The Quilter's Legacy (33 page)

But as the days grew colder and shorter, and the first light snow fell, Andrew said little about the upcoming holiday. When Sylvia pressed him, he would say that they had not had a chance to discuss it, or that his children had not made up their minds. Finally Sylvia insisted that he call them and make a decision, because in a few days she would either need to buy a turkey or pack her suitcase and she would appreciate a little advance notice. Andrew apologized and went off to the parlor to phone them, but returned shaking his head.

“They're not coming?” asked Sylvia.

“Not this year. It's too far to drive round trip in four days and they don't want to fly. Since they know it wouldn't be fair to ask me to choose between them, they thought it best if we all spend Thanksgiving at our own homes.”

Sylvia heard Amy's voice echoed in Andrew's words. “I can't believe Bob is afraid to fly,” she said. “If your children want to get together with you at Amy's, I'll stay home. I don't want to rob you of a holiday with your family.”

“Absolutely not.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Like I told Amy when she was here last month, you're my family.”

He kissed her, and Sylvia knew he meant what he said, but she felt sick at heart thinking about the widening divide between Andrew and his children. She thought of his grandchildren and wondered how the holiday plans would be explained to them. She wondered what excuses they would invent for Andrew's absence, year after year, if the disagreement grew into estrangement.

A
shadow darkened their Thanksgiving feast that year, and not even the presence of Sarah's mother and Matt's father could lift it entirely. Sylvia knew that Andrew missed his family; he glanced at the clock throughout the day, as if imagining what his children and grandchildren were doing at that moment. He left shortly after dessert to call them, but he returned a mere fifteen minutes later to say that they were well and that they gave Sylvia and her friends their best regards.

Privately, Sarah tried to reassure Sylvia that the disagreement would not last long. The chill must be thawing already, or Andrew wouldn't have phoned Amy and Bob at all. “By Christmas everyone will be on good terms again,” she said, giving Sylvia a comforting hug. “You'll see. We'll invite everyone here and have a wonderful time. We'll wine and dine the adults and slip the kids candy when their parents aren't looking. Before long they'll start to see the advantages of having you as a stepmother.”

Sylvia had to laugh. “You're absolutely right. Why didn't I resort to bribery long ago?”

She was joking, of course, but although she wouldn't admit it to a soul, she might have tried to win them over with gifts if not for her pride—and her certainty that it wouldn't work. Nothing Sylvia could do or say or give could change the facts that she was seven years older than Andrew and had once had a stroke. It would be easier to persuade his children to give the marriage their blessing if they merely disliked her.

The next morning, Sarah drove Sylvia to Edna and Philip Schaeffer's house, a red-brick ranch with two large oak trees in the front yard and four cars parked in the driveway. Three young children ran through scattered leaves on the lawn, shouting and laughing, while an older boy, rake in hand, called out orders they ignored. The four watched with interest as Sylvia and Sarah got out of the Elm Creek Quilts minivan and approached the front door. “Hewwo,” called the youngest, a boy not quite two.

“Hello, honey,” Sarah replied, waving. The little boy grinned and hid behind the eldest girl.

“You could have one yourself, you know,” said Sylvia as she rang the doorbell.

“Please. You sound just like my mother.” Sarah rolled her eyes, but she smiled as she spoke, with no hint of the resentment that used to surface whenever her mother was mentioned. Their relationship had been strained for years, but they had reconciled while both women helped Sylvia recover from her stroke. She should take comfort in their example, Sylvia told herself. If Sarah and Carol could find a way to accept their differences, surely Andrew and his children could. She just hoped they wouldn't require an unexpected calamity to push them forward.

A woman who looked to be in her mid-eighties answered the door. “You must be Sylvia Compson,” she said, opening the door and beckoning them inside. “I'm Edna Schaeffer, as you probably guessed.”

Sylvia thanked her for allowing them to interrupt her holiday and introduced Sarah. “Did your brother-in-law have a safe trip?” she asked, surreptitiously scanning the room for the quilt.

Edna's face assumed an apologetic expression that had become all too familiar to Sylvia since she had begun the search. “He did, thank you, but I'm afraid he didn't bring your mother's quilt with him.”

“I see,” said Sylvia.

“I'm sorry, dear.” Edna patted Sylvia's arm sympathetically. “It's a long story and he wanted to tell you himself, or I would have called and saved you the trip over. Howard's been looking forward to seeing you.”

“Has he?”

“Oh, my, yes. Phil has, too, but don't worry. I'm not the jealous type.” Edna smiled and led them into the living room, where two older gentlemen and several younger men and women sat talking and watching a football game on television. The two older men stood as the women approached. “This can't be little tagalong Sylvia,” boomed the taller of the two. “What happened to all those dark tousled curls?”

“I'm afraid they're long gone.” Smiling, Sylvia shook the men's hands. “And I beg your pardon, but I was never a tagalong.”

“That's not what Claudia told us,” said the other man, his voice a quiet echo of his brother's. He had to be Philip, the younger of the two Schaeffer boys. He had always been more bashful than Howard.

“My goodness, that's right. I had forgotten you two were in the same class.” Sylvia pursed her lips and feigned annoyance. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that she told tales on me.”

“I was sweet on her,” said Phil, with an embarrassed shrug and a glance at his wife, who patted his arm and laughed. “I hung on every word she said, but she only had eyes for Howard.”

“Until Harold Midden came to town,” said Howard, shaking his head. “Claudia used to kiss me behind the library after school, but once she met Harold, she tossed me out like yesterday's trash.”

“She didn't,” said Sylvia, shocked. “She told us she went to the library to study.”

Howard shrugged. “We sometimes fit in a little studying afterward. Anyway, I always knew it wouldn't have worked out between us in the long run.”

“Why not?”

