Elm Creek Quilts [07] The Sugar Camp Quilt (31 page)

In this fashion they proceeded almost as if they led two separate and distinct schools, but when Mr. Nelson lectured in history, Dorothea took her students downstairs so they could listen. At first she had given her own lectures, but when she observed the younger children straining to hear Mr. Nelson’s voice over her own, she gave up and decided one history lecture would serve the entire school. She could not deny that Mr. Nelson’s university studies had given him a greater depth and breadth of knowledge than her own in many subjects, but in history, especially, he excelled. He brought the stories of the past to life with such detail and intriguing narrative that the students sat spellbound throughout the lessons. Dorothea had never seen the school so quiet, except for when Miss Gunther’s gentle monotone had put half the class to sleep.

“You could have been a university lecturer,” remarked Dorothea one day after she and Mr. Nelson excused the students for lunch.

“I was,” he said, to her surprise. He had been a tutor in the history department at the University of Pennsylvania for two years and had intended to become a professor.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked.

“Other events intervened.”

He said no more, and Dorothea did not persist in questioning him. She could only imagine all that he had left behind to keep his promise to his father. It was no wonder he had found little to admire in Creek’s Crossing or its inhabitants when he first arrived.

The weeks passed. The sun rose earlier each morning, and before long the temperatures grew mild enough for Dorothea to walk the mile to the ferry rather than ride her mother’s horse and board him in Mr. Engle’s livery stable during the day. Since she was no longer privy to the plans of the library board, she was surprised one morning to discover that a team of men had broken ground on the vacant lot not far from the school. By the size of the foundation they had marked with pickets and rope, they intended the library to be an impressive size, nearly as large as the Lutheran church. Her spirits soared at the thought of how many books could fill such a space. She only hoped that Mrs. Engle would not somehow contrive to have the building named after herself.

On a particularly warm day, upon noticing that her students were gazing wistfully out the windows more often than at their books, Dorothea suggested to Mr. Nelson that they take the children outside for a lesson in the natural sciences. He agreed, and both classes of students gladly followed as she led them on a walk beside the creek, where she pointed out the various geological features the view provided. Upon their return to the classroom, she assigned the students compositions about what they had learned. She was pleased to find that even the youngest had grasped the concepts of erosion and sedimentation. A few of the boys wrote enthusiastically about turbulence and velocity, which made her glad she had not taken them past Widow’s Pining, where they might have been tempted to experiment in the dangerous current.

At the end of the day, after the students departed and she and Mr. Nelson were tidying the classroom, he remarked, “That was a very instructive lesson. I believe I learned something today.”

She smiled and continued wiping the blackboard. “You are merely being kind.”

“Not at all.” He paused. “I am never merely kind.”

She almost laughed, but she could not deny it. “Perhaps later in the spring we might venture out again to study plants, when there are more to see.”

He readily agreed. That very night, Dorothea began preparing her next natural science lesson so that she would be ready when the time came. Spring planting would soon begin, and the eldest boys and even some of the eldest girls and younger children would leave school to work on family farms. Her lesson on the flora and fauna of the Elm Creek Valley could not wait much longer if she wanted all the students to benefit from it. Besides, with so many pupils gone, Mr. Nelson would likely consolidate the two classes and dismiss her until after the harvest.

Fair weather also brought more passengers through the Grangers’ Underground Railroad station: a husband and wife from Virginia, whose necks and shoulders bore thick scars from many beatings, fleeing so that their unborn child could never be sold away from them. Two young girls who dressed as boys and walked off the plantation unrecognized by their overseer. A man, promised emancipation upon his master’s death, who rode off on a stolen horse when the master’s son and heir refused to honor his father’s wishes. Their harrowing tales chilled Dorothea to her core, and she often could not sleep at night for thinking of the others, so many others, who could not run away or who had died trying. The Grangers’ efforts to help a handful of runaways reach the North seemed pitifully inadequate, no more than a gesture—except to those few who found their freedom. So much more was needed, so much more than they could ever do.

The hiding place Dorothea’s father had made in Uncle Jacob’s old room was tested twice in the weeks the winter snows melted and warmer winds began to blow from the southwest. Mary and Abner paid an unexpected call on a sunny afternoon, forcing the Grangers to hide a mother and her young son behind the false back of the wardrobe. Dorothea was dizzy with alarm the whole duration of their visit, waiting for the child to wail and betray them. As soon as the unexpected guests had departed, Dorothea and Lorena rushed to the wardrobe to free its occupants. They found the young boy asleep in his mother’s arms, the mother herself anxious but calm, and safe.

The second test came a week later as two men scarcely older than Dorothea lay sleeping in Uncle Jacob’s room. Someone pounded upon the back door of the kitchen, but before anyone could run to warn the fugitives, the door opened and Mr. Liggett stuck his head in. “Mornin’, folks,” he said awkwardly, startled to find Dorothea and her mother there. “I didn’t think you ’uns were home.”

“Are you in the habit of entering our house when you believe us to be elsewhere?” Lorena inquired.

“No, no, but since I came all this way I thought I’d leave you a note.”

Lorena stood fast, blocking his view of the rooms beyond. “How fortunate that we are home and you will not have to bother.”

“Yeah.” Disappointed, Mr. Liggett still tried to peer around Lorena. “I just thought I’d check and see if you ’uns are hiring for the planting. Since your brother never paid me from last year, I thought you could just tack on what I earn this time to what you owe me.”

