Round Robin (3 page)

“Get ready, everyone,” Diane said, watching. “The professor is about to expound.” The real-life Gwen threw a pillow at her.

On-screen, Gwen's expression had grown serious. “The quilting frame speaks to something deep within the woman's soul. Too often, work in the modern society isolates us in offices or cubicles. We speak to people on the phone or through the computer rather than face-to-face. The essential element of human contact has been lost. The quilting frame, on the other hand, draws us back together, back into a community.”

Gwen wrinkled her nose at the television. “Do I really sound that pompous when I talk?”

“Yes,” Diane said, throwing the pillow back at her.

Sylvia held up a hand. “That is a throw pillow, but let's not take the name quite so literally, shall we?”

Gwen's speech played on. “Women's work used to be much more communal, as when the entire village would gather food together, as when the women would all go down to the river together and do the laundry by pounding the clothes on rocks.”

Summer looked up from her quilting, her eyes wide and innocent. “That's how they did it when you were a girl, right, Mom?”

Both on-screen and off, the Elm Creek Quilters laughed.

Even Grant chuckled before resuming the interview. “But what about you? How did you learn to quilt? There were no Elm Creek Quilters around to teach you as you now teach others.”

“My mother taught me,” Sylvia responded.

“And Sylvia, in turn, taught me.” Agnes gave her a sidelong glance. “Or at least she tried to.”

“My mom taught me,” Summer said.

Grant looked around the circle. “So most of you learned from your mothers, is that it?”

All but Sarah nodded. “Not me,” she declared. “I mean, please. The idea of my mother quilting....” She laughed and shook her head. “I don't even think she knows which end of the needle to thread.”

On-screen, the Elm Creek Quilters smiled, but in the parlor, they didn't.

“Oh, dear,” Agnes said.

“It seemed funnier at the time,” Bonnie said, looking from the television to Sarah, who sat rigid and still on the edge of the sofa.

“I didn't know they filmed that part,” she said.

Diane shot her a look of disbelief. “That little red light on the camera didn't clue you in?”

“I thought they had stopped filming by then. Really.” Her eyes met Sylvia's. “Really,” she insisted, as if something in Sylvia's expression conveyed doubt.

“I believe you,” Sylvia said, although she wondered.

“What'll your mom say when she sees this?” Summer asked.

“Maybe she won't see it,” Sarah said.

“Of course she'll see it,” Agnes said. “No mother would miss her daughter on national television.”

Sarah said nothing, but her expression was resolute, as if she had seized a thin thread of hope and had no intention of letting go.

Then the phone rang.

Agnes was closest, so she answered. “Good morning, Elm Creek Quilts.” A pause. “No, I'm Sylvia's sister-in-law, Agnes. Would you like to
speak to her?” A longer pause. “Sarah? Yes, Sarah's here.” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, yes, hello. I've heard so much about you.” She threw Sarah a helpless look. “Why, yes, I'll get her. Hold on, please.” She held out the phone to Sarah. “It's your mother.”

Sarah dragged herself out of her seat, took the phone and the receiver, and carried them as far toward the doorway as the cord would permit. Watching her, Summer fingered the remote as if unsure whether to lower the volume so that Sarah could hear her mother better or turn up the sound to give Sarah some semblance of privacy.

Sylvia turned back to the television and pretended to concentrate on the show. The other Elm Creek Quilters followed suit, but Sylvia doubted they were paying any more attention than she herself was.

“Hi, Mother.... Yes. I know. I know. I'm sorry, but—” Sarah winced and held the receiver away from her ear for a moment. “Look, I said I was sorry.... I didn't know the camera was on.... Of course that makes a difference.” A pause. “Well, so what? I didn't mention you by name or anything.... It's not an excuse. It's the truth.” Silence. “I said I was sorry. It was just a joke. Summer told a joke about her mom, and so I—” Sarah's mouth tightened. “I do not. That's unfair, Mother.” Her face went scarlet. “He would not. Dad would never say such a thing. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. What else do I have to do?... I can't apologize on national television and you know it.” Silence. “Fine. If that's the way you feel, have it your way.” She slammed down the phone and stormed across the room to return it to the table.

