Elm Creek Quilts [07] The Sugar Camp Quilt

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  DOROTHEA SLEPT LITTLE, but she woke when the first gray light of dawn touched the attic windowpane, worry fluttering in her chest like a trapped bird. She did not know what to do about her uncle’s unexpected tears. In all the years she had known him, she had never seen him weep. And he had seemed as shocked by his sudden emotion as she.

  Dorothea did not like to keep such a troubling secret from her parents, but she knew she must keep silent. Uncle Jacob had too much pride to endure such shame. Any mention might compel Uncle Jacob to banish them from the farm rather than acknowledge his weakness. She could not cost the family Jonathan’s inheritance.

  She lingered as long as she dared before going downstairs to help her mother with breakfast, where she learned that her uncle had taken a cold breakfast with him to the sugar camp. “He has gone several times a week since late summer,” remarked Lorena. “Perhaps someone should remind him that this is not the time of year to tap the trees.”

  Dorothea knew he had left early that morning to avoid her. “Let’s not tell him, or he might not spend so much time away from the house.”

  Lorena allowed a small smile, but she looked worried. “I wonder…” She hesitated. “I wonder if he is, perhaps, not altogether well.”

  Dorothea held herself perfectly still. “What do you mean?”

  “Have you not noticed he has been even more irascible than usual? He is more forgetful, more snappish. Do not forget he is fourteen years my senior, and he drives himself hard.”

  “He drives us all hard.” Still, her mother’s words brought Dorothea a small measure of relief. An illness would pass.

  Her uncle did not reappear even for lunch, and while Lorena wondered aloud if someone ought to run to the sugar camp to look for him, Dorothea was glad he remained absent. She spotted him trudging through the old wheat field, now shorn and muddy and dusted with snow, as she went outside to meet Cyrus’s carriage. In her eagerness to leave, she climbed inside without waiting for Cyrus to assist her.

  She delivered Uncle Jacob’s invitation to supper as they crossed Elm Creek on the ferry, the water too turbulent there to freeze over completely during all but the coldest winters. Cyrus seemed pleased to be asked, but he declined, citing the presence of two important out-of-state business associates. When she inquired what business, he grinned and said, “The pursuit of lucre. I regret that I do not engage in the altruistic profession of teaching, such as yourself, or the essential craft of farming, like your uncle.”

  Dorothea noticed he did not mention her father. Robert might spend the rest of his life working Uncle Jacob’s land, but no one who knew him considered him a farmer. Dorothea often thought he would be happier living in a rented room in a city back east, writing philosophical essays at the behest of an indulgent patron.

  She brightened considerably as the distance increased between herself and her uncle, now that the unhappy prospect of subjecting Cyrus to his baleful scrutiny had been averted. The library board meeting passed pleasantly, the members settling on a popular green, Turkey red, and Prussian blue color scheme, then leaving for Mrs. Engle’s favorite dry-goods store to purchase fabric. Dorothea had brought some of her saved wages, believing that each of them would be responsible for purchasing her share of the fabric, but to her surprise, Mrs. Engle insisted on paying for it all.

  “She thinks she’s going to win the quilt,” said Mrs. Claverton to Dorothea when the others were in another part of the store selecting bolts of calico. “She doesn’t mind buying so much fabric for a quilt for herself.”

  Before Dorothea could reply, a thunder of horses’ hooves passed just outside, followed by loud shouting somewhere down the block. Dorothea and Mrs. Claverton were the first to the door. From the front steps they saw three men on horseback leveling their rifles at the door to Schultz’s Printers. One man slid down from his horse, pounded on the door, and shouted for Schultz to come out. Dorothea saw the flicker of a curtain in an upstairs window, but no other sign of life within. Then from somewhere unseen came another cry, a furious shout that Schultz had escaped through the back door and was fleeing down Water Street. The man at the door leapt back onto his horse and raced off with the others, vanishing around the corner.

  The rest of the women had crowded onto the steps after Dorothea and Mrs. Claverton, but none of them knew what to make of the commotion.

  “Isn’t the eldest Schultz girl a friend of yours?” Mrs. Claverton asked Dorothea.

