The New Year's Quilt (Elm Creek Quilts Novels) (21 page)

Sylvia worked on her New Year’s Reflections quilt, adding a Peace and Plenty block in tribute to Josephine Compson and the New Year’s blessing she had bestowed upon her family so many years before. She pieced a Memory Chain block so she would never forget the hard lessons learned from the unexpected course her life had taken. She sewed, lost in thought, until the clock struck midnight. There were no noisemakers, no champagne toasts, no kisses and cries of “Happy New Year” ringing through the halls, but this New Year’s Day would mark a new beginning for Sylvia, for she had resolved what course to pursue in the year ahead.

She would clear the manor of Claudia’s detritus, bringing in a forklift if necessary. She would hire workers to make repairs and get the grounds in decent shape. Then, when the manor was no longer an embarrassment to the Bergstrom name, she would sell it and return to her home and friends in Sewickley.

For as much as she wanted to blame her sister for the manor’s disrepair, she knew that she was at least as much at fault. She had abandoned home, family, and business, knowing that Claudia and Harold were not fit stewards of the Bergstrom legacy. What had befallen Elm Creek Manor was as much her responsibility as Claudia’s, perhaps more.

Sylvia resolved that although she would sell the manor, she would not entrust the Bergstrom estate to just anyone. As long as it took, she would wait for a buyer who would restore the manor to its former glory, who would fill the halls with love and laughter once more. She had no idea who could possibly fit the bill, but she would wait until that person came along. She had mishandled the Bergstrom legacy once, but she would not fail her family a second time.

As long as she lived, the New Year’s Reflections quilt would remind her of her resolution.

A
S
S
YLVIA
made small, neat stitches to secure the binding to the back of the quilt, she smiled when she thought of the resolution she had made in the first minutes of that New Year and the unexpected way she had kept it.

The following summer, she had hired a young woman named Sarah McClure to help her clean out the manor and prepare it for sale. One prospective buyer had spoken of turning the manor into a residence hall for students of Waterford College, and Sylvia had been tempted to accept his offer. No one else with a more attractive plan had appeared in all the months the estate had been on the market, and as a retired teacher, Sylvia liked the idea of offering students such a beautiful place to live. To Sylvia’s everlasting gratitude, Sarah became suspicious of the developer’s plans and secretly investigated his company. When Sarah learned that the developer intended to raze Elm Creek Manor and build condos on the property, Sylvia immediately broke off negotiations. At a loss for what to do next, she asked Sarah to help her find a way to bring the manor back to life. Sarah’s ingenious and unlikely suggestion was to turn Elm Creek Manor into a retreat for quilters, a place for them to stay, to learn, to find inspiration, and to enjoy the companionship of other quilters. The new owners she had resolved to find turned out to be herself, Sarah, and a group of local quilters who became the first staff members of Elm Creek Quilt Camp.

Thank heavens Sylvia had accepted Sarah’s proposal, or her beloved home would now be rubble in a demolition landfill. What a blessing it was that Elm Creek Quilts had prospered, or Sylvia might have been forced to sell the manor anyway, and she would have been a hundred miles distant when Andrew pulled up in his motor home for the surprise visit of a lifetime. She had thought he had forgotten her long ago, and she had been delighted to resume their friendship. She never would have guessed that their feelings would grow deeper and that they would fall in love.

The New Year’s wish Mrs. Compson had made for her so many years ago had come true at last.

A
S THEY DROVE
through Hartford, Sylvia smiled up at Andrew, her heart full of joy and affection. “I’m so glad you came back to Elm Creek Manor,” she told him. “I’m thankful I was there when you came.”

“Not half as thankful as I am,” he said.

She realized, then, that no matter what Amy decided, whether she chose the wise course of reconciliation or resolved to close her heart to her father, Sylvia and Andrew would be all right. Their love and their gratitude for the blessing of that love would help them endure whatever difficulties came their way.

They turned onto a broad, tree-lined street, recently cleared after what must have been a heavy snowfall. A few houses sported snowmen in the front yards, others impressive snow forts where children in snowsuits and mittens pelted one another with snowballs.

