Julia felt a stirring of unease. “I don’t know what else we could’ve done. We can’t practice quilting until we have a top to quilt.”
“We shouldn’t have quit work so early on Monday,” said Ellen, shaking her head. “I should’ve spoken up at the time, but everyone was eager to explore, and I wanted to have the afternoon to write—”
“Is something wrong, ladies?” asked Sylvia. Julia had not seen her approach, and both she and Ellen glanced up, startled, to find her regarding them with concern. “You both look rather apprehensive.”
“It’s nothing serious,” Julia quickly assured her, mindful of Sarah’s fervent hopes that the week would go perfectly.
“It’s alittleserious,” said Ellen, and proceeded to explain.
“We must see what we can do about getting you to the quilting process sooner, without doing anything Sadie couldn’t have done,” Sylvia mused when Ellen had finished, with Julia chiming in a few details. “You two enjoy a nice, relaxing lunch. In the meantime, I’ll consult the other Elm Creek Quilters. We’ll come up with a solution.”
Ellen hesitated a moment, for it was against her nature to abandon a problem without thoroughly discussing it. Yet when Julia thanked Sylvia for her help and steered Ellen toward the buffet table, she came along willingly. During the meal—Julia and Ellen both chose the pumpkin curry with tofu, served with warm ginger naan—they observed Sylvia conferring with Maggie and Gretchen over by the butler’s pantry. They were too far away to be overheard, but they were smiling and nodding as their conversation ended and they wenttheir separate ways. Julia and Ellen agreed that this was an encouraging sign.
They had just finished eating when Sylvia approached their table. “Would you two please join me upstairs for a moment?” she asked. “I believe I have just the thing to speed your sewing along.”
Curious, they rose and followed her from the banquet hall and across the foyer. When they reached the grand oak staircase, they let the octogenarian master quilter precede them, setting a comfortable pace up the grand oak staircase and onward to the third floor. Most of the guest suite doors were closed, but one down the south wing hall was open. As they approached, Julia heard two low voices in easy conversation.
“Right this way,” Sylvia said, beckoning. Julia and Ellen followed her into the guest suite, but they barely crossed the threshold. The room was haphazardly packed with cartons, trunks, and odd bits of furniture, including an antique treadle sewing machine. Matt and Joe, Gretchen’s husband, were attending to it, Matt polishing the gleaming black arm, Joe working the foot pedal slowly up and down, nodding in satisfaction when it moved smoothly and quietly.
“That’s beautiful,” Ellen exclaimed, glancing about as if she wanted to draw closer but couldn’t find a clear path through the clutter. Julia had never seen any room in Elm Creek Manor in such disorder.
“Is that the treadle sewing machine your great-grandmother Anneke brought with her when she immigrated from Germany?” Julia asked, remembering Sylvia’s stories about the founding of Elm Creek Farm.
“Oh, goodness, no. Anneke’s machine is about one hundred and fifty years old. It doesn’t function as it once did, although thanks to Joe’s restoration work, it serves as a beautiful decorative table in the parlor.” Sylvia rested her hands on her hips and cast a speculative eye over the sewing machine. “Joe and Matt, I must sayyou’ve done excellent work with my great-aunts’ treadle too. How did the test run go?”
“A perfect seam,” Matt replied, holding up a piece of black fabric with three neat parallel rows of stitches down the center in white thread. “Joe had to adjust the tension discs, but now it’s good to go.”
“Excellent.” Sylvia turned to Julia and Ellen. “My great-aunts Lydia and Lucinda acquired this machine around eighteen ninety. They retired it when they purchased an electric version a few decades later, but they kept it in good working order for occasions when they needed a second machine. I realize this is a later model than would have been available to Sadie Henderson during the years you’re portraying on your program, but the technology would have been very similar. You’re welcome to use it to finish piecing your quilt top, if you aren’t absolute sticklers for historical accuracy.”
“My great-grandmother actually did own a treadle sewing machine,” said Ellen. “It was a Singer, one of her prized possessions. She wrote about it in her diaries.”
“Then, since time is of the essence, as far as I’m concerned, the Bergstrom great-aunts’ sewing machine passes the stickler test,” Julia said. “Also, you never know how training on a treadle might be useful later.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind us using it, Sylvia?” asked Ellen. “None of us has ever used a treadle, as far as I know, and this beautiful machine is more than a century old. I’d hate to destroy a family heirloom.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I feared that you might.” Sylvia picked her way through the clutter to join them at the door. “Furthermore, once I teach you how to use it, you’ll manage just fine.”
“Thank you,” Julia said quickly, before Ellen could talk Sylvia out of it. “We’re grateful, truly.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Turning to Matt, Sylvia asked him to carry the machine downstairs to the ballroom, where the other PatchworkPlayers were likely already taking their seats and preparing for class to resume. Julia and Ellen scrambled into the hallway as the burly caretaker hefted the sewing machine, holding it well above the boxes and trunks as he carried it from the room. The machine didn’t appear too heavy for him, but it was rather awkward to hold, so Joe and Ellen preceded Matt down the stairs, the better to guide him or to break his fall if he stumbled. Julia and Sylvia trailed along behind them.
When they reached the second-floor landing, Julia said, “It’s none of my business, but every time I’ve visited during the summer season, all of the guest rooms on the third floor are occupied, and—”
Sylvia gave her a sidelong look, amused. “And you’re wondering why that one looks like a pack rat’s den, unsuitable for human habitation?”
“Well, yes, although I hope I would’ve found a more tactful way to put the question.”
“If you think that’s bad, the two rooms on either side are in a similar state. When we cleared out the attic before the roofers began their work, we had to put all that clutter somewhere. Gretchen, Andrew, and I spent days up there sorting, discarding, and donating things I no longer wished to keep, but we ran out of time. In the end we simply hauled the remaining trunks and boxes into these bedrooms to get them out of the way. We haven’t been using them since August, so it was easy to put everything out of sight and out of mind.”
“But what happens when your regular season begins in March?”
“We’ll need every single one of our suites to be in pristine condition, of course,” Sylvia said. “I certainly have my work cut out for me, don’t I? That will be my snowbound-in-winter project—opening all those trunks and boxes, discovering what trash or treasure they hold, and deciding what to do with everything.”
“You mean you haven’t even taken a peek?” Julia asked. “Those trunks and boxes could be full of quilts, or vintage gowns, or fascinating family photographs, or—”
“Gold doubloons?” Sylvia finished for her, eyebrows rising. “That would certainly be welcome.”
“Maybe you won’t find an entire trunkful of gold coins, but you’ll surely find things that are priceless in their own way. How can you put off the search? Aren’t you curious?”
