The Union Quilters (44 page)

Gerda read the letter over again, silently. “How could she claim to be unable to recognize Joanna?” she asked. “Joanna was a house slave, her own seamstress.”

“Mrs. Chester does seem rather disingenuous,” said Henry. “Do you intend to take her advice?”

“You mean give up my search before it takes its toll on my health?” scoffed Gerda. “Of course not. In fact, this new information might invigorate my quest. It should not be terribly difficult to determine who these Chester relations in Georgia or South Carolina might be. Now that war and slavery are no impediment, I might be able to find Joanna at last.”

“I admire your determination.” Henry gave her a slight bow. “As always, the resources of the United States Postal Service are at your disposal.”

Gerda laughed. “Thank you, Henry.”

“Incidentally, Dr. Granger received a parcel from Alabama yesterday. Do you know what it contained? Could there be a connection to your Joanna?”

Puzzled, Gerda shook her head. “I don’t believe so. Joanna met Dr. Granger only once, and I doubt she caught his name.” Then the full meaning of his words and tone sank in. “Henry. You of all people know that Dr. Granger and I rarely speak, and only when obliged to. How would I know what any parcel of his might contain?”

“Of course,” he said, slightly abashed. “Forgive me a momentary loss of reason.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she assured him. “But really now, is it proper for you to share information about your other postal customers in this way?”

“Only with you, my dear,” he replied. “You know very well that secrets are safe with me.”

“I know.” He had earned her trust, and her trust was not lightly given. “Will we be seeing you and the children at Elm Creek Farm for supper Saturday afternoon?”

“As always. You know we wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I know,” said Gerda again, and smiled as she left the post office, the long-awaited letter in her basket.

 

Dorothea sat on the quilt in the shade of the tall oaks, distracted from her writing by the pleasure of watching Abigail soar high into the air on the swing Thomas and Jonathan had hung for her when she was just a baby. She pumped her legs to propel herself forward and back, her long golden braids streaming out behind her, then falling lightly upon her shoulders, again and again.

How Thomas would have adored her.

With a wistful ache in her heart, she returned her attention to the papers on the writing case her brother had given her after the war, saying that she would make much better use of it. “My travels are over,” he had declared as he presented it to her. “I intend to remain close to home for the rest of my life.”

Dorothea indeed traveled more than her brother, far more than she had before the war, to attend rallies and conferences devoted to women’s rights and woman suffrage, but she rarely carried the writing case with her, for she always found a suitable table to use when she wrote letters home. Instead, the writing case served her well on lovely spring days like that one, when warm breezes and sunshine and birdsong called her outside to work and enjoy her beloved daughter at play.

She dipped her pen in the inkwell, eager to finish the first draft of her speech before the next meeting of the Union Quilters. They indulged her by listening to her read her work and offering suggestions for revisions. Their advice never failed to improve her work.

Before she could touch pen to paper again, she heard a buggy coming up the road. “Uncle Jonathan! Aunt Charlotte,” Abigail exclaimed, leaping from the swing in an act of heart-stopping daring. Before Dorothea could beg her to be more careful, the seven-year-old was off and running to meet the buggy. Dorothea tucked her papers into the writing case and followed, wondering what had brought Jonathan and Charlotte for an unexpected visit.

They greeted one another with hugs and kisses. “Where are the children?” asked Dorothea, seeing only the youngest baby in Charlotte’s arms. A box rested on the backseat, where Dorothea had expected to see Abigail’s cousins.

“Home with their grandma,” said Charlotte as Dorothea took the baby so Jonathan could help her from the buggy.

“We won’t be staying long,” Jonathan explained, reaching into the backseat for the box. “We only came to deliver this.”

“What is it?” asked Abigail eagerly. “Is it a present?”

“It’s something that was sent to me but intended for your mother,” her uncle explained, carrying the box to the shade of the front porch. Dorothea threw Charlotte a puzzled glance, but she merely smiled enigmatically and followed her husband to the house. Drawn by curiosity, Dorothea fell in step behind them.

When Jonathan urged her to sit, Dorothea tucked her skirts beneath her and seated herself on a rocking chair. The box was addressed to Jonathan and the seal had been broken. “Are you sure this is for me?” she asked.

“Read the letter first,” said Charlotte, and Jonathan reached into his coat pocket and handed her an envelope. “It came with the parcel.”

With a sudden stir of anxiety, Dorothea hesitated, then steeled herself and took out the letter.

Stunned, Dorothea let the hand holding the letter fall to her lap. She looked up at Jonathan and Charlotte, her throat constricting.

“Go on,” said Charlotte gently. “Open the box.”

As if in a dream, Dorothea pulled back the lid and reached inside, tears filling her eyes when her fingers brushed soft cotton. She unfurled the folded bundle upon her lap, scarcely believing her eyes. The Dove in the Window quilt was not quite as she remembered it, worn and faded from hard use, but the triangles and squares of Turkey red and Prussian blue and sun-bleached muslin were the same. She knew it to be her own work, just as she knew that although Thomas had gone on before her, his love for her endured. He would live on in her heart and in their daughter until they met again in a better world, a world where peace reigned and no war could ever part them.

The Aloha Quilt
The Lost Quilter
The Quilter’s Kitchen
The Winding Ways Quilt
The New Year’s Quilt
The Quilter’s Homecoming
Circle of Quilters
The Christmas Quilt
The Sugar Camp Quilt
The Master Quilter
The Quilter’s Legacy
The Runaway Quilt
The Cross-Country Quilters
Round Robin
The Quilter’s Apprentice
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Elm Creek Quilts
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Quilt Projects Inspired by the Elm Creek Quilts Novels
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Return to Elm Creek
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More Quilt Projects Inspired by the Elm Creek Quilts Novels
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More Elm Creek Quilts
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Inspired by the Elm Creek Quilts Novels
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Sylvia’s Bridal Sampler from Elm Creek Quilts
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The True Story Behind the Quilt