Elm Creek Quilts [08] The Christmas Quilt (4 page)

The children shook their heads fervently, but as they did, Sylvia thought of the times she had argued with her sister, disobeyed her parents, and taken cookies from Great-Aunt Lucinda’s cookie jar without permission. She hoped Knecht Ruprecht had stayed behind in Germany with the pickle trees.

“Perhaps a less alarming story, Aunt Lucinda?” prompted Sylvia’s mother.

Great-Aunt Lucinda played along. “Did I ever tell you children about the Bergstroms’ first Christmas in America?”

They shook their heads.

“I’ve been remiss, then.” She composed her thoughts for a moment. “Your great-grandfather, Hans, arrived in America several years before Anneke and Gerda—Hans’s sister—but their first Christmas together wasn’t until 1856. The stone house that we now know as the west wing of the manor wouldn’t be built for another two years, so for a time they lived in a log cabin on the land they called Elm Creek Farm. Hans and Anneke were newlyweds, and Anneke was determined to make their first Christmas one to remember, as grand an affair as she would have put on had she been a hausfrau in Berlin, the city of her birth.

“As you can imagine, this was not easily done. The Bergstroms were recent immigrants living in a small cabin in the middle of rural Pennsylvania. They had the land, some livestock, and the stores of their first harvest, but none of the comforts we enjoy today. Anneke wanted a goose for Christmas dinner, but there were none to be had. She wanted to give her new husband a gift that befitted her love for him, but the shops in town had nothing suitable that she could afford.”

“And no pickles for the trees?” asked Sylvia.

“Not a single pickle,” said Great-Aunt Lucinda. “On Christmas Eve, Gerda discovered Anneke digging through the steamer trunk she had brought over from Germany. Anneke confessed that she was searching for a Christmas gift for Hans, but she had found nothing worthy of him. ‘What will he think of me,’ lamented Anneke, ‘if I have no gift for him on Christmas morning?’

“‘Do you think my brother loves you for the things you give him?’ asked Gerda. ‘Give him the gift of your heart and your company, and he will want nothing more.’

“‘But I’ve already given him those,’ said Anneke.

“‘Then he already has his heart’s desire.’

“Anneke seemed comforted by this, but not completely satisfied. So late that night, after everyone else had gone to bed, she wrote Hans a letter telling him how much she loved him and how much she looked forward to their future together. On Christmas morning, she gave him the letter. He read it in silence, and when he finished, he hugged her and told her it was the greatest present he had ever received.”

“Did Hans get her anything?” asked Claudia.

Great-Aunt Lucinda considered. “I suppose he did, but the story doesn’t say. I do know what Gerda gave Hans and An-neke, though. She had traded with a neighbor for two shiny, red, perfect apples, and as she gave one to her brother and one to her sister-in-law, she said, ‘I give you simply the joy and hope of the season.’”

At this the grown-ups nodded and murmured in approval, but Sylvia frowned. “She gave them apples?”

“They were more than just apples,” said Great-Aunt Lucinda. “Think of the sweetness of the fruit and the promise in the seeds. In that simple gift, Gerda was expressing how joyful her life was with Hans and Anneke, and how full of blessings their future would be.”

Claudia looked dubious. “They were just apples.”

“They were not just apples,” said Great-Aunt Lucinda firmly. “They were expressions of her love and hopes, simply and eloquently presented. Don’t you see? You can give someone all the riches of the world, but it is an empty gesture if you withhold the gift of yourself.”

“I think that’s beyond their understanding,” said Uncle William with a grin. “They’re awfully young for such philoso-phizing.”

“Perhaps.” Great-Aunt Lucinda looked around the circle of young, curious faces until her gaze settled on Sylvia. “If they don’t understand today, someday they will.”

Sylvia longed to show Lucinda that she understood, but she was not sure that she did. An apple didn’t seem like much of a present to her, but maybe back in the olden days, apples were considered wonderful gifts. Maybe, she thought suddenly, Hans and Anneke had planted the seeds of the apples Gerda had given them. Maybe those very seeds grew into the orchard their family tended and enjoyed today. If that were true, Gerda had indeed given Hans and Anneke the joy and hope of the season—and continued to give it, with every harvest, to their descendants.

