The Giving Quilt (2 page)

The Elm Creek Quilters had hoped their ambitious project would result in many soft, bright, and beautiful quilts to warm and comfort mothers and children alike. But it was an untried experiment.

Only time would tell if it would succeed.

Before long, the time for planning and preparation ran out and Gretchen's ambitious experiment was under way. Unlike Elm Creek Quilt Camp's summer sessions, where the days were packed with classes, lectures, and seminars and the evenings full of scheduled entertainment, the first Quiltsgiving was more akin to a glorified, weeklong quilting bee. Fifteen volunteers brought their own projects in various stages of completion and worked diligently upon them, alone or in pairs or in small groups, in whatever cozy nook or corner of the manor they preferred. Three times a day the entire group met for meals in the banquet hall. After nightfall, when the campers' eyes and fingers and backs had grown weary, Matt or Andrew would build a fire in the enormous ballroom fireplace and Gretchen would invite everyone to gather for a quiet, reflective hour before bed. They would sip tea or hot cider made from apples grown in the estate's orchards, munch cookies, and chat about the work they had accomplished that day and their goals for the next.

By the end of the week, the Quiltsgiving Blanketeers had completed an impressive number of quilts to donate to Project Linus, which they proudly displayed at the Farewell Breakfast that brought Quiltsgiving to a close. Sylvia thought that would be a fine high note to end upon, but perfectionist Sarah insisted upon distributing evaluation forms, just as she did at the end of each week of summer camp. “It's the only way to know if we're meeting our guests' expectations,” Sarah explained as she gathered up the forms after the last campers had departed.

“They got a free week at Elm Creek Manor, enjoyed three of Anna's fabulous gourmet meals a day, and they made quilts for charity, exactly as advertised,” Diane replied, eying the stack of forms warily. “What unmet expectations could they possibly have?”

Privately Sylvia agreed. Still, the following afternoon she joined Gretchen and Sarah in the library to review the forms.

To Sylvia's relief, the campers' comments were overwhelmingly positive. Yet a pair of wishes—for structure and instruction—did emerge. Several campers, most of them new quilters, expressed disappointment that they had not learned any new techniques or patterns that week. Although they had known that they would be working upon their own projects, they were unaccustomed to having so many unscheduled hours to fill and had expected to have more opportunity to benefit from the knowledge and experience of the Elm Creek Quilters. “I didn't think I'd have to stumble along on my own,” one anonymous camper had written.

The remark stung, but Sylvia took a deep breath and reminded herself that they had solicited the campers' opinions and that constructive criticism would not benefit her if she became defensive.

Not so Gretchen. “We were always available to answer questions or offer help,” she protested. “I wasn't aware that anyone was struggling.”

“Perhaps they were too shy to ask for advice,” remarked Sylvia. “We were hard at work on our own projects, except when we were preparing meals and such. Perhaps they were reluctant to interrupt.”

“Maybe it's easier to ask us for help when we're standing at the front of a classroom,” mused Sarah, returning her gaze to the evaluation forms. “We'll have to figure out a way to remind our campers that the Elm Creek Quilters are teachers, first and foremost, one and all.”

“Would it be enough to tell them at breakfast each day?” asked Gretchen.

Sarah looked dubious. “Maybe.”

“Perhaps we could designate one or two Elm Creek Quilters each hour to circulate among the campers and keep an eye on things rather than working on their own projects,” said Sylvia.

“That couldn't hurt,” said Sarah, but her slight frown and furrowed brow told Sylvia that she thought it wouldn't suffice. Sarah soon returned her attention to the evaluation forms, but Sylvia knew her younger friend's keen mind was already working on a solution.

