The Wedding Quilt (23 page)

The Elm Creek Quilters went downstairs to join the manor's other residents and guests in the banquet hall for a delicious meal that was sure to build anticipation for the grand wedding feast yet to come. Gina and Anna earned well-deserved praise as their guests savored the spinach lasagna, sautéed green beans, and rosemary rolls, with Gina's heavenly mocha ganache cupcakes for dessert. After the other guests left the banquet hall, the Elm Creek Quilters cleared away the dishes, tidied the kitchen, and lingered over coffee at the long wooden table where they had held countless business meetings and had shared nearly as many delicious meals through the years. Sarah couldn't bear to break up the fun by asking everyone to get back to work collecting signatures, so the blocks remained in the library for the rest of the night.

They sat in the drawer undisturbed all the next morning, too, for from the moment Sarah woke she was preoccupied with other wedding preparations, fielding phone calls from the minister and the musicians. After lunch, running late for an errand downtown, she delegated the Memory Album project to Summer, who assured her she would collect as many signatures as she could as discreetly as possible. “I'll tell my mom to be prepared to distract Caroline,” she promised with a grin. “She's been looking forward to it.”

“I wouldn't want her rehearsals to go to waste,” Sarah replied, sorry that she would miss whatever theatricals Gwen had contrived. She hoped Gwen didn't resort to slapstick. The priceless Bergstrom family antiques were even more priceless and antique than they had been when Elm Creek Quilts began, and they wouldn't serve well as props.

Calling for James—and finding him in the kitchen with Gina, wearing a suspiciously happy grin—she enlisted his help rounding up the groomsmen while she went to the north gardens, where she found Matt pulling weeds from the rose terraces while Russell swept fallen leaves from the cobblestones. The freshly painted gazebo gleamed white in the autumn sunshine, and a cool breeze stirred the chrysanthemums, sedum, purple coneflowers, and black-eyed Susans blooming amid the decorative grasses. It would be a picture-perfect setting for a wedding, as long as the weather cooperated.

When Matt spotted her, he rocked back on his heels and brushed the dirt from his hands. “Is it time already?”

“Just about. You have a few minutes to clean up while James is getting the boys together, but if you're too busy here, I could pick up your tux for you.” She secretly hoped he would insist upon coming, because he knew much more about fitting a tuxedo than she did. For all the time she had spent in front of a sewing machine, her knowledge of fabric and stitchery was limited to quilts. “If it doesn't fit perfectly, Emily could alter it for you. She's been sewing her own clothes since the fifth grade.”

“Stay home and miss all the fun?” Matt stood and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. “I'm not going to miss this, especially since the search for a wedding gown was girls only. But if you have too much to do here—”

“I wouldn't miss this for anything either,” she said, smiling. James and his friends rarely dressed up, and she would enjoy seeing them in tuxedos. Also, someone had to keep a sharp, critical eye out for mistakes. If the shop gave them the wrong suits or mismatched their shoes or hemmed their pants legs too long, she wanted to be on hand to insist that they make things right. Leo and James, especially, ought to be capable of noticing such problems on their own, but she could imagine glaring errors going undetected until Caroline spotted them in the wedding photos.

By the time Matt had washed his face and hands and changed his shirt, James, Leo, and the other groomsmen had gathered in the kitchen, where they munched Gina's freshly baked cookies and joked about forgoing tuxedos and donning Halloween costumes for the ceremony instead. Sarah thought she heard the dreaded phrase “bachelor party” come from the corner booth, but when she fired a curious glance in the three groomsmen's direction, they returned smiles of perfect innocence. Yes, something was definitely afoot.

