A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel Read online

  ALSO BY JENNIFER CHIAVERINI

  The Lost Quilter

  The Quilter’s Kitchen

  The Winding Ways Quilt

  The New Year’s Quilt

  The Quilter’s Homecoming

  Circle of Quilters

  The Christmas Quilt

  The Sugar Camp Quilt

  The Master Quilter

  The Quilter’s Legacy

  The Runaway Quilt

  The Cross-Country Quilters

  Round Robin

  The Quilter’s Apprentice

  Sylvia’s Bridal Sampler from Elm Creek Quilts:

  The True Story Behind the Quilt

  More Elm Creek Quilts:

  Inspired by the Elm Creek Quilts Novels

  Return to Elm Creek:

  More Quilt Projects Inspired by the Elm Creek Quilts Novels

  Elm Creek Quilts:

  Quilt Projects Inspired by the Elm Creek Quilts Novels

  A Quilter’s Holiday

  An Elm Creek Quilts Novel

  Jennifer CHiAverini

  Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2009 by Jennifer Chiaverini

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Simon & Schuster Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition October 2009

  SIMON & SCHUSTER and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798 or [email protected]

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  Designed by Davina Mock-Maniscalco

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Chiaverini, Jennifer.

  A quilter’s holiday: an Elm Creek quilts novel /Jennifer Chiaverini.

  p. cm.

  1. Quilting—Fiction. 2. Quiltmakers—Fiction. 3. Female friendship—Fiction. 4. Pennsylvania—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3553.H473Q566 2009

  813′.54—dc22

  2009023074

  ISBN 978-1-4391-3932-5

  ISBN 978-1-4391-4314-8 (ebook)

  To Nic and Heather

  Acknowledgments

  MANY THANKS go to Maria Massie, Nicole De Jackmo, Dina Siljkovic, Kate Ankofski, Mara Lurie, Kate Lapin, and Melanie Parks, for their contributions to A Quilter’s Holiday and their ongoing support of the Elm Creek Quilts series.

  I also offer thanks to Tara Shaughnessy, the world’s best nanny, for giving me time to write; to my teammates from Just For Kicks for providing me with great workouts, camaraderie, and crucial stress relief when I needed them most; and to Janet Miller for permitting me to use her beautiful quilt Thankful Harvest, on the jacket of this book.

  My warmest appreciation goes to Denise Roy, for her generous advice and encouragement, and to Steven Garfinkel, for the lovely new author photo.

  I would not have been able to complete A Quilter’s Holiday without the friendship and insight of Brian Grover, who offered help at a crucial time, read several early drafts, and provided the essential constructive criticism I needed to improve the story.

  I am very grateful for the friends and family who supported and encouraged me during the difficult months in which this book was written, especially Geraldine Neidenbach, Heather Neidenbach, Nic Neidenbach, Leonard and Marlene Chiaverini, and my boys, Marty, Nicholas, and Michael Chiaverini.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sarah

  ON THE DAY after Thanksgiving, Sarah woke to discover her unborn twins apparently engaged in an in utero kick-boxing match to the accompaniment of her growling stomach. Propping herself up on one elbow, she reached for the crackers her husband had left on her nightstand beside a glass of water. She gently stroked her abdomen as she nibbled, taking care not to drop crumbs on the bed, and thought about the busy day full of friendship and fun awaiting her. It would be a quilter’s holiday at Elm Creek Manor, and as soon as Sarah satisfied her hunger pangs, she would drag herself out of bed and seize the day.

  “Morning,” Matt said sleepily, propping himself up to kiss her cheek and then her tummy, twice. His curly blond hair was flattened against his head on one side and his brown eyes were still half closed. “Honey, I’ve been thinking …”

  “How have you had time to think? You just woke up.”

  “I’ve been awake for a while, lying here watching you nibble your crackers.”

  Sarah held out a saltine. “Want one?”

