The New Year's Quilt (Elm Creek Quilts Novels) (10 page)

“I had been sent home in my cab only moments before the panic started. I gaped at my father, thinking of what a narrow escape I’d had. ‘Was anyone hurt?’ my sister asked.

“ ‘One child was injured,’ my father said, ‘but it could have been much worse. Thankfully both of my little girls were safely far away from that midnight disaster.’ And with that he raised his eyebrows at me as if daring me to disagree.”

“The man from the store tattled on you,” said Sylvia.

“He probably thought it was his duty to tell his employer that his little girl had put herself in great danger,” said Mama. “I don’t find any fault with him. That little child who was trampled could have been me. I didn’t have any grown-ups around to hold my hand or pull me out of harm’s way. If I had not left City Hall Park when I did, my New Year might have had a tragic beginning.”

“I can’t believe you left the house alone at night,” marveled Sylvia. “Did your father spank you? Did he tell your mother?”

“Goodness, no. If he had, I’m sure she would have locked me in my room for a week. I received no punishment for what I had done, and in fact, my father never spoke of it again.” Mother smiled, her gaze distant. “It was the most adventurous, most disobedient thing I had ever done, and would ever do, until I married your father.”

“Why was marrying Father disobedient?” said Sylvia. “Didn’t your parents like him?”

Her mother hesitated as if regretting the mention. “Oh, I suppose they liked him well enough, but they wanted me to marry someone else. I wanted to please them, but I loved your father, so I married him instead.”

Sylvia shook her head at this new, unbelievable revelation. As difficult as it was to imagine her mother as a naughty little girl, it was impossible to believe that anyone would want Mama to marry someone other than Father. Sylvia couldn’t imagine either of them loving anyone else.

“After making such a disobedient start to a new century, I resolved never again to defy my parents out of anger or jealousy,” said Mama. “The New Year wasn’t only a time for celebration, you see. It was also a time for reflection, and for deciding to mend one’s ways and change one’s life for the better.” Sylvia’s mother put her arms around her and kissed her on the top of the head. “You could do that, you know. Think about how you would like to improve yourself in the year ahead and make a New Year’s resolution to change.”

Sylvia frowned, thinking. “I’d like to run faster,” she announced. “I think I’ll resolve to do that.”

Her mother laughed. “Very well. Deciding how to improve yourself is the first step. Now, how would you go about achieving that goal?”

“Practice? Maybe if I try to run a little faster each day, by next year I’ll be lots faster.”

“That sounds like the right way to do it. But practice only outside or in the nursery,” Mama hastened to add. “I don’t think Grandma and the aunts would like to see you running through the halls. For your first New Year’s resolution, I think that’s fine, but you should know that most resolutions are meant to improve one’s character rather than one’s athletic skills.”

“You mean like…not fighting with your sister?”

“Exactly,” said Mama. “In fact, that’s a resolution most people in this house would be very happy to see you keep.”

Sylvia hadn’t meant that resolution for herself, but for Claudia. Still, she supposed she could keep it, too, and better than her big sister could.

Father appeared in the doorway then, so Sylvia carried her mother’s dishes to the kitchen and ran off to play, thinking of New Year’s resolutions and her mother’s New Year’s Eve adventure so long ago. If Sylvia had been in her mother’s place, she would have resolved to have more exciting escapades like that one, instead of promising to be less defiant. It sounded like her mother had only been defiant that one night, so why should she have to resolve to change? It must have been unbearable to stay behind so often and watch her sister go out into the city with their parents. Grandmother and Grandfather Lockwood should have made resolutions to treat their daughters more fairly. Certain members of the Bergstrom family ought to do the same.

In fact, Sylvia thought as she climbed the stairs to the nursery where she kept paper and pencil, everyone in the family would benefit from making New Year’s resolutions, and she knew exactly which ones were most necessary.

