“I like Washington.”
“It would be a great fit for you.”
“And for you?”
She tilted her head. Her eyes searched his. “Yes. Is that a crime? I could be happy there. Don’t I deserve that?”
“I want you to be happy.” He took a deep breath. “Chrissy, it’s possible you can’t be happy with me.” She started to speak, and he put his finger against her lips. “Hear me out. It’s time, don’t you think?”
She frowned, but she remained silent.
“If Pete Deaver knows what he’s talking about, Capital Chapel is looking for a minister who will make the congregation feel good about themselves. They don’t want somebody who’ll challenge them. They don’t want somebody who’ll ask more from them than they’re willing to give. They’re complacent and happy to be so. He as much as told me I have to promise I won’t go off half-cocked the way I did here. No protests. No civil disobedience. No sermons that make anyone uncomfortable. Certainly no prison sentences. I can be intellectual, but not emotional. I can’t thump the Bible too loudly, particularly, I’m guessing, those parts of it they’d rather pretend aren’t there. I’m making an educated guess here, but I suspect my sermon on rich men and the eye of a needle won’t go over big.”
“I can’t believe you’ve already decided against it without seeing the church or talking to anybody else!”
“I haven’t decided against it. I just don’t want you to think this is a shoo-in, even if they want me.” He considered his next words, but knew he had to go on. “I will never be part of a church that insists on making decisions for me. It’s my job, my struggle, to be a moral human being and to go where I’m led.”
“Oh, stop it! This is the real world. You can’t have everything you want. You have to make some compromises, you have to play the game a little. Didn’t you learn anything when they threw you in jail? What good did that do?”
“It changed my life. It changed
me.
And more and more, I think it was supposed to.”
She sat up straight, no longer touching him. “I’ve just about had it, you know that? I can’t wait forever. I
won’t
wait forever! We should be married. By now we should be thinking about having kids!”
“Then marry me. Make the commitment once and for all. Share my life with no strings attached. Make choices
with
me, not
for
me. I know you don’t want to live out in the country. When it’s time to leave Community Church, I’ll look for a place where you’ll be happier. We’ll look together, but don’t tell me you won’t marry me unless I do exactly what you want.”
“You’re being selfish. You’re trying to control me. You don’t give a damn what I need or want.”
“I can’t be somebody I’m not just to please you.”
“Neither can I.”
They stared at each other. Sam halfway expected her to slide his diamond off her finger. But she sat very still, as if she was afraid if she moved, she might move out of his life forever.
The silence continued until he thought he couldn’t stand it any longer. Then she shook her hair back over her shoulders. “I won’t be coming to Toms Brook next weekend, the way I said I might.”
He gave a slight nod.
“I’ve been invited to go foxhunting in Middleburg, and I think I’m going to accept,” she continued.
“Do you want me to drive up and see you?” Middleburg, a picturesque village in Virginia’s lush horse country, wasn’t that far from Toms Brook.
“No. A man has invited me. I doubt he’d appreciate you showing up on his doorstep.”
He heard the revelation—and the challenge. “He knows you’re engaged?”
“He’s not one to care too much.”
He kept his voice low. “Are you having an affair?”
“No.” She paused. “Not yet, anyway.”
“I see.”
“Probably not. I’m staying with his sister. I could get you an invitation for the weekend, if I thought you had either the time or inclination. But there’s no point in simply showing up to visit for a few hours.”
“Take it or leave it?”
“Something like that. I’m tired of playing second fiddle to your church and your conscience, Sam. I’m tired of waiting for you to see the light and realize what you gave up.”
He was all too aware that he was not angry with her. Hurt, perhaps, and his pride was wounded. But he was not angry. For one moment he had wanted her to say there was another man she was serious about, that they were sleeping together and she no longer wanted Sam in her life.
He was ashamed and dismayed that he had hoped for the easy way out, and apprehensive about what would happen next. But most of all, he was relieved that once and for all the tension between them, the very real possibility they would never marry, was out in the open.