  “No thanks. I’ll wait to see what Chef Anna’s fixing for breakfast. Yesterday Jeremy mentioned that he was going to drop her off early on his way to Chicago.”

  “I’m afraid you’re on your own.” Sarah carefully sat up against the headboard, drew her long, reddish-brown hair over one shoulder, and muffled a grunt as she leaned over for the glass of water. “Jeremy’s dropping Anna off for our quilter’s holiday—not for kitchen duty. Sylvia insisted she take the morning off.”

  “After preparing that Thanksgiving feast yesterday, she deserves a day of rest.”

  Sarah sighed happily, remembering. Although she had toasted the holiday with ginger ale rather than the California cabernet sauvignon her friends and family had enjoyed, for the first time in her adult life, she had indulged in a Thanksgiving feast without giving calories a second thought. “I’m eating for three,” she had responded cheerfully when her mother cautioned her against taking such generous helpings of Chef Anna’s succulent roast turkey and savory cranberry cornbread dressing. Green beans and butternut squash had never seemed more flavorful, and best of all, she didn’t have to choose between pumpkin pie and apple cake for dessert but took modest slices of both.

  “Matt’s going to have to roll you upstairs to bed tonight,” her mother had remarked. “You won’t need to eat for a week.” Carol had gained only twenty pounds in her pregnancy, or so she claimed, but Sarah had left that number behind long ago.

  “Anna earned the time off,” Sarah agreed, “so it’s oatmeal or cereal for you this morning, honey.”

  “I’ll make up for it at the potluck lunch.” Matt propped himself up on his elbows, motioned for her to scoot forward, and slipped his pillow between her back and the cold brass bars of the headboard. “Husbands are allowed at the feast, right? Even though we aren’t participating in the quilting bee?”

  Sarah smiled, but her gaze traveled past Matt to the window, where the light peeking below the curtains was thin and November gray. The weather forecast called for snow, but not enough to keep her friends away. “You know the rule. Everyone who brings a dish to pass will have a place at the table, quilter or not.”

  That wasn’t the only rule defining the Elm Creek Quilters’ post-Thanksgiving tradition. On the Friday after Thanksgiving, while others throughout their rural central Pennsylvania valley were sleeping in or launching the Christmas shopping season, their circle of quilters would gather at the
manor for a marathon of quilting to work upon holiday gifts or decorations. At noon they would break for a potluck lunch of dishes made from leftovers from their family feasts the previous day. Agnes, Sylvia’s sister-in-law, called their dinner a “Patchwork Potluck” and said the meal befit quilters, whose frugality inspired them to find creative uses for leftover turkey, stuffing, and vegetables just as they created beautiful and useful works of art from scraps of fabric.

  Matt rolled onto his back, tucking his hands beneath his head. “Do you think I can get away with bringing the leftover rolls as my dish, even though that wouldn’t involve any actual cooking?”

  “That’s a step up from the bowl of corn you reheated in the microwave last year, so I’m going to say yes.”

  “Watch it, sweetheart, or I’ll say something I’ll regret about how we’re lucky there are any leftovers to work with, the way you kept cleaning your plate.”

  “You sound like my mother.” Usually that rebuke brought a swift end to Matt’s criticism, whether it was in jest or in argument. “I’m eating for three, remember?”

  Matt held his hands apart about six inches. “Yes, but two of you are only this big. If you were feeding yourself and a pair of three-year-olds, I could understand the need for five helpings, but since it’s one woman in her thirties and two fetuses in their sixth month—”

  “Five helpings?” Sarah protested. “I stopped at thirds.”

  “Three helpings of dinner plus two of dessert equals five plate-cleanings.” Then Matt seemed to think better of proving his point. “But you ate healthy food and you’re taking great care of little Barnum and Bailey. They’re lucky to have you for a mother.”

  Sarah laughed. “Barnum and Bailey?”

  Matt grinned up at her. “Why not?”