When the tree decorating was almost finished, Grandmother entrusted Elizabeth, her namesake, with the task of hiding the glass star somewhere in the manor. Sylvia hoped Elizabeth would give her a secret clue to help her find the star before the others, but a few minutes later, Elizabeth slipped back into the room, whispered close to her grandmother’s ear, and smiled equally warmly at all her young cousins. If anything, her gaze lingered longest on her friend, that man from the neighboring farm, who had reappeared while the family was setting the tree in its stand and showed no sign of leaving anytime soon. With dismay, Sylvia realized that she would probably lose her favorite seat at the dinner table two nights in a row.

Lost in this new troublesome concern, she did not hear her grandmother send out the children to search for the star.

“Sylvia,” she heard her mother call. “Aren’t you going to help find the star this year?”

Sylvia raced for the ballroom door, but Claudia and the cousins had made a good head start. She could only watch from a distance as they sped off in all directions, intent upon reaching the manor’s best hiding places first. She ran for the front parlor, where Claudia had found the star the previous year, only to discover that a cousin had already claimed that room. She ran upstairs to the library, but two other cousins were already searching there. In every room it was the same: Claudia and the cousins raced about, laughing and shrieking and tearing the house apart in their quest for the star, leaving Sylvia with no choice but to dart out of the way.

Miserable, Sylvia went to the bedroom she and Claudia shared, knowing it was the one place no one would bother her.

All of the fun had gone out of the game, but she would be disgraced if she returned to the ballroom before the star was found. Squeezing her eyes shut to hold back tears, she flung herself upon the bed—and gasped when her head struck something hard beneath the pillow. In a moment she was sitting upright on the bed, the star in her lap, its eight red-and-gold points glistening faintly in the dim light.

The star, beneath her own pillow. Elizabeth had left it where no one else would think to look. She had left it especially for Sylvia, her favorite.

Bursting with pride and gratitude, Sylvia climbed down from the bed and hurried downstairs, clutching the precious glass star to her chest. “I found it,” she called out as she ran. “I found it!” She burst into the ballroom, breathless. “I found the star!”

The adults crowded around her, offering her hugs and congratulations. Someone called out to the other children that the game was over. In the distance, Sylvia heard their answering cries of dismay.

“Where did you find it?” one of the uncles asked.

Sylvia could not bring herself to tell him. “Upstairs,” she said, and her eyes met Elizabeth’s. Her cousin smiled at her, bright-eyed and mischievous, and raised a single finger to her lips. Sylvia, suddenly warmed by happiness, smiled until she laughed out loud.

The prize her grandmother awarded her was a small tin filled with red-and-white striped peppermint candy. At her mother’s prompting, Sylvia offered each of the other children a piece, and her joy in the secret she and Elizabeth shared made it hardly matter at all that the tin was returned to her half empty.

All the while, Sylvia clung to the Christmas star. Suddenly, strong arms swept her up. “It’s time, little miss,” her father said, lifting her high above his head beside the tree. “Reach for the highest branch. You can do it.”

Sylvia stretched out her arms and fit the star upon a strong bough that pointed straight up to the ceiling. Everyone applauded as her father lowered her to the ground. As the aunts lit the candles upon the tree, Sylvia stepped back so she could take in the whole of it, from the quilted skirt draped around the trunk to the star she had placed so perfectly upon the very top.

“It’s beautiful,” said Elizabeth. Her friend smiled and placed an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him with a sigh of perfect contentment. Sylvia glared at him, but neither he nor her cousin noticed.

At dinnertime, he earned another glare by stealing Sylvia’s seat again, just as she had known he would. She had raced for the dining room as soon as they were called to supper, and she would have beaten him, too, except that her mother had taken her aside to wash her face and hands, sticky with peppermint candy. Sylvia was stuck at the far end of the table between Uncle William and Claudia.

After dinner was served, Uncle George rose and cleared his throat. “I know it’s customary for Father to make the first toast on Christmas Eve,” he said, with a nod to Grandpa, “but tonight I have a very special announcement, and I think Millie might burst if we don’t share our secret with you at once.”

Sylvia looked at her aunt and saw to her surprise that her face shone with happiness, though her eyes brimmed with tears. Aunt Millie reached for Elizabeth’s hand and held it tightly. An expectant murmur went up from the table, but Sylvia’s eyes were fixed on Elizabeth as she leaned over to speak encouragingly in her mother’s ear, then, with a quick smile for her friend, turned her attention to her father.

