Sylvia threw a quick, anxious glance over her shoulder, but no one was around to report to her mother. “Claudia will tell on me when I don’t come to bed.”
“Oh, don’t worry about her. When I passed your room she was already snoring away. She’ll never know what time you came in.”
Sylvia hated to disobey her mother so soon after resolving to be good, but a chance to spend time alone with Elizabeth might not come again for a very long while, if ever. She tightened her grasp on her cousin’s hand until they shut the nursery door behind them. Elizabeth slid a chair in place beneath the doorknob. “That’ll give you time to hide should anyone come snooping,” said Elizabeth. “We’ll have to keep our voices down. Take off your shoes and show me what you know.”
Sylvia took off her Mary Janes and bravely demonstrated the few ballet steps her mother had taught her and Claudia, half-afraid that Elizabeth would laugh and send her off to take a nap after all. Then she stood in first position, awaiting her cousin’s verdict. “Well, you’re not a lost cause,” said Elizabeth. “In fact, that’s a very good beginning. I started out in ballet myself. Your aunt Millie insisted. But that’s not the kind of dancing we’re going to be doing tonight. You have a lot to learn and not a lot of time.”
Elizabeth took her hands and, over the next two hours, introduced Sylvia to grown-up dances she called the foxtrot, the quickstep, and one Sylvia had seen her parents do—the waltz. When Sylvia proved to be an apt pupil, Elizabeth praised her and taught her the tango and the Charleston. Dancing hand in hand with her cousin, gliding over the wood floor in her stocking feet, smothering laughter and asking questions in stage whispers, Sylvia realized she had not been so happy since before Elizabeth announced her engagement. Henry Nelson seemed very far away, as if he had already gone off to California, alone.
Sylvia gladly would have danced on until the guests arrived, but suddenly Elizabeth glanced at the clock and exclaimed that they had better return downstairs quickly and get dressed if they didn’t want the neighbors to catch them in their underthings. Giggling, Sylvia crept downstairs to her bedroom, where she rumpled her quilt, opened the blinds, and woke Claudia, who never suspected her sister had not just risen from a nap herself.
Soon Mama bustled in, slim and elegant in her black velveteen gown, to make sure the girls had scrubbed their hands and faces and put on their best winter dresses. Sylvia’s was only a hand-me-down, Claudia reminded her, while her own was new; Grandma had sewn it for her especially.
“Now, girls, don’t bicker,” said Mama, brushing the tangles from Sylvia’s hair and tying it back with a ribbon that matched the dark green trim of Claudia’s outgrown dress. Sylvia wanted to protest that she wasn’t bickering, that Claudia was the only one who had spoken, but she had already upset Mama once that day and didn’t want to push her luck, even if it meant letting Claudia get the last word.
Soon the guests arrived, friends and neighbors from nearby farms and the town of Waterford, two miles away. Sylvia stuck close to Elizabeth until Henry Nelson arrived with his family and Elizabeth dashed off to welcome them. Sylvia scowled at them from across the foyer as Elizabeth kissed his cheek and helped his mother out of her coat. It didn’t matter. When the dance began, Elizabeth would come back. Hadn’t she said that Sylvia was a swell partner? Hadn’t they spent two hours practicing? Hadn’t she declared that together they would show everyone what Bergstrom girls could do?
The Sylvester Ball began with a supper of lentil soup, followed by pork and sauerkraut. Pork roasted with apples was one of Sylvia’s favorite dishes, and she loved Great-Aunt Lucinda’s sauerkraut, chopped much finer than Great-Aunt Lydia’s, mildly flavored, and thickened with barley. Since the Bergstroms enjoyed pork and sauerkraut every New Year—although they usually ate the meal on New Year’s Day rather than the night before—Sylvia was surprised to see some of their neighbors wrinkling their noses at the aromatic, fermented cabbage. “Try it,” she urged Rosemary, Henry’s younger sister, but Rosemary shook her head and gingerly pushed the shredded cabbage around her plate with her fork. A few of the more reluctant guests took tentative bites only after Great-Aunt Lucinda insisted that the meal would bring them good luck in the year to come. Germans considered pigs to be good luck, she explained, because back in the old days, a farm family who had a pig to feed them through the long, cold winter was fortunate indeed. “Why do you think children save their pennies in piggy banks,” she asked, “when any animal could have done as well?” And since cabbage leaves were symbolic of money, a meal of pork and sauerkraut would help secure good fortune throughout the New Year.
