A Quilt for Christmas (25 page)

*   *   *

The three of them—Eliza, Daniel, and Luzena—did Davy's chores, then took turns sitting beside the boy. With the threshing done, there was not so much work now. Eliza's friends heard of the accident and came with beef tea and custard for Davy, soup and pie for the others. The women insisted on sitting with Davy while Eliza went outside for air.

“Sick begets sick,” Ettie told Eliza, shooing her out for a walk in the orchard. The weather was cold, but the brisk air felt good after the sickroom, and the fallen apples smelled like cider. Eliza returned refreshed, and left the door open to cool the room. Davy had been in and out of consciousness, but when Eliza turned to the bed, she saw his eyes were open. “He woke just after you left,” Ettie said.

Eliza rushed to the bed and put her cold hand against Davy's face. His forehead was no longer hot. “The fever is gone,” she said, and would have hugged her son, but he had closed his eyes again, and Eliza supposed he had gone back to sleep.

As Eliza gazed at Davy, Daniel entered the room. “Almost good as new,” Ettie told him. “The boy'll be out milking again before you know it.” Daniel glanced at Eliza, and they exchanged a look that caused Ettie to stand and collect her things and say she must be on her way.

*   *   *

Later that evening, as the two sat on the porch, bundled up against the cold, Eliza told Daniel that Davy might have died without him. “I believe if you hadn't stayed for harvest, Davy could be dead. You saved his life, Mr. Judd.”

“You put too fine a point on it. If I hadn't stayed for harvest, there wouldn't have been a threshing crew, and Davy wouldn't have been hurt at all.”

“There's that.” Eliza laughed, feeling lighthearted because of Davy's recovery. But then she frowned and said, “There is something between us that needs clearing up.” She took a deep breath. “I must pay you for the threshing crew.”

Daniel relaxed. “Oh, that. Yes, if you must.”

“I mean I must pay the full price. You had no right to commit me to such an amount.”

“I didn't.”

“The price was more by half than what you told me.”

Daniel shifted his feet and looked at the ground. “We needed threshers, and I had the money. It came to me a month ago from the sale of my farm.”

“I cannot accept it. I will pay you the balance after the money for the wheat comes in.”

“I won't take it.”

“You have no choice,” Eliza told him.

Daniel, who had been sitting on the porch step, rose and stood over Eliza. “You saved my life. Do you not think my life is worth that small amount of money?”

“I cannot accept it.” Eliza would not budge. “You saved Davy's life, so that cleans the slate. Besides, you have worked for us without compensation these last months. It is I who should pay you.”

“I am not so poor as you think,” Daniel told her. “I sold the land in Kentucky for a good price, as well as the horses. I can afford to pay your threshers. And you will suffer from privation next year if you don't let me help you.”

“That is not the point, Mr. Judd.”

“But it is precisely the point, Mrs. Spooner.”

Eliza shook her head and said she would have the money for him before he moved on. “You will be moving on, of course.” Then she added, “Won't you?”

“I don't want to. Perhaps I should stay a little longer, until Davy is well. You'll need help with his chores.”

Eliza felt a weight lift from her heart. For a moment, she did not trust herself to speak. Then she said in a steady voice, “And leave at Christmas then? Or the spring?”

“Or maybe never.”

Eliza stopped rocking as she mulled over the words. Daniel put his hand on her shoulder, and she glanced down at his fingers, slender but strong. “I might have need of a hired man next year,” she said.

“I am not talking about being your hired hand.”

Eliza was rigid now, staring out at the leaves that blew across the barnyard. Then she pulled her shawl around her, her finger poking through the thin fabric. “This is not a proper conversation.”

“It is entirely proper, for my intention is honorable. I came here to return your quilt, and when I saw the condition of your farm, I stayed on to help. It was the least I could do. But I fell in love with you, maybe even on that first day. I thought it best to leave after a week, but I couldn't. Perhaps I should have, because I did not believe you would return the affection of a Confederate. But I have come to hope otherwise. After all, we are no longer North and South but united now. I would like to stay on and farm this place with you—as your husband. Will you accept me?”

