Pattern for Romance: Quilts of Love Series

by Carla J Gade

  “Now, Temperance, you must never speak of such things in mixed company. It is entirely impolite, even in jest,” Honour scolded.

  “But Honour, I was not joking,” Temperance whined.

  The corner of Mr. Sutton’s mouth turned up. “Nor was I.”

  Honour’s stomach fluttered. “Perhaps we might discuss this at another time, Mr. Sutton.”

  “I see no need. Unless, of course, you are otherwise attached.”

  Tempe’s small hand covered her giggles, the tips of her fingers wiggling as they peeked out from her fingerless summer mitts.

  Mr. Sutton addressed Temperance. “Miss Metcalf, the younger, are you in any way attached?”

  Tempe craned her neck toward Mr. Sutton. “No, sir. I was fond of Willy Sandborn before he was the dunce in school today. I shall not abide his nonsense.”

  Mr. Sutton suppressed a laugh, addressing Tempe again. “And the elder Miss Metcalf?”

  “She was in England, but is no longer,” Temperance chirped.

  Mr. Sutton nodded, looking from Temperance to Honour. “Then I should like to ask you both if you might accompany me to a picnic, a fortnight from Saturday next. It shall take place at the home of my parents in celebration of my birthday.”

  Tempe eyed him carefully. “Your birthday? I didn’t think birthdays were celebrated in New England?”

  “My mother keeps some of her family’s traditions from Wales. Does it offend you?”

  “We keep birthdays too! I do not see why such a delightful event is frowned upon so. God made us, after all,” Tempe explained.

  Honour shook her head and laughed, eying Joshua over her shoulder. “A topic for another day, you precocious child.”

  Tempe ran to Honour’s side and tugged her arm. “May we attend, Honour? Please?”

  Honour’s heart melted as she looked into her sister’s hope-filled eyes. It had been long since they had something enjoyable to look forward to. Besides, it was the man’s birthday . . . How could she refuse? Honour let out a deep sigh. “Yes.”

  Tempe’s eyes danced with mirth. “She said yes, Mr. Sutton! She said yes!”

  “Marvelous! I shall call for you at noon on August the twenty-sixth.”

  Mr. Sutton reached across, resting his hand on Honour’s forearm she’d linked through the crook of his elbow. When his thumb rubbed the back of her hand—ever so lightly—a little breath caught in her throat. Sensing his eyes upon her, she looked sidelong, meeting his gaze. One of his eyebrows rose, and his dimple seemed to wink at her. Her duplicitous lips returned a demure smile, before she turned away. Had he truly asked to court her or was he teasing? How dare he toy with her heart!

  6

  Arm in arm, Honour, Tempe, and Joshua Sutton ambled along Boston’s busy sidewalks, continuing toward Sutton’s Clothiers. Although the walk to Tempe’s dame school was only a mile and a half, closer now from Sutton’s, Honour grew fatigued and the faces of passersby blurred. A multitude of thoughts wove through her mind in no distinct pattern. Her life here was nothing like the life of comfort she once enjoyed in England. She had been excited about her family’s prospects in the British American colonies, yet her life now in no way resembled her hopes and expectations.

  Poppa, an American sympathizer, had looked forward to his future with his business connections in Boston. “We shall have a grand adventure in a land full of promise,” he’d said on many occasions. When Honour and Tempe arrived at the port—alone—she had sought out one of father’s associates. He generously paid customs for her salvaged cargo, arranged for her family’s burial, and set her and Tempe up with Mrs. Wadsworth for their lodging and employment.

  When she inquired of Mr. Leach as to how she could repay him, he informed her that she needed only to sign a document releasing her obligation to him, and likewise he to her. But as she finished penning her signature on the parchment, a sense of foreboding had come over her whether she’d given enough consideration to his request. How much of an investment had her father made with Leach and Sons Enterprises? She had signed away her chance at ever knowing.

  Her eyes moistened at the thought that she had this very day been accused of stealing—her own property at that. Never would that have happened in England to her well-respected family. How different Temperance’s upbringing would be than Honour’s had been—never wanting and with parents who cherished her. Honour vowed to do her best to give her sister the love she deserved and instill in Tempe the values their parents had imparted to her.

