A Wedding Quilt for Ella (16 page)

Still, how easily she could have made so much more out of the assignment. Clara slowed down, looking over the valley.
With a little more effort, I could have written a much better paper. I can easily see a great blue heron flying across the pond in search of its next meal. He is hungry, and his name is Moses. With his long legs sticking out behind him like the rod the preachers said Moses always carried around, he flaps along.

A night of hunger has Moses’s stomach in knots. In the last pond, all the fish fled and hid under the logs. Still Moses is very hungry. The desperation increases at the next pond and still no fish. Moses is ready to do almost anything to find food, even fly off in search of a new pond if he has to.
Clara envisioned it all.
Moses lands on the new pond and meets Henry, the bullfrog. Henry feels sorry for Moses and helps him find fish.

It would have made a great story if Katie had let me write it and even draw pictures to illustrate it. But, of course, that’s not to be.

In sight of the house, Clara quickened her step. Her imaginary story had given her courage to face what she needed to do. Because she had decided not to crumple and throw her drawing of the house in the wastebasket, she wanted—even more than before—the drawing used in some way.

She entered the front door and found her mom seated on the couch, a mending basket at her feet and the finished clothes stacked beside her. Neither Ella nor Dora were around.

“Did you have a good day at school?” her mom asked.

“Got a ninety-five on English,” she said, “and most of the rest of the day was
gut.
”

“So like our life. Yah, part
gut,
part bad.” Her mom picked up a shirt and examined the tear at the shoulder.

Clara slowly pulled the drawing from her tablet. “Can you look at this?”

“What?” her mom asked, her eyes meeting Clara’s.

“It’s a drawing from school I did.”

Mamm reached for it, looked it over carefully, and then set the drawing on the couch. “You do draw well.”

Clara cringed, but when nothing else came, she said, “Ella said it would make a good centerpiece for her wedding quilt. That was last week. You know…before—”

Her mom nodded.

“I haven’t asked her since then whether she still wants to use it. Do you think we could…when you finish the quilt, perhaps?”

Her mom raised her eyebrows, “This may not be the best time to be talking about the quilt. Not yet.”

“But it still has to be finished and go somewhere—even if not for Ella.”

“I thought we might just roll it up and put it in the attic as it is.”

“Unfinished? But it has to be finished.”

“Sometimes
Da Hah
has other plans, Clara. Ella’s life with Aden was ended unfinished. That happens sometimes. Even with wedding quilts.”

Her face fallen, Clara stood motionless and then stepped forward to pick up her drawing.

“You’re welcome to ask Ella yourself,” Mamm said with sympathy, “but I don’t know what she would say.”

Clara thought for a moment. “Would that be okay, then?”

Mamm shrugged, “It might do her good. She does need something to do. Right now she just stays in her room when we don’t have work to do. She’s up there now.”

Clara nodded, made her way upstairs, and tapped on Ella’s door.

A muffled voice answered, “Come on in.”

The dark blue drape in the window was drawn even though it was four o’clock in the afternoon. Clara quietly stepped inside and shut the door. It was obvious that Ella was still not over Aden’s passing. She sat on the bed, her head held aloft as if the weight was too much to bear.

“I’d like to ask you something,” Clara whispered, “if it’s all right.”

“It’s all right. Sit down here,” Ella said, motioning toward the bed. “I’m still…not quite myself, as you can see. Don’t let it bother you. We have to do chores before too long, and I’ll get straightened up by then. I think it’s your turn outside tonight, yah?”

Clara nodded and then pulled herself up on the bed. The mattress bent even further under her weight.

“What is it you want to ask me?” Ella asked, pulling Clara close to her. “You know it’s nice to have a little sister like you.”

“Well,” Clara began, smiling weakly. Carefully she unfolded the drawing. “This is the picture of the house. The one we talked about last week, remember? Well, I was wondering if it would be okay with you if Mamm finishes your quilt…and uses my drawing just like we planned.”

Ella took the drawing and studied it intently, silent for a long moment.

Clara began wondering if perhaps Ella had forgotten the question.
Should I ask it again?

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ella suddenly asked.

Clara nodded.

