Chapter 13 #3
Soon thereafter, when the first group finished pinning, Sylvia called 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 whipped cream 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 of A 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 do not want 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.
“He’s not in this scene,” Ellen replied, but she was looking at Paige. “We’re picking up exactly where we left them in the
season five finale.”
“Anabelle overheard Jesse say something disparaging about Theodore Wedgington, and she confronts him,” Paige said.
“And he just gapes at her, overcome by her breathtaking beauty,” said Olivia, grinning.
Paige’s cheeks went pink. “I think he was just surprised that she addressed him before they had been formally introduced.”
“No, he really was overcome by her breathtaking beauty. Now, Noah—” Ellen looked around the circle, looked again, and clasped
a hand to her forehead. “I forgot. Noah isn’t here. I need someone to read for Noah.”
“I’ll do it,” said Jason, shrugging. “How hard can it be?”
Some of the actors gave him a side-eye.
“I should be honored to read any lines from your pen, Ellen,” Nigel said grandly. “Or your keyboard, as the case may be.”
“Have Louis read the part,” said Julia, inspired. “He’s the right age. No offense, Nigel.”
“None taken. I quite agree.”
“Me too,” said Paige, brightening. “Louis, say yes.”
Louis hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m a pianist, not an actor.”
“But you have such a strong, resonant voice,” Paige pleaded. “Just read the scene through with me once. If it’s utter torture, you never have to do it again.”
She was so lovely and sweet, Julia couldn’t imagine how Louis could possibly refuse, and he didn’t. “Okay, sure. If you insist.
But I’m not giving up my day job. Or my night job.”
“Let’s take it from the top,” said Ellen, beaming. “Anabelle, you have the first line.”
“On it.” Suddenly Paige drew herself up, her eyes flashing fire at Louis. “ ‘I said, sir, how dare you speak such lies about
my uncle?’ ”
Louis blinked at her, stunned
“Your line, Jesse,” Ellen murmured.
“What?” Louis gave himself a little shake. “Right. I’m Jesse.”
“Should we start over?” asked Paige kindly, herself again.
“From the top,” said Ellen, nodding.
Immediately, Paige transformed again into Theodore Wedgington’s spirited, indignant niece. “ ‘I said, sir, how dare you speak
such lies about my uncle?’ ”
“ ‘You’re Wedgington’s niece?’ ” Louis said, appropriately thunderstruck. Julia suspected he wasn’t acting.
“ ‘I am,’ ” said Paige crisply. “ ‘And who, may I ask, are you, other than an impertinent young man who obviously knows nothing
at all about my dear uncle?’ ”
“Perfect,” Ellen murmured, jotting down something in the margin of her manuscript.
Julia caught Nigel’s eye across the circle, and they shared a smile. It hadn’t been their imagination. Sparks were lighting
up the circle as they had the stage the night before.
Julia was happy for them, of course, but also for herself. Surely Paige and Louis would eagerly commit to another few seasons
of A Patchwork Life if it meant they could continue to work together.