A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel Page 10

  “If he did, he should have given me some advance notice. Now I’ll have to clean up this place, and shop for groceries, and hope my roommates don’t mind that we’re having company again—” Summer broke off. “But it’ll be fine. Thanks for the warning.”

  “Warning?”

  “You know what I mean. Speaking of which—are you sitting down?”

  Sylvia was so surprised she laughed. “Not at the moment.”

  “Maybe you should sit.”

  “Do you have bad news?”

  “Quite the opposite.”

  “Then consider me sufficiently forewarned. What is it?”

  “I’ve dug around in some online indexes to California vital records and voter registration lists and I think I may have tracked down one of Elizabeth’s descendants.”

  “What?”

  “Elizabeth and Henry had three children—Eleanor, who appears on the 1930 census form I sent you; Thomas, two years younger; and Sylvia, who was born in 1934 and is your namesake, or so I’m guessing. I lost track of the daughters and I assume that they married and changed their last names. Thomas, on the other hand, shows up a few times in the historical record.”

  Sylvia’s head grew light. “I think I should sit down.” Gretchen barely had time to swing her feet out of the way before Sylvia sat down hard on the ottoman.

  “It’s almost scary how much information you can find on the Internet,” said Summer, but a tone on the phone line drowned out the last syllable. “Are you sitting?”

  “Yes.” Sylvia threw a reassuring smile to Gretchen, who watched her anxiously. The tone sounded again, and Sylvia instinctively raised her voice. “What did you discover about Thomas?”

  “He spent most of his life in the Arboles Valley, but— Is that your call waiting?”

  “Yes, but whatever it is, it can wait.” It couldn’t be as important as what Summer had to say, and if it were, the caller would leave a message once the voicemail system kicked in after the fourth ring.

  “Okay, if you’re sure. Anyway, Thomas Nelson lived in San Diego for a few years before moving back to the Arboles Valley.”

  Sylvia waited impatiently for the tone to sound a fourth— and blessedly final—time. “To the Jorgensen farm?”

  “No, a different address.” Sylvia heard the rustle of paper. “I’ll mail you the printouts—or rather, I’ll send them back with Jeremy. You’ll get them sooner that way.”

  “Is Thomas—” Sylvia steeled herself. “Is Thomas still living?”

  Summer hesitated. “I’m afraid not. I found his death record in a Social Security database. He passed away five years ago. But as far as I can tell, his son and daughter are still living in Southern California.”

  Sylvia’s heart thumped. “He had children?”

  “Yes, unless I’ve mixed up two Thomas Nelsons from the area. That’s possible.”

  But not likely, as thorough and meticulous as Summer was—unlike some researchers. “The private detective I hired after my sister passed away concluded that I had no living blood relations. He told me quite emphatically that I was the last descendant of Hans and Anneke Bergstrom.”

  “In that case, you might want to ask for a refund.”

  Sylvia clasped a hand to her forehead. “I don’t believe this.” But even at the time, she had wondered how the detective reached his conclusion so quickly, and how out of all the cousins and second cousins she had played with in childhood, not one had left a son or daughter behind. “What can you tell me about Thomas’s children?”

  “Hold on a sec.” Again paper rustled in the background. “His son, Scott, was born in 1961. Scott’s current address is for Newbury Park, California, which is near the Arboles Valley though not in it. Thomas’s daughter was born in 1965, but I couldn’t find her in any online directories so my guess is that she married and changed her last name, too. I wish women didn’t do that. It’s very inconvenient.”

  “Did you say you had a current address for Scott Nelson?” said Sylvia.

  “An address and a phone number,” said Summer. “Would you like them?”

