Elm Creek Quilts [10] The Quilter's Homecoming (3 page)

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Elizabeth told her gently. “I don’t think he could get out of the sale even if he wanted to.”

What she did not say was that despite the small seeds of doubt Henry’s father had planted with his concerns about the sightunseen purchase, Elizabeth had no intention of talking Henry out of it. She had become as eager as Henry to embark on their adventure, and in idle moments she would take out the photographs, search them for tiny details she had previously overlooked, and murmur, “Triumph Ranch.” The very name rang with promise.

Elizabeth had little time for romantic musings, for there was much to do before the wedding. The Pittsburgh landbroker from whom Henry had purchased the ranch assured him that the former owners would be willing to remain on the ranch and tend the livestock until the end of April, but he could make no guarantees after that. At first, Henry suggested he and Elizabeth leave the week after New Year’s and marry when they arrived in California, but Elizabeth firmly refused. Her family put great stock in propriety and tradition, and she would not deny them the pleasure of a traditional Bergstrom wedding.

The scant three months of preparations raced by in a blur of dress fittings, china pattern selections, and private lectures from all of her aunts, including her unmarried great-aunt Lucinda, about what she could expect from married life. Some of their advice was amusing, but when the lessons dismayed and alarmed her, she allowed her mind to wander. Hadn’t she already learned everything she needed to know about being a good wife by watching her mother, grandmothers, and aunts?

When the time came to pack for their journey west, the enormity of their undertaking began to sink in. She felt almost as if she and Henry were among the early pioneers, setting out for the West with grand dreams to meet an unknown fate, uncertain whether they would ever return home. Silently she chastised herself for such foolish worries, for so much homesickness before they even left Pennsylvania, and this from the girl who all her life had longed to see the world. Once she and Henry were established, they would surely be able to leave the Rancho Triunfo in the care of trusted ranch hands long enough for a visit home. Still, she did not know how soon a return trip might come, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat every time she thought of spending years without seeing Elm Creek Manor and those who lived there.

She took comfort in the handmade gifts the Bergstrom women gave to her as the wedding approached. In addition to lovely new clothes, they made her several quilts to use in her new home. Great-Aunt Lydia doubted that quilts would be necessary in so warm a place as southern California, but Aunt Eleanor declared that they would be a beautiful touch of home nonetheless. One of Elizabeth’s favorites was a bridal quilt in the Double Wedding Ring pattern, embellished with beautiful floral appliqués. All the women of the family had sewn together the arcs and wedges of the pieced rings, and whenever Elizabeth looked upon the quilt she recognized the work of individual quiltmakers: Great-Aunt Lucinda’s precise piecing, Aunt Eleanor’s intricate appliqué, Great-Aunt Lydia’s painstaking stipple quilting, her grandmother’s perfectly mitered binding. As the finest quilt Elizabeth owned, it should have been saved for company, but as soon as she saw it, she decided it must grace the bed she would share with Henry.

As lovely as the bridal quilt was, a second quilt was somehow more precious to her, even though it was only a sturdy scrap quilt meant for everyday use. Great-Aunt Lucinda had sewn it in the evenings after the day’s work was done, rocking in her favorite chair in the parlor and hiding the pieces whenever Elizabeth entered the room. Elizabeth pretended not to notice since it was obvious Great-Aunt Lucinda intended the quilt to be a surprise, but her curiosity was piqued and she could not resist a little surreptitious observation of her aunt at work. One day a few weeks before the wedding, Sylvia gave Elizabeth the perfect opportunity. She had just been scolded by her father for some minor offense intended to prevent the marriage—telling Henry she hated him, perhaps, or pretending she had the plague so the house would be quarantined—and she had sought out the comfort of Great-Aunt Lucinda’s lap for her sulk. Elizabeth listened just beyond the doorway as Great-Aunt Lucinda told Sylvia about the quilt, made in a pattern of concentric rectangles and squares, one half of the block light colors, the other dark in the fashion of a Log Cabin block.

“This pattern is called Chimneys and Cornerstones,” Great-Aunt Lucinda explained. “Whenever Elizabeth sees it, she’ll remember our home and all the people in it. We Bergstroms have been blessed to have a home filled with love from the chimneys to the cornerstone. This quilt will help Elizabeth take some of that love with her.”

Silence prompted Elizabeth to draw closer and peek into the room. Sylvia was watching Great-Aunt Lucinda as she ran her finger along a diagonal row of red squares, from one corner of the block to its opposite. “Do you see these red squares?” asked Lucinda. “Each is a fire burning in the fireplace to warm Elizabeth after a weary journey home.”

“You made too many,” said Sylvia, counting. “We don’t have so many fireplaces.”

“I know,” said Lucinda, smiling in amusement. “It’s just a fancy. Elizabeth will understand. But there’s more to the story. Do you see how one half of the block is dark fabric, and the other is light? The dark half represents the sorrows in a life, and the light colors represent the joys.”

“Then why don’t you give her a quilt with all light fabric?”

“I suppose I could, but then she wouldn’t be able to see the pattern. The design appears only if you have both dark and light fabric.”

“But I don’t want Elizabeth to have any sorrows.”

“I don’t either, love, but sorrows come to us all. But don’t worry. Remember these?” Lucinda touched several red squares arranged diagonally across one block. “As long as these home fires keep burning, Elizabeth will always have more joys than sorrows.”

Little Sylvia’s brow furrowed as she studied the quilt. Suddenly she brightened. “The red squares are keeping the sorrow part away from the light part.”

“That’s exactly right,” Great-Aunt Lucinda praised. “What a bright little girl you are.”

