Chapter 10 #3
what my great-grandparents would think of the changes their descendants made to the farm they founded in the Elm Creek Valley
in central Pennsylvania so many decades ago. Nothing, I believe, has changed the estate more profoundly than turning it into
a retreat for quilters.”
“Speaking for the present company,” Julia declared, “we’re very glad for the changes. I imagine your great-grandparents would
be delighted—and very proud of you.”
“Hear, hear,” Nigel boomed, and everyone broke into applause.
The main course, roasted chicken breast in apple cider reduction with apple-ginger chutney, had been served during Sylvia’s
talk, and lively conversation resumed as they finished the meal. After a time, when the servers began to clear, Sylvia rose
again and raised a hand for their attention. “One of our most beloved traditions at Elm Creek Quilt Camp is to conclude our
first evening with a ceremony we call Candlelight,” she said. “Ordinarily, we gather outside on the cornerstone patio, but
since this is a chilly November night rather than a mild summer evening, please accompany me to the ballroom.”
Exchanging glances of curiosity and amusement, the company rose and followed Sylvia through the double doors on the far end of the room into the ballroom.
Julia knew it to be a large, elegant room spanning the width of the west wing, but at that moment it was mostly in shadow, the only light coming from a cracking blaze in the large fireplace on the opposite wall.
An assortment of eighteen chairs had been arranged in an open circle before it.
Between the chairs and the door was a table set up with carafes of coffee, tea, and mulled cider and platters of cranberry oatmeal cookies.
Julia accepted a steaming, fragrant mug of cider and seated herself in the middle of the arc of chairs rather than close to either end.
She knew what was coming next, and she didn’t want to go first.
When everyone had taken their seats, Sylvia moved to the center of the open circle carrying a flickering candle in a spherical
crystal holder. There she paused to look around at the faces of her guests. “The primary purpose of the Candlelight ceremony
is for you to introduce yourselves to us and to one another,” she said. “But our ceremony helps you to know yourselves better
too. It helps you focus on your goals and wishes, and helps prepare you for the challenges of the future.”
Although Julia had heard Sylvia speak these words before in summers past, she still felt a frisson of anticipation. The familiar
phrases seemed like an invitation for the campers to embark on a journey together, one with marvelous opportunities for growth
and renewal. If ever there was a time Julia hoped the words would prove prescient, it was this week, with these people.
Sylvia continued by explaining the ceremony. The company would pass the candle around the open circle, and as each person
held the candle, they would explain why they had come to Elm Creek Quilt Camp and what they hoped to take away from the experience.
“Would anyone care to volunteer to go first?” Sylvia asked, looking first to Paige at one end of the arc, and then to Edna,
the costume designer, on the other, just as Julia, safely in the middle, had anticipated.
Paige raised her hand. “I’ll go first.” Catching the eye of the costume designer, she added, “If that’s all right with you?”
“Be my guest,” said Edna. “I need time to think of what to say.”
“Well, about that.” Paige frowned thoughtfully. “Haven’t we all come to quilt camp for basically the same reason, and don’t
we all want to accomplish the same thing? We’re all here to learn to quilt or to improve our skills so we can contribute to
the show, right?”
A murmur of agreement went up from the circle. Sylvia looked around, eyebrows rising in mild surprise at this unprecedented
mutiny. Julia caught Nigel’s eye, and his suddenly guarded expression reminded her that they both had ulterior motives Paige
wouldn’t suspect and they’d rather not disclose.
“If I’m perfectly honest,” said Louis, the pianist, “I’m here because the head of our department wanted to send a representative,
and I needed the overtime.” As laughter rose from the circle, he added, “But I’m glad to be here, and I’ll use everything
I learn about historical quilting to make your sets better.”
“Okay, well, maybe some of us have slightly different reasons for why we came to quilt camp,” said Paige, smiling across the circle at Louis, “but as for what we hope
to get out of it, that’s pretty much the same for all of us, right? Like Louis said, we all want to help improve the show.”
“Then let’s omit the second question,” said Ellen, shrugging.
