He glowered comically and set himself to the task. After he, Jason, and a handful of others made a second, more accurate square, Gretchen instructed them to use their template to make four more squares from their focus fabric and four from the unbleached muslin, measuring carefully. Julia took her time, joining in the conversations and teasing among the company. When she finished, she arranged her nine perfectly accurate squares in their proper places on the cutting mat and admired them. They would make a very charming Nine-Patch block after she sewed them together.
Gretchen and Sylvia continued to stroll through the classroom, complimenting and encouraging their students. When everyone had finished, Gretchen returned to the front of the room. “Congratulations,” she declared, smiling. “You each have all of your pieces, and now you’re ready to stitch them together. Let’s take a break to stretch our legs, and meet back here in fifteen minutes. Maggie Flynn will be joining us, and she’ll teach you how to sew a running stitch.”
“I believe we’ve done quite enough work for one day, don’t you?” said Nigel, his baritone booming over the sudden din of conversations and bustling as everyone pushed back their chairs and rose. “Why don’t we take the rest of the day off and defer our first sewing lesson until tomorrow morning, when we can confront the challenge afresh?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Olivia, lacing her fingers together behind her back and raising them in a stretch. “I want to explore the estate while the sun is shining.”
“But it’s only midmorning, and we have so much to learn,” Julia protested. During the summer, campers enjoyed classes, workshops, and lectures from morning to evening, pausing only for meals and little else. It was unthinkable to call it quits after a single class.
But more of the company were joining the chorus in favor of postponing the next lesson until the next morning. “It’s your week to spend as you wish,” said Sylvia, looking mildly surprised, but not at all offended. “We’re happy to adjust the lesson plans if you wish to have more free time. We should still be able to introduce you to all of the essential steps for making a quilt, but you may have less time to practice them.”
Everyone except Julia seemed just fine with that, so, since she already knew how to quilt, she resigned herself to their preferences. Sylvia and Gretchen conferred quietly for a moment before Sylvia announced an alternative schedule for the day so effortlessly that Julia was genuinely impressed, for they couldn’t possibly have anticipated such a sudden and dramatic overturning of their plans. Sylvia offered to escort campers on a tour of the manor, and she volunteered Matt to lead a walking tour of the grounds, gardens, and orchards. Andrew would chauffer those with an interest in antiques to Union Hall to view the exhibit of historic quilts Summer Sullivan was curating for the Waterford Historical Society. The second-floor library was open for browsing and reading, and the classroom with all of its sewing machines, tools, and supplies would be available for anyone who wishedto experiment on their own. Lunch service would begin at noon and dinner at six, but otherwise, the Patchwork Players were free to relax and enjoy themselves however they pleased.
As the group dispersed, chatting happily like schoolchildren released for recess, Julia tried not to be disappointed that they weren’t staying together in a single, merry band of players as she had expected. Her colleagues were enjoying themselves and making memories, and that was what really mattered.
Julia had packedMy Journey with Harriet,the Harriet’s Journey pattern book, and a selection of fat quarters just in case she found some free time to work on her quilt, so she retrieved them from her suite and set up in a classroom outfitted with sewing machines, cutting tables, pressing boards, and irons. The block of the week was Cross and Chains, a striking, two-color pattern with triangle-squares in the corners, a square-on-point in the center, and a Four-Patch set on point along each of the sides. Compared to the squares for Nine-Patch blocks the campers were making, those for Cross and Chains were very small, and measured an odd size of less than three-quarters of an inch. Julia used her leftover card stock to make a template, and before long, she was engrossed in the meditative work of tracing, cutting, pinning, and stitching. She felt so at home at Elm Creek Manor that for minutes at a time, she forgot she wasn’t there for her annual summer reunion with the Cross-Country Quilters. She would glance up from her work, ready to share a bit of Hollywood gossip with her friends or to ask about their families, only to find herself in an empty classroom, and rather lonelier for the reminder.
But the distant hum of a sewing machine told her she wasn’t entirely alone, so she set her work aside and went in search of her unknown companion. In a nearby classroom, she found Edna singing to herself as she fed large, paired pieces of fabric swiftly beneath the needle of a sewing machine. An iron was plugged in on a nearby ironing board, and brightly colored cotton prints were scattered on a cutting table. The pieces of fabric seemed too large for a standardquilt block, so Julia assumed Edna was whipping together a garment, without any pattern Julia could see.
Julia hesitated at the threshold, wanting to call out a greeting, but reluctant to interrupt an artist at work and maybe cause an irreparable error. She lingered a moment, hoping Edna would glance up, smile, and beckon her inside, but when she didn’t, Julia returned to her own classroom. Still, as she took up her needle again, she felt better knowing that her nearest companion was only a few steps away.
She finished two of the Four-Patch segments by noon, when the sound of voices and laughter, and her rumbling tummy, reminded her that her friends and colleagues were gathering in the banquet hall for lunch. Anna had arranged a tempting soup, salad, and sandwich buffet, so Julia helped herself to a deliciously aromatic bowl of brown rice and lentil soup, accompanied by a generous slice of apple cider bread. Throughout the meal, everyone shared stories about how they had spent their free time, from raves about Summer’s exhibit of historic quilts to fascinating details from the manor’s early years and Sylvia’s ancestors, among whom were several courageous abolitionists, suffragists, and veterans. Ellen and Jason had spent the morning writing in the library, while the apprentice prop maker had abandoned Matt’s tour to follow the siren call of a band saw to the woodshop Gretchen’s husband, Joe, had set up in the old red barn west of the manor, and had spent the morning debating the merits of wooden versus metal planes and whether hand- or machine-cut dovetails were superior. Paige, who shyly claimed the seat beside Julia, had gone for a run and had taken a lengthy call from her agent, who was working on lining up a new project for her as soon as season six ofPatchworkwrapped.
