The Union Quilters (9 page)

“Now you’ve bought the land, built the hall, and decorated it in fine fashion,” remarked Mrs. Claverton as the circle of quilters chimed in their support of Abel’s nomination as construction foreman. “And our pockets have been thoroughly emptied, with nothing left over to sponsor the entertainments. We’ll need a fund-raiser to raise enough funds to hold our first fund-raiser.”

Someone laughed, but Dorothea knew Mrs. Claverton was merely playing devil’s advocate. “Think again of the library,” she said. “We collected autographs from famous authors and other noteworthy personages, and our neighbors were eager to pay for the opportunity to win the beautiful quilt created from the authors’ signatures. I propose we undertake a similar project.”

Prudence’s brow furrowed. “You think we should offer up the Authors’ Album quilt a second time?”

“No,” said Dorothea, laughing. “That quilt belongs to the library and, aside from the books, is its only adornment. We don’t want to tempt our librarian to desert the regiment and come home to prevent us from taking it down.”

“Then you think we should make another autograph quilt?” Constance asked, dubious.

“We don’t have time to request and receive signed pieces of muslin, nor would a duplicate quilt inspire the same interest as the original did.” Nor did Dorothea wish to impose upon the contributors’ generosity a second time. “What I suggest is an entirely new quilt, something every quilt maker in the world would desire and pay good money to win.”

 

Gerda abhorred sewing and had joined Dorothea’s quilting bee only for the stimulating political discussions and enjoyable company, but even she believed that Dorothea’s idea was sheer brilliance. When she carried the news home to Anneke, who had missed the meeting to care for six-week-old baby Albert, Anneke declared that Dorothea was a genius.

The Union Quilters would invite every woman in the Elm Creek Valley to donate a six-inch patchwork block of her own invention or a favorite traditional pattern that was not particularly well known. Each participant would also provide templates and suggestions for how to best construct her chosen block. Quilters would be encouraged to respond promptly by the restriction that only the first block made from a particular pattern would be accepted; any duplicates would be returned to their makers with regrets and encouragement to try again. The blocks would be sewn together into an exquisite sampler, quilted by the finest needleworkers in the valley, and offered up in a drawing. The fortunate winner would claim quilt, templates, and instructions, and thus win a lovely quilt as well as an extraordinary catalog of quilt patterns, enough to keep even the most industrious quilter pleasurably occupied for years to come.

Although Gerda was inclined to put off making a block until she was sure they really needed it—what was one block more or less, after all—she decided to get the unpleasant task over with when Dorothea urged the Union Quilters to submit at least one block apiece, because they could hardly ask others to do what they would not. Gerda contrived a simple block, a square of Balmoral plaid framed in narrow strips of bleached muslin and set on point by Prussian blue triangles, and titled it Cornerstone in honor of their first steps toward achieving Dorothea’s grand ambition.

As spring came to the valley, Gerda threw herself into spreading the word about the quilt project and the proposed Union Hall. Eliza’s uncle agreed to sell the half-acre lot at the cost of his investment alone in exchange for a lifetime subscription to their public events and a brass plaque in the foyer commemorating his generosity. Mary and Dorothea collaborated on an article for the
Water’s Ford Register
announcing the sale of subscriptions, and within the first week they had sold fifteen. Dorothea decided that those sales were sufficient to justify proceeding with the purchase of the lot, which Hans accomplished in their name.

“If Hans had gone off to war, we wouldn’t have been able to proceed with Dorothea’s plan,” Anneke remarked one afternoon as she sketched quilt blocks while the baby and his two older brothers napped at the same time—a rare occurrence she intended to make the most of. She had already sewn two blocks for the quilt but had been inspired to make several more after the Union Quilters voted to offer one complimentary raffle ticket for each block contributed to the sampler.

