The flight was smooth and comfortable, offering the travelers enough time to read or doze or chat, but not enough to grow bored or restless. On their approach into the Elm Creek Valley regional airport, those with window seats peered outside and outdid one another in dramatic descriptions of what they observed. There were some comical and some genuinely apprehensive wisecracks about the hilly countryside, short runway, and apparent dearth of emergency services, but after the pilot gave them a flawless landing, their qualms were promptly forgotten.
Julia had arranged for a pair of executive shuttles to carry them in comfort from the airport to Elm Creek Manor, and she found herself in the front passenger seat of the lead van with the production crew, Ellen, Lindsay, and Paige. As they sped smoothly along the state highway, Julia occasionally pointed out a significant landmark, but there weren’t many, so most of the time passed in conversation or in admiring the landscape of forested, rolling hills surrounding patchwork farms in lush valleys. The muted autumn hues of russet, gold, and brown, with the occasional burst of scarlet or evergreen, seemed a faded memory of a more brilliant display that must have passed a few weeks before, but Julia still found it beautiful.
Eventually they reached the turnoff for the road to Elm Creek Manor, a barely visible curve of brown on the edge of a dense forest. As ever, the familiar sight made Julia’s heart beat a little faster in anticipation.
“There,” Lindsay cried out from the row behind. “That’s the sign! My mom told me to look for it.”
A murmur of curiosity and relief rose from the back as the passengers craned their necks to glimpse the solid oak Elm Creek Quilts sign marking the T intersection—four feet wide atop sturdy support beams, angled to be clearly visible to traffic from both directions, with beautifully carved letters that Julia happened to know were freshly painted every March, just before the new camp season began.
The driver turned onto the rough, gravel road, slowing the shuttle as it wound through the dense forest surrounding the Bergstrom estate. Despite some muffled noises of surprise and discomfort from her companions, Julia considered it a true measure of the driver’s skill that the ride remained nearly as smooth as on the paved highway, the jolting softened, perhaps, by the light carpet of fallen leaves crunching beneath the wheels. Sunlight filtered through the boughs overhead, the canopy much sparser than Julia had ever seen it in summer. When they approached the familiar fork in the road, she was surprised to discover something new: a wooden sign, similar in design to the older one marking the turnoff. One plank’s carved, painted message indicated that the right fork would take visitors to Elm Creek Manor’s main entrance. A second plank announced that the left fork led to the manor’s rear parking lot and Elm Creek Orchards.
“We’re almost there,” said Lindsay. “My mom’s described this route so many times I feel like I’ve been here before.”
The driver took the right fork, crossing the narrow bridge over Elm Creek. Usually the rushing waters were so clear Julia could glimpse the smooth, round stones at the bottom, but now the creek was thick with fallen leaves sweeping downstream. Soon thereafter they emerged from the forest onto the paved driveway crossing thevast wildflower meadow—and there, at last, the gray stone mansion with its tall, white columns and broad, shaded verandah came into view. Someone behind Julia gasped with delight, someone else sighed contentedly, and others murmured their appreciation. Four people stood on the verandah where the two stone staircases descended in mirror-image arcs to the curved driveway, and as the shuttle drew closer, Julia recognized Sylvia and her husband, Andrew, and Sarah and Matt. By the time the two shuttles pulled up alongside the rearing horse fountain, they were waiting on the sidewalk, Sylvia smiling a gracious welcome, Sarah grinning so broadly Julia half expected her to thrust her fists in the air triumphantly. This autumn edition of quilt camp was as much her victory as it was Julia’s.
“Welcome to Elm Creek Manor,” Sylvia called as they climbed out of the shuttles, shouldering their backpacks or messenger bags, stretching and moving to work the travel fatigue out of their necks and limbs. As Sarah, Matt, and Andrew assisted the campers with their luggage, Sylvia came to Julia, arms outstretched. “And a special welcome to you, Julia,” she said, clasping Julia’s hands, “with heartfelt thanks, on behalf of all of the Elm Creek Quilters.”