“Nothing I’ve done was to hurt you. Not three years ago and not tonight.” He covered her hand, but she slid hers away and stood.
“Well, I
have
been hurt. But I guess I know what you say is true.”
“Are we going to leave it this way?”
She shrugged. “For now.”
He wondered if she was clinging to the hope he would fall in love with Capital Chapel and take the position there. In Christine’s mind, if that happened, every problem between them would be resolved. Sadly, Sam knew better.
“Sleep well,” he said.
She nodded and left him to stare at landscapes of a gracious, romanticized life that was not so different from Christine’s hopes for her own future.
E
lisa had never had a serious hobby. As a child she enjoyed jigsaw puzzles, so her mother set up a table on the wide porch where the family liked to congregate, and a puzzle had always been in process. As an adolescent she listened to music, buying tapes, then CDs, with her allowance. But neither activity ever bordered on obsession.
Piecing the endless chain quilt was a different story.
Perhaps her interest had developed so quickly because piecing the quilt reminded her of fitting a puzzle together. As she worked, she was warmed by memories of her mother’s laughter and her father’s pretend indignation when he couldn’t find the right piece. The quilt was much like a jigsaw, only it was Elisa’s job to cut the fabric and be certain it was exact so the block was a precise hexagon. She had already learned what could happen if she was careless.
Or perhaps her interest had bloomed because the rhythmic clinking of the treadle was like the steady beat of the music she once had loved, repetitive and soothing. As she sewed, she was lulled into oblivion, her thoughts drifting back to the happy days before her parents were killed, before she became a mother to the brother who was so much younger than she.
Perhaps it was the familiar splashes of color, the texture of handwoven fabric against her fingertips, the pursuit of beauty when her life had been so devoid of it.
And perhaps it was the image the quilt created in her mind of links so strong they could never be broken, of a solidarity and strength she dreamed of for her people.
“You were a million miles away.”
Startled, Elisa looked up to find Helen standing beside her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I was.”
“No matter. I understand. I get that way sometimes. Quilting’s what took me away from all my troubles. Guess that’s why I done so much of it in my time.”
“It’s addictive.”
“Let me see what you got so far.”
Helen had already seen and discarded the first half dozen of Elisa’s blocks, showing her where she had gone wrong and what she needed to make her work more accurate. Elisa gathered up her rapidly mounting pile and handed them over, standing to stretch as Helen pawed through them.
“You’ve gotten better.”
Elisa knew this was high praise indeed. “You think so?”
“I wouldn’t be all that ashamed to say I made a few of these myself.”
High
praise.
“They look a little silly with a hole in the middle, don’t they?” The block formed a hexagon of twelve wedges of alternately light and dark fabrics that did not meet in the middle. When Elisa had finished the number she needed, the next step, according to Helen, was to sit down with a circle of fabric and applique it in place in the middle, like the hub of a wheel.
“You got enough there for your first applique lesson.”
Elisa had already manufactured a pile of excuses to go with her blocks. She plucked out the best. “I’ve never been much for hand sewing. My mother had to let out the hems on my dresses because she said my stitches were too big.”
“You think I’m going to do this for you, come time to start putting the quilt together?”
“You mean you won’t?”
“Don’t get smart with me, missy. You come on down and we’ll do the first part of it today. You bring the fabric you plan to use for the centers. And don’t dawdle.”
Elisa had errands she planned to do later, so she took a few moments to comb her hair and slip on shoes. It was past time for a new pair, and she made a note to visit Wal-Mart, since she had just picked up her check at the nursing home. She would need something sturdy and comfortable, hopefully something she could adapt with a cheap pair of overshoes when winter snows began.
Downstairs, Helen had spread the collection of blocks on the kitchen table. Beside the blocks she’d made a pile of towels and set her iron on top of them. “Got a trick I learned from one of those television quilt shows. Never saw a single show on quilts ’til Nancy made me get that satellite. Learned to quilt just fine without them, too.”
