The Quilt Walk

by Dallas, Sandra

  “On the Indians?” Aunt Catherine asked.

  “Catherine,” Ma warned. “I’m sure Colorado is perfectly civilized.”

  Pa came into the house then and looked at the foodstuffs in the kitchen. “Can’t you cut down on some of it?” he asked.

  “On what?” Ma replied. “Don’t you want us to have enough food to reach Colorado Territory?”

  “Then other things must go. We’ve packed and repacked. There isn’t room.”

  “What do you want me to take out—the blankets and sheets, the skillet? I’ve already put aside the china plates, the rocker, and the washstand that was your wedding gift to me.”

  “Something else must go.”

  “There is only Emmy Blue. Do you propose to leave her behind?”

  I looked up, my mouth open. They wouldn’t leave me with Grandma Mouse, would they? When Ma saw the look on my face, she said she was only joking. “I wouldn’t leave you. I love you as much as a wagon train of people,” she whispered. Then she told Pa, “Perhaps you could leave off some of the fancy lumber.”

  “We need it. How will we build the business block without it?”

  Pa glanced around the room at the boxes of foodstuffs that had not yet been loaded into the wagon. And then his eyes lit on the horsehair trunk, which had come from Grandma Mouse, her initials, EB, on the top, done in brass nails. She had given it to Ma for the journey, saying it would be mine one day, because EB were two of my initials, Emily Bluestone.

  “The trunk,” Pa said. “It will have to be left behind.”

  “It has our clothes in it.”

  Pa thought a moment. “Meggie …,” he said.

  Ma looked at him as if she knew what he was about to say. “No, Thomas,” she said. “Not our clothes.”

  Pa looked away, then said, “You can take only the clothes you wear. There is no room for a trunk, no room for your clothes.”

  “But Thomas—”

  “I have decided, Meggie.”

  Ma closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but she did not reply. She knew better than to argue with Pa when his mind was made up.

  “Ma,” I asked later. “Does that mean I can take only one dress?”

  Ma did not answer. Instead, she opened the trunk and looked at the clothes neatly folded inside. “No, Emmy Blue, it does not.” She slammed shut the trunk lid. “I have an idea, but we will not tell your pa. It will be a surprise.”

  Chapter Three

  HO FOR COLORADO!

  I didn’t have the least idea what Ma meant until the next day when she woke me in the morning. I slipped on my new dress, the one she had made for me from blue calico, and buttoned it, but as I reached for my shoes, Ma said, “Not yet. Lift your arms.”

  I frowned at her, not knowing what she wanted, but I did as I was told and raised my arms.

  Ma put my old red dress on top of the blue one and fastened it.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Your pa said we could take only the clothes on our backs. So we are wearing all of them. I promised your father we would wear them all the way to Golden. Now raise your arms again. She picked up my third dress, the ugly brown one that I didn’t like, and tugged it over my head. Then she covered me with two aprons.

  “Do I have to wear both pairs of shoes?” I asked, and Ma laughed.

  I looked closely at Ma then. She had on her yellow dress on top of her green one, and peeking out from under those two was her good black dress. All those clothes made her look fatter than ever. “Now button your shoes while I fix breakfast,” she said.

  A few minutes later I came down the stairs and said, “Waxy’s ready to go.” Waxy was a doll with a wax face that Grandma Mouse had given me. I was a little old for dolls, but I’d had Waxy ever since I could remember. She was a friend, and she might end up my only friend on the trip if there weren’t any other children. Ma glanced at the doll, then began to laugh. “Oh my, Waxy is wearing all her clothes, too. And she has two hats on her head.”

  The neighbor women who had come to see us off gathered around and laughed at Waxy too, as fat as a cat in all her dresses and petticoats, although they seemed embarrassed that Ma was dressed that way. “How silly,” one muttered.

  “Why didn’t you just hide your skirts in the flour barrel like you did the china cups?” another asked.

  “Now, now,” Ma said, for she would not abide any criticism of Pa. She smiled at the women and said, “Catherine and I agreed to this. I expect Catherine must be twice as big as I am, for she has twice as many clothes.” We’d find out soon enough, because we would stop for Aunt Catherine and Uncle Will down the road.

