Elm Creek Quilts [04] The Runaway Quilt (21 page)

I held fast to that dim hope and somehow managed to drift off to sleep. I woke a few hours later, the pain in my heart having faded to a dull ache, and remembered it was a Saturday. Jonathan would arrive by midmorning, and we would stroll along Elm Creek together until lunchtime, as we had done every Saturday morning for months. Usually we discussed books or politics
or matters of faith, but today I would have no choice but to speak plainly to him regarding ourselves.

But the morning passed, and then midday, and still he had not arrived. With each hour that crawled by, the sickening knot of dread in my stomach tightened. Each moment of his absence made Anneke’s rumor seem more credible. I completed my chores for the day, and yet he still had not appeared. Finally I took up my Churn Dash quilt and tried to forget my distress in the rhythm of the stitches, telling myself he would surely arrive before I finished piecing a single block.

Two completed blocks had joined the others in my sewing basket when I finally heard a horse approaching, and then the sound of Jonathan calling out a greeting to my brother as he rode past the barn. I waited for his knock on the door before I set my sewing aside and rose to meet him.

I opened the door, and when I saw Jonathan’s expression, all my hopes were destroyed.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” said he, his face white and remorseful. “The Watson boy fell from his horse and broke his arm.”

“Will he be all right?”

“Yes ... yes, he’ll be fine.” He hesitated. “Gerda, may I come in?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My legs felt so weak that I quickly returned to my chair. I picked up my sewing again, hoping to disguise my grief by feigning normalcy, but my hands trembled so badly that I simply held the pieces in my lap, my eyes fixed upon them. I did not know what to do. I knew that the moment Jonathan spoke, my illusions that I would ever become his wife would vanish for good.

“I understand ...” He tried again. “I am told you visited Mrs. Engle’s dress shop yesterday.”

“In a manner of speaking. I waited for Anneke in the wagon. I did not go in.”

He nodded and looked around distractedly. “But Anneke—she told you who was inside?”

I could not bear his careful maneuvering as he tried to determine how much I knew. “She did mention one customer. Charlotte Claverton. I believe you are acquainted.”

“Gerda, you must let me explain.”

“Tell me first if it is true.”

“Gerda—” He paced to the fireplace and back. “Yes. It is true. Charlotte Claverton and I will be married in six weeks.”

It seemed an eternity until I could speak. “I see.”

In a moment he was on his knees beside my chair, his hands grasping mine. “Gerda, I never meant for you to find out this way. I wanted to tell you myself. I tried to tell you so many times, but—”

“But?”

“I found I could not.”

I strangled out a laugh. “In the course of all our conversations, you could not find one appropriate moment to mention you were going to be married?”

“I could not—” His voice broke off, and he seemed to struggle to find the words. “I did not, because I knew it would mean the end of our friendship, and I could not bear that.”

“You were no true friend to me,” said I, coldly.

“I know.” He rose and raked a hand through his hair. “I regret that more than you will ever know. But Gerda, you must understand. Charlotte and I have known each other since we were children. Our parents’ farms are adjacent properties. We were promised to each other before we knew what that meant. It was always understood that we would marry one day.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. “You will marry because your parents arranged it? You, with all your modern ideas, would agree to such a marriage?”

“It is not that simple. When I came of age, I asked for her
hand and made my parents’ promise my own. It was expected of me, and I did not know . . .”

“What?”

“That one day I would meet you.”

I held his gaze long enough to read the remorse and frustration tearing him apart. “Break off the engagement,” I heard myself say.

“It is too late for that.”

“No.” I shook my head and flew from my chair to his side, where I grasped his hands. “You have not yet exchanged marriage vows, so it is not too late. She has an unfinished gown and a promise made long ago. There will be a small embarrassment, but it will be forgotten soon.”

“She thinks she loves me.”

“She is a young woman. She will find someone else. If she cares for you, she will not begrudge you your happiness.”

“Gerda, I will marry Charlotte.” He caressed my cheek with the back of his hand. “I made her a promise. I gave her my word, and I am a man of my word.”

I choked back tears. “Your honor is more important than our happiness?”

“I thought you knew me,” said he, his voice a quiet rebuke. “Breaking my word would result in the injury of an innocent young woman. You could not expect me to do that merely to satisfy my own desires.”