“Many of you have known Henry longer than I have since he grew up around here, and I’m sure you’re all aware of what a fine young man he is.” He cleared his throat. Sylvia stared. Was he going to cry? “What you may not know is that he has become like a son to me. He tells me he loves my daughter, and my daughter assures me the feeling is mutual. It must be, because he asked her to marry him and she said she would. So please join me in wishing health and happiness to the beautiful bride-to-be and the luckiest man in the world.”

The joyous clamor that followed was so deafening that Sylvia stuffed her fingers in her ears. She felt ill. If Henry came to live at Elm Creek Manor, Sylvia would never have her cousin to herself. Everyone else seemed so happy, even Aunt Millie, who was crying, but Sylvia could not imagine anything worse than allowing Henry to join the family.

A few days after Christmas—a hollow, anxious day in which the joy of the season was unbearable and even the presents Santa had left beneath the tree could not lighten her heart—Sylvia discovered that there was more to Elizabeth’s wedding than she could have imagined.

She was playing with her toy horses and stable, a gift from Santa, when Elizabeth came to the nursery. “Hello, Sylvia,” she said, tucking her skirt beneath her as she sat on the floor beside her. “Why have you been hiding up here all alone?”

“I’m not hiding, just playing,” said Sylvia. “Where’s Henry?”

“He’s in the stable with your father and Uncle George, looking after the horses.”

Sylvia knew what that meant. If her father and uncles were willing to share the secrets of Bergstrom Thoroughbreds with Henry, they already considered him part of the family. “I don’t think the horses like strangers in their stables. He should go home.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, Sylvia. You don’t like Henry very much, do you?”

Sylvia shook her head.

“Well, I do. He’s my very best friend in the world, and it would make me very happy if you could learn to like him, too.

Do you think you could try?”

“I don’t think so.”

Elizabeth sighed and drew Sylvia onto her lap. “Please? As a special wedding present to me?”

Sylvia thought about it. “If he promises to let me sit by you sometimes at dinner. And even after he comes to live here he should go away for a little while sometimes and let us play alone the way we always do.”

Elizabeth went still. “Henry isn’t coming to live here,” she said. “Didn’t you know?”

Sylvia shook her head, suddenly hopeful. If Henry wasn’t moving in, then maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all. Sylvia could pretend he and Elizabeth weren’t even married.

“But the day after Christmas we explained—” Elizabeth inhaled deeply. “But maybe you were too angry to listen. Darling, Henry and I won’t be living at Elm Creek Manor after the wedding.”

Sylvia twisted her head to peer into her cousin’s face. She knew at once that Elizabeth was not teasing her. “Where are you going to live? Close?” If Elizabeth told her they were going to live with Uncle George and Aunt Millie, Sylvia thought she might burst into tears. They lived in Pennsylvania, too, but many miles away, in Erie.

Elizabeth held her tightly. “Henry bought a ranch out in California. We’ll be leaving the day after the wedding, in the spring.”

Sylvia’s throat closed up around her grief. She scrambled out of Elizabeth’s lap and fled the room, ignoring her cousin’s pleas.

Sylvia didn’t want to believe that Elizabeth was telling the truth, but the other grown-ups soon confirmed it. Worse yet, the wedding was not going to take place next spring, but this coming spring, barely three months away. After discovering this, Sylvia ran to her mother and begged her to make Elizabeth change her mind.

“I couldn’t even if I wished to,” Sylvia’s mother told her gently. “Henry and Elizabeth want to make a life for themselves out in California. We will all miss them very much, but they’ve made their decision.”

“Can’t we make them wait?” cried Sylvia. “Why do they have to get married so soon? Can’t they wait until next year?”

“Why should they wait?” interrupted Claudia. “They love each other, and weddings are so beautiful. Didn’t you hear, Sylvia? Elizabeth said we could be flower girls.”

“I don’t want to be a flower girl!”

“Well, I do, and I won’t let you spoil it.” Claudia tossed her head. “You’re just jealous because Elizabeth likes Henry more than you.”

“She does not,” shouted Sylvia. “I’m her favorite. She hid the Christmas star especially for me! She put it under my pillow where no one else would find it.”