The New Year's Quilt (Elm Creek Quilts Novels) (4 page)

He eyed her with amusement. “This isn’t a drink for little girls.”

“It’s not for me.” Sylvia glanced over her shoulder and spied Elizabeth still seated where Sylvia had left her, laughing with Rosemary, Henry’s sister. “It’s for Elizabeth.”

“I don’t know if Elizabeth should be drinking this, either.”

“If she’s not old enough for punch, maybe she’s not old enough to get married.”

Her father was so astonished that he rocked back on his heels and laughed. Sylvia flushed and turned away, but her father caught her by the arm. “Very well, little miss, you may take your cousin some punch. Mind you don’t sample it along the way.”

Sylvia nodded and held very still as her father ladled steaming punch into her teacup. With small, careful steps, she skirted the dance floor and made her way back to Elizabeth. She scowled to find that Henry had replaced Rosemary at Elizabeth’s side.

“Here you go,” Sylvia said, presenting the cup to her cousin. Elizabeth thanked her and took it with both hands. Pleased with herself and relieved that she had accomplished the task without spilling a single drop, she sat down on the floor at her cousin’s feet, ready to block her path should Henry take her hand and attempt to lead her to the dance floor.

“Your father won’t be happy to see you drinking,” Henry warned in a low voice that Sylvia barely overheard.

“My father is the last person who should complain about anyone’s drinking.”

“He’s not drinking tonight.”

“Yes, and don’t you find it interesting that he can exercise some self-control while all the family is watching, and yet he can’t muster up any fortitude at home?”

Sylvia heard Henry shift in his chair to take Elizabeth’s cup. “Maybe you’ve had too much already. You’re not used to this stuff.”

“Henry, that’s truly not necessary. I only had a sip—”

Infuriated, Sylvia spun around to glare at him. “My daddy made that punch and it’s very good. You’re just mad because I brought it to her instead of you. You have to spoil everything!”

Henry regarded her for a moment, expressionless, his hands frozen around Elizabeth’s as she clutched the cup. A thin wisp of steam rose between them. “Never mind,” said Henry, dropping his hands to his lap. “If you want to drink it, drink it.”

“No, no, that’s fine.” Elizabeth passed him the cup so quickly he almost spilled it. “I’m not thirsty after all.”

Henry clearly didn’t believe her, but he set the cup aside. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

“I promised Sylvia I would dance with her.”

Sylvia was too overcome with relief that Elizabeth had not forgotten her promise to pay any attention to Henry’s reply. When he rose and walked away, she promptly scooted his chair closer to Elizabeth’s and sat down upon it. Absently, Elizabeth took her hand and watched the dancers in silence. Sylvia pretended not to notice that her cousin was troubled. Elizabeth was here, she was going to give Sylvia her turn, and Sylvia was not going to probe her with questions that might make her too unhappy or distracted to dance.

At last the song ended, and after a momentary pause another lively tune began. Elizabeth smiled at her and said, “Are you ready to cut a rug?”

Sylvia nodded and took her hand. Elizabeth led her to the dance floor and counted out the first few beats, then threw herself into a jaunty Charleston. Sylvia struggled to keep up at first, distracted by the music that drowned out Elizabeth’s counting and the many eyes upon them, but she stoked her courage and persevered. She felt a thrill of delight when she spotted Claudia watching them, mouth open in astonishment. Henry’s disgruntled frown filled her with satisfaction, and she kicked higher and smiled broader just to spite him. Most of the guests had put aside their own dancing to gather in a circle around the two cousins as they danced side by side. Sylvia mirrored her graceful cousin’s spirited steps as closely as she could, praying her family and the guests wouldn’t notice her mistakes.

All too soon the song ended. Breathless and laughing, Elizabeth took Sylvia’s hand and led her in a playful, sweeping bow. She blew kisses to the crowd as she guided Sylvia from the dance floor while the musicians struck up a slow foxtrot and the couples resumed dancing. To Sylvia’s chagrin, Elizabeth made her way directly to the far side of the room, where Henry waited beside one of the tall windows overlooking the elm grove and the creek, invisible in the darkness. He had eyes only for Elizabeth as they approached.

