The Quilter's Legacy (8 page)

Reluctantly, Eleanor handed her the muslin. “Why couldn't we do the embroidery later, all at once, after the diamonds are sewn together?”

“We could, and I suppose some quilters probably do. As for me, I find it easier to embroider something small enough to hold in one hand.”

Miss Langley traded Eleanor's sewing sharp for a longer, sturdier embroidery needle. Eleanor took it, but couldn't resist adding, “We could embroider this right in front of Mother and she wouldn't even get mad.”

“If I didn't know better, I might think you only want to quilt in order to anger her. Or perhaps you're simply pouting. Very well. If embroidery has become too routine for you, I'll teach you a few new stitches.”

She did teach Eleanor new stitches—the Portuguese stem stitch, the Vandyke stitch, and the Maidenhair. They were more difficult than any she had previously mastered, and attempting them required all her concentration.

The morning passed. Eleanor would have gladly spent the whole day sewing in the shade of the apple trees with Miss Langley, but as noon approached, her nanny began to glance more frequently toward the house. Then she announced that the lesson was over.

“But Mother isn't home yet.”

“Not yet.” Miss Langley began packing up her sewing basket. “But she will be soon, and I would like your Crazy Quilt block safely out of sight before then. And you do recall it is Wednesday?”

Eleanor's heart sank. She had forgotten it was Miss Langley's afternoon off. “Do you have to go?”

“I'm afraid so.” Miss Langley rose and held out her hand. “Harriet will look after you until your mother and sister return.”

Harriet. Eleanor pretended not to see Miss Langley's hand and climbed to her feet without any help. Without a word, she picked up her things and headed for the house.

Miss Langley fell in step beside her. “Now, Eleanor, don't sulk. I'll be back in time to tuck you in.”

Eleanor did not care. Harriet would scold Eleanor if she tried to read or play the piano and would probably have her polishing silver within minutes of Miss Langley's departure. Worse yet, Miss Langley surely knew that, but she was leaving anyway.

She stomped upstairs to the nursery and slammed the door, something she never would have dared to do if Mother were home. She sat in the window seat with a book on her lap, listlessly looking out the window. When she heard the heavy front door swing shut, she pressed her face against the window and saw Miss Langley striding toward the carriage house. She had changed into a brown dress and hat with a ribbon, and a well-worn satchel swung from one hand.

Eleanor jumped to her feet, then hurried downstairs and outside. She stole into the carriage house just as the driver finished hitching up the horses, chatting with Miss Langley as he worked. Her heart pounding, Eleanor held her breath and climbed onto the back of the carriage as she had seen the grocer's boy do. With a lurch, the carriage began to move.

Dizzy and fearful, Eleanor tore her eyes away from the ground passing beneath the carriage wheels and fixed them on the house, waiting for Harriet to burst through the front doors and run shouting after her. But the iron gates closed, and the carriage pulled onto the street. She pressed herself against the carriage, both to make herself smaller and less visible to others, but also out of fear that she would tumble from her insecure perch. The short drive to the train station had never seemed longer, but eventually the carriage came to a halt. Eleanor knew she should leap to the ground and hide before Miss Langley descended, but she could not move. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, steadying breath. She would not be afraid. She would not.

The carriage door closed; Miss Langley's shoes sounded on the pavement. Eleanor heard the driver chirrup to the horses, and with a gasp, she jumped down from her seat a scant moment before the carriage drove away.

At once a crowd of passersby swept her up and carried her down the sidewalk. She managed to weave her way through the crowd to the station house, where she looked about frantically for Miss Langley. She was not waiting in the queue at the ticket window, nor was she seated in any of the chairs. Eleanor went outside to the platform, where a train waited. She did not know if this was Miss Langley's train, and it would do no good to ask about its destination, for she had no idea where her nanny went on her afternoons off. Even if she had known, she had no money for the fare.

“Miss Langley,” she whispered, and then shouted, “Miss Langley! Miss Langley!”

