The Giving Quilt (4 page)

Karen collected her keys and papers from Agnes, thanked her, and indicated Gretchen and Maggie with a self-conscious tilt of her head. “I see that you hired Gretchen Hartley and Maggie Flynn. I have Maggie's book. It's wonderful.” She smiled, a little shakily, and Sylvia smiled sympathetically back, imagining how the younger woman must have felt running into the two people who had been selected for the job she had wanted so badly. “I was hoping you had hired the cookie lady.”

Sylvia and Sarah exchanged a puzzled look, but it was Diane who asked, “The cookie lady?”

Karen nodded. “I met her on the day of my interview, but I never got her name. Ethan and Lucas—my sons, I'm sure you remember them—were a little wound up after napping in the car all the way from State College, and another finalist who was waiting to speak with you distracted them with homemade cookies.” Her smile grew steadier as she remembered. “They were beautifully decorated like quilt blocks—and they were, without a doubt, the most delicious cookies I've ever tasted.”

“Anna,” said the chorus of Elm Creek Quilters around the registration table. “And I second your opinion about the cookies,” added Sarah with a wistful sigh.

“Anna,” echoed Karen, nodding. “She was so generous, and so helpful when Lucas got fussy. I'd hoped that all that good karma would ensure she got the job.”

“Oh, but she did get the job,” said Agnes, her blue eyes wide and earnest.

“Not the teaching job,” Sarah clarified. “We hired her as our chef.”

“But she doesn't work here anymore,” said Diane, sighing. “Her husband found a job in Virginia and stole her away from us.”

“I suppose that's one way to interpret events,” said Gwen, shaking her head.

Karen's brow furrowed, and her cheeks flushed faintly pink. “Oh. That's too bad.” With another quick glance at Gretchen and Maggie, still indicating important sites on the estate map for the other camper, she nodded to them all, smiled briefly, and carried her luggage upstairs.

“That makes eighteen and nineteen,” Gwen remarked soon after another pair of quilters arrived together, a retired nurse from Waterford and her elderly mother, whom Agnes gave a quick, appraising glance and surreptitiously reassigned to one of the few accessible suites on the first floor. The room next door to it had been assigned to another camper who had not yet arrived, so Agnes quickly scanned her registration form, nodded to herself, and switched the sets of keys so the daughter and mother would be next-door neighbors.

Maggie peered over Agnes's shoulder to check the list. “Only five more to go, unless someone cancels.”

“Who would dream of doing that?” scoffed Diane. “Unless they heard that Anna is no longer cooking for us. No offense, Sarah.”

“None taken,” said Sarah as she began tidying up the registration table before turning over her clipboard to Maggie and hurrying off to the kitchen. Gretchen inspected the refreshment table and reported that the plates of cookies and crudités had been fairly well depleted, but since the banquet would begin in little more than an hour, she would refill the coffeepot one last time but not worry about replenishing the sweets. Just then, Matt returned from the last scheduled shuttle run to the airport, where he had picked up three additional campers, women from small towns scattered across the Midwest who had never met before but had become fast friends on the ride over.

By that time, most of the campers had dispersed to settle into their rooms or to explore the estate's grounds, so some of the Elm Creek Quilters began packing up the registration materials while the others reported to the kitchen to assist Sarah. The penultimate camper arrived just as delicious aromas began to waft into the foyer from the west wing hallway. “I'm so glad I didn't miss the banquet,” the quilter breathed, snatching up her keys and papers and hurrying upstairs with her luggage to freshen up before supper.

Five minutes passed, and then ten, and then the grandfather clock in the corner struck half past five. Alone in the foyer, Sylvia and Agnes exchanged a look, a wordless question. Airline delays or traffic on the toll road could have delayed their last camper, but it was also possible that she had changed her mind and wouldn't be coming. Registration had officially ended a half hour before, and Sylvia and Agnes could be forgiven for abandoning their vigil and joining their friends in the kitchen to help prepare for the Welcome Banquet. But Sylvia was reluctant to let any guest, however overdue for whatever reason, arrive to an empty foyer, especially if she had never visited Elm Creek Manor before. Sarah always indicated new campers by placing an asterisk beside their names on the guest list, and when Sylvia scanned the page on the table in front of Agnes, she spotted the telltale mark.