Pleased, Sylvia snuggled closer to her great-aunt. “I still don’t like the sorrow part.”

“None of us do. Let’s hope that Elizabeth finds all the joy she deserves, and only enough sorrow to nurture an empathetic heart.”

When Great-Aunt Lucinda gave Elizabeth the quilt the day before the wedding, she said nothing of the quilt’s symbolism or how much Elizabeth would be missed. Lucinda had stitched her farewells and hopes for her grandniece into the quilt, and as Elizabeth held the soft folds of cloth to her heart, she understood everything Lucinda could not say. For a fleeting moment she feared that leaving Pennsylvania would be a terrible mistake, bringing down upon her all the sorrows that Great-Aunt Lucinda wanted the fires of home to protect her from. Then she thought of Henry, and how in all her hopes of future happiness, she imagined herself by his side. She knew she could not stay behind.

She wrapped their new china in the precious quilts for protection and placed them in her sturdiest trunk, a gift from Lawrence. Then, at last, all was ready.

The wedding itself passed in a blur. She had always heard that a wedding day was the happiest in a young woman’s life, but she was sure she would remember hers only in glimpses: her mother helping her arrange her golden hair into long corkscrew curls swept back from her face by her headpiece and veil, her father walking her down the aisle of the same church her parents had married in, Henry’s encouraging smile as she murmured her vows, a whirl of celebration back at the manor. She could not swallow more than a few bites of the delicious feast her mother and aunts had prepared, but her first dance with Henry as husband and wife filled her with the warmth of pure happiness. She knew with a certainty she could not explain that she and Henry would weather whatever storms came their way—not that they were likely to face many in sunny southern California.

1875

Isabel ran up and down the length of the front porch, her bare feet padding on the smooth oaken boards, pausing only briefly when Mami and Abuelo crossed her path carrying boxes from the house to the wagon. Abuela waited on the front seat, holding Isabel’s little sister on her lap. Her back was tall and straight, and she would not turn around no matter how often Isabel called out to her to look, to see how fast she could run.

Swinging her doll by the arm as she darted back and forth, Isabel stumbled and ran headlong into her mother’s legs. “Will someone keep this child out of my way?” her mother cried. And she was crying. Horrified, Isabel watched as her mother struggled to balance a box of dishes on her hip while wiping tears from her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” said Isabel. She did not think she had struck her mother so hard. She had not hurt herself even one little bit.

“You didn’t,
mija.
” Mami forced a smile and continued down the porch steps to the wagon. “Go and play for a little while longer.”

Worried, Isabel wandered away from their cabin home and into the backyard, wishing her brother would come and play, but he had gone with Papi up to the big farmhouse to collect Papi’s pay. Her father would come home happy. He always did on paydays. Sometimes he brought her little treats, too—candy or a ribbon for her hair.

She sat on a rock drawing patterns in the dirt with a stick, listening to her mother and grandfather loading the wagon, unseen on the other side of the cabin. They had been working all morning, and everyone was sad except for the baby. Abuela had not started dinner, working the cornmeal with her hands and frying the tortillas as she usually did at this time of the day. Isabel was hungry. When were they going to eat?

She went to find her mother but found her grandfather first. “I’m hungry,” she told him, slipping her hand into his.

He hesitated and looked back at the cabin. Mami was somewhere inside; Isabel heard a door open and close. “We’re almost done,” he said. “Can you wait?”

Isabel shook her head.

Her grandfather smiled kindly down at her. “Very well. Let’s see what we can find.”

Together they went around back to the pair of orange trees that grew side by side a few yards from the cabin. They searched the branches, but found no ripe oranges, only hard, green fruit too bitter to eat. Her grandfather thought for a moment. “We will have to search a little ways from the house,” he told her. “Can you walk that far?”

Isabel nodded, although she was not sure how far he meant to go.

Hand in hand they walked up the hill, leaving the cabin behind. Before long Isabel’s legs grew tired, but she did not complain. She was relieved when her grandfather finally halted, but surprised that he had chosen the apricot orchard for their rest. Isabel and her brother were strictly forbidden to play there, lest they accidentally harm the trees.

The branches were heavy with plump, ripe fruit. Already Papi and the other hired hands had stuck the posts deep into the ground where every year they set up the cutting shed. The harvest would start soon. Even Mami and Abuelo worked the apricot harvest. Someday Isabel would, too.

“Would you like one?” her grandfather asked, gesturing to the nearest tree.

“Mami says we aren’t allowed,” Isabel said, though the sight of the fruit made her mouth water. “She says we should never, never take the apricots without permission.”

“On an ordinary day, I would say that is very good advice,” her grandfather replied. “But today is a special day, and just this once, you may have any apricot you choose.”

He hoisted her up onto his shoulders and moved so close to the trees that she felt hidden within the branches like a little bird. Giggling, she searched and searched until she found the perfect apricot—rosy and plump, without a single blemish. She plucked it, wiped it on the hem of her dress, and bit into the soft flesh. The sweet juice trickled down her chin, warm from the sun. Sometimes her father brought home the dried, cured apricot slices at the end of harvest, but Isabel rarely tasted the fresh fruit, and never straight from the tree.

She picked a second apricot for Abuelo, and then one for Mami, Papi, Abuela, and her brother. She took one for the baby, too; she could suck on it even though she didn’t have any teeth. Isabel expected her grandfather to tell her to stop, to warn her that she was taking too many, but he let her continue until she could carry no more. Only then did he lower her to the ground.

They walked slowly back to the cabin. Isabel held up her hem to make a basket of her skirt, carefully cradling the fruit. Abuelo offered to help, but she insisted upon carrying the apricots herself. She had picked them; she would bring them home to the family.