A Quilt for Christmas (3 page)

Missouri Ann stared at Eliza. “You sure?”

Eliza said they would go and get Missouri Ann's things right then, before the storm got worse.

“Cain't. I'll have to sneak away. I'll walk to your place.”

“In this snow?” Eliza thought a moment, then said they could meet at church the following day.

Missouri Ann frowned. “Starks don't go to church, even at Christmas.”

“Then you must tell them you are going to church for Nance's sake,” Eliza said. “What about your belongings?”

“Ain't got any,” Missouri Ann said.

*   *   *

As she rode behind the slow horse back to the farm, Eliza wondered what had happened to her friend in the past few years. She'd been shocked, of course, when Missouri Ann married Hugh Stark. He was a comely man with a smile that would have melted ice in midwinter, but there had been something about him that Eliza feared. Missouri Ann had been raised by a family of holy willies whose only joy was pointing out the sins of others. Eliza's friend knew from an early age she was going to hell, so what did it matter if she broke a few of God's laws, especially the one about fornication? But with a Stark! Missouri Ann was guileless and good. She could have done better. And then to be dumped at the Stark shanty when Hugh went off to war! Missouri Ann was a tough girl, but she had grown depressed, beaten down in the last months. Well, who wouldn't be, living with a family like that? Eliza chided herself for not having been a better friend. Then she wondered if Missouri Ann had any friends at all or whether, like Eliza, they'd been discouraged from visiting.

Of course Eliza would let Missouri Ann and Nance live at the Spooner farm. She wondered that she had hesitated at all. Things would be tight. They would all have to be careful to make the food last through the winter. The harvest had been all right, although even with the help of men working on shares, they had had to leave some of the crops to rot. Eliza had tried to persuade Will to wait to join up until after the harvest was over, but he was anxious to kill the Rebels. He'd said she could manage, and she had, although not as well as if he'd been there.

Even if Hugh's pay came through, there would be little money for necessities and none for extravagances such as more oranges. It was doubtful Missouri Ann would bring so much as a penny with her. But they would make it. Having another woman living on the place might help the loneliness she had felt since Will enlisted. And Eliza and the children would be safer with another adult there. She'd worried about safety ever since Davy found that tramp in the barn.

The cold had begun to seep into Eliza's bones, and she tried to hurry the horse, but Sabra couldn't be persuaded to pick up speed. Eliza hoped the Stark horse was faster, because she didn't like to think about baby Nance out in the cold. She had glimpsed the child peering out of the window where Missouri Ann had left her when she came out of the store to hail Eliza. Then Eliza realized there hadn't been another horse tied to the rail next to Sabra. Unless one of the Starks had driven her into town, which wasn't likely, Missouri Ann had walked to the store, tramping through the snow with her baby. Now she would be hurrying back in her thin shawl, carrying the little one. Not for the first time did Eliza thank God for giving her such a good life, such a good husband.

*   *   *

Eliza did not tell the children about Missouri Ann and Nance for fear they might mention to someone at church that the two were moving to the Spooner farm. She heard Davy and Luzena get up early, giggling, tiptoeing to her bed to see if she was sleeping. Eliza kept her eyes closed until Luzena crawled into bed beside her and asked in a loud whisper, “Aren't you awake, Mama?”

“Why, it's early yet. Go back to bed. What possesses the two of you to rise so far from dawn?”

“It's Christmas, Mama,” Davy told her.

“Why, so it is. I forgot.”

“You didn't forget,” Luzena said. “There's two oranges on the table that weren't there last night.”

“I wonder where they came from,” Eliza said.

“From you!” Davy told her. “You said you couldn't get them, but we knew you would.”

“There's something else for you, from your father,” Eliza told them, pushing back the quilts and stepping into her shoes. “Why, son, you already built the fire.”

Davy shrugged. “Papa always did it before you got up. I guess I can now. That's my Christmas present to you.”

Eliza dressed quickly and went to the pie safe, taking out the makings for breakfast. While she mixed the porridge in a black iron pot, which she hung on a crane over the fire, Davy cut slices of bread and put them on a fork to toast over the coals.