When Leo's parents returned from a walk through the fragrant orchard, they all climbed aboard the Elm Creek Quilts shuttle and set out for the formal-wear shop, crossing the bridge over Elm Creek, rounding the barn and passing the orchard, traveling through the red and gold and russet woods of the Bergstrom estate, until they came to the road that led to downtown Waterford. Students toting backpacks and cups of coffee filled the sidewalks on their way to and from apartments and classes at Waterford College, but Matt turned off on Church Street before they reached campus. A block from the town square, they passed an old churchyard enclosed by a low iron fence. Few citizens had been buried there since a larger cemetery was established east of town in the 1950s, but the Bergstroms had owned a family plot, and many generations had been laid to rest in the shadow of the old church steeple. Involuntarily, Sarah gazed at the churchyard and sighed as they drove past. Matt took her hand and gave it a gentle, comforting squeeze.

They reached the formal-wear shop, one of several businesses occupying the renovated original city hall, one of the oldest buildings in the Elm Creek Valley. The phrase “Creek's Crossing, Penn,” engraved in stone above the main entrance, paid homage to the town's first name, almost forgotten except by local history buffs. Sarah had discovered the name—and the reason local officials had changed it—within the pages of a memoir written by one of Sylvia's ancestors, Gerda Bergstrom. Although dozens of customers every day passed beneath the engraved words without noticing them, whenever Sarah saw them, she felt the strong, sudden pull of history, so vividly had Gerda described her arrival in America, the founding of Elm Creek Farm, her family's dangerous and important role as stationmasters on the Underground Railroad, and the conflict that had divided Creek's Crossing in the years leading up to the Civil War. Thanks to the Waterford Historical Society, the story of the town's fascinating past was better known now than it had been when Sarah and Matt had moved there, but for all the society's hard work and research, Sarah was sure many more secrets awaited discovery.

As Matt and Leo led the other young men and Leo's parents into the building, Sarah paused on the front portico and turned to admire the grand Greek Revival edifice across the street, where only a few days before she had spoken at the dedication of the new quilt gallery named in honor of her old friend and fellow Elm Creek Quilter, Agnes. Nearly as old as the former city hall, Union Hall had been restored to its stately 1863 appearance and was tended by a dedicated staff of docents and local historians. Over the past two decades, it had become Waterford's most recognized landmark and the jewel of the historic district. As Sarah watched a groundskeeper trim hedgerows in the front garden and a group of schoolchildren on a field trip follow their teacher up the white marble front stairs and through the tall double doors, she marveled that the historic building had ever fallen into such disrepair that it had once been slated for destruction. The story of its rescue still served as both a warning and an inspiration to preservation societies across the country—and Agnes was the story's heroine.

The twins had been in third grade, Sarah recalled, when the
Waterford Register
ran a front-page article about a proposal to replace the long-vacant and neglected building with a complex of modern, efficient condominiums. A local realty company had appeared before the town zoning commission and had offered to take the eyesore off their hands, but their proposal had encountered a few snarls: The city of Waterford didn't actually own the property and therefore couldn't authorize the sale, and several members of the board were reluctant to permit a modern, multiresidential high-rise in the middle of the town's historic district. According to the article, University Realty president Gregory Krolich expected to “iron out the wrinkles” in a closed-door meeting to be held the following week.

“Wait. Did you say Gregory Krolich?” Sarah interrupted Andrew, picking up her coffee mug and sliding into the booth beside him. He and Sylvia often read bits of the newspaper aloud to each other over breakfast, and the familiar name had caught Sarah's attention as she served the twins their oatmeal.

Andrew jerked his thumb at the page. “That's the name, all right. Why? You know the fellow?”

“Hmph,” sniffed Sylvia. “I should say she does. She thwarted his attempt to buy Elm Creek Manor from me back in the day. He told me he intended to transform it into student housing, which I thought was a fine idea—it certainly would have livened up the place—but Sarah did a bit of sleuthing and discovered that he planned to tear down this wonderful manor and put up condos in its place.”

“He's the guy who worked with Craig to buy Bonnie's condo after Craig locked her out,” added Matt, scowling. “The man has no scruples.”

“My old nemesis,” Sarah muttered, picking up the folded paper and skimming the article. “He never saw a lovely historic building he didn't dream of running over with a bulldozer. And seriously, what is his obsession with condos? Does everything have to be replaced with a condo?”