“Then why don’t we draw it in? It would still look beautiful.”

“Really? You would do that?”

“Let’s go down and get the quilt before chores and start!” Ella replied.

“Okay,” Clara said with relief.
This is wonderful! It might mean I’m not as evil as I had imagined. If the drawing takes its place on the quilt, the wrong would surely be cleaned out of it and also out of me.

“Then let’s be goin’,” Ella said, standing up. Clara clutched the drawing as they walked into the hall.

“What are you two up to?” Dora asked when they came downstairs. She sounded breathless.

“Clara wants to draw in the missing piece of my quilt.”

“Your quilt? Your
wedding
quilt?” Dora asked, standing ramrod straight.

At the tone of Dora’s voice, Clara suddenly turned to Ella and said, “You don’t have to be doin’ this. Really, you don’t. Not just for me, you don’t.”

“Maybe we’ll do it for Aden, then,” Ella said softly. “I think he’d like us to finish the quilt. He’d like the house you drew too. I’m sure of it. You did such a good job.”

Dora shook her head. “Well, I guess it’s better than sittin’ in your room cryin’ your eyes out.”

“And that’s likely what I’d be doin’,” Ella said, “but we’re on the way down to look at the quilt now. Chore time will be here soon if we don’t hurry.”

They left Dora standing there and went downstairs to where the quilt was. As they stood in front of the frame, Ella drew her breath in sharply.

“Are you okay?” Clara asked.

“I’ll be okay in just a minute,” Ella said quietly. “It’s the first time I’ve seen the quilt since it happened.”

“We don’t have to, really,” Clara whispered.
Why did I ever start this? I was thinking only of myself.

Ella ignored her sister’s remarks and said, “Let’s see the drawing.” She took the paper and held it over the centerpiece of the quilt. Other than a better color match, the effect couldn’t have been better. Clara held her breath and waited for Ella’s opinion.

A few moments later, Ella finally said, “It’s so lovely, Clara. It really is.”

“I’m so glad you like it.”

“Aden would have loved the house,” Ella said, tearing up.

Ella wiped her eyes, smiled weakly, and then stepped back for another look. “It couldn’t be any better,” she said. “You’ll have to draw it in as soon as possible. I can work on the stitching as I have time.”

“Mamm will help,” Clara said, wishing she could help too by producing as fine a stitch necessary for the drawing.

“I expect it’s time we’d better go chore,” Ella said a few minutes later.

Clara nodded. “Thanks for bein’ so nice, Ella, about this. I feel much better now.”

Twenty

E
lla felt numb and confused as she walked out to the barn.
Why did I ever consider giving the drawing so much as a glance? Sure, I wanted to please Clara, but there was more to the decision than that. Was I moved by the thought that Aden would have wanted me to finish the quilt?
That thought had deeply touched her.

Life did move on, and work did seem to soothe the haunting ache inside. Clara’s drawing, though, had moved her where she hadn’t expected to go. In a way the decision opened up the pain again, yet also it strangely seemed to bring relief.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud and fierce bawl from the barnyard. She jumped even as she realized the source of the ruckus. The new bull had still not settled into its new home, or maybe it had settled in too well, staking its claim on the cows and the whole barnyard. The bull bawled again, trumpeting its displeasure about something. Its head was down as it stomped about, kicking up the dust.

Ella shivered at the fury. Surely the bull had no hope of access to the outside world. Her dad and brothers made sure the barnyard fences stayed strong and in good repair. With a new bull, and one so foul-tempered, extra care would have been taken.

As she watched the bull, its anger brought back the unpleasant whispers from last night when Dora and her brothers had returned from the singing. She didn’t have the heart to go, and thankfully they hadn’t stayed home for her sake.

When the buggy had rattled in—home from the singing—she had gone downstairs and opened the stair door to hear Dora’s hushed whispers in the kitchen. “They think it might be
three
before it’s over.”

Ella didn’t need to be told details to understand what that meant. Surely, there wouldn’t be more deaths.
Does God really want others to go through what I endured?
This seemed impossible, but then so had Aden’s death. The bull, its nostrils raised in a great snort of anger, seemed to drive home the point that anything was possible.