Eliza stared straight ahead, not at Daniel but at a leaf that had blown against the porch. It held for a moment, then another gust of wind lifted it into the air and swirled it away. Her mind, like the leaf, was in turmoil. Did she love this man? She had never thought to marry again, had never examined her feelings toward him. But over the last weeks, she had grown comfortable with him, had not wanted him to leave.

“Mrs. Spooner?” Daniel said. “Eliza?”

“I don't know, Mr. Judd. I don't know what to say. I can't think.”

He knelt beside the rocker. “But you will think about it. Tell me you will.”

Eliza nodded. “I will. I will think about it.” Daniel rose and started to turn away, but Eliza took his sleeve. “I must wait until Davy is better, but I will think about it.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

November 20, 1865

Eliza slept little that night. Her mind wandered from joy that Davy's fever was gone and worry about whether he could use his arm, to confusion over Daniel's proposal. Before dawn, she awoke and quietly built up the fire. Then she ground coffee, mixed it with water in a pot, and set the pot in the coals. While the coffee boiled, she moved silently to Davy's bed to see if he was awake. But he slept soundly, so when the coffee was thick and black, she poured it into a tin cup and went outside to watch for the dawn.

While Daniel's proposal had shocked her, Eliza realized now that she should have expected it. He had been leading up to it, perhaps for weeks. Of course, she should have made clear she was not interested in marrying again, asked him to leave before the harvest or to go off with the threshing crew. Marrying a Confederate was out of the question. Davy would not stand for it. Her neighbors would not. How could she marry a man who had fought against the Union, against her husband? Besides, Will had not been dead a year. What would people think of her marrying again so soon? And then she smiled, remembering how pleased she'd been when both Missouri Ann and Mercy had found new husbands so quickly.

Eliza had been leaning against the porch post, the cup warming her hands, and now she lowered herself to the step where Daniel usually sat. She watched a bird land in the barnyard and peck at something in the dirt, then fly away. She had considered how others would respond, but what about herself? Could she love a Southerner? Did she love him already? She hugged her knees, for it was cold, and she had gone outside without her shawl. Yes, she thought at last. Yes, she did care for him, and in time perhaps, she could care for him as much as she had Will. Theirs could be a good life together, maybe even as happy a one as she had had before. She and Daniel were more alike than different. Both of them loved the earth and the things that grew in it. They had already worked together in harmony. They'd shared laughter and joy, and both had had sadness and loss. Yes, it could be a good marriage, Eliza thought, if only Davy would accept it. Luzena would, but Davy … she wasn't sure.

She sipped at her coffee, turning to look at the soddy and through the window saw a match flare, and then a candle flicker. Daniel was awake. Eliza did not want him to see her on the porch. He might think she was waiting for him. So she rose and entered the house, going about the business of making breakfast. As she took salt pork from the larder and mixed batter for flapjacks, Eliza heard Davy stir and then call to her softly. Eliza set down the bowl and went to her son, smoothing the quilt. “You are conscious at last.” She could hear the gladness in her voice.

“I feel as if I've slept a week.”

“And so you have.”

Davy grimaced as he moved in the bed, then looked down at his arm. “I remember the thresher knocking me to the ground, but after that…” He looked at her, bewildered.

“You broke your arm in two places. You'll have to be careful, wear it in a sling until it heals.” She felt his head, but the fever had not returned. “Mr. Judd picked you up and carried you back to the house. He set the bones.”

“Mr. Judd?”

Eliza nodded.

Davy thought that over but didn't say anything. He was looking at his arm when Daniel knocked on the door, then entered. “You are awake then,” Daniel observed.

“You set my arm,” Davy said. He dipped his head at Daniel in acknowledgment. Eliza wished he would say more, would thank Daniel, but it was a start.

*   *   *

As soon as he was out of bed, Davy resumed chores that could be done with one hand. He had to be careful of the broken arm, Daniel told him. If he tried to use it, he might jar the bones, and they would have to be reset, which would be as painful as the original break. So Davy let the others do much of his work. In the evenings, he and Daniel talked about chores for the next day, about the things that needed doing before winter set in. Davy did what he could, but most of the work fell on Daniel. “Will you stay until I'm healed?” Davy asked Daniel.

