A Quilt for Christmas (23 page)

“I have no money for such a machine,” Eliza told him.

“I expect to have a little coming in. I would like to spend it to pay you back for your hospitality.”

“It is I who owe you for work on the farm. It is poor pay to receive only a straw bed in the barn and your supper.”

Daniel put his hand on Eliza's arm, and she felt the warmth of it through her sleeve, felt her blood warm at his touch. Something inside her stirred, and frightened, she pulled her arm away. “It would not be proper for me to accept your aid,” she said.

Daniel dropped his hand, and took a step backward. “Forgive me, Mrs. Spooner. Being around a family has made me forget my place.”

Eliza wanted to tell him he had not offended her, but something made her stop. “Yes,” she muttered and went inside and closed the door.

*   *   *

In the fall, Daniel moved into the soddy. The weather had turned chill, and while Daniel said the straw in the barn was warmer than the bed he'd slept on at Rock Island, Eliza knew he would be better off in a house. She and Luzena scrubbed the one room and washed the muslin that they had stretched across the ceiling after Missouri Ann and Nance moved in. The cloth was there to catch the dirt that fell from the sod roof. Eliza added fresh straw to the tick. Although he grumbled, Davy repaired the table and chairs that the Starks had broken in their frenzy to find the escaped slave girl. Daniel patched the sides of the building where the sod had come loose. When they were finished and Daniel had arranged his few belongings in the house, he pronounced it as comfortable a home as he had ever had.

“Don't get too used to it. You won't be here for long,” Davy told him.

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

October 13, 1865

Eliza's quilt group knew right off that the Confederate hired man had moved into the soddy. When they met at Eliza's farm the October day not long after Daniel left the barn for the little house, they saw him emerge from it and nod to them, although he was not forward enough to approach the women. They nodded stiffly in return, then exchanged glances behind his back.

“He's living there then, the Secesh.” Eliza had gone into the house for her scissors, and Anna whispered.

“Botheration. It's enough to knock you down,” Ettie said.

“Is he a rogue, do you think?” Anna inquired, leaning forward, her voice low. “They're all rogues, all the Confederates. I reckon he's eating white bread now, living here on Eliza's farm, in that little house, dining at the supper table.”

“Oh, yes. For him, the goose hangs high,” agreed Ettie.

“We all know she's needing a man bad to help with the work. Davy's a boy yet,” Mercy told them, defending Eliza's decision to let the Rebel stay. “I can understand it.”

“She'd have no need of him if she could find a husband,” Anna told them.

“And where would that be?” Ettie asked. “I've not seen a surplus of men around here, what with so many gone up in the war. They say there's a whole generation of Southern women who are destined to be widows and spinsters, and the Union's lost a plenty of its own, too.”

Mercy looked out over the farm, at the leaves that were just starting to turn yellow. “Will Spooner was her heart's soul.”

The quilt group was smaller now without Missouri Ann, and the three women were setting up the frame on the porch for fear of rain. Eliza, inside, overheard them. Mercy was right; she did need a man on the farm. Of all the quilters, she was now the only one who would work the land alone. Missouri Ann had married, Anna's and Ettie's husbands had come home, and Mercy was betrothed to John Hamlin. They had announced their intention to marry after the harvest. Already one of John's hired men was helping with Mercy's farm.

She was amused and a little disappointed that her friends were talking behind her back, but she held her head high, pretending she hadn't heard, and stepped out onto the porch.

“God bless me, we were gossiping about you just now,” Ettie admitted, as the women arranged chairs around the quilt frame. “We were saying as how that hired man of yours moved into the soddy. Looks like he'll stay a while.”

“Just until the harvest is done,” Eliza told them. “It didn't seem right to make him sleep in the barn, what with cold weather coming on, when there's a perfectly good house he can use.” She helped the others set in the quilt, white with flower baskets appliquéd to it. The top was Mercy's work and was intended to be one of her wedding quilts. “Mr. Judd's a worker,” she added by way of compliment.

“You expect he'll leave then, your hired man?” Ettie asked.