Andrew pulled into the driveway of a sage-green Victorian home with a broad front porch and an octagonal turret on the southeast corner. Evergreen boughs wrapped with small, gold Christmas lights graced the front porch railing and a wreath of fresh holly adorned the front door.

He shut down the engine and paused with his hand on the keys as if tempted to start the car and tear back down the driveway. But Andrew never lacked for courage, so instead he pocketed the keys and gave Sylvia what he probably thought was an encouraging grin. “We’re here.”

Sylvia was seized by a sudden fear. “Please tell me they’re expecting us.”

“I called from the 1863 House,” he assured her, peering up at the house’s darkened windows. Small, icy crystals of snow fell upon the windshield, gently threatening to obscure the view. “But…that doesn’t mean they’re here.”

“Perhaps they left town when they heard we were on our way.”

Andrew snorted, but the question was promptly settled when the front door opened and Amy stepped out on the front porch, unsmiling, folding her arms over her chest against the cold.

A
my disappeared into the house but returned to the porch dressed in a coat and boots just as Andrew and Sylvia finished unloading their suitcases from the Elm Creek Quilts minivan. “Here, Dad, let me help you with that,” Amy said, hurrying down the front steps.

“I think I can handle two suitcases,” said Andrew.

Sylvia had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Already it had begun. “If she wants to help, let her,” she murmured, but Andrew pretended not to hear. He carried both suitcases into the house, with Amy and Sylvia trailing after.

Daniel and the three lanky teenagers—grandsons Gus and Sam, granddaughter Caitlin—welcomed them in the foyer with warm hugs and cheerful smiles. Only Amy seemed ill at ease. The grandchildren, thankfully, seemed unaware of any conflict between the adults, which Sylvia took as a hopeful sign.

“I have pot roast in the oven,” Amy announced, taking their coats and hanging them on a mahogany coat tree in a corner near the door. “It’ll be ready in a half hour, so please, come on inside and make yourselves at home.”

It was certainly a much warmer welcome than Sylvia had anticipated. She prayed that Andrew would not spoil it by blurting out a wedding announcement.

Amy led them into the living room and offered them hot beverages. Sylvia gladly accepted a cup of peppermint tea and settled down on the comfortable sofa. In the fireplace, blazing pine logs crackled cheerfully and gave off steady warmth. In front of the picture window stood a stately Norway pine, festooned with small white lights. Blown glass figurines hung amidst glittering silver tinsel, candy canes, and ornaments the children must have made in school many years before. Every fragrant bough offered a glimpse of a family as it grew and changed, from the crystal swans engraved with the year Amy and Daniel married, to the gilt frames bearing school photographs, to keepsake ornaments revealing the children’s favorite sports and cartoon characters. Sylvia’s gaze fell upon a pair of delicate white snowflakes, embroidered with pale blue silk threads and as intricate as lace. “How lovely.”

“My mother made those,” said Amy. “She didn’t have much time for crafts, but she loved Hardanger embroidery. One year when Bob and I were still in elementary school, the women of the neighborhood had a Christmas ornament exchange party. My mom made dozens of these, and I begged her to let me have these two. She was surprised that I wanted them but I think she was flattered, too. I’ve placed them on my Christmas tree every year since.” She gazed at the feathery snowflakes and smiled wistfully. “I miss her so much at this time of year. The holidays just aren’t the same without her.”

Andrew put his arm around her and she briefly rested her head on his shoulder. Sylvia’s heart lightened as she witnessed the silent exchange between father and daughter. Despite their recent disagreements, they surely loved each other too much to allow Andrew’s remarriage to divide them forever. If Amy’s pride and Andrew’s stubbornness did not get in the way, surely they would choose reconciliation over estrangement.

When supper was ready, the family gathered in the dining room, where a centerpiece of candles and poinsettias gave the antique cherry dining table a festive air. The roast and potatoes made for a hearty meal, perfect for a snowy winter evening. Sylvia found it encouraging that although Amy had set out the good china, she had chosen a homey, comforting meal one would serve at a gathering of friends and family rather than a stuffy, formal menu meant to impress a not-entirely-welcome guest. Two hours into the visit, all was going well—so well that Sylvia wished she and Andrew had agreed to wait until the morning to make their announcement.