“You’ve been practicing,” he remarked, smiling at her with fond amusement.

“I have to do something to keep myself busy when I’m bored and lonely back home in Harrisburg and you’re tending the farm up here. Did you think I sat home every night pining for you?”

“I had hoped so.” He slid his arm around Elizabeth’s waist and pulled her close. Sylvia tried to keep hold of Elizabeth’s hand, but her cousin’s slender fingers slipped from her grasp. Elizabeth laughed and kissed Henry’s cheek. He murmured something in her ear, and Sylvia was struck by the certainty that she had been entirely forgotten.

Unnoticed, she slipped away from the couple and searched out her mother. Mama’s face lit up at the sight of her. “I had no idea you were such a fine dancer,” she said, pulling Sylvia into a hug.

“Elizabeth taught me.” And now that they had shown everyone what Bergstrom girls could do, Elizabeth had returned to Henry. Sylvia had done her best, but anyone could see that Henry was her cousin’s favorite dance partner, no matter what she had declared as they practiced in the nursery.

Sylvia climbed onto her mother’s lap and watched the dancing for a while, her eyelids drooping. When her mother offered to take her upstairs to bed, Sylvia roused herself and insisted that she meant to stay up until midnight, like everyone else. She went off to find Claudia, who demanded that Sylvia teach her the Charleston. Sylvia showed her the few steps she knew, but dancing with Claudia was not as much fun as performing with Elizabeth, and she soon lost interest. When she spotted Great-Aunt Lucinda carrying a tray of her delicious
Pfannkuchen
to the dessert table, she hurried over and took two of the delicious jelly-filled doughnuts. Licking sugar from her fingertips, she considered taking a plate to Elizabeth, but her lovely cousin was once again circling the dance floor in Henry’s arms. He was not much of a dancer, Sylvia observed spitefully. He knew the steps well enough but he seemed to be going through the motions without a scrap of enjoyment. But Elizabeth was having a wonderful time, and Sylvia could not pretend otherwise.

She finished her dessert and went off to find a dance partner. She would show Elizabeth that she, too, could have just as much fun with someone else.

Her father was pleased by her invitation to dance, as was her grandpa after him. Claudia found her and they made up their own dance, holding hands and spinning around in a circle until they became so dizzy they fell down. When they had come too close to crashing into dancing aunts and uncles too many times, their mother begged them to find some other way to amuse themselves. At that moment the musicians took a break, and Great-Aunt Lucinda called everyone to the fireside for
Bleigiessen
. “See what the New Year will bring you,” she joked. “Unless you’d rather not know.”

Only Grandma, who found fortune-telling unsettling, declined. “I’d rather have another jelly doughnut than a prediction of bad news,” she said, settling into a chair near the dessert table, waving off the others’ teasing protests that she should not assume that the news would be bad.

Sylvia, who had seen lead pouring on other New Year’s Eves, knew that the game would almost certainly promise good fortune to everyone, since the funny shapes were rarely so obvious that the observers could reach only one conclusion. She darted through the crowd and found a seat on the floor close to the fireside. Great-Aunt Lucinda went first, melting a small piece of lead in an old spoon held above the flames. When it had turned to liquid, she poured it into a bowl of water, and everyone bent closer to see what shape the lead would take.

“It looks like a pretzel,” Great-Aunt Lydia declared. “You’re going to become a baker.”

Everyone laughed. “I’m already a baker,” said Great-Aunt Lucinda, passing the spoon to a neighbor. Everyone who had ever tried her delicious cookies or apple strudel chimed in their agreement.

One by one family and friends held the spoon over the fire, poured the melted lead into the water, and interpreted the shapes the metal took as it rapidly cooled. Those gathered around broke into cheers and applause when stars or fish promised good luck, when triangles promised financial improvement, or bells heralded good news. They burst into laughter when one elderly widow’s lead formed an unmistakable egg shape, announcing the imminent birth of a child. “It must mean a grandchild,” she speculated, but that did not stop her friends from teasing her, claiming that if she had tried
Bleigiessen
the previous New Year’s Eve, the lead surely would have taken the shape of a mouse, symbolic of a secret love.

