Chapter 6
When Julia woke, she pulled on a set of her favorite knit loungewear, eased her bedroom door open, and stepped silently into
the hallway to avoid disturbing Nigel. To her surprise, the guest room door was ajar and the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee
wafted on the air. She expected to find Nigel in the kitchen, rummaging through her refrigerator for a suitable breakfast
among her chef’s containers, but he wasn’t there. Instead she found the coffeepot full and a single place set before her favorite
chair. He had evidently visited her garden too. In the center of the table he had artfully arranged an assortment of lemons
and oranges in a cut-glass bowl that she had forgotten she owned, and which Nigel must have discovered in a cupboard. Propped
up against the bowl was a page torn from the notepad she kept by the phone. “Sorry to bolt, darling,” Nigel had written in
his rakishly elegant scrawl. “You know I never miss a morning swim if I can help it. Thank you for your hospitality, and for
lifting my spirits last night. See you Thursday.”
If he felt better this morning, Julia thought as she set the note aside and went to pour herself some coffee, just wait until
he spent a week at Elm Creek Manor.
For that was the brilliant idea that had come to her as she was drifting off to sleep the night before.
Elm Creek Quilt Camp was the perfect solution for her dilemma—and it would richly benefit her friends and colleagues too.
Five years before, her first visit to quilt camp had profoundly changed her life.
Not only had she learned to quilt, but she had also formed rich, lasting friendships with her fellow campers, none more so than the Cross-Country Quilters.
If her cast and crew could share a similar bonding experience, Julia was absolutely certain that they would happily abandon their other plans and stay with A Patchwork Life indefinitely.
Hadn’t Nigel said he was miserable and needed something to distract him in Alistair’s absence? A week devoted
to learning the craft and heritage of quilting would keep his hands busy and mind occupied, and expressing himself artistically
would relieve his stress. The very generous fee Julia would personally provide for her colleagues’ tuition, room, and board
would relieve the financial burdens weighing down Elm Creek Quilts. And if Julia’s scheme succeeded and the series continued,
the entire cast and crew of Patchwork would benefit personally, creatively, and financially—she had absolutely no doubt about it.
But first, she had to convince the Elm Creek Quilters to host an exclusive week of quilt camp during the offseason. As far
as she knew, they had never done anything of the sort before. It was likely no one had ever asked. The faculty might be reluctant
to throw something together on such short notice, but they needed a new roof, and Summer said that Sarah was brainstorming
ideas for new revenue sources. Julia was all too happy to deliver her one wrapped up and tied with a bow.
Over a quick breakfast of coffee, half an English muffin, and one of the sweet, juicy oranges Nigel had harvested, Julia ignored
the newspaper in lieu of mulling over how best to approach the Elm Creek Quilters with her proposal. After tidying up the
kitchen, she hurried to her computer and replied to Summer’s email.
Date: September 21, 2004
To: Summer Sullivan
From: Julia Merchaud
Subject: Re: Quick Quilt Questions
Thanks for your help with the Delectable Mountains quilt. I’m so relieved we won’t have to cut those scenes. Nigel Crawford
broods so marvelously in them. Alas, no sixth Emmy for me, but my young costar Noah McCleod well deserved his, and I’m as
proud as it’s possible to be!
I’m sorry to hear about the roof and the other challenges. I hope that the estimate wasn’t as dreadful as you feared. No matter
what, you’re all so creative and resilient, and Elm Creek Quilts is so beloved in the quilting word, that I have no doubt
you’ll triumph in the end. I have some thoughts I’d like to share about how I might help. Would you please call me as soon
as you can?
Julia signed off with warm regards and her cell phone number.
Knowing she would be tempted to check her email every ten minutes if she didn’t get out of the house, she changed into lightweight joggers and a top, meticulously applied sunblock, pulled on her sturdiest trail shoes, and drove to the Solstice Canyon trailhead, where through some miracle she managed to grab the last open parking place in the lot near Dry Canyon.
She set out on her favorite route, striding briskly up the paved Solstice Canyon Trail to the waterfall near the ruins of the Roberts Ranch house, where she turned back and descended along the more rugged Rising Sun Trail, a wide dirt path with switchbacks through coastal sage scrub and chaparral and into the much welcome cooling shade of oaks and sycamores.
