A Quilt for Christmas (12 page)

“Pity they don't go to work then,” Print said.

“Oh, Starks don't work. They only steal.”

“How come you married one then?” Davy spoke up.

Eliza sought to hush him, but Missouri Ann replied, “My husband was different. He was a good man.” She looked at Nance when she said that, and Eliza thought what a difficult thing it would be to raise a little girl who'd know her family was mean and spiteful. Missouri Ann was right to praise Hugh.

“Where will you take Clara next?”

“It's best you don't know. The less you know, the safer she is. And you, too.”

“Would you have a bite of supper?” Eliza asked Print. “We are about to sit to it.” She had killed a chicken and boiled it, thinking the broth would strengthen Clara. And there was cornbread, dandelion greens, and sauce that Luzena had made from dried apples, saying if she were sick, that was what she would like to eat.

“I wouldn't want to rob you,” Print said.

“Sit, Mr. Ritter. We would welcome the presence of a man in this dangerous time.” She pointed to Will's place at the table, which had been empty since he went away to war. Then she and Missouri Ann helped Clara to the chair at the other end, while the rest of them sat down on benches on either side. Clara sagged in the chair and could barely pick up her spoon, and Eliza said, “You see how weak she is, Mr. Ritter. The fever has passed, but it will be another day or two before she can take more than a few steps.” She lowered her voice, although Clara didn't seem to be paying attention. “Her back was whipped to shreds. It is a miracle she survived. How could anyone do such a thing to another human being?”

“You understand now why we care so much about helping people like her escape,” Print replied.

“And I know what my husband fought and died for.”

*   *   *

Clara slept late into the morning two days later and had not yet awakened when Eliza and Missouri Ann left the house. When they returned at noon, the slave sat on the bed, her fever gone, one of the bed quilts in her hand, stitching.

“She found a place where the quilt was torn and asked for a needle,” Luzena said. “I'd sew, too, but the oxen aren't behaving today.” The girl had set up the wagon train again for Nance.

Clara held up the quilt for Eliza's inspection. She had mended not only the torn spot but other places where the stitching had come loose.

“Such tiny stitches. I myself could not match them.”

“I work in the big house, stitched all mist'ess' clothes. Then she sent me to the fields.” She frowned and was silent.

“Did you make quilts, too?”

“I did. Made my own squares. I help you with your top, you want me to.”

Eliza clapped her hands. “I wish I could stay and stitch with you.”

“Well, why don't you?” Missouri Ann said. Eliza could join her later in the field.

“You wouldn't mind? I won't stay more than a few minutes. My hands itch to piece.”

“Do you good,” Missouri Ann told her.

After Missouri Ann was gone, Eliza bolted the door, then took out her piecing. “Why were you sent to the fields?” she asked, by way of making conversation.

“My boy looked just like the master,” Clara replied. “Mist'ess don't want me around.”

Eliza was ashamed of herself. She should have remembered that the mistress's husband had fathered Clara's child. “I ask you to forgive me,” she said, and bent over her sewing.

“Ain't nothing to forgive.” Clara paused. “I try to forgive the mist'ess for taking away my Joe and the master that sold my husband, but I can't.”

“You had a husband? And he was sold?” Eliza couldn't help blurting out.

“Me and him jumped the broomstick when I was 'bout fourteen. He stood up to the master when he come to the cabin, and the master don't like that. So he sells Billy. I won't never see him again. He's dead to me, just like your husband.”

The mention of Will made Eliza look up. “My husband truly is dead, but couldn't you find your Billy, maybe after this war is done with?”

“How?” Clara asked.

“You could go back.”

Clara shook her head. “Not till Resurrection Day. They'd kill me.”

“Then you are a widow as much as I and Mrs. Stark. All three of us have lost half of who we are,” Eliza told her. She folded the sewing and stood up, saying it was time for Clara to rest. As she left, she warned Luzena to bolt the door.

“We'll never get to Colorado with the door closed,” Luzena told Nance as they sat in the make-believe covered wagon.

When Eliza reached the field, Missouri Ann observed, “Clara quilts as good as you.”