Dorothea saw the line of her mother’s jaw tighten. “I do not believe my husband will require your services this year. Thank you just the same.”

Baleful, he said, “Then I’ll just take what you owe me and go.”

He shoved open the door. Lorena protested and grabbed hold of his coat, but he shook loose, knocking her to the floor. Dorothea, too, tried to block his path, but he shoved her aside and stormed into the front room. He scanned it, and, finding nothing, squared his bony shoulders and turned down the hallway toward Uncle Jacob’s room.

Dorothea heard her mother choke back a gasp as Mr. Liggett swung open the door and stepped inside. He lifted the Sugar Camp Quilt to peer under the bed; he flung open the doors to the wardrobe and rifled through the old clothes hanging within. Dorothea held her breath as he looked left, right, then backed out of the room and headed for the attic stairs.

When Dorothea heard his footsteps overhead, she dashed into Uncle Jacob’s room. The two runaways were nowhere to be found, and the door to the wardrobe was ajar. She closed it without a sound and returned to the hall where her mother stood, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, darting back and forth in response to the creaks of the floorboards. Dorothea linked her arm through her mother’s as they listened to Mr. Liggett tearing about upstairs, her mind racing with plans of what to do if Mr. Liggett found any sign of the fugitives. Her father was off in the northwestern fields; he could not come to their aid.

Mr. Liggett stomped downstairs, glowering. “The cellar,” he snarled at Lorena.

Her back was ramrod straight, but her grasp on Dorothea’s arm tightened. “I cannot comprehend why you believe you have any right to subject us to this search. If it’s money you seek—”

“Never mind. I’ll find it myself.” He disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. They heard the cellar door swing open and the scuff of his boots on the steps.

Dorothea tore free of her mother and ran upstairs. Her small attic bedroom was in a shambles, quilts and clothes and books strewn over the bed and floor. Swiftly she retrieved the book her uncle had bequeathed to her and removed the stack of bills from within the front cover. She counted out some of her inheritance and raced back downstairs. She reached the kitchen just as Mr. Liggett returned from the cellar.

“Here,” she said, holding out the money. “The wages my uncle neglected to pay you. Please take it and leave us in peace.”

Mr. Liggett snatched the folded bills and thumbed through them. “This ain’t enough.”

“It’s the wage you agreed upon.”

“That was a year ago. I want something for my trouble and for the wait.”

“That’s all I can give you.”

He jerked his head toward the front room. “Then I’ll just have that whiskey and call it even.”

Lorena quickly retrieved the nearly empty bottle from Uncle Jacob’s desk and thrust it at him. “Take it and go.”

He shook the bottle, scowling to see how little remained, and tucked it into his coat. “Thank you kindly. Good day, ladies.”

Lorena slammed the door behind him and slid the bolt in place. “That will remain locked, day and night, from this moment on.” She placed a hand on her chest, breathless. “I declare that man is a demon. He was not looking for money, or even for whiskey. That much is evident despite his words.”

Dorothea felt a slow churning of anger growing within her. “We should not have allowed him to invade our home like that.”

“Allowed him? I do not see how we could have prevented it.”

“If Jonathan had been here—”

“They very likely would have come to blows. Your brother would have thrashed Mr. Liggett soundly, making him hate us all the more. Now Mr. Liggett has seen for himself that we have nothing to hide, and he will not return.”

Dorothea was not so certain.

They went to the window, expecting to see Mr. Liggett trudging off on foot, but they caught a glimpse of him on horseback before he disappeared into the trees. They hurried down to the cellar and eased open the door Robert had concealed in a row of shelves. In the dim light, Dorothea saw the two men crouched warily, prepared to run.

“He is gone,” she said. “It is safe to come out.”

“If you don’t mind, we’ll stay put for a while,” said one of the men. The other nodded his assent.

“As you wish.” Dorothea handed them some bread, dried apples, and a jug of water, and closed the hidden door.

M
R
. N
ELSON SCHEDULED
D
OROTHEA’S
second lesson in natural sciences for a Friday, on the same morning her father, at breakfast, had announced that the ground was thawed enough for plowing. He had already hired hands to help with the work, and the men would begin the next day. She walked to school that morning slowly, reluctant for the day to begin and speed toward its end. While she welcomed the work of springtime more than in previous years—now that the farm was the Grangers’ own—she would miss her students, the daily walks to school, the cordial lunches in the classroom when she and Mr. Nelson would discuss books or the news from back East. She resolved to fill her hours with work so she would not miss the schoolhouse until they needed her again.

After lunchtime recess, Dorothea and Mr. Nelson gathered the children and set off on foot to the meadow and woods southwest of town. Dorothea showed them the early signs of spring pushing up through the earth, natural herbs useful in medicines, berries and roots that were safe to eat, and poisonous plants they must never touch. The children were so inquisitive and interested in all she had to show them that she lost track of time, and they wandered farther than she had intended. When she finally remembered, she apologized to Mr. Nelson and turned the children back toward school, wondering why he had not reminded her that the hour was growing late. The end of the school day was nearly at hand, and he would not have time for his history lecture.

Usually one of them walked at the head of the group and the other at the end, with the children in between, but this time Mr. Nelson followed behind the children with Dorothea, remarking that the students knew the way to the schoolhouse without a guide, and this way, he and Dorothea could both watch them.