“Better yet, let’s change it,” said Olivia, eyes sparkling with mischief in the firelight. “After we say why we accepted Julia’s
invitation, let’s each reveal something about ourselves no one else here knows.”
A murmur of approval met her words, but Julia’s heart thudded. If she ever kept anything secret from her colleagues, it was
for a good reason.
“Is that allowed?” Lindsay asked Sylvia, uncertain. “We wouldn’t want to disrespect your traditions.”
“It’s quite all right,” Sylvia assured her. “You aren’t our typical group of campers, and so our typical questions might not suit you as well. By all means, share secrets rather than goals, if you wish—but let’s agree that nothing said within this circle shall be divulged outside it.”
“Can I use it in my novel if I change the names?” Jason asked.
“No,” said Julia and several others emphatically.
“Okay, I’ll begin,” said Paige, sitting up taller. “I came because I’m a newbie to the cast and I want to get to know you
all better before we begin shooting season six. As for something none of you knows about me—well, there are lots of things,
but an important one is that I first discovered my love of acting when I was six years old. My parents are hardcore Civil
War reenactors, and as soon as I was old enough to stay in character for hours at a time, they put me in a homemade costume
and brought me along to their encampment.” Smiling, she gave a little bow and, to a round of applause, passed the candleholder
to Lindsay on her left.
Lindsay held it thoughtfully. “I came to quilt camp because my mother has been coming here for a week every summer for years.
She’s told me so much about this wonderful place that I had to see it for myself.” She hesitated, and a little sheepishly
added, “As for something no one here knows about me, I used to play accordion in a polka band.”
“Not so fast,” Jason said as Lindsay began to pass the candle. “When was this? What was the name of the band? And most importantly,
were you any good?”
“This was years ago, when I was in middle school and high school,” said Lindsay, smiling, more proud than embarrassed. “We
called ourselves the Silver Pines Polka Dots, and yes, I was very good—good enough to be named Stearns County Polka Princess
two years in a row.”
To applause and cheers, she passed the candle to the stunt coordinator, Dylan.
“I came to quilt camp because Lindsay asked me,” Dylan said when the group quieted down a bit.
“I thought, what the heck? What do I know about quilting? What do I need to know? But when Lindsay said we’d be staying at Elm Creek Manor, I had to come.
Bergstrom Thoroughbreds may be no more, but those bloodlines run through some of the finest horses in the country to this day.
” He nodded to Sylvia. “I wanted to pay my respects, and maybe to learn more about the folks behind it.”
“Well, that’s an answer I’ve never heard at a Candlelight before,” Sylvia remarked, appearing surprised and flattered in equal
measure. “I’d be happy to answer any questions you may have.”
Dylan nodded in reply and began to pass on the candle, but at the last moment, he caught himself. “Oh, something you all don’t
know. My middle name is Thomas. I was named after the poet.”
“He has a sister named Emily Dickinson,” Jason quipped.
Dylan regarded him, puzzled. “How did you know? Have you met my sister?”
“No,” Jason said quickly. “I didn’t actually think— It was a joke.”
“Yeah, I figured. I’m just pulling your chain. My sister’s name is Susan.”
Everyone burst into laughter, except for Jason, who managed a weak grin.
Around the circle the candle went, hand to hand. Nearly everyone said that they had come to Elm Creek Quilt Camp simply because
Julia or Lindsay had invited them and they thought they’d enjoy a unique experience with their work family. “One last hurrah,”
one of the actors in a recurring role declared happily, but Julia couldn’t join in the chorus of agreement that followed.
Her eyes met Lindsay’s across the circle, and the younger woman offered her a sympathetic, encouraging smile.
The secrets they shared were usually humorous, and often surprising. Louis revealed that he had a Master’s of Music in Piano
Performance from a conservatory in San Francisco and had performed on three Oscar-winning soundtracks. “Then why are you working
in set design?” queried Jason, as everyone else gasped and marveled.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to make a living as a pianist?” Louis asked.
“But you’ve won three Oscars,” Julia protested.
“I didn’t win anything. The composers did.”
“Whatever,” said Paige, waving a hand. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re an Oscar winner.”
“Thanks, Paige,” he said sincerely, as everyone chimed in with their agreement.
