Rebekah's Quilt (5 page)

Dipping her head in curt nod, Rebekah turned toward the seasonal creek that made occasional appearances behind her home.

The trio stepped in silence to the riverbank.

“We have had good rain,” Joseph offered. “The creek is flowing and the water should be cold.” He dipped one hand beneath the surface and took a slurp.

Peter imitated him, drinking from cupped hands. When he had finished, he wiped his mouth on a bandana he produced from the neck of his shirt. “Much obliged.”

Rebekah watched the forced politeness with troubled eyes.

What is it about this Englishman that makes me so uneasy?
Immediately sorry for being suspicious, she said a mental prayer.

“You two brother and sister?” Peter perched on a large, flat rock. There he sat, facing her. With his demeanor less severe, Rebekah relaxed a bit.

Unwilling to speak first, she diverted her glance to Joseph, who was eyeing the contents of Peter’s glossy black holsters.

“Well? Joseph?” Peter’s voice turned mocking. “Are ya?

“
Nay
, we are no relation.”

Rebekah’s heart went from a steady
beat, beat, beat
to a too-quick
thud, thud, thud, thud
that she hoped nobody could hear. The muscles in her neck and back tightened as the uncomfortable air from earlier settled back over them, shattering her fragile moment of relaxation.

“Sweethearts then?”

Heat flashed within her, burning in her cheeks and no doubt coloring the rest of her face.

“What about your family?” Joseph countered. “What’s in Philadelphia?” His voice was patient and flat, but Rebekah had known him long enough to be able to pick out the little inflections in tone that could change his whole meaning. She didn’t like the turn this watery visit had taken.

“I got some kin back in Philadelphia, so I heard tale. Ain’t never met ‘em. Intend to, though.”

“What are you doing in Indiana Territory if your family is in the east?” Joseph’s voice was smooth and serene, as though merely coaxing an unwilling sibling up the steps of the schoolhouse.

Rebekah watched first Joseph, then Peter, with intrigue.

An insulted glint flashed in Peter’s emerald eyes. “Why, workin’ of course.”

“Of course,” Joseph echoed. “What kind of work?”

Peter snorted. “Not farmin’ like you folks!” He turned, looked off toward the distant north, and sighed. A long, uncomfortable moment passed before Peter spoke again. “I was a lehr boy in a glass factory for a while.”

Rebekah was powerless to keep her curiosity at bay. “A glass factory?”

The hard planes of Peter’s face softened as his green eyes met hers. “Yup. I was just ten when they hired me on. Carryin’ all that hot glass’s how I got this.”

Though the words were almost foreign to her and held no meaning, Rebekah’s uneasy feeling was instantly replaced by genuine interest.

She looked on as Peter rolled up his right sleeve, revealing a swirled, raised scar. “A new mold boy was blowing glass beside me. Blew it too full and that hot glass flew all over me. Rest of it got my clothes.”

Rebekah gasped.

Smiling, Peter ducked to catch her eye. “My arm wasn’t so lucky.”

Joseph coughed. “What’d you do after?”

“They don’t want boys at a glass factory once their hands get too big to pack the glass right,” Peter explained as he rolled down his sleeve. “So after I broke a few pieces, they ran me off.” He fumbled with the cuff button.

Joseph shifted his weight and rubbed his chin much the way Samuel had rubbed his beard in the barn earlier. “Ready?” he mouthed to Rebekah.

She nodded infinitesimally. “Perhaps we should get back and check on your wheel.”

Rising, Peter stretched and offered her a roguish smile. “I know y’all wasn’t related, by the way.” Squinting, he looked her up and down in the obvious manner of the English. “You’re fair. All the rest of these folks is darker.”

Rebekah stared back, curiosity replacing the discomfort. There was something about this Peter O’Leary…

After he adjusted his gun belt, Peter turned to Joseph and offered another faux-tip of his hat. “I ’preciate the conversation.” As he strutted past Rebekah, he continued, “Tell your Pa I had business in Montgomery. I’ll be back this evening for my wheel.”

“He said he’d be back tonight for the wheel,” Rebekah told Samuel as her favorite brother, Jeremiah, passed the bowl of mashed potatoes to each of the younger boys. “Then he got up and left, those little silver things on his heels clinking the whole time.”

“It was an odd conversation,” Joseph agreed. “He kept referring to family he’s never known.”

“Let us pray,” Samuel announced. The table, which had moments before been abuzz with the jovial sounds of a large and hungry family, quieted.

After the blessing, Elnora spoke. “Perhaps it’s best he doesn’t return.”

Joseph’s husky voice sounded harsher than usual. “I agree.”

“Me too,” Jeremiah told his plate.

Rebekah smiled at Jeremiah and passed him the roasted corn. “He should know better than to make a promise, only to break it.”

“Did you finish the wheel, Mr. Stoll?” Joseph’s voice was sincere again.

“
Ay
, I did. I made it my priority.” He dipped a cup of water from the bucket on the table before offering Joseph the dipper.

“Samuel loves to make woodworking his priority,” Elnora segued. Her black covering was crisp and spotless despite a smudge of flour just below her eye. The hungry buzz returned as bowls, plates, baskets, and dippers were passed to and fro about the table.

Rebekah accepted a bowl of pickled radishes from Jeremiah. After helping herself to a few and passing the bowl on to Joseph, she glanced at the window.
Perhaps Peter is just late.

