by Judith Pella
MAINTOWN, OREGON
Maggie Newcomb eyed the pile of hay. From her vantage in the barn loft, it looked pretty far below, but oh, so tempting. She tried to reason that she was nearly eighteen, far too old to be leaping into hay mounds. Yet that very thought propelled her forward. She ducked her head out the loft window opening. There was no one around. Dad and Boyd were planting potatoes. Georgie, of course, was in school. Mama and Ellie were at the back of the house hoeing the garden. Maggie should be helping them and, in fact, had been sent to the barn to fetch the bag of seed corn. She’d noted the prime mound of hay on her way and had climbed into the loft just to see what it looked like from up high.
It looked perfect.
Years ago Ellie would have been right beside her. Now, at the ripe age of nineteen, Maggie’s older sister had gone all feminine and too girly for such boisterous fun.If Georgie were here, he’d do it with her. No one would yell at him for it, either, though he was fourteen. But Mama would surely light into Maggie for jumping. She was trying mightily to turn Maggie into a lady like Ellie.
Trying and failing.
Maggie stepped to the edge and launched herself out, hurtling straight into the middle of the sweet-smelling hay!
“Oowee!” she cried as she landed with a scratchy swoosh, sinking deeply into the great yellow mass.
“Margaret Edith Newcomb!” I t was Mama’s voice, though muffled by the hay wall surrounding Maggie.
For a fleeting moment Maggie considered staying put—the hay was so much more welcoming than her mother’s commanding voice. But the moment passed quickly, and she knew she could not hide from Mama, so with flailing arms she propelled herself out of the nice hiding place.
“Uh . . . hi, Mama.” Maggie sputtered the words through a mouthful of hay.
“Look at you!” Ada Newcomb all but wrung her hands. “I sent you a good while ago to fetch the corn. What is the matter with you, girl? We have work to do.I want that corn in before it rains.” Reaching up, Ada plucked a few bits of straw from her daughter’s honey brown curls. “Your braids have come loose, and your hair is all a tangle. You better watch out, Maggie! ’m’m going to send you to Mrs. Dubois’ Finishing School yet.”
Ever since Maggie finished high school last summer, that was her mother’s constant threat. Maggie had managed to wheedle out of it thus far, mostly because Dad was on her side. Not that he usually got his way around Mama, but for some reason he’d been able to stanch the flood of Mama’s threats.
“Mama, no! Please!” Maggie tried to sound convincingly abashed. No sense revealing that she knew what an empty threat it was.
“The school did good by Ellie. Why, she has blossomed into a fine young lady!”
“Well, you know Dubois ain’t even the principal’s real name.”
“Isn’t. And I don’t care what her name is. She does an admirable job with—” Ada stopped abruptly. “Oh no, you don’t! You’re not going to make me forget why I’ve come looking for you. We have work to do. Come with me and let’s get that corn.”
Maggie followed her mother back into the barn, a grin plastered across her face that her mother couldn’t see—Mama didn’t have eyes in the back of her head, no matter how much it might appear differently. She’d managed nicely to deflect her mother’s wrath.
Maggie got the bag of corn, and together they returned to the garden patch. Ellie was hoeing rows at the back of the garden for the corn seeds. Even in her work clothes—a faded blue calico skirt, dirty at the hem where it brushed the ground, and an old blouse—with her yellow hair neatly tied back in a braid, she looked like the beauty she was, her movements always graceful. But Maggie didn’t think it was all Mrs. Dubois’ work. It just came naturally to Ellie.
Maggie self-consciously brushed more straw from her overalls— no dress for her unless she absolutely had to wear one!
“Aren’t you a sight!” Ellie said, pausing a moment in her work to take in her hay-covered sister. “What’d you do? Fall into Dad’s hay mound?”
“She didn’t fall,” grated Mama.
Ellie laughed. “Couldn’t resist temptation, could you?”
“Aw, shut up,” Maggie said.
“Margaret Edith!” screeched Mama. “Don’t you speak that way!”
“Is that a drop of rain I feel?” Maggie asked, wiping a hand across her nose.