That they would host a second winter camp for charity had never been in doubt; the abundance of warm, cozy quilts their campers had made for Project Linus the previous year was evidence enough that they should continue. The holiday season gave way to spring and National Quilting Day, followed by another busy summer of Elm Creek Quilt Camp, yet Sylvia, Sarah, and Gretchen never stopped thinking and talking together. By Labor Day and the end of the summer camp season, they finally concocted a solution to the problem that had bothered the novices among their Quiltsgiving guests: They would offer an optional, weeklong class, designed for beginners but suitable for anyone who wanted to learn a new, simple, attractive pattern that could be assembled with ease. Each morning they would tackle a different stage of the quiltmaking process, leaving the afternoons free for students to work on their projects individually and to seek extra help from their teachers. The Elm Creek Quilters would design quilts meant especially for giving—quick to put together but as beautiful and warm as any more complicated pattern. They could design a new Giving Quilt each Quiltsgiving to encourage volunteers to return year after year. Thus the most faithful volunteers would gradually build a repertoire of patterns they could draw upon whenever they needed to make a quilt on short notice or to make quilts to benefit their own local chapters of Project Linus.

Sylvia declared that Sarah's plan was inspired, and she asked for the honor of designing the first Giving Quilt. She chose the Bright Hopes block not only for its simple pattern—four rectangles framing a central square in the style of the popular Log Cabin block—but also for the rich symbolism of its name. All the Elm Creek Quilters had bright hopes for the second Quiltsgiving and for the many more winter camps they anticipated would follow.

Sylvia's Bright Hopes class proved to be an unqualified success, meeting with such high praise that Sarah readily volunteered to design the Giving Quilt the following year. She chose the Rail Fence block, a traditional pattern of four groups of four narrow rectangles sewed together lengthwise and arranged with the longest side alternately on the horizontal and the vertical. For the fourth Quiltsgiving, Gwen taught an improvisational version of the Stacked Coins pattern, which suited her eccentric nature. Later she confided to Sylvia that she had hoped to challenge her more rigid students, those who adhered to published patterns so strictly that they insisted upon matching the exact fabrics in the quilts shown in the accompanying photos. “If I don't push them to think outside the block,” Gwen said, “I doubt they ever will.” Afterward, the students' evaluations proved that Gwen had certainly accomplished her goal of challenging them, to the delight of many and the consternation of a few. Not every quilter, especially those who found comfort in tried-and-true patterns and methods, had appreciated being nudged none too gently out of her comfort zone.

For the fifth Quiltsgiving, Gretchen offered to create a more conventional Giving Quilt to appease the vocal minority of campers who had struggled unhappily the previous year. Sylvia knew Gretchen had stayed up well past midnight on the Saturday after Thanksgiving sewing the binding and a hanging sleeve to display her quilt, but when Sylvia had passed by the library on her way to breakfast early Sunday morning, she found a pajama-clad Gretchen seated before the office computer making a few last-minute changes to her instruction sheets. When she finally came down to breakfast, dressed and ready for the day, Gretchen reported that she had printed enough handouts for all of the students who had registered for the class, as well as a few extras. More campers were certain to enroll after they arrived for registration and saw the Giving Quilt hanging proudly from the second-floor balcony in the grand front foyer, given pride of place between the purple-and-green Broken Star quilt Sylvia had made as she was recovering from a stroke and a Round Robin medallion quilt the other Elm Creek Quilters had made for her around the same time. Enrollments would rise yet again after the Welcome Banquet, where conversation never failed to turn to that year's Giving Quilt and newcomers learned from veteran campers how popular the class was, how essential to a complete Quiltsgiving experience.

As midafternoon approached, Sarah and her friends completed as many of the preparations for the Welcome Banquet as could be accomplished ahead of time. Agnes cheerfully reported that she had made only a few minor adjustments to the room assignments, including giving a remote suite to a woman who warned on her registration form that she snored “like a thunderstorm rolling in” and reuniting two sisters who had asked to share a room but had been given suites on opposite sides of the manor. “They must be very fond of each other, to want to share a suite when they could have separate rooms for free,” Agnes remarked with a sidelong glance at Sylvia, who had been locked in perpetual rivalry with her late sister, Claudia, and had only truly warmed to Agnes after they launched Elm Creek Quilts.

Sylvia gave Agnes a comical frown and shook her head to indicate that she was far too busy to rise to the teasing bait. At that moment, the three resident Elm Creek husbands arrived—Joe from his woodshop in the barn, Matt from his orchards, and Andrew from the banquet hall, where he had been setting tables for the Welcome Banquet. “Are we ready to get to work?” Sylvia asked, and everyone laughed, because they had already been working for hours.

