Elm Creek Quilts [10] The Quilter's Homecoming (4 page)

“Abuelo?” she asked. “How long are we going away?”

His dark, graying eyebrows rose. “How long?”

“When are we coming home?”

He watched her for a moment, his rich brown eyes full of sympathy. Then he sat down and drew her onto his lap.
“Niña,”
he said,

“we aren’t coming back. You know that. Your mami and papi have found a new home for you and your brother and sister.”

“What about you?”

“Abuela and I will be right next door.”

“But I don’t want to go.” She loved the orange trees, the shady front porch, the cozy room she shared with her brother and baby sister. When her parents had taken her to see their new home on the western side of the valley near the grocery store, she never thought they were meant to live there forever.

Her eyes welled up with tears.

“Oh, no, we can’t have tears,” said her grandfather sternly. “You’re a big girl and you mustn’t cry. You must be proud. Remember that this land once belonged to our family, from those high hills to the east and as far as you can see to the west. The king of Spain gave all this to my grandfather as a reward for his courage. You must be as brave as he was.”

Isabel gulped air and dried her tears. She understood now why her grandmother had turned her back upon the cabin where they had spent so many happy years. It was already a part of their past.

1925

E
lizabeth and Henry almost missed their train. They had planned to arrive at the Harrisburg station in plenty of time to make the 10:05 night train, but after the car was packed and the last farewells said, Elizabeth discovered that her shoes were missing. At first she thought she had merely misplaced them in the excitement surrounding the wedding, but little cousin Sylvia couldn’t hide her grin of satisfaction, refusing to help in the search or give the grown-ups a single clue as to their whereabouts. Elizabeth had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, but when Henry glanced at his watch and checked the car for the hundredth time, she took pity on him.

“I suppose those shoes are gone for good,” she said, rising with a sigh and smoothing the skirt of her traveling suit, a gift sewn by her aunt Eleanor and great-aunt Lucinda. “They were my favorite pair, too. I’ll suppose I’ll have to do without until we reach California.”

While Sylvia looked on suspiciously, Elizabeth bade farewell to each cousin, aunt, uncle, and grandparent in turn, exchanging hugs and kisses and promises to write. Last of all, Elizabeth said good-bye to her parents. Her father was too overcome to speak, but he hugged Elizabeth and held her so long she wondered if Henry might be forced to pry her loose. Her mother, tears filling her eyes, choked out a few last-minute warnings about the dangers of travel. Elizabeth nodded, but the words scarcely registered. Shoes or no shoes, she really was leaving.

She took Henry’s arm and left Elm Creek Manor, chasing away thoughts that she might be crossing the threshold for the last time. Gingerly she picked her way across the veranda in her stocking feet, greatly exaggerating the discomfort.

“You can’t go all the way to California like that,” protested Sylvia.

“I could lend you my boots,” said Henry.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him, surprised that he had decided to play along. “I don’t have any choice,” she told Sylvia. “If Henry and I don’t reach the ranch before the former owners leave, who will take care of the animals? They’ll be hungry and lonely, the poor things.”

Elizabeth knew Sylvia loved animals too much to bear the thought of one neglected. Sure enough, the little girl scowled, disappeared into the manor, and returned moments later carrying Elizabeth’s black leather Mary Janes. “Here,” she said sullenly, thrusting them at her cousin.

“Oh, you found them,” exclaimed Elizabeth, slipping them on. “What a clever girl.”

Sylvia did not smile at the praise. She flung her arms around Elizabeth for one last, fierce hug and ran back into the manor without a word.