Unable to let talk of the Englishman end just yet, Rebekah piped up once more. “It’s still odd that he hasn’t returned for his wheel.”

“That’s the trouble with the English,” Samuel muttered before filling his mouth with a buttery bite of bread.

As she accepted the basket of fresh bread from Joseph, Rebekah couldn’t help glancing at the window again to see if the Englishman indeed had broken his promise to return.

CHAPTER THREE

A choir of hungry boys had congregated around the breakfast table when Rebekah came in from milking Butter. The sun had just begun to peek over the easternmost horizon, but little tummies were already a-rumble in the Stoll household.

“Have you seen Mama?”

“I haven’t seen Mama, have you seen her?”

“I’m hungry. My stomach’s growling.”

“I thought I smelled flapjacks this morning.”

“Someone made flapjacks? Where are they?”

“Who made flapjacks?”

“Can you make us flapjacks, Sister?”

Rebekah fielded the flying questions as she sat the bucket of fresh milk on the table.

“I’ll get the dipper,” Jeremiah offered with a gap-toothed grin, obviously happy for a break from the chaotic questioning.

Ma must be sleeping late. She always gets tired late in her pregnancies
. Picking her way through the throng of boys, Rebekah made her way to the kitchen. “I believe flapjacks are the popular choice for breakfast,” she said as she passed Jeremiah.

“Yep.”

Rebekah quickly located the deep, wooden mixing bowl, sifter, and measuring spoons. As she gathered the cooking instruments, she began to sing the rhyme Elnora had taught her for remembering the ingredients.

Into the sifter dry things go,

To make our flapjacks, ho ho ho.

To four cups of flour sifted fine,

Add four teaspoons baking powder one at a time.

A whole cup of sugar and two teaspoons salt,

Brings this part

To.

A.

Halt.

Sitting the dry mixture aside, Rebekah quickly wiped up the sprinkling of powder from the countertop. Grabbing the wooden bowl, she continued the rhyme.

Ask your hen for a pair of eggs,

Beat it well with a peg.

Then two cups of milk from the cow.

“Jeremiah,” Rebekah called. “Can you bring me the bucket of milk from the table, please?”

A moment later, Jeremiah appeared with the half-full bucket of fresh milk.

Rebekah’s eyes widened. “The boys are thirsty this morning, I reckon?”

Jeremiah turned and dashed from the room as though he had somewhere extremely important to be right then. “Well, it’s mostly me, Sissy!”

With a shake of her head, Rebekah added the two cups of milk before continuing the rhyme.

Get your dry mix, add it now.

A half-a cup of shortening, melted thin,

Drizzle it:

In.

In.

In.

While the flapjacks sizzled on the griddle, Rebekah placed the skillet on the wood cook stove. In it, she placed several thick slices of salt pork.

The boys will like this meal. I will take a plate up to Ma, too.

When Rebekah emerged from the kitchen with the steaming food in tow, she discovered six quivering boys, with forks and knives at ready, staring at her expectantly. A smile tilted her mouth ever-so-slightly. “Thanks for setting the table, Jeremiah.”

Almost as soon as she’d placed the food on their plates, it was inhaled. After her brother’s had been served, Rebekah retrieved the tray she’d wisely reserved for her and Elnora and took to the stairs.

After a light knock on the door with her elbow, she heard her mother’s weak voice. “Come in.”

“Ma, are you alright?” Rebekah tried to keep the worried tone from coloring her words. She sat the tray of flapjacks, salt pork, and buttermilk on the wooden nightstand that her pa had carved Elnora as a wedding present. In the one drawer, crude block letters spelled out:
Samuel and Elnora Stoll, 1864
. The year they married.

“Thank you, Rebekah. I am a lucky woman to have such a sweet daughter.” Elnora’s voice strained as she tried to push herself up in the bed.

“But are
you
alright.” Rebekah eased down on the bed so as to avoid any unnecessary jostling of her mother. She didn’t ask the question so much as stated it, as if stating it would assure its truth.

Elnora’s lips thinned into a smile and she reached for the cup of buttermilk. Rebekah noticed a slight tremble in her fingers.

“Here Ma, I’ll get it.” Worry creased her brow as she passed the frothy liquid to Elnora.

After taking a big swill, Elnora answered, “I’m alright. The baby is acting like it wants to come.” She lay back onto the pillows. “You may be a big sister again before too long.”

As much as she loved babies, especially new ones, Rebekah couldn’t force a smile onto her lips. Instead, a peppering of questions flew off her tongue. “How do you know the baby is coming? Are you in pain? Is something wrong?” She flung the words at her mother in much the same manner as Jeremiah flung dirt clods at their little brothers during one of their many “you-can’t-hit-me-with-that-dirt-clod-ouch-maybe-you-can” games.

“I began feeling pain early this morning.”

Rebekah’s eyes widened. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Elnora continued. “Then the bleeding started.”

“Oh Ma, I should fetch Heloise,” Rebekah said, rising from the bed. Her mind was already way ahead of her body.

“No child.” Elnora tried to make her voice firm. It didn’t work.

“Why not?”

“We mustn’t bother her yet. The pains have stopped and to make the baby come, they have to be regular. And hard.” It appeared that just speaking of the process that happens to bring a baby was sapping the very life from her mother. She patted her pale hand.

“Just tell me what you need, Ma. I’ll do it.”