The Wedding Quilt (26 page)

“‘Creek's Crossing, Elm Creek Valley, Pennsylvania, 1849,' ” said Maggie, reading aloud the words embroidered upon one of the blocks.

“There's more on the back.” Patricia gestured for them to turn over the quilt and indicated the lower right corner.

“‘Creek's Crossing Album,'” Sarah read. “ ‘Appliquéd by Miss Dorothea Granger, 1849. Quilted by Mrs. Abel Wright, 1850. Presented to Mrs. Wright by Miss Granger in celebration of her marriage, 1847, on the occasion of her arrival to her new home.'”

“Are you certain you read those dates correctly?” queried Sylvia. “A seven can often resemble a nine, especially in antique embroidery.”

Sarah examined the stitches more carefully. “I'm sure this says 1849, and that definitely says 1847. It looks like Miss Granger was two years late with her wedding gift.” She felt a faint tug of memory, which suddenly snapped into focus. “Wait a minute. Those names, from Gerda's memoir—Dorothea Granger is Dorothea Nelson's maiden name. Mrs. Abel Wright must be their friend Constance Wright.”

As Leslie nodded eagerly, Patricia said, “Agnes has told us about your great-great-aunt's memoir, Sylvia. I can't tell you what I would give to read it. What a marvelous glimpse into the past it must offer.”

“You're welcome to see for yourself,” said Sylvia graciously. “I'd be happy to lend it to you for a little while. I'm sure you, of all people, would take very good care of it.”

As Patricia thanked her, Leslie said, “Now you understand why we've heard of Jeremy Bernstein.”

The Elm Creek Quilters exchanged puzzled glances before Sarah spoke for them all. “No, sorry, not really.”

“He's the author of the definitive biography of Abel Wright,” said Patricia. “I believe the book grew out of his dissertation. You didn't know?”

“I thought Jeremy's dissertation was about a local nineteenth-century author,” said Maggie. “I never really discussed it with him, but I overheard him talking about it from time to time. He wrote a lot of it in the Elm Creek Manor kitchen.”

“He was smitten with the chef,” added Agnes with a smile for Patricia and Leslie. “They're married now.”

“The Abel Wright from Gerda's memoir was a dairy farmer,” said Sylvia, puzzled. “As well as a conductor on the Underground Railroad. Gerda never mentioned that he possessed any literary gifts. Are you sure we're talking about the same man?”

“Oh, yes, I'm sure,” said Leslie. “The author Abel Wright was also a dairy farmer until he left the Elm Creek Valley for Colorado. His first book, an account of his experiences serving with the Sixth Regiment of the United States Colored Troops, was published in late 1865, after the war had ended.”

“Why didn't Jeremy tell me so?” asked Sylvia, indignant. “I let him read Gerda's memoir, I answered as many of his questions about the Wrights and the Bergstroms as I could, and he couldn't find a moment to tell me that Abel Wright was an accomplished writer?”

“Jeremy sent you an autographed copy of his book when it was published,” Sarah pointed out. “Didn't you read it?”

Sylvia looked abashed. “I confess I never found the time, but I'll surely read it now.”

“Let me borrow it when you're done.”

“You'll enjoy it,” said Patricia. “Abel Wright had quite an exciting life. He ran a station on the Underground Railroad, but he also served in the more dangerous role of conductor, venturing into the South to sell his cheese and transporting runaway slaves to freedom in the North when he returned home. He met Constance on one of those trips, but when she refused to risk running away, he saved up enough money to buy her freedom. They married while she was still a slave, which would account for the discrepancy between the dates on the back of the quilt. They married in 1847, but Abel couldn't purchase her freedom and bring her home to the Elm Creek Valley until two years later.”

“How sad that slavery kept them apart so long,” said Agnes. “How sad and how cruel.”

“Abel, Constance, and their two sons were members of the infamous Creek's Crossing Eight,” Patricia explained. “In 1859, the Underground Railroad stations the Bergstroms, Nelsons, and Wrights ran were betrayed, and the stationmasters—as well as the Wrights' two young sons—were jailed for breaking the Fugitive Slave Act.”

