Authors: Judith Pella
Ellie wiggled under the covers to find a comfortable spot. “No, not really . . . but—I don’t know, it could happen that way. He could see the fine work and how lovingly it was done and maybe want to get to know that particular girl better.”
“And, my dear sister, what if our young, unmarried minister is fat as a hog and has crossed eyes and warts?”
Giving that new idea some thought, Ellie shuddered, then said, “How good a quilter is Iris Fergus?”
They both burst out laughing.
Dad called from across the hall, “Girls, keep it down. I t’s late.”
More quietly, Ellie said, “But he could be handsome. Anyway, looks aren’t everything.”
“So you’d marry a wart-faced hog if he was nice?”
“Well,I’d have to draw the line at the warts.”
The girls laughed again but more quietly.
Maggie said, “You could have Colby with just a wink of the eye.”
“He’s nice and good-looking. But . . . Mags, it is really important to me to marry a man with a strong faith in God. I can imagine us reading the Bible together and then having long discussions about what we read. He would ask me to offer opinions of his sermons. We would pray together.I t’s the kind of life that would be perfect.”
“Then you better catch the minister because I doubt any of the other fellows around here would give you that.”
Ellie gave a very solemn nod.
Maggie added, “I’ll make the block if you think it would matter. At least anything I stitch will never win him over.”
“Oh, you’re not so bad. We’ll find you a good block. Something special but not too hard . . .” Ellie pursed her lips in thought, but even she was hard pressed to think of something that could fit the bill.
“Wouldn’t it be just my luck if he went for the non-domestic type?” Maggie said drolly.
“You could do worse.”
“The only good thing about that would be the look of shock on the biddies’ faces. I ’d make a spider web block if it wasn’t so hard. But maybe I should anyway, since the quilt is just a big man trap.”
“It’s a welcome quilt.”
“And believe me, Mabel Parker, Sarah Stoddard, and even Iris Fergus will be just as intent as you in
welcoming
the new pastor.”
“Mabel and Sarah are the best young quilters in the church,” Ellie said with some trepidation.
“Not better than you. You’re almost as good as Mama, and she’s the best quilter in the church.”
“Not if you ask Florence Parker.”
“What is it between Mama and Florence? You’d think they were dogs after the same bone.”
“All I know is that something happened when they were girls on the wagon train from Maine to here.”
“Probably a fight over a man.”
“Do you think—?”
“Girls!” came Mama’s voice. “Put out your lamp.I t’s time for bed.”
The sisters looked at each other and shook their heads. Their mother couldn’t have heard. Maggie blew out the lamp and snuggled down under the covers. She had a feeling she was going to need all her rest just for the stitching alone, not to mention for what promised to be an interesting next few weeks.
The house was quiet with everyone gone. Dad had decided to try to get to St. Helens before the next storm. He needed a harness repaired before he could finish the planting. Mama needed groceries, and Maggie decided to go with them. Boyd was over at the Wallards’ paying court to Nessa’s youngest daughter, Kendra. Georgie was again at school and not happy that the whole family would be off having fun while he was “imprisoned” all day. Ellie tried to comfort him with the fact that she was going to stay home, but he countered, rightly enough, that she had a choice.
She didn’t know why she had chosen not to join the others.
St. Helens was a good seven miles away, so trips there were not frequent, since it took several hours to drive there and back in the wagon. But she wanted some time without distractions to get started on her block for the welcome quilt. After she finished her chores—mixing the bread dough and setting it near the stove to rise, sweeping, and mending—she got down Mama’s box of patterns. She loved this box, and Mama had promised her that one day it would be hers. Maggie had no interest in it, but Ellie loved not only the patterns themselves but also the rich history most of them represented. There were some patterns cut from magazines, some yellowed and quite old; one had a date of 1842—it was forty years old! Older than Mama. There were several blocks made of cloth that Mama or one of her forebears had pieced together in order to remember a certain pattern.
