A Quilt for Christmas (4 page)

So swallowing her fright, she removed a pan of cornbread from the oven and boldly took it to the men. “Cornbread,” she cried, as if the Indians were deaf. “Help yourselves.” She held up the pan, and the three Indians scooped out the cornbread with their hands, stuffing it into their mouths.

“Ko-fee,” one of them said. He pointed to the soddy and dismounted.

Walking slowly with the children hanging on to her skirts, she went inside with the Indian and picked up the pot with the remains of the morning coffee. She usually made plenty in the morning so that she could reheat it for dinner. “Cold,” she said, as she poured the coffee into a tin cup. “Cold coffee.”

“Cold ko-fee,” the Indian said. He drank it down, and Eliza refilled the cup. “Cold ko-fee good.” He handed the cup to the second Indian. As they left, one of the men took a tiny scrap of fabric from his braided hair and dropped it on the ground at Eliza's feet. It was a beautiful shade of indigo, and Eliza had kept it for years, until she incorporated it into the Stars and Stripes Quilt.

“You did the right thing,” Will told her later that day. “They're friendlies. No need to be afraid of them. Why, you see, he gave you a present. He must know you like to quilt.”

The Indians returned from time to time, asking for “cold ko-fee good.” Once they were accompanied by an Indian woman, who looked at Eliza shyly, silently, then peered inside the soddy and stared in wonder. She glanced up at the ceiling, at the quilt frame Will had made and suspended from the ceiling on ropes so that Eliza could lower it in the evenings to sew. There had been no room in the house to set up a quilt frame, so Will had come up with the idea of hanging it high up.

Eliza lowered the frame, then removed the old piece of muslin that she used to cover her quilt so that dirt from the ceiling didn't fall onto it. The Indian woman ran her hand over the fabrics, pointing at the different colors, as Eliza named them in English.

The Indian woman was silent until Eliza pointed to a bright red fabric. “Red,” she said.

“Red,” the woman repeated, the first word she had spoken since she'd arrived.

On impulse, Eliza removed a swatch of the fabric from her sewing basket and handed it to the Indian. “For you,” she said.

“For you,” the woman repeated solemnly.

They had lived in the soddy until Will built the two-story log house with a board floor, and now the old place was the hired man's cabin—or had been in the years they had had enough money to hire a man. That was where Missouri Ann and Nance would live. It would take a little fixing, but when that was done, the soddy would be tight and cozy. Of course, Missouri Ann and Nance were welcome to live in the big house with Eliza and the children, but Eliza had a feeling that her friend would rather be by herself. Missouri Ann had lived with the Starks long enough to value her privacy.

Eliza smiled as she rode out of the barn in the sleigh. Luzena ran from the house with the hot bricks wrapped in an old quilt and placed them on the floor of the sleigh. Then Davy emerged from the milk house and climbed in so that Eliza had a child on either side of her.

As she flicked the reins on Sabra's back and the old horse started off, Eliza told the children that she had another surprise.

“What?” the two asked together.

“It's a secret until after church,” she replied, then wondered if she should have kept silent. Maybe Missouri Ann wouldn't show up.

 

CHAPTER TWO

Christmas Day, 1864

Despite the cold and the snow, the yard of the little church was crowded with wagons, sleighs, and buggies, horses stamping their feet, their breath coming out in streams of white in the cold air. Except for the evergreens and sleigh bells on the door, the little white church was almost invisible against the white snow.

Davy and Luzena ran off to find their friends and tell them about their Christmas gifts, while Eliza looked around for Missouri Ann. Her friend was not with the group of parishioners gathered by the vehicles, who were greeting one another with cries of “Happy Christmas.” Nor was Missouri Ann inside. Perhaps the Starks had decided to come to church after all and were late. But Eliza could not recall the Starks ever attending church and thought it was more likely that they had discovered Missouri Ann's plans to leave and were keeping her at home. Eliza pondered what she would do if that were so. It wasn't as though she could drive up to the Stark place in the undertaker's sleigh and rescue her friend. Perhaps Missouri Ann herself had decided to stay on with her in-laws. Maybe she had concluded life with the Starks was preferable to living in a rundown soddy on an isolated farm. But Eliza didn't think so.

