An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (5 page)

“For the fourth time, Sarah, I don’t know. You’ll find out when we get there.”

“She’s probably going to demand an apology for snooping around her house.” Sarah tried to remember the exchange in the sewing room. She’d apologized when Mrs. Compson caught her, hadn’t she? “I don’t think I actually said I was sorry. I think I was too surprised. She probably dragged me out here to give me a lecture on manners.”

Her stomach twisted into a nervous knot that tightened as the truck pulled into the gravel driveway behind the manor.

“You could apologize before she asks you to,” Matt said as he parked the truck. “Old people like apologies and polite stuff like that.”

“Yeah. I hear they also love being referred to as ‘old people,’” Sarah muttered. She climbed out of the truck and slammed the door. But maybe Matt had a point. She trailed behind him as he led the way to the back door.

Mrs. Compson opened it on the first knock. “So, you’re here. Both of you. Well, come on in.” She left the door open and they followed her into the hall.

“Mrs. Compson,” Matt called after her as she walked ahead of them down a wide, dimly lit hallway. “I was planning to work in the orchard today. Is there anything else you’d like me to do first?”

She stopped and turned around. “No, the orchard is fine. Sarah may remain here with me.” Matt and Sarah exchanged a puzzled glance. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t work her too hard this morning. She’ll see you at lunchtime.”

Matt turned to Sarah, uncertain. “Sound okay to you?”

Sarah shrugged and nodded. She’d assumed that Mrs. Compson would want her to come in, make her apology, and leave, but if the woman wanted to drag things out … Sarah steeled herself. Well, Mrs. Compson
was
an important client.

With one last, uncertain smile, Matt turned and left the way they came. Sarah watched him go, then faced the old woman squarely. “Mrs. Compson,” she said firmly, trying to sound regretful but not nervous, “I wanted to apologize for going into your sitting room with my lemonade and touching your quilt without permission. I shouldn’t have done it and I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Compson gave her a bemused stare. “Apology accepted.” She turned and motioned for Sarah to follow.

Confused, Sarah trailed behind her as they reached the far end of the hall and turned right through a doorway. Wasn’t that enough of an apology for her? What else was Sarah supposed to say?

The hallway opened into a large foyer, and Sarah slowly took in a breath. Even with the floor-to-ceiling windows covered by heavy draperies, she could tell how splendid the entryway could be if it were properly cared for. The floor was made of black marble, and to Sarah’s left were marble steps leading down to twelve-foot-tall heavy wooden double doors. Oil paintings and mirrors in intricately carved frames lined the walls. Across the room was a smaller set of double doors, and a third set was on the wall to their right. In the corner between them a wooden staircase began; the first five steps were semicircular and led to a wedge-shaped landing from which a staircase climbed to the second-story balcony encircling the room. Looking up, Sarah could see another staircase continuing in a similar fashion to the third floor, and an enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the frescoed ceiling far above.

Mrs. Compson crossed the floor, carefully descended the marble steps, and waving off Sarah’s efforts to assist, slowly pushed open one of the heavy doors.

Sarah followed her outside and tried not to gawk like a tourist. They stood on a wide stone veranda that ran the entire length of the front of the mansion. White columns supported a roof far overhead. Two stone staircases began at the center of the veranda, gracefully arcing away from each other and forming a half circle as they descended to the ground. The driveway encircled a large sculpture of a rearing horse; a second look told Sarah that it was a fountain choked with leaves and rainwater. Only that and the road leading from the driveway interrupted the green lawn that flowed from the manor to the distant trees.

Mrs. Compson eyed Sarah as she took all this in. “Impressed? Hmph.” She stepped inside and reappeared with a broom, which she handed to Sarah. “Of course you are. Everyone is, the first time they see the place. At least they used to be, when we used to have visitors, before the estate went to pieces.”

Sarah stood there uncertainly, looking from the broom to Mrs. Compson and back.

“At least you came dressed for work, not like last time.” Mrs. Compson gestured, first waving her arm to the north end of the veranda and then to the south. “Take care of the whole thing, and do a thorough job. Don’t neglect the dead leaves in the corners. I’ll be back later.” She moved toward the open doorway.