  Sylvia laughed, for she had already bounded to her feet and was hurrying to the nearest classroom for a pencil and paper.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Anna

  ANNA COULDN’T EXPLAINwhy she didn’t want the other Elm Creek Quilters to know she was making Jeremy a quilt for a Hanukkah gift. It wasn’t because she was afraid they would give away the secret, for she was certain she could trust them. It wasn’t even because she didn’t want them to know how much Jeremy meant to her, since the “Best Friend” quilt block she was making in his honor would make that evident enough. Maybe she hesitated because she worried that if her friends knew she was making Jeremy a quilt, which every one of them considered a gift of great significance, they would completely misunderstand the situation and think that she and Jeremy were more than just friends, which was simply absurd because Jeremy was crazy in love with the gorgeous, brilliant, talented Summer Sullivan, someone Anna admired and considered a friend. All of that made the thought that Anna might be attracted to her longtime across-the-hall neighbor absolutely, laughably ridiculous.

  Still, there was no need to make a big deal out of the quilt and give anyone the completely wrong idea that she wanted to be more than friends with Jeremy. Even though she didn’t— and though she knew Jeremy would burst out laughing at the very thought of the two of them, Jeremy and Anna, a couple— the suspicion that she might have a crush on him could make things awkward for her around the manor. The Elm Creek Quilters weren’t a gossipy bunch, but Summer was a founding member whereas Anna was a newcomer, and she knew where their loyalties would fall.

  Anna wasn’t even sure if she would be able to finish the quilt on time or that she would definitely give it to Jeremy if she did. She had already devoted every evening of the past three weeks sketching her design, finding the perfect blue and gold fabrics, and figuring out the complicated math of six-pointed stars when Jeremy mentioned during the drive from their apartment building near Waterford College to the manor that Hanukkah was actually a relatively minor holiday. “It’s not the Jewish Christmas,” he explained as they rumbled down the rough gravel road through the Bergstrom estate. “Religiously, it’s not as significant as Passover or Rosh Hashanah, for example. It’s arguably our best-known holiday among non-Jews because of its proximity to Christmas, but best-known doesn’t necessarily equal most important.”

  “But you do celebrate Hanukkah, don’t you?” Anna asked, thinking of the hours she’d already devoted to the quilt and the pieces of fabric she’d already cut.

  To her relief, he did. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one,” he said, misinterpreting her question as curiosity about the holiday’s origins. “In the second century BCE—”

  “You mean BC?” Anna interrupted.

  Jeremy threw her a wry glance. “No, I said BCE. Before the Common Era.”

  “It’s the same date though, right?”

  “Yes, but considering the topic, I thought it would be more appropriate to use BCE.”

  Anna folded her arms and regarded him. “You know who you sound like?”

  “If you say Gordon,” Jeremy warned, “I’m going to turn this car around and you can find your own way to Elm Creek Manor.”

  “You’d turn around when we’re almost there?”

  “I’d be tempted, if you compared me to your pompous, didactic, arrogant boyfriend. Remember when he tried to pass off that sonnet by Sir Phillip Sydney as his own composition in your honor?”

  Of course Anna remembered. No one had ever written her a love poem before—and as Jeremy had soon proven, Gordon hadn’t either. “Ex-boyfriend,” Anna shot back. “Very ex.”

  “Ex-boyfriend. I never liked him.”

  “Then why didn’t you say something at the time? You might have opened my eyes earlier and spared me months of misery.”

  “I did say something,” protested Jeremy.

  “You dropped
strong hints,” Anna acknowledged, “but you could have been more forthcoming.”

  “What could I have said that wouldn’t have prompted you to defend him?” said Jeremy, and although Anna wouldn’t admit it, she knew he was right. “I never thought he was good enough for you. If I weren’t—”

  “What?” asked Anna when he didn’t continue. “If you weren’t a peace-loving liberal, you would have punched him in the nose?”

  “No.” Jeremy paused to turn the windshield wipers up higher. “I was going to say that if I weren’t dating Summer, I’d ask you out.”

  Anna’s breath seemed to flutter in her chest—until she reminded herself that Jeremy had met her before Summer, and if he had wanted to ask her out, he could have. “Oh, really,” she said archly. “So Gordon isn’t good enough for me, but you are.”

  Jeremy frowned slightly. “That does sound arrogant, doesn’t it?”