“What else? What else did Papa get us for Christmas?” Luzena asked, as she placed forks on the table. She removed a candle from a tin box—the candles were stored there so the mice wouldn't gnaw them—then set the family Bible next to it.

“First, we thank the Lord,” Eliza said. The three bowed their heads, while Eliza gave thanks for their food and asked that Will be safely returned to them. When she was finished, she picked up the Bible to read the Christmas story, but the children fidgeted so that she decided the reading could wait. She told Luzena, “Fetch me my sewing basket.” The girl jumped up and returned with the basket. Eliza reached into its bottom, underneath a piece of fabric, and removed the doll. “Your papa made it,” she told Luzena, who shrieked at the sight of the wooden toy.

“It looks just like me,” she said, stroking the corn-silk hair that Eliza had attached to the doll's head. “She has a dress like mine and a quilt like Papa's.” Luzena sat down and began examining the doll's clothes.

“And this is for you, Davy.” Eliza handed the knife to her son.

“Swell!” he said, fingering the blade.

Luzena looked up from her doll, then. “There's nothing for you, Mama.”

“Oh yes there is. I have a letter from your father right here. I picked it up yesterday and decided to wait until Christmas Day to read it.” She stood and removed the letter from the mantel where she had placed it the night before, then slowly unfolded it, thinking that Will's hands had been the last to touch the precious page. She pictured him in the candlelight of his tent or maybe perched on a rock in the winter sun, pencil in hand, thinking of her as he set down the words. She glanced at the salutation and read the first line to herself.

“Read it out loud,” Luzena demanded. She removed the doll's white apron and ironed it between her fingers.

Eliza smiled at Davy and Luzena, then began to read.

December 5, 1864

My Beloved Eliza & children

Eliza's voice caught, and she paused a moment to get control of herself. She had tried hard to keep the children from knowing how much she missed their father, how worried she was for his safety—and for their own future.

“What does he say?” Davy asked.

She began again.

My Beloved Eliza & children,

I take this opportunity to tell you I am well & hearty & that Enoch delivered your quilt this evening. I immediately put it to use, to the joy of my pards. It is as fine a quilt as ever was. The other soldiers envy my good fortune in having such a thoughtful wife. No one in camp has ever seen such a patriotic quilt. I am glad my name is on it, else it would be stole. There never was a wife as good as you.

Eliza paused to savor the compliments. She knew they would be followed with instructions, maybe criticisms, and they were.

Keep a good account of money matters, & do not be tempted to spend foolishly.

As if she would, Eliza thought.

It is said we will do battle with the Secesh tomorrow, & I expect we will whip them, for they are cowardly fools who do not deserve the name of men. I never detested a group of human beings so much. There is no man so wicked as one who holds another in bondage & I believe there is not a single Johnny Reb I could admire. I expect to dispatch a number of them to hell. I ask your prayers that we kill every last one of them.

I am glad you have finished the harvest. It should not have taxed you too much. Sell the excess, & keep the money in a safe place. I will be home in time for planting if we beat the G—d d——d Johnnies. Tell Davy I will get a Rebel for him.

The weather has turned cold. I thank you again for the quilt. I will think of you each night, dear wife, until we can sleep under it together. I pray the Lord will provide for you & our country.

Tell the children to have faith in God & love their mother. Keep in good spirits & all will be well.

Until I see you again, I hold you in my heart.

Your Affectionate Husband

William T. Spooner

Eliza held the letter over her own heart for a moment and shut her eyes to keep the tears from falling. It was the best letter she had ever received from Will. She suddenly thought of what Missouri Ann had told her, that her husband couldn't write, and so she would have no final letter from him, no letters at all, in fact.

“Will Papa really kill a Rebel for me?” Davy asked. “I hate them as much as he does, maybe more, because they will try to kill him.”

“We don't hate anyone,” Eliza replied, wishing Will had not been so outspoken in the letter.

