The Giving Quilt (35 page)

Pauline's first response was an utter lack of surprise—she wouldn't want to be married to Brenda either. Then, a moment later, it occurred to her how she would feel if her own marriage fell apart, and empathy won out. “Oh, that's a shame. When did this happen?”

“They decided a few days before the retreat and he moved out while she was at the Château Élan.”

“Bless her heart. And their poor kids! They're probably devastated.”

“I don't know about that,” said Jeanette. “Apparently Brenda and her husband haven't been getting along well for years. A divorce might actually come as a huge relief.”

Pauline wasn't so sure. From what she had observed of neighbors and friends—and the occasional 911 call—children usually wanted their parents to stay together and learn to get along, except when abuse figured into it. “I had no idea things were so bad for Brenda at home,” she said, unsettled by the peculiar sensation of feeling sorry for the one person who had made her so miserable. “She never talked about it, at least not in front of me. Not that I was ever her most cherished confidante.”

“She never talked about it with anyone, no more than a few negative comments now and then that only make sense in hindsight.” Jeanette sighed. “Brenda dreaded going home from the retreat. Her husband had the kids, and he'd cleared out his stuff, so she would be going home to a quiet, half-empty house—”

“Well, sure. Who'd be eager to go home to that?”

“Daria and I are taking her out to lunch today, just to see how she's doing.”

Pauline almost told Jeanette to give Brenda her best, but it occurred to her that her sympathies might not be welcome. “I hope she's doing okay. Let me know, won't you?”

“Of course.” Jeanette paused. “And how are
you
doing?”

Compared to Brenda? Peachy.
“I'm doing fine. Really. Don't worry about me.”

“You know, we all really do miss you.”

“I miss you all too.”

She missed her friends, the guild, and that sense of purpose, of belonging to something bigger than herself. After Karen's pep talk, Pauline had made up her mind to attend the next guild meeting and not to let one unpleasant, selfish person keep her from doing good works and enjoying the company of her friends. But now, the broad, distinct lines of what she had viewed as a clearly defined battle between good and evil had blurred, leaving her less certain that she understood the whole story. Perhaps Brenda was not the heartless, cruel villain of the tale Pauline had spun for herself. Perhaps Brenda was simply desperately unhappy. Every day, Pauline went home to a husband who was absolutely crazy about her and teenage children who did well in school, never got into any serious trouble, and thought she was pretty cool for a mom, if a little strict. She went home to a house full of love and happiness and laughter. What had Brenda gone home to all these years?

Pauline didn't know, and she certainly was in no position to ask. What she did realize was that Brenda clearly needed the Cherokee Rose Quilters more than she did.

Pauline could give her that.

The following week, when the Cherokee Rose Quilters met for their annual holiday party, Pauline stayed home.

The next morning, Jeanette sent her a text saying they had missed her. She followed that up with an e-mail asking when Pauline's next day off was, because she and Daria wanted to take her to lunch. When Pauline didn't write back promptly enough, Jeanette called, brushed off Pauline's feeble excuses, and would not relent until Pauline chose a date, time, and restaurant for them to meet.

Pauline had not seen Daria in ages and never saw enough of Jeanette, so they had a lot of catching up to do. They chatted and laughed through lunch, as well as dessert and two cups of coffee apiece afterward, to prolong their time together. It was not until after they paid the bill that Jeanette said, “As you know, we've been interviewing candidates to take your place in the guild.”

Pauline tried to smile. “Well, I figured. It's about time.”

“We met a lot of fabulous quilters, but we all agreed that there's only one person we want.” Daria took a red file folder from her purse and slid it across the table to Pauline. “It was unanimous.”

Pauline looked from the folder to Daria to Jeanette, dubious. “And you want my opinion?” When they nodded, she muffled a sigh, quashed the stirrings of envy in her heart, and opened the folder.

Her own face smiled up at her from a photo paper-clipped to the portfolio she had submitted several years before.