Many of the patterns had been passed down through Mama’s family. Grandma Spooner, Mama’s mother, was the best quilter and stitcher ever. How Ellie loved to visit her in Deer I sland and look at her quilts and learn from her! But that was even farther away than St. Helens, so they didn’t get there more than once every few months. Now that Grandpa Spooner had passed on, there was talk of having Grandma move in with them, but Grandma wouldn’t hear of it. She liked keeping her own house. Mama didn’t push the idea, because every time the subject was raised, Dad would mention that his parents were getting up in years, as well, and though Scappoose, where they lived, wasn’t quite as far as Deer I sland, it was still hard to visit them and care for them properly. Mama would sooner burn down her house than have Mother Newcomb, as she called her, and not in a fond way, live with her. Grandma Newcomb could be difficult. For one thing, she was a good quilter, too, but there was not a single pattern in Mama’s box from her, and there wouldn’t be as long as the woman lived. According to Mama, Grandma Newcomb was jealous that Mama was a better quilter than she was. Moreover, she had never thought Mama a suitable match for her son.
Ellie often wondered what a future mother-in-law might think of
her
. She sometimes imagined how the mothers of the young men she was interested in would accept her. Colby Stoddard’s mother, Emma Jean, scared her most. That woman ran her home like a military camp, with herself as the general. Her husband was only a colonel, if that. No wonder her daughter Sarah was so shy. Colby was a rebel except he was always polite and respectful in his mother’s presence. Away from her, he was a wild one. That’s probably why Maggie, much as she refused to admit it, was sweet on him. And why most of the girls, including Ellie, were to some degree taken with him. He wasn’t a truly bad sort, just fun-loving, and Ellie did like that about him but not enough to risk having Emma Jean for a mother-in-law. Maybe if she really loved Colby, it wouldn’t matter who his mother was.
The new pastor’s family most likely would be far away in Maine.I t might be she’d never meet them unless they had the means to take the train west sometime. She wondered again what he was like. She made a picture in her mind of a tall, handsome man about twenty-five years old, with dark hair and deep-set dark eyes intense with both humor and wisdom. Oh, how those eyes would gaze upon her with love! She would work at his side. She had always wanted to start a Sunday school in their church. Oh yes, she could see it now. She would lead the little children, and he would lead the adults. And together they would serve God, building a wonderful church and congregation that would become known throughout the county for its faith and good works.
Stop it this minute, Ellie Newcomb! How you spin silly daydreams.
More than anything else, she wanted her own home and family. L ooking around at her parents’ home, she imagined having one like it. She loved the simple frame house with its whitewashed siding and covered front porch. Dad had built the house himself, with the help of neighbors, of course. I t was two stories, the bottom floor one huge area for the kitchen, dining, and living areas, though at Mama’s insistence there was a small separate room for a formal parlor. Upstairs were the four bedrooms. There was no indoor plumbing except in the kitchen, the one thing Ellie would change in her own home. She’d have an indoor bathroom with a big bathtub, maybe even with hot and cold running water.
Not on a pastor’s salary, you won’t! she told herself in an attempt to bring her fancies down to earth.
She concentrated once again on the patterns in Mama’s box. The pattern showing was a L eMoyne Star, or as her mama called it,L emon Star. Maybe she should do something simple like that. She really should refuse to get caught up in a competition that was not only unseemly but could become downright unsavory if it went too far. But she had always been taught to do her very best, and she could do far better than the Lemon Star.
Thumbing through a few more patterns, she paused at one called Tree ofL ife. This was also pieced but more difficult by far. And there was a lovely spiritual meaning to it. I t consisted of a tree trunk with nearly fifty tiny triangles for leaves. But since she especially enjoyed laid-on work, maybe she could make a more representational tree with a gnarled old trunk like the willow in their yard. Could she work that in blue? Oh, of course. She’d make a sky and perhaps an entire scene of the house, the willow, a couple of birds.
Jumping to her feet she went to Dad’s writing desk, found some paper, and sketched out her idea. Then she began to wonder if Mama had a scrap of blue that would work for the sky. She went to the scrap box and was digging through that when she heard the wagon rattle into the yard.
Within a few moments, the house seemed to burst into life.
“Looks like you’ve been hard at it, Ellie,” Mama said as she strode into the house with an armful of packages and took note of the scattered patterns and scraps of fabric.
Ellie hurried over to help. “Just looking through your patterns.”