Eliza called to the children, and the three of them went inside, sitting in the family pew toward the front of the church. Eliza still felt odd attending the service without Will—incomplete. He always sat at the end of the pew, as if protecting his family. Now Eliza was in that place. Perhaps she should yield the spot to Davy. No, Eliza thought, Davy was too young to take on the responsibility of a man. He was a boy, Will had insisted when Davy begged to join the army as a drummer boy.

When she glanced around at the congregation, Eliza realized she was not the only war widow in the church. The conflict had taken away so many of the men, some dead, some still fighting, a few whose status was unknown. That last was what she feared most, that Will would simply disappear and she would never know what had happened to him. At least Missouri Ann had been notified that Hugh was dead. She could grieve properly. Eliza glanced around the church, thinking Missouri Ann might have sneaked in during the service, but there was no sign of her.

The parishioners were singing the “Old One Hundred” when Eliza felt a rush of cold air. She turned to see that the door had opened and that Missouri Ann and Nance had slipped inside. Nance, eyes downcast in shyness, tottered beside her mother as Missouri Ann walked quietly down the aisle. Eliza and the children crowded together to make room for the two in the Spooner pew. Missouri Ann's long skirts were soaked, and Eliza knew she had tramped through the snow for miles to reach the church. She grasped Missouri Ann's raw hand and thought it felt like ice. Others saw Missouri Ann enter the church, and as the word had got out that Hugh Stark was dead, several tried to catch the woman's eye and give her nods of sympathy. Even those who remembered Nance had come early would give no looks of disdain to the new widow on that holy day.

The service was a short one, perhaps because it was Christmas and the congregation was anxious to return home to what might be their only feast for many months. While the harvest had been good, people had encountered shortages during the war, so they were frugal. These were squally times. Or maybe the minister was afraid that the snow would start again and trap the congregation on the roads.

At the end of the closing prayer, the door banged open again, and a voice said, “There she is, pious as a priest. I told you to stay to home, girl. Why'd you run off for? You come here, you know what's good for you.”

Eliza knew without turning that the voice came from one of the Starks and that it was directed at Missouri Ann. Holding tight to Nance, Missouri Ann cringed against Eliza, as Dad Stark came up and grabbed the woman's arm, three of his sons trailing behind him. There had been a dozen or so Stark boys—poor Mother Stark had had them like rabbits—but half had either lit out or hadn't lived to grow up.

“I'm not going,” Missouri Ann said, shivering against Eliza.

Dad Stark glared at his daughter-in-law. He was a big man. He might have been handsome once, but he smelled bad, and his hair and beard had grown thick and long and snarled, so that he looked like a cat's dinner. “What's that you say?” he growled. “I'll have no back talk from you.”

“We've got shut of you. Me and Nance ain't going to live with you no more.”

“You got to. Who'll read the names in the newspaper? What if one of my boys died? How'd I know?”

“You ain't got any more boys in the war,” Missouri Ann told him. “Hugh's the only one joined up.”

“You watch your mouth,” Dad Stark told her. “You belong to us.”

“I don't belong to nobody. You treat me mean, make me clean up your messes and not give me no more to eat than a slave.”

“Mr. Lincoln freed the slaves,” Eliza spoke up.

“I guess she ain't a slave then. She's just a woman. And women got no rights.” Dad Stark glanced at Eliza, who gave him a furious look, and he took a step back and asked, “Who're you?”

Eliza didn't answer his question. Instead she said, “Missouri Ann doesn't have to live with you if she doesn't want to. You don't own her.”

“By rights I do. She's my son's wife, ain't she, and since he's dead, she passes on to me. She's going to marry Edison.”

“I won't!” Missouri Ann said.

“We already decided. If you don't marry him, who's going to take care of him? Tell me that. Besides, ain't nobody else wants you. Who'd take you in?”

“I would,” Eliza said. As Dad Stark stared at her dumbfounded, Eliza stood and faced him. “Missouri Ann and Nance are moving in with me.” Eliza looked at him defiantly, although inside, she was knotted up. She'd never confronted a man like that, especially in front of so many people. Will didn't think much of women who spoke out in public, but Will wasn't there to speak for her.

“Who's us?”