Edna gestured to two chairs near Sylvia and Sarah. “Why don't we all sit down and hear the whole story?”

“Our mother wouldn't be pleased if she knew we were telling you this,” said Phil ruefully as they seated themselves.

Sylvia, who had learned that some of the most important stories began with the revelation of a secret, sat back and smiled to encourage him to continue.

“I guess you know our mother disliked yours,” said Howard.

“Why, no, I never knew that,” said Sylvia, looking from one brother to the other in surprise. “I knew she didn't care for me and my sister, but neither did the entire Waterford Quilting Guild or they wouldn't have let her kick us out.”

“Didn't your mothers found the guild together?” asked Sarah. “They must have been friends at one point.”

“You never knew our mothers were enemies and we never knew they were friends,” said Phil. “We grew up hearing how awful the Bergstroms were, how selfish, how they had cost our father his life.”

“What?” exclaimed Sylvia.

“Now you can see why I knew my relationship with Claudia would never go anywhere,” said Howard. “Mother would have fainted if I had brought her home.”

“That probably added to Claudia's appeal,” teased Edna.

“Let's get back to your father,” said Sylvia. “Why on earth did your mother blame mine for his death?”

Howard and Phil exchanged a look before Howard said, “Well, first let me say that even as boys we knew our mother and her friends were jealous of your mother. We knew why, too. Your mother was the prettiest woman in Waterford, and she was so gentle and kind that of course every man and boy in town had a crush on her. She wasn't from around here, either, and that made her seem mysterious and exotic.”

“Exotic?” said Sylvia. “My mother? She was from New York, not the other side of the world.”

“To people who had never left the Elm Creek Valley,” said Phil, “New York might as well have been the other side of the world.”

“We were like all the rest,” added Howard. “We admired your mother, but we felt guilty about it because we knew we were betraying our mother.”

“She always thought our father liked your mother a little too much,” said Phil. “Not that she ever thought he cheated on her—”

“Not with my mother he didn't,” declared Sylvia. “My mother was devoted to my father. She would never have considered such a thing.”

“Our father felt the same way about our mother,” said Howard. “At least that's what our other relatives told us. I was just a boy when he died, and Phil here was just a baby.”

“How did your father die?” asked Sarah.

“In the influenza epidemic of 1918,” said Howard.

“So did several members of my own family,” said Sylvia.

Phil grimaced and nodded. “We were well aware of that. Mother never let us forget it. You see, as soon as the people of Waterford realized that the disease was coming closer, they quarantined the town.”

Sylvia nodded. Her great-aunt Lucinda had told her stories of those terrible weeks when nearly the entire family had been stricken, and Great-Aunt Maude and young Aunt Clara had died. Claudia, too, had nearly lost her life, although no one but Aunt Lucinda ever spoke of it.

“The town stayed free of the disease for a while,” said Phil. “But it didn't last, and our father was the first to catch it.”

“And the first to die,” said Howard. “He was the town mail carrier. He delivered a letter to your mother, and according to our mother, he caught the flu there.”

“Our mother fell ill next, and then it was everywhere,” said Phil. “Our mother recovered, but she was never the same. She told everyone that my father had caught the disease from the Bergstroms, and that your family had broken the quarantine in order to buy and sell your horses. If not for the greed of the Bergstroms, she said, Waterford would have been spared. The hundreds who died here would never have suffered so much as a runny nose.”

Sylvia clutched the arms of her chair. “I don't believe it,” she managed to say. “My family never would have risked other people's lives for money.”

“Of course not.” Sarah reached out and touched her arm, frowning at the Schaeffers. “With all due respect, your mother wasn't a doctor, and no one knew about viruses back then. She couldn't have known for certain where your father contracted the disease, and unless she personally witnessed the Bergstroms crossing the quarantine line, she had no right to accuse them.”

Edna held up her hands to calm them. “Please, boys, tell them the rest.”

“I'm sorry I upset you,” said Howard. “We just wanted you to hear the story we grew up with.”

“We know your family didn't bring the flu to Waterford,” said Phil. “Our father did.”

“He was delivering the town's mail to the postal center in Grangerville when the quarantine signs went up,” said Howard. “He stayed in Grangerville, but when people began dying right and left, he got scared and beat it out of town. He holed up in a hunting shack for a while, but when he ran out of food, he came home.”

“Mother was so glad to see him that she cried,” said Phil, “but she knew he had endangered the town. She came and went as usual rather than arouse suspicions, but she made him stay indoors with the curtains drawn for four days until they were both certain he wasn't sick.”

“After that, they figured he was safe, so he acted as if he had never left Waterford,” said Howard. “A few close friends knew he had been away, but my parents invented some story about him being laid up with a sprained ankle at an outlying farm, and that in all the confusion, Gloria never received word. Only one other person knew he had knowingly crossed the quarantine line.”

“Sylvia's mother,” said Sarah.

“Exactly.”

“Our mother was horrified that she and our father had infected the town,” said Phil. “Frankly, I think it would have come anyway. The Spanish flu was so contagious and the quarantine so easily breached that it was only a matter of time. The fact is, however, that our parents introduced it into Waterford, and my mother couldn't handle the shame. She was terrified that people would find out and condemn her.”

“So instead she condemned my family,” said Sylvia.

The two men nodded.

“She regretted that all her life,” said Howard. “But once she started the lie, it got out of her control. She told herself that people would forget, but although they didn't talk much about the flu itself, everyone remembered to mistrust the Bergstroms long after they forgot the reason why.”

“We knew nothing of this until the week before she died,” said Edna. “The guilt of what she had done ate away at her for the better part of fifty years. She had bought your mother's quilt as a way to help your sister financially, and at the end of her life, her greatest concern was that we return the quilt to you.”