That settled it. “You go on,” Sylvia told Agnes. “I'll stay here to welcome our last arrival.”

“Heavens, no,” exclaimed Agnes. “Our friends can manage just fine without us. I'll keep you company.”

Sylvia smiled her thanks and settled more comfortably in her chair. It would have been lonely to wait alone in the empty foyer knowing how much fun her friends and guests were having elsewhere in the manor.

The sisters-in-law agreed to wait until they had just enough time to hurry to the banquet hall before the feast began. Their other campers expected them to attend—Sarah always made the opening remarks, but it was Sylvia who led everyone from the banquet hall to the Candlelight welcoming ceremony, a revered Elm Creek Quilts tradition—and it wouldn't do to disappoint them because of one latecomer.

With five minutes to go, Sylvia and Agnes heard a strange thumping and scraping outside the front double doors. They exchanged a quick, puzzled glance before looking back just in time to see the door on the left open the barest of inches, then close again, then swing open a bit wider as if nudged by someone unseen, then slowly close again, coming to an abrupt stop on something thrust in the way at the last moment, a metal, rubber-tipped stick.

“Oh, my goodness,” Sylvia murmured, bolting to her feet as she recognized the metal stick as the end of a crutch. “Just a moment,” she called out as she hurried across the foyer. “I'm coming.”

Before Sylvia could reach the entrance, a petite young woman wedged herself into the narrow opening between the door and the jamb and shoved it open wider with her shoulder, and wider still with her backpack. “Hi,” she called back brightly, balancing carefully on her crutches as she scooted sideways through the narrow passage. She wore a flattering A-line red wool coat with six large black buttons in pairs down the front, black knit gloves, and a matching rolled-brim red hat over a profusion of long, blond curls. The coat flared just above her knee, revealing a knee-high black leather boot on her left leg and a cast on her right. A cold gust of wind followed her inside, and in the moment before the door closed behind her, Sylvia glimpsed a whirl of small, icy snowflakes in the darkening sky.

The girl—because to Sylvia she indeed seemed no more than that—frowned prettily at the closed door, then glanced hopefully back at Sylvia. “Could you do me a favor? Would you please hold the door open so I can go back for my suitcase?”

“I can do more than that,” declared Sylvia, reaching to take the girl's overstuffed black, red, and white plaid backpack from her shoulders. Where on earth were the Elm Creek husbands, and why hadn't one of them helped the poor dear inside? “Did you drive yourself? Oh, never mind. What a foolish question. Of course you didn't.”

“No, I did,” the girl replied, balancing on a single crutch as she shrugged off her backpack. Expecting it to weigh half what it actually did, Sylvia took it from her, muffled a grunt, and set it on the marble floor with a solid thud. “I used my left foot. I'm not supposed to drive, so, um, don't tell anyone. Especially my mom. If she calls. I don't think she will, but, you know. She might. She's a mom.”

“I understand perfectly, dear,” said Sylvia, unable to disguise the faint alarm that crept into her voice at the thought of the girl driving along Pennsylvania's steep and winding country roads while inhibited by the cast.

“A nice old man offered to valet-park for me,” the girl continued. “Should I tip him when he comes back?”

“Certainly not,” said Sylvia, helping her out of her coat. “The service is complimentary.”

Agnes hurried outside and returned pulling a black, red, and white plaid suitcase, a near-perfect match for the backpack. Matt followed closely behind, breathless. “Sorry,” he said, panting, his cheeks and nose red from cold and exertion. “I was running around with the twins and I couldn't get here fast enough to help.”

“Who's watching the twins now?” asked Agnes, offering the girl a quick, welcoming smile before hurrying back to resume her station at the registration table.

“Joe.” Matt stooped to pick up the girl's backpack, suitcase, and coat and carried them to the foot of the grand oak staircase. “Andrew's parking the car.”

“Are you sure I don't need to tip that nice old man?” Biting the inside of her lower lip, the girl made her way up the four marble steps by planting the crutches on a stair, hopping upon it with her good leg, and repeating the process, all with remarkable agility.

“That nice old man is my husband, and I assure you, you absolutely should not tip him.” Sylvia followed the girl up the stairs, her arms outstretched to break her fall should she tumble, which, thankfully, she did not. “That would only embarrass him.”

