A Quilt for Christmas (22 page)

“Why'd you give him Papa's shirt and pants?” Davy asked.

“His own clothes were rags, and he had lice,” Eliza replied. “That's why I sent Luzena with the lye soap and told him to wash well. We wouldn't want to catch the graybacks from him.”

“Graybacks,” Davy scoffed. He was honing his knife on a whetstone. “Isn't that what the Confederate soldiers with their gray uniforms are called? I guess they're lice, too.” He rubbed the knife hard against the stone. “What help will he be? I saw him when he washed. His ribs stick out, and he is as thin as a skeleton.”

“He was in the prison camp at Rock Island. It must have been an awful place,” Eliza said, scraping the supper scraps into a pail for the chickens. When she came to Daniel's plate, she noticed there was not so much as a drop of gravy left, and she wondered if her chickens ate better than the prisoners had in the camp where Daniel was interned.

“Serves him right. He's a Secesh, and he stole Papa's quilt,” Davy said.

“Then he has been punished enough. I imagine that these scraps would have been a feast for him at Rock Island. I have heard it was as foul a place as ever existed.”

“Not as bad as Andersonville where the Confederates kept the Union prisoners,” Davy said. “They say men fought over rats for supper.”

“Ugh!” Luzena said.

“That's not all,” Davy began, his voice rising. “They starved our soldiers. Their teeth fell out, and their tongues hung out of their mouths like this.” Davy stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth.

“Enough,” Eliza said.

“They were all bad, those prisons,” said a voice from the doorway.

The three inside the house whirled around. They had not seen Daniel standing there. He continued, “At Rock Island, smallpox killed two thousand men. They died like sheep with the rot. The food was scarce, and what there was of it was spoiled and odorous. I was so starved I felt my bones were ready to drop out. You say the men at Andersonville ate rats. My best day at Rock Island but one was when I cornered a dog and shared him with two others.”

“And the best day?” Luzena asked.

“That was when I walked out of the prison gate, free, and climbed aboard a train for Kentucky. I did not even look back at that awful place. The Confederates did not have the corner on mean prisons.”

“The men at Andersonville froze to death. I heard it in town from a soldier who'd been there that the only shelters were shebangs, made from blankets and tarps. At least there were barracks at Rock Island.”

“The winters in Illinois are harsher than Georgia's, and fuel was scarce. I myself stood with one foot on the edge of the grave and would have gone up if it hadn't been for the quilt.” Daniel glanced around the room for the flag quilt, but fearing it, too, had lice, Eliza had hung it on the clothesline.

“Serves you right. You Johnnies started the war,” Davy said, but Eliza told him to be still.

“I did not mean to bring dissent,” Daniel told Eliza. “I will leave in the morning if you think it best.”

Eliza dipped her hand into the washbasin and took out a plate, a china one. She wondered why she had brought out the good plates for the soldier. “No, I would like you to stay for a day or two, as we agreed. But you must be aware that Davy has lost his father in this war, and he is angry. I would ask you to respect his feelings.”

“And he mine?” Daniel asked.

“Yes, that, too, I suppose,” Eliza said.

Daniel came into the room and held out his hand to Davy, who ignored it. Daniel only nodded as if he understood and said, “I came to tell you the mule is resting easy. I believe the cold water treatments will work.” He turned and left the room.

Eliza and Luzena watched him disappear into the darkness, and Luzena asked, “Are you glad he came, Mama?”

“I don't know,” Eliza replied. Indeed, she was conflicted. She could use the man's help on the farm. Still, it might have been better if she had not known what had become of her quilt. She might have continued to believe that Will had been wrapped in it before he was laid in his grave, that he would have rested in it for eternity.

Eliza took another plate from the dishwater and said, “Tomorrow, I shall wash Papa's quilt.”

*   *   *

Eliza scrubbed the Christmas quilt as hard as she could without tearing it further, and when she was finished, the quilt was presentable, if in poor shape. In spare moments, she repaired the rips, although she did not replace the missing quilt pieces nor the duck down in the places where it had escaped. Perhaps she should have burned the quilt, Eliza thought on a hot night as she sat on the porch, the mending in her hands. But she couldn't bring herself to do so. Will had had the quilt only a few days, but he had slept under it. The quilt had warmed him on his last night on earth.

