A Patchwork Family

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “We’ll discuss it later. Keep the fabric and put the other things back.”

  Judd’s tone brooked no argument, and once again the little store rang with an interested silence. “Will you please help your brother bring in the butter and eggs from the wagon?”

  Everything about the girl sagged. Mercy’s heart went out to her, even as her hand closed around her pitifully small purse. She’d felt the pinch of their financial situation herself. It was no easy thing to accept, when necessities had to come before the niceties a girl had grown used to.

  But then, it was no treat to come up short when it came time to settle up with Doc Moon, either.

  During the ride home, the parching wind was nothing compared to the powerful waves of anger coming from behind the wagon seat. Mercy talked with Judd about what needed doing in the next day or so, while thinking about what to serve for dinner after their day away. By the time they rolled into their yard, she knew Christine’s temper was about to cut loose like a Kansas tornado.

  The girl clambered down from the wagon, reaching impatiently for the packages Billy handed her: the very small, flat one for her, and the bulkier roll of denim for her brother’s pants. She ran to the house—probably so no one else could lecture her, or ask her to help carry things—and by the time they all sat down to supper, Christine’s expression could have curdled their milk.

  “Christine, will you return thanks for us tonight?” Judd asked.

  Billy began swinging his legs, as though he wanted to hit the floor running before the storm blew in.

  “Give thanks?” his sister snapped. “For what? Why couldn’t I buy that lace trim—with my own money!—when Mercy herself told me—”

  Her fiery hair quivered around a face growing pink with agitation. Then those green eyes narrowed at Mercy. “And why didn’t you say one word to him in the store, Mrs. Monroe? It was fine and dandy to put that snooty Mrs. Barstow in her place—and didn’t I help with that? Mama always said it was the woman who really runs the family. And it was you who had the money in your pocket—”

  “And it was you who ran off with forty dollars of it.” Judd’s face remained composed, his voice low and controlled. But those eyes were alight with a powerful blue flame.

  “While we understand that you’re upset about your mother, and that the money was for your provisions while you went after her, you stole it rather than asking for our help,” he went on. “It’s time you learned that no matter how good your intentions were—how urgent your mission—you’ll face the consequences of your actions. Because, believe me, the rest of us are.”

  The little room got so quiet that their breathing was the only sound for several seconds. Asa and Nathaniel gazed at their empty plates, knowing not to eat before anyone else. Billy’s face got tight with worry, while his legs kicked up a breeze beneath the table. Mercy gripped her