  The women drew their shawls about themselves in the cold morning. It was only March, but Pa said we had to get an early spring start. The earlier you go the more grass there is for your oxen. The men crowded around the wagon while Pa checked the contents a final time. He moved the last of the foodstuffs into the wagon, setting them beside the box that held the tin plates, forks, and ladle, a vinegar flask, the coffee grinder, and frying pan. The boxes were stored near the opening in the canvas wagon cover so that Ma could get to them each morning and evening. Pa’s razor and shaving strop, Ma’s candle molds, and other small items were stored in pockets Ma had sewn inside the wagon cover. Shovels and picks and coiled ropes hung from the inside of the wagon.

  When he was satisfied, Pa drew the puckering strings attached to the wagon covers, and tied them tightly, leaving an oval-shaped opening, like a window at each end of the wagon.

  I looked around for Abigail. She and her mother, who was Ma’s closest friend, had promised to see us off. I saw them in the distance, hurrying toward us, each carrying something. At first I thought they were bringing Skiddles to say good-bye, but whatever they had wasn’t wiggling.

  The day before, when I had asked where we should place Skiddles’ bowl in the wagon, Pa had looked at me strangely. “We can’t take a cat with us, Emmy Blue.”

  I had stared at him. “Not take Skiddles? I’ve had him since I was a baby. Grandma Mouse gave him to me.”

  “I know you love that cat, but there’s no way we can take him to Colorado. He’d get lost or eaten by a coyote. What if the wagon ran over him? He might even end up in an Indian’s soup pot.”

  “Now, Thomas,” Mother had warned. “No need to scare the girl.”

  “I’ll carry him,” I had said. “I’ll hold him all the way to Golden.”

  “But you can’t,” Pa had told me, and as if to prove him right, Skiddles had jumped out of my arms and rushed through the door.

  “I’m sorry, Emmy Blue,” Pa had said gently. “You can’t take a cat on such a long trip, and that’s that. I thought your mother told you.”

  “I never,” Ma’d said, but when she saw Pa frown, she had stopped. “We’ll have to find him a good home, maybe with Abigail. She loves that cat.”

  “Skiddles is our family,” I had cried, but Pa just shook his head, and I knew that Skiddles wasn’t going into our wagon any more than the trunk with the EB initials on it. Ma and I took Skiddles and his bowl to the Stark house and asked if my friend would take him.

  “Could we?” Abigail asked her mother.

  “I guess one more cat wouldn’t eat us out of house and home,” Mrs. Stark said. “We’ll take good care of him, Emmy.”

  When they reached us now, Abigail’s mother thrust a bundle into Ma’s arms. “I’m late because I had to add just one more stitch,” she explained, and I realized she had brought us a quilt. Ma had tears in her eyes as she glanced at Pa, and I knew why. She was wondering how she could tell Mrs. Stark that there wasn’t room in the wagon for anything more, especially a quilt. Pa had already fussed about the number of quilts we’d packed.

  “Let’s open it,” Mrs. Stark said. Two of the women began to unfold the quilt. Others took the sides and spread it out. Ma looked at it and gasped. “Oh, my!” she said. “Oh, my, Emmy Blue, it’s a Friendship Quilt.” She looked around the circle of friends, her ey
es shining. “You made this for me?”

  “We wanted you to have it to remember us by. Each of us made a block and signed it. When you lie on the prairie at night, you can touch the names and think of us,” said Mrs. Stark.

  Ma turned to Pa and explained. “The pattern is called Chimney Sweep. We make these quilts so that friends going away won’t forget us—as if I need a quilt to remember my dear friends!”

  “We have stitched our heartache at your leaving into this quilt,” Mrs. Stark said.

  “I brought you something, too,” Abigail whispered to me. She handed me a folded piece of cloth. I opened it and found a single Chimney Sweep square. “It’s for Waxy. I made it myself,” she said, although I already knew she had, because the corners didn’t meet, and the stitching was uneven.

  “Oh, Abigail, it’s beautiful.” I ran my hand over the square, just the way Ma had run her hand over the quilt, thinking what a wonderful gift this was. I knew Abigail didn’t like to sew any more than I did. “But you didn’t sign it.”