“Wait,” Sarah called after her. “I think there’s been a mistake. I can’t sweep your porch.”

Mrs. Compson turned and frowned at her. “A girl your age doesn’t know how to sweep?”

“It’s not that. I know how to sweep, but I—”

“Afraid of a bit of hard work, are you?”

“No, it’s just that I think there’s been a misunderstanding. You seem to think I work for Matt’s company, but I don’t.”

“Oh. So they fired you, did they?”

“Of course not. They didn’t fire me. I’ve never worked for Matt’s company.”

“If that’s so, why did you accompany him that first time?”

“It was on the way. He was driving me home from a job interview.”

“Hmph. Very well, then. Sweep the veranda anyway. If you’re looking for work, I’d say you’ve found some. Just be glad I didn’t ask you to mow the lawn.”

Sarah gaped at her. “You know, you’re really something.” She threw down the broom and thrust her fists onto her hips. “I tried to apologize, tried to be polite, but you’re just the rudest, the—the—if you had asked nicely I might have swept your porch as a favor to you, and to Matt, but—”

Mrs. Compson was grinning at her.

“What’s so funny? You think being rude is funny?”

The old woman shrugged, clearly amused, which only irritated Sarah more. “I was beginning to wonder if you had any backbone at all.”

“Believe me, I do,” Sarah said through clenched teeth. She spun around and stormed down the nearest staircase.

“Wait,” Mrs. Compson called. “Sarah, please, just a moment.”

Sarah thought of Matt’s contract, sighed, and stopped on the bottom step. She turned around to find Mrs. Compson preparing to come down the stairs after her. Sarah then realized there was no handrail, and the stone wall was worn too smooth for a secure grip. Mrs. Compson stumbled, and instinctively Sarah put out her arms as if to steady her, though she was too far away to make any difference if Mrs. Compson fell.

“All right,” Sarah said. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to chase me.”

Mrs. Compson shook her head and came down the stairs anyway. “I really could use some more help around here,” she said, breathing heavily from exertion. “I’ll pay you, of course.”

“I’m looking for a real job. I went to college. I have a degree.”

“Of course you do. Of course you do. But you could work for me until you find a better job. I won’t mind if you need to leave early sometimes for job interviews.”

She paused for a reply, but Sarah just looked at her, stone-faced.

“I don’t know anybody else, you see,” Mrs. Compson continued, and to Sarah’s astonishment, her voice faltered. “I’m planning to sell the estate, and I need someone to help me collect my late sister’s personal belongings and take an inventory of the manor’s contents for auction. There are so many rooms, and I can’t even imagine what could be in the attic, and I have trouble with stairs.”

“You’re going to sell the estate?”

The old woman shook her head. “A home so big and empty would be a burden. I have a place of my own, in Sewickley.” Her lips twisted until they resembled a wry smile, but it looked as if she were out of practice. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Work for this crotchety old thing? Never in a million years.’”

Sarah tried to compose her features so that her expression wouldn’t give anything else away.

“I know I can be difficult sometimes, but I can try to be—” Mrs. Compson pursed her lips and glanced away as if searching for the proper adjective. “More congenial. What would it take to persuade you?”

Sarah studied her, then shook her head. “I’ll need some time to think about it.”

“Very well. You may remain here or in the kitchen if you like, or feel free to explore the grounds. The orchards are to the west, beyond the barn, and the gardens—what remains of them—are to the north. When you’ve decided, you may join me in the west sitting room. I believe you already know where that is.” With that, she turned and made her way up the stairs and into the manor.

Sarah shook her head in disbelief as she watched Mrs. Compson go. When she said she needed some time to think about the offer, she’d meant a few days, not a few minutes. Then again, she had already made up her mind. Wait until Matt heard about this. As soon as he stopped laughing Sarah would get him to take her home, and with any luck she’d never have to see that strange old woman again.

