A Quilt for Christmas (6 page)

Eliza paused here. She gave a second thought about asking Will's advice, but she had nothing with which to erase the words. And with paper as scarce as it was, she did not wish to throw the sheet into the fire and begin again. She could always ignore Will's advice. It wouldn't be the first time. And if he complained, then she would tell him she had had to make the best of things as she saw them. After all, if he did not believe she could run the farm and make decisions in his stead, he should not have joined the army.

It was a beautiful Christmas day, the ground covered in white snow. I hitched Sabra to the sleigh & she carried us to church. I believe I saw a few looks of scorn at the undertaker's words on the sleigh & some few might have inquired of what we were thinking, but I also saw a glance or two of envy at such a handsome vehicle. When I told it about that you had traded the old wagon for the sleigh, there were murmurs of approval. Perhaps if I cannot make a success of the farm while you are away, I shall take up the new art of embalming.

Eliza frowned at what she had written. She hoped Will would understand she was only joking. But to be sure, she explained.

That is a little joke. Please excuse it. There is so little to laugh at these days.

Well, husband, we are well and snug here, our guests too, & lack only your presence to make this the merriest of Christmas days. We prayed at church for the welfare of all our men in the Union, as well as—

Eliza was about to say they had prayed for all soldiers, Union as well as Confederate, but she knew Will would not like that. So she crossed out “as well as” and continued.

—and asked the Lord to be with you in this noble cause. I myself prayed that the cause would soon conclude & I think others did, too, for many men from the country are away. Luzena said she had prayed for peace & a good dinner and was rewarded by half. I hope that you, too, had a Christmas feast.

Have a care for your safety, dear husband, & remember your little family at home that loves you & prays for you.

Your Affectionate Wife

Eliza A. Spooner

As she folded the letter to form its own envelope, she saw a damp spot on the paper and told herself it was a drop of water spilled at supper.

 

CHAPTER THREE

January 27, 1865

Snow had begun to fall, and Eliza tried to hurry Sabra by slapping the reins, but after a few quick steps, the old horse settled back into a walk. Wrapped in robes with her feet resting on a hot brick, Eliza was warm, even cozy, as she rode across the white road in the cutter, but she worried that the snow would make the drive home difficult. It couldn't be helped, she told herself. Sabra would go no faster, so Eliza nestled into the wool covers and looked out over the white landscape so like the one the day that she and Will had moved into the log house. There weren't many log houses. Most settlers lived in soddies, because trees were scarce. But Will had found land with a grove of trees on it, so they had built their second home out of logs, and the day they moved in, they were as proud of the house as if it had been a clapboard mansion. That memory warmed her, too.

The two of them along with the children had carried furniture and bedding, pots and kettles, books and china plates and silver teaspoons from the soddy into the new house. While Will placed the bed, the table and chairs, the clock they had brought from Ohio, Eliza arranged her pretty things—the silver teapot on a shelf in front of the white china platter with the blue feather edge. She put the tin candlesticks on the shelf, too, then changed her mind and set them on the table. She went outside and picked a bouquet of dried weeds and put them in her yelloware pitcher, which had been broken and mended with wire, and set the vase between the candlesticks. The arrangement was as pretty a picture as Eliza had ever seen.

When all was arranged to her satisfaction, Eliza made up the bed with homespun sheets and pillow slips edged with her own tatting, the blanket and quilts, then spread the prized Sunshine and Rain quilt over them. The quilt was taken out only on special occasions. It was her own design—she had named it, too—and she had made it for Will as a wedding present. With its indigo squares and red binding, it looked almost like a flag against the white stripes of chinking between the logs of the wall.

The Sunshine and Rain quilt was put away, but she would bring it out when Will came home, Eliza thought now. And they would hang his flag quilt on the wall.