“I'm Mrs. William Spooner.”

“Her husband's gone off to the war, too,” Taft, one of the sons, said. “You know what them grass widows do with their time.”

Eliza turned red at the suggestion she was entertaining men and wanted to sink down in the pew and cover her face with her hands, but denying the words would have no more effect than ignoring them. Besides, she was more concerned about Missouri Ann than herself. She did not want to be sidetracked by the false charges when Missouri Ann needed her to remain calm.

Dad Stark clenched his fists. “That the kind of woman you are, Missouri Ann? Hugh'd rather see you cold in the ground than a wanton woman.”

“I ain't nothing like that, me or Eliza Spooner, neither. You got no call to accuse me, Dad Stark. I'm a good woman.”

The old man grabbed Missouri Ann's arm and yanked her up. She tried to pull away, but her father-in-law held her firmly and began dragging her down the aisle.

“Just a minute there, Mr. Stark.”

Eliza had been so intent on watching Dad Stark and his sons that she hadn't seen the minister come down the aisle. John Hamlin wasn't a full-time preacher, only a volunteer. He was the most learned man in Wabaunsee County and some thought the most righteous, a man who it was rumored had operated a stop on the Underground Railroad during slavery days. He was also a banker and the richest man in the county, and people deferred to him for those reasons if for no other. Since the congregation couldn't afford a regular minister, John Hamlin had been asked to fill in on Sundays. Now Reverend Hamlin, as he was called, put his hand on Dad Stark's arm and said evenly, “I believe we can indeed see what kind of women these are, and so can the Lord. They are pleasing in His sight.”

The reverend paused to make sure he had Dad Stark's attention. “You have no call to accuse these good women of compromising themselves. You have embarrassed all the ladies of this congregation with your slander. Your daughter-in-law is a new widow and filled with grief, and instead of offering the deepest sympathy and consolation, you are adding to her misery. I believe you are grieving, too, and that is the only reason we will excuse your talk. But it must stop. This is Christmas Day, and we are here to celebrate the birth of our Lord, Jesus Christ. You and your sons are welcome to join with us if you will sit down in a pew and take a prayerful attitude. Otherwise, we must ask you to leave.”

“How's that?” Dad Stark asked. It was unlikely anyone had chastised him before—or ever invited him to a church service.

“And afterward you will say good-bye to Mrs. Missouri Ann, and wish her well, and she will be allowed to go wherever she chooses,” the minister continued.

“Why, you can't tell me what to do, a puny little feller like you. I'd squash you with the back of my hand,” Dad Stark said. He rolled around a chaw of tobacco in his mouth, then spat it onto the church floor. Eliza put her hand to her mouth in shock and disgust.

Reverend Hamlin didn't flinch, although he did look over the Stark brood, who outnumbered him four to one. “Do not threaten me in the Lord's House,” he said softly.

Dad Stark grinned, but the grin faded as Print Ritter, a blacksmith built like an oak stump, rose and stood beside John Hamlin. “I stand with the reverend. You going to squash me, too, Stark?”

“Ain't got nothing to do with you, Ritter, or you, neither, Mr. Hamlin. This is twixt me and Hugh's wife.”

“You're profaning the church where Mrs. Missouri Ann is a member, and like the preacher said, she's a grieving widow. I guess it has to do with me. It has to do with all of us.” The blacksmith made a sweeping gesture with his hand that included the entire congregation—most of it anyway. While the majority of the worshipers nodded, here and there a few who did not approve of Missouri Ann looked down at their Bibles. Several men stood up and moved toward the aisle.

Stark glared at the parishioners, then turned to his sons. “I guess we're outnumbered. We could take 'em in a fair fight, but this one ain't fair.” He shook Missouri Ann's arm, then dropped it. “This ain't over with, you hear, Missouri Ann?”

“Yes, it is over,” the reverend said. “Mrs. Missouri Ann is free to do what she likes, and if any harm comes to her or those who help her, you will answer to this entire congregation.”

Dad Stark scoffed, probably thinking that while the churchgoers might be lined up against him that day when they were all together, it was unlikely they cared enough about Missouri Ann to form a vigilante party later on to go after the Starks. “We'll see about that,” he said.