“Nevertheless, we’re about to take advantage of Nancy’s satellite today.”
“Might as well, since she’s paying for it anyway, whether I use it or not.”
Elisa pulled up a chair beside her. “I could sit all day at the treadle.”
“You’ll like this well enough, I guess. The needle goes in and out, in and out. It’s got a rhythm to it, like the machine.”
“The nuns used to slap our fingers if our stitches weren’t even.”
“Nobody’s going to be slapping anybody in my kitchen.”
“I’m not getting out of this, am I?”
“Not on your life.”
In the next half hour Helen showed her how to trace and cut circles from, of all things, freezer paper. Then how to cut slightly larger circles from the fabric, which she ironed to the shiny side of the paper, and finally how to baste the edges of the fabric to the wrong side of the paper so that when she was finished she had a neat circle to applique to her block.
“Now, here comes the part you got to pay attention to,” Helen told her. “You did good with the basting.”
“I’m warning you, that’s how all my stitches look.”
“Not by the end of this lesson they won’t.”
And they didn’t. By the time Helen had grown tired of playing quilt teacher, Elisa had begun to get the hang of hiding her applique stitch so the fabric circle just seemed to have attached itself with no earthly help.
She sat back and stared at the completed block after she snipped her basting stitches and peeled the freezer paper away. “Well, who would think I could do this?”
“Me, for one. All you needed was a little confidence and nobody hitting you for your mistakes.”
“You wanted to a time or two.”
“Well, so? I didn’t lay a finger on you.” Helen got up and placed her hands against the small of her back as she stretched. “You’ll be a quilter yet.”
Elisa felt as if someone had just handed her a rainbow. “Thank you. That’s nice to hear.”
“I want you to start coming to the Wednesday Quilting Bee.”
“Oh, I couldn’t. I’ve got work to do at the church every morning.”
“I’m not going to listen to no. You’ve got nothing that won’t keep ’til later in the day. And if somebody needs you right that second, they’ll know where to find you.”
Elisa rose, too. “But I’m a beginner.”
“So? You’re already better than some of the women. And now you’ve got handwork you can do. Iron up a pile of those circles and bring them along.”
Elisa looked down at all the blocks she had already made. “I’ll have to iron a big pile.”
“What happened to that small quilt you were fixing to make? You think I didn’t notice just about everything you own fits in a backpack? Looks to me like you won’t be able to leave the house now. This quilt you’re making won’t fit, that’s for sure.”
“I might have to leave it for Cissy and Zeke,” Elisa said, struggling to keep her tone playful.
“You know, there are a lot of rooms in this house. Won’t be no call for you to leave just because they’re coming home in February. You’ll be welcome to stay. I’m counting on it.”
Elisa leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for that. And for giving me this gift of quilting.”
“No call to get mushy.” But Helen’s eyes sparkled.
“I have to do some things in town. Do you need anything while I’m there?”
“No, you run on.” Helen started toward the refrigerator, then turned. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Some man, Mexican by the look of him, came by looking for you.”
For a moment Elisa couldn’t speak. Then she found her voice. “Did he leave his name?”
“He did.” Helen paused. “Durned if I can remember it though. Give me a minute.”
Elisa couldn’t wait. “Young? Old?”
“Anybody under eighty looks young to me.” Helen frowned. “Not real tall. Stocky. Hair sticking up all over like a porcupine’s quills.”
Elisa felt such a sharp stab of disappointment she was afraid to breathe. “Diego? Diego Moreno?”
“That’s him.”
She struggled not to let her feelings show. “He’s Adoncia’s fiancé. I wonder what he wanted.”
“You tell Adoncia I want her to come and visit me and bring those children she talked so much about. They’ll want to see my chickens.”
“I’ll tell her. I’ll stop by on my way back home.”
