“Your fault? Why on earth do you believe that?” Mary cast an indignant look over her shoulder. “He’s truly despicable, as I seem to recall warning you. I never liked him—well, not in recent years, anyway.”
“Are you talking about Mr. Nelson?”
Mary regarded her with utter bewilderment. “What? Of course not. Why would I—” She drew in a breath sharply. “Then you don’t know.”
“I don’t know what? If we aren’t discussing Mr. Nelson and Mrs. Eagle—”
“Dorothea.” Mary bit her lip, put her hands on Dorothea’s shoulders, and gently turned her toward the dance floor. “Look over by the window.”
Dorothea complied. “Mr. Hathaway is sipping from his hip flask. You’re right. It’s scandalous.”
“Not there. The other window.”
Dorothea laughed but obliged. She saw men and ladies circling on the dance floor. Farmers she hardly knew and townsfolk she had known for years sat side by side enjoying the covered-dish supper. Against the far wall couples stood chatting near the center window. Among them she spotted Cyrus with his head bowed near the ear of a pretty red-haired young woman Dorothea recognized from church; all Dorothea knew of her was that she had been several years ahead of Dorothea in school and that her father’s farm lay between Creek’s Crossing and Grangerville. Cyrus looked up and met her gaze. She smiled and nodded; he returned a quick, closemouthed grimace and quickly resumed his conversation.
Suddenly she understood. “Am I supposed to be jealous merely because Cyrus Pearson is speaking to another young lady?”
“He is not merely speaking to her. Rumor has it they are nearly engaged.”
“How can they be nearly engaged when Cyrus took me driving only two weeks ago?”
“He is fickle and she is nearly twenty-seven.”
Dorothea laughed. “Oh. Now everything is made clear.” She kept her voice light, but a hollow of confusion and disappointment had formed inside her. “I never had any claim on him, and although I am fond of Cyrus, I do not love him. If he has found happiness with someone else, then I will be the first to congratulate him.”
“No, you will be the second,” said Mary darkly, glaring across the room. “One can tell by the look on his face that he has been congratulating himself for days. Her parents are aged, you see, and she has no brothers and sisters with whom to divide their farm.”
“I see.” Indeed, Dorothea did, now. “Thank you for the warning, but I assure you my heart has not been broken.”
Mary squeezed her hand. “You are too good for him, Dorothea. Don’t lose hope. You will meet a man as fine as my Abner someday, I am sure of it.”
Dorothea smiled. “If I meet a man even half as fine as your Abner, I will snatch him up so quickly he will not know what hit him.”
As Mary peered at her, not certain whether she spoke in jest, Dorothea bade her good-bye and went off to meet her parents, who had carried their plates to a desk near the front of the room. The delicious aromas from the back table no longer appealed to her, but she kept her parents company while they enjoyed their supper. She told them what had passed between herself and Mrs. Engle, but a reluctant embarrassment kept her from mentioning Cyrus.
She resolved not to dwell on Mary’s rumors until Cyrus himself had confirmed or denied them. Before long one of Abner’s friends invited her to dance, and after him another young man, and after that she was rarely without a partner long enough to more than quickly check the progress on the Authors’ Album. Already the rails had been adjusted twice to allow an unquilted portion to replace a section already completed. Miss Nadelfrau had remained beside the quilt nearly all evening, and while she seemed anxious to avoid being seen talking to the disgraced former library board member for too long, she expressed sincere approval for the quality of the quilters’ work.
After one of these brief examinations of the quilt-in-progress, Dorothea found herself face-to-face with an abashed Cyrus. “Hello, Dorothea,” he greeted her. “Would you care for a dance?”
She agreed, so he took her hand and led her to the dance floor as the fiddler began a cheerful polka. Cyrus was uncharacteristically somber as they danced, which told Dorothea that Mary’s tales were most likely true. When the dance was over, Dorothea thanked him and began to move away, but he held fast to her hand.
“I suppose you’ve heard.”
“Indeed.” Dorothea smiled brightly. “I understand congratulations are in order.”