“Well, I do. I hate the Secesh, and I hope Papa kills a peck of them!”

“It is Christmas Day, Davy, a day of love, not hate,” Eliza said. “Now go milk Bossie, and I'll hitch Sabra to the wagon. We will go to church.”

“In the snow?”

“We'll take the sleigh,” Eliza said, suddenly remembering the vehicle, and the children clapped their hands. She had forgotten about the sleigh, which Will had acquired the previous winter from an undertaker who was passing through. The man had learned the new art of embalming, which was being used to treat the Union dead—the wealthy ones, at any rate—and was going to Colorado to try his luck with the miners. “It's terrible accidents they have in the mines. I can make the dead look like they're only sleeping, fix them so's they can be shipped back home. A body embalmed by me never turns black,” he had said. The man was from the South and thought the land west of the Missouri would be covered in snow, so he'd had a sleigh fitted up in Kansas City. But he had discovered the prairie was bare dirt, and so he'd traded the sleigh to Will for a rickety wagon.

The sleigh was a pretty thing, painted red with gold designs and
EMBALMERS OF THE DEAD
in black and gold letters on the side. Eliza had intended to paint out the words, but she hadn't gotten around to it. Some might think it sacrilegious to ride to church with that lettering on the sleigh on Christmas Day, but she believed God enjoyed a laugh, even if some of the parishioners didn't. Still, she would have to paint out the words before Easter. “Embalmers of the Dead” wouldn't be funny on the day Jesus rose from the dead. But then, Easter was in the spring, too late for a sleigh ride.

“Davy, you do the milking quick now, while I hitch up the horse. Luzena, put bricks in the hearth. We'll wrap them in blankets to keep our feet warm.”

“How will we keep our feet warm after church?” the girl asked, a reasonable question.

“We can sing hymns and stamp our feet as we drive back.”

“I'd rather sing ‘When Papa Comes Marching Home,'” Davy said. Eliza had taught the song to the children, substituting “Papa” for “Johnny.”

I would, too, Eliza thought, as she donned her cloak and headed for the barn.

The snow had stopped in the night, and the ground was covered with a foot of white. The sun glinted on it, making Eliza squint as she made her way to the barn. Perhaps she should put black under her eyes to keep the glare from hurting them. But she couldn't arrive at church on Christmas Day looking like a raccoon.

On occasion, she was just a little vain. And with good reason. At thirty-three, she was still a beauty. Her black hair had only a few strands of white—like stars on a dark night, Will had told her. Despite the birth of Davy and Luzena and two babies afterward who hadn't lived, she retained the figure she'd had on her wedding day fifteen years earlier. She was faithful about wearing her sunbonnet, so her face was still pale and unwrinkled, although her hands, she had to admit, were rough from hard work. She prided herself on her straight back, which made her look even taller than her five-foot-seven-inch height. She took a kind of perverse pride in being too tall to be fashionable. They were a couple who stood above the crowd, Will had observed, for he was near six feet himself.

Eliza had always known she would marry him. They had grown up together, had both attended the little school at the bottom of the hill of his grandparents' farm in Ohio. It was assumed by their families, too, that they would marry. What no one assumed was that the couple would leave Ohio for Kansas. But Will was restless among so much family. Although Eliza was content to stay with her people, Will had wanted to try for Oregon. Then a friend told him of the vast prairies west of the Missouri just waiting to be broken by a plow. So the two had headed for Kansas. If Kansas didn't suit, they could go to Oregon later on. But although Eliza had missed the lushness of Ohio and its pretty white buildings set on shady streets, Will had loved the rolling hills and golden prairie and announced they were home.

Life hadn't been easy, especially at first. They had lived in a house made of strips of sod, and there had been rattlesnakes—and Indians. At first, Eliza had been terrified of the red men. One day, when Will was in the fields, three Indian men had ridden up to the soddy. She had been outside with the children, baking in the outdoor oven that Will had constructed for her. The Indians rode between her and the house, and there was no way she could reach it, to barricade herself inside with the children.