Sylvia wrote, crossed out mistakes, and copied her writing over neatly on fresh sheets of paper as night fell. She rolled the pages into fancy scrolls and tied them with ribbons, and she had just hidden them in her sewing basket when Claudia came upstairs and summoned her down to the ballroom. Great-Aunt Lucinda had set out
Pfannkuchen
and apple cider, and everyone was gathering for the New Year’s Eve party. Father had spent all evening by Mama’s side, looking through photo albums and reading aloud, but when Mama wanted to sleep, he joined the rest of the family downstairs by the fire. The adults of the family told jokes and stories of New Year’s Eves past, remembering loved ones that Sylvia knew only through family legends. Great-Grandfather Hans and Great-Grandmother Anneke, who had come to America from Germany and founded Elm Creek Farm. Hans’s sister, Gerda, who never married but had loved to read and discuss politics and cook. Sylvia drifted off to sleep to the murmur of their voices, but Grandma gently shook her awake five minutes before midnight so she could count down the last seconds of the old year with everyone else. When the mantel clock chimed midnight, she jumped up and down, blew on her tin horn, and shouted, “Happy New Year!” louder than anyone, but after that, she did not argue when her father sent her upstairs to bed.

First, though, she wanted to wish her mother Happy New Year. A light shone through the crack beneath her mother’s bedroom door, so Sylvia knocked and softly called out to her. When she did not reply, Sylvia slowly pushed open the door and found her mother sleeping soundly, her book resting open on the bed.

Sylvia tiptoed across the room, bent over to kiss her mother’s thin cheek, and picked up the book so her mother wouldn’t roll on top of it while she slept. The envelope with the New York postmark Mama had been using as a bookmark lay on the nightstand, but the flap had been opened since Sylvia had last seen it.

She glanced at her sleeping mother, then back to the doorway where she expected her father to appear any moment, then set the book facedown on the bed and quickly slipped a single, thick page from the envelope. When she unfolded it, a newspaper clipping fluttered to the floor. Sylvia quickly scooped it up; a quick glance revealed a society page story about a Christmas ball in New York that the elegantly dressed couple in the photograph had apparently hosted. Sylvia didn’t recognize the faces in the photograph or any of the names, so she turned her attention to the letter.

The message, written in firm, dark strokes on ivory writing paper edged in black, began abruptly: “Mrs. Edwin Corville enjoys every luxury, while you waste yourself on a horse farmer in the middle of godforsaken nowhere. Your wishes for a Happy New Year ring hollow, as does the news of your condition. How a strong-willed young woman like yourself can submit to the demands of a husband who clearly has no regard for the risks to your health never ceases to astonish me.”

Sylvia swallowed hard and returned the letter and the clipping to the envelope, tucked them into the book, and set it on the nightstand. Mama would think Father had moved them; she would never know Sylvia had read Grandmother Lockwood’s cruel words. A sudden thought struck Sylvia: Did Father know what Mama’s mother thought of him? Mama had said her parents had wanted her to marry another man, and it seemed Grandmother Lockwood had never forgiven her.

Sylvia bit her lips together, turned off the lamp, and hurried from the room. She climbed into bed, sick at heart. This couldn’t be the first ugly letter Grandmother Lockwood had sent, or Mama would have shown some sign of shock or remorse. All the other letters, all of Mama’s stories, must have been edited for a little girl’s ears. Was Mama a liar? It was unthinkable. Was she ashamed?

Sylvia drifted off to a troubled sleep.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
she woke late, the letter a vague and unpleasant memory fading like a dream. She hurried downstairs just in time to stop Grandma before she set the kitchen table for breakfast. “It’s a holiday. Why don’t we eat in the dining room?” she asked. “I’ll set the table.”

Grandma blinked with surprise at her breathless suggestion, in part, perhaps, because Sylvia rarely agreed to a chore without arguing that Claudia ought to help, too. “I suppose that’s fine,” she said, waving Sylvia off to the task. “Use the good dishes.”

Sylvia did, but not before racing up two flights to the nursery and stuffing her pockets with the ribbon-tied scrolls she had prepared the night before. Sylvia tucked one beside each plate and finished setting the table just as Great-Aunt Lydia came in carrying a platter of hot sausages. “What’s this?” she asked, smiling at the sight of the scrolls. “It seems we’re having a rather formal breakfast this morning, complete with place cards.”

“It’s a New Year’s surprise,” said Sylvia, fairly bouncing with excitement. She hurried off to the kitchen to help carry plates to the table. Claudia had taken a tray up to their mother, but she came down right away, disappointed, and reported that Mama was sleeping. Claudia had covered the dishes and left the tray on the nightstand.