  Tempe skipped ahead, twirling around as she chattered on. “Come along, you dawdlers.”

  Only then did Honour realize she alone walked arm in arm with Joshua.

  “It is impolite to run ahead and to call names, Tempe. Now please come back here with us and be patient.” Us. Oh, dear. Had she really agreed to attend his picnic?

  Tempe pouted, but rejoined them for the remainder of the walk. Soon they turned the corner onto King Street and arrived at the sign of the silver shears. The stately two-story yellow clapboard building housing Sutton’s Clothiers was an impressive sight. Its large bay window, newly repaired, displayed beautiful fabrics and a sampling of men’s and children’s garments.

  Honour reclaimed her arm from Joshua’s safekeeping, inadvertently rubbing it as she widened the space between them.

  “Tempe, go on upstairs. Mrs. Wadsworth is probably wondering what has kept us. Please tell her I shall be along by and by.”

  Temperance proffered her version of a curtsy toward her escort. “Thank you for walking us back, Mr. Sutton.”

  Joshua bowed. “It was my pleasure, Miss Metcalf.” He turned to Honour, “And Miss Metcalf.”

  Tempe ran inside leaving Honour and Joshua in front of the store. Honour stared at the beautiful window boxes overflowing with red and purple pansies, trying to collect her thoughts. “These flowers held up fairly well during the storm, I see.”

  “Yes, though Mother had to refresh them. How are you holding up, Miss Metcalf? You have been rather quiet the way back,” Joshua said.

  “A bit tired, mayhap.” Honour gently touched a leaf.

  “It has been an eventful afternoon.”

  A pair of young women sauntered by, waving their fans in front of their flirtatious smiles. “Good afternoon, Mr. Sutton.”

  Joshua tipped his cocked hat. “Ladies.” He certainly played the gallant.

  Honour placed her hand on the railing and took a step up. “I should be . . .”

  Joshua covered her hand with his, sending a small shiver up her arm. “I do hope I have not offended you, Miss Metcalf. Have you reconsidered my invitation?”

  The wooden rail stood between them like a fence she dared not trespass. She looked toward the window, as if she could see her sister inside. Tempe had already gone through so much in her short life. How could she disappoint her? Although Honour had admired the handsome tailor from afar, her tattered heart needed much mending before she could consider giving it away. She had done so once before and had learned a grave lesson.

  Joshua retrieved his hand. “Let us get out of the sun. Mayhap we can continue our conversation inside.”

  Joshua trotted up the steps and held the door for Honour. The storefront was much larger than Mrs. Wadsworth’s Mantua Shoppe and catered to a different clientele. Walls of shelves containing exquisite fabrics in an array of colors and textures greeted them along with countertops displaying fashionable accoutrements, sewing notions, and weaving supplies. “Each time I enter I am newly impressed with the lovely displays.” She pointed to a silk brocade waistcoat hanging near some of other garments. “Is that new? It is a handsome piece.”

  “Thank you. I finished working on it this morning,” Joshua said.

  Honour tilted her chin and smiled. “You did a fine job. It looks about your size. Does it belong to you?” She blushed as she imagined how handsome he’d look in the fine garment.

  “Thank you. Yes, it is mine.” Joshua leaned against a counter. “Now, what is troubli
ng you? Do you regret your decision to accompany me to my birthday picnic?”

  “Why, no. That’s not it at all. Tempe and I are looking forward to attending,” Honour said. “Thank you for including her.”

  “Ah, then. It is the other matter. You do not wish to be courted.” Joshua crossed his arms.

  Honour narrowed her eyes, and donned a little grin. “Your invitation hardly constitutes a courting relationship.”

  “No, but it does not exclude it either. Perhaps your status in England would have found me beneath your station. But here in the colonies are we not more equally matched?” Joshua donned a mocking grin and stepped closer. “In fact, some may consider my status above yours. Should you not be grateful for my interest in you?”

  The corner of his mouth curled, his dimple appearing again.

  Honour met his blue eyes. “Should you not loathe the idea of courting a criminal?”

  “You are nothing of the kind.” Compassion and sincerity shown in his eyes.

  “I do not know what I am here, but a lowly quilter,” Honour said.