“Do you have any plans for New Year’s Eve?” Sylvia asked. “Our family kept many German-American traditions that don’t seem to be followed in the Old Country anymore. At our bed and breakfast in New York, we met a charming couple from Germany who told us that everyone in their country—and they did emphasize
everyone
—watches a particular television program that sounded a little unusual to me.”

“
New Year’s Rockin’ Eve from Berlin with David Hasselhoff
?” guessed Gus.

Sylvia laughed and explained about
Dinner for One
, knowing that she was telling the story not only to amuse her listeners, but also to postpone their announcement. She wished she could have a moment alone with Andrew so she could ask him to wait, but perhaps it was just as well. It had been her idea, after all, to reveal the truth early in their visit. As much as she dreaded Amy’s reaction, they ought to get it over with and hope for the best.

Andrew held off breaking the news until after supper. The grandchildren cleared the table as Amy brought out coffee, but before the youngsters could return to their video games and IM chat rooms, or whatever it was that so absorbed them on the computer, he asked them to take their seats again.

As the teenagers seated themselves, exchanging curious smiles, Amy grew very still at the foot of the table. Sylvia said a silent prayer for peace and wished for just a moment that Andrew had broken the news over the phone.

“What is it, Dad?” Amy asked. “You’re not…ill, are you?”

“No, no,” said Andrew. “I’ve never felt better, and part of the reason is that I am now the proud husband of this lovely woman right here.”

With that, he laced his fingers through Sylvia’s, smiled at her reassuringly, and raised her hand to his lips.

The grandchildren cheered, and Daniel smiled broadly. “Congratulations,” he said, clapping his father-in-law on the back. He rose and came around to Sylvia to kiss her on the cheek.

Amy sat wide-eyed and still, her gaze fixed on her father. “You mean you’re her
fiancé
,” she said. “You said
husband
.”

“I didn’t misspeak,” said Andrew. “Sylvia and I married on Christmas Eve.”

Amy stared at him, slowly comprehending. “Are you trying to say that you eloped?”

“We had a lovely wedding at Elm Creek Manor,” said Sylvia. “It’s true that we caught most of our friends by surprise, but we don’t consider that eloping.”

“Not that anything’s wrong with that,” said Sam. “Congratulations, Grandpa. You want to play Xbox with us? We have four controllers.” His older brother nudged him. “What? What did I say?”

Crushed, Caitlin wailed, “You mean we missed everything?”

“We wanted you to be there,” Andrew said. His gaze shifted from Daniel to Amy. “You and Bob and Kathy and their kids and the whole family. Now you understand why we were so eager for you to come for Christmas.”

“If we had known you were going to get married, we would have made the trip,” said Amy.

“Why, so you could stop us? You told us you couldn’t come for Christmas, but we were supposed to know that you could suddenly become available if a wedding was involved?”

“Andrew, this isn’t the way,” murmured Sylvia.

“The wedding was a surprise,” Daniel said to his wife. “They couldn’t tell us or they’d spoil it.”

“Why did it have to be a surprise?” said Amy, her voice rising. “Wasn’t the engagement surprise enough? The wedding has to be a shock, too?”

“Let’s all just take a deep breath and settle down,” said Sylvia.

“Seriously, like, peace out, people,” said Caitlin, folding her arms and shaking her head at her mother and grandfather.

Amy glared at her daughter. “I don’t appreciate your tone, and was that even a sentence?”

Caitlin rolled her eyes.

“If you had really wanted us at your wedding, you would have told us,” said Amy, turning to her father. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know what happened. You knew we didn’t approve, so you invited us just so that you could say you tried, and then you snuck your wedding in under the radar.”

“Would you have come if you had known?” said Andrew. “Would you have supported us, or would you have stood up and thrown a tantrum when the judge asked if anyone had any reason to object to the marriage? Maybe it’s just as well that you didn’t come.”

Amy pushed her chair back from the table, but Sylvia quickly placed a hand on her arm. “Please stay. Let’s work this out.”

“What’s to work out?” snapped Amy, but she stayed in her seat.

Sylvia clasped her hands together in her lap. “Perhaps we should have handled things better, and if we’ve offended you, I’m sincerely sorry. What’s important now is that we are married, and we’re hoping that you can find it in your heart to be happy for us. If happiness is out of the question at this particular moment—and I can understand why it might be—we ask instead for your acceptance.”

