The Wedding Quilt (20 page)

They departed in mid-January, mere hours before the annual Storm of the Century was predicted to bury the Elm Creek Valley in snow, and arrived in a glorious paradise of perpetual summer, bathed in sunlight and warmed by the aloha spirit. They rented a car at the airport and drove southwest across the island, past fields of sugarcane, rugged green mountains, and a volcano whose top was concealed by thick white clouds. The air was fragrant with flowers, the mountains sublimely beautiful. Matt drove while Sarah read the map, and as they reached the western side of the island and turned north, they passed through a tunnel. On the other side, the ocean appeared before them, endless and blue. Sarah forgot the map and gazed out at the water as they drove along the cliffside, the ocean to their left, vast and deep, the foothills of deeply forested mountains rising to their right.

Before long the rural landscape gave way to roadside fruit stands, public beaches, small restaurants, and turnoffs leading into newer hillside neighborhoods. Following the directions Bonnie had sent, they soon arrived in Lahaina, where Matt turned off the highway onto a street lined with shops, restaurants, and art galleries. To her delight, Sarah recognized several landmarks that had appeared in Bonnie's photographs and stories—the enormous banyan tree in Courthouse Square, the church where the Laulima Quilters met weekly, the Baldwin House, and the Old Lahaina Luau. Their journey ended at a quaint Victorian inn surrounded by palm trees, through which Sarah glimpsed waves crashing on tide pools encircled by black lava rock. A wreath of hibiscus flowers hung on the front door of the inn, and the banisters of the wraparound porch gleamed white as if freshly painted. Identical banisters framed the balconies on the second and third floors, which Sarah knew from Bonnie's description were partitioned into separate units called lanais, one for each guest room. Some, like Bonnie's, faced the ocean, offering her spectacular views of glorious sunsets as she relaxed in the peace and solitude of her room at the end of a busy day. Others looked out over the lush courtyard garden or offered charming views of Lahaina's Front Street. Sarah and Matt hoped for an ocean view, but since Aloha Quilt Camp was fully booked for that week and they were staying gratis, they would be happy with whatever Bonnie and Claire offered them.

As Sarah and Matt left the car, Bonnie came out onto the front porch to welcome them, followed by a white-haired, barrel-chested Hawaiian man Sarah immediately recognized from her friend's photos as Hinano. “Aloha,” Bonnie cried, hurrying down the steps to embrace her friends and drape beautiful leis of fragrant white blossoms over their shoulders. She was radiant, Sarah marveled, more full of joy and happiness than Sarah had ever seen her. She was struck by the thought that for the first time since Grandma's Attic closed, Bonnie looked perfectly at home.

Hinano, too, greeted them with warm alohas and helped them carry their luggage into the Hale Kapa Kuiki. In the foyer, tables adorned with fragrant tropical floral arrangements flanked the entrance, directly across from a grand staircase that climbed to a second-floor landing, where it split into two staircases and continued up to the third floor. To the left of the staircase was a cozy sitting room decorated with bamboo furniture and historic photographs. A built-in bookcase loaded with many well-read volumes stood between a pair of windows overlooking a lush garden. Sarah glimpsed a few middle-aged women sipping coffee at a small table outside and heard the low murmur of other unseen guests chatting. To the right of the staircase was a dining room, the dark wooden table set with woven Polynesian linens and fine white china. On a sideboard stood two large glass pitchers—one of lemonade and another of iced tea—and a silver fruit bowl filled with pineapples and mangoes, with plates and glasses nearby so guests could help themselves. Gentle breezes wafted in through the open windows, stirring the sheer curtains. It was an enticing fusion of Polynesian and Victorian décor, comfortable, elegant, and lovely.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, a petite woman who looked to be near Bonnie's age or perhaps a bit younger bounded into the foyer. “You must be Sarah,” she exclaimed, startling her with an unexpected hug, her long blond ponytail bouncing perkily.
“Aloha. E komo mai.”

“And you must be Claire,” said Sarah, grinning as Claire turned to Matt, who lost the battle to substitute a handshake for a hug. “Aloha, and—what was the other?”

“
E komo mai
means welcome,” said Hinano as he set their suitcases in a small alcove off the sitting room, his deep voice a pleasant rumble. “More literally, ‘Come in.'”

