True Colors (10 page)

Esther pointed out Jacob Bayley, Moses Hazen, and Timothy Hinman. They’d built the first roads here. I didn’t think building roads was nearly as exciting as outrunning a runaway pond, but I didn’t say so.

As I looked at the quilt, it came to me for the first time that all the famous Vermonters we’d studied were men. Not once had Miss Paisley mentioned any women. Come to think of it, we’d hardly studied any famous women, period.

“Is there something wrong?” Esther asked.

“It’s just …,” I said. “I was just wondering … weren’t there any famous
women
back then?”

Esther laughed.

“Of course there were,” she said, “but they never get into the history books.”

“Yes, it’s a shame how those old stories get forgotten,” said Mrs. Fitch. “Timothy Hinman’s daughter was my great-great-great-grandmother, and when she was just five years old, her father left her and her brother here all winter with Indians while he went back to get the rest of the family in Connecticut. Can you imagine?”

“They were tough women back then,” Mrs. Barclay agreed. “My great-great-great-grandmother walked one hundred and fifty miles through deep snow, pulling her children in a handsled, after the team of oxen starved to death.” And Mrs. Appleby chimed in with, “My great-great-grandmother had to support thirteen children by herself after her husband was killed by a falling tree.”

“When my great-grandfather went off to the Civil War,” Mrs. Thompson said, “my great-grandmother disguised herself as a man so she’d be able to fight alongside him. My great-grandfather always said she was a better shot than he was, anyway. They only discovered she was a woman when she gave birth to my grandfather! Imagine the shock of the other soldiers when they heard that baby crying!”

Mrs. Potter told of her ancestor who’d been a doctor back when women weren’t even allowed to go to college. Esther’s grandmother and great-grandmother had worked
all their lives for the right of women to vote, and Hannah’s Scottish great-grandmother had crossed the ocean all by herself, at fifteen, to start a new life here, and her grandmother had been a nurse in the Civil War.

They all sounded like women not to be trifled with, either. Not one of them would have been scared of the Wright brothers. They would have stood up to them, not hidden in the bushes and thrown a stone.

Listening to all the stories about family, and ancestors, and recipes handed down got me to wishing again that I knew something about
my
ancestors. In third grade, when we’d studied geography, Miss Paisley had asked all of us to find out where our ancestors had come from. When she’d asked me, I’d just stared down at my feet, and Miss Paisley said, “Oh, Blue, I’m
so
sorry, I just wasn’t
thinking
,” which had only made it all worse. Trying to make up for it, she’d let me stick the little flag pins onto the globe, but I would have traded that for knowing who my ancestors were, and where they’d come from.

The best part of the quilting club meeting was the refreshments afterward. Mrs. Barclay served lemonade and molasses cookies, Mrs. Potter had brought brownies, and Hannah had made scones and shortbread.

Mrs. Appleby passed around pictures from a trip she’d taken to England.

“Of course, London is still terribly devastated from the war,” she said, “but the surrounding countryside was glorious.
We even took the train up into Scotland. You would have loved that, Hannah.”

The way Hannah was studying those photos told me that she
would
have loved it. Hannah had grown up listening to stories of Scotland, and she must have dreamed about seeing it for herself someday. She probably would have, if she hadn’t had me to raise. I wondered if Hannah had ever wished she hadn’t taken in that squalling baby. How would her life have been different if she
hadn’t
found me?

Hannah and I were all the way home before I realized I’d completely forgotten to ask about the quilt. Which meant I’d have to go to next week’s meeting.

chapter 13

The week seemed unusually long, probably because I didn’t have Nadine to play with. I saw her riding her bike one afternoon, and once I rode past on Dolly, but Nadine didn’t even wave.

I fed the cat morning and night. She still waited until I backed away before creeping toward the bowl, but at least she wasn’t running from me anymore.

“You know, when Nadine goes to the coronation, she’ll probably make the queen curtsy to
her
,” I told her.

The cat coughed. It could have been because she always gobbled her food too fast, but it sounded almost like a laugh to me.

The next quilting club meeting was at Mrs. Thompson’s house.

“We’re going to have our hands full finishing this quilt
in time,” Mrs. Appleby said. “I think we’d better meet twice a week until it’s finished.”

The other women agreed, and everyone found a place around the quilt. I wasn’t sure where to sit until Esther smiled at me and patted the seat next to her. I slid in beside her, and she handed me a needle. More pinpricked fingers, more knotted thread, but I was getting a little bit better at it.