  Dorothea nodded. “A very dear friend.”

  “Well, go on, then.” Mrs. Deakins nudged her. “Go find out what’s the matter.”

  Dorothea, who had been on the verge of dashing over to the printers to see if she could help, now resolved to stay away. “Mary would not be there. She’s married with a home of her own.”

  Mrs. Deakins sniffed and went back into the store, disappointed that her appetite for gossip would not be satisfied. The rest of the library board followed, Dorothea last of all. For the rest of the shopping trip, the other women speculated on the curious incident, but Dorothea was too worried about Mary’s father to participate in the conversation. No one knew who the men were, or what their purpose with Mr. Schultz could have been. Mrs. Collins declared that one of the strangers resembled a cousin’s husband, but when she admitted he was a farmer in Maryland, no one was inclined to believe her.

  As Cyrus drove Dorothea home a few hours later, she recounted the scene to him and asked him what he made of it. As it happened, he had been on Water Street at the time and had witnessed the three men apprehending Mr. Schultz. He stood accused of assisting a fugitive slave across the Maryland border by concealing him in his wagon. The men claimed to be law officers and announced as a warning to other would-be lawbreakers that they were taking Mr. Schultz to Maryland to stand trial.

  “They cannot,” gasped Dorothea.

  Cyrus shrugged. “They can take him since they have him, but I doubt much will come of any trial. No one has any evidence Schultz aided runaways in the past, and he can always claim that the runaway climbed aboard his wagon and hid amongst his freight when Schultz was not looking. His son-in-law and brother have already headed south to fetch him. On one point, however, the constables are quite correct: Schultz did break the law.”

  “A law that has existed for more than fifty years without this manner of enforcement. The people of Pennsylvania would never stand for it.”

  Cyrus grinned. “That is precisely the problem. The southern states have had enough of northerners mocking federal laws that support slavery. Until a stronger law is enacted—and it is coming, mark my words—it’s little wonder they believe they must enforce the laws themselves.”

  Dorothea felt sick at heart thinking of Mr. Schultz’s wife, of Mary and her younger sisters. “If they are as adamant as you say, I cannot see how this will end without violence.”

  “Schultz should have thought of that before choosing a time of heightened animosity to help runaways.”

  Dorothea could not reply. She never would have imagined the unassuming Mr. Schultz capable of such courage. Likely he had acted on noble instinct, helping the fugitive in an instant of need without thinking of the potential consequences to himself. Circumstances requiring heroism often did not permit contemplation or forethought.

  Suddenly she had another thought. “What became of the fugitive slave Mr. Schultz assisted?”

  “I gather he escaped, which is unfortunate for Schultz. Perhaps they would have been satisfied with the return of the runaway.”

  Dorothea shuddered, thinking of the various dreadful punishments captured runaways received at the hands of slavecatchers: beatings, starvation, amputations. “Unfortunate for Mr. Schultz, but fortunate indeed for the runaway. Perhaps Mr. Schultz considered it a worthy sacrifice.”

  Cyrus chuckled. “That would not surprise me.”

  Dorothea supposed it was amusing that Mr. Schultz had outsmarted the slavecatchers, but she could not manage even a smile. She marveled at Cyrus, who seemed to have a depthle
ss well of good cheer to draw upon even in the face of horrors.

  LORENA WAS DISAPPOINTED THAT Cyrus could not stay for supper, but she seemed to forget the invitation when Dorothea told her about Mr. Schultz. “We must send word to Mrs. Schultz that we will help her however she needs.” Lorena wiped her hands on her apron and sent Dorothea for a pen and paper. “She will need a lawyer familiar with Maryland law. Dr. Bronson will surely know someone.”

  While her mother wrote to Mrs. Schultz and Jonathan’s mentor in Baltimore, Dorothea packed a basket of food for the family. Lorena sealed the letters and tucked them into the basket as Dorothea threw on her wraps, instructing her to ask her father or uncle to drive her to the Schultz’s if the men were in the barn, and to take a horse and ride alone if they were not.