“He's not exactly a hired man, because I'm not paying him wages. He says the work brings back his sanity, poor fellow,” Eliza told her.

“Maybe if we hard-worked all the Secesh, it'd bring them back to sanity,” Ettie said, with more than a trace of sarcasm in her voice. She had turned bitter after her son returned, his soul heavy with war. “Not that they ever had any to start out with.”

“Rubbish, Ettie. We ought to move on. The war's over and done with.” Anna sat down and threaded her needle.

Ettie gave her a hard look. “Not for some of us, some that's lost one son and got another at home with soldier's heart. The trials my poor boy had were enough to make a good Christian cuss. I could pray till the crack of doom, but I can't find forgiveness in my heart for the South. It's a wonder, them killing your husband, you'd even speak to a Confederate, Eliza.”

Eliza had begun quilting, but she stopped and waited until Ettie looked up at her. “He's not a Confederate anymore, Ettie. He's just a man.”

“They're always Confederates,” Ettie retorted.

“Is that the way Davy feels?” Mercy asked. She had begun stitching around one of the flowers on her quilt. Her work had improved greatly, and Eliza marveled at the cunning stitches.

“No,” Eliza said at last. “Davy can't forget who Mr. Judd is. Sometimes I feel like I have a chained bear in the house with me.”

“Then why do you keep the fellow on?” Anna asked.

“Because we need him. And because I feel safer with a man about.” Eliza did not add that Daniel eased her loneliness.

Ettie worked at a knot in her thread with her needle, then gave up and tried to yank the knot through the fabric. The thread broke, and she muttered, “God bless me. I'm always a-doing this. I'm as useless as a half-pair of scissors.” She put the length of thread attached to the quilt into her needle and added, “I have no one to thank but myself, the way I'm carrying on. I wouldn't want a Rebel living so close to me, but I got men at home to help out. It's your doing, Eliza, and I'll rest my mouth about it.”

“We all will,” Mercy told them, looking up at Eliza. “Have you heard from Missouri Ann? Is there a baby yet?”

“Just the one letter, and the baby isn't due until the new year,” Eliza answered, and the women, glad to have the discussion of the Confederate behind them, turned to lighter subjects.

But Eliza brooded and did not join the conversation. The others, even Ettie for all her talk, had put the war behind her. Only Eliza seemed to be standing still, not knowing what lay ahead. She caught sight of Daniel in the distance as he walked to the well and took a dipperful of water from the bucket. He did not glance her way, but Eliza stared at him, wondering how she would cope after he moved on. And he would leave, she knew, even if he wanted to stay, even if
she
wanted him to stay. He and Davy had come to a sort of truce, but that would end with the harvest. It would be better when he was gone. The harvest would be a good one, and perhaps she could hire a man—a Union man—to help with the planting. In time, Davy might soften toward his father's enemies, but he wouldn't now, not when one of them slept on their farm.

She returned to her quilting, her eyes on a red tulip in Mercy's quilt, unaware that her friends had been watching her as she watched Daniel.

*   *   *

One day in November, Daniel returned from town with the news that he had found a threshing crew and at a good price.

“It can't be much of crew if that's all they're charging,” Davy said.

“Men need work,” Daniel replied. “They take what they can get.”

“Are they Secesh?” Davy asked. He was helping Eliza pick the last of the tomatoes in the kitchen garden.

“I didn't inquire their pedigree,” Daniel replied to Davy's question. “I know only that they were sturdy men, and their equipment is in good condition. As they were already in the county and looking for more work, they gave me a good price. They will be here on Monday.”

“You had no right to hire them. How will we pay for them?” Davy asked, yanking at a tomato so hard that he crushed it and the juice spilled over his hand.

“I believe we have that much to spend,” Eliza put in. “A crew at that fee will pay for itself, for it will harvest everything in the fields, far more than the three of us could do. I thank you, Mr. Judd.”

“I'll oversee them and make sure they do a good job,” Daniel promised.

“
I
will oversee them. This is my farm,” Davy told him, rubbing his tomato-stained hands on his pants.