“How did it go?” Diane asked.

Sarah shot her a dark glare and flung herself onto the sofa. “How do you think?”

Emily didn't recognize the sarcasm. “Bad?” she guessed, looking up at Sarah with wide eyes.

Sarah softened and snuggled her close. “Not so bad,” she assured her, but she gave the others a look that told them otherwise. “She'll never let this one go. Never. She's convinced I made her look like a fool.”

“Well...” Summer hesitated. “You kind of did.”

“Not intentionally,” Sarah protested. “She thinks I did it on purpose, just to humiliate her. Honestly. She's so self-absorbed. She thinks everything's about her.”

“Hmph,” Sylvia said, thinking.

Sarah turned to her. “For goodness sake, Sylvia, what's ‘Hmph' supposed to mean?”

Sylvia refused to be baited. “Don't lash out at me, young lady. I'm not the one you're angry at, and neither is your mother.” To her satisfaction, Sarah's anger wavered. “You know your words were thoughtless and silly, just as you know your mother's feelings are justified. You're embarrassed and ashamed, and rightfully so. If I were your mother, I would have given you an earful, too.”

Sarah sank back into the sofa, defeated. “If you were my mother, none of this would have happened.”

“Now, now,” Sylvia said. “You'll put things right. Take an hour or so to cool down, then get back on that phone and apologize.”

“I did apologize.”

“I mean apologize sincerely.”

Sarah shook her head. “I can't. You don't know her like I do. There's no use talking to her when she's this upset.”

“Call her tomorrow, then.”

“I can't.” Sarah rose. “You don't understand.”

“Explain it to us,” Gwen said. “We'll listen. We want to understand.”

But Sarah just shook her head and left the room.

“What should we do?” Judy asked.

“Nothing,” Diane said. “We should stay out of it.”

“There must be some way we can help.” Summer looked around the circle of friends anxiously. “Isn't there?”

No one could answer her.

The show had ended, though no one had seen the last half of their segment. Sylvia considered rewinding the tape they had made for Matt and playing the last part, but decided against it. Already the Elm Creek Quilters were getting to their feet, preparing to leave. She would save the tape for another day.

Later, when she was alone, Sylvia mulled over the morning's events as she quilted in the west sitting room. She thought of a promise Sarah had made to her nearly two years before as they sat on the front veranda negotiating their agreement to launch a new business together.

“I don't know what kind of conflict stands between you and your mother,” Sylvia had said, “but you must promise me you'll talk to her and do your best to resolve it. Don't be a stubborn fool like me and let grudges smolder and relationships die.”

The unexpected request had clearly caught Sarah by surprise. “I don't think you know how difficult that will be.”

“I don't pretend to know, but I can guess. I don't expect miracles. All I ask is that you learn from my mistakes and try.”

Sarah had given her a long, steady look, and for a moment Sylvia had been certain that she would refuse and that their agreement to create Elm Creek Quilts would founder on this one point. Sylvia had been tempted to tell Sarah she would take back the condition, but she held fast, determined to see to it that Sarah would learn from her older friend's mistakes and not have to endure the hard lessons of a lifetime, if she could be spared them.

Her patience had been rewarded.

“All right,” Sarah had said at last. “If that's one of your conditions, I'll try. I can't promise you that anything will come of it, but I'll try.”

Nearly two years had come and gone since Sarah had spoken those words, and what had she to show for it? Sylvia let her hands fall to her lap, still holding her quilting. She sat there for a long while, lost in thought.

So many things could go wrong, she knew. But life carried no guarantees for anyone. That couldn't keep one paralyzed, fearing to act. That was no way to live.

Once Sylvia made up her mind, she saw no reason to wait. She put her quilting aside and went to the parlor, where she eased the door shut so she could make her call in privacy.

S
pring came to the hills of central Pennsylvania early that year. By mid-March, buds had formed on the stately elm trees lining the road to Elm Creek Manor, where Sarah, Sylvia, and the other Elm Creek Quilters waited for the first group of campers of the season to arrive. Sarah was pleased that Sylvia had agreed to direct their guests to the front entrance rather than the back.

