The Quilter's Legacy (22 page)

Clara left her mother's side and seated herself on Eleanor's footstool. “Would you like me to thread a needle for you?”

Eleanor smiled and thanked her. She let Clara borrow the heron-shaped shears Miss Langley had given her and slipped her thimble on her finger.

“I'm pleased you're going to finish your quilt,” said Maude. She had married the second eldest of the Bergstrom sons, Louis, the previous spring, and with her first anniversary approaching, she had decided to learn to quilt to make an anniversary gift for her husband. Elizabeth had encouraged her to choose a simple Nine-Patch, but after seeing a picture in the
Ladies' Home Journal
, Maude had fallen in love with a stunning appliquéd Sunflower quilt designed by renowned quilter Marie Webster. Privately, the other women of the family agreed she would be lucky to finish even a small fraction of it in time, but no one wanted to discourage her newfound interest in their beloved craft, and since Maude did not want to settle for a simpler block, they decided to let her go her own way.

“Perhaps she will learn better, learning from her mistakes,” Elizabeth had said with a sigh.

“Perhaps,” Lucinda had agreed, “and perhaps this quilt will be a gift for their tenth anniversary instead of their first.”

Eleanor had joined in the laughter. It had been so much easier to laugh then, when she had just begun to feel life stirring within her womb and every stitch she put into the soft, white whole cloth quilt was another prayer for the health and safety of the precious child she carried.

Eleanor gazed at the quilt. “I don't like to leave work unfinished.” In a flash of inspiration, she added, “I've decided to give this to my sister when her child is born.”

“You can't do that,” said Lily in dismay. “You've worked so hard on it, and you're going to need it yourself someday.”

Eleanor smiled fondly at her sisters-in-law, her earlier bitterness forgotten. Lily's characteristic optimism was as welcome as Lucinda's frankness. “Perhaps I will,” she said, “but my sister has such a good head start that her child will definitely be born first, and I have no quilt for him. Or her. The only other quilt I have under way is the Turkey Tracks—”

“Absolutely not,” said Elizabeth, not even looking up from her work. “Under no circumstances should a child be given a Wandering Foot quilt.”

Lucinda caught Eleanor's eye and grinned. “She said Turkey Tracks, not Wandering Foot.”

“You know very well that they are one and the same.” Elizabeth looked up from her work and realized they were teasing her. “Suit yourselves, then,” she said, shrugging. “If you want to condemn a poor innocent child to a lifetime of restlessness and wandering, then I can't stop you.”

“Quilt or no quilt, I would not be surprised if the child has a bit of wanderlust,” said Lucinda. “It seems to run in the family.”

The other women laughed, and even Eleanor managed a smile.

L
ater that evening, after she prepared for bed, she read Abigail's letter again, hungry for news of their parents. Mother was alive if not well, Abigail had written, but Eleanor had read enough similarly derisive comments to know that the remark pertained to Abigail's general opinion of their mother and not to her current health. She was not surprised to hear that their parents still avoided Abigail in society, or that Abigail still seemed genuinely astonished that their parents did not appreciate how she had resolved their financial difficulties. Within months of marrying Abigail and the dissolution of any possible agreement with the Corvilles, Mr. Drury had purchased Lockwood's and had assumed responsibility for Father's debts. He had made Father a vice president, and in an overture of reconciliation that Eleanor had found remarkable at the time, he had kept the Lockwood name in the title of the new company. Since then, as she pieced together the scraps of information her sister let fall, Eleanor had come to believe that Mr. Drury's ostensible generosity had masked one last stab of revenge against his former rival. As best as Eleanor had been able to determine, Father had been given very little work to do, and although he received an impressive salary, he had no influence whatsoever. Sometimes Eleanor wondered if Father would have preferred to go into bankruptcy with his pride intact, but she knew her mother never would have allowed it. It was bad enough that their position in society had been irreparably damaged by the scandal; they should not also have to endure financial ruin.

Eleanor had pen and paper in the nightstand; she could write to Abigail and ask outright how their parents fared, and satisfy both her curiosity and Abigail's request for a letter at the same time. She would have, except she knew Abigail would ignore her questions or respond so breezily that she might as well not have bothered.

She climbed into bed and blew out the lamp, pulling the Rocky Mountain quilt over her. She and Fred had slept beneath it every night of their marriage, even when it was not yet complete. Lately she had fallen asleep beneath it alone more often than not.

She was not sure how many hours later Fred inadvertently woke her as he pulled back the covers. When she stirred, he kissed her and murmured an apology. “It's all right,” she said as he lay down beside her at last. “I'm glad you woke me. I haven't seen you all day, except at supper.”

“I'm sorry. I've been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“You could come outside and see for yourself tomorrow.”

“Or you could simply tell me, if you weren't so stubborn.”

“Oh. So I'm the stubborn one.” He kissed her gently and shifted onto his back, settling against the pillow. He let out a long sigh.

Eleanor knew he was exhausted, but she could not let go just yet. “I heard from my sister today.”

“Is she well?”

“She is. She and Herbert are returning from Europe soon.” She steeled herself. “She wants me to come when her child is born. I thought I might go. If I can be spared.”

She did not mean if Bergstrom Thoroughbreds could do without her. Although everyone was expected to contribute to the family business, the others would divide up her work so that her absence would be little noticed. She meant if Fred could spare her, if the man who had sworn never to leave her side would willingly or eagerly let her go so far away.