“You keep forgetting that you’re the ones doing me a favor,” Julia replied, squeezing Sylvia’s hands. Although the late afternoon was sunny, the air was cool and brisk, scattering the fallen leaves on the driveway. Julia shivered in her thin cardigan as she dug into her tote for her jacket, grateful that Lindsay had reminded her to pack for a cooler climate.
Her chill did not go unnoticed. “We must get you inside,” Sylvia admonished fondly, taking Julia’s arm and accompanying her up the nearer staircase. Sarah and Matt were already leading the other guests across the verandah and through the tall double doors into the grand front foyer. A single long table was arranged in the center of the black marble floor, where two Elm Creek Quilters Julia had met on previous visits, Gretchen Hartley and Maggie Flynn, awaited them. As the campers’ hosts introduced themselves, the guests receivedtheir room assignments and keys, and with Gretchen’s husband, Joe, joining Sarah, Matt, and Andrew as luggage wranglers, they were escorted up the grand oak staircase to their suites. Julia was shown to her usual accommodations, the large suite with a four-poster bed covered with a blue-and-red quilt pieced of homespun plaids, and windows overlooking the cornerstone patio.
She had just finished unpacking and was taking in the autumn version of the familiar lovely view from the window when Sylvia knocked on her open door. “Dinner will be served in the banquet hall at six o’clock,” she said. “Anna will be treating us to some of her favorite autumnal dishes throughout the week. I trust you and your friends will enjoy them.”
“If Anna’s cooking, I’m certain we will.” Julia was struck by a sudden thought. “What’s the latest on the roof? I expected to see construction equipment and pallets of shingles scattered all around. Hasn’t the work begun yet? Or are you hiding the mess around back?”
“Thanks to your generosity, the new roof was finished last week. Just a few days ago, Matt and Andrew finished painting the attic, so it will be perfectly sound, dry, and tidy when I begin moving all those trunks and cartons back into storage.” Sylvia winced comically and regarded Julia over the tops of her glasses. “That will be quite a chore. I’m very glad you and your friends are visiting so I have a perfect excuse to postpone it.”
“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.”
“Not yours alone,” said Sylvia, smiling. “Well, I should continue my rounds. Postponing organizing the attic is one thing, postponing dinner quite another. I’ll see you downstairs in the banquet hall soon.”
As soon as Julia finished unpacking, she too made the rounds to make sure that the company of performers and crew were settling in and had everything they needed. Jason was pleased with the Ethernet connection in his suite near the library and was already typing away on his laptop. Lindsay was strolling the length of the hall, pausingat the railing to gaze up to the third-floor landing and the high coffered ceiling and to take in the view of the grand front foyer from above. Nigel was in the library with Sarah, making arrangements for Andrew to drive him in the Elm Creek Quilts minivan to Waterford College early the next morning for a vigorous swim at the rec center. Olivia and Ellen, whose rooms were on opposite sides of the hallway, were passing from one to another, admiring the views from each other’s windows and the cozy quilts on their beds. Paige hurried past clad in black tights and a long-sleeved tech shirt, carrying her running shoes. “I’m going exploring,” she called to Julia as she raced down the stairs. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
Assured that everyone was comfortable and happy, Julia returned to her own suite for a quiet, relaxing interlude of yoga before freshening up and dressing for dinner in comfortable slacks and a cashmere sweater. When she left the room, she found nearly everyone else heading down to dinner too, chatting and joking. Julia was gratified to hear them complimenting everything they had seen of the manor so far.
As the company gathered in the banquet hall, Julia was struck by the fond nostalgia she felt whenever she entered the elegant room where she had made so many happy memories in summers past. Several round tables were set with crisp linens and the unique Bergstrom china, softly aglow in the light of the chandeliers and candlelit centerpieces. The curtains were pulled back from the floor-to-ceiling windows on the west wall, where only a faint blur of rose lingered in the deepening blue sky. The grove of elms, maples, and oaks behind the manor was only a silhouette in the darkness, the bridge over Elm Creek and the red barn beyond it not visible at all. Julia knew very well where they were, but her friends would not discover them until the morning.