“But parking is behind the manor,” Sylvia had argued at first. “They'll only have to move their cars later.”

“We'll do it for them, like valet parking. This way they won't have to carry their luggage all the way from the back door to the foyer for registration.” Sarah didn't tell Sylvia she was more concerned about the first impression the quilters formed of Elm Creek Manor. She knew how they would feel as they approached in their cars, in groups and alone: first the gray stone manor itself would strike them, strong and serene in a sea of green grass. Then they would notice the wide veranda running the length of the building, lined with tall columns supporting a roof that bathed the veranda in cool shade. As they drew closer, they would see the two stone staircases that arced away from each other as they descended from the veranda. Their cars would come to a stop at the foot of those stairs in the driveway, which encircled a fountain in the shape of a rearing horse, the symbol of the Bergstrom family, the founders of Elm Creek Manor.

But Sarah didn't tell Sylvia this. Sylvia was pragmatic, not sentimental.
Fortunately, Sarah's argument about carrying luggage through the house convinced her. Sarah could hardly keep from grinning as one quilter after another stepped out of her car, awestruck and thrilled that she would be able to spend a week in such a grand place.

“That makes eight,” Judy said as the latest arrival took her room key and followed Matt upstairs. As caretaker of Elm Creek Manor, he spent most of his time maintaining the grounds and the building, but on check-in days, he carried bags and parked cars. The Elm Creek Quilters took turns sitting behind the registration desk and directing cars up the driveway. There wasn't really enough work to keep them all busy, but they thought it better, friendlier, to have everyone there on the first day to welcome their guests.

Sylvia checked her clipboard. “Four more to go, unless we have a cancellation.” Her gaze returned to the wall opposite the front doors.

“What are you thinking about?” Sarah asked her. Sylvia had been uncharacteristically quiet that day, and she had been studying the wall above the entrance to the banquet hall off and on throughout registration.

Sylvia walked to the center of the foyer. “It occurred to me that this wall is the first thing our guests see when they enter the manor, as they look up to climb the stairs.” She gestured, showing them the straight line from the twelve-foot double doors to the wall just beneath the balcony. “Our guests ought to see something a trifle more attractive than a bare wall when they arrive. We ought to have a quilt hanging there.” She tapped her chin with a finger. “Perhaps one of my old quilts will do.”

Summer joined Sylvia in the center of the room and contemplated the wall. “We could hang Sarah's sampler there, if she's willing to give it up. That's the quilt that brought us together.”

“You'd have to fight Matt for it,” Sarah said. She had given him her first quilt as an anniversary present nearly two years before, and he treasured it. She wondered if he knew how much that pleased her.

Sylvia shook her head. “We can't rob Matthew of his quilt. We'll have to think of something else.”

“You know what else we need? A motto.” Gwen held up her hands as
if framing a sign. “Elm Creek Quilts: Where something something something.”

Diane's eyebrows rose. “What kind of motto is ‘Something something something'?”

“That's not the motto. That's just an example.”

Judy spoke up. “How about ‘Elm Creek Quilts: Where you can quilt till you wilt.'”

The others chuckled, but Agnes shook her head. “I don't think it quite fits. We want people to rejuvenate their spirits here, not work themselves into exhaustion.”

“I've got one,” Diane said. “Elm Creek Quilts: Where hand-quilting is celebrated and machine-quilting tolerated—sort of.”

“That's your motto, not Elm Creek Quilts',” Bonnie said, laughing.

“Oh, yeah? Well, I have a motto for you. ‘Bonnie Markham, whose phone is busy twenty-four hours a day, especially when friends are trying to call to see if she needs a ride to Elm Creek Manor.'”

“That's rather cumbersome for a motto,” Sylvia remarked.

“My phone isn't busy twenty-four hours a day,” Bonnie protested. “Just when Craig's on the Internet.”

“Exactly,” Diane said. “Twenty-four hours a day.”