  Dorothea hurried outside, and when she entered the barn, she found her uncle alone, sitting on a bench cleaning mud from his boots. “I’m looking for my father,” she asked, peering around for him. She was reluctant to ask her uncle to drive her or to try to ride off on horseback against his wishes, because he would surely forbid the errand.

  “Last I saw he was bringing in the cows.”

  “I will meet him.” As she turned to go, Dorothea glimpsed a familiar cluster of color amid the folds of the rag her uncle rubbed over his boot. “What’s that?” Before the words were past her lips, she knew. “My quilt. That’s my quilt.”

  He glanced up at her, unconcerned. “No, it’s my quilt.”

  She could not comprehend it. “You are using the quilt I gave you for Christmas—the quilt we both put much thought and labor into—to clean mud from your boots?”

  He studied her for a moment before saying, “I told you I wanted serviceable fabrics. It can be washed.”

  “Even the most thorough scrubbing could not remove those stains. Surely you know that.” Dorothea could not bear to look upon the ruins of her quilt any longer, and she suddenly no longer cared if Uncle Jacob attempted to stop her. Without a word of explanation, she saddled her mother’s horse and rode off down the road to the Elm Creek ferry. Absorbed in his work, Uncle Jacob did not interfere.

  Either her uncle was crueler than she had ever supposed, or he was going quite mad.

  The Schultzes lived on the upper story above the printers, and Dorothea arrived to find several horses and wagons already tied up outside. She could hear fervent and angry voices on the other side of the door as she knocked. Mary answered, her face ashen and eyes rimmed in red. Dorothea embraced her and offered words of comfort and asked about Abner, but Mary was so upset she could only cling to Dorothea and choke out that she had not heard from any of the men yet.

  Mary took Dorothea into the other room, where other neighbors and friends surrounded Mrs. Schultz. Dorothea gave her Lorena’s letter and said, “My mother sends you her most sympathetic regards and offers her services in helping you obtain a lawyer.”

  Mrs. Schultz managed a wan nod. “Thank you, my dear. Your mother is very kind, but we have already made arrangements.”

  “The Marylanders have sent word already,” said another man, whom Dorothea recognized as the editor of the Creek’s Crossing Informer. “They have levied a fine and will release Mr. Schultz when it is paid.”

  “How could they have so swiftly determined his guilt?” asked Dorothea. “They apprehended him mere hours ago.”

  “There was no trial,” said Mrs. Schultz. “They are holding him for ransom, pure and simple.”

  “They will take cash payment or the return of their slave,” another man said.

  Dorothea shook her head. “This cannot be legal.”

  “Slavecatchers live by their own laws,” said the newspaper editor. “Make no mistake, Schultz is not in the hands of legitimate authorities. It was sensible of Abner to accept Nelson’s offer to go along. He will help sort this out.”

  “Mr. Nelson?” echoed Dorothea. “The younger Mr. Nelson?”

  The others nodded and resumed their discussion, oblivious to her astonishment. Then she understood. Of course it made perfect sense to include Mr. Nelson; as a southern sympathizer he would not engender the Marylanders’ offense. He could speak to them in a language they understood. And naturally he would have no compunction against the return of the fugitive slave. Dorothea prayed the unfortunate man was far away in some safe haven.

  He was, but not in the manner Dorothea had hoped.

  The following week, as Dorothea and Cyrus crossed on the ferry, they spotted a knot of men on the opposite shore. As the ferry drew closer, Dorothea recognized the undertaker’s black carriage and saw the men reach for something tangled in the weeds on the riverbank.

  “Dorothea, avert your eyes,” ordered Cyrus, but she did not. Transfixed by horror, she watched as they hauled the corpse from the creek, paused to rest, then loaded it into the undertaker’s carriage. The undertaker had driven off by the time Dorothea and Cyrus came ashore, but a few onlookers still lingered, and from their remarks, Dorothea was able to piece together what had happened. The body had been identified as that of the runaway slave. He had tried to cross the creek upstream at Widow’s Pining, but the ice had not held, and he had plunged into the frigid waters. Bone-chilling cold and treacherous currents had hastened his drowning.

  “He can’t be returned to his owner now,” remarked Cyrus as they left the scene behind them. “That will be unhappy news for the Schultzes.”

