by Judith Pella
BACHELOR'S
PUZZLE
BOOKS BY JUDITH PELLA
BELOVED STRANGER
MARK OF THE CROSS
THE STONEWYCKE TRILOGY*
TEXAS ANGEL
DAUGHTERS OF FORTUNE
WRITTEN ON THE WIND
SOMEWHERE A SONG
TOWARD THE SUNRISE
HOMEWARD MY HEART
PATCHWORK CIRCLE
BACHELOR’S PUZZLE
RIBBONS WEST†
WESTWARD THE DREAM
THE RUSSIANS
THE CROWN AND THE CRUCIBLE*
WHITE NIGHTS, RED MORNING
* with Michael Phillips † with Tracie Peterson 07B
PATCHWORK CIRCLE
BACHELOR'S
PUZZLE
A NOVEL
JUDITH PELLA
BETHANY HOUSE PUBLISHERS
Minneaplis, Minnesota
Bachelor’s Puzzle
Copyright © 2007
Judith Pella
Cover design by UDG DesignWorks
Art Direction by Paul Higdon
Photography by Steve Gardner, Claudia Kunin
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form of by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
Paperback: ISBN-13: 978-0-7642-0133-2 ISBN-10: 0-7642-0133-6
Large Print: ISBN-13: 978-0-7642-0400-5 ISBN-10: 0-7642-0400-9
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Pella, Judith.
Bachelor’s puzzle / Judith Pella.
p. cm. — (Patchwork circle ; bk. 1)
ISBN 978–0-7642–0133–2 (pbk.)
ISBN 978–0-7642–0400–5 (large-print pbk.)
1. Women—Fiction. 2. Swindlers and swindling—Fiction. 3. Quiltmakers—Fiction.
4. Quilting—Fiction. 5. Quilts—Fiction. 6. Oregon—Fiction.I. Title.
PS3566.E415B33 2007
813’.54—dc22
2007007117
To the Columbia County Piecemakers Quilt Guild who I would like to think are the descendants of quilters like those in the Maintown Sewing Circle. Thank you for the inspiration of your enthusiasm in the craft of quilting, but most especially thank you for your friendship.
CONTENTS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ONE: COLUMBIA COUNTY, OREGON
APRIL 1882
TWO: PORTLAND, OREGON
THREE: MAINTOWN, OREGON
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY - ONE
TWENTY - TWO
TWENTY - THREE
TWENTY - FOUR
TWENTY - FIVE
TWENTY - SIX
TWENTY - SEVEN
TWENTY - EIGHT
TWENTY - NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY - ONE
THIRTY - TWO
BACHELOR’S PUZZLE PATTERN
Quilt Drive
JUDITH PELLA has been writing for the inspirational market for more than twenty years and is the author of more than thirty novels, most in the historical fiction genre. Her recent novel Mark of the Cross and her extraordinary four-book Daughters of Fortune series showcase her skills as a historian as well as a storyteller. Her degrees in teaching and nursing lend depth to her tales, which span a variety of settings. Pella and her husband make their home in Oregon.
VISIT JUDITH’S WEB SITE:
www.judithpella.com
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The setting of this story is Columbia County, Oregon, which is an actual place.I debated about using a real place because it is easier and often safer to create one’s own setting. But I chose the real county for a couple of reasons. First, I’ve’ve always been told to “write what you know,” a rule I often break, but this time I went with it. I have lived in Columbia County for several years and know parts of it well. But mostly I chose it because it is a lovely place—in a rustic, somewhat threadbare sort of way.I t is past its heyday, but that is what gives it its particular charm.I t is very pretty country here with the Columbia River on its northwestern border and forests and farmlands dotting the rest of the county. I t is still quite rural despite its proximity to Portland—the county seat is only forty-five minutes away from the city.I thought it would be fun to pay tribute to my home in this way.
That said, I must go on to emphasize that except for some place names, ambiance, and general historical facts, I have fictionalized a great deal of what you see in these pages. People and incidents are spawned entirely from my own imagination. Main-town, its residents, and events are especially my own creations. Nevertheless, when you have so many characters in a story, it is difficult not to accidentally appear to hit upon a real person. But believe me, if you see someone familiar in this story, it is truly just that—an accident. As always, however, I have tried to stay true to the life and times of the people and places.
ONE
COLUMBIA COUNTY, OREGON
APRIL 1882
Ada Newcomb drove the buckboard this morning so she could be sure to arrive early at the schoolhouse.I t was a bit hard to handle for her petite frame, but she had too many things to carry to ride a saddle horse. How she wished they had a better family wagon, perhaps a nice little Rockaway carriage like the Parkers drove. But Calvin had been forced to sell the more comfortable, though older Barouche last year because fickle weather had played havoc with the crops, making harvest thin and pennies tight. The buckboard was fine, and there was more room in it for the whole family.
