Read Elm Creek Quilts [04] The Runaway Quilt Online

Authors: Jennifer Chiaverini

Tags: #Historical, #Adult, #Contemporary

Elm Creek Quilts [04] The Runaway Quilt (9 page)

BOOK: Elm Creek Quilts [04] The Runaway Quilt
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On the appointed evening, Mr. Pearson arrived, bearing an apple tart his mother had baked for us, and a bouquet of wild-flowers which he presented to me—in error, I thought, assuming he had meant them for the lady of the house. I promptly handed the flowers to Anneke and took his coat, while Hans offered him a chair by the fire. Since the fireplace was also my cookstove, I necessarily passed between it and the table several times as the men talked about their horses and crops. Before long, I noticed that every time I approached the table, Mr. Pearson bounded out of his chair. At first I thought it charming, but when he persisted in the ridiculous formality, I entreated him to remain seated for fear he would be bouncing in and out of his chair all evening like a jumping jack. He agreed with a smile that did not completely conceal his displeasure, but he no longer rose when I did, although he tensed in his chair as if it took all his strength to remain seated.

“I did not notice it before,” I murmured to Anneke in passing, “but Mr. Pearson has a haughty temperament, don’t you agree?”

“He’s a perfect gentleman,” hissed Anneke, glancing at him to
be sure he had not overheard. “And he’s a guest, so mind your manners.”

“I have no intention of doing otherwise,” I protested in a whisper, but Anneke merely glared at me.

The meal itself was an even more baffling affair, with Hans the only one of us perfectly at ease. Anneke interrogated Mr. Pearson about his education and prospects with a directness that would have seemed rude if not for her charming manner and lack of fluency in English, but Mr. Pearson did not seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to relish the opportunity to talk about himself, but instead of responding to Anneke, he directed his replies to me. I was embarrassed for him, that he should slight Anneke and Hans so, when suddenly it occurred to me that he was behaving exactly as eager suitors did in novels.

This realization so astounded me that I could not reply when Mr. Pearson remarked for at least the seventeenth time how wondrously sublime my cooking was. Perhaps I should have perceived Mr. Pearson’s intentions sooner, but E. had been my first and only love, and we had known each other since childhood. Our courtship had possessed none of the silly rituals with which adult men and women torment each other. I was not accustomed to the language of romance, nor did I ever expect it to be directed toward me. Nor, I knew with great certainty, did I wish to hear any more of it from Mr. Pearson. I looked from Anneke to Hans and back again, pleading silently for their aid, but Hans appeared oblivious to my distress, and Anneke seemed to enjoy it.

“You’re so accomplished, Mr. Pearson,” said Anneke then, disarmingly, “that I must wonder why there is no Mrs. Pearson.”

“I have not yet found a woman deserving of that title.”

“Oh, you must keep looking,” said I, thinking,
But not at Elm Creek Farm
. “I’m sure you’ll find her.”

Some of the brightness faded from his smile, and he looked
to Anneke for an explanation. Before she could speak, Hans said, “Tell me, when you find your Mrs. Pearson, will you give her a home of her own or bring her into your mother’s house?”

“My mother’s home will be her home, as it is mine.”

“Come now,” persisted Hans. “You know how women are. Asking two to share a kitchen is like throwing two wet cats into a sack and tying it shut. Asking them to share a home is asking for trouble, unless it is clear from the start who will be mistress of the household.”

Anneke gave her husband a slight rebuke, but Mr. Pearson chuckled. “Mother will not be dictated to in her own home.”

“So your Mrs. Pearson will have to know her place?”

“Indeed.”

“You couldn’t have her speaking her mind or acting contrary to Mrs. Engle’s judgment.”

“Of course not, but I do not anticipate any conflict. The only woman I could love would be of such purity of heart and generosity of spirit that she would love my mother as if she were her own. She would tend to my mother’s needs with the same tender, unselfish eagerness as she would to mine.”

Anneke twisted her pretty features into a frown. “You sound as if you are looking for a nurse or a housekeeper, not a wife.”