Elizabeth held Henry’s hand tightly as Elm Creek Manor disappeared behind them. She held her gaze on the photographs of Triumph Ranch, lingering over the beautiful landscape that she and Henry would soon call home. Yet Two Bears Farm would always mean as much to Henry as Elm Creek Manor did to her. Two Bears Farm had been in the Nelson family since before the Bergstrom family came to America, and its history was just as renowned. Henry’s great-grandparents, Thomas and Dorothea Nelson, had run an Underground Railroad station out of the old farmhouse, and the Nelson children loved to retell the story of how Thomas had been shot defending the home from slave catchers. Dorothea had run the farm, raised a child, and edited an abolitionist newspaper while Thomas was off fighting in the Civil War. The farm had sustained Henry’s family for generations. If only Triumph Ranch would prove as bountiful.

Because it was their honeymoon, Henry splurged on a compartment for the eighteen-hour-and-five-
minute trip from Harrisburg to St. Louis on Train 17. The accommodations were small but well appointed, but most important, they were private—which was in Elizabeth’s opinion essential for a newlywed couple. Their compartment boasted two facing seats, an ingenious washbasin that folded into the wall, and a covered toilet in the corner. Elizabeth immediately decided that she would send Henry out into the corridor whenever she needed to use it. Married or not, there were some activities she had no intention of sharing with him.

The night porter helped them settle in with their hand luggage and then converted one of the seats into a double bed, where Elizabeth and Henry snuggled beneath the covers. As Henry held her and kissed her to the swaying of the train, Elizabeth wished their wedding quilt was not packed away with their china in the luggage car. She had meant for them to sleep beneath it every night of their marriage.

The next morning she and Henry had breakfast in the dining car. Afterward they explored the train and settled in the observation car, where Henry wanted to enjoy the view as the forested hills of Pennsylvania gave way to the low mountains of West Virginia and the flat farmlands of the Midwest. Elizabeth preferred to observe their fellow passengers. She was fascinated by the knee-high hemlines of the ladies’ dresses, the dropped waists that gave their slim figures a boyish look, the lipstick carefully applied to mimic the effect of a bee sting. “Every one of them has her hair bobbed,” Elizabeth whispered to Henry, envious. Her parents had forbidden her to cut hers. “They look like they stepped out of a Hollywood fashion magazine.”

“I love your hair,” said Henry. “Don’t cut it off to chase a fad. You’re prettier than any of these girls.”

Pleased, Elizabeth rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek, glancing over his shoulder at a woman with a sleek, dark bob who held her cigarette holder elegantly as she pored over a recent issue of
True Story.
With a flash of inspiration, she rose and excused herself. She hurried back to their honeymoon suite, as they had nicknamed it, and unearthed her sewing box. The jolting of the train at first made it difficult to thread her needle, but she soon altered the hem of her dress with swift, deft stitches.

“Perfect,” she declared, admiring the fall of the skirt and the daring show of leg.

As for her hair…

She braided it into two golden plaits, took a deep breath, and raised the scissors. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she cut off the braids and immediately shut her eyes, setting the scissors down as if the metal scalded.

Not that she regretted what she had done; she would look like a blond Clara Bow, only prettier. Henry would love it.

Elizabeth opened her eyes and peered into the mirror. Her gentle ringlets had given way to wild, uneven curls.

She gulped and pressed a hand to her stomach. Her hair would grow back. It would take years for it to regain its former length, but it would grow back. In the meantime, she would wear fashionable hats.

She left the sleeper and made her way back to the observation lounge, taking her time and rehearsing her entrance. With any luck, Henry would be so distracted by her higher hemline that he wouldn’t notice her hair. Yet whom should she pass in the narrow corridor but the woman with the enviable, sleek, dark-haired bob. “Jeez!” the woman exclaimed. “Didya forget your beautician’s birthday or something? ’Cause it looks like she saved the dull scissors for you.”

Elizabeth promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, hey, hey there, honey. I didn’t mean nothing by it.” She patted Elizabeth awkwardly on the shoulder. “You look fine. I mean—well, not fine, but it’ll grow back, right?”

Elizabeth took out her handkerchief and tried to compose herself. “I was just trying to bob—bob—”

“Another bob gone bad,” said the woman, shaking her head. “Well, I’ve seen worse. Do you want me to fix it?”