She called out again and again, until suddenly a hand clamped down on her shoulder and whirled her about. “Eleanor.” Miss Langley regarded her, incredulous. “How on earth—” She glanced at her watch and shook her head. “I cannot send you back alone, and there isn't time to take you back myself.” She gave Eleanor a searching look. “I suppose if I had allowed you to ride Wildrose as you asked, you would not have been so determined to accompany me. Well, there's nothing to be done now but make the best of it. Stay close, and say nothing of this to your parents.”

Eleanor shook her head. Of course she would tell them nothing; she fervently hoped they would never know she had left the nursery. She mumbled an apology as Miss Langley marched her back into the station and bought her a ticket. Miserable, Eleanor wondered what portion of a day's wages Miss Langley had spent on her charge's fare.

Miss Langley took her hand and led her aboard the train. “Sit,” she instructed when she found two unoccupied seats across from each other. Then she directed her gaze out the window as if she had forgotten Eleanor was there. Eleanor stared out the window as well, hoping to lose herself in the passing scenes of the city, but she couldn't bear the punishment of Miss Langley's silence.

“Where are we going?” she finally asked, less from curiosity than from the need to have Miss Langley acknowledge her.

“The garment district.”

Eleanor nodded, although this told her nothing. She knew little of New York except for the streets right around her father's store.

They rode on in silence, and gradually Eleanor forgot her guilt in her anticipation of the outing. Where would Miss Langley take her? To meet her family? A beau? The former seemed unlikely, as the only relatives Miss Langley had ever mentioned were far away in England, but the latter was impossible. She could not picture her nanny linking her arm through a man's and laughing up at him as Mother did to Father when they were not fighting. Not even Abigail's tale about the baby could change her mind about that.

After a time, the train slowed and they disembarked. As Miss Langley led her from the platform to the street, Eleanor looked about, wide-eyed. This station seemed older than the one closer to home, older and dirtier. The street was even more so. Not one tree or bit of greenery interrupted the brick and stone and steel of the factories; the very air was heavy with bustle and noise. She slipped her hand into Miss Langley's and stayed close.

They walked for blocks. Miss Langley asked her if she needed to ride, but Eleanor shook her head, thinking of the money Miss Langley had already spent. The noises of the factories lessened, but did not completely fade away until Miss Langley turned down a narrow, littered alley and rapped upon a weather-beaten wooden door. On the other side, someone moved a black drape aside from a small, square window. Then the door swung open, and a stooped, gray-haired woman ushered them inside without a word.

“The others are upstairs,” she told Miss Langley, sparing a curious glance for Eleanor.

Miss Langley noticed. “You can see the reason for my delay.”

The older woman tilted her head at Eleanor. “Shall I keep her in the kitchen?”

“No. I think it will be all right.”

The older woman clucked disapprovingly, but she led the way down a dark, musty hall and up a narrow staircase that creaked as they ascended. They stopped at a door through which Eleanor heard a murmur of voices. The older woman knocked twice before admitting Miss Langley. Eleanor followed on her heels, but stopped just inside the room as the older woman closed the door behind them. The dozen women already there greeted Miss Langley by her Christian name and regarded Eleanor with surprise, wariness, or concern, depending, Eleanor guessed, upon their own temperaments. One ruddy-cheeked woman burst out laughing. Her hands were chapped and raw, her clothing coarse, but so were those of two other women present, and they sat among the well-dressed ladies as if they might actually be friends. Only two of the women did not seem to notice Eleanor's presence: a dark-haired woman in a fine blue silk dress who revealed her nervousness by tinkling her spoon in her teacup in a manner that would have earned the Lock-wood girls a reprimand at home, and an elderly lady who sat by the stove in the corner smiling to herself.

Miss Langley apologized for her tardiness and removed her hat. “As you can see, Mary could not leave her little lamb at home today,” she added as she took the nearest chair and gestured for Eleanor to sit on the footstool.

“Never mind,” said one of the women, who was dressed so much like Miss Langley that Eleanor wondered if she were a nanny, too. “We've started without you.”

A deeper voice added, “But we're a long way from finished.”