After unhitching the horses and taking them to the adjacent stable, Ada pushed open the schoolhouse door, gratified to see that she was indeed the first to arrive. She set to work immediately putting things in order. Friday after school Miss Stowe, the teacher, knowing the Sewing Circle would meet on Sunday, had instructed some of the older boys to push aside the desks and move the quilt frame into the open area. Now Ada saw to it that enough chairs were set about the frame. Only six sewers could fit comfortably, and since there were nine women in the group if everyone showed up, three would sit out and do handwork, then “spell” the others every so often. She hoped all would be present today, for not only was it her quilt to be quilted, but she had important news. Smiling, she glanced toward her sewing basket sitting on a chair. Peeking out from among the scraps of fabric and spools of thread was the corner of an envelope.
It wasn’t often such momentous tidings came to their town, so she was pleased as punch that she could be the bearer. Emma Jean Stoddard would be livid that the news hadn’t fallen into her hands first, for she was the chairwoman of the Maintown Brethren of Christ L adies’ Aid Society and most looked to her as the leader of the Sewing Circle, as well. But when her husband, Albert, had resigned as head of the board of deacons due to failing health, Emma Jean had lost some of her, albeit tacit, power.
Ada’s Calvin was now chairman of the deacons and was also on the county board representing the four Brethren of Christ churches
in the area. Thus the letter from denomination headquarters back East had come to him.I t informed the church that a new circuit preacher had been appointed and would arrive within two months. The beauty of it was that the quilters were meeting before the deacons, so the duty of revealing the contents of the letter naturally fell to Ada. Calvin had tried to make Ada keep a lid on the news, arguing that the church leaders— meaning the men—should hear it first. But Calvin had given up after only one try because, after twenty-two years of marriage, he knew he could not make his wife do anything she was not quite willing to do in the first place.
Well, it was only right that the women were the first to know, for were they not the backbone of the church? Half the women had to practically threaten their menfolk to get them to attend church, while the other half had to at least nudge theirs.
The schoolhouse door opened, bringing in Jane Donnelly with a gust of wind. She shut the door quickly behind her. I t was the month of April in Columbia County, Oregon, where spring in the northwestern part of the state could be as fickle as a young man’s fancy.
“Is it raining?” Ada asked. Rain would certainly deter some of the women from attending.
“No, and I don’t think it will until tonight,” Jane said, straightening her bonnet. Though a bit on the plump side, she was still quite pretty for a forty-year-old matron. “At least that’s what Tom says. He says he will probably have to delay planting until next week.”
“Oh, well, of course,” Ada said as noncommittally as she could. Everyone knew Tom Donnelly would use any excuse possible in order to put off work. But Jane, bless her, always tried to give the man the benefit of the doubt.
Jane set down her basket, untied her cloak, and hung it on a wall hook. Ada had stoked the fire in the stove, warming the large room a bit. They were fortunate to have use of the schoolhouse when it wasn’t needed for the children. There was plenty of room here to set up the quilt frame. Ada fondly recalled when she was a girl in Maine and the ladies went from house to house for their quilting. She thought it was so much cozier in a home and was usually a far more festive occasion. The hostess would prepare special food, and later, when the menfolk came home, there would often be a huge supper and dancing. Now the ladies just brought their own lunch in a pail like the children did for school because there were no cooking facilities in the schoolhouse. Ada also brought her apple spice cake to share.
It had been Florence Parker’s idea to keep the best frame at the schoolhouse and meet there on Sundays when there was no church, which also met there once a month when the circuit pastor came. The reason was clear to Ada. Though Florence had one of the nicest houses in town, it was never what you’d call tidy. What a waste such a house was on someone like Florence.
“Shall we start to load the quilt onto the frame?” Jane asked.
“Yes, let’s do so.”
As Ada fetched her thread and pincushion from her basket, she asked, “How come you’re here already, Jane? I am the hostess today, so I had to come early.”
“Tom was going to St. Helens, and that was my only transportation. I’ll have to leave when he comes back through.”
Though St. Helens was only about seven miles from Main-town, where Ada and the other women lived, the trip took a few hours because the roads were so bad.I n any case, Ada didn’t expect Tom to return before the quilters finished. The man was known to take his own good time about things and to frequent St. Helens’s taverns.
“I can give you a ride home if we’re not finished.I have to go right by your place anyway.”
“That’s kind of you, Ada. But . . . well,I’ve’ve already made arrangements with Tom, and if he has to stop for nothing, he won’t be much pleased. Thank you, though.”
Ada had already marked the quilt top with a design, a task usually done beforehand; then she and her daughters had basted the layers together—the top, cotton wadding in the middle, and backing fabric of inexpensive wash goods. She’d been working on the quilt all winter and was quite proud of it. She couldn’t help waiting expectantly for Jane’s praise as she opened it and spread it out on the frame.
“Oh, Ada! This is simply lovely.I t’s fine enough for a special bed or even a dowry chest.”