  “That’s because I don’t know how. I can’t write, you know. But you can tell it’s from me because of the bad stitching.” Then she whispered, “I only just learned to thread a needle,” and we both laughed, remembering our afternoon under the quilt frame.

  As Ma was folding the quilt, Pa said, “There’s not room to pack another thing, Meggie.”

  “Then I shall carry it,” Ma said firmly. “Carry it or stay home. I may have to leave my friends behind, but I will not abandon their Friendship Quilt.”

  “Perhaps it will fit on top of the medicine chest then.” Pa sighed as he took the precious quilt.

  Just as we climbed onto the wagon seat, Grandpa Blue-stone and Grandma Mouse arrived. Pa grumbled that they were only making us late. Ma told him we were late because he had insisted on repacking the wagon.

  Ma was happy to see her parents, and stepped on a spoke of the wagon wheel to get down off the box. Grandpa rushed to help her, giving Pa an angry look. “You could have waited. She’ll need her mother and the other women when her time comes. And Emmy Blue, who knows what dangers she’ll face.”

  “We’ve been over that, Father Bluestone,” Pa said.

  “Boy, you are taking your family into the jaws of death,” Grandpa Bluestone told him. Grandpa was always saying things like that.

  “Father,” Ma said. “Thomas has taken every consideration for our safety.”

  “Humph,” Grandpa protested. Then he took a deep breath and said, “I suppose you have indeed done that, Thomas. Well, if I can’t talk you into staying, then I’ll wish you luck.”

  “Emmy Blue, I almost forgot,” Grandma Mouse interrupted. “I’ve got a surprise for you. You can open it after you cross the Missouri River and not a minute before.”

  “What is it?” I asked. Grandma Mouse gave me the best presents, well most of the time. She had given me white gloves and The Girls’ Own Book, too. It told how little girls were to make themselves useful. (I was glad to leave that behind.) But she’d also given me Waxy and clothes for my doll, hair ribbons, and hard candy. Now she took a small calico seed bag from the basket in her wagon and handed it to me.

  “Something for you to do as you travel west.”

  I began to loosen the drawstring on the bag, but Grandma Mouse said, “No, I told you not yet. You can’t open it until you cross the Missouri River. With everything to see on the trail, you’ll be too busy looking around to have time for it.”

  I started to put it into the pocket of my top dress, but Ma told me to secure it to the bottom dress instead, “So you won’t be tempted to peek,” she told me.

  Grandma Mouse watched as I did so, then turned to Ma. “Meggie, I’ll miss you.” She wiped away tears.

  “I’ll write you letters, Mother,” Ma said, rubbing her own eyes. “And I’ll send them through the new overland mail delivery.”

  “It’s not the same. You’re our only daughter.”

  “You can take the train to visit us,” I said, pleased that my suggestion would make them both feel better.

  “There isn’t any train. There isn’t a train in the world that goes to Colorado Territory,” Grandma Mouse said.

  I’d never thought about that. I knew we were going a long way off. I knew we were traveling in a covered wagon, a “prairie schooner,” Pa called it, because it was like a big ship and Pa had said we’d be driving it through a sea of grass. But until then, it hadn’t occurred to me that we were going to a place so far away that no one could visit by train, only wagon.

  I glanced around our farm, at the white house where I had been born and lived all of my life, the place I called home. And suddenly our move to Golden didn’t seem like such a wonderful adventure anymore. I looked up at my room, at the two windows with the pointed tops that made them look like church windows. For as long as I could remember, I had slept on the feather tick in that room, under a quilt with blue stars on it that Ma had made. Skiddles had slept on my feet, crawling under the covers on winter mornings to warm me. When I would wake at dawn, I would see Pa coming from the barn with a pail of milk or eggs that he had just gathered.

  But now, Skiddles was gone, and we were leaving the house behind. In fact, it didn’t belong to us any more. Pa had sold it to buy supplies for his business block in Golden. For the first time, I wondered where I would sleep after we reached Colorado. I reached for Ma’s hand. I was confused about whether I wanted to go to Colorado Territory. Part of me was like Pa, wanting the excitement of going to a new place where we might become rich. But the other part wanted to stay in Quincy with my friends and grandparents, with everything I knew, where I would be safe. “Good-bye, little house,” I whispered, my voice low and trembling.