  He took her hands in his. “In some eyes, perhaps. But I know you to be a woman of much talent, and of great worth to God.”

  “Any talent I may have comes from Him. Yet if I am of worth to the Lord, why must He subject me to hardship—and humiliation—such as I endured today?”

  “I know not. But you bore it with much grace. I am grateful your workbag was found, as Reverend Cooper and I had prayed.”

  “I, as well. But the ways of God often confuse me.” Distress me. Honour lowered her gaze and sighed.

  “Nor do I understand the ways of man. Perhaps today we saw evidence of God’s sovereignty, despite human circumstances.” Joshua tipped her chin up with his fingertip, encouraging her to smile.

  “Why did you want for me to remain silent about the missing contents of my bag?” Honour asked.

  “Because. I know Mrs. Carter. The contents could have spilled into the street before she ever laid eyes on your satchel. If we accused her there would only be more trouble. She has some powerful acquaintances,” Joshua said.

  Honour nodded. “A wise decision then.”

  Joshua tapped his fingers on the counter. “I had to bite my tongue more than once.”

  “I dare say Reverend Cooper did the same, but he was such a help. He is a kindly man, and wise,” Honour said.

  “Let’s be glad to put it behind us now.” Joshua cocked his head. “Your initials. You mentioned them earlier. What are they?”

  “H. E. M.—Honour Elizabeth Metcalf. If you recall, Elizabeth was my mother’s name. I was christened with it.”

  Joshua smiled. “H. E. M., hem. How fitting for a quilter and mantua maker. Quite charming, actually.”

  “Aye, I think Mum liked the idea. She used to say that God would hem me in.” Honour let out a little sigh. “Thou hast beset me behind and before, and lain thy hand upon me.”

  Joshua tilted his head. “From the Psalms.”

  “Aye, Psalm 139:5,” she said.

  “By all accounts, He is indeed doing so.” Joshua extended his arm. “May I see your workbag for a moment please?”

  Honour handed him the embroidered satchel. Joshua retreated behind the counter and reached into a small bin. He retrieved a small paper-wrapped package of pins and opened one of the side compartments of her bag. You said you keep your pins in here?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  He took another small package from another bin. “Needles on the other side.” He tucked the package into the other compartment. Joshua held up a small wooden ball, containing a tape measure. “You will need this, too.”

  “Mr. Sutton, please.”

  “It is but a small gift, Miss Metcalf.” He opened a drawer and held up a medium sized pair of shears and a small pair of scissors. “These should suffice.” He tucked them inside the workbag.

  Honour smiled apologetically. “You are exceedingly generous and have gone to much trouble already. I shall pay you for these items.”

  “Nonsense. You need these things for your livelihood, do you not?” Joshua asked.

  “Well, yes,” she said.

  “Then it is settled.”

  “Mr. Sutton, please allow me to reciprocate by offering my quilting services, if you ever have the need.”

  “A grand idea. But I thought we were beyond formalities. You must call me Joshua.” He set a glass jar on the counter filled with an assortment of beautiful pin cushions. “Choose one you like best.”

  Honour reached into the jar and retrieved a small rectangle with tasseled corners. “This one is comely, and I can clip it to my chatelaine.” To her chagrin, and pleasure, it was from a remnant of the same fabric as Joshua’s new waistcoat. She lowered her gaze. Mayhap he wouldn’t notice. But when she ventured to peek up again, Joshua was grinning at her.

  He glanced at the round pincushion dangling by a ribbon from her waist. “It looks as though it has seen better days.”

  Honour toyed with her old pincushion. “Aye, it has been much abused.”

  “If there is anything else you should need, please let me know. It is no imposition to me.”

  Honour held the satchel close to her heart and sighed. “I do not know what to say.”

  “Thank you will do.” Joshua’s dimples deepened.

  “Thank you, indeed, Mr.—Joshua. You have turned this day into a delight,” she said, her eyes smiling up at his.

  Joshua cocked his head. “Does that mean you agree to allow me to court you, Miss Metcalf?”

  “We shall see, Joshua. I shall let you know after your birthday celebration.” Honour offered a coquettish smile, and slipped toward the exit to make her way upstairs to Mrs. Wadsworth’s workroom.