  They didn’t know whether the twins were boys or girls or one of each, and they didn’t want to know until the moment the babies were born. Most of their friends understood and respected their decision, but some of the Elm Creek Quilters hoped they would change their minds because, they said, it would be easier to make quilts and other gifts if they knew whether the babies were girls or boys. Diane was the most persistent in her complaints, as she was about most things. She was certain that Sarah and Matt had glimpsed the truth during one of Sarah’s ultrasounds but were concealing the secret just to be contrary, so she scrutinized the couple’s words and actions for clues. If Sarah preferred a pink fabric for a new quilt project, Diane triumphantly declared that the babies were surely girls. If Matt referred to one of the twins as “he” because “he or she” became annoying after frequent repetition and he hated to refer to one of his children as “it,” Diane gleefully teased him about giving away the secret. Always ready to give as good as he got, Matt began calling the babies various paired names, usually nonsensical duos that amused Sarah and drove Diane crazy. Sarah’s favorites included “Sugar and Spice,” “Zig and Zag,” “Needle and Thread,” and “Bagel and Schmear.” The joke became even funnier when Carol began to worry aloud that Sarah and Matt might seriously consider one of those alarming combinations. Perhaps she was right to worry. Maybe it was the hormones, but Sarah thought “Barnum and Bailey” had possibilities.

  “Well, this ringmaster thinks it’s time to get this circus on the road.” Sarah picked cracker crumbs from her nightgown and threw back the covers. “I have to get started on my turkey Tetrazzini.”

  “Now?”

  “I want to get as much prepared ahead of time before my friends show up.” Sarah’s stomach rumbled and one of the twins kicked. Apparently the crackers had made little impact. “But I guess it can wait until after breakfast.”

  It was only later, after she had showered and dressed and returned to the bedroom to find the bed made and Matt absent that she realized she had not given him a chance to tell her what he had been thinking about upon waking.

  ELM CREEK MANOR wasn’t the best place to raise children, Sarah reflected as she descended the oak staircase to the grand, three-story front foyer. The elegant balusters on staircase and balconies were too far apart for government safety standards and the gleaming black marble floor would offer a toddler unsteady footing and hard landings. Baby proofing would be a nightmare, but Matt assured her he would take care of everything. Sylvia Bergstrom Compson, Master Quilter and cofounder of Elm Creek Quilts, often reminded Sarah that generations of Bergstrom children had safely reached adulthood on her family estate, but Sarah found that small comfort. Once upon a time lead paint had been acceptable and seat belts optional, and although countless numbers of children had escaped injury, Sarah had no intention of repeating past generations’ mistakes.

  In many other important ways, Elm Creek Manor was an idyllic place to raise a family. The estate offered acres of forest to explore; a creek for wading, fishing, and tossing stones; a thriving orchard with trees to climb and apples to pluck; gardens for picnics and games of make-believe; and a broad expanse of lawn for running and playing, for crunching through fallen leaves in autumn, and for building snow forts in winter. Even when guests filled the manor, a quilters’ retreat throughout the spring and summer, there was plenty of room for playing hide-and-seek and many private nooks for curling up with a book or paper and crayons. Most important, the manor was home to Sylvia and other dear friends who would offer the children unconditional love and affection, and what helped children thrive more than that?

  She and Matt had so much to be thankful for in that season of Thanksgiving, Sarah thought as she crossed the foyer and turned down the older, west wing of the manor. Perhaps that was what he had wanted to tell her.

  Appetizing aromas wafted down the hallway from the kitchen, lingering scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, and fresh-baked bread and something new that Sarah didn’t recall from their Thanksgiving feast. She found Anna Del Maso at the stove stirring something in a large copper stockpot, her long, dark-brown hair in a neat French braid, a crisp white apron tied about her neck and waist.

  “Good morning, Anna,” Sarah greeted her from the doorway. “You’d better not be making breakfast! Sylvia strictly forbade it.”

  Anna threw her a quick smile over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. This is for lunch. I’m only here early because the bus is running a limited holiday schedule, so Jeremy dropped me off on his way to Chicago.”