Sylvia awaited her guests just inside the entrance to the banquet hall, and as she greeted them and invited them to be seated, Julia noticed some changes to the decor since her last visit. The roomappeared to have been freshly painted a rich ivory, and beautifully framed enlargements of photos, maps, and other memorabilia from the manor’s history were displayed on the walls alongside several lovely antique quilts. Julia wondered if the quilt exhibit Summer had curated at Union Hall for the Waterford Historical Society had inspired Sylvia to create a historical exhibit of her own.
No sooner had they taken their seats than the servers brought out their first course, an arugula salad with apples, pecans, and feta. As the second course was served, a delicious butternut squash soup, Sylvia formally welcomed the company to Elm Creek Manor and introduced the faculty and staff, who were seated at a table of their own. She then offered her guests a history of the estate, which had been founded by her great-grandfather Hans Bergstrom, his wife, Anneke, and his sister, Gerda, immigrants of German and Swedish heritage, in the mid-nineteenth century. The Bergstroms had built the original farmhouse, now the west wing of the manor, in 1858, so noted on the cornerstone near the former front entrance.
From the earliest days the family had grown crops and planted orchards, but Hans Bergstrom’s greatest ambition had been to raise horses. “And a family,” Sylvia noted with a smile. “Hans and Anneke had six children, including my grandfather, David, the eldest.”
As the family grew and prospered, the Bergstroms contributed to civic and social life in the Elm Creek Valley, but as the nation’s struggle over slavery intensified, their abolitionist activities demanded great discretion. In the antebellum era, the Bergstrom residence served as a station on the Underground Railroad, a safe haven for enslaved people seeking freedom in the North. The outbreak of the Civil War disrupted the operation of the Underground Railroad, but the Bergstroms and their friends continued to serve the cause of freedom and justice, some by enlisting in the Union Army or the United States Colored Troops, others by working on the home front.
After the war, the Bergstrom horse farm and orchards thrived, reaching the height of its prosperity in the early twentieth century.“Decades after Elm Creek Farm had become more successful than its immigrant founders could have imagined, my grandfather added the newer, grander wing to the original farmhouse,” Sylvia explained. “This includes, on the first floor, this banquet hall, the verandah and the new front entrance, the grand foyer and staircase, and the ballroom. You’ll see the ballroom later tonight, and you’ll come to know it quite well beginning tomorrow, for that’s where we hold our quilting classes. On the second floor, we have a marvelous library, which you’re welcome to browse.”
“What’s on the third floor?” asked Jason.
“More guest rooms and the children’s playroom, but unless you’d like to volunteer to babysit Sarah and Matt’s toddler twins, you might want to keep your distance.” As a ripple of laughter rose from the group, Sylvia smiled, reflective. “I often wonder what my great-grandparents would think of the changes their descendants made to the farm they founded in the Elm Creek Valley in central Pennsylvania so many decades ago. Nothing, I believe, has changed the estate more profoundly than turning it into a retreat for quilters.”
“Speaking for the present company,” Julia declared, “we’re very glad for the changes. I imagine your great-grandparents would be delighted—and very proud of you.”
“Hear, hear,” Nigel boomed, and everyone broke into applause.
The main course, roasted chicken breast in apple cider reduction with apple-ginger chutney, had been served during Sylvia’s talk, and lively conversation resumed as they finished the meal. After a time, when the servers began to clear, Sylvia rose again and raised a hand for their attention. “One of our most beloved traditions at Elm Creek Quilt Camp is to conclude our first evening with a ceremony we call Candlelight,” she said. “Ordinarily, we gather outside on the cornerstone patio, but since this is a chilly November night rather than a mild summer evening, please accompany me to the ballroom.”
Exchanging glances of curiosity and amusement, the company rose and followed Sylvia through the double doors on the far endof the room into the ballroom. Julia knew it to be a large, elegant room spanning the width of the west wing, but at that moment it was mostly in shadow, the only light coming from a cracking blaze in the large fireplace on the opposite wall. An assortment of eighteen chairs had been arranged in an open circle before it. Between the chairs and the door was a table set up with carafes of coffee, tea, and mulled cider and platters of cranberry oatmeal cookies. Julia accepted a steaming, fragrant mug of cider and seated herself in the middle of the arc of chairs rather than close to either end. She knew what was coming next, and she didn’t want to go first.