“That would be in the middle of August?”

“Unless the child is early. I thought I should be prepared to leave at the beginning of the month, if necessary.”

“That's not a good time for me to be away.”

“Well, no,” said Eleanor, surprised. “I assumed I would go alone. Perhaps Clara could accompany me.”

“My sister's a level-headed girl, but she's still just a child,” said Fred. “I was thinking of someone who might look after you.”

“I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“I know you are,” he said quickly. “Well, Clara would be thrilled, and she's a good helper. How long will you be gone?”

She had not decided. “A month, perhaps more.”

“That long?” He drew her into his arms. “Maybe I can get away for a few days and visit you in New York.”

“That would be nice.”

“We could see your parents, if you like.”

“I don't think we would be welcome.”

“Would they turn us away at the door?”

“I doubt they would even let us pass through the front gates.”

He stroked her hair and held her close. “Then we'll leave them alone.”

C
lara was as thrilled by the upcoming trip to New York as Fred had predicted, and Elizabeth readily granted her permission to accompany Eleanor. The women of the family agreed that at such a time as Abigail would soon face, no woman fortunate enough to have a sister wanted to be without her. “Or without her mother,” added Lily, and blushed, remembering too late the state of affairs among the Lockwood women.

“I cannot imagine my mother would be much comfort,” said Eleanor, smiling to show Lily she had not taken offense.

“Then you must go, as much as we will miss you,” said Elizabeth. “Have you ever assisted in childbirth?”

“No, but fortunately Abigail won't need to rely entirely upon me,” said Eleanor with a laugh. “A doctor and at least one nurse will be present. I don't plan to do anything more than comfort my sister and be one of the first to cuddle the newborn.”

“Even the best doctors sometimes overlook important remedies,” said Elizabeth. “Or rather, they dismiss them as silly folk tales. If you do arrive in time for the delivery, remember to place a knife beneath your sister's bed. That will cut the pain.”

“Cut the pain?”

“Will any sort of knife do, or does it have to be a special knife?” inquired Lucinda. “What would happen if you used a spoon instead?”

“Tease me if you must,” retorted Elizabeth, “but there was a knife beneath my bed for every child I bore except for Louis, and his birth was by far the longest and most painful.”

“Of course it was,” said Maude. “He was nearly ten pounds.”

“He's your husband, so your children will probably be large, too. You'll be begging for a knife then, and it would serve you right if I made you do without.”

“I'll put a knife under your bed for you, Maude,” said Clara loyally, but after glancing at Eleanor, added, “Maybe it doesn't help, but it couldn't hurt, either.”

Clara spent the next several days in the library, reading everything she could find about New York City. Within a day she had composed an impressive list of all the sights she wished to see, and Eleanor was pleased to discover that many of her favorite museums and landmarks were included.

“We'll have plenty of time for sightseeing,” Eleanor promised one evening later that week as the women of the family gathered in the west sitting room for a last bit of quilting before bed. “Unless I can't finish this quilt in time and have to sneak away to complete it while Abigail tends to the baby.”

“A whole cloth quilt is the perfect choice for a baby's first quilt,” said Elizabeth. “Its unbroken surface suggests purity and innocence. Whole cloth quilts are well suited for newborns and for brides.”

“What does it matter, as long as the quilt is pretty?” asked Lily.

“It matters a great deal,” said Elizabeth. “Think of the symbolism, the omens in a quilt. What would you think if a bride pieced her wedding quilt in the Contrary Wife or Crazy House or Devil's Claws pattern? It would be far better for her to choose something like Steps to the Altar or True Lover's Knot.”

“You're absolutely right,” said Lucinda.

Elizabeth regarded her with surprise. “Why, this is a novelty. You agree with me?”

“Of course,” said Lucinda. “Can you imagine, for example, if a bride chose Tumbling Blocks? That pattern is also called Baby Blocks, and everyone would gossip about why she had to get married.”

“Lucinda,” said Elizabeth over the others' laughter, “if you weren't my dear husband's baby sister, I would give you the scolding you deserve.”

“Don't let that stop you.” Lucinda shrugged. “What do I care what pattern a bride chooses for her wedding quilt, so long as it isn't yet another floral appliqué with bows and birds and butterflies and—oops. Sorry, Maude.”

“This isn't my wedding quilt,” said Maude primly, struggling to put a sharp point on the petal of another Sunflower block. “And while I might add a few butterflies if I am so inclined, you won't find any birds or bows here. Not that I'd let you influence me. If it's good enough for the
Ladies' Home Journal
, then it's good enough for me, and it would be good enough for you, too, if you weren't so prideful.”

“Who's prideful?” protested Lucinda. “I like the
Ladies' Home Journal
. I like it even more now that they're going to publish Eleanor's whole cloth quilt pattern.”

“What?” exclaimed Eleanor.

“Now look what you made me do,” Lucinda complained to Maude. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“It is a surprise,” said Eleanor. “Believe me, it is.”

Maude shook her head. “This must be another one of Lucinda's jokes.”

“Not at all,” said Lucinda. “I thought we could all use a bit of cheering up around here, so I copied Eleanor's pattern and sent it to the editor. It's such a beautiful, original design, so I thought, why not share it with the world?” She smiled kindly at Eleanor. “I didn't know if you would have the heart to finish your own quilt, and it seemed a shame not to have someone, somewhere completing it.”