“Condos are lucrative,” said Matt. “It's all about the bottom line.”

“I don't disagree that old Union Hall is an eyesore,” said Sylvia, “but a contemporary high-rise would stick out like a sore thumb on that street. Well, this is why we have a zoning commission. They won't let the project go through.”

“Don't count on it,” said Sarah darkly. “I bet ‘closed-door meeting' is code for a smoke-filled back-room deal where Krolich will pay his way into an exemption.”

“Surely not,” protested Sylvia. “The zoning commission wouldn't even let Diane's husband build a skateboard ramp in their own backyard. These condos would be an even more egregious violation of city ordinances.”

“Diane and Tim didn't have the resources to bribe the entire commission,” said Sarah, “and they wouldn't have bribed anyone, even if they could have. If Krolich isn't planning to bribe the commissioners, and if they aren't eager to take the money, why postpone the decision until this top-secret meeting? Why hold it behind closed doors?”

Andrew's lined face furrowed in worry. “Would they really do that? Make and take a bribe so boldly?”

“They won't call it a bribe,” said Sarah. “Krolich will do something like offer in trade a fantastic deal on some other piece of property University Realty owns. The commissioners will convince themselves it's in the best interest of the community to take the deal as they pocket their finder's fees. Or if not that scenario, something like it. You wait and see.”

“We can't let them get away with such shenanigans,” declared Sylvia. “You thwarted him once, Sarah. You can do it again.”

“Me? What could I do about this—what's it called—Union Hall? I don't know anything about that place.” She studied the photo and vaguely recalled passing a large, sad, forlorn, apparently vacant building on her way to the gym or the hair salon. “In the case of Elm Creek Manor, all I did was tell you the truth about Krolich's intentions, and you decided not to sell to him. That was easy. This—” She shook her head and set down the paper. “I wouldn't know where to begin. He's told the commission he plans to tear it down, and they're okay with that.”

“It sounds like their only objection is what he plans to put in its place,” said Matt. “If Krolich changes the design to fit in with the surrounding buildings, they might not object.”

“And if they do, Krolich's money will help them forget.” Sarah hated to see Krolich succeed at anything after all the trouble he had caused Sylvia and Bonnie, but she wasn't sure how to fight him this time. As far as she knew, this Union Hall, whatever it had once been, had been vacant for years, a magnet for vandals and litter. If it were beyond saving, perhaps it ought to be razed and replaced with something more useful and less hazardous—but not these condos, and not only because they didn't suit the historic district. Sarah would rather have almost anything on that lot as long as Krolich wouldn't benefit from it.

“Perhaps Agnes knows more,” said Sylvia, turning the page with a disapproving shake of her head. “She's a member of the Waterford Historical Society, and they surely won't stand by and let Mr. Krolich run roughshod over the zoning commission.”

They all nodded in agreement, but later, no one remembered to ask Agnes about the conflict. It wasn't that they didn't care, but other, more relevant concerns occupied their time, and it was easy to forget the troubles facing an old, abandoned building downtown. Sarah supposed none of them gave the matter another thought until a few days later, when a smaller follow-up article appeared in the
Register,
buried on page twelve amid a mosaic of advertisements. The executive board of the Waterford Historical Society had demanded to be included in the closed-door meeting, not only because they wanted to preserve the building due to its historical and architectural value to the community, but also because they owned it.

“If they own it, why have they allowed it to fall into such a state?” asked Gretchen, as once again the manor's permanent residents discussed the news of the day over breakfast.

Joe scanned the rest of the article. “Apparently their budget won't cover any maintenance except for the bare minimum to keep the pipes from bursting and the roof caving in. ‘Although the Waterford Historical Society currently uses the building only for storage,'” he read aloud, “‘their long-range plans include a complete renovation and restoration and the eventual reopening of Union Hall as the organization's headquarters and a museum of local history.'”

“An admirable goal,” remarked Sylvia. “Well, if they're the proper owners and they don't wish to sell, that should be the end of the matter.”