“It would only be for a little while,” said Mr. Pearson, with a hasty glance at me. “Once Mother passes on, my wife will be the mistress of the household, but until then—”

“Until then she is to be a servant in her own home?” said I, indignant on behalf of this unfortunate bride, forgetting, for the moment, that Mr. Pearson hoped I would be she. “My goodness, but you require a great deal of patience and forbearance in a wife. I do not think half the women of my acquaintance could manage it.”

“It would not be as bleak as I have made it seem,” said Mr. Pearson.

“I should hope not,” said I. “If I were to marry into such circumstances, I might be tempted to hasten your mother’s demise.”

“I hope your future bride lacks my sister’s temper,” said Hans to Mr. Pearson in a confidential tone. “If not, you’d better find someone else to do the cooking.”

Mr. Pearson glanced down at his plate in alarm as if expecting to find some deadly poison amid the mashed turnips. As Hans and I laughed merrily, he grew red-faced and said, “Yes, I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Your bride will be a lovely woman,” said Anneke soothingly, glaring at Hans and me in turn. “Do not let their silly jokes trouble you.”

Mr. Pearson let out a thin laugh as if to show us he understood our joke. Anneke steered the conversation to other matters, but for the remainder of the meal, Mr. Pearson spared no opportunity to avoid looking in my direction. Afterward, he thanked Anneke for her kind hospitality, shook Hans’s hand, gave me a curt nod, then made some excuse about needing to tend to a sick horse.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Hans and I burst into laughter again.

“I fail to see what is so amusing,” said Anneke.

I tried to speak. “The thought of that man—”

“—and my feisty, opinionated sister,” finished Hans. “Married!”

Anneke folded her arms and pursed her lips, but eventually she, too, allowed a small smile. “Perhaps they would not be such a good match after all.”

“Perhaps not, my love,” said Hans, smiling tenderly. “But I can’t blame you for trying.”

“I can,” said I. “I cannot imagine why you thought we were well suited for each other.”

“You’re both unmarried.”

“True enough, but I would hope to base my future happiness on something more substantial than that.”

“I agree,” said Hans. “But I thought it would be easier for Mr. Pearson, and for our friendship with his family, if he realized on his own that you would not make him a good wife rather than hearing it in your refusal.”

Only then did I understand that my brother had deliberately prodded Mr. Pearson into revealing his weaknesses as a husband for me so that I might better reveal my inadequacies as a wife for him. All the while I had thought Hans oblivious to the drama of manners playing out before him, he had been directing the action from behind the scenes. I studied him with new respect. Hans Bergstrom of Baden-Baden was not known for subtle calculation, but this man was Hans Bergstrom of America. I resolved not to underestimate him again.

“Mr. Pearson might not make Gerda a proper husband,” declared Anneke, “but someone will.”

Thus I learned, to my dismay, that Anneke was not easily daunted, and that despite the evening’s failure, she was resolved to see me happily wed.

“The more things change,” said Sylvia, “the more they remain the same.”

Andrew looked up from his newspaper. “What’s that?”

“Gerda’s sister-in-law wants to marry her off.” Sylvia slipped off her glasses and stretched her neck, which had an painful kink in it, so intently had she been reading. “Honestly. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman without a husband is eager to find one, no matter what she says to the contrary, and that all her married friends and acquaintances
are obligated to help her nab some poor fellow before he knows what hit him.”

Andrew peered at her over his bifocals. “You know, not everyone is as opposed to marriage as you are.”

“I’m not opposed to marriage in principle. I was very happily married myself once, I’ll remind you. Marriage is fine for youngsters with their whole lives ahead of them, who want to build a future with the one they love. I have no objection to that, if that’s what they want.”

Andrew returned his gaze to the newspaper and said, “If you ask me, people ought to build their futures with the ones they love no matter how old they are, even if that won’t add up to as many years as the young folks get.”