Gerda refrained from noting that if Hans had been away, they could have found another man to purchase the lot for them, because Anneke seemed to need evidence that Hans had done the right thing in refusing to enlist. Gerda understood how much the disparaging remarks about suspected Copperheads in their midst disturbed her sister-in-law, even when they were not specifically directed at the Bergstroms, although they often were. She knew her brother was no Southern sympathizer and she wondered how the same townspeople who recalled every detail of her pregnancy, which had never occurred, could have forgotten how Hans had risked his own life and freedom to assist runaway slaves. Only the exposure of their station and the impossibility of continuing to shelter fugitives when the Bergstrom farm was one of the first places slave hunters investigated had prevented him from doing more. And while she looked askance at his newfound pacifist ideals, recalling too well the boy who had enjoyed a good brawl with his playmates and the young man who had once threatened to kill a slave hunter, she could not prove that his beliefs were not real.

What irked her far more than spiteful insinuations about Hans’s cowardice or disloyalty were the archaic laws that prevented her or Dorothea or any of the Union Quilters from purchasing the lot themselves, requiring Hans to act as their buyer. Was it not their idea, their efforts, and their fund-raising that would bring Union Hall into existence? Most of the women simply accepted this as the way things were and couldn’t waste any time brooding over it, but Gerda knew that this particular inequality bothered Dorothea as much as it bothered her.

A week after they broke ground, Gerda stopped by the construction site on her way to the post office to observe the laying of the foundation and to pass along a message to Abel from Hans. Abel had accompanied Constance to the last meeting of the Union Quilters to show them his revised drawings and to discuss their budget. When Dorothea inquired about the labor crew he had assembled, Abel had hesitated before saying that although their numbers were few, they were competent and willing, and they were aptly assisted by numerous young men not old enough to enlist. Afterward, when Abel went outside to see to the horses before departing, Constance confided to Dorothea and Gerda that her husband had barely managed to gather together the minimum number of men required for the job. “They don’t want to take orders from a colored man,” she had said angrily. “If he was white, he’d have twice as many carpenters and masons laying bricks and sawing boards, and the hall would be finished in half the time. Maybe we should tell everyone Hans Bergstrom’s in charge of construction too.”

As Gerda watched Abel calling out instructions to one group of men and supervising the placing of large blocks of limestone by another, she reflected that these men, at least, cared more about the noble purpose of their work than about who was in charge. They had taken precious hours away from their fields on a clear, sunny spring day to finish the foundation. Tomorrow these men would work in their fields, and another team, Hans among them, would man the construction site. While the men labored upon the hall, the Union Quilters sold subscriptions and collected quilt blocks, and gathered weekly to assess their progress, sew and knit for the regiment, and read aloud letters from the front.

From Manassas the 49th had gone to Alexandria and were, as far as the women could determine, currently on the Virginia Peninsula. Gerda had not heard from Jonathan since the regiment struck camp in Washington. Neither had Charlotte, but Gerda did not consider that cause for worry, not yet. Mrs. Barrows’s eldest son had written a letter from Alexandria, and if Jonathan had perished, the letter would have mentioned it. Some of the men supplied vivid descriptions of the grim sights and sounds and smells of the battlefield and their own sensations, whether fear or boredom or fervor, while others offered straightforward accounts of miles marched, towns passed, and rivers traversed. The Union Quilters pieced together these scraps of information from the disparate letters as they pieced together scraps of cotton and wool, and just as they assembled quilts that were functional and beautiful, so too did they assemble a mosaic portrait of the war that was functional, if lacking in beauty.

Gerda had two letters of her own to mail that morning—one to Jonathan, the other to Josiah Chester in Virginia. Although she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, as the regiment advanced, she dared to hope that someday soon, by a strange quirk of fate, the 49th might engage the enemy near Greenfields Plantation and liberate Joanna.

She had just turned away from the construction site when she spotted the mayor hurrying across the street toward her. “Miss Bergstrom,” he called out, red-faced and puffing as he removed his hat. A stocky man with a fondness for his own home-brewed beer, he had shattered an ankle in a fall from a horse in childhood and the bones had not healed properly. Still, his position in the government would have precluded him from enlisting even if his pronounced limp had not made it impossible.