And what of my desires?
I wanted to shout, but I knew this would not move him. “Tell me you do not love me and that you do love Charlotte. Tell me this and I will say nothing more on the subject.”

He regarded me for a long, silent moment. “I cannot say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would be a lie. You know I love you.”

My heart swelled with grief. At last he had told me what I had so longed to hear, but the words meant nothing now. “Then you do Charlotte no favor by marrying her. She deserves a husband who loves her. If she knew the truth, she would release you from your promise.”

He shook his head. “She suspects my affection for you, and yet she still wishes to marry me. As long as she holds me to my promise, I will honor it. And as long as I live, I will be a good husband to her. If I do not in time come to love her as a husband should, she will never know it.”

I shook my head vehemently, unable to believe what I was hearing. I wanted to tell him that they were both fools, but I was afraid that if I spoke, I would burst into sobs. And I had too much pride to show him the depth of my grief.

“Gerda, I would not have you despise me for the world. Tell me I have your blessing.”

The pleading ache in his voice dissolved my remaining composure. “I wish you and Charlotte every happiness,” I choked out, and fled to my room.

I did not hear Jonathan leave, but before long, Anneke came and tried to comfort me. I would not be consoled. I grieved not only for the loss of Jonathan but also in anger and shame, that I should again be humiliated by a man who claimed to love me. I had fled my home in Germany to escape that embarrassment, but this time I could not leave my grief behind. I would remain in Creek’s Crossing until the end of my days, where the sight of Jonathan and Charlotte together would again and again tear open the scar over my wounded heart.

Later that evening, Hans took me aside and asked me somberly if Jonathan had ever made any promises of marriage to me. I shook my head, and Hans nodded in relief. “If I thought he had misled you,” said he, “I would not allow him to set foot on my farm again.”

“It is I who misled myself.” At that moment I vowed I never would again.

Naturally, after that, Jonathan refrained from visiting Elm Creek Farm, and I could not bear to call on the Nelsons. I missed the Certain Faction and longed for Dorothea’s company, and yet I could not help but bear a smoldering anger for her, my dearest friend. She must have known about her brother’s engagement, and yet she had said nothing, despite witnessing the growing affection between Jonathan and me. I could not understand her silence, and I resented her for it.

A week passed, and the day of the Harvest Dance arrived. I had no intention of going, but Anneke entreated me. “You must not let anyone see that you have been hurt,” said she. “You will wear the lavender silk brocade and look lovely in it, and you will hold your head high. Don’t cower at home as if you are the one who acted shamefully.”

Her bitterness surprised me, and only then did I realize she had not mentioned Jonathan’s name the entire week. “He never lied to me,” said I, unwilling to hear him criticized.

“No, but he knowingly deceived you, and that is just as bad.”

I was unused to Anneke’s anger, so I agreed to attend the dance rather than argue. And as difficult as it was, I obeyed her instructions. I danced with other men as if I did not long for Jonathan’s embrace. I expressed delight when the news of the engagement spread through the gathering, and wondered aloud with everyone else how they had managed to keep it a secret so long. When Anneke and I crossed paths with Jonathan and Charlotte as they left the dance floor, I gave them my best wishes for a long and happy marriage, conscious of the watchful eyes upon me.

Only with Dorothea could I not disguise my true feelings. I knew this as soon as I saw her arrive on Thomas’s arm. She
called out to me, but I pretended not to hear, and for the rest of the evening, I avoided her.

I would have happily avoided Cyrus Pearson as well, but to my chagrin, he sought me out. Three times I managed to snatch another partner before he could ask me for a dance, but the fourth time, he shouldered some other fellow aside and grabbed my hand. “Well, if it isn’t the lovely Miss Bergstrom,” said he. “At last I have the honor to escort you to the dance floor.”

“The honor is mine, Mr. Pearson,” said I. Anyone listening would have thought it a cordial exchange, but we knew differently.

“Did you hear the good news?” asked he as we began to dance.

“What news is that?”

“Dr. Granger and Miss Claverton are going to be married.” He assumed a look of mock sorrow. “Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t consider that good news at all, would you?”