“Well, don’t tell her this part, but I’m working on quilts for her and her kids. I hope she waits a while on that wedding of hers to give me time.”
Elisa gave Helen’s resisting body a hug.
Elisa had intended to stop by Adoncia’s anyway. The last time she’d seen her friend, Adoncia had been in a dark mood, complaining of everything but the real reason for her bad temper. Diego was pressuring her to set a wedding date, and she was no longer sure how to avoid marriage without telling him the truth, that no matter what, she was not going to start a family right away.
Elisa arrived at Ella Lane carrying gifts. Bubbles and a fancy bubble wand for Maria, a plastic dump truck for Fernando, new red-and-white dish towels for Adoncia. She’d also brought her completed quilt block to show her friend. Adoncia had expressed curiosity about Elisa’s new project.
Adoncia was sitting on her little porch on a folding chair when Elisa pulled up. Fernando and Maria, in fleece sweatshirts and long pants, were chasing each other around the trailer.
“My timing is good,” Elisa said, waving the gifts as the children ran by. They squealed in delight, as much to see her—she hoped—as for the gifts. Fernando took his truck to a nearby sandpile, and Maria followed to see if she could make bubbles land in his hair.
“You saved me,” Adoncia said. “They would have made two, maybe three, more trips around the house, then what would we have done?”
Elisa gave her the towels. “Your old ones are falling apart.”
“They’re pretty. I won’t want to get them wet.”
Elisa perched on the edge of the porch and looked up at her friend. “How are things?”
Adoncia shrugged. Elisa knew that didn’t bode well.
“Diego came to see me, but I wasn’t home,” Elisa said as an opener.
“He came? To your house?”
Elisa nodded.
“Well, he has stopped coming to mine.”
“Stopped coming here?”
“He is angry at me, and at you.”
Elisa settled back, afraid this was going to be a longer visit than she’d hoped. “Exactly what happened?”
“A man who cannot go to bed with his woman whenever he wants to begins to…” She turned up her hands. “What is the word?”
Elisa was sorry this was an English day. “Complain?”
Adoncia shook her head.
“Shout?”
“No! Begins to…
sospechar!”
“Suspect?”
“Yes! Begins to suspect that something is wrong. Diego thought perhaps there was another man. So I told him the truth.
¿Qué otra me queda?
I told him that I will not have another baby, even when we marry. Not until I am sure I can be a good mother.
No entiende.
And he does not understand why we must not make love for more than a week each time.”
“Well, surely he understands how it works, just not why you want it that way.”
“He is furious.”
“And you?”
“I am furious at him. This is my body, my life. And these two—” she gestured to Nando and Maria who were giggling in the sandpile “—
mis niños,
need a mother who is not so tired she cannot cook and clean for them or hear their prayers without falling asleep.”
“You don’t have to convince me.”
“No, but I have to convince him.”
“I’m not sure you can.”
Adoncia’s eyes filled, and angrily she wiped away a tear. “Then he can stay away.
Encontraré a otro novio!”
Elisa was sorry for both her friends. She loved Adoncia and liked Diego. He was a good man, not usually a controlling one. But this was an issue that meant the world to him. Until the moment Adoncia had given him a child of his own, Diego would feel he had only borrowed a family. Not because he didn’t love Maria or Fernando. But because he needed proof he was a father in every way.
“You say Diego is angry at me?” Elisa asked.
“I told him that you explained how I could keep from getting pregnant.”
Elisa was sorry it had come to this, but she didn’t blame Adoncia. And Diego was an intelligent man. Surely he understood, at least on some level, that Elisa was only helping her friend.
“What if I talk to him?” she asked. “What if I explain that you love him but you need time without a baby in the house. If it comes from me, maybe he’ll begin to see it’s just temporary, until you feel ready.”
“He won’t listen.” Adoncia’s eyes sparkled with tears. “
Es terco como una mula.
He won’t budge. He is not thinking like a man with intelligence.”