Julia didn’t think Nigel would confess anything she didn’t already know, but he surprised her. “You’ve all complimented me
on the flawless American accent I use in Patchwork,” he said in a British accent that seemed rougher and more glottal than his usual speaking voice, “but my Received Pronunciation
is equally inauthentic.”
“That’s the accent you used in New Kent Road,” Ellen said.
“Not only that, it’s my real accent. The one I grew up with. I’m from London, but I’m not from Knightsbridge or Mayfair.”
“I can’t believe you never told me that,” Julia exclaimed.
“I’m sure there are many things you’ve never told me, darling,” he said, reverting to his more familiar accent, as he passed
on the candle.
Julia was so flummoxed that the revelations of the next several colleagues barely registered—and then the candle came to her.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured, studying the flickering light. She had been considering several inconsequential confessions, but
after Nigel’s revelation, she knew what she ought to say.
“I always tell people that I’m from Riverside,” she began hesitantly, noting the several acknowledging nods around the circle.
“I let everyone believe I mean the city in California. I’m really from Riverside, Iowa.”
Gasps, exclamations, and a smattering of laughter went up from the group.
“Let me guess,” said Jason. “Population twelve?”
“More than a thousand, actually,” Julia countered.
“Why wouldn’t you want anyone to know you’re from Iowa?” asked Lindsay, genuinely puzzled.
“Because I have a glamorous image to preserve, of course. When I was first starting out back in the day, it was all about
being a golden California girl. Once the studio created that myth, I couldn’t very well admit that it was all a creation of
their marketing department.”
“Did you grow up on a farm?” Olivia asked eagerly, leaning forward. “Did you milk cows and shuck corn? How did you escape?”
“I did grow up on a farm—two hundred acres that had been in the family for three generations. Neither of my brothers wanted
to take it over, so when my parents retired, they sold it to a real estate developer. Now it’s a subdivision called Stony
Acres.”
“Oh, how unfortunate,” Sylvia murmured from outside the circle.
“As for how I escaped, I got a scholarship to the University of Iowa. My parents wanted me to be a teacher, but I majored
in theater instead. Two days after graduation, I caught a bus for Southern California and never looked back.”
“Never?” echoed Lindsay, dismayed.
“Well, no, not exactly never. I was being dramatic.”
“Occupational hazard,” said Nigel.
“Before my parents died, I would visit them twice a year, when I could afford the bus fare. After I was more established,
I offered to move them out to California to escape the brutal Iowa winters, but their roots were deeply planted, and they
politely refused. My brothers left Riverside long ago.” Julia smiled ruefully and passed the candle to her left. “So there
really hasn’t been any reason to go back.”
Hardly anyone she knew lived there anymore, Julia reflected as the next person in the circle cleared her throat and began
to speak. She had outgrown her hometown long before she left it.
When the candle completed its circuit, Sylvia returned to the center of the open circle. “This has certainly been a unique
Candlelight,” she remarked. “I hope you all feel as if you know one another quite a bit better than you did before.”
There were murmurs of agreement and thanks, and a few good-natured jokes about accordions, small Midwestern towns, and what other secrets might be lurking in their pasts.
Then Sylvia reminded them of the important details they had learned at registration about how the next day would proceed—breakfast, classes, and so on—and she wished them a good night.
“Before we part company,” Nigel boomed in the voice Julia knew well, the accent she would always think of as his true one,
“I’d like to make a toast.”
Everyone obliged him by raising their mugs or glasses, even though most were nearly empty.
Standing, Nigel raised his mug and regarded Julia fondly. “Thank you, Julia, for putting together such an exceptional outing
for us so we may prepare for our final season in fine style.”
Julia managed a pained smile and nodded graciously.
“May we have a successful week, and leave better friends—and better quilters—than before.” He looked around the circle. “Here’s
to Julia, and here’s to us all. We few, we happy few, we merry band of patchwork players!”
“Here’s to us,” Ellen cried, and a chorus of voices chimed in assent.
“Here’s to the Patchwork Players,” Julia declared, raising her mug, and this time her smile was unfeigned.