“Dig in, son,” Uncle George advised his future son-in-law, and Henry gamely took an impressive portion of sauerkraut. Sylvia wished he had refused. That would have convinced everyone that he didn’t belong in the family.
Afterward, the party resumed in the ballroom, where the musicians Uncle George had hired from Harrisburg struck up a lively tune that beckoned couples to the dance floor. Sylvia looked around for Elizabeth, but Claudia grabbed Sylvia’s hand and dragged her over to a corner where they could play ring-around-the-rosie in time to the music. Sylvia had no interest whatsoever in playing a baby game to what was obviously a quickstep, but when she saw Elizabeth on Henry’s arm, she gloomily played along to appease Claudia. When the song ended, she slipped away and wove through the crowd to Elizabeth, but now her beautiful cousin was waltzing with Uncle George, and Sylvia knew she would be scolded if she interrupted.
Her turn would come, she told herself, but dance after dance went by, and always Elizabeth was with Henry, or her father, or Henry’s father, or one of her uncles. Mostly she was with Henry. When she finally sat out a dance, Sylvia raced to her side. “There you are,” Elizabeth exclaimed, and as far as Sylvia could tell, her cousin was delighted to see her. “Are you having a good time?”
Sylvia was miserable, but Elizabeth could easily fix that. “Can I have a turn to dance with you?”
Elizabeth fanned herself with her hand. “Absolutely, right after I rest with some of your father’s punch.” She looked around for Henry, but Sylvia quickly volunteered to get Elizabeth a cup, and she hurried off through the crowd of dancers and onlookers to the fireplace at the opposite end of the room.
Her father sat by the fireside, joking with his brothers and Henry’s father, who waited impatiently to sample her father’s renowned Feuerzangenbowle. Into a large black kettle he had emptied two bottles of red wine, some of the last of his wine cellar. Sylvia caught the aroma of rich wine and spices—cinnamon, allspice, cardamom—and the sweet fruity fragrances of lemon and orange. Her father stirred the steaming brew, careful to keep the fire just high enough to heat the punch without boiling.
“At this rate it’ll be midnight before we can wet our whistles, Fred,” one of the neighbors teased.
“If you’re too thirsty to wait, have some coffee and save the punch for more patient men,” Sylvia’s father retorted with a grin. “Sylvia can show you to the kitchen.”
Sylvia froze while the men laughed, relaxing only when she realized none of the men intended to take her father up on his offer. Although many of their neighbors of German descent had brewed their own beer long before Prohibition, few could obtain fine European wines like those Father’s customers offered him to sweeten their deals. They wouldn’t leave the fireside without a glass of Father’s famous punch, and neither would Sylvia. She was determined to serve Elizabeth before Henry did, to prove just how unnecessary he was.
Father traded the long-handled spoon for a sturdy pair of tongs, grasped a sugar cone, and held it over the kettle. With his left hand, he slowly poured rum over the sugar cone, or Zuckerhut as the older Bergstroms called it, and let the liquor soak in to the fine, compressed sugar. At Father’s signal, Uncle William came forward, withdrew a wooden skewer from the fire, and set the sugar cone on fire. Sylvia watched, entranced, as the bluish flame danced across the sugar cone and carmelized the sugar, which dripped into the steaming punch
below. When the flame threatened to flicker out, her father poured more rum over the Zuckerhut until the bottle was empty and the sugar melted away. With a sigh of anticipated pleasure, the uncles and neighbors pressed forward with their cups as Father picked up the ladle and began to serve. Sylvia found herself pushed to the back of the crowd, and not until the last of the eager grown-ups had taken their mugs from the fireside was she able to approach her father.
He eyed her with amusement. “This isn’t a drink for little girls.”
“It’s not for me.” Sylvia glanced over her shoulder and spied Elizabeth still seated where Sylvia had left her, laughing with Rosemary, Henry’s sister. “It’s for Elizabeth.”
“I don’t know if Elizabeth should be drinking this, either.”
“If she’s not old enough for punch, maybe she’s not old enough to get married.”