“Well—” He glanced over his shoulder. Dorothea forbade herself to see if the red-haired farmer’s daughter waited there. “Not quite yet, but perhaps soon.”
“I see. Well, I will be sure to congratulate you when the time is right and give the lucky girl my best wishes.”
“Dorothea, I always said you were kindness itself.” His grip on her hand tightened. “I think I should explain—”
“It truly is not necessary.”
“But you see, my father left my mother with little more than her personal belongings, and my stepfather has children of his own from his first marriage. They will benefit from his success, whereas I will receive nothing.” He regarded her with earnest remorse. “A man with property of his own may make choices a man without it cannot.”
“I understand perfectly. You need say no more.” She placed her other hand upon his, smiled encouragingly, and freed herself. “I wish you the best. I sincerely do.”
She turned her back and walked away, willing her features to reveal nothing but glad serenity. Then, the absurdity of how badly the evening had gone struck her, and she could only laugh. She touched a hand to her brow and murmured, “I should have remained at home. Things cannot possibly get any worse.”
“That is where we differ, Miss Granger,” a man’s voice spoke at her side. “I believe that matters can always get worse.”
She closed her eyes, sighed, and turned to find Mr. Nelson. “I must confess, Mr. Nelson, that at the moment I find myself quite unable to dispute that.”
His eyebrows shot up. “And I find myself quite astonished to discover you without an argument at hand.”
Mrs. Claverton chose that moment to walk by. “Oh, she is not always as sharp-tongued as she seems. And she is a fine dancer.” She gave Mr. Nelson a pointed look. “You ought to see for yourself.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Claverton,” said Dorothea, “but I would not want to inconvenience Mr. Nelson.”
“Nonsense! I saw him twirling Mrs. Engle about not long ago. If he will partner an old married woman he would surely consent to dance with a lovely young girl such as yourself.”
Dorothea intended to explain—and to caution Mrs. Claverton not to refer to Mrs. Engle as “old” too loudly given the temper she was in—but Mr. Nelson spoke first. “It would be my privilege to partner Miss Granger.”
Dorothea muffled a sigh and agreed. Mr. Nelson escorted her to the dance floor where couples were forming lines. Mary had taken the floor with Abner, and as the musicians began to play, she stood in place staring at Dorothea with astonished sympathy until another dancer bumped into her. Dorothea smiled ruefully in return to show she was resigned to her fate, but she smothered a laugh when she realized that Mr. Nelson had witnessed the entire silent exchange.
She resolved to be civil company until the dance concluded, but Mr. Nelson made even fewer attempts at conversation than Cyrus had. Finally Dorothea spoke up. “I suppose you expect me to thank you for whisking Mrs. Engle off like that.”
“I expect nothing from you.”
Dorothea did not know quite what to say to that. “Then I will be happy to oblige.”
He nodded curtly.
They danced in silence for a time, an isle of cool civility lapped by waves of laughter and happy chatter.
“Mrs. Claverton is wrong about you,” Mr. Nelson said suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“You are outspoken to a fault.” He scrutinized her. “I suspect you deliberately provoked Mrs. Engle. Surely you could have found so
me moment to tell her about the unexpected signatures she would find in the quilt, but you chose to wait until she discovered them on her own, knowing it would be too late for her to change anything.”
“That is not true,” retorted Dorothea, but when her conscience pricked her, she added, “Well, perhaps it is partially true. I took the blocks to her home once, but she could not be troubled to look at them. I suppose I could have insisted.”
“Or you could have omitted the authors she objected to, but I suspect that never occurred to you.”
“I did not see any reason to leave them out.” She raised her chin and met his gaze defiantly. “And I do not care who objects to their inclusion.”
“I see. Raising money for the library was a secondary consideration for you. Nevertheless, I commend you on managing to have your own way on this. I do believe it will result in more money for the library after all.”
The dance ended. Mr. Nelson made a perfunctory bow and released her hand. She nodded and left without thanking him for the dance. She was not certain if he had praised or insulted her. It was quite possible he had managed both.