  As Honour entered the sunny loft, stifling heat assaulted her. Mrs. Wadsworth looked up from her sewing. “Ah, you decided to join us. You do realize, dear, that you get paid for time actually spent working.” The woman flattened her lips. She took her pencil and jotted down Honour’s time of return in her small ledger, as Honour frequently saw her do. Although Mrs. Wadsworth was magnanimous, she owed her success to her meticulous and frugal ways.

  Honour nodded. “Yes, Mistress.” Honour glanced at Maisey and Temperance, meeting their accusing grins.

  Mrs. Wadsworth continued to sew, but glanced up again curiously. “How is it that you leave here to fetch your sister from school and return attached to Joshua Sutton?”

  Honour’s mouth hung agape as she eyed Tempe with disappointment.

  Tempe’s eyes grew wide. “Mrs. Wadsworth asked me what was keeping you . . . I told the truth. That is what you would want me to do, is it not?”

  Honour sighed. She could not compete with Tempe’s sassy reply. “Of course. But you must refrain from offering personal information when it is unsolicited.”

  “It was solicited, for certain,” Maisey said. “When I saw Tempe bursting with glee I insisted she tell all. So it is true. You are the one who Joshua carried in the street. And the one he kissed in his carriage.”

  Honour’s face heated. “He did not kiss me.”

  “How could you keep any of that from me?” Maisey asked.

  “It was irrelevant,” Honour said.

  “You know how I feel about gossip, Maisey,” Mrs. Wadsworth chimed in.

  “Yes, Mistress.” Maisey’s grin disappeared. Narrowing her eyes, she hiked her chin toward Mrs. Wadsworth. “You do not appear surprised at this news.”

  “Oh, I had a suspicion it would be only a matter of time before Joshua laid claim on our Miss Metcalf.”

  “But Joshua has only recently become available.” Maisey pouted.

  “He has also recently become better acquainted with Honour. Besides, it is his own business if, and when, and whom he marries,” Mrs. Wadsworth said.

  “We are not getting married,” Honour huffed.

  Maisey widened her eyes and grinned. “Yet.”

  Honour shook her head. “I have not yet agreed to co
urt him. It was merely discussed.”

  “What about the picnic?” Tempe asked.

  “We shall attend the event, and then we shall see,” Honour said.

  Maisey hugged herself with a dreamy smile. “To be in love.”

  “I am not in love.” Honour sat at her quilting frame and sorted through her things, trying to ignore the prattle.

  “Yet,” Maisey said.

  Honour glared at Maisey until they both laughed.

  “I am glad to see Joshua at least helped you find your workbag,” Mrs. Wadsworth said. “Now, enough of this tittle-tattle, or there will be no time to attend picnics. Widow Lankton needs to have her gown completed and there is yet much work to do.” Maisey’s cheerful countenance faded and she turned away, fussing over her work.

  “Please do not worry, Mrs. Wadsworth. It is coming along as it should.” Readying herself for her afternoon tasks, Honour took the small scissors and the shears from her workbag and tied them onto her chatelaine, near her new pincushion. Now every time she used it she would think of Joshua. Her head still lowered, she could not help but smile.

  But when Honour unclasped the top compartment of her workbag, she found three silver coins there.

  She gasped.

  These were not hers. Joshua must have placed them there when she was not looking. Accepting the sewing supplies was one thing, but she could never take his money.

  Coins in hand, Honour stood. She rested her palm upon the worktable as a slight wave of dizziness washed over her. Honour took a few slow breaths and headed toward the door. “Mrs. Wadsworth, I’ve an urgent matter to tend to—it cannot wait. I beg your leave.”

  Mrs. Wadsworth shook her head in exasperation. “If you must, but please make haste. You have already lost a great deal of time today.”

  Honour looked back over her shoulder. “Tempe, you get started on your chores, I shall return in a moment. Mrs. Wadsworth has some carding for you to do.”

  Honour was about halfway down the steep, narrow staircase when a man’s gruff voice bellowed from a room below.

  “What did she mean ‘courting a common criminal?’ I was in the back and overheard your conversation. I should have had the sense to stop it. What do you mean by giving merchandise away? Is she in some kind of trouble with the law?”