Eliza heard the request and smiled to herself. She was sorry Davy had broken his arm, but the accident had drawn the two men together. Davy seemed to resent Daniel less now, and he'd stopped making remarks about Rebels. He had even asked Daniel to stay on. Perhaps he would approve of her marrying Daniel after all.

“I'll stay as long as I'm needed—or wanted,” Daniel replied, and Eliza turned away, her face flushed.

*   *   *

Eliza and Daniel did not speak again about marriage. Then one afternoon in December, as she was feeding the chickens from a basin tucked under one arm, she saw Daniel put the hay fork aside and come toward her. She turned away as she scattered scraps, calling, “Here, chick, chick, chick.” The chickens flocked to her as she spread the feed. She ignored Daniel beside her until he told her the basin was empty and took it from her.

“Davy is well,” he said, “well enough for me to leave.” He set the basin on the ground.

“Is that your intent?” For a moment, Eliza wondered if Daniel's proposal had been a fleeting impulse. Perhaps he hadn't meant it at all and this was his way of telling her.

“You know it is not. But I believe this thing between us should be settled. I will not stay on if your answer is no.”

Eliza sat down on the stile and looked out over the farm, at the stubble in the fields that shone gold in the early winter light. There was frost now and perhaps snow in a day or two. Already the weather had turned cold, and she shivered with only her mended shawl to keep her warm.

“You're cold,” Daniel said, touching her arm. “I should like to buy you a warmer shawl.”

“That would not be proper.”

“It would be if I were your husband.”

Eliza smiled at him. “Yes, you are right. Do you think I would marry you for a new shawl?”

He grinned back at her. “It's as good a reason as any and better than some.”

“Would it be a paisley shawl, a red one from Scotland? I have always wanted one.”

“Two if you like. A dozen.”

“And how would we pay for seed for spring planting?” Suddenly, Eliza felt lighthearted. She remembered how she and Will had teased each other, had laughed together at their silliness.

“We would find a way,” Daniel said. He put his foot on the stile and leaned over her.

“I believe you could,” she said. After all, he had found a way with Davy. “Then I will say yes to your proposal, Mr. Judd.”

“I had rather you say, ‘Yes to your proposal, Danny,'” he told her. He raised her until she stood close to him, and Eliza thought he would have kissed her if they had not been standing in the barnyard in plain view of Luzena.

*   *   *

That night after supper, Eliza told the children she had something to announce. She glanced at Daniel, then reached across the table and took his hand. “Mr. Judd and I are to be married.”

Davy and Luzena looked from Eliza to Daniel, and back at Eliza. Luzena's mouth dropped open, and then she grinned. “Mama, that's fine. Just fine,” she said.

Eliza turned to Davy then, hoping he had been so easily won over. But her son stared at her, his face strained, and it seemed to Eliza that he was not breathing. She was holding her breath, too, Eliza realized, and so was Daniel. “Davy,” Eliza said at last.

Suddenly, Davy's fist came down on the table, hitting it so hard that milk spilled out of the pitcher. “I won't have it,” he said.

Shocked, Eliza stared at him. “
You
won't have it?”

“I won't let you, Mama. He's a Rebel. He fought against Papa. You know how Papa hated the Confederates. You would dishonor him.”

“But you know Mr. Judd. He isn't a soldier anymore,” Eliza said. “We could not have gotten along this fall without him. You work with him as though the two of you were a team in harness. I thought you had put your hatred behind you.”

“He's not so bad as he was. I'll give you that. But he's a
Southerner.
You can't marry him, Mama. You would shame us. Papa hated Johnnies. He'd hate you, too, if you married one.”

Eliza, embarrassed to be holding Daniel's hand, released it and put her hands into her lap. The joy she had felt that afternoon was gone. “Your papa is dead, Davy. We have to go on.”

“Not with
him.
He can stay on as a hired man, but if you marry him, I'm leaving.” Davy rose from the table so suddenly that he knocked his chair to the floor. “I got milking to do.”