The Wedding Quilt (13 page)

Caroline, expected from birth to become a quilter, had been taught and prompted and praised by the Elm Creek Quilters and a nearly continuous stream of visiting quilt campers since she was old enough to hold a needle, but after obediently learning the running stitch and completing a few small pillows and pot holders, one day she boldly and unexpectedly announced that she would much rather help her daddy in the garden. When Caroline was in middle school, Sarah had to cajole her into joining their quilting bees each quilter's holiday and National Quilting Day, a misguided practice she abandoned when Gretchen delicately pointed out that Sarah couldn't force Caroline to enjoy quilting, and perhaps Caroline's time would be better spent exploring her own interests.

Caroline's interests changed from week to week; she would throw herself headlong into a new subject, absorb it with a keen focus Sarah would have thought impossible for a child so young, and then move on to something else that piqued her insatiable curiosity. To Sarah's dismay, Caroline's sewing basket and half-sewn blocks gathered dust in her bedroom until James dug them out from under her bed, where he had crawled one rainy autumn afternoon during a game of hide-and-seek. Methodically he finished his sister's abandoned projects, but Sarah didn't realize what an achievement that was until Anna remarked about it. No one had ever taught James to sew, at least not directly; he had absorbed the knowledge over the years spent in the company of quilters in almost the same way he had learned language. Russell, who had married Maggie by then and had become a permanent member of the faculty, became James's favorite teacher, and when James was in the sixth grade, Russell privately told Sarah that the boy had true artistic talent. Sarah, who had assumed that James's interest was a passing phase, took her first real look at her son's finished quilts and realized that Russell spoke the truth.

After that, partly out of shame for being so caught up in her disappointment that Caroline didn't care for quilting that she had neglected James's keen interest and genuine gifts, she allowed him to attend any Elm Creek Quilt Camp classes he desired, as long as the teacher didn't object and he didn't disrupt the class. James, who tended to play the class clown at school and put in the bare minimum of effort required to pass his academic subjects, transformed into a serious student when the subject was art. Sarah marveled at the change in him and was eternally grateful to the art teacher who had helped James find his way. In eighth grade, when James griped to his art teacher that he didn't see the point of any of his other classes, especially math, she promptly responded that artists had to know math so they could determine how much to charge their customers. They had to know math so they could manage their finances, budget for supplies, and manage their galleries, not to mention the complex geometric calculations that quilters in particular had to understand. They had to read and write well, so they could describe their work to others and apply for grants. They had to know history, to better comprehend art and artists in context. For every academic subject James insisted he would never use outside of school, his teacher countered with a practical application. Thus persuaded, if a bit jolted by the rude awakening, James redoubled his efforts in all his classes, and although he never breezed through a semester accumulating A's and the adoration of his teachers as Caroline did, he became a reliable B+ student. When he graduated high school with honors, Sarah gave that clever, inspiring art teacher a stunning Mariner's Compass quilt along with a sincere, heartfelt letter she could only hope expressed the depth of her gratitude.

In the years since, James had taken his hard-earned, well-deserved place within Elm Creek Quilts, second only to Sarah. From the time he was in high school he had wanted to lead Elm Creek Quilts someday, although he had not told Sarah that until his junior year at Penn State, when, after she and Matt spent most of the spring semester encouraging him to find a summer internship, he finally confessed that he didn't want to work anywhere but Elm Creek Quilt Camp. Since then, he had become Sarah's most trusted adviser and one of the most popular teachers on the faculty. Sarah marveled at his ability to manage the business, teach, and pursue his own art with equal, effortless ease. Best of all, he was happy in his work, a blessing she knew from her own experience never to take for granted.