Not that I
wanted
to get better at it. I was only there to try to get information. I sat thinking how I should bring up a conversation about the quilt—should I just show it, or ask first who’d been in the quilting group in 1941?—and was startled when I heard my name.

“I’ve been thinking about what Blue said last meeting,” Esther said. “We
should
have put some women in the quilt.”

“Well, it’s too late now,” said Mrs. Barclay. “There isn’t
time
. We have to have this quilt
done
by August thirteenth.”

“Still, we should have,” Esther said. “And someone should write down all these stories of our
women
ancestors before they’re lost.”

“Why don’t you do it, Ida?” Mrs. Fitch said. “You write your columns.”

“Well, I would,” Mrs. Barclay said, “but I’m going to be spending the next few weeks with my daughter and my new grandbaby.”

“What about you, Hannah?” Esther asked. “You know the history better than anyone.”

“Me?” Hannah said. “I’m no writer! Besides, I don’t have time for that.”

“Well,
someone
should,” Esther said.

“I don’t think the young people are even interested in hearing those stories,” Mrs. Thompson said. “I know my granddaughter isn’t. She’d rather listen to the radio or play records.”

Mrs. Potter nodded.

“My son just got one of those newfangled televisions, and my grandchildren are already
glued
to it,” she said.

“With all this new technology, they’re more interested in the future, not the past,” said Mrs. Appleby.

That got them to talking about how many people had died in the 1918 influenza epidemic, including Hannah’s father and brother (I hadn’t known that), and then Mrs. Thompson told how her mother had been the first woman in town to drive a car and she’d driven it right through the front window of Whitcher’s store, and then I got so caught up in Esther’s story about her cousin Marion who’d been only the third woman to hike the whole length of the Long Trail, back in 1932 (she’d even carried a pistol!), that I completely forgot about my quilt.

The third week was no better.

They started on recipes (again), then got off onto the 1927 flood (that was more interesting, hearing how high the water had gotten in town, and how many buildings and
bridges had been washed away, and how a cow had been found three days later—perfectly safe—on the roof of the Municipal Building and no one could figure out how she’d gotten there). I
almost
forgot to ask about my quilt, but just as I was trying to get a word in edgeways, Mrs. Fitch jumped up and said she was sure she had a picture somewhere of that cow on the roof, and another photo of Amelia Earhart when she’d visited Vermont.

While Mrs. Fitch was rummaging through her pictures, Mrs. Potter said, “We
have
had some famous people visit here,” and Hannah chimed in, “That’s right. I saw Teddy Roosevelt when he came to the fairgrounds in 1912. He was campaigning, and I shook his hand, but of course, that was before women had the right to vote.”

“Not only that,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Tell them about the time you met Tom Thumb.”

I took a good long look at Hannah. How many other things about her didn’t I know, and how come I hadn’t heard any of these stories before?

“It happened when I was just a little girl,” Hannah began. “There was a bad storm, the wind howling, driving sleety snow against the windows. We were asleep, but Father heard someone shout. He dressed as quick as he could, took the lantern, and went to the door. There, in our yard, was a tiny coach, pulled by two little black ponies, and a man and his wife, both less than three feet tall. He introduced himself as Tom Thumb. They were on a winter tour
and had come over the mountain when the storm hit. They were soaked and shivering. Mother hurried to feed them some hot tea and soup while Father took care of the horses. They slept in the very bed that Blue sleeps in now. The next morning, I thought they were playmates that Mother and Father had gotten for me, and I cried buckets when they left.”

Imagine. Tom Thumb had slept in our house!

Mrs. Appleby told a story about her aunt Bertha having the hiccups for three days, which I couldn’t see had anything to do with anything they’d been talking about, and then they got into a discussion about babies, and how Mrs. Potter’s daughter had been in labor for seventy-two hours before having her baby, and when they got to talking about potty training, I up and decided I was going home. I mean, who wants to hear that? Especially before having refreshments!

I’d already decided I wasn’t coming back, either. After three meetings, I still didn’t have a clue who could have made my quilt.

I was wondering how I could sneak out (and snitch one or two of Mrs. Thompson’s chocolate chip cookies without anyone noticing) when Esther pulled some pieces of fabric from her ragbag and one fluttered to the floor. It was the blue print with daisies on it.

chapter 14