  “Just a bit.”

  “Well, I’d definitely treat you much better than he did, so I’m closer to good enough for you than he is.”

  “Fair point.” Anna shifted in her seat, warmed by his words despite the storm. “Where were we?”

  Jeremy thought for a moment. “Second century BCE. At that time Antiochus IV was oppressing the Jews—erecting an altar to Zeus in the Temple in Jerusalem, further desecrating the Temple by sacrificing pigs upon it—”

  “Pigs? Aren’t the Jewish people anti-pig?”

  Jeremy guffawed. “Or very pro-pig, considering that we don’t eat them. Anyway, Antiochus virtually outlawed Judaism, even going so far as to massacre Jews. Eventually the Jewish people revolted, overthrew the monarchy, and liberated the Temple, which they then needed to cleanse and re-dedicate. Unfortunately, they discovered that the Greeks had defiled almost all the consecrated oil used to fuel the eternal flame in the Temple, which was supposed to burn throughout the day and night.”

  Anna nodded, chagrined that she knew so little and had never asked him before, although some of the details were vaguely familiar. “But they found enough, right?”

  “That’s where the miracle comes into it. They found enough consecrated oil for a single day and night, and yet, somehow, that single day’s supply kept the Temple’s menorah burning for eight days and nights, which gave them enough time to prepare a fresh supply of oil.”

  “So that’s why you light eight candles over the span of eight nights.”

  “Exactly,” Jeremy said. “There’s also a ninth candle, the shammus or servant, which we use to light the others and usually place in the center of the menorah. We add one new Hanukkah candle to the menorah each night, placing them from right to left, but we light them from left to right, to honor the newest one first. We recite prayers and give gifts, but not like the huge mass of presents you’d find under your Christmas tree.”

  “Are you speaking of my family in particular or is that your universal Christian ‘you’?” Anna asked.

  “The latter.”

  “We were lucky if we had two presents for each kid,” Anna told him.

  “But given the sheer number of kids in your family—”

  “Yes, you’re right. That often added up to a huge mass of presents. I just didn’t like the insinuation of greed.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that you or anyone else in your family was greedy,” Jeremy said, just as the car left the woods and came upon the bare-limbed orchard. The engine whined as the wheels momentarily lost traction with the gravel road. “I know that’s not what Christmas means to you. Look at that. The sleet’s starting to freeze already. In another hour, this road will be a sheet of ice.”

  Uneasily, Anna watched the icy drops splash against the windshield. “Maybe you should reconsider driving all the way to Chicago in this.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll stay ahead of the storm.”

  “No, you’ll be heading right into it.”

  “Maybe I’ll pass through it before it gets too severe.”

  “Maybe.”

  Jeremy grinned. “You don’t sound very optimistic.”

  Anna wasn’t, but Jeremy knew the forecast and was still determined to go. He missed Summer and no storm was going to keep him from spending the long holiday weekend with her. Anna imagined them happily curled up together beneath a quilt on the sofa in Summer’s Hyde Park apartment, books and pens and papers scattered around, laptops idle on the coffee table, snowed in but perfectly content since they were together. Of course Jeremy would brave a blizzard to be with the woman he loved; the only real surprise was why he hadn’t left the day before, or the day before that, to beat the storm. He could have celebrated Thanksgiving with Summer and her friends instead of Anna and the manor’s permanent residents, but he’d said that nothing could compel him to miss Anna’s magnificent feast, especially since Summer planned to serve a mock turkey concocted out of tofu and mushrooms.

  “You eat latkes for Hanukkah, right?” Anna asked, gripping her seat with both hands as the car swerved past the barn and rumbled over the bridge. “And serve them with either applesauce or sour cream?”

  “That’s right. I’m impressed a Catholic girl like you knows that.”

  He shouldn’t have been. If Anna remembered any details about a holiday, they would be the ones about food. “I guess I’m not completely ignorant.”