  Dorothea doubted they had ever had any intention of trading the runaway for Mr. Schultz. “It shall be unhappy news for this unfortunate man’s family, as well.”

  “If they ever learn of it,” said Cyrus.

  Dorothea did not reply. She could not disagree with him, but something in the lightness of his manner annoyed her. Almost always she enjoyed his perpetual good humor, but sometimes circumstances warranted more gravity. He did not seem to know this, or he was concealing his concern to spare her more worry. Either way, she did not care for it.

  Before taking her to his mother’s house, Cyrus drove her to the post office so she could mail a letter to Jonathan. She had needed two pages to tell him of recent happenings in their once-quiet town. A letter awaited Dorothea, and when she saw the New York return address, she realized it must have come from one of her banned authors. She slipped it into her pocket to read later. Cyrus was certain to inquire if she opened it in the carriage, and he might feel obliged to inform his mother.

  With Mary’s father gone, it was difficult to think of anything but his safe return. The library board meeting went on as usual, except that talk of Mr. Schultz’s captivity dominated the conversation. Everyone had some bit of news to report, though Dorothea wondered how much truth was in the rumors. Abner and Mr. Schultz’s brother had returned from Maryland to report that Mr. Schultz was in good spirits but concerned for his family, and he refused to declare whether he had knowingly helped the runaway or if the runaway had stolen aboard without his knowledge.

  “Mr. Schultz’s silence is confession enough,” said Mrs. Engle with a trace of disapproval in her tone. “He surely helped the run-away.” Nevertheless, it was she who suggested they have the tickets for the opportunity quilt printed at Schultz’s, to give the family the commission in their hour of need. Dorothea would have been more impressed with her generosity if Mr. Schultz’s were not the only printer in town, the nearest rival ten miles away in Grangerville.

  The Schultzes would need every penny. According to Mrs. Collins, the fine, or ransom, was five hundred dollars. Dorothea was aghast, knowing Mary’s family could never raise such an enormous sum without selling the printing press and sacrificing their livelihood. She suggested to the rest of the library board that they use the proceeds from the opportunity quilt to free Mr. Schultz. Her idea was met with laughter and scorn by all but Mrs. Claverton, who privately told Dorothea that her heart was in the right place, but the quilt was not even finished, would probably not raise five hundred dollars, and would not raise any amount as swiftly as Mr. Schultz needed. “Late is better than never,”
retorted Dorothea, frustrated by the consensus opposing her. The others seemed to believe that Mary’s family should solve their problems unassisted. Mr. Schultz got himself into his present circumstance and ought to get himself out.

  Dorothea complained about their lack of compassion to her mother that evening as they cleaned up after supper. “What happened to Mr. Schultz could have happened to any one of us.”

  “Not to just anyone,” said Uncle Jacob, returning from an errand outdoors in time to hear. “Only folks who decide to help runaways.”

  Dorothea snapped off her apron. “Are you saying Mr. Schultz should have ridden right past that poor man without stopping?”

  “Not at all.” Uncle Jacob shrugged out of his coat. “I’m saying he should have hid him better.”

  Dorothea, who had been expecting a different reply, opened her mouth and closed it again without a word.

  “Mr. Schultz’s act of courage should not be mocked,” said Lorena.

  “Helping runaways is a dangerous business and those who don’t know what they’re doing shouldn’t meddle in it.” Uncle Jacob settled into his usual chair and opened his Bible. “Schultz is a prisoner and the runaway is dead. If Schultz had left well enough alone—”

  “The runaway might still be dead, or recaptured, but not likely any closer to freedom.” Dorothea gestured to the Bible in his hands. “Look up John 15:13 while you contemplate Mr. Schultz’s choices. Aunt Rebecca was a Quaker. What do you think she would have done?”

  “Dorothea,” her father warned. “That’s enough.”

  Deliberately, Uncle Jacob closed his Bible and set it on the table. “You did not know my wife,” said Uncle Jacob, his voice a quiet warning. “You have never risked your life for anyone. Without giving the matter any thought, you praise Schultz for his actions, but would you have done the same?”