“Wouldn’t you rather have a season seven of our show instead of casting about for something new and unknown?” Julia inquired, sipping her herbal tea.
“Sure, but that’s not an option,” said Paige, absently tearing a bit of crust off her sandwich.
“UntilPatchworkis officially canceled, there’s still a chance.”
“Oh, Miss Julia,” said Paige, sympathetic. “It’s hard. I get it. But like my mama says, ‘Every ending is a new beginning.’?”
Julia decided that Paige didn’t get it at all—and why should she? She had her whole career, her whole life, still ahead of her. “Maybe for you,” Julia said, managing a wan smile.
She was far less sure about herself.
After lunch, the Elm Creek Quilters offered another round of the morning’s tours and activities, so Julia joined Nigel, Dylan, Olivia, and a few others for Matt’s tour of the estate gardens and orchards. Julia knew the grounds quite well from her previous visits, but she had never seen them in autumn, and never with an expert guide describing the natural and cultivated flora, the landscape architecture, and the organic farming techniques that kept the orchard thriving. It was a cool, crisp day, and Julia found the walk quite invigorating after her rather sedentary morning, but she was happy to return to the cozy warmth of the manor. Chef Anna was keeping a table in the banquet hall well supplied throughout the day with carafes of hot coffee, tea, and apple cider, as well as plates of cookies, so Julia poured herself a cup of tea, carried it back to the classroom she had claimed, and resumed piecing her Cross and Chains block.
She had just begun the last Four-Patch segment when someone began playing scales on the baby grand piano, swift and sure. The dais wasn’t visible from her classroom, but when the pianist finished warming up and moved into Beethoven’s Piano Concerto no. 3, she knew it must be Louis at the keyboard. His music kept her entertained throughout the afternoon until the moment he abruptly stopped playing. She heard indistinct voices, a brief conversation, followed by a respectable performance of “Für Elise” that ended early in a burst of laughter—Louis’s, presumably, but also a young woman’s. Paige or Lindsay, perhaps? Curious, Julia quietly stole from her classroom and down the partitioned aisle, but by the time she had a clear view of the dais, they had left.
Bemused, Julia returned to the classroom and finished the lastFour-Patch segment just in time to pack up her things, tidy up her workplace, and head upstairs to freshen up before dinner. She hadn’t checked her email all day, so she spared a moment to log in. There were newsletters from charities she supported, two queries from her publicist, two chatty additions to the long-running Cross-Country Quilters’ email chain, and a message from Maury. “I hope you’re enjoying quilt camp,” he wrote. “Can we meet early next week after you return home? Lots to discuss, including the two movie scripts on my desk, each with an excellent role for you.”
Julia felt a heady rush of excitement. Not one buttwopotential movie roles—Maury was a genius, a magician, a miracle worker. Quickly she opened her calendar; Monday wouldn’t work, Tuesday was questionable, but Wednesday afternoon was entirely free. She dashed off a reply and waited a minute or two just in case he responded immediately, but the voices and quick footsteps in the hallway outside her room reminded her that she was expected elsewhere. Maybe she should call Maury after dinner. It was three hours earlier in California, so she wouldn’t interrupt his evening plans, and she wasn’t sure she could wait an entire week to learn more about these two movies. Was she being offered a role or merely the opportunity to audition? Were they leading roles or supporting? So many questions only Maury could answer. She shouldn’t get her hopes up before she spoke with him, but it was hard not to get a bit carried away.
She hurried from the room and down the hall, her steps light—but as she descended the grand oak staircase, her pace slowed, her smile faded, and her hopes drifted downward, no longer in danger of soaring too high. Maury knew that what she wanted most was another season or two ofA Patchwork Life. Why was he even considering any new parts for her?
Once she would have reveled in the happy dilemma of choosing between several promising new roles, but now was not the time to lose focus. All that mattered was saving her series. Anything else was a perilous distraction.
12
The next morning, Julia woke refreshed after a wonderful night’s sleep in the lovely suite she had come to think of as her own. Rising and stretching, she decided that the best way to sustain her good mood was not to give Maury’s email another thought. Easier said than done, perhaps, but the day promised to offer an abundance of pleasant distractions.
Although her calf and shoulder muscles ached a bit from the previous day’s workout, she nonetheless pulled on her exercise clothes and hurried upstairs to the playroom. Amid the toys, books, and craft supplies, Paige and Lindsay were chatting as they stretched in the space Sarah had cleared, and Olivia was inserting a disc into the CD player. Julia had just taken her place on the floor when Edna arrived with Marisa, the production assistant, a new addition to the class. At the last possible moment, just as Olivia started up the music, Ellen scurried in, downing a cup of coffee.
“Late night writing?” Julia inquired as the warm-up began.
“Late night and into early morning,” Ellen admitted, bleary-eyed but cheerful. “I was on a roll and I didn’t want to stop.”
“I told you Elm Creek Manor would inspire you,” Julia teased, but she left it at that. The choreography would soon become too complex for conversation.