“It’s far too plain for that,” Ada said modestly. “I just did it to keep my hands busy.I t’s not even laid-on work. But I did save scraps for years to get enough indigos and pinks.” The pattern was a rendition of Delectable Mountains, a blend of pinwheels and feathered stars. Dark blue and pink made the triangle shapes, with muslin for the sashing.I ndeed, she did intend it to be an everyday quilt, though her elder daughter, Ellie, had admired it and said she’d be proud to have it in her hope chest. Both of Ada’s daughters already had their wedding quilts, and they were each spectacular enough to take your breath away. Ada had been working on those quilts for years and had been pleased when she finished her younger daughter’s, Maggie’s, six months ago. Both girls were of marrying age, but there really had been no hurry to finish Maggie’s because she had more interest in climbing trees than in finding a beau. Ellie, on the other hand, would surely be needing hers soon, since nearly every boy in the county had an eye for the nineteen-year-old girl.
“What will you do with it, then?” Jane asked.
“Calvin and I can use a new cover for our bed. The old one is so worn.”
“I can help you take apart the old quilt so you can reuse the wadding,” Jane offered.
“Yes, I should do that. Why be wasteful?” Ada felt a little sorry for Jane, whose ne’er-do-well husband forced her to be so frugal.
While they talked, they laid the bottom of the quilt over one of the frame poles and began sewing it to the ticking. They were rolling that edge onto the pole when the door opened again and Emma Jean Stoddard strode in. Petite and compact in size, she was tiny in every way except the force of her character, and her presence seemed to fill the large room. Ada noted a momentary frown on the woman’s face; perhaps she was disgruntled that she hadn’t been first to arrive. But that was immediately replaced by a smile, not exactly false but too well-practiced to be entirely genuine. Emma Jean took seriously her place as leader of the Brethren of Christ L adies’ Aid Society. She believed it was her duty to be kind, considerate, and in general a glowing example of godliness to all the women.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Emma Jean said, but there was little apology in her tone.
“We’re just early,” Ada said. “I wanted to make sure the quilt was here in time.”
“Oh, well—”
Before she had a chance to finish her remark, the door opened again and three more ladies breezed in: Mary Renolds, whose white head towered over all those present; L ouise Arlington, the youngest of the group; and Nessa Wallard, the largest member, in girth anyway, of the Maintown Sewing Circle, though somehow her retiring personality often made her seem invisible.
Chatter now filled the schoolhouse. Everyone busied themselves in finishing the loading of the quilt onto the frame. Polly Briggs and Hilda Fergus scurried in, bringing with them the first drops of rain.L ast to arrive, after the quilt was loaded and the women had settled into their places around it, was Florence Parker. She was always late and always had one exciting excuse or another for her tardiness, all usually justifiable, but Ada wondered how so many mishaps could befall a single person. Secretly she thought Florence just relished making a grand entrance.
“Oh, my goodness!” Florence exclaimed, slipping off her cloak and giving it a shake. “You won’t believe what just happened. The wind spooked one of my horses, and my buggy went into a ditch.If Able Jenkins hadn’t been riding by just then,I might never have gotten here. Thank goodness, the buggy is undamaged.It’s practically new, you know.”
“Here’s a seat for you,” Emma Jean said with a long-suffering gesture of her hand toward an empty chair adjacent to the frame. The last to arrive were always the first to sit out.
Florence slipped into the chair, looking over the quilt as she did so.
“Fine work, Ada,” she said.
Perhaps only Ada noted the disingenuous sound of her praise. Florence held such a high opinion of her own work she’d never admit that Ada was an equally skilled quilter, if not superior. Nevertheless, Ada basked in the compliments her quilt received.
“So, Ada,” Emma Jean said, “how shall we quilt it?”
“Nothing fancy,” Ada replied modestly. “It’s just for every-day—” A chorus of protests interrupted her, which she allowed to continue for a few moments—to be polite, of course—before she added, “Really, if we keep it simple, we can finish it today and move on to Polly’s wedding quilt for her daughter.”
“But I’m not finished with it yet,” Polly said.
“Still, I think we only need to outline the small triangles,” Ada responded, “with concentric lines, maybe a half inch apart on the large triangles. And as you see, I’ve’ve marked a simple rope design in the sashing.”
“I just love this quilt block,” Hilda said.
“The name is from Pilgrim’s Progress” came the small voice of Nessa Wallard. She seemed to wilt when all eyes turned to her.
“I didn’t know that,” Hilda said.
“Well . . . a line in the book goes something like, ‘They went till they came to the Delectable Mountain. . . .’ ” Nessa’s cheeks tinged pink as she spoke.
“My mama made a quilt with this design when she came over the Oregon Trail in 1840, more than forty years ago,” put in Mary Renolds. “Then, of course, they thought California and Oregon were the Delectable Mountains.”
The conversation continued as the women took their spools of heavy cotton thread from their baskets, popped thimbles onto their fingers, and threaded their needles. Since the design was simple Ada said they could just “eyeball” the outline stitches and the other lines.