She always took the loop clockwise for the better vistas, and since the morning mists had burned off during her climb, the view of the ocean from the TRW Overlook was especially splendid.
She lingered there longer than usual, catching her breath, stretching her calves, feeling the effects of two late nights in a row—and her age, though she hated to admit it.
Once she and Charles had been able to dance all night, catch a few hours’ sleep, and hike all the next day effortlessly, but Charles was gone and Julia was nearly seventy.
The thought stopped her short. The Emmys had been on Sunday, the nineteenth, which made today the twenty-first, which meant—
Goodness. She would be seventy on Thursday. How fortunate that she already knew she wouldn’t be spending the entire day alone.
She had finished stretching and was about to begin the last half mile when her cell phone rang. The number was unfamiliar,
but she recognized the area code for Elm Creek Valley, so she quickly answered before the call went to voicemail. “Hello?”
“Hello, Julia?”
“Yes, hello, Summer. Thanks for calling me back so soon.”
“No problem. I would’ve called sooner except I was in class.”
“Oh? What were you studying today? How to shelve books efficiently? How to restore ancient manuscripts?”
Summer laughed. “Neither, actually. The class is called Pedagogical Theory and Practice for Information Professionals. ”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“That’s because it’s top secret librarian lore. Hey, I’m sorry the Emmys didn’t go your way the other night. If it’s any consolation,
you looked absolutely gorgeous and not disappointed at all.”
“That is consoling,” Julia admitted, amused. “So, the roofer’s estimate. How bad was it?”
“In a word, staggering.”
“Oh, dear. Well, maybe I can help keep you on your feet.”
“You did say you had some thoughts to share, and I’m very happy to listen.” Summer hesitated. “First, though, I told Sylvia
that I’d mentioned our financial challenges to you. She wasn’t exactly pleased with me.”
“Really? Why?”
“She said she’s not comfortable ‘going hat in hand’ to our campers—”
“But that’s not what you did. I asked how things were going at Elm Creek Manor, and you simply told me the truth. You never
asked for a thing.”
“That’s what I told Sylvia—very contritely, of course. She chided me a bit for discussing our finances without clearing it
with her or Sarah first. And rightly so. It really wasn’t my place.” Summer sighed. “I should have known better, but I’ve
become so used to asking for donations to Union Hall on behalf of the Waterford Historical Society that I didn’t think it
through.”
“I didn’t breathe a word to anyone,” Julia assured her, grateful that she had trusted her instincts when tempted to confide
in the Cross-Country Quilters. “Nor will I. Promise.”
“Good. Thank you. Sylvia also told me explicitly that I’m not to solicit donations, and Elm Creek Quilts isn’t taking on new
investors at this time. I hope that doesn’t preempt whatever help you were going to offer. Because despite everything I just
said, Elm Creek Quilts really could use a benefactor—but it can’t look like a gift, because Sylvia wouldn’t accept it.”
“That’s fine, actually, because I had something else in mind—a business proposition.” Julia took a deep, centering breath
and plunged ahead. “After five seasons, several of our longtime cast members have let their quilting skills get a bit rusty.
We’ve also added new cast and crew who’ve never learned to quilt, but ought to understand the fundamentals, at the very least.
What we need are intensive, remedial quilt lessons before we begin filming season six in January.”
“January? So signing up for a week when camp resumes in March wouldn’t work for you.”
“No, that would be too late. Also, given our unusual circumstances, we would need an exclusive session—just our group, no
other campers.”
“We’d have to schedule something during our offseason, then.”
“And instead of your usual wonderfully varied selection of classes, ours should focus only on techniques Sadie Henderson would have used in the eighteen eighties.”
“So you’re saying no longarm machine quilting workshops?” Summer teased.
“Definitely not. And I’m afraid your very popular Modern Quilting class is out too.”
“Right, because historical anomalies are frowned upon by your audience.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not a problem either. We could easily put together a program of classes in hand quilting, hand appliqué, and hand
quilting using both a lap hoop and a frame. Your actors should be comfortable with both setups, just as real quilters of the
era would have been.”
“Good thinking.” Julia blotted perspiration from her forehead, wishing she had remembered to wear a cap. “So what should our
next step—”
“Excuse me,” a tentative voice spoke behind her. “Are you Julia Merchaud?”
Startled, Julia turned to find two remarkably fit thirtysomething women in black spandex with neon accents regarding her expectantly,