Quickly she closed the folder and forced a laugh. “I can't look at that hair. What was I thinking?”

Jeanette reached for her hand. “Pauline, honey, we want you back.”

“The vote was unanimous, you say?”

Jeanette and Daria exchanged a guilty glance. “Yes, it was,” said Daria. “Brenda happened to be absent the day we voted.”

“Really.” Pauline regarded them skeptically. “The woman who skipped opening night of her son's senior class play rather than miss a guild meeting happened to be absent on that particular night.”

“We called an emergency meeting and didn't invite her,” Jeanette admitted. “Look. We've all agreed. What Brenda did was completely out of line, and allowing you to walk away rather than holding her accountable is not in the spirit of the Cherokee Rose Quilters.”

“If you don't feel comfortable returning to the guild as long as Brenda's around, that won't be an issue,” Daria said. “If you come back, we're going to ask her to leave.”

Pauline stared at them. “You're going to do what? Now?”

“Not right this minute,” Daria said. “We'll meet her in person some time before the next meeting.”

“No, I mean now, as in mere days after her husband moved out. The timing”—Pauline gestured, searching for the words—“really stinks.”

Jeanette sighed. “It does. That can't be helped.”

“You can't kick her out now,” Pauline insisted. “That would be cruel. She needs the guild now more than ever. She needs friends.”

“You need friends too,” Daria pointed out. “Don't you?”

Pauline felt a catch in her throat. “Doesn't everyone?”

“You left for the good of the guild. We get that.” Jeanette leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “We let you. That was our mistake.”

Daria nodded. “For the good of the guild, we want you back, and we want the person who caused the whole ugly incident to step aside. It's the only fair way to resolve the situation.”

Pauline shook her head in disbelief. Her friends were at last standing up for her, speaking up for her, the way she had wished they would, but instead of feeling vindicated, she felt appalled and unhappy.

“That's not the only way to resolve the situation,” Pauline said firmly. “I want to come back. Really, I do. And I will, under one condition.”

Daria brightened, and Jeanette asked, “What's that?”

“That you don't ask Brenda to leave.” Pauline raised a hand to silence their astonished protests. “Surely even a small guild like ours is big enough for both of us. Brenda's your friend, and she's going through a lot right now. If it's up to me, I say we should choose mercy over justice. Let's give her another chance.”

Daria beamed, and Jeanette smiled, and both agreed to her condition.

Pauline knew it wouldn't be easy to work with Brenda after so much ugliness had passed between them. She knew that Brenda might slap the olive branch out of her outstretched hand.

Giving could often be as difficult as it was necessary, and gifts of the heart were sometimes rebuffed. But Pauline knew she had to try.

Maybe, in the spirit of the season, Brenda would decide to give Pauline a second chance too.

* * *

After leaving Elm Creek Manor, Michaela drove home to Pheasant Branch to do her laundry—for free and with appliances that didn't shrink her clothes, unlike those at school—and to have dinner with her parents. Her mother hung on every detail of her Quiltsgiving week, and she especially admired Michaela's Giving Journal and the handouts Gretchen had distributed in class.

Michaela had so much to share that she started back to St. Andrew's College later than she had intended. The snow-covered campus was dark and quiet by the time she parked in the student lot and pulled her wheeled suitcase across campus, planting her crutches carefully on the sidewalk wherever the sprinkling of rock salt had failed to do its job.

“Stupid ankle,” she muttered as she struggled through the doors into the lobby of her dorm.
Stupid guys who dropped me
, she thought as she punched the button to summon the elevator. She was so sick of cast and crutches that when she was finally through with them, she thought she might either hurl them out of her dorm room window or set them on fire, or perhaps both.

She spent the next week catching up in her classes and writing a report on her Quiltsgiving experience in order to earn her community service credit. When she dropped off the paper at her adviser's office, she spoke so enthusiastically about Elm Creek Quilts and Project Linus that her adviser, a longtime quilter herself, declared that she intended to sign up for the next Quiltsgiving.