Sylvia was about to concur, but she thought better of it and said nothing. If she agreed with his principles, one of these days she might find herself accidentally agreeing to a proposal.

Winter 1856 into summer 1857—
in which we complete our first year at Elm Creek Farm and begin a second

I had not told Anneke about E., and although Hans might have told her I had been disappointed in love, I was certain he had not explained the intensity of my sorrow. He could not have, since I do not believe he thought his sensible elder sister capable of such depth of feeling. How could either of them, entranced as they were with each other upon first sight, know what it was to have a love slowly blossom over time, only to have it crushed beneath the heel of parents who cared more for class distinctions than for the happiness of their son?

In those years, I wanted to believe E. the cruel victim of his parents’ contempt for my family’s lack of rank. Now I realize that if he had truly wanted to be my husband, he would
have followed me to America. That would have meant abandoning the wealth and social position that had prevented us from marrying, and apparently he had no wish to do so, or the thought never occurred to him. Either way, his inaction proved that either our love was not true, or it was, but he was unworthy of it.

Time, hard work, and the newness of my life in America eased the pain of my grief, and I reconciled myself to being no more—and no less—than Hans Bergstrom’s spinster sister. As our first autumn passed in a frenzy to make Elm Creek Farm livable for the coming winter, I realized I did not mind the role as much as a properly brought up girl ought to have done. Anneke and Dorothea were fortunate in their choice of husbands, but other women of my acquaintance were not, and I soon learned that an unmarried woman can do and say things a wife cannot. In any event, I envisioned a future doing my part to make Elm Creek Farm prosper, looking after Hans and Anneke and their children yet to be born, being a part of their family, and never desiring one of my own.

Winter snows had cut us off from contact with all but our closest neighbors, but the coming of spring brought a renewed liveliness to the town. Our dependence upon the kindness and generosity of others had impressed upon Anneke the importance of friends, and she became determined to establish the Bergstroms in Creek’s Crossing. Being well regarded in society would help Hans’s business, she said, and she prodded me to do my share to socialize with the wives and daughters of important men who might be in a position to help Hans later. At first I shuddered at the very notion of society, remembering how it had cost me my dearest love, but society in Creek’s Crossing bore little resemblance to that of my homeland. As one would expect, however, it remained the province of the oldest and wealthiest families, but in a land where anyone willing to work hard could
prosper, no obstacle remained to prevent the meanest immigrant from elevating his status.

“Unless the immigrant is colored,” observed Dorothea, when I remarked upon this.

I could not refute the obvious truth in her words, and her reflection soured the appeal of the town for me. While Pennsylvania was a Free State, and most of us took pride in our righteousness and disdained the Southern slaveholder, freedmen were not, it must be said, any more welcome here than elsewhere, except among themselves and, perhaps, the Abolitionists. As for myself, although I was a staunch opponent of the institution of slavery, I had never actually befriended a colored person, former slave or freeborn.

This troubled me, but when I repeated Dorothea’s comment to Anneke, she merely laughed and said, “Only Dorothea would say such a thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, of course the coloreds can’t rise in society. I don’t condone slavery,” she added with great haste, because she knew my views, “but we want to keep to ourselves just as they want to keep to themselves. Only Dorothea would look upon this as a crime.”

I did not think Dorothea was thinking of parties and balls when she talked of elevating one’s status, but rather of bettering oneself through hard work and education. The latter interested her far more than the former, as she attended few society gatherings, instead dedicating her spare hours to charity and the women’s suffrage movement.

I must admit, the issue of women’s suffrage sparked a passion within me as well, and as time passed, and I read more of the books and newspapers Dorothea shared, I became her equal in desire for the right to vote. I even endured sewing to learn more about the movement, because as the weather improved,
Dorothea welcomed to her home numerous prominent speakers of the women’s rights movement, acquaintances from back East. Invariably, since they could not drum up enough interest in our little village to fill a meeting hall, these women would speak at Dorothea’s quilting circle.

BOOK: Elm Creek Quilts [04] The Runaway Quilt
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