“You must be Michaela Phillips,” said Agnes as they joined her at the table. Then she glanced at the remaining keys and shot Sylvia a look of utter dismay. Sylvia realized at once what the problem was: Agnes had given away the last first-floor suite to the daughter of the elderly woman who had arrived earlier that afternoon.

Sylvia's gaze automatically went to the grand oak staircase, and Michaela followed her line of sight. “No elevator?” she guessed.

“I'm sorry, dear, no, and we don't have any first-floor rooms left,” said Sylvia. “Perhaps we could ask someone to switch with you.”

“Oh, no, that's okay,” Michaela assured her. “Everyone's probably already unpacked and stuff. I'll be fine. Leave the first-floor rooms for people who really need them.”

It seemed to Sylvia that Michaela was certainly one of those people, but the young woman insisted that as long as some-one carried her bags for her, she could make it upstairs. “The staircase in my dorm is even steeper than that, and I've managed that when the elevator takes too long,” she said cheerfully. “Stupid cast. I can't wait to get rid of it.”

“I admire her pluck,” said Agnes in an undertone as Michaela hobbled off with Matt trailing after carrying her luggage and coat.

Sylvia nodded. She did too, but she still wished Michaela had let them find a first-floor guest to trade rooms with her. She wasn't quite sure how the young woman was going to make it back downstairs again.

* * *

With all their guests successfully checked in, Sylvia and Agnes quickly gathered up the empty folders, collected the leftover maps and schedules, and cleared away the refreshment table. Matt, Joe, Andrew, and the twins came back inside as they were finishing up, bringing a cold gust of wind and a scattering of dried leaves in their wake. Matt took one glance at the clock and immediately steered the children upstairs to change clothes and wash up for supper, ignoring James's complaints about the shirt Sarah had chosen for him to wear, which, among other cruel torments, boasted a collar and buttons. Joe and Andrew folded up the registration tables and carried them to the storage room while Sylvia and Agnes trailed behind carrying the chairs. In the meantime, campers had emerged from their rooms and were knocking on doors to meet up with friends, while others milled about the foyer and parlor, admiring the photographs, quilts, and Bergstrom family heirlooms displayed there. The delicious aromas drifting down the hall from the kitchen had intensified, and as Sylvia hurried upstairs to freshen up and change for the banquet, she observed many a camper stealing longing glances in that direction, and at the banquet hall doors, which were still closed. Sylvia smiled, wishing she had time to assure them that it wouldn't be long now and the meal was sure to taste as delicious as it smelled. Chef Anna had left Elm Creek Manor, and they missed her terribly, but she had written down her most beloved recipes and had taught Sarah, Gwen, and Gretchen many useful tricks and techniques. The dishes might lack Anna's unique flair, but even so, Sylvia was certain that no one would leave the table disappointed.

She was putting on her favorite pearl earrings when Andrew entered their suite. “The ballroom's all set,” he reported, snatching up a comb from the dresser and running it through his thinning white hair. “Chairs in place, quilts hanging just the way you wanted 'em.”

“Thank you, dear,” Sylvia said, adding a touch of lipstick. “And now I'm all dolled up and ready to go.” She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “With hardly a moment to spare.”

“You look lovely, as always,” Andrew said affectionately, kissing her on the cheek and offering her his arm. He escorted her downstairs to the banquet hall off the front foyer, where they found that nearly all of their guests had already seated themselves. The room had been transformed from its more casual lunchtime atmosphere by white tablecloths; centerpieces of colorful autumn leaves, mums, gourds, shiny ripe apples, and flickering tapers, and Sylvia's fine heirloom china, nearly translucent, with the Bergstrom rearing-stallion emblem in the center.

Voices were hushed yet full of anticipation. By tradition, the Elm Creek Quilters and resident husbands did not sit together at a remote head table but dispersed among their guests so that everyone would feel equally honored. Moments after Sylvia and Andrew seated themselves at one of the five round tables arranged in the center of the room, three young men and two young women bearing large, heavily laden trays emerged from the servants' door neatly attired in black slacks, white shirts, black ties, and white aprons. They looked so dignified and self-assured that Sylvia suspected the campers would never guess that they were students from Waterford College, part-time employees hired only for the week rather than career waiters.