Her father was so astonished that he rocked back on his heels and laughed. Sylvia flushed and turned away, but her father caught her by the arm. “Very well, little miss, you may take your cousin some punch. Mind you don’t sample it along the way.”
Sylvia nodded and held very still as her father ladled steaming punch into her teacup. With small, careful steps, she skirted the dance floor and made her way back to Elizabeth. She scowled to find that Henry had replaced Rosemary at Elizabeth’s side.
“Here you go,” Sylvia said, presenting the cup to her cousin. Elizabeth thanked her and took it with both hands. Pleased with herself and relieved that she had accomplished the task without spilling a single drop, she sat down on the floor at her cousin’s feet, ready to block her path should Henry take her hand and attempt to lead her to the dance floor.
“Your father won’t be happy to see you drinking,” Henry warned in a low voice that Sylvia barely overheard.
“My father is the last person who should complain about anyone’s drinking.”
“He’s not drinking tonight.”
“Yes, and don’t you find it interesting that he can exercise some self-control while all the family is watching, and yet he can’t muster up any fortitude at home?”
Sylvia heard Henry shift in his chair to take Elizabeth’s cup. “Maybe you’ve had too much already. You’re not used to this stuff.”
“Henry, that’s truly not necessary. I only had a sip—”
Infuriated, Sylvia spun around to glare at him. “My daddy made that punch and it’s very good. You’re just mad because I brought it to her instead of you. You have to spoil everything!”
Henry regarded her for a moment, expressionless, his hands frozen around Elizabeth’s as she clutched the cup. A thin wisp of steam rose between them. “Never mind,” said Henry, dropping his hands to his lap. “If you want to drink it, drink it.”
“No, no, that’s fine.” Elizabeth passed him the cup so quickly he almost spilled it. “I’m not thirsty after all.”
Henry clearly didn’t believe her, but he set the cup aside. “Do you want to go for a walk?”
“I promised Sylvia I would dance with her.”
Sylvia was too overcome with relief that Elizabeth had not forgotten her promise to pay any attention to Henry’s reply. When he rose and walked away, she promptly scooted his chair closer to Elizabeth’s and sat down upon it. Absently, Elizabeth took her hand and watched the dancers in silence. Sylvia pretended not to notice that her cousin was troubled. Elizabeth was here, she was going to give Sylvia her turn, and Sylvia was not going to probe her with questions that might make her too unhappy or distracted to dance.
At last the song ended, and after a momentary pause another lively tune began. Elizabeth smiled at her and said, “Are you ready to cut a rug?”
Sylvia nodded and took her hand. Elizabeth led her to the dance floor and counted out the first few beats, then threw herself into a jaunty Charleston. Sylvia struggled to keep up at first, distracted by the music that drowned out Elizabeth’s counting and the many eyes upon them, but she stoked her courage and persevered. She felt a thrill of delight when she spotted Claudia watching them, mouth open in astonishment. Henry’s disgruntled frown filled her with satisfaction, and she kicked higher and smiled broader just to spite him. Most of the guests had put aside their own dancing to gather in a circle around the two cousins as they danced side by side. Sylvia mirrored her graceful cousin’s spirited steps as closely as she could, praying her family and the guests wouldn’t notice her mistakes.
All too soon the song ended. Breathless and laughing, Elizabeth took Sylvia’s hand and led her in a playful, sweeping bow. She blew kisses to the crowd as she guided Sylvia from the dance floor while the musicians struck up a slow foxtrot and the couples resumed dancing. To Sylvia’s chagrin, Elizabeth made her way directly to the far side of the room, where Henry waited beside one of the tall windows overlooking the elm grove and the creek, invisible in the darkness. He had eyes only for Elizabeth as they approached.
“You’ve been practicing,” he remarked, smiling at her with fond amusement.
“I have to do something to keep myself busy when I’m bored and lonely back home in Harrisburg and you’re tending the farm up here. Did you think I sat home every night pining for you?”
“I had hoped so.” He slid his arm around Elizabeth’s waist and pulled her close. Sylvia tried to keep hold of Elizabeth’s hand, but her cousin’s slender fingers slipped from her grasp. Elizabeth laughed and kissed Henry’s cheek. He murmured something in her ear, and Sylvia was struck by the certainty that she had been entirely forgotten.