“Children were thrown into jail?” asked Maggie, shocked.

“For a few days, yes,” said Leslie. “But none of the Creek's Crossing Eight were ever brought to trial. There was such a public outcry that the authorities were compelled to release them without charging them with anything. The Fugitive Slave Act was extremely unpopular in the North, and when word of the arrests spread, the officials were shamed and ridiculed from New York to Minnesota. The notoriety proved so damaging to the local economy that, a few years later, the town council voted to change the name to Water's Ford, which over time evolved into Waterford.”

Sarah knew that from Gerda's memoir. “And when the Civil War began, Abel joined an African-American regiment?”

“Not immediately, of course,” said Patricia. “African-Americans weren't allowed to form regiments until well into the war. Abel Wright joined the Sixth United States Colored Troops at Camp William Penn in Philadelphia in July 1863, and he served honorably until he lost an arm fighting in the trenches at Petersburg about a year later.”

“Oh, how terrible,” exclaimed Sylvia.

Patricia nodded. “If not for his wound, however, he might not have become a writer. He gave a famous speech at Howard University in which he explained how he had reconciled himself to the loss of his arm, not only because it was in service to his country and helped prove the valor of men of color, but also because ‘in being obliged to set down the rifle,' he ‘took up the pen.' You really should read his books if you're at all interested in local history. They're out of print now, of course, but the Rare Books Room at the Waterford College Library has a copy of each.”

Sarah had a sudden thought. “Does he mention the Bergstroms in his books?”

Sylvia let out a soft gasp, as if that had not occurred to her, while Patricia and Leslie exchanged a startled glance. “I honestly don't recall,” said Leslie. “He mentions many friends and neighbors, and the occasional enemy, but I wasn't looking for references to the Bergstrom family when I read his books, so I wouldn't have taken note of it.”

“It would be easy enough to find out if he did,” said Agnes. “I'm good friends with the librarian in charge of the collection, and I've visited the Rare Books Room quite often. I know exactly where to look for Abel Wright's books.”

“I'd love to hear the results of your research, but we have another task we'd like you to take on first,” said Patricia, looking from one Elm Creek Quilter to another. “We hope you'll be willing to help us in what is turning out to be—well, I don't think it's overstating things to call this our most desperate hour.”

“None of us wants to see Union Hall torn down,” said Sylvia staunchly as she motioned for Agnes to help her fold the appliqué sampler, “and we're not very fond of the man who wants to do it. We'll help however we can.”

As Sarah, Maggie, and Agnes chimed in their agreement, Patricia breathed a sigh of relief and Leslie smiled, blinking away tears.

“What do you need?” asked Sarah. “Helpers for your next workday?”

“A raffle quilt?” asked Agnes. “That's always a good fundraiser.”

“We'll gladly take you up on both of those offers,” said Leslie. “But more than anything, we need you to help us prove that Union Hall is worth saving, and we think these quilts are the key.”

“Sprucing up the place won't be enough to protect us from the zoning commission,” Patricia added. “Not if they go along with Mr. Krolich and recommend that the city council exercise their power of eminent domain. A building's age isn't enough to grant it special protection. We need to prove that Union Hall bears unique historical significance. If we can find evidence that it does, Union Hall could be added to the National Register of Historic Places, and that would bring us tremendous benefits—not only protection from the wrecking ball, but tax breaks, so we could afford to maintain the building properly.”

“And we could apply for grants so that we could finally turn Union Hall into a museum,” said Leslie with longing. “That's been a part of the mission of the Waterford Historical Society since its inception. It would be so wonderful to finally do it.”

Sarah needed no time to reflect upon the value of the goal—of course it would be better to preserve Union Hall as a museum rather than destroy it and put up yet another score of condos in its place. But if the building's age alone wasn't evidence enough of its historic value, what could be? “You said you believe these quilts are the key,” she said. “How would they prove that Union Hall is historically significant?”

Patricia hesitated. “We don't know. That's what we hope you'll discover.”