With a sigh, she threw off the sheet and climbed out of bed. She had too much to do and no time to spare reminiscing. Leo's parents and stepparents would be arriving that morning, and by afternoon, most of the bridesmaids were expected as well. Sarah already had a list of chores for Caroline's friends—checking over the place cards, assembling programs, filling gift bags, tying bows around wedding favors—and she hoped the young women would be willing workers. Ayana had always been a helpful girl, so Sarah was counting on her, and Gina was as industrious as her mother—but like her mother, she would be busy in the kitchen and couldn't be spared for other tasks. As Sarah showered and dressed, she considered asking her own friends to pitch in when they arrived in a few days' time, and decided that whatever the bridesmaids couldn't finish, she would entrust to her friends. They had already agreed to help her with the Memory Album quilt, and she was sure they wouldn't mind additional duties.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Anna had set out a continental breakfast, which several of the manor's residents and guests were enjoying when Sarah arrived. Caroline sat close to Leo in the corner booth with Emily, while Jeremy and Russell sat at the long table discussing a football game. At the other end of the table, Carol sipped a cup of black coffee and worked a crossword puzzle, frowning at the computer pad as if sheer disapproval would transform it into the newsprint she preferred. On the other side of the kitchen, Maggie poured herself a cup of coffee and looked around for the sugar bowl, which someone had moved to the other side of the sink. Gina stood in the pantry with her pad and stylus, examining the shelves and making notes for what in all likelihood was yet another grocery list. James was absent, which Sarah had expected, as he went for a long run every morning before breakfast unless the weather was truly horrific. He was always training for one marathon or another and had a broad interpretation of what qualified as perfect running weather.

Sarah returned everyone's greetings and helped herself to coffee and a bagel, which she toasted, spread thickly with cream cheese, and sprinkled with cinnamon. She sat down across the table beside Jeremy, who warned her in a whisper that Caroline had made them all promise there would be no wedding talk at breakfast.

“She did, did she?” Sarah sipped her coffee contemplatively and glanced sideways at her daughter, who had everyone at her table laughing at an animated story about the mishaps of her fellow medical students as they crammed for a notoriously difficult exam. “Well, I made no such promises, and I have a long agenda to get through before breakfast.” Raising her voice, she said, “If I could have everyone's attention, there's a lot to accomplish today, and I'd appreciate your help.”

While everyone else nodded, Caroline raised her hands as if preparing to cover her ears. “Unless you're talking about quilt camp or the apple harvest, please, stop right there.”

“Honey, this is your wedding,” said Carol, astonished and mildly scandalized. “These are your plans for your family and your friends.”

“I'm just trying to help make sure it all gets done,” added Sarah, “on time and properly, and I can't do that if you forbid us to talk about it.”

“Can't you wait until after breakfast?” Caroline pleaded.

“And have everyone go their separate ways before I can assign them some work? Not on your life.” Sarah touched the screen of her pad and scrolled to her list. “Let's start with the rooms. There are fresh linens on all the beds of the second-floor west-wing suites—except those belonging to permanent residents, of course. You're on your own as usual.” Jeremy laughed. “I need volunteers to help make beds—” She broke off as Caroline suddenly groaned and buried her head in her arms on the tabletop. “Sweetheart, are you sick?”

“Yes, sick of wedding talk.” Caroline sat up and draped an arm over Leo's shoulders. “We should have eloped.”

Leo made a noncommittal sound, neither nodding nor shaking his head, managing to avoid the appearance of choosing a side. A wise young man, Sarah thought.

“Everyone considers eloping at some point,” remarked Anna, smiling as she leaned against the counter and sipped from a steaming cup of coffee.

“Usually not so close to the wedding date, though,” said Maggie, a bit warily.

“This isn't funny,” said Carol, looking in dismay from her granddaughter to her daughter and back. “What will people say if you elope? They'll think your family doesn't want you to marry poor Leo, and we all know he's such a nice young man.”

Sarah suddenly imagined Caroline slipping out the back door of the manor before dawn on the morning of her wedding day, Leo trailing after her obligingly with suitcases in hand. “Caroline,” she said evenly, mindful of her mother's distress, “you may be sick of wedding talk, but many people have gone to a lot of time, trouble, and expense to arrange a lovely weekend for you. Before you consider running off for a quickie ceremony somewhere, I want you to think about how you would feel later, knowing you had disappointed all those people.”