Most men didn't appreciate the creativity of women's hands, but Will was one to notice. He had brought her pins or needles or even pieces of cloth when he went to the store, not much, only a quarter of a yard or so, just enough to cut into shapes for a quilt. Once he returned with a strip of fabric he said was called “Persian Pickle.”

“Those little squiggles do indeed look like pickles,” Eliza had told him, inspecting the paisley fabric. The material was blue, and Eliza had used a piece of it in the Christmas quilt. She stroked the patch with her hand as she remembered how Will had sat beside her as she sewed, watching her hands as she took her small stitches. Sometimes he helped her with the colors.

“You think you could teach me to quilt?” he asked once.

“You think you could teach me to plow?”

“Done it already.”

That was true. Eliza looked at Will's big hands and shook her head. “I don't know how you'd hold a needle,” she said.

“I could put together pieces of your material so it'd look like fields,” he'd said, and Eliza had grinned at him.

“You could join my quilting circle.”

Will had reddened. “I'd never live that down, would I? You'd have to promise you wouldn't tell anybody I helped you.”

And so the two had designed a quilt together, a strange one with different-size squares and triangles to represent the crops. Will had gone off to war before the Spooner Farm Quilt, as he called it, was done, and the half-finished top had been put away in the trunk. Eliza had taken it out in the spring, thinking she and Missouri Ann could stitch the remaining pieces in place, but she had started to weep and thrust the top back into the trunk. How long, she had wondered then, how long before every reminder of Will would no longer make her cry? She still cried, she thought now, but not as often.

“I suppose I shall store the Christmas quilt in the trunk,” Eliza said one evening as she completed the mending. Daniel had been there two weeks.

“Hang it on the wall,” Davy told her. “It's God's flag.” He glanced at Daniel with a look of triumph.

Eliza did not see the look, and said, “I think your papa would like it there.” And then she wondered if Daniel would be offended.

He was not. “A good idea,” he said.

Davy seemed disappointed he had not gotten a rise out of Daniel and told him, “It's better than the Rebel rag.”

That
remark offended Daniel, who put down the hames he had been holding, polishing the brass knobs with a rag and a bit of salt, and said, “I will not allow you to profane the flag under which I fought.” He spoke quietly, but there was steel in his voice.

“
You
will not
allow
?” Davy retorted. “This is my home, not yours, and it is a Union home. Papa died because of your dirty rag.”

“Davy,” Eliza spoke up. “Mr. Judd is our guest.”

“Mr. Judd is our enemy. You have been taken in and done for, Mama.”

Eliza felt conflicted. Davy was right about one thing. This was his home, not Daniel's, but she would not tolerate such disrespect.

Before she could speak, however, Daniel stood. “I would not allow any man to dishonor my flag, just as I would allow no one to do the same to yours. Now I will say good evening, Mrs. Spooner.” He rose, the hames in his hand, and left.

“He has overstayed,” Davy said. “Why hasn't he gone?”

“You know yourself he has been a great help. We could not have done so much without him. I do not understand why you hate him so, Davy.” Eliza picked up the quilt and sat down in the rocking chair, spreading the quilt over her lap. “The fighting is done, and we can't bring Papa back. Mr. Judd is first a man and only second a Confederate. It seems like all your hatred for the war and Papa's death are centered on this one man.”

“And don't
you
hate him? Even if he didn't kill Papa, he could have. He's a Secesh.” Davy started for the door, saying he would check on the animals, but Eliza told him Daniel would do that.

“You see, he's taken my place,” Davy said.

“You mean you complain that he is doing some of your chores.” Luzena chuckled.

But Davy would not smile. “Papa would not want him here,” he said. “He hated the Secesh. I'm only treating him the way Papa would. Oh, why couldn't Papa be here and that Johnny lying in the grave!”