“Ella,” Clara, dressed in her chore clothes, called from the door of the house, “did you see the sunset?”

Ella stopped and glanced up at the sky. “No,” she said loud enough for Clara to hear.

“Then step around the barn. It’s well worth it,” Clara said.

That might be a welcome distraction. Ella walked around the edge of the barn, the spectacle in the sky taking her breath away. Streaks of dark blue hung above great folds of red and orange where the sun had just set. There were splashes of red and gold in the sky, the whole area lit up in colors.

“It’s beautiful,” Ella said, realizing by the sound of Clara’s steps that her sister had stopped beside her.

“At least it means a nice day tomorrow.”

“That’s what it usually means,” Ella said, wishing there was a sign in the sky that her heart would be okay tomorrow.

“There will come a good day for you too,” Clara said as if reading her thoughts. “There will be plenty of young men who’ll be wantin’ to marry you.”

“Nah,” Ella said, shaking her head, “I don’t want anyone else. I can’t ever be findin’ another Aden.”

She and Clara walked toward the barn. Inside, the familiar sounds and smells of cows, hay, and fresh dropped feed greeted them.

“Where are the boys?” Clara asked at the sight of the cows in their stanchions. The closest one calmly munched its feed and raised its head to look at them.

“They’ll be in soon. You’ll be milkin’ two cows tonight to toughen up your hands as fast as you can.”

“I ache already, I do declare,” Clara said, groaning.

“You were born to be a farmer’s daughter,” Ella said, teasing her, “and then a farmer’s wife.”

Clara joined in with Ella’s soft laugh.

“Remember, wipe down first,” Ella said, pointing toward the bucket of water by the milk house door, “and watch for the tail.”

“I remember that much,” Clara said, groaning again. “They sure can hurt with those things.”

Ella handed Clara the rag and watched while she wiped down the cow’s udder.

“You have the hang of it, yah,” she said, taking the rag.

While she worked on her own cow, the hesitant pings of milk started from Clara’s direction. By the time Ella had finished, Clara’s pings were already stronger.

“This is hard work,” Clara muttered, her head tight against the cow’s side.

“You’ll be doin’ four in no time.”

Clara groaned, her voice drowned out by the loud bellow of the bull from the barnyard.

Ella stopped, and Clara brought her head up sharply.

“That awful thing,” she said.

“I know. It was mad when I came out of the house.”

The bull bellowed again. The sound of a loud crash of broken wood followed.

“What was that?” Clara asked, turning from her cow and standing up.

“You’d best go on milkin’,” Ella told Clara. “Bulls are that way—at least most of the ones Daett buys.”

Clara had just sat down again and reached under the udder when the bellow came again. This time it was followed by the sound of a desperate cry—a male voice.

“That was Eli,” Clara said, standing again.

“I think so too,” Ella said, not moving. “We better check on it.”

“We should,” Clara said, setting her milk bucket in the aisle.

Their daett’s voice came from the barnyard, loud, urgent, and clear with its instructions. “Stay up there, Eli. Don’t be comin’ down now.”

Ella set her bucket of milk aside and ran toward the barnyard. Clara followed tight behind her. They stopped at the split barn door, its top open, the lower level still securely fastened.

“No!” Clara screamed.

Eli was as high up on the wooden barnyard fence as he could get. The bull stood below, its nose in the air. Lowering its head to the ground and stomping in the dirt in a rage, it rammed its head repeatedly against the wood fence.

“I can’t stay up here long,” Eli said, his voice weak. Noah had approached the bull from inside the barnyard and stood only a few feet away.

Ella watched as the bull turned toward Noah, lifted its head, and then headed in his direction. The race across the dirt lot was swift and decisive. Ella had never seen her dad run so rapidly. His legs were a blur and his beard blew to the side as he crossed the barnyard. Both hands caught the middle of the board fence. In one smooth motion, Noah leaped upward as the bull came to an abrupt stop with a great bellow of rage at its missed prey.

“Oh, Ella!” Clara gasped from beside her.

Ella found her voice and yelled to Eli, “Climb down now! You can make it before it comes back to you.”