“We're not eloping,” said Leo, smiling reassuringly, his dimple deepening. “We've spent hours practicing the Viennese waltz, and I intend to show off.”

“You can show off in Vegas,” Caroline pointed out.

She could not seriously be considering a Vegas wedding. Sarah took a deep breath and counted to ten silently. By the time she reached seven, she realized that Caroline had no intention of eloping and missing the one day she was guaranteed and entitled to be the center of attention—not that she was ever far from the center on an ordinary day. She just wanted to punish Sarah, a little, for defying the promise she had exacted from everyone else.

“Sylvia's mother eloped,” Sarah mused aloud. “Her parents had wanted her to marry another young man, the son of a wealthy Manhattan department store magnate. Actually, originally Eleanor's elder sister was supposed to marry him, but a few days before the wedding, she ran off with her best friend's widowed father, who also happened to be her father's biggest business rival. So, with a wedding all arranged and guests arriving and the merger of family fortunes at stake, they expected Eleanor to step into her sister's place as easily as putting on the wedding gown she had left behind.”

Distraction by narrative, a technique Sarah had perfected during the tantrums of Caroline's truly terrible Terrible Twos, worked its magic yet again. “Her sister eloped with her best friend's dad,” Caroline paraphrased in disbelief, “so her parents expected her to marry the jilted groom?”

“Yes, and she would have, except the man she truly loved, Sylvia's father, arrived in the nick of time to whisk her away to Elm Creek Manor.” Sarah remembered how she and Sylvia had pieced together the story from the scant evidence they had discovered in the attic while searching for Bergstrom family photos to scan in for Melissa's album. She realized with a bit of a shock that that had been almost twenty-five years before. “Eleanor and Frederick celebrated their wedding here a few weeks later, with the Bergstroms, their family, and friends. Not one person from Eleanor's side of the family attended.”

“What happened to the sister?” Gina asked, drawn from the pantry by Sarah's story.

“Oh. Well, she and her husband went down with the
Titanic,
so their elopement story didn't end quite as happily.” Sarah picked up her pad. “Not that anything so unfortunate would happen to Caroline and Leo if they eloped, of course. It's probably just a coincidence.”

“It wouldn't hurt to play it safe,” said Carol. “I'm not superstitious, but I've never known a wedding celebrated at Elm Creek Manor to end unhappily. Isn't that right, Sarah?”

As her mother threw her an urgent look, Sarah hesitated, remembering Sylvia's sister, and how her Elm Creek Manor wedding had led to the sisters' estrangement. She also thought of Sylvia's first marriage, which had been happy indeed but ended far too soon with her husband's death in World War II. But Sarah offered a half shrug and a noncommittal nod rather than contradict her mother and undermine the power of her words, which seemed to be having the desired effect. She didn't want to say anything to encourage Caroline to elope, and Carol's claim was, for the most part, true: Except for those two notable exceptions, all the weddings Sarah knew of that had been celebrated at the manor had led to happy marriages, despite their sometimes inauspicious beginnings.

Sylvia and Andrew's relationship was a case in point. Andrew's children had strongly objected when he announced his engagement to Sylvia, voicing concerns about Sylvia's health—which was fine, despite the stroke she had suffered a few years earlier—and their advanced ages, which from Sarah's new perspective didn't seem so advanced anymore. They insisted that if Andrew chose to marry, they would not attend and give tacit approval to what they knew would be a tragic mistake. Though disappointed, Sylvia and Andrew were not dissuaded—in fact, they moved up their wedding date by several months. Only Sarah, Matt, and the judge who performed the ceremony had been in on the secret that Christmas Eve, when the holiday celebration turned into a ceremony honoring Sylvia and Andrew's love and commitment. The only shadow upon the evening was the absence of Andrew's children and their families, but the newlyweds were resolved to win them over in time. In later years, after the breach was mended and all was forgiven, both Amy and Bob admitted that their greatest regret in life was that they had refused to attend their father's wedding. Privately Amy had told Sarah that one of her greatest joys was that her father had found a second love in his golden years, and that he and Sylvia had made each other very happy for the rest of their lives.