“Of course I would. I’m delighted for them.”

“Some people say you aspired above your station and sought to become the doctor’s wife.”

“Aspired above my station?” I regarded him with feigned astonishment. “My goodness, is this not America, where all are created equal? Did I return to Europe without realizing it?”

His mouth twitched in a scowl, but he persisted. “My mother told me Anneke was quite disturbed when she learned of the engagement. And since you and Dr. Granger’s sister are such intimate friends, one naturally assumes—”

Scornfully, I said, “Between your assumptions and my sister-in-law’s matchmaking, I should have been married a long time ago.”

“Indeed, Miss Bergstrom,” said he. “With your great beauty and charming manner, it is a miracle you remain a spinster.”

He had guided us to the edge of the dance floor as he spoke, and with those last words, he bowed, released my hand, and left me there. My face flaming, I spun around and returned to the quilt where Anneke and Hans were resting between dances. In a low voice, I begged them to allow us to leave, but Anneke was resolute that I should remain and continue to behave as if all was well. When Hans echoed her, I reluctantly acquiesced, but only after they promised to keep Cyrus Pearson away from me. Anneke frowned, as she always did when reminded how poorly I got along with her employer’s eldest son, but they agreed. As it turned out, there was no need; his mission to wound me accomplished, Mr. Pearson spared me no more than a passing glance the rest of the evening.

For the next two weeks, neither Anneke nor I attended the meetings of the Certain Faction. Apparently she did not feel I needed to maintain my facade of indifference before Dorothea, whom she held partially responsible for my disappointment. I assumed I would have to learn to live without Dorothea’s friendship as well as Jonathan’s love, but Dorothea was unwilling to sacrifice our friendship to her brother’s foolishness.

In those days, as a part of their training for married life, young ladies would learn to sew by piecing quilts. It was the custom among some families in our region that a young woman of merit would have completed twelve quilt tops by the time she reached marriageable age. The thirteenth quilt was to be her masterpiece, a sign that she had learned all the womanly arts of needlework she would need as a wife and mother, and these quilts were often elaborate works of appliqué, embroidery, and stuffed work called trapunto. When the young woman became engaged, all the bride-to-be’s female friends and relations would gather for a quilting bee, where the thirteen pieced and appliquéd tops would be quilted. These were festive occasions, full of merriment and congratulations for the future bride, and I had
attended several since arriving in Creek’s Crossing. As the sister of the groom, Dorothea appropriately offered to host Charlotte Claverton’s bee, and since the Clavertons were well regarded in society, and Jonathan well respected as the town’s only physician, it was seen as the most important social event of the year for the women of the town, even more important than the Harvest Dance.

When Anneke and I received two of those sought-after invitations, my instinct was to throw them on the fire, but Anneke stayed my hand. “If we do not attend, it will confirm the rumors that you resent Charlotte and want her betrothed for yourself.”

I did resent Charlotte, and of course I wanted Jonathan, but since I could not have him, I could not bear for the entire town to know it.

Hans considered that reason enough for me to avoid the gathering. “As many people will be watching you as the bride,” said he. “You have never been one to conceal your emotions. Your true feelings will be plain for all to see.”

It seemed no matter what I did, the people of Creek’s Crossing were likely to see a scandal simply because they wished to. Since I could not win, I took Hans’s caution as a challenge and decided to attend the quilting bee.

Anneke, whose imperfect English remained a source of embarrassment for her, asked me to respond to the invitation, and so I did, feeling a curious mixture of eagerness and dread with each stroke of my pen. I missed my friends, even Dorothea, who had betrayed me with her silence, and longed for the warmth of their company. I grew weary when I imagined maintaining a pretense of contentment all day under the scrutiny of gossips, but I convinced myself that once that day had ended, the whole sad business would be in the past. And, although many women in my situation would have wished to avoid their rival in her moment of triumph, I hungered to see Charlotte Claverton. We had
never spoken except for our brief exchange at the Harvest Dance, and I wanted to take my measure of her. I was convinced that everything I learned about her would confirm that she was a selfish child and a poor match for Jonathan, and that he would have been infinitely happier with me. I needed to confirm this—and I wanted Charlotte Claverton to know me, so that she would reach the same conclusion.