“Of course I’m curious, and I have opened several lids and glanced inside, but I’m also exceptionally busy.” Sylvia smiled at Julia over the tops of her glasses. “When I do get to work, I’ll be sure to let you know if we discover pirate treasure or a long-lost, handwritten draft of President Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.”
When Julia and Sylvia caught up with the rest of the group at the foot of the grand staircase, Matt had carefully set down the sewing machine to give his arms a good shakeout. But he soon picked it up again and carried it into the ballroom. Ellen showed him to their classroom, where the Patchwork Players were gathered around their tables in small groups, laying out block rows and pairing them with sashing strips. Maggie and Gretchen were demonstrating how to pin the two different rows together, right sides facing, opposing seams neatly abutted.
Teachers and students alike looked up in surprise when Matt strode in hauling the treadle sewing machine. “Does it work?” Gretchen asked.
“I’ve been promised that it sews a perfect seam,” Sylvia said, directing Matt to place the sewing machine in the nearest corner.
“Is that one of those foot pedal sewing machine things?” Paige asked. “I used one in an off-Broadway production ofLittle Womenlast year.”
“Then you may be the first student to try this one.” Smiling, Sylvia turned her gaze to the students’ handiwork. “I see your teachers have you pinning rows together. When you’re finished, I’ll show you how to use this contraption. It’s an antique, but it’s still very useful and quite capable.” She gave a little laugh. “I suppose I can relate.”
“Oh, stop,” Julia scolded, joining in the chorus of laughter, groans, and protests, which Sylvia cheerfully waved off.
Soon thereafter, when the first group finished pinning, Sylviacalled everyone to gather around the sewing machine. She demonstrated how to place the bobbin, thread the needle, and work the treadle at an even, moderate pace while feeding the fabrics beneath the presser foot, carefully removing the pins as they approached the needle rather than sewing over them. Then, as promised, she rose and invited Paige to take over. Paige happily did, and after a tentative start, she sewed half the length of the row before relinquishing her seat to Edna. The expert costumer swiftly finished the seam, deftly backstitching and tying off the loose threads.
For the rest of the afternoon, the Patchwork Players took turns pinning rows, pressing seams, and learning new skills on vintage technology as they assembled their quilt top. When all eleven block and sashing rows were sewn together and pressed, Gretchen showed them how to cut solid fabric borders from a lovely brown reproduction print and properly fit them to the quilt center by measuring the pieced quilt carefully, cutting borders to size on the straight grain, and sewing on the borders, first the sides and then the top and bottom. As far as speed and deluxe features were concerned, the antique treadle was no match for the sleek, computerized sewing machines campers used during the regular season, but hand sewing all of those seams would have taken days, even with several of the company working on different row pairs simultaneously. Thanks to the Bergstrom great-aunts’ contribution to the project, their Nine-Patch quilt top was completely assembled and neatly pressed in time for dinner, or nearly so. Anna held back service a half hour so they could finish.
The company was in excellent spirits at dinner, pleased and proud to have met a challenging milestone. Chef Anna had truly outdone herself with a splendid three-course autumn feast—a salad of mixed greens, roasted beets, candied pecans, and crumbled goat cheese with pomegranate seeds and a maple-balsamic vinaigrette; an heirloom carrot and lentil tagine for the vegetarians and herb-crusted roast chicken with root vegetables for the omnivores; and for dessert, a decadent pumpkin cheesecake with gingersnap crust, with whippedcream and a drizzle of caramel for the especially daring. Everything was so delicious that Julia couldn’t decide whether it would be cruel to tell the Cross-Country Quilters about it when they spoke the next day. She could well imagine Vinnie lamenting that Julia had not saved her a piece of cheesecake.
“Julia, I have to hand it to you,” Olivia called from the next table over. “This is a truly magnificent way to celebrate the beginning of the end ofA Patchwork Life. Thank you for putting this together for us.”
As others chimed in their thanks, Julia held up her hands to silence them. “It doesn’t have to be the beginning of the end,” she protested, smiling. “Maybe the end of the beginning, but we have so many stories yet to tell.”
“If we’re being specific,” said Jason, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “we have twenty-four episodes of season six to look forward to.”
Julia’s heart sank, while all around her, friends and colleagues were nodding and remarking that they actually would have quite a lot of time together after all. She couldn’t disagree more. Twenty-four episodes and the time required to film them would pass all too swiftly. Then the show would be over, and there would be no reclaiming it.
Julia sipped her chamomile tea and tried to hold on to the warm, companionable feeling she had carried with her all day. The company lingered longer than usual over their tea and coffee, mingling between the tables, comically bemoaning their tired hands and needle-pricked fingertips. When the waitstaff began to clear the dishes, someone suggested that they withdraw to the ballroom so Louis could treat them to another concert. A chorus of cheerful assent followed and the company began to rise, but Julia glanced the young musician’s way just in time to see him wince.
Paige saw it too, and she rushed to his defense. “Louis has been sewing all day too,” she reminded them, projecting her voice so they all paused to listen. “His hands are just as tired as ours. It’s not fair to ask him to do more.”
“Are you volunteering to entertain us instead?” Dylan asked.
“Definitely not,” she said, folding her arms. “Trust me, you donotwant me playing piano. I’m strictly a vocalist.”
“Lindsay, did you bring your accordion?” Olivia asked.
“Sure I did,” said Lindsay, laughing. “I packed it in my purse. Give me a minute and I’ll go upstairs for it.”
“I have another idea if music isn’t on the agenda tonight,” said Ellen tentatively. “I finished writing a scene for the season six premiere yesterday. I’d love to run it by you all, if you’d indulge me with a table read.”
“Absolutely,” Nigel’s resonant voice rang out, easily drowning out any other single reply. “That is how we shall spend the evening. We owe it to Ellen, to the show, and to our craft.”
Julia suppressed a smile. One could almost imagine that his intentions were entirely selfless, but who was she to judge? She wasn’t exactly pure of heart herself.
The company headed back to the ballroom, where a fire blazed cozily in the hearth and the customary table of warming beverages and cookies awaited them. Julia wasn’t at all hungry after the dinner feast, so when she saw several of her colleagues heading for the classrooms and returning with chairs, she quickly joined them. Soon they had arranged eighteen chairs in a respectable imitation of the open circle from the first night’s Candlelight ceremony. Everyone found a seat, some sipping from steaming cups, others with a plate of cookies as well.
One chair was empty. “Who’s missing?” the production assistant asked.
“Ellen,” Lindsay said, just as their head writer hurried in carrying a stack of papers. “Never mind. Here she is.”
“Sarah let me use their office printer.” Ellen quickly entered the circle and began distributing a few stapled sheets to everyone. “Is the light too dim?” She glanced upward. “I could turn on those chandeliers, if someone can point me toward the switch.”
“It’s fine,” Julia assured her, glad when everyone else chimed in the same. She didn’t want to spoil the lovely firelight.
“Okay. Great.” Ellen clasped her hands together, gazed expectantly around the circle, and gave a little start when she spotted the last vacant chair. “Oh, I guess that’s mine.” Quickly she seated herself. “Okay. Um, so this is an early scene from season six, episode one. Jesse and Anabelle are in the post office.”
“Where is Ben?” Nigel wondered aloud, leafing through the partial script.