“Oh, come on.Let’s hurry!” Mama now urged, once again deflected from her rebuking.
When Maggie drew close to her sister, Ellie said under her breath, “There’s no rain, Mags.”
Maggie smiled covertly and Ellie giggled. Maggie could not be mad at her sister for long. Yes, it irritated her to no end that Ellie was so perfect, but it wasn’t really her sister’s fault, and most of the time she didn’t even seem to realize her inborn perfection. Maggie and Ellie were such good friends they just couldn’t stay angry at each other.
They managed to plant all six rows of corn before the rain began, but by the time they’d put away all their tools in the barn, they had to run to the house to keep from getting soaked. After they cleaned up, it was time to get supper. The rain would force the men in from the potato fields early, too, but they would have chores in the barn to keep them busy awhile. Mama seemed to have something on her mind and looked relieved when she saw Dad and Boyd head to the barn.
She gave Maggie potatoes to peel and Ellie some carrots and turnips to peel and cut up while she punched down the bread dough and laid it on the board for a final knead. When all hands were busy—hands always had to be busy for Mama’s satisfaction—she seemed ready to discuss what had been bothering her. Maggie feared she might be getting more serious about that finishing school and braced herself.
“Girls, I had a rather interesting quilting bee yesterday,” Mama began. “I wanted to tell you about it sooner, but with one thing and another, the time just slipped away.”
“Mama,” Ellie said, “now that I am home from school, maybe I could come to the Sewing Circle meetings.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t like it, dear. We’re all old ladies, you know.”
“Louise Arlington is only five or six years older than me.”
“Still, you’d be bored,I’m sure.”
“I could learn so much from you ladies.”
“Ellie,” put in Maggie, “you can’t really want to sit around with the biddies—now, Mama, don’t get ruffled! You said yourself that you’re all old ladies.”
“Well,” huffed Mama, “by comparison to Ellie is all I meant. I’ll talk it over with the other ladies.”
This last statement seemed reluctant. Surely Ellie, who was so smart and wise, must know Mama wanted this time for herself. Maybe Ellie realized it, after all, because she let it go at that.
“Anyway,” Mama went on, “we are going to be getting a new pastor, and the Sewing Circle thought it would be a nice gesture if we made him a welcome quilt.”
“That’s a nice idea,” Ellie said. “At least his wife will appreciate it.”
“The thing is, he is a single man, a young man, if I take the information about him correctly.” Mama gave Ellie a funny look and then added for emphasis, “A young, unmarried minister.” “Oh, Mama!” Ellie’s cheeks turned pink.
“What—?” Maggie began, then stopped as understanding dawned. She burst out laughing. “Mama’s gonna play cupid. Ellie and the preacher, sittin’ in a tree—”
“Enough, Maggie!” Mama broke in.
“I don’t even know the man,” Maggie went on, unable, as always, to resist the urge to push just as far as she could, “but I already feel sorry for him.I bet every biddy in Maintown, probably the whole county, is gonna put their daughters on display—”
“That will be quite enough, Margaret Edith!” Mama demanded.
Ellie said, “You make light, Mags, but . . . well . . . young, unmarried ministers don’t come along every day.”
“I thought you fancied Colby Stoddard, or was it Elisha Cook, or KurtL ambert? Or do you just want all the bachelors in the cou
nty?”
“I’ll leave Colby for you, sis.” Ellie grinned.
“Me? Don’t do me any favors. Anyway, Colby is so sweet on you he doesn’t even know I exist, not that I’d care if he did.”
“You both should be getting more serious in your search for a husband. You don’t want to end up like Hilda’s poor daughter,Iris,” Mama said.
“End up?” groaned Maggie. “She’s only twenty-two. I want to wait at least that long till I even think of marriage.”
“Don’t be silly, child.” Mama gave a slap to the lump of dough before dividing it into two chunks. “Iris is so homely, it’s no wonder the men don’t give her a second look. But you two—yes, both of you!”—she added this last with a pointed look at Maggie—”are such pretty girls, you’ll have no trouble finding nice husbands. Ellie might be married already if we hadn’t sent her to Mrs. Dubois, but I believe that was for the best, because there is now no reason why you shouldn’t aspire to the cream of the crop.”