When Sylvia’s father took a turn, an anchor shape showed that he would find assistance in an emergency. The crowd mulled this over while Aunt Millie took the spoon, for while it was good to know that he would have help in a time of need, it would be better to avoid the emergency altogether. “This
Bleigiessen
isn’t very helpful after all,” said Aunt Millie as the lead shavings turned to liquid over the fire. “It tells you just enough to worry you, and not enough to steer you clear of trouble.” With that, she poured the lead into the bowl of water and exclaimed with delight when the lead sank and hardened into a lopsided cylinder she insisted was a cake.

“That doesn’t look like any cake I’d want to taste,” said Great-Aunt Lucinda.

“We can’t all be bakers, like you,” Aunt Millie retorted. “We all know that a cake means a celebration is coming, and of course that must refer to the wedding.” With that, she handed the spoon to her future son-in-law.

Sylvia inched forward, holding her breath as Henry melted the lead then shrugged noncommittally as he poured it upon the water. The liquid metal thinned and elongated as it sank to the bottom of the bowl, and a gasp went up from the onlookers as two interlocking rings appeared. Sylvia waited, willing the rings to break, for that meant separation—and perhaps, perhaps, an end to the engagement. She waited, but the rings remained stubbornly joined.

“I’ve never seen rings form like that,” Great-Aunt Lydia breathed. “A single ring alone signifies a wedding. Rings joined in this fashion surely indicate that you two will have a happy, enduring marriage. Congratulations, young man.”

Henry’s skepticism promptly vanished, and he flashed a grin to his future bride, who beamed and reached for his hand. Sylvia muffled a groan of disgust and snatched up the spoon from the hearth. She hoped for a ball to announce that good luck would roll her way, but instead the figure in the bowl resembled Grandma’s eyeglasses. Sylvia scowled as her family debated which of the two possible interpretations to choose, whether she would one day be very wise or very old, and decided that old age was the more likely of the two. “It could be both,” she protested, handing the spoon to her sister. “Why not both?” And why did her family—with the exception of her mother and Great-Aunt Lucinda—find it so difficult to believe that Sylvia could one day be wise?

Claudia went next, biting her lip hopefully as she peered into the bowl of water. “What is it?” she asked. “A tree? An arrow? What does it mean?”

“Looks like an ax to me,” offered a neighbor.

When Claudia turned to Great-Aunt Lucinda for confirmation, the older woman reluctantly nodded. “It does resemble a hatchet.”

“You saw one of those yourself, when we were girls,” cried Great-Aunt Lydia. “Oh, but that can’t be right. For you, perhaps, but not for pretty little Claudia.”

“Thank you, sister dear,” said Great-Aunt Lucinda dryly, and when the guests pressed her for an explanation, she held up her hands to quiet them. “Now, now, it’s supposed to mean that you’ll find disappointment in love, but take heart, Claudia. The fortune is only meant to tell you what the year ahead may bring, not what might happen when you’re a grown woman. I don’t think you need to worry about being unlucky in love at your age.”

Claudia held back tears. “But what if it’s not just for the year ahead? What if it’s for my whole life?” A few well-meaning women reached out to comfort her, but she shook off their reassurances. “Sylvia won’t reach old age in a single year, but that’s what her fortune says.”

“Many of these symbols have more than one meaning,” Aunt Millie reminded her. “Your hatchet must mean something else.”

“Maybe you’re going to become a lumberjack,” Sylvia suggested.

Claudia glared at her as the adults rocked with laughter. “Make jokes if you want. I don’t think this game is fun anymore.” She flounced off to join Grandma by the dessert table.

“After that, I’m almost afraid to take a turn,” said Elizabeth, reaching for the spoon Claudia had flung down on the hearth. With a quick smile for Henry, she melted a few of the remaining lead shavings and let them fall from the spoon into the water. At first the lead gathered itself up into a ball—“Good luck will roll your way,” an onlooker said—but then a dimple appeared along one side, and the opposite edge seemed to flatten.