  ----------

  It was mid-morning by the time we left Quincy. Pa shouted, “Ho for Colorado!” and tapped his whip on the rump of the lead ox, telling him to giddup. The six oxen started up, but they didn’t go very fast. Pa said a two-legged dog could run faster than those oxen.

  The crowd of neighbors stood aside to let us pass. “Be sure to send us some gold dust,” a man told Pa.

  “They say you need to take a wheelbarrow with you to haul all those solid-gold Pike’s Peak nuggets,” another yelled. Pa had told me the Colorado gold country was called “Pike’s Peak” for a big mountain that the travelers could see from far away.

  A neighbor asked Pa how many miles he expected to cover in a day, and Pa replied ten to fifteen.

  “Well, now, won’t that be traveling!” the neighbor said. “You’ll go like the wind.”

  The women didn’t call out. Instead, they stood silently, trying to smile, but they knew Ma would miss them. The women stood with Grandpa Bluestone and Grandma Mouse, who waved her handkerchief.

  Abigail ran alongside the wagon until we reached the edge of our property. Then she stood at the fence post and waved. She took the arm of her doll and waved it, too, and I waved Waxy’s arm back at her. Ma waved, also, but not Pa, who walked along beside the oxen, not looking back.

  “We’re off to Colorado,” Pa said after the road turned, blocking our view of the people who had come to see us off.

  “We are indeed,” Ma said, then turned to me. “We’re off on an adventure, Emmy Blue. Do you know how many Americans would like to pull up stakes and go west? And we are lucky enough to do it.”

  Pa reached up and squeezed Ma’s hand. “You’ll see, Meggie. There’s not a place in the world as beautiful as the mountains of Colorado. They’ll be right at our doorstep.”

  Ma smiled, and I thought again about what she’d said about dandelions and learning to enjoy them if we couldn’t do anything about them. I wondered if that strange place called Colorado Territory even had dandelions. I wondered if I should have brought some seeds.

  Chapter Four

  OUR JOURNEY BEGINS

  We plodded along a road that was as familiar to me as the lane in front of our house, because we had visited my aunt and uncle on that road many times. The
oxen were slow and didn’t seem to like being yoked together, and I could have gotten there faster if I’d walked. At last we met up with Aunt Catherine and Uncle Will, and by then, I was hot under my three layers of clothes. Aunt Catherine looked hot, too, because they had been waiting at the end of their farm road since early morning.

  “Thomas had to rearrange the wagon,” Ma told Aunt Catherine, explaining our delay.

  “Will was up in the middle of the night to repack ours, although I do not believe he found one more inch of space,” Aunt Catherine said as she helped Ma down from the wagon. Wearing all her dresses, Aunt Catherine looked fat, although not as big as Ma.

  Pa and Uncle Will walked around the oxen, checking the heavy wooden yokes, tightening the ropes on the wagon, which Pa had already tightened just before we left. Then the two of them leaned against Uncle Will’s wagon and talked a moment about the road ahead. I was by myself on the wagon seat. Ma had Aunt Catherine, Pa had Uncle Will, but Skiddles was gone, and all I had was Waxy, who wasn’t much for conversation. I wished again that Abigail and her parents could have gone west with us.

  “You’re all I’ve got, Waxy,” I said. She just looked at me and didn’t reply. Then because Waxy looked warm, I decided to take off one of her dresses. If she got too hot, her face would melt. I put the dress into the pocket of my top apron. Ma and Aunt Catherine and I might have to wear all our clothes, but I didn’t see any reason why Waxy should. I was glad I wasn’t in danger of melting.

  “Westward ho!” Pa called at last, and I heard Aunt Catherine ask under her breath if Pa was going to talk like that all the way to Colorado. But I liked the sound of it, and I shouted back, “Westward ho, Pa.”

  He grinned and said, “How about walking alongside the oxen with me, Emmy Blue? It wouldn’t hurt for you to learn to drive them.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous?” Ma asked, climbing up the spokes of the wheel so that she could reach the wagon seat.