

“Thank you, Judy,” said Diane. “Someone had to break free of all those Steps to the Altar and Wedding Ring clichés.”

“As someone who gave in to cliché and made a Bridal Wreath—” began Agnes.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” said Diane. “Honestly. I should have just ignored the rules, made a Nine-Patch, and spared myself this interrogation.”

Everyone but Diane burst into laughter. “Well, this is my Bridal Wreath block, cliché or not,” said Agnes, then she smiled slyly and pointed to a block in the top right corner. “I made this one, too. I imagine Sylvia knows why.”

It was a Bachelor’s Puzzle block. Shocked, Sylvia shot an accusing look at Sarah, the one person she told about the nickname she and Claudia had secretly given Agnes so long ago. Sarah shook her head, wide-eyed and clearly just as surprised as Sylvia.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Sylvia. “Perhaps because it’s a puzzle why Andrew married me?”

“Not to me it isn’t,” said Andrew, taking her hand.

“That’s not it,” said Agnes. “Give it some more thought. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“If not, maybe the answer is in one of Agnes’s notebooks,” said Diane.

Sylvia ignored the rising heat in her cheeks. Oh, the things Agnes could have written about her back in those days! “If you insist on making me guess, I suppose I’ll have to try. Later. How about you, Summer?” she asked, ignoring Agnes’s laughter. “What block did you make?”

Summer pointed out a Mariner’s Compass block with sixteen points in the center of the quilt. “I thought this pattern suited you best,” she said, “because you’re beautiful, you’re difficult, and you guide us along our way.”

A murmur of approval went up from the circle of friends. “Oh, nonsense,” Sylvia scoffed. “I’m none of those things, except, perhaps, difficult. On a bad day.”

“You can hide behind modesty all you like, but that won’t change what you mean to us,” said Summer, so affectionately that Sylvia thought she might be forced to return the quilt top to its box rather than endure any more embarrassing praise.

Fortunately, Judy announced that her block was made with Andrew in mind. “Sometimes we focus so exclusively on the bride that the groom feels incidental to everything related to the wedding. I made a Handy Andy block so he would know this quilt is a gift to him, too.”

Matt gave Andrew a quizzical look. “‘Andy’?”

“Handy Andrew, if you prefer,” said Judy with a laugh.

“This one is mine.” Gwen pointed out a block near the center of the quilt. Sylvia did not recognize the pattern, which resembled a gold comet streaking across a sunset-violet sky. “I adapted it from a design in a quilt entered in the 1933 World’s Fair quilt competition. I chose it because while Sylvia is definitely an original, her art and influences are deeply rooted in quilting’s oldest and best traditions. Since I don’t know the original name of the block, I call it Sylvia’s Shooting Star.”

“‘Sylvia’s Shooting Star.’” Sylvia smiled, amused. “I like it.”

“It’s high time someone named a block after you,” remarked Andrew.

“Thank you all so very much.” Sylvia rose and reached out to embrace her friends. “I can’t imagine a lovelier wedding gift. The stories of how you chose your blocks make it even more special.”

“We’re not done,” said Sarah, nodding to the box on Andrew’s lap. “You missed something.”

Andrew dug through the tissue paper and came up with a white binder trimmed in fabrics of the same hues as the quilt. “What’s this?”

“Letters from everyone who contributed a block,” said Summer. “We asked them to share the stories behind their block choices, too.”

Sylvia and Andrew held the binder open between them and paged through the letters, pausing to read some of the names aloud. Sylvia’s eyes grew misty as she took in the familiar names of friends and faraway colleagues, quilt camp veterans and students she had met only recently, so many generous friends sending prayers and warm wishes for the happiness of the bride and groom.

“This is truly overwhelming,” Sylvia began, then broke off at the sight of a letter from a very dear friend.

March 12, 2002

Dear Sylvia and the Elm Creek Quilters,

My first reaction to your news was to wonder how Sylvia could even think of getting married without me there. I thought we were friends! I would have talked her through those premarital jitters. I would have held her hand or the train of her gown, or both. At the very least I would have brought a nice gift!

Once I got over that initial burst of self-absorption, my thoughts turned to an appropriate block for Sylvia’s bridal quilt. I could do nothing less for the woman who restored my art to me.

Our friendship goes back nearly twenty years, founded upon a mutual love of quilts and quilting history. While Sylvia was launching her quilters’ retreat, I was working as a quilt artist, lecturer, and museum curator—and struggling with a serious case of “quilter’s block” brought on by a recent diagnosis of multiple sclerosis. Although I experienced virtually no symptoms between exacerbations of the disease, I could no longer quilt as I once had. My inability had less to do with my increasing physical limitations, however, than the psychological paralysis of knowing that my life as I had known it was over, and that all the things I loved to do might one day be lost to me.

Sylvia was the friend and mentor who helped me find my way. She encouraged me to create because of my MS, not in spite of it, to use my grief and anger to inspire my art rather than pretend nothing had changed. She taught me to acknowledge that I could no longer do the same work as I had before, but not to accept that I could no longer be an artist.

The work I have created since Sylvia illuminated the possibilities might not be as technically perfect as what had gone before, but it is infused with a passion, a spiritualism, and a deep gratitude and respect for the healing power of the creative process. My art and my faith in God have enabled me to deal with the progression of my disease, which thankfully has been slow, but continuous enough to tax even the strongest will. I almost had to resign my position as museum curator, but thanks to my new medications, I have been able to resume most of my old activities. I almost had to give up my loft, but my daughter and grandson moved in with me instead, so when my symptoms act up, I am not alone. Even on my worst days, I find some way to quilt, whether that means appliquéing quilt blocks or simply examining my fabric stash and imagining new projects. Without Sylvia to encourage me, I would not have even that.

As most of you know, I’m not one to stick to traditional pieced blocks, so I decided to design a new appliqué pattern in the folk art style Sylvia would expect from me. The building in the background is Elm Creek Manor, of course, and the two women joining hands in friendship in the foreground are meant to be me and Sylvia but could be any of the thousands of quilters who have found friendship, solace, and sisterhood at Elm Creek Quilt Camp.

Many, many congratulations, prayers, and good wishes for the happy couple. May their marriage be blessed with love, joy, peace, and the companionship of good friends.