“And please do,” said Claire, linking her arm through Sarah's and leading her into the inn, down the hall past the staircase. “Bonnie's told me so much about you, I feel like we've been friends for years.”

“I feel like I know you too,” Sarah replied, including Hinano with a smile. She smelled pineapple and nutmeg as Claire led them into the kitchen, where a small Japanese woman in her midsixties was placing four loaf pans into the higher of two large wall ovens. A few other loaves of banana bread cooled on a wire rack on the island in the center of the room.

“Aloha,” the woman greeted them, smiling over her shoulder as she closed the oven door and set the timer. Her smile was both cheerful and knowing, and Sarah had a feeling that her single appraising glance took in much more than it seemed. She wore a long red dress with a pattern of white hibiscus flowers, and she wore her long black hair in an elegant chignon.

Bonnie introduced the woman as Midori Tanaka, the inn's manager, cook, and housekeeper, although, after hearing Bonnie's stories over the past three years, Sarah couldn't have mistaken her for anyone else. Midori offered Sarah and Matt glasses of iced tea spiked with pineapple juice and slices of warm banana bread, quickly proving that her baking merited every word of praise Bonnie had lavished upon it.

When they finished their refreshments, Bonnie took Sarah and Matt upstairs to leave their luggage in their room, a spacious suite with a queen-size bed and a private lanai facing the ocean, just as they had hoped. While Matt stepped outside to take in the view of the waves crashing upon the beach, Sarah admired the exquisite jade-green-and-white quilt spread upon the bed. The jade-green appliqué appeared to have been cut from whole cloth, trimmed like a paper snowflake in stylized shapes resembling large, broad, deeply lobed leaves, boldly symmetrical. Concentric lines of exquisitely fine quilting covered the white background, echoing the appliquéd shapes.

“Midori made this quilt,” Bonnie remarked, following her gaze. “She calls it
Haku La'ape,
after the Hawaiian word for the monstera plant. Isn't it a masterpiece? She and the members of her quilt guild made all the quilts for the inn, and no two are the same. When we pass through the garden, I'll show you a monstera, and you'll see what a good likeness the quilt is.”

Sarah knew from a Hawaiian quilt design workshop she had observed Bonnie teach at Elm Creek Quilt Camp the previous summer that most traditional Hawaiian quilt patterns were inspired by nature. As much as Sarah admired the unique, intricate appliqué style, it seemed so complex and difficult to master that she had never attempted one, despite Bonnie's encouragement. Perhaps one day, she thought, unable to resist running her hand lovingly over the soft, exquisitely formed surface before following Bonnie and Matt from the room.

Bonnie led them on a tour of the inn that ended in the central lanai, a courtyard enclosed by the wings of the building on three sides and a lush garden on the fourth. A footpath through the palm trees led to a secluded white-sand beach where guests of the inn could relax in the shade of broad umbrellas or stroll along the shore. The more adventurous campers rode the waves on boogie boards or went snorkeling, marveling at the multicolored fish and the slow, graceful sea turtles Hinano called
honu
.

One section of the courtyard lanai was partially enclosed, with a roof and half walls running the entire length of one wing of the inn. This, Bonnie explained, was where Aloha Quilt Camp classes met. It was efficiently arranged, with several custom-made sewing tables offering ample space for two dozen quilters, three ironing stations near the back, and an angled mirror suspended above the front table so that the students could easily view the teacher's demonstrations. The Hale Kapa Kuiki lacked sufficient space to offer multiple classes simultaneously, which the Elm Creek Quilters managed by dividing the manor's large ballroom into smaller spaces with movable partitions. It was a fair trade, Sarah thought, to be able to work in such beautiful surroundings.

Fatigued from their long day of travel, Sarah and Matt were perfectly content to relax on the beach while Bonnie and Claire returned to the work of quilt camp. Later that evening, their hosts invited the entire camp to a luau in their honor, where they feasted on
kalua
pork that had cooked all day in an underground oven called an
imu,
steamed chicken
laulaus,
vegetable long rice,
lomi lomi
salmon, macaroni salad, and taro rolls, with coconut pudding
haupia
for dessert. After the meal, Hinano and three of his friends provided enchanting traditional Hawaiian music on ukulele, guitar, and drums, and a group of lovely young women performed the hula and other Polynesian dances. It was a wonderful evening, almost overwhelmingly so, and Sarah and Matt slept well that night, lulled into peaceful dreams by the sound of the ocean.