“Better, except maybe for Will's Stars and Stripes.” Eliza was thinking of the Christmas quilt, wondering again what had become of it. Then she heard the dinner bell and knew there was trouble.

 

CHAPTER SIX

April 3, 1865

Davy was the first to hear the mules. He had been forking fresh straw into the horse's stall when he heard the men ride up, and he rushed outside. When he saw Dad Stark and three of his sons mounted on mules, he ran to the dinner bell, mounted on a post, and pulled the rope back and forth, until one of the Stark boys came up beside him, pushed him aside, and stilled the bell.

Off in the field, Eliza and Missouri Ann heard the clanging. “Run,” Eliza called, and the two dropped their hoes and bolted for the house.

The Starks sat on their mules, taking their time, smirking at the fear on Davy's face and the anguish of the two women who came running into the barnyard, gasping for breath. Missouri Ann lifted her apron and ran it across her wet face.

With a contemptuous glare, Dad Stark looked Missouri Ann up and down and said, “So they turned you into a field hand, did they, girlie?”

She didn't answer. Instead, she said, “You're drunk as a fiddler, Dad Stark. You come here to make trouble for me? Get on home.”

“Blamed if we will,” said Amos, one of the sons.

“This is my property. You are not welcome here, Mr. Stark,” Eliza told him. “You and your boys are trespassing. You'd best be on your way.” Her hands were damp, and she rubbed them on her skirt.

Dad Stark shifted on his mule and spat tobacco juice at Eliza's feet. “Don't be telling me what to do, missus. You and Missouri Ann and that pup there ain't big enough to take us on. We'll leave when we get what we come for.”

“Missouri Ann is not going with you. The reverend told you to keep away from her. You know that,” Eliza said. She hoped the Starks would believe she assumed their reason for coming to the Spooner farm was to fetch Missouri Ann. She would pretend she knew nothing about a runaway slave, of course.

“Oh, we didn't come for her. She's worthless. Edison don't want her anyway. We come for the slave girl.”

“I believe Mr. Lincoln abolished slavery, although that is beside the point. We do not believe in human bondage. There are no slaves on this farm. Surely you are aware of that, Mr. Stark.” Despite her words, Eliza almost shook with fear.

“I don't care about that damn-fool Lincoln. Slavery's still legal south of here. And murder ain't. She's a killer. We ain't leaving without the colored girl.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. We haven't seen a colored girl.”

Dad Stark gave a bark of a laugh, showing his stained teeth, and spat a wad of tobacco onto the ground, while Taft and Amos Stark dismounted and started for the barn.

“Hey, you can't go in there,” Davy said. He took a step toward them, the hay fork in his hand.

Taft swatted it away. “Step aside, boy,” he said. “We got business here.” He ripped the implement from Davy's hand, saying it might come in handy.

Davy glanced at Eliza, who dropped her eyes to let him know not to confront the men, and he and the two women watched as the brothers disappeared into the barn. After a time, they came out shaking their heads. “She ain't hid there, Pa,” Amos said.

“Check that haystack. Blamed abolitionists always hide slaves in haystacks.”

As Amos jabbed the fork into the hay, Eliza held her breath, hoping Luzena had not had time to secrete Clara there. The sharp prongs went in and out, but they hit nothing solid, and Eliza decided that Luzena must have hidden Clara under the floorboards in the house.

Dad Stark and his third son, Ben, dismounted. “Where's the woman?” Dad Stark demanded, coming so close to Eliza that the animal scent of him repulsed her.

“I've told you that there is no slave here. Why would you think we are hiding anyone?” she asked.

“We followed Print Ritter when he come to your house last night. He's got no other business here.”

Eliza glanced at Missouri Ann, who seemed to cower now under the man's gaze, her bravery gone. It was not Eliza's place to say why Print had visited, and she thought her friend might be frightened to tell her former father-in-law that she was being courted.

Missouri Ann fidgeted and wouldn't look Dad Stark in the eye. Finally she said in a low voice, “Ain't your business if he comes courting.”

“Courting!” Dad Stark burst out. “Girl, you ain't been a widow six months. You dishonor my son. You ain't worthy of the name Stark.” Dad ran his hand through his hair and scratched his head. “It ain't enough to knock you down. I ought to take a whip to you. You think you moved in with the quality and are living white-bread times. Why, you're no better than a whore.”