“How do you do, Mr. Bauer,” she greeted him, shifting her basket to her other arm. Hans thought the mayor was a timid fool, too apt to follow the bidding of the town council than to think for himself, but Gerda found him amusing and harmless. His wife was an avid reader and often swapped books with Gerda, so she figured he couldn’t be too bad if he had won the affections of an intelligent woman.

“Fine, fine. I hope you are well?” When she assured him she was, he smiled and nodded toward the laboring men. “The hall is coming along admirably, I see.”

“Right on schedule. Thank you for your subscription.”

“All the thanks should go to my wife. She insisted. She declared that she’s waited too long for culture to find the Elm Creek Valley to think of missing it now.” He laughed self-consciously as if realizing that it was impolitic to criticize his own electorate. “We were wondering—that is, the town council and I—if we may be of assistance to you ladies as you undertake this—” He raised his eyebrows knowingly and nodded toward the construction site. “This really quite substantial undertaking.”

“We’d be very grateful,” said Gerda. “Several of the councilmen have not yet purchased subscriptions. If you could encourage them to do so, we would put the money to good and immediate use. Their participation would encourage others to subscribe too. There’s also the matter of publicizing the opportunity quilt. We’ve already collected forty charming blocks, but we were hoping for three times that. If you could perhaps pass a resolution—” Mr. Bauer was wincing uncomfortably. “Is something wrong, Mr. Mayor?”

“We can certainly do all that,” he said. “However, we are most interested in offering our services in a more . . . administrative capacity.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“It’s been brought to our attention that Union Hall, when complete, will be an important community asset. You ladies should be commended for taking the initiative while we men have been preoccupied with the business of war, but now we’d like to take the burden of its management from your delicate shoulders.”

He smiled, but Gerda was not charmed. She straightened her not so very delicate shoulders, and taking full advantage of her height, peered down at him. “It’s a burden we’re quite happy to carry ourselves.”

“Of course you’re willing, no one doubts that. It’s a question of experience, my dear. Managing a facility like this one takes knowledge of business, sums, public communications, and other subjects outside the feminine realm. For the sake of the community and the soldiers we are all dedicated to assisting, we cannot allow such a noble endeavor to founder.”

Gerda felt her features hardening into a tight mask of civility. “I appreciate your concern, but I assure you we ladies are more than capable of managing this enterprise ourselves. Mrs. Nelson is a former schoolteacher and apt with figures and writing. Mrs. Currier, as you no doubt recall, is the former Miss Schultz and has ample experience with public communications via the
Water’s Ford Register
. For nearly three decades, Mrs. Barrows has been as responsible as her husband for running the Barrows Inn, which is not unlike managing a hall.” Gerda willed her features into a tight smile. “That’s quite an abundance of relevant experience, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Bauer? And that’s only three of us.”

“You’re exemplary women,” soothed Mr. Bauer. “A credit to your sex. War has demanded much of you, but this profound task, at least, need not trouble you. We would be happy to have control of the hall revert to the town council, not only happy but also prepared. Will you share our good news with your sewing circle?”

“I’ll tell them about our conversation, but I doubt they’ll consider it good news.” Gerda nodded briskly and left, too furious to remember the message from Hans she had meant to deliver to Abel.

She was still seething when she left the post office, the absence of a letter from Jonathan adding worry to her indignation. She stormed down the block to Schultz’s Printers, where she told Mary about her encounter with the mayor.

“Dorothea won’t like this,” Mary said, frowning worriedly as she set aside an advertisement she had been proofreading for her father. “That’s what happened with the library. After it was built, the town council swooped in and assumed control of it. Dorothea had been dismissed from the library board well before then, so she was in no position to object, and most of the other ladies were all too happy to have the council take responsibility for it. Not Prudence, though. She resigned in protest when the board was given no say in the hiring of the librarian, and once Mr. Childs was appointed, he had sole discretion over acquisitions. Now the library board has no voice whatsoever, and they meet only when Mr. Childs needs them to raise money.”