Each morning, Sarah and Matt enjoyed breakfast on the courtyard lanai with Bonnie, the campers, and the rest of the Aloha Quilt Camp faculty. Sarah was delighted to meet the characters who had populated Bonnie's letters and stories: Kawena Wilson, a master of the Hawaiian quilt from the Big Island; Arlene Gustafson, a traditional quilter from Nebraska and author of three best-selling pattern books; and Asuka Fujiko, an innovative quilt artist from Tokyo who specialized in machine quilting techniques and had won numerous awards for her breathtakingly intricate quilts. Watching Bonnie among them, Sarah realized that Bonnie had created another group of friends as creative, supportive, and fond of one another as the Elm Creek Quilters.

Each day after breakfast, Sarah and Matt spent hours exploring Maui together. They had not had a night alone without the twins since their birth, nor had they gone on a real vacation—which Sarah defined as a getaway that did not include spending the holidays at the home of a relative—since before Sarah's pregnancy. At first the abundance of time together felt unexpectedly awkward, and without the children or Elm Creek Quilts to discuss, their conversations sometimes lagged. This troubled Sarah, because it seemed like a very bad sign that spouses should run out of things to say to each other. When she made a little joke of it to Matt, his brow furrowed as he replied that he hadn't noticed anything and she shouldn't worry, so she tried not to.

Fortunately, the tension or awkwardness or whatever it was eased by the third day of their vacation, and Sarah began to feel as if they were on a second honeymoon. They held hands as they window-shopped in Lahaina and asked other hikers to photograph them together as they climbed the Waihee Ridge to Lanilili Peak and descended the Sliding Sands Trail into Haleakala. The rest of the week flew by. As much as Sarah missed the twins, on the last day she packed her suitcase with a heavy heart. She had discovered peace and contentment during her all too brief visit to Maui. She understood now why Bonnie loved it so much, and she wondered how her friend could bear to leave it every spring, even for Elm Creek Manor and the dear friends awaiting her there.

Since their flight wasn't scheduled until late afternoon, on the day of their departure Sarah and Matt joined Bonnie and Hinano for lunch at Aloha Mixed Plate, where they could enjoy a tasty meal and a view of the ocean one last time. They lingered at the table as long as they could, but at last, regretfully, Matt glanced at his watch and said they had to leave for the airport.

As Sarah began to rise, Bonnie said, “Before you go, there's something else I need to tell you.”

“Take all the time you need,” said Sarah, settling back into her plastic chair. “With any luck, we'll miss our flight and we'll have to stay. Honestly, Bonnie, I don't know how you can leave this beautiful place year after year.”

“Elm Creek Manor is beautiful, too, and I miss my friends,” said Bonnie, smiling. “It also helps to know that Maui will be here waiting for me to return. But . . . actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about.” Bonnie and Hinano exchanged a quick glance. “I have some news, and I didn't want to tell the other Elm Creek Quilters over the phone. Since I can't tell them in person, I'd like to tell you, and have you spread the word, if you wouldn't mind.”

Sarah's heart plummeted. Such a foreboding preamble could only mean that Bonnie was about to resign from Elm Creek Quilts. “Okay,” she said, reaching for her water glass and taking a sip, though only a few drops and several cubes of ice remained. “What's the news?”

Bonnie beamed and took Hinano's hand. “We're getting married.”

“What?” exclaimed Sarah, her fears forgotten. “That's wonderful!”

“Congratulations,” boomed Matt, reaching across the table to shake Hinano's hand.

“Mahalo,”
said Hinano, putting his arm around Bonnie's shoulders and grinning with pure delight.

Sarah pushed back her chair and went around the other side of the table to hug her friend. “I can't believe you didn't tell me sooner. I can't believe you kept this a secret from me all week!”

“Me, neither, unless you just got engaged this morning?” asked Matt.

Bonnie and Hinano laughed. “About a month ago,” said Hinano. “So now you know, and now you'll have a good excuse to come back to Maui, for the wedding.”