  “Not even close.” Jeremy brought the car to a shuddering halt in the parking lot behind the manor. “Maybe you should have brought a suitcase. You could be spending the night.”

  Anna unfastened her seat belt and pulled up the hood of her coat. “If the city cancels bus service, I’ll catch a ride home with Gwen or Diane.”

  “If bus service is canceled, your friends shouldn’t be driving either.”

  “Oh, so it’s not safe for us to drive a few miles to downtown Waterford, but it’s safe for you to drive hundreds of miles across three states?”

  Jeremy shrugged, sheepish. “Do what I say, not what I do.”

  “Except you’re not the boss of me.” Anna climbed out of the car and slung her tote bag over her shoulder. “Drive safely, all right? Will I hear from you?”

  The look her words inspired suggested that Jeremy had rarely heard such a bizarre question, and that was saying something since he had taught Introduction to World History to college freshmen. “Of course.”

  “Of course,” she replied, and then she shut the door and waved as he drove away. How was she to know whether he’d be in touch while he was gone? Yes, they saw each other mornings and evenings before and after work even when Jeremy didn’t drive her to the manor, and they usually spoke on the phone once or twice in addition to that, and they texted back and forth throughout the day, but she didn’t expect that to go on when he was spending time with Summer. Obviously he’d rather talk to Summer, but when Summer wasn’t available, Anna would do.

  Anna watched Jeremy’s car round the bend and disappear behind the red barn built into the side of the hill, and she caught herself sighing disconsolately. That’s what she was: a friend to joke around with and spend time with when the woman Jeremy preferred wasn’t around. But it was fine. Summer was the girlfriend, and Anna was just a friend. It was the way things were, and she was okay with it.

  Most days, anyway.

  Anna had liked Jeremy from the start, from those first perfunctory greetings they exchanged when they happened to leave their apartments at the same time to the numerous occasions he had held the outside door for her when he was leaving the building and she was returning with her arms full of grocery bags. She didn’t learn his name until that day a few years ago when she had taken some of his mail to him after it had been erroneously delivered to her mailbox, and they had spent a good twenty minutes chatting about the weather, their landlord’s terrible record on maintenance issues, and the ridiculous rent increase he had recently announced.

  Over time, she learned more about Jeremy in quick, casual conversations whenever they crossed paths in the hallway or the lobby, like picking up crumbs from a table
cloth. He had written his master’s thesis on the Battle of Gettysburg, he taught two undergraduate classes each semester, and he had recently passed the candidacy exam to be accepted as a Ph.D. student in the Department of History. She considered asking him over for coffee some evening for a study break, but she lost her courage when she realized how stupid that sounded, considering that she was a university employee rather than a student and therefore had no studying from which she needed a break. Hoping a better, less obvious invitation would occur to her, she contented herself with accidental meetings in and around their building—until one night, completely unexpectedly, Jeremy knocked on her door.

  “I hope this isn’t too late,” he said, shifting the weight of a large cardboard carton he carried. His brown eyes were warm and friendly and the exact color of melted chocolate behind his round, wire-rimmed glasses and, as usual, his curly dark brown hair tumbled into his eyes.

  “Not at all,” said Anna, although she had been seconds away from slipping into her pajamas and dragging herself wearily off to bed. Her alarm woke her at five o’clock each morning so that she could do the breakfast prep work for the faculty cafeteria.

  “The Waterford College Key Club is collecting nonperishable food items to make Thanksgiving baskets for needy families in the Elm Creek Valley.” Jeremy offered her a familiar, endearing, lopsided grin. “You probably saw the flyers posted in the lobby.”

  “Oh, I think I did,” she said, opening the door wider, unsure if he wanted to come in. “On the light blue paper?”

  “Next year they should use bright orange,” he said. “Apparently not many people noticed them because the cartons by the mailroom were almost empty.”

  “That might not be the only problem,” said Anna, wincing. “I think I might have seen that guy from the first floor—you know, the one who chains his bike to the emergency exit— taking a box of cereal and a plastic bottle of apple juice from the carton.”