Round Robin (36 page)

“Is there any change?” she asked when he came around the other side and took his own seat.

“Nothing yet.”

Her hopes wavered, but she forced confidence into her voice for his sake. “Sylvia's a fighter. If anyone can pull through this, she can. She will.”

“I hope you're right.”

A roughness in his voice made her look at him. For the first time she noticed that his eyes were red.

When they reached the hospital, they found Sarah and Carol in the
waiting room. Sarah was staring straight ahead and crying without making a sound, so stricken that Agnes was frightened for her. Carol was by her side, speaking to her in a low voice. Once Sarah nodded slowly, but otherwise she seemed oblivious to her surroundings.

Agnes and Matt joined them, and not long afterward the other Elm Creek Quilters began to arrive in pairs and alone. Frequently, Carol would approach the reception desk and ask about Sylvia, then return to the group, shaking her head.

“When can we see her?” Agnes asked.

“Not until she's stable. Or—” Carol's voice broke off. She tilted her head toward her daughter, indicating that she did not want to say anything about Sylvia's worsening condition in front of Sarah. Sarah was still staring straight ahead, unaware. She had stretched out the hem of her T-shirt and was twisting it into a rope.

Agnes rose, glancing toward the emergency room doors, just beyond the reception desk. She had seen how the paramedics hit that large red button on the wall to make the doors swing open. If she summoned up her confidence, perhaps no one would challenge her if she walked through them. But what good would sneaking in to see Sylvia do? The last they had heard, Sylvia was unconscious. She would not know that Agnes was there. But if Agnes held her hand and whispered to her, perhaps something would reach her. Perhaps she would be comforted.

If Sylvia were awake and alert, she wouldn't want anyone to see her in such a state, confined to a bed, doctors and nurses fussing and scolding, tubes going every which way. She'd order her friends out of the room and not let them return until she was properly dressed and standing on her own two feet. Agnes almost smiled at the thought. As long as Agnes had known her, Sylvia had possessed a regal, almost imperious air, though it had softened over the years.

When Agnes first came to Elm Creek Manor, though, Sylvia had played the lady of the manor indeed.

Agnes was fifteen then; she had known Richard for only a few months, and she liked him more than any other boy she had ever met.
Her parents' coldness toward him hurt her deeply, and she was determined to change their minds.

Every Christmas the Chevaliers threw an enormous ball, the most eagerly anticipated social event of the year in Philadelphia and beyond. Anyone who was anyone came—with the exception of a few “muckraking newspapermen” who published unflattering articles in the newspapers they owned, editorials about Mrs. Chevalier's father, the former senator, and her brothers, judges and senators all, any one of whom could become president one day. In hindsight Agnes realized she had grown up surrounded by wealth and power, but at the time, occasions such as the Yuletide Ball were merely parties, with pretty ladies and handsome gentlemen, beautiful music, delicious food—and the opportunity to wear a lovely gown as she danced with Richard.

She would ask her mother to permit Richard to attend as her guest. He would charm everyone there, she was certain of it. He had such an easy way with people, with none of her own stammering bashfulness. His secret was that he was genuinely interested in whatever his companion of the moment had to say. It was no act with him. He was fascinated with the world and everything in it. Any chance to meet someone he had never met or to try something he had never tried delighted him. Surely her parents would come to like him as much as everyone else did if they would just give themselves that chance.

“Absolutely not,” her mother declared. “Agnes, how could you ask such a thing? It's simply unthinkable.”

“But why? You've always allowed me to invite friends before.”

“Don't be stupid. This is the Yuletide Ball. We can't have a stable boy running around smelling of horses' dirt.”

“He's the heir to Bergstrom Thoroughbreds, and his family is as good as any in Philadelphia. But even if he were a stable boy, I would still want him to come. He is a very dear friend.”

“Indeed,” her mother said dryly. “You won't want for friends at the ball. The Johnson sisters are coming, and young Mr. Cameron will be there.”