“Can you? I didn’t think it could be fixed.”

“Sure. It won’t be as good as new, but it’ll be swell. Don’t you worry.”

The woman, whose name was Mae, followed Elizabeth back to her compartment. “Nice digs,” she remarked, glancing around as Elizabeth dug in her sewing box for the scissors. “You sure know how to travel in style.”

“We splurged,” Elizabeth explained, handing her the scissors. “It’s our honeymoon.”

“You don’t say.” Mae gestured for her to take a seat. “I guess the fun’s over for you, honey.”

“On the contrary, I think the fun has just started.”

“You must’ve married one hell of a fella to feel that way.” Mae studied Elizabeth’s mangled locks. “Say, wait a minute. I saw you two in the observation car. That sandy-haired looker is your husband?”

“That’s right,” said Elizabeth, cringing slightly at the sound of the scissors snipping away near her right ear.

“He seems…” Mae paused. “Awful serious.”

“I suppose he is, but he knows how to have a good time, too.”

“Don’t get me wrong, honey. A guy like that is the right sort of fella when you’re ready to settle down.” Mae sighed. “Sure wish I could fall in love with one of those. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

But Elizabeth did know, and she felt a surge of love and pride for her new husband. “Henry’s one in a million, all right.”

Mae snorted. “So’s Peter, but I don’t think I mean that the same way you do.”

“Is Peter your husband?”

“No, and I tell him he won’t be until he proves he can keep a job for more than two months running. And I mean a decent job, too.”

“He probably just hasn’t found his niche yet,” Elizabeth said.

“Oh, he’s found his niche all right. There’s only one thing he’s any good at.” Mae thought for a moment. “Okay, two things, but he sure can’t make any money doing the other. I would have to put my foot down, if you know what I mean.”

Elizabeth had no idea what she meant, but she murmured a vague agreement. At last Mae handed the scissors back to Elizabeth. “It’s not bad for a makeshift barbershop on a moving train,” she remarked, looking pleased with herself. “You’re a regular jazz baby now.”

Elizabeth leapt to her feet and snatched up the mirror. “I can’t believe it,” she exclaimed, tossing her short curls. It was a perfectly shaped bob, light and carefree. “You’re a miracle worker.”

“I know,” said Mae, “but I still don’t want to be around when your husband sees you for the first time.”

Elizabeth tugged on her cloche and returned to the observation car, where Henry’s eyes widened as they traveled from her raised hemline to her bobbed hair. In that instant, she knew exactly how to play it. “Like it?” she asked, snatching off her cloche. She shook her bobbed curls, sat down beside him, and smiled.

“Your…hair,” Henry managed to say. “And…your dress.”

“Enjoy the view?” she asked playfully, crossing her legs at the knee and swinging her foot in his direction.

“Of course I enjoy it.” He lowered his voice. “I just don’t know if I want everyone else to enjoy it.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t be silly. Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

“Of course. You’re beautiful. You’ll always be beautiful. But…” He struggled for words. “Why?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I thought it would be more practical. It’s going to be hot in southern California, and we’re going to be awfully busy on the ranch. Bobbed hair is cooler and easier to care for. I don’t want to waste a minute on my hair that could be spent helping you run the ranch.”

Henry looked as if he didn’t quite believe her, but she smiled and settled back with a copy of Willa Cather’s
A Lost Lady
someone had abandoned on an adjacent seat. Later, back in their compartment, she would alter another dress or two before they repacked their bags and changed trains in St. Louis. By the time they reached California, she could make over her entire wardrobe.

A few hours later as they were sitting down to lunch, Elizabeth spotted Mae entering the dining car on the arm of a red-haired man in a finely cut double-breasted wool flannel suit. He was a few inches shorter than the willowy Mae, with a small mouth, a pencil-thin mustache, and a large mole on his left cheek.