Leslie gestured to the two beautiful antique quilts, one in Maggie's arms and the other in Sylvia's. “You agree that these are two unique and remarkable quilts, don't you?” The Elm Creek Quilters nodded. “Well, the first sampler was completed in this very building during the Civil War in the same year Union Hall was built, and it was donated to the historical society. The other quilt was appliquéd by a renowned local abolitionist and suffragist, and quilted by the wife of the Elm Creek Valley's most revered author of the day—and it, too, found its way into our collection. This can't be mere coincidence.”

“Somewhere in the intertwined histories of the Bergstrom, Wright, and Nelson families is the telling detail that will prove the historical significance of Union Hall,” said Patricia emphatically. “I don't know what that detail is, but I know it's out there. We just have to find it.”

“We don't have much time,” said Agnes, frowning worriedly. “Of course we'll help you. You can count on us. Whatever evidence we need, we'll find it before that dreadful man can knock a single chip out of a single stone of the foundation of this wonderful building.”

Sylvia raised her eyebrows at her sister-in-law in what was, perhaps, a mild rebuke for promising more than anyone could guarantee, but she quickly concealed any concern she might have felt as Patricia and Leslie thanked them profusely for joining their cause.

The Elm Creek Quilters were eager to get to work, but first they carried the Loyal Union Sampler outside, placed a clean cloth over the portico railing, and gently draped the quilt over it so Maggie could take snapshots of the entire quilt and each individual block. She planned to research the unfamiliar blocks to see if their names or origins offered any clue about the quilt's history. Afterward, Agnes accompanied Leslie back inside to continue taking inventory, but the other Elm Creek Quilters returned to the manor, where Sylvia went straight upstairs to the library for Jeremy's book. After finding Matt in the orchard with the twins and telling him about the day's astonishing discoveries, Sarah went to her room to call Jeremy.

Anna answered the phone, and in a strained and hushed voice she explained that Jeremy was spending a rare Sunday afternoon working in the yard and watching movies with Gina instead of toiling away in his office. The tenure committee had met, they had presented their case to the senior faculty, and their votes were due the next day. There was nothing more Jeremy could do to prove himself. Even those faculty members who had not yet turned in their ballots had already made up their minds. Now all he could do was wait and try to rest.

Sarah didn't want to bother him, so she told Anna to tell him that everyone at Elm Creek Manor was pulling for him, and that when he had a chance, she'd like to ask him a few questions about Abel Wright. Anna immediately brightened. “That'll make his day,” she said. “He loves it when friends show an interest in his research. I'll bring him to the phone.”

“No, it can wait,” said Sarah, although it couldn't wait long. “Let him enjoy a few days off. I'll talk to him about Abel Wright when he calls to share the good news about the vote.”

“I hope it's good news,” said Anna fervently. “But either way, he'll call you later this week.”

For the next few days, Sarah waited for the phone to ring and for Sylvia to finish reading Abel Wright's biography so she could borrow it. While she waited, she reread Gerda's memoir to refresh her memory about the Bergstrom family's first years in Creek's Crossing. Meanwhile, Gretchen and a few other volunteers resumed taking inventory of the remaining boxes and cartons in the east gallery, but they found nothing as remarkable as the quilts, and nothing to prove that Union Hall had made a significant contribution to local history. Agnes joined Gretchen for a few hours each day, but she spent most of her time calling council members to plead the historical society's case, researching Krolich's previous dealings with the city online, and poring over the minutes from previous city council meetings to see if she could spot any trends, signs of unsavory dealings, or hints that particular members might be sympathetic or hostile to their cause. Maggie concentrated on the Loyal Union Sampler. She searched through the pattern reference books in the manor's library and in her friends' personal collections, but found less than a third of the Loyal Union Sampler blocks in published sources. That she tracked down so few suggested—astonishingly—that the unidentified blocks were original to that quilt. The names of those that she did discover—Emancipation, Fort Sumter, Gettysburg, the states of the Union—revealed a distinct pattern that mirrored the quilt's title.