“Oh, how delightful. The young Mr. Cameron.” Agnes plopped down on an overstuffed sofa in a most ungraceful fashion. “Will he spend the entire evening talking about his damned greyhounds, like he did last year?”

“Agnes,” her mother gasped, shocked.

It took Agnes a moment to realize her mistake.

Her mother's face was white with fury except for two scarlet blotches in the hollows of her cheeks. “Where did you learn such a filthy word?”

From Father, Agnes almost said, but she managed to hold it back.

“I know you didn't learn that at Miss Sebastian's Academy. Did your noble stable boy teach it to you?”

Agnes's anger got the better of her. “Yes, he did,” she snapped. “That, and a great many other things.”

Her mother nearly fainted. Too late, Agnes realized her second mistake. She had meant that Richard had taught her other curse words—which wasn't exactly true—but her mother had understood her meaning quite differently.

“You are such a trial to me,” her mother said, seizing her by the arm and marching her from the drawing room. It did not occur to Agnes to resist. “You'll stay in your room until you remember how a young lady should behave.”

Mrs. Chevalier had to let Agnes out to go to school, but she was watched so carefully that she couldn't run off to meet Richard and Andrew all that week. The following Monday as she left Miss Sebastian's, she spotted Richard just outside the tall wrought iron gates. Her heart quickened with nervous pleasure as she went to meet him, hoping her father's driver was not paying attention.

“You haven't come to see us all week,” Richard said, his brow furrowed in concern. “What's the matter, don't you like that café anymore? Or did Andrew say something to offend you?”

Agnes laughed at thought of Andrew's saying anything offensive—but she was thrilled. Richard had missed her. She had feared he had forgotten her.

“I wanted to come. There have been—” She hesitated, wanting to protect him. “Some complications.”

Richard's eyebrows rose, but he didn't ask for more details, which was a relief. As angry as she was with her parents, she loved them and was loyal to them. She couldn't bear to disparage them before anyone, especially Richard.

“Any chance these complications will sort themselves out soon?”

Agnes tried to smile. “Anything is possible.”

He nodded, then looked past her to the waiting car. Her father's driver had opened the door to the back seat and stood with his hand upon it, waiting.

“Andrew and I will be at the café as usual,” Richard finally said. “Come see us when you can.” He gave her one quick smile before turning and walking away.

Her heart sank to see him go.

Two weeks went by, and not once could she slip away. Richard met her once again outside Miss Sebastian's, but only once. After that, she had no word from him. Her hopes dwindled as the Christmas holidays approached. Both her school and the boys' school would be closed for a month, and Richard would be going home to Elm Creek Manor. She knew his travel schedule—which train he would take, what time he planned to leave—and as that hour approached, she realized what she had to do.

Swiftly she packed a suitcase and left a note for her parents with the butler. Then she hired a cab to take her to the train station. She bought a ticket and hurried as fast as she could to the platform, where she searched frantically for Richard.

Then she spotted him in the center of a knot of passengers waiting to board the train.

“Richard,” she called to him. Her voice was swallowed up in the noise of the station. Frantic, she screamed his name. He jerked his head in her direction, his face lighting up with recognition and astonishment.

He left his place in line and made his way through the crowd to her
side. “Agnes, what are you doing here?” He glanced at her suitcase, but said nothing about it.

“May I come home with you for the holidays?”

“Your parents won't mind that you'll miss their party?”

“I'm sure they will, once they find out.”

He studied her for a long moment. For a while she feared he would refuse. He was offended by her gall and never wanted to see her again.

But then he picked up her suitcase and offered her his arm. “I'd be delighted to have you come. If I'd known you could, I would have asked you weeks ago.”

She took his arm, too overcome with relief to speak. That, Agnes later realized, was when she first knew she loved him.

The train ride west was one of the happiest occasions of her life. Finally she and Richard had the chance to talk alone for hours. Richard truly listened when Agnes spoke, unlike all the other men she had known, who would smile indulgently and exchange looks over her head, chuckling as if she were an amusing child. Richard didn't agree with all of her opinions—especially regarding the troubles in Europe—but he never once treated her as if she was nothing more than a harmless, silly decoration. To someone who had spent her life learning how to be an ornament, this was a revelation.