Amy refused to look at her. “How can we offer you our acceptance when you gave us no say in the matter?”

“Because you don’t deserve any say in the matter,” said Andrew, incredulous. “It was never up to you whether I married, or whom, or when, or how. This was between Sylvia and me. It was never a group decision.”

“Nothing around here is ever a group decision,” muttered Caitlin.

“That’s enough out of you, young lady,” snapped Amy.

Caitlin sniffed in disdain, rose deliberately from her chair, and left the room. Her brothers exchanged quick, wary looks and decided to follow her example.

Daniel planted his elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands. “Just for the record, I think you two make a great couple and I wish you both years of happiness.”

“Daniel,” gasped Amy.

“Oh, come on, honey, you know where I stand.”

“Yes, against me, apparently.”

“This isn’t about you.” Daniel gestured to the newlyweds. “It’s about them. It’s about their happiness. Sylvia’s right. What’s done is done. It’s time for us to come together as a family.”

“They’re flaunting their wedding in my face and I’m supposed to act happy about it?”

“That would be better than acting like a spoiled brat,” said Andrew.

In a gesture reminiscent of her daughter’s, Amy gave him a steady, wordless look before rising from her chair and striding from the room.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel told the newlyweds.

“It’s not your fault,” Sylvia assured him as he hurried after his wife.

“I should have known this would happen,” muttered Andrew when they were alone.

“It was bound to happen,” said Sylvia. “You walked in here with a chip on your shoulder daring Amy to disapprove of us. Honestly, Andrew, you could have handled this much better.”

“You’re blaming me?”

“Oh, there’s plenty of blame to go around.” She reached for his hand. “We both knew she would take the news badly. If only you had responded with more compassion instead of losing your temper—”

“I know,” said Andrew, chagrined. “I know. I should have behaved myself, but Sylvia, when she started in on you—”

“I’ve told you before, dear, it takes more than angry words to bring me to my knees.” Sylvia shook her head. Everything had gone so wrong so quickly. “She’s being unreasonable, you’re overreacting, and I’m afraid we’re much worse off than we were before.”

Andrew frowned and rubbed at his jaw. “What do we do now?”

“I think there’s only one thing we can do.”

“What’s that?”

“Give her what she’s asked for.”

B
REAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING
was a tense affair. Amy hardly spoke, and she was clearly just as angry with her husband as with Sylvia and her father. The grandkids tried to lighten the mood with jokes and amusing stories, but they grew discouraged when their listeners barely smiled. Caitlin persisted long after her brothers gave up, peppering Sylvia with questions about the wedding. Mindful of Amy who was studiously ignoring the conversation, Sylvia provided an understated description of the candlelight ceremony in the ballroom of the manor, restored to its former elegance thanks to the attention of Sarah McClure’s husband, Matt, who had become the full-time gardener and caretaker of the estate.

“Have you told Bob and Kathy yet?” Daniel asked Andrew, referring to Andrew’s son and daughter-in-law.

“Not yet,” Andrew replied.

“Don’t expect a shower of rose petals,” said Amy shortly. “I doubt they’ll welcome the news any more than we did. The girls wanted to be bridesmaids, as I’m sure you recall.”

Andrew peered at her curiously. “Are you angry now because we got married or because we got married without you? I’ve lost track.”

Sylvia frowned. Why must Andrew rise to the bait every time Amy spoke?

“I wanted to be a bridesmaid, too, but you don’t see me whining,” said Caitlin. “My cousins will get over it. The important thing is that you got married the way you wanted to.”

“Not entirely the way we wanted,” said Sylvia. “We wanted all of you to be there. Truly, we did.”

Caitlin shrugged and made a face to suggest it didn’t matter. “What should we call you now, anyway? Mrs. Cooper?”

“No, I’ve decided not to change my last name. I’ve been Sylvia Compson so long that I don’t think I’d remember to answer to anything else.”

“But it’s not like you’re keeping your maiden name,” Amy pointed out. “You’re actually keeping your first husband’s name instead of taking my father’s. Some people might think that suggests a lack of commitment.”