The cabin wasn't large, but it was four times the size of the soddy, and on that first night Luzena and Davy had played hide-and-seek in the great open space that served as kitchen, dining room, parlor, and bedroom for Eliza and Will. They had eaten supper, not much of a supper, just mush and milk, because Eliza had been too busy to prepare more, then had sat in front of the fire cracking black walnuts with a hammer and picking out the nutmeats. Luzena had fallen asleep in Eliza's lap, and Will had carried her up the ladder to the loft where she and Davy were to sleep. The boy had followed, remarking that the loft was as big as the soddy they had left.

They were tired and should have gone to bed, too, but Will and Eliza sat in the firelight, smiling at each other across the table, not having to say out loud how happy they were, for each knew the other was thinking just that.

“No wife ever had such a good provider,” Eliza said at last.

“And no husband such a faithful wife.” He reached across the table for her hand, and they sat like that for a moment, Eliza savoring the touch. Then Will looked toward the window, which was set with a rare pane of glass, and jumped up. “Look, dearest, it's snowing. Come and see.”

They went to the door and stood there in the cold, looking out at the first winter snow, the flakes, big as ten-dollar gold pieces, floating down. In a few minutes, the snow coated the ground. Suddenly, Will grabbed Eliza's hand and pulled her out into the yard. He put his arms about her, and the two began to dance. They both loved to dance, had gone to every dance around when they were newly married, often not arriving home until morning light was creeping into the sky. Will guided her around the yard, twirling her about in the snow, until she did not know one direction from another. Oblivious to the falling flakes, they danced in the moonless dark until their clothes were soaked and then began to laugh at their foolishness. Will had kissed her long and hard, the kiss of a passionate man, then picked her up and carried her into the house. That dance was one of her precious moments, far too precious for Eliza to ever share with anyone else.

Now, Eliza relived that memory as she sat in the sleigh, putting her arms around herself as if Will were holding her, but her movement jerked the reins, and Sabra stopped. Eliza laughed at her foolishness and urged the horse forward again, wishing that Will really were beside her. But he would be. Maybe he would return home before winter was over. Surely he would be there by the next winter, to tell her again that the sleigh had not been necessary. He had joked about it in his first letter. Eliza had read the letter so many times that she had nearly memorized it. And now as she slid along the snowy road, she recalled the words.

September 22, 1864

Dearest Wife

We have fought a battle & there is no need to send the embalming sleigh just yet, for your husband is safe. I cannot say the same for many of our men or for the enemy. This is a cruel war & things are done by both the Rebs & us that were they known at home, would forever disgrace them. I think I do not need to tell you that I despise war almost as much as I do the Secesh for starting it. It warms my heart to know you are safe at home & that this war is a long way from you. I am glad you have little to worry about except the harvest.

We do not have a pretty time of it. We made coffee yesterday & discovered that each cupful had two or three boiled maggots in it. I foraged a real number one gooseberry pie. We are told not to jayhawk from the local people, but they are Rebs who would shoot us in the back if they could, so few soldiers do not help themselves when there is the opportunity. I myself take only a little. The pie was sitting on the table of a house whose occupants had run off to avoid the shooting, so I acquired it to keep it from going to waste. I believed it was the Lord's way of thanking us Yankee boys for our hard fighting. Others help themselves to whatever they find. One man foraged a mud lark or a slow deer, as a pig is called, a quart of salt, a sack full of potatoes & a Bible. I believe any Union soldier who steals a Bible needs it as much as a Southerner. Some of the Negroes here are as close to starvation as I ever saw, their backbones up against their breastbones. One woman begged an empty flour sack so she could use the leavings in it to make a soup for her child. I gave her the pie instead & you would think I had handed her a two-bit piece, so grateful was she. I am glad you do not have to see the suffering of these people. Their cruel treatment would be too much for you to imagine.

Eliza, I do not like this fighting. I believe I killed a man yesterday, shot him through the eye when he came at me shouting the dreadful Rebel yell. It is said the noise is like the call of a hyena. I cannot say, because I have never encountered the animal. But it puts such a fear into me as the time when I heard a panther scream. Such killing does not sit easy with me, although it is the job of all soldiers & he was only a Secesh. I hate these people even more for making me do the deed. The Bible tells us not to hate, but I believe the Lord did not know about Southerners when he set down His words.

