Chapter 10
In the weeks that followed, Julia convinced six actors who played recurring characters to join the company heading to quilt
camp, but although twelve guests were better than none, she had hoped to enlist at least twice as many. Fortunately, Ellen
and Lindsay came through for her. When Ellen extended the invitation to the writers’ room, one of her screenwriters accepted—Jason,
a sardonic fellow barely three years out of UC Berkeley and the last person Ellen would have expected to willingly take up
needle and thread. “He said that if the experience doesn’t inform his season six scripts, he might be able to use it in a
novel someday, so it won’t go to waste,” Ellen explained. “He might have been kidding. I can never tell with him.”
Lindsay recruited five members of the crew, including a costume designer, a production assistant, a stunt coordinator, an
apprentice prop maker, and an assistant from set design. Julia wasn’t sure how quilting classes would benefit the stunt coordinator
on the job, but she wasn’t about to turn anyone away. Their set designer was perpetually overextended, so she had sent her
assistant—Louis Clemence, the handsome pianist from her premiere party—in her place to do technical and historical research.
By the last week of October, Julia had assembled a company of eighteen, including herself.
After sending Sylvia the final head count and guest list, she put together a dossier for each camper with a travel itinerary, packing list, and brochures from Elm Creek Quilt Camp describing the manor’s amenities.
She chartered a flight not only for the sake of comfort, privacy, and convenience, but also because she had promised her colleagues a luxurious retreat experience from the moment they met up at LAX on the morning of November 7.
“This is amazing, Julia,” Lindsay said, eyes shining as she prepared to board the gleaming blue-and-white jet. “My mom always
flies coach and takes a shuttle from the airport when she goes to quilt camp.”
“This must be costing you a fortune,” said Ellen in an undertone as she paused on the bottom step to take in the size of the
aircraft.
“A small fortune,” Julia admitted. She’d pay it a thousand times over to keep A Patchwork Life going.
“Quick question,” Jason said as he approached, hair tousled as if he’d just rolled out of bed, eyes concealed behind round,
blue-tinted glasses. “How’s the internet access at this place? Is it wi-fi or Ethernet?”
“Dial-up,” Julia replied, but when his jaw dropped in horror, she quickly added, “I’m just kidding. The wi-fi is strongest
on the first floor of the new wing, but you can access it in most of the second-floor guest suites. Some of the suites have
Ethernet connections, if you’d prefer. Just ask when we check in.”
A few members of the production crew boarded next, followed by Paige, her dark hair in a thick French braid, a pastel lavender
Fj?llr?ven knapsack on her back. “Hi, Miss Julia,” the younger woman greeted her, a bit shyly. “Thanks again for inviting
me.”
“Thanks for agreeing to come,” Julia replied warmly. “I thought you might still be in North Carolina. It would have been a
shorter trip to Pennsylvania from there.”
“Yeah, it would’ve been, but I’ve been back in LA for a couple of weeks. I had some auditions and meetings.” Paige shifted her backpack as she glanced up the stairs and behind her, where a few latecomers were joining the queue. “I guess Noah isn’t coming?”
She looked so crestfallen that Julia felt a pang of guilt. “No, unfortunately he couldn’t join us. He has college application
business to attend to.”
“Oh, really? That’s a legit reason.” Paige’s cheeks flushed, and she managed to look both relieved and unhappy. “I thought—well,
I thought he might be—I don’t know, skipping this so he could hang out with his girlfriend.”
“Noah?” Julia shook her head. “No, that wouldn’t be like him. He takes his work very seriously.”
“It’s just that I read that he’s dating Jayla from High School Harmony. There was a photo of them holding hands at a Starbucks, but everyone knows Noah prefers independent local coffee roasters,
so I was hoping it was fake.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I can’t speak to whatever photo you saw, but I do know that Noah and Jayla have been on again, off again
for years.”
“I guess they’re probably on again,” said Paige, forlorn.
“May I offer you some advice?”
Paige nodded.
“Apparently you’ve been reading the tabloids,” said Julia wryly. “One thing I’ve learned the hard way through the years is
that it does you absolutely no good to drink from that poisoned well. Sometimes paparazzi and tabloid writers can be cruel
with their facts, and sometimes with outright lies. If there’s something in those rags that you really ought to know, trust
your agent to bring it to your attention. Your time would be better spent reading better things.”
“Thanks, Miss Julia,” said Paige, managing a small smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She continued up the stairs, looking a trifle more cheerful than before.
Nigel, who disliked flying and subjected himself to it as infrequently as possible, was one of the last to board. “Julia, darling, I trust this luxurious country estate has a pool?” he inquired. “You know how I loathe to miss my daily workout.”
Julia thought quickly. “It doesn’t, but there’s a college nearby with an excellent rec center. I can look into getting you
some day passes.”
Olivia, two steps above, glanced back at them over her shoulder. “I’m happy to lead a Zumba class,” she called, smiling winningly
as she adjusted her oversized sunglasses. “It’s quite a workout, as Julia can attest.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” Julia called back. “Nigel, if we can’t get you into a pool, come Zumba with us. It’s dancing.
You’ll love it.”
“I might just do that.” Satisfied, Nigel nodded and continued up the stairs.
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.”