“Find anything?”
“I’ve got some ideas.”
“Ooh!” Maggie exclaimed, holding up Ellie’s sketch. “Looks like you’re Leonardo da Vinci creating a masterpiece.”
“Put that down. You’ll mess it up!” Ellie demanded, feeling a little embarrassed. Down deep she knew she had gone too far with the drawing.
Mama ambled over. “That’s really nice.I know I’ve’ve got some brown for the tree.”
“What’s all this?” Dad asked, coming in just then.
“It’s for the biddies’ man-trap quilt,” Maggie said before Ellie could respond.
“What?” Dad truly had no idea what she was talking about.
Quickly Ellie said, “Oh, it’s nothing, Dad. Just a welcome quilt the Sewing Circle wants to make for the new pastor.”
Dad looked at Mama.
Mama said, “Maggie, would you put down Ellie’s work and finish bringing in the groceries?” I t wasn’t really a request, but Maggie was obviously reluctant to obey just as things might be getting interesting.
“What are you ladies up to?” Dad asked Mama.
“We are just making a welcome quilt.”
“What has Maggie gotten into her head—?”
“Maggie, scoot!” snapped Mama, and this time Maggie leaped toward the door.
“Stay put, Maggie,” Dad said quite firmly. Everyone held their breath, for it wasn’t every day he so openly disputed Mama.
“Calvin, now, don’t get your dander up,” Mama said with a laugh. “Goodness, you know what a kidder Maggie is.”
Maggie, who had stopped short at the door, made a protesting sound, but before she could say anything, Dad spoke. “I was afraid of something like this.I knew there was gonna be trouble when I showed you that letter and your eyes lit up like the Columbia steamer at night.”
“Whatever do you mean, Calvin?” Mama said with another laugh.
Ellie defined it as a nervous laugh.
“We’ve got a bachelor minister coming to the county,” Dad said. “That’s like luring a poor fly into a web.”
“Oh, Calvin, really!”
“Ada,I am the chairman of the board of deacons, and I must set an example for the church.I insist that this family behave in a seemly fashion with the new pastor. You will not parade our daughters about like tavern hussies!”
Dad never used words like
insist
and
will not
around Mama, not to mention a word like
hussies
. This was serious.
“We are only making a quilt, dear,” Mama said in a rare contrite tone.
“I’m going to tend the animals,” Dad said, then strode past Maggie and out the door.
Maggie started to follow him.
“Don’t take another step, Margaret Edith!” Mama hissed.
Again Maggie stopped short.
“Put the new sack of flour in the bin,” ordered Mama. “Then it is time to get supper.”
“But Dad will need help.”
Maggie never did know what was good for her.
“Georgie will be home soon,” Mama said tightly in a tone that broached no argument.
Reluctantly, like a convict marching to the gallows, Maggie picked up the sack of flour Dad had brought in and carried it to the bin in the sideboard.
Ellie closed up the pattern box, straightened up the scrap box, and put everything away. Then she went to the kitchen to help with supper.
“Mama, is Dad right?” she asked. “Is it so terrible to want to impress the new pastor?”
“Your father is just being a man, which simply means he doesn’t understand how things are, especially in the area of love and marriage. But what he truly doesn’t understand is that we are only making a welcome quilt. No man ever married a girl because of a quilt.”
That didn’t take into consideration the unspoken implication of the quilt, but logic did tell Ellie that her mother was right. A quilt would never affect a man’s heart. Still, she felt bad, not because of the quilt but because she knew her father was upset, perhaps even upset and disappointed with
her
. What he thought about her meant too much to her to feel comfortable with that.
“Mama, do you mind if I go out and . . . help Dad?” she asked.
“Well, just until Georgie gets home—”
“That’s not fair!” protested Maggie. “You told me I couldn’t go out—”
“Ellie did her chores today while you went to town and played. And it was you who put your father into a sour mood in the first place.”
“What happened?” Ellie asked.
“Nothing. Go on and help your father,” Mama said.
Mama’s tight lips and the flash in Maggie’s eyes gave Ellie the feeling she really didn’t want to know, so she grabbed a coat from the hooks by the door and went out.