Sylvia’s thoughts flew to the book, and the letter tucked inside. She studied Claudia’s face, but her expression betrayed no shock or alarm, only disappointment that she had not been able to eat New Year’s Day breakfast with their mother. Claudia had not read the letter, Sylvia decided, and that was no surprise, for Claudia would never dream of sneaking glances at her mother’s private letters. Sylvia wished she had been as good a daughter the night before.

Claudia took her seat as Grandma and Great-Aunt Lucinda began to pass around serving dishes piled high with scrambled eggs, juicy sausages, potatoes fried with onions and peppers, and
Pfannkuchen
left over from the night before. “What’s this thing?” Claudia asked, picking up the scroll Sylvia had tucked beneath the edge of her plate.

“It’s Sylvia’s New Year’s Day surprise,” said Great-Aunt Lydia.

Great-Aunt Lucinda fingered her scroll warily. “I’m almost afraid to open it.”

“Go ahead.” Sylvia took a
Pfannkuchen
from the platter and set it on her plate, licking the sugar from her fingertips. “It’s not scary.”

“Napkin, Sylvia,” her father said, untying his own scroll.

No one spoke as they read the words Sylvia had written for each of them. Sylvia ate her breakfast and looked around the table, watching their faces expectantly. With a start, she remembered that she had forgotten to make a scroll for her mother. That’s all right, she decided. Mama was perfect exactly as she was.

Suddenly Claudia shrilled, “Is this supposed to be funny?”

Great-Aunt Lucinda laughed. “Mine certainly is. ‘One: Bake more cookies. Two: Not just at Christmas. Three: Let Sylvia have as many turns to take the breakfast tray up to Mama as Claudia gets.’ She ran out of space or I suppose I’d have more suggestions.”

“I only have one,” said Great-Aunt Lydia. “I must not need as much improvement as you, sister.”

“Mine will be a little difficult to fulfill,” said Grandma wistfully. “ ‘Go to Scotland to watch the swinging fireballs.’ ”

“The swinging what?” asked Great-Aunt Lucinda.

“That’s between me and my granddaughter.” Grandma rolled up her scroll, slipped the ribbon around it, and gave Sylvia a little wink.

Sylvia’s father was shaking his head, his mouth twisted wryly. “ ‘Let Mama do whatever she wants.’ Sylvia, if you think I could do otherwise, you haven’t been paying attention.”

“Why are you laughing?” Claudia cried. “This isn’t funny!”

All the adults turned to her in surprise. “Why, Claudia, what does your scroll say?” asked Grandma.

“This ought to be good,” said Great-Aunt Lucinda.

“I’m not going to read it,” said Claudia. “It’s mean.”

“No, it isn’t,” protested Sylvia. “It’s a resolution.”

“It could still be mean,” said Father, a mild note of warning in his voice. “Go ahead, Claudia. Tell us what it says.”

Her eyes red, her jaw set, Claudia took a deep breath and reluctantly read her scroll aloud. “ ‘One: Stop being so bossy. Two: Stop hogging Mama. Three: Stop hogging everything. Four: Be nice to Sylvia.’ I am nice to you, you little brat. A lot nicer than you deserve.” She flung down the scroll and folded her arms. “I’m not going to read any more of these insults.”

“They’re not insults; they’re New Year’s resolutions,” Sylvia explained. “They’re promises you make so you can improve yourself.”

“I know what a resolution is,” snapped Claudia. “You’re not supposed to make them for other people. You’re supposed to make them for yourself.”

“I did make one for myself,” said Sylvia, taking the last scroll from her pocket.

Great-Aunt Lucinda’s eyebrows shot up. “And what does that say?”

“ ‘Don’t fight with your sister.’ ”

The adults burst into laughter. Sylvia looked around the table in puzzlement. Grandma wiped tears from her eyes; Father snorted into his handkerchief; Claudia seethed and glared. Sylvia felt like she was choking. No one had ever explicitly told her that she was supposed to make resolutions for herself alone, but now it seemed so obvious she did not know how she could have misunderstood. Of course it was rude to tell other people what they were doing wrong and how to change; it was especially rude for a child to say so to an adult. What would be worse: allowing the family to believe she was a thoughtless little girl, or to reveal the truth, that she was too stupid to know how New Year’s resolutions were supposed to be made?