Sylvia led the way to the front foyer, where they arranged two long tables on the black marble floor and placed several chairs on either side of them, a few for themselves and more for their arriving guests. Then they fell into their usual roles, the routine familiar and comfortable from years of practice. Gwen collated maps of the estate with daily schedules and descriptions of their evening programs, Maggie and Diane arranged fresh late-autumn flowers from Matt's greenhouse in each suite, and Agnes paired room keys with quilters' names and arranged them in alphabetical order in neat rows upon one of the tables. Sarah and Gretchen inspected the classroom to be sure that sewing machines, lights, and audiovisual equipment were in working order, while Sylvia supervised and lent a helping hand wherever she was needed. Matt, Andrew, and Joe stood by ready to park cars and assist with luggage, often peering out the tall double doors in case an early arrival surprised them. Over time the Elm Creek Quilters had learned that some campers anticipated the start of the fun-filled week so eagerly that they arrived well before the appointed hour. Once, years before, a camper had entered through the back door at nine o'clock in the morning and had sat alone in the kitchen, sewing a quilt block and helping herself from the pot of coffee left over from Sarah and Matt's breakfast. The Elm Creek Quilters didn't discover her there, perfectly content and comfortable and entirely unconcerned with her hostesses' astonishment and dismay, until lunchtime. Nowadays the more experienced, more mature Sarah wouldn't allow such a little thing to fluster her. Raising her bright, energetic, imaginative twins had taught her to take the unexpected in stride.

Whatever the hour of their return to Elm Creek Manor, a few veteran quilt campers preferred to take the fork in the road that wound through the forest and past Matt's orchards and the red banked barn Sylvia's great-grandfather had built in 1864, park their cars in the lot behind the manor, and enter through the back door as that notorious early arrival had done. On registration day, however, most guests preferred to use the front entrance and have Matt, Andrew, or Joe valet-park for them. Sylvia understood perfectly that the front approach to Elm Creek Manor bestowed upon their guests the sense that they had arrived at another, separate, sheltered and sheltering place, a haven from the chaos and disappointments of ordinary life. Although the lush, verdant greens of spring and summer had long since passed and even the brilliant colors of autumn were only a memory, the estate retained its beauty, a rustic elegance that befit any season.

After the campers turned off from the main road to Waterford onto the narrow, gravel drive to the manor, their cars and minivans would wind through the bare-limbed forest, rambling alongside the clear, rushing waters of Elm Creek until they reached the fork in the road, turned north, and emerged upon a sun-splashed clearing. There the gray stone manor would suddenly appear, steadfast and welcoming, surrounded by a broad, rolling lawn clinging proudly to the last of its fading summer green. Next visitors would see the wide, covered verandah, its tall white columns spanning the width of the manor, and as they approached, they would spot the twin arcs of the stone staircases descending to the driveway, which encircled a fountain in the shape of a rearing horse, the symbol of the Bergstrom family. Sylvia enjoyed watching campers as they climbed wide-eyed from their cars and took in the scene, awestruck and thrilled that they would be able to spend a week in such a grand place. Sometimes, especially upon returning from an extended trip, Sylvia still experienced that same thrill, even though Elm Creek Manor was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat, as the warmth of Andrew's hand in hers. Although she had forsaken Elm Creek Manor for fifty years, it had always been her true home, the home of her heart.

She was delighted yet again each time she welcomed new friends and old to it.

At ten minutes before two o'clock, a trifle early but not enough to catch the Elm Creek Quilters unprepared, the first guest arrived, lugging a suitcase and a tote bag stuffed with fabric, pattern books, and notions. Her thick, wiry mass of hair was tied in a knot at the nape of her neck, but its length still reached past her shoulder blades. Just inside the doorway at the foot of the four marble stairs that separated the tall double doors from the foyer proper, she stopped short and gave a little gasp at the sight of Gretchen's quilt, proudly displayed from the second-floor balcony. “Is that this year's Giving Quilt?” she asked in a voice flavored with a charming Southern drawl.