It was no simple matter to avoid Mrs. Engle, Cyrus, and Mr. Nelson in a schoolroom that suddenly seemed much too small, but Dorothea endeavored. Several hours into the dance, a murmur of excitement went up from the people surrounding the quilt frame: The thread of the last quilting stitch had been knotted and cut. Dorothea joined in the work of attaching the binding, and before long Mr. Collins and Mr. Claverton stood upon a small riser at the front of the room and held up the finished quilt for all to see. Dorothea’s heart swelled with pride and pleasure that even Mrs. Engle’s criticism could not diminish. It was a beautiful quilt and honored the people of Creek’s Crossing as well as those whose names had been enshrined upon it—regardless of what Mrs. Engle thought.
Everyone began to clamor for the winner of the masterpiece to be chosen. Mr. Engle brought forth a large locked box with a slit carved into the lid, used as a ballot box in election time. As Mrs. Deakins filled the box with ticket stubs, the other library board members gathered in a half-circle behind her. Dorothea, standing with her mother and father, did not move to join them. Her mother put an arm around her shoulder, but Dorothea felt no need to be consoled. She had already received everything she had sought from making the Authors’ Album. She did not need applause and acclaim as well.
Mrs. Deakins deferred to the mayor, who lifted the lid and withdrew a single slip of paper. Dorothea clasped her hands together and hoped.
“And our winner is—” The mayor paused dramatically. “Cyrus Pearson!”
Exclamations of delight and moans of disappointment filled the room. Dorothea watched as Cyrus strode to the front of the room to claim his prize, accepting congratulations as he went. It pained her to remember how he had told her he would pay any amount to have a quilt made by her hands. She wondered if he would have said such a thing if he had not imagined her inheritance to be much greater than it was. She wondered if he had meant anything he had ever said to her, and if he meant what he told the pretty red-haired girl now.
“He is never happier than when he has an audience,” said Lorena for Dorothea’s ear alone as Cyrus made a show of beckoning his mother to the front of the room. She came willingly at first, but her pace slowed when she realized Cyrus meant to give the quilt to her. She demurred, but as the clapping and whistling of the crowd swelled, she took the quilt, pretended to admire it, and kissed her son on the cheek. No one who had not heard her outburst earlier that evening would have known how much she disliked it, but Dorothea observed the distasteful curl of her lip and the speed with which she folded the quilt and set it aside. Suddenly she realized that with Cyrus nearly betrothed to someone else, she no longer had to worry about Mrs. Engle’s good opinion. It was an enormously relieving thought, and it cheered her immensely.
She saw Mrs. Collins take Mrs. Engle and Mrs. Deakins aside, and when they withdrew into the vestibule, Dorothea knew they were going to the cloakroom to count the evening’s earnings. Miss Deakins hastily scooped up the Authors’ Album quilt Mrs. Engle had left behind.
The fiddler struck up a sweetly melancholy waltz, a tune Dorothea knew well and loved. She listened wistfully, but when she saw Cyrus glide past with the red-haired girl in his arms, she did not feel a single twinge of regret. She liked him, and any woman with eyes to see him must admit he was handsome, but she knew they did not suit each other well for anything more than a weekly ride in the cutter. She was too serious, he too merry. They would be at each other’s throats if forced to remain in each other’s company for the rest of their lives.
Just then Dorothea felt someone watching her. She looked over her shoulder and was not entirely surprised to find Mr. Nelson there. Too weary to provoke him, she merely nodded and returned her attention to the dance floor.
To her surprise, he said, “If you are not too tired, I would appreciate the favor of a dance.”
She was tempted to refuse on the grounds that a woman does not like to hear that she looks tired, especially when she is dressed in her best at a dance, but she merely nodded again and took his hand. She would enjoy the music if not the company.
Mr. Nelson, however, chose to converse, spoiling any chance she might have had of enjoying her favorite waltz. “You were quite complimentary to my students on the night of the school exhibition.”
So many things of greater significance had happened that night that Dorothea had to think before she could recollect what she had told him. “Yes. I thought they performed beautifully.”