Still, I hope that this war will be over & I will be home before planting. I never felt so lonesome for my wife & children before. You are the best of wives, Eliza, & I count myself the luckiest man in the world that you are home & safe from harm. I did not praise you often before, but I intend to do so more when I am home. And I will bring you a gold ring with a ruby in it.

With love to our children, I remain

Your Lonely Husband

William T. Spooner

At last, the horse made it into town, and Eliza stopped the cutter in front of the store and tied the reins to the hitching post. She went inside, going directly to the stove to warm her hands. The store was deserted except for the shopkeeper, and Eliza was tempted to sit by the fire for a few minutes, but she must be on the road again before the storm worsened. So she went to the counter and took out the list of what she needed. Will had sent his pay in December and again in January, and Eliza was glad she had money to spend and wouldn't have to barter part of the crop. Now she could haggle over prices. The storekeeper took down a bag of flour and a sugar cone, molasses, salt, and the other items that Eliza needed. When he was finished and they had settled on the prices, he said, “I got a real nice wax doll here I could let you have for a good price for that little Stark girl living with you.”

Eliza glanced at the doll and thought how much Nance would like it. Most likely, the man had ordered it for Christmas and failed to sell it. She remembered the toys in the store at Christmas Eve. The mothers had admired them, but like Eliza, they were hard up, with no spare cash to spend. So they had touched the tops and marbles and fingered the silk dress on the wax doll, but they had left her sitting on the counter. Eliza glanced at the doll, then shook her head.

“Didn't think so. Folks around here are too poor to buy hay for a nightmare.” The man placed Eliza's purchases in her basket, and slung the bag of flour over his shoulder and started for the door.

“Is there mail?” Eliza asked.

The storekeeper, who was also the postmaster, stopped. “Almost forgot. There
is
a letter for you.” He reached into one of the cubbyholes behind the counter and took out an envelope, hefted it, and dropped it into Eliza's basket. “I bet it's one of them valentines I heard about. I bet Will made you one. What do you say to that?”

Eliza colored at the suggestion, and the man, embarrassed that he had been so forward, went ahead of her out the door and placed the sack of flour under the sleigh robes where it wouldn't get wet. “You take care of yourself now, Miz Spooner. Ain't right for a lady to be out by herself in a storm, but what can you do when your man is away?” He untied the reins and handed them to Eliza, who had climbed into the sleigh and set her basket on the floor.

She had not expected a letter, had not thought to ask about one until the last minute, and she was tempted to open it right there in the sleigh. Maybe Will had indeed sent her a valentine. She'd read about them in
Peterson's Magazine,
although she had never seen one. But if she opened the envelope now, the contents would get wet. Besides, she should be on her way. And it would be more fun to open it at home in front of the fire, with the children beside her, just as she had the letter at Christmas. So Eliza settled back in the cold sleigh, warmed by the thought that there would be a letter and maybe even a valentine to read when she reached home.

The ride home was a slow one, and the gloom of the late winter afternoon had settled in by the time Eliza pulled into the barnyard. Davy came out to meet her and barn the horse and sleigh. “The road was slick, and Sabra took her time,” Eliza explained.

“We were worried,” Davy said, and Eliza thought he sounded just like Will when she had gone out and was late returning home.

Inside, Eliza found supper waiting. Missouri Ann had made biscuits and a kettle of soup. That young woman had been a blessing. How could Eliza have hesitated even a minute before agreeing to take in Missouri Ann and Nance? Missouri Ann had done more than her share of cooking and washing, had helped keep up the house and care for the livestock. And most of all, she had been a companion to Eliza, who felt safer with her friend in the house. They had seen no more tramps, but they had found footprints in the snow. Eliza thought they belonged to vagrants, although she wondered if the Starks might have been about.