“You totally should,” said Michaela. “You'll be glad you did.”

On Friday afternoon, she and Emma met at the library to study for their English final. Emma had taken such meticulous notes during Michaela's absence that she didn't feel like she had missed out on anything, although she wouldn't be foolish enough to tell their professor that.

After a few hours, they took a break and went downstairs to the basement café for coffee and a warm, gooey chocolate chip cookie, which they shared while bemoaning the number of miles they would have to run to work it off. “I won't be running anywhere any time soon,” said Michaela. “How many calories do you suppose hobbling burns off? More or less than running?”

“More, definitely,” said Emma, licking chocolate off her fingertips. “Hobbling uses more of your upper body.”

Michaela mulled that over. “You could be right. When I finally get this thing off of my foot, maybe I'll be able to do even more back handsprings in a row.”

“They'd have to build you a bigger gym first.”

Michaela giggled, but her mirth swiftly faded. “I wish my tumbling had been enough to get me on the cheerleading squad. It's not just that I wanted to cheer, which of course I really, really did. It's also that I know it would have helped me get a coaching job after graduation. But without having that on my résumé . . . I don't know. I'll just have to figure out something else.”

“Well, actually,” said Emma, “I kind of wanted to talk to you about that.” She wiped her fingertips on her napkin, stalling for time, and then she spoke in a rush. “Pompom practices have been going really well. The girls are so sweet. I know you'd really like them.”

Michaela held up a hand. “Emma, you know I don't want to join the pompom squad. And even if I wanted to . . .” She gestured to her injured ankle.

“I know. I didn't mean for you to become a pompom girl.” Emma grimaced ruefully. “Listen, we know we aren't very good. We know people laugh at us, and it hurts. But we aren't going to let other people's opinions keep us from doing something we enjoy.”

“That's absolutely the right attitude,” said Michaela, immediately regretting her dismissive attitude. “You'll show them.”

“I hope so. We want to be good, and if we can't be good, we at least want to be better.” Emma drew herself up and regarded Michaela with anxious hope. “We want to know if maybe you'd consider joining the squad—as our coach.”

“Your coach?”

“We couldn't pay you, but don't you think it would be fun? Everyone's really nice and you'd get great experience for your résumé, don't you think?”

Michaela considered. She pictured herself directing rigorous workouts, choreographing routines, standing on the sidelines as the girls put on a spectacular performance, smiling in satisfaction as the cheerleaders turned various shades of green with envy when they realized they weren't the best show in town anymore.

“Tell the girls they have a new coach,” she said.

Emma let out a shriek of delight and hugged her.

* * *

Jocelyn returned home to Westfield refreshed, invigorated, and thankful.

It took her no time at all to get back into the rhythm of school and family. Rahma and Anisa begged her for quilting lessons, so every night after they finished their homework, she showed them what she had learned at Elm Creek Manor. She also purchased several books on hand piecing and quilting from her local quilt shop. Now that she understood the basics of assembling a patchwork block, she was confident she could make the transition from machine to hand work on her own, guided by the books' photos and step-by-step instructions. She couldn't wait to introduce her history students to the traditional handicraft. Perhaps they could even make a quilt or two to donate to Project Linus as a class project.

One evening a week after Quiltsgiving, Jocelyn returned to Grosse Pointe South High School to attend an Imagination Quest managers' meeting. Nearly forty managers, some of whom Jocelyn recognized from the previous season's tournament, gathered in the auditorium for a presentation by IQ officials and a question-and-answer session. The state director spoke first, welcoming them to another exciting year of creativity, teamwork, and problem solving, and providing them with an overview of the IQ mission and the program rules. The regional director followed with a description of that year's challenges and logistical details about the venue and procedures for the upcoming tournament.

It was fortunate that most of the information covered that evening also appeared in the manager's handbook Jocelyn had received when she registered the team, because she could hardly follow a word of the question-and-answer session, so stunned was she by a change in the rules the directors had announced.