Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter by Jennifer Chiaverini Page B

auburn hair in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, and if Gwen wasn’t mistaken, she had secured it with a number-two pencil. “Relax, kiddo. You’re not that late,” whispered Gwen, but Summer was too distracted by the others’ teasing to hear. Naturally they assumed she was late because of her boyfriend, which Gwen thought ridiculous until Summer confessed they were correct.
    “You guys spend so much time together you might as well live together,” said Diane.
    Agnes looked horrified. “Don’t suggest such a thing. She meant after you get married, dear.”
    Summer blanched as Agnes patted her hand.
    “Married? Are you crazy?” said Gwen. “Don’t go putting thoughts of marriage in my daughter’s head. Or of living together. My daughter has more sense than that.”
    She gave Summer a reassuring grin. The other Elm Creek Quilters still felt cheated out of planning Sylvia and Andrew’s wedding, and they saw Summer as the most likely candidate for matrimony. They obviously hoped to nudge her closer to the altar so their investigation of local florists and bakeries wouldn’t go to waste. What they could not possibly understand was that Summer was just like her mother in her need for personal freedom. Summer was too wise to commit to anyone when she had so much of her own life to live first. No one would ever accuse her of either settling or settling down.
    The teasing subsided when Sarah resumed the meeting. Afterward, Gwen stopped Summer before she could put on her coat. “Kiddo, can we talk?”
    “About what?” said Summer, wary.
    “Nothing important.” Gwen forced a smile. Clearly Summer was in no mood for a heart-to-heart. “It can wait. Can you come for supper on Sunday?”
    “Can we make it the following week?” Summer tugged on her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck. “I’m swamped until the end of January.”
    Puzzled, since January was far from their busiest season, Gwen agreed and promised to make the lentil and brown rice soup Summer loved. Summer thanked her with a quick kiss on the cheek and bounded out the door, and Gwen watched her go. It was hard to believe that Gwen herself had once been so slender and lovely, but she had the photographs to prove it. Summer would accomplish much more with her life than Gwen had, though, because she was brighter and braver than Gwen had ever been.
    “You must be very proud,” remarked Sylvia as she cleared away the cups and plates left over from their midmeeting snack.
    “Proud beyond reason,” said Gwen with a laugh.
    She stayed behind to help Sylvia tidy the room, and as they carried the dishes to the kitchen, she found herself telling the older woman about her disappointment at work. Sylvia put on a fresh pot of tea and they sat at the kitchen table while Gwen confessed the whole sorry tale.
    “I spent most of my teaching career trying to convince people quilting was art,” said Sylvia when Gwen had finished. “Now you’re trying to persuade them it’s a relevant art. I suppose that’s progress of a sort.”
    “At that rate, in another forty years, no one will have these arguments anymore.” Gwen stared glumly into her teacup, wishing she could read the leaves. “Just in time for my great-grandchildren.”
    “The woman they chose instead—what is her field of study?”
    “Media and the political process, mostly. How campaigns have changed over time, the role of debates in elections.” She forced herself to add, “I have to admit it’s interesting work.”
    “I’m sure it is, but that doesn’t make your work dull or irrelevant.” Sylvia drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “I wish I could think of a quilt that figured heavily in politics, but I’m afraid nothing comes to mind. The closest I can come is the time Mrs. Roosevelt was presented with the prizewinning quilt from a contest held at the 1933 World’s Fair in Chicago.”
    Gwen set down her teacup. “Eleanor Roosevelt?”
    “That’s right. This was the