*   *   *

Later that night, when the children were asleep, Eliza went out onto the porch and sat down on a bench under a dark sky to think about what Davy had said. What
would
Will think about a Confederate living on the Spooner farm? It was only for a short time, she told herself, not even till harvest, for if Daniel wanted to go west as he had said, he would have to leave before the weather turned cold. It was dangerous for a man alone to cross the Great Plains in winter. As she looked out at the stars, Eliza remembered sitting on the bench not even a year before, finishing the Stars and Stripes quilt and thinking it would keep Will warm. And it had. But it had warmed one of Will's enemies, too.

After a time, Eliza became aware that she was not alone. The Confederate was sitting on the stump between the house and the barn. When had he come out? Perhaps he had been there all along, sitting in solitude as she emerged from the house. Eliza wondered about his thoughts. Were they of his home and his wife, Mary? He had suffered the death of his beloved, just as she had, and the loss of his farm, too. Well, it served him right. He was the Rebel, the one who had started the war. For a moment, Eliza tried to muster Davy's anger, his outrage, any emotion she could against Daniel, but she realized he was just another human being who had suffered greatly. In fact, he had more cause than Will had to fight the war.

“Mr. Judd,” she said, and Daniel rose and walked to the porch, where he leaned against a post.

“I've disturbed your reverie,” he said.

His words made Eliza realize Daniel was a learned man. She had thought of him as a farmer, but his speech told her that he had been raised a gentleman. “I am alone too much with my thoughts,” she told him. “I would welcome a conversation.”

“As would I. What is it you would wish to talk about?”

“Anything but the war.” She thought a moment. “Tell me of your boyhood.”

Daniel sat down at the edge of the porch, his back to Eliza. “I saw a broken rocker beside the barn. I'll repair it for you, and you can use it on the porch instead of a bench.”

“I would like that,” Eliza said, thinking he did not want to talk about himself. She had been bold in asking it.

But after a pause, Daniel said, “It was the best growing-up time a boy could have. My father was a banker, and we lived in a fine house. I had four sisters, and they doted on me. Father taught me to ride and hunt and fish, and when he was not working, we would disappear into the countryside, just the two of us. He sent me to the university, intending that I become a banker, but I loved the outdoors too much, so he set me up on a farm.”

“He is yet living?” Eliza asked.

“He died before the war began. I am grateful for it. The devastation would have brought him anguish.”

“And your sisters?”

“They are all right, but we had become estranged.”

“They were for the North?” Eliza asked. She knew that the war had torn apart families with divided loyalties.

“No,” Daniel said, and was silent. Eliza thought once again that she had been too forward. She said nothing, and at last, Daniel told her, “They did not care for Mary. You see, she came from a poor family and was unschooled. My sisters thought I had married beneath myself. They had it in mind I would connect with one of the better families, and by doing so, assure our place in society. But our hearts make the decision of whom we love. Mary was smart as a whip, and I myself taught her to read and write.”

Daniel stared out into the darkness, and neither he nor Eliza spoke for a long time. Eliza thought she had pried too much and did not want to cause the man further anguish. But at last, she said, “I, too, have been guilty of thinking with my heart. I believe it is not such a bad thing.”

“You did so when you took me in.”

Eliza was embarrassed at Daniel's reply and was glad it was too dark for him to see her blush. The conversation had become too familiar, and she stood and said she must go inside. She took a step toward the door, but Daniel said, “Mrs. Spooner,” and she stopped. She did not turn around and waited for him to continue. She heard him rise and take a step toward her.

“I do not want to cause trouble in your family. I will move on if you think it best. I had believed your son would accept me, since we seem to work side by side in harmony. But I know he resents me and blames me for the war.”

“Do you want to go? You said at the outset that you expected to go on west.” Eliza felt a sudden chill, and she shivered. She wished she had put on her shawl. But it was not the cold that made her shiver.

“I do not wish it at all. I was of poor heart when I came here, and I believe the work has made me better. I would like to stay through harvest, if that has your approval. I am as good a hand with a scythe as any farmer, and if there is a machine about that can thresh the wheat, then I believe we could hire it.”