“Mr. Stark!” Eliza said. “I will have no such language on my farm.”

“What are you going to do about it? I got three grown men with me, and you're nothing but a couple of women and a boy.”

Eliza put her hand out to stop Davy from taking a step forward, thinking how unjust the times were. Will was dead, but these worthless men were alive and well.

“You just tell me what you done with that slave girl, and you can throw Missouri Ann and her worthless whelp to the hogs, for all I care,” Dad Stark continued.

“And you can go to hell for all I care,” Missouri Ann told him.

“You ain't got the right to talk to me that way!” Dad Stark flung back his hand and slapped Missouri Ann across the face. “You watch your tongue, or I'll toss you over my mule and take you back to marry Edison. Lord knows why that boy fancies you, or Hugh, neither. I never understood why he'd marry a puny thing like you that ain't woman enough for a Stark, when he could have got any woman in Wabaunsee County. You tricked him into it, getting yourself in the family way. Maybe that girl of yours, that Nance, ain't Hugh's at all. Starks spawn boys.”

“How can you say it!” Missouri Ann cried.

Missouri Ann's face was dark where Dad Stark had slapped her, and Eliza knew there would be an ugly bruise. She was afraid the man might live up to his threat to snatch up Missouri Ann, so she stepped forward. “We have nothing to hide. You have my permission to search the farm,” she said, knowing the men would do that whether she agreed to it or not. “And when you are finished, you are to leave.”

“Don't need your permission,” Dad Stark replied. He threw out his hand to indicate to his sons that they were to look about the farm. Amos went to the soddy, where Eliza could hear him throwing things about. In a moment, he came outside, holding a quilt, saying maybe their mother would like it.

Eliza started to protest. Missouri Ann had made the quilt top just after Christmas, had pieced a giant star for the center and smaller stars to surround it. The two women had quilted the coverlet on snowy winter evenings. “No—” Eliza said, but Missouri Ann touched her arm.

“It's all right,” she said softly. “It's for Mother Stark.”

Dad Stark studied her a moment, then smirked. “Or maybe for one of the mules. Might make a good saddle blanket.”

Missouri Ann refused to rise to the bait. “Maybe.”

Eliza stared at the old man, but out of the corner of her eye, she watched the Stark boys as they moved from the soddy to the smokehouse to the storm cellar. “Not in here, neither,” Ben said, coming up the storm cellar steps carrying a crock of dried peaches. “Want some of these, Pa?” he asked, reaching into the crock and removing a handful of fruit, dropping some onto the ground. Eliza pursed her lips. She had traded for a bushel of peaches the summer before, had dried them herself, and was saving them for something special, maybe a peach pie on Independence Day. But she would not anger the Starks by ordering Ben to return the crock to the cellar.

“Never liked a peach,” Dad said, and Ben upended the crock, dropping the peaches in the dirt.

The Stark boys finished searching the farm. “I guess she ain't here,” Dad Stark said, and then toying with Eliza and Missouri Ann, he added, “Oh, I forgot. We ain't looked in the house yet. You think maybe somebody hid her in there?” He grinned at Eliza, as if he had told a joke.

Eliza stared straight ahead, hoping her face did not betray her fear. She said nothing, as Ben and Taft went to the house and tried the door. It was latched. Taft attempted to shove it, but the door held firm. “It's bolted from inside, Pa,” Taft said.

“Well, I guess I know that, don't I?” Dad Stark said. “You think I don't got eyes?” He turned to Eliza. “You tell whoever's in there to open it up.”

Eliza did not answer, only straightened her back and stared at the man.

“Unbolt the house,” Dad Stark yelled.

The curtain in the window moved, but there was no reply. Then the shutter inside the house closed, and Eliza knew Luzena had fastened it. Although Luzena must be frightened, she had acted with steadfastness. Eliza was proud of her. Will would have been proud of her. The Starks could no more break into the house through the window than they could shove open the door. Luzena would keep the place closed up until the Starks gave up or someone came along the road to help. Maybe Print or even John Hamlin would have a notion something was wrong.