Eliza glanced at Daniel to see if he was offended, but he didn't appear to be and, in fact, replied, “Of course, Davy.”

After the boy left to take the dishpan of tomatoes into the house, Daniel told Eliza, “He resents me yet. I had thought our working together would soften him.”

“As did I. You have worked well with each other. Perhaps his feelings toward the Rebels will change in time.”

“Not before I leave.”

“You are going, then.” Eliza yanked out a denuded tomato vine so that she did not have to look at Daniel.

“That was the plan. Is there a reason to change it?”

There was no reason, Eliza thought, except that she had grown used to having him around. The farm now ran almost as well as it had before the war, when Will was in charge. But it wasn't just the farm. Eliza enjoyed having a man to converse with, to discuss politics and events at the supper table, and to talk about softer things on the porch at night, after Davy and Luzena had gone to bed. Sometimes Daniel recited the words of poets she'd never heard of, or talked of his joy in raising horses. Once as he looked out toward the fields that he could not see in the darkness, he told Eliza how satisfied he was seeing her land prosper under his hands—his and Davy's, he added quickly. It was the sort of conversation she would have had with Will. She would be lonely without this man.

Still, Daniel was a Rebel, one of their enemies, and it would be easier for Davy after Daniel left. She thought about Will. Would he have wanted the Johnnie to stay? What would Will have thought about a Confederate living on the farm, working the fields
he
had broken, using the tools
he
had crafted, living in the soddy
he
had built? The thought that Will would not have approved troubled Eliza. This was Will's farm. It always would be. So, for that reason alone, it was best that Daniel move on. “No, no reason to change,” Eliza answered his question.

Daniel reached for the tomato plant Eliza held, and their hands met. Eliza was shaken by the touch and withdrew her hand, dropping the plant. Daniel stared at her for a moment, then reached for the vine.

“I must be at supper,” Eliza said, although it was only early afternoon, and Luzena did the cooking now.

Daniel nodded, not glancing away. When Eliza reached the porch and looked back, Daniel was still staring at her.

*   *   *

They skipped church on Sunday so that Eliza and Luzena could start on the pies and bread, the chicken and potatoes and all the other food the threshing crew would expect. Eliza wanted to prepare as much ahead of time as possible. Now the bounty of food lay on the table—a feast really, for nobody ate as much as threshers. Eliza was tired from the day's work and the anticipation of more the next day, but when the pans and dishes had been put away and Luzena and Davy were upstairs in the loft, Eliza went outside on the porch to cool herself. Perhaps one day she would have a cook stove, but for now, the cooking was done in the fireplace, and her shoulders ached from lifting the heavy pots. The fire made her feel scorched.

She sat down in the rocker that Will had made and Daniel had repaired and wiped her face with her apron. Her dress was damp with perspiration, and her hair had slipped out of its knot and curled in the heat. She saw then that Daniel was standing in front of the soddy, and when Eliza glanced his way, Daniel, unbidden, walked slowly to the porch. Was he the reason she had come outside? No, she told herself. It was foolishness to think such. She would stay only a minute, then go to bed, for she must be ready when the crew arrived.

“It will be a hard time, the next days,” Daniel said. “You had best get some rest, Mrs. Spooner.”

“And you. You yourself will be working with the threshers.”

Daniel lowered himself to the porch. “I've always liked that kind of work. You don't brood as much when you're working.”

“You brood, then.”

“No more than any other. I believe you do so, too.”

Eliza did not respond to the remark, but asked, “Will you look for a farm in the west?”

Daniel shrugged in the moonlight. “I haven't decided. Perhaps I can find a gold mine then buy myself a ranch, one right here in Kansas. I never saw such a big sky as here. Or land that begs to be plowed. It would be a good place to settle.”

She did not tell him she liked that idea. Instead, she remarked, “Print Ritter, our blacksmith, went to Colorado to find gold and thought he might return to buy a farm. But I am afraid there may be more gold seekers than mines.”

Daniel laughed, and Eliza liked the sound of it. “Would you go west, Mrs. Spooner?” he asked.