“I think you give them undue praise.”
“I think you tend to offer undeserved censure, for your students and everyone else.”
He ignored the bite in her tone, but she knew it had not gone unnoticed. “They are not progressing as well as I had hoped.”
“Perhaps the job is too much for you,” she said innocently. “Perhaps you should resign and allow someone who actually does like children to take over.”
“One does not need to like children to instruct them.”
“One most decidedly does!”
“At any rate, that is beside the point, because I do like children. Miss Granger, if you would allow me to speak more than one sentence in succession, I would be able to come to the point much sooner.”
Dorothea, who had assumed the point was to annoy her, inclined her head to indicate he was free to speak without interruption.
“The number of students and the differences in their ages is significant enough now to warrant dividing the school into two groups. Obviously I cannot teach both simultaneously, so I wondered if you would consider teaching the younger group.”
She stared at him, speechless. Finally she managed, “You would ask me this after criticizing my teaching?”
He had the decency to look embarrassed. “It is possible that my criticism was a trifle premature. While it is true that the students had received only a passing introduction to the more advanced subjects and concepts, their understanding of the fundamentals was quite thorough in all their subjects. I did not discover this until after I made … several remarks that I now regret.”
“Mr. Nelson, if I did not consider you to be entirely without a sense of humor, I might suspect you are playing a prank on me.”
“Do you accept the offer or not?”
“We have not discussed wages, and—” She hesitated. “I am not certain the school board would hire me.”
“I have already spoken to them. They agreed or I would not have asked you. Your salary will be the same as when you last taught.” He regarded her with barely concealed impatience. “Do you accept or must I find someone else?”
“I would like five dollars more each term,” said Dorothea. “If that condition can be met, I would be delighted to accept your proposal.”
“I will have to consult the school board, but I think they will be agreeable.”
“When you know for certain, please inform me.”
&nb
sp; The last note of the waltz faded away. Dorothea suddenly became very conscious of Mr. Nelson’s hand lingering on the small of her back. “Thank you for the dance,” she said, and quickly walked away.
Before she could find Lorena and tell her the astonishing news, Mrs. Engle and the remaining members of the school board approached the stage at the front of the room. “We have our final count,” Mrs. Engle called out as everyone gathered around to hear. “The library board is pleased to announce that thanks to the generosity of the people of Creek’s Crossing and surrounding environs, we have raised five hundred dollars for the founding of a new library!”
A cheer went up from the crowd. Thrilled, Dorothea joined in the applause. Whatever else befell her, at least she would be able to enjoy a library one day soon.
“We will break ground in spring,” Mrs. Engle continued. “Every man who wishes to assist in the building will be gratefully welcomed.”
Dorothea thought of Constance and Abel and hoped Mrs. Engle spoke the truth.
Mrs. Engle thanked everyone for attending and stepped down from the stage. Before anyone could depart, Mrs. Claverton quickly asked for their attention again. “We have one more announcement. The Authors’ Album quilt that the ladies of Creek’s Crossing have so beautifully fashioned has been donated to the library board so that it might be displayed in the library for all to enjoy!”
A rousing cheer went up from the people, but Dorothea was too surprised to join in—and, if she was not mistaken, Mrs. Engle was equally astonished. Mrs. Engle quickly regained her composure, however, and graciously acknowledged the applause. Apparently word of Mrs. Engle’s revulsion for the quilt had not spread far or the onlookers would not have found her so generous.
After that, the Quilting Bee Dance ended. Dorothea offered to help Miss Nadelfrau disassemble her quilting frame, but Miss Nadelfrau hastened to assure her she had enough help. Thus rebuffed, Dorothea collected her basket and cake plate from the covered-dish table, bade good-bye to Constance and Mary, and left with her parents.
On the cold ride home, Dorothea told her mother and father about Mr. Nelson’s offer. Robert was dubious, but Lorena was pleased. “It is about time they realize what a fine teacher they had in you.”
Elm Creek Quilts [07] The Sugar Camp Quilt Page 22