Others chimed in as they told Miss Langley what she had missed. Their friends from upstate needed their help in organizing the demonstration at the capital, but while many of them were eager to assist, others insisted they were wasting their time with state governments and should instead concentrate on reform at the federal level. On the contrary, the others countered, success in one state would ease the way for others.

One debate swiftly flowed into another: Universal suffrage ought also to include coloreds and immigrants, with all impediments such as property ownership and literacy removed. No, they should fight for the rights of white women only unless they wanted to jeopardize the very structure of their society.

“Is that not precisely what we seek to do by seeking the vote for ourselves?” inquired Miss Langley, setting off another debate.

Eleanor followed the back-and-forth, fascinated. These women looked so ordinary but they talked like confounded radicals. Even Miss Langley. If Father could hear them, his eyes would bulge and the little blue vein at his temple would wriggle like a worm on hot pavement.

Then the woman in blue silk set aside her tea. “My husband has spoken to his colleague in Washington.”

The voices hushed.

“A certain influential senator has promised his public and unwavering support if we compromise on our demands.”

“What's he mean, exactly?” said a dark-haired woman in a thick, unfamiliar accent.

“He would limit suffrage to women who owned substantial property.”

The caveat made laughter echo off the walls of the dingy room, and the ruddy-cheeked woman laughed loudest of all. “I'd like to see him tell that to the girls on my floor,” she said, wiping a tear from an eye. “They'd drown him in their dye pots.”

“We cannot abandon any of our sisters,” said Miss Langley in her clear, precise tones. “A laundress may have as much reason as the wealthy woman who employs her. We cannot deny the workers their voice.”

The ruddy-cheeked woman applauded but the woman in blue silk looked to the heavens and sighed. “Reason, but no education. Do we want the ignorant masses determining the fate of our nation?”

Miss Langley fixed her with a level gaze. “You sound very much like the men who argue that no woman should vote.”

“You care more about your workers than the rights of women.”

Voices rose in a cacophony that hushed at a quiet word from the elderly woman in the corner. “Women who own substantial property are so few in number that their votes would scatter like dandelion seeds on the wind.” Her voice was low and musing. “No, it must be all women, including colored women, including those who cannot yet read and write or even speak English. Yes, they should learn, and we must see they are taught.”

She sipped her tea, but not one of those listening would have dreamed of interrupting. “Our emancipation must be twofold. We must have the vote, but we will not be truly independent until we are independent economically as well as politically.”

“Hear, hear,” said Miss Langley quietly, as the others murmured their assent.

The elderly woman smiled fondly at her. “And to that end, you must continue your work.”

Miss Langley nodded.

The elderly woman went on to say that she hoped they would attend the demonstration, and she would express their concerns to the others in her organization. Then she rose, bid them farewell, and departed, accompanied by one of the younger women in the group.

The meeting broke up after that; Miss Langley spoke quietly with a few of the others, then took Eleanor by the hand and led her back down the creaking staircase and outside. Eleanor pondered the strange gathering as they walked back to the train station, so absorbed in her thoughts that she forgot the cramp in her side and her labored breathing. She was sure she heard Miss Langley tell the ruddy-faced woman something about a union and something more about a strike.

As the station came into view, Miss Langley broke her silence. “You were a good girl, Eleanor.” Then she laughed, quietly. “I imagine today was quite an education for you.”

Eleanor nodded, but she didn't think she had learned very much because she had so many questions. She had understood enough, though, to realize Miss Langley would be discharged if Eleanor's parents discovered her activities.

“Miss Langley,” she ventured as they boarded the train, “who was that woman, the one everyone listened to?”

Miss Langley did not reply until they had seated themselves in an unoccupied compartment. “We call her Miss Anthony. She is the leader of an important organization, and the rest of us were honored by her visit.”

“When she said you must continue your work …” Eleanor hesitated. “She didn't mean being my nanny, did she?”

“No.”

Eleanor waited for her to explain, but when she said nothing, Eleanor asked, “Are you a confounded radical?”

Miss Langley burst into laughter. “I suppose some people would call me that, yes.”