An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler by Jennifer Chiaverini Read Free Book Online Page B

satisfaction at their replies. When Matt tried to show Mrs. Compson some preliminary sketches of the north gardens, though, she gave them only the barest of glances, nodded, and abruptly rose from her seat.
    Matt and Sarah exchanged a puzzled look. Did that nod mean she liked Matt’s ideas or not? “Here, we’ll help clean up,” Sarah said, standing.
    Matt jumped to his feet and began collecting the dirty plates. “No, you two go on. I’ll take care of it.”
    Mrs. Compson stared at him. “You’ll take care of it?”
    “Sure.” He grinned and carried the dishes to the sink. “Don’t worry. I won’t drop anything.”
    “I should hope not.” Mrs. Compson turned to Sarah. “Well, I suppose this would give us more time to talk about quilts later. But first, Sarah, come with me.”
    Sarah kissed Matt good-bye and followed Mrs. Compson out of the room. Mrs. Compson stopped at a small closet on the right and retrieved a bundle of dust rags, which she deposited in Sarah’s arms before moving on down the long hallway.
    “We’ll start upstairs,” Mrs. Compson announced as they turned right in the front foyer. “Or rather, you’ll start upstairs.”
    Sarah trailed after her. “Where do these doors lead?”
    Without breaking her stride, Mrs. Compson pointed to the double doors on the right. “Banquet hall. No mere dining room for Elm Creek Manor.” She pointed to the other set of doors, directly in front of them and to the left of the wedge-shaped steps leading into the corner. “Ballroom. At one time the entire first floor of this wing was devoted almost exclusively to entertaining.” She reached the staircase, grasped the railing, and led Sarah upstairs. “We’ll begin in the library. It’s directly above the ballroom.”
    “What’s above that?”
    “The nursery. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. Why on earth would any family need a nursery so large? Well, I agree. It’s much larger than necessary.”
    Sarah nodded, wondering what an acceptable size for a nursery would be. As they continued up the stairs, she considered offering the older woman her arm. She suspected she’d be reprimanded for the attempt, though, and decided not to risk it.
    Halfway to the second floor, Mrs. Compson paused on the step, breathing heavily. “As for the rest of it,” she said, waving a hand in no particular direction. “Bedrooms, each with its own sitting room.”
    “Why so many?”
    “This was supposed to be a family house—several generations, aunts, uncles, and cousins, all living together happily under one roof. Hmph.”
    “Which room’s yours?”
    Mrs. Compson glanced at her sharply, then continued her climb. “I have my sitting room downstairs.”
    “You mean you sleep on the sofa? Aren’t the bedrooms furnished?”
    Mrs. Compson said nothing. Sarah bit the inside of her upper lip in a belated attempt to restrain the question. When they reached the top step, Mrs. Compson let out a relieved sigh and turned left down another hallway. “My sister saved everything,” she finally said as they passed two closed doors on the right. When the hallway widened and dead-ended at another set of double doors, Mrs. Compson stopped. “And I do mean everything. Old magazines, newspapers, paperbacks. I want you to help me sort the rubbish from anything salvageable.”
    With her lips firmly pursed, Mrs. Compson swung open both doors, and they entered the library. The musty, cluttered room spanned the width of the south wing’s far end. Dust specks floated lazily in the dim light that leaked in through tall windows on the south-, east-, and west-facing walls. Oak bookcases, their shelves stacked with books, knickknacks, and loose papers, stood between the windows. Two sofas faced each other in the center of the room, dusty lamps resting on end tables on either side of both, a low coffee table turned upside down between them. More books and papers were scattered on the floor near the large oak desk on the east side of