Unnoticed, she slipped away from the couple and searched out her mother. Mama’s face lit up at the sight of her. “I had no idea you were such a fine dancer,” she said, pulling Sylvia into a hug.
“Elizabeth taught me.” And now that they had shown everyone what Bergstrom girls could do, Elizabeth had returned to Henry. Sylvia had done her best, but anyone could see that Henry was her cousin’s favorite dance partner, no matter what she had declared as they practiced in the nursery.
Sylvia climbed onto her mother’s lap and watched the dancing for a while, her eyelids drooping. When her mother offered to take her upstairs to bed, Sylvia roused herself and insisted that she meant to stay up until midnight, like everyone else. She went off to find Claudia, who demanded that Sylvia teach her the Charleston. Sylvia showed her the few steps she knew, but dancing with Claudia was not as much fun as performing with Elizabeth, and she soon lost interest. When she spotted Great-Aunt Lucinda carrying a tray of her delicious Pfannkuchen to the dessert table, she hurried over and took two of the delicious jelly-filled doughnuts. Licking sugar from her fingertips, she considered taking a plate to Elizabeth, but her lovely cousin was once again circling the dance floor in Henry’s arms. He was not much of a dancer, Sylvia observed spitefully. He knew the steps well enough but he seemed to be going through the motions without a scrap of enjoyment. But Elizabeth was having a wonderful time, and Sylvia could not pretend otherwise.
She finished her dessert and went off to find a dance partner. She would show Elizabeth that she, too, could have just as much fun with someone else.
Her father was pleased by her invitation to dance, as was her grandpa after him. Claudia found her and they made up their own dance, holding hands and spinning around in a circle until they became so dizzy they fell down. When they had come too close to crashing into dancing aunts and uncles too many times, their mother begged them to find some other way to amuse themselves. At that moment the musicians took a break, and Great-Aunt Lucinda called everyone to the fireside for Bleigiessen. “See what the New Year will bring you,” she joked. “Unless you’d rather not know.”
Only Grandma, who found fortune-telling unsettling, declined. “I’d rather have another jelly doughnut than a prediction of bad news,” she said, settling into a chair near the dessert table, waving off the others’ teasing protests that she should not assume that the news would be bad.
Sylvia, who had seen lead pouring on other New Year’s Eves, knew that the game would almo
st certainly promise good fortune to everyone, since the funny shapes were rarely so obvious that the observers could reach only one conclusion. She darted through the crowd and found a seat on the floor close to the fireside. Great-Aunt Lucinda went first, melting a small piece of lead in an old spoon held above the flames. When it had turned to liquid, she poured it into a bowl of water, and everyone bent closer to see what shape the lead would take.
“It looks like a pretzel,” Great-Aunt Lydia declared. “You’re going to become a baker.”
Everyone laughed. “I’m already a baker,” said Great-Aunt Lucinda, passing the spoon to a neighbor. Everyone who had ever tried her delicious cookies or apple strudel chimed in their agreement.
One by one family and friends held the spoon over the fire, poured the melted lead into the water, and interpreted the shapes the metal took as it rapidly cooled. Those gathered around broke into cheers and applause when stars or fish promised good luck, when triangles promised financial improvement, or bells heralded good news. They burst into laughter when one elderly widow’s lead formed an unmistakable egg shape, announcing the imminent birth of a child. “It must mean a grandchild,” she speculated, but that did not stop her friends from teasing her, claiming that if she had tried Bleigiessen the previous New Year’s Eve, the lead surely would have taken the shape of a mouse, symbolic of a secret love.
When Sylvia’s father took a turn, an anchor shape showed that he would find assistance in an emergency. The crowd mulled this over while Aunt Millie took the spoon, for while it was good to know that he would have help in a time of need, it would be better to avoid the emergency altogether. “This Bleigiessen isn’t very helpful after all,” said Aunt Millie as the lead shavings turned to liquid over the fire. “It tells you just enough to worry you, and not enough to steer you clear of trouble.” With that, she poured the lead into the bowl of water and exclaimed with delight when the lead sank and hardened into a lopsided cylinder she insisted was a cake.
The New Year's Quilt (Elm Creek Quilts Novels) Page 3