When they arrived at Elm Creek Manor, Agnes was nervous and excited. She didn't regret her decision to come home with Richard, but she wished his family had expected her. Maybe then Richard's sister Sylvia wouldn't have greeted her with such obvious shock. Maybe then Agnes wouldn't have earned Sylvia's immediate and intense dislike. It was obvious that Sylvia was the queen of this household, just as Agnes's mother ruled the Chevalier home. With Sylvia against her, Agnes feared Richard would not remain hers for long—if it was, in fact, right to call him hers.

“Your sister doesn't like me,” she told him that evening before they retired to separate bedrooms a respectful distance apart. Richard laughed and told her she was imagining things, which made her heart drop even lower. From that moment she knew he would be forever blind to Sylvia's barely contained malevolence.

Gradually, Agnes won over the others. She got along well with Richard's eldest sister, Claudia, and the young cousins even asked her to join in their games occasionally. Sylvia's husband, James, was a true gentleman, kind and thoughtful, much like Richard himself. Only Sylvia remained aloof and resistant.

Agnes understood the source of her resentment: Sylvia was selfish. She had a husband, a sister, a loving family—but that wasn't enough for her. She also wanted her younger brother all to herself, and no young woman from Philadelphia was going to steal him away.

How ironic it was that Sylvia was treating Agnes as Mrs. Chevalier treated Richard. If those two headstrong, jealous women ever encountered each other—Agnes giggled at the thought. She wished she could share her amusement with Richard, but she didn't want him to know how her parents felt about him. No doubt he suspected the truth, but she would spare him the insulting details.

Instead she doubled her efforts to befriend Sylvia. When she sensed how proud Sylvia was of her quilting, she made certain to praise Sylvia's needlework—the fineness of her stitches, the intricacy of the designs.

“How charming,” Agnes said, admiring Sylvia's current project, an elaborate quilt with appliquéd baskets, flowers, and other intricate shapes. “What pattern is this?”

“It's a Baltimore Album quilt.” Sylvia went on to explain the history of the style. Agnes listened, nodding as if fascinated. Once she glanced up and caught Claudia's eye, and she saw that Richard's elder sister was trying to hide a smile. Claudia knew what Agnes was about, even if Sylvia didn't.

When Sylvia's long-winded explanation finally drew to a close, Claudia spoke up. “Do you quilt, Agnes?”

Agnes realized she had an ally. “No, I don't know how. I wish I could, but I know I could never make anything as lovely as this.” She gazed at Sylvia's quilt in admiration.

“All it takes is practice,” Sylvia said briskly, but Agnes could tell that the compliment had pleased her.

“I wish that were true,” Agnes said. “But I don't have your talent,
Sylvia. I suppose I'll just have to keep buying my comforters in the shops in Philadelphia.”

To her surprise, Sylvia pursed her lips, offended. “Naturally you'd want to do that. Out here on the frontier, however, we don't have that luxury.”

“Sylvia,” Claudia warned.

Agnes quickly added, “What I meant to say was that I would prefer a handmade quilt like those you have in Elm Creek Manor, but since I can't quilt, I—”

“You'll buy something made by someone with better sense.” Sylvia glanced away from her work to frown at Agnes. “I hope you remembered to pack all you'll need, or you might need to go home early. Our humble shops out here in the country are no match for those in the heavenly land of Philadelphia.”

The rebuke stung. Perhaps Agnes had gone on about Philadelphia during her visit, but it was only to show the Bergstroms how wonderful she found Elm Creek Manor in comparison. If only they knew how much she longed to take the happy clamor of their family back home with her. She left the room before she burst into tears. She would not humiliate herself further by allowing Sylvia to see her cry.

It was not an auspicious beginning, Agnes thought, turning away from the window. She and Sylvia had come a long way since then. In the past two years, since Sarah had reunited them, they had become friends. Agnes never would have dreamed it.