“Like the minister,” Maggie said.
“I’ve always thought it would be wonderful to be a minister’s wife. What a wonderful way to serve God!”
Ellie’s gaze grew dreamy. No doubt she was imagining herself leading the choir, playing the piano, and being loved by all her husband’s congregation.
In truth, Maggie could imagine it of her sister. Ellie would be a perfect minister’s wife. And if it left Colby Stoddard free—well, it didn’t matter. Maggie had no interest in Colby anyway.
“So,” Mama said, as if a profound decision had been made, “back to that quilt. Each family in our church will make one or two blocks as time permits.I volunteered to do three, since Louise won’t have time for but one. We decided that it will be a sampler and the blocks will be the quilter’s choice. Each should be twelve inches and blue the main color. Blue because it is for a man.”
“Any blue, Mama?” Ellie asked. “I mean, there are so many different shades.”
“We thought a variety of shades would be fine. We’d use a navy, we thought, for the sashing. We are hoping to have the blocks finished in three weeks.”
“Three weeks? That’s not much time.”
“He’s coming in less than two months, probably sooner. We need time to put the blocks together and quilt it. And it might be a nice touch to do some kind of appliquéd border.”
“Oh, Mama, I saw the most wonderful quilt border in Godey’s this month.”
“I saw one, too. I ’ll bet it’s the same one. That could work very nicely. If we all work together, and I’m’m sure some of the other ladies would help, we might have time—”
“Mama,” Maggie edged in, “what is all this ‘we’ talk?” She eyed her mother warily.
“Well, of course, we will each make a block,” Mama said.
“I don’t want to snag the minister,” Maggie protested. “Besides, you know I’m a terrible stitcher.”
“The purpose of this quilt is not to snag the minister,” Mama said with as much conviction as she could muster, though they all knew otherwise. “It is to welcome him.”
“Uh-huh,” grunted Maggie.
“Well, we are all going to make a block. You can do something simple for yours.”
“Why do I always have to do what I hate to do?” Maggie lamented.
“Because,” Mama replied, “you were born a girl, and that is your lot in life.”
After dinner Ellie and Mama went off to look at patterns. Maggie helped Georgie with his arithmetic. She liked schoolwork far better than stitching! And she far more enjoyed listening to Dad and Boyd talk about the gearing up of the lumber camp after winter than hearing her mother and Ellie prattle about patterns and the new fashions in Godey’s. But when she and Ellie went up to their room to get ready for bed, she couldn’t help feeling out of sorts. She didn’t really fit in with Dad. He, and especially Boyd, would laugh if she tried to offer her opinion about lumber and such. Nor did she fit in with Mama and Ellie. Part of her really wanted to, but another part balked because she didn’t have the talent or innate interest they had in household matters. Though she could cook if she had to, she didn’t enjoy it, and her fingers were clumsy with a needle and thread, not to mention that she grew bored easily.
“Ellie, would you make my block?” Maggie ventured as they slipped beneath the covers of their four-poster.
“Mags, you’ve got to make a block. I t wouldn’t look right if you didn’t, especially if I made two.”
“You don’t believe that hogwash about making the quilt to impress the pastor, do you?”
Ellie wiggled under the covers to find a comfortable spot. “No, not really . . . but—I don’t know, it could happen that way. He could see the fine work and how lovingly it was done and maybe want to get to know that particular girl better.”
“And, my dear sister, what if our young, unmarried minister is fat as a hog and has crossed eyes and warts?”
Giving that new idea some thought, Ellie shuddered, then said, “How good a quilter is Iris Fergus?”
They both burst out laughing.
Dad called from across the hall, “Girls, keep it down. I t’s late.”
More quietly, Ellie said, “But he could be handsome. Anyway, looks aren’t everything.”
“So you’d marry a wart-faced hog if he was nice?”
“Well,I’d have to draw the line at the warts.”
The girls laughed again but more quietly.
Maggie said, “You could have Colby with just a wink of the eye.”
“He’s nice and good-looking. But . . . Mags, it is really important to me to marry a man with a strong faith in God. I can imagine us reading the Bible together and then having long discussions about what we read. He would ask me to offer opinions of his sermons. We would pray together.I t’s the kind of life that would be perfect.”
“Then you better catch the minister because I doubt any of the other fellows around here would give you that.”
Ellie gave a very solemn nod.
Maggie added, “I’ll make the block if you think it would matter. At least anything I stitch will never win him over.”
“Oh, you’re not so bad. We’ll find you a good block. Something special but not too hard . . .” Ellie pursed her lips in thought, but even she was hard pressed to think of something that could fit the bill.
“Wouldn’t it be just my luck if he went for the non-domestic type?” Maggie said drolly.
“You could do worse.”
“The only good thing about that would be the look of shock on the biddies’ faces. I ’d make a spider web block if it wasn’t so hard. But maybe I should anyway, since the quilt is just a big man trap.”
“It’s a welcome quilt.”
“And believe me, Mabel Parker, Sarah Stoddard, and even Iris Fergus will be just as intent as you in welcoming the new pastor.”
“Mabel and Sarah are the best young quilters in the church,” Ellie said with some trepidation.
“Not better than you. You’re almost as good as Mama, and she’s the best quilter in the church.”
“Not if you ask Florence Parker.”
“What is it between Mama and Florence? You’d think they were dogs after the same bone.”
“All I know is that something happened when they were girls on the wagon train from Maine to here.”
“Probably a fight over a man.”
“Do you think—?”
“Girls!” came Mama’s voice. “Put out your lamp.I t’s time for bed.”
The sisters looked at each other and shook their heads. Their mother couldn’t have heard. Maggie blew out the lamp and snuggled down under the covers. She had a feeling she was going to need all her rest just for the stitching alone, not to mention for what promised to be an interesting next few weeks.
FOUR
The house was quiet with everyone gone. Dad had decided to try to get to St. Helens before the next storm. He needed a harness repaired before he could finish the planting. Mama needed groc
eries, and Maggie decided to go with them. Boyd was over at the Wallards’ paying court to Nessa’s youngest daughter, Kendra. Georgie was again at school and not happy that the whole family would be off having fun while he was “imprisoned” all day. Ellie tried to comfort him with the fact that she was going to stay home, but he countered, rightly enough, that she had a choice.
She didn’t know why she had chosen not to join the others.
St. Helens was a good seven miles away, so trips there were not frequent, since it took several hours to drive there and back in the wagon. But she wanted some time without distractions to get started on her block for the welcome quilt. After she finished her chores—mixing the bread dough and setting it near the stove to rise, sweeping, and mending—she got down Mama’s box of patterns. She loved this box, and Mama had promised her that one day it would be hers. Maggie had no interest in it, but Ellie loved not only the patterns themselves but also the rich history most of them represented. There were some patterns cut from magazines, some yellowed and quite old; one had a date of 1842—it was forty years old! Older than Mama. There were several blocks made of cloth that Mama or one of her forebears had pieced together in order to remember a certain pattern.
Many of the patterns had been passed down through Mama’s family. Grandma Spooner, Mama’s mother, was the best quilter and stitcher ever. How Ellie loved to visit her in Deer I sland and look at her quilts and learn from her! But that was even farther away than St. Helens, so they didn’t get there more than once every few months. Now that Grandpa Spooner had passed on, there was talk of having Grandma move in with them, but Grandma wouldn’t hear of it. She liked keeping her own house. Mama didn’t push the idea, because every time the subject was raised, Dad would mention that his parents were getting up in years, as well, and though Scappoose, where they lived, wasn’t quite as far as Deer I sland, it was still hard to visit them and care for them properly. Mama would sooner burn down her house than have Mother Newcomb, as she called her, and not in a fond way, live with her. Grandma Newcomb could be difficult. For one thing, she was a good quilter, too, but there was not a single pattern in Mama’s box from her, and there wouldn’t be as long as the woman lived. According to Mama, Grandma Newcomb was jealous that Mama was a better quilter than she was. Moreover, she had never thought Mama a suitable match for her son.