  Sarah nodded. “Yes, I heard. He’s going to see Summer.”

  Anna nodded and turned back to the stockpot. “She was too swamped with grad school work to come home for Thanksgiving, so he went to her.”

  “I thought Gwen said she’d made plans with her roommates.”

  “He’s her boyfriend, isn’t he? Wouldn’t he be welcome to join them?”

  “I can’t speak for Summer’s roommates, but I can’t imagine why not.” Sarah watched a thin wisp of steam rise from the pot and inhaled deeply. “That smells wonderful.”

  “It’s our soup course. Ginger pumpkin bisque.”

  Sarah glanced into the pot at the simmering golden liquid as she took a paper sack of bagels from the breadbox. “Made with leftover pumpkin pie? Because I didn’t think there was any.”

  Anna laughed. “No, not leftover pie. Leftover pumpkin that didn’t make it into the pie.” She set down her spoon, turned down the flame, and wiped her hands on her apron. “Would you mind keeping an eye on this while you have breakfast? I still have a few more seams to go on my quilt block for the cornucopia. This is my first day-after-Thanksgiving as an Elm Creek Quilter and I want to get it right.”

  Sarah nodded, but not without misgivings. No matter how often Anna assured her that she was a fine cook, Sarah was reluctant to risk ruining one of the talented chef’s marvelous culinary creations. “The quilt block cornucopia is new to all of us,” she reminded Anna. “I don’t think you can go wrong.”

  Anna smiled as she untied her apron, the dimple in her right cheek deepening and a sparkle lighting up her dark brown eyes. Sarah knew Anna considered herself too plump to be pretty, and she often wondered how her friend
could be so blind to her own beauty. “Even so, I’m not leaving that up to chance. You Elm Creek Quilters set high standards.”

  “You mean we Elm Creek Quilters set high standards,” Sarah called after her as Anna left the kitchen. Too often Anna forgot to include herself when she spoke of them, though as far as Sarah was concerned, she was no less a member of their circle than the founding members. Sarah hoped Anna would begin to feel less like an outsider as the Elm Creek Quilters forged new traditions, such as this one, inspired by a discovery Anna and Sylvia had made while remodeling the kitchen a few weeks before.

  The kitchen in the west wing of Elm Creek Manor had been built in 1858, and when Anna was offered the chef’s job in August, she couldn’t hide her concern regarding its condition. Sarah didn’t have to be a professional chef to understand her dismay. Not a single appliance was post-1945 except for a tiny microwave on the counter, possibly the first ever invented by the look of it. Poor lighting, battered utensils, broken stovetop burners—the list of necessary repairs went on and on. The Elm Creek Quilters had managed to feed an entire quilt camp three meals a day by adapting to what Sylvia referred to as the kitchen’s “charming quirks,” but none of them expected someone with Anna’s experience to endure such conditions happily, and no one was surprised when Anna made the promise of a total remodel a prerequisite for accepting the post. Fortunately, Sylvia agreed that drastic improvements were long overdue, so after the camp season ended, contractors transformed the kitchen by knocking out a wall and expanding into an adjacent sitting room, then hauling away the old appliances, counters, and cabinetry, and replacing them with everything on Anna’s wish list. Privately Anna had confided to Sarah that she had not expected Sylvia to do half of what she had requested and she would have settled for less. Sarah had laughed and told Anna that as she would soon discover, Sylvia never did anything by half measures.

  Before the contractors could begin, Sylvia and Anna had been obliged to clear every cabinet, cupboard, drawer, and pantry shelf, sorting useful items from clutter that should have been discarded long ago. As they worked, they discovered cherished Bergstrom family heirlooms: an old gingham tablecloth, a great-aunt’s collection of feedsack cloth aprons, Sylvia’s mother’s favorite cut glass serving dish, and a Thanksgiving cornucopia Sylvia’s sister, Claudia, had woven of straw as a schoolgirl.