Her eyes scanned the front of the manor. Mrs. Compson was right; she was impressed with the place. Who wouldn’t be? But she doubted she could tolerate an employer like Mrs. Compson in order to work there. She was impressed, not masochistic. She walked around the tree-lined north side of the building and the west wing. She walked briskly, but it still took her ten minutes to reach the barn and another five to reach the orchard, where she found Matt retrieving some tools from the back of the pickup.

“You aren’t going to believe this,” she greeted him. “Mrs. Compson needs someone to help her get the manor ready for sale and she wants to hire me.”

But Matt didn’t burst into laughter as she had expected. Instead he set down his tool kit and leaned against the tailgate. “That’s great, honey. When do you start?”

For a moment Sarah was too surprised to do anything but blink at him. “When do I start?”

“You’re going to help her, aren’t you?”

“I wasn’t planning to,” she managed to say.

“Why not? Why wouldn’t you want the job?”

“It should be obvious. She hasn’t been exactly nice to me, as you very well know.”

“Don’t you feel sorry for her?”

“Of course I feel sorry for her, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend every day working with her.”

“That’s got to be better than moping around the house all day, right?”

“Not necessarily. If I’m sweeping porches around here, I won’t be sending out résumés and going on interviews.”

“I’m sure you could work something out.”

“Matt, you don’t get it. I’ve invested years in my career. I think I’m a little overqualified for cleaning up a house.”

“I thought the whole idea was to start fresh.”

“There’s starting fresh and then there’s starting over at the very bottom. There are limits.”

Matt shrugged. “I don’t see any. Honest work is honest work.”

Sarah stared at him, perplexed. He had always been the first to point out that her career was her business, but now here he was practically pressuring her into a job that didn’t even require a high school diploma. “Matt, if I take this job, my mother will have a fit.”

“Why does it matter what your mother thinks? Besides, she wouldn’t care. If anything, she’d be glad you’re helping out an old lady.”

Sarah started to reply, then held back the words and shook her head. If he only knew. She could almost hear that familiar chorus of shrill “I told you so”s already. If she took this job, she’d prove that her mother had been right all along when she’d insisted that leaving State College for Matt’s sake would send Sarah’s career into an inevitable spiral of downward mobility.

Then suspicion crept into her thoughts. “Matt, what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on. What do you mean?”

“First you brought me out here after my interview. Then, without checking with me first, you promised her that I’d come see her. You didn’t look at all surprised when I told you she offered me a job, and now you’re pushing me to take it. You knew she was going to offer me this job, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know for sure. I mean, she hinted, but she didn’t come right out and say it.” He looked at the ground. “I guess I like the idea better than you do.”

Exasperated, Sarah struggled for something to say. “Why?”

“It would be nice if we worked at the same place. We’d get to see more of each other.”

“That might be part of it, but what else?”

Matt sighed, took off his cap, and ran his fingers through his curly hair until it looked even more unruly than usual. “You’re going to think I’m being silly.”

Silly
was more benign than the adjectives Sarah considered using. “Maybe, but tell me anyway.”

“Okay, but don’t laugh.” He tried to smile, but his eyes were sad. “Mrs. Compson, well, she reminds me of my mom. Same mannerisms, same way of dressing; she even looks kind of the same. Except her age, of course. I mean, I know she’s probably old enough to be our grandmother … ”

“Oh, Matt.”

“It’s just that, well, my mom’s probably out there all alone somewhere, and I’d like to think that if some young couple had a chance to look out for her they’d take it.”

If your mother’s out there alone, it’s her own fault for running out on you and your dad
, Sarah thought, pressing her lips together to hold back the automatic response. She went to him and hugged him tightly. How could Matt remember his mother’s mannerisms? Mrs. McClure had left when he was only five years old, and although Sarah would never say so, she suspected Matt knew his mother only from photographs.

Matt stroked her hair. “I’m sorry if I was being pushy. I didn’t mean it. I should’ve come right out and told you what I was thinking.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“I’m sorry. Really. I won’t do it again.”

Sarah almost retorted that she wouldn’t give him the chance, that she’d be on her guard for the rest of their marriage, but he looked so remorseful that she changed her mind. “Okay,” she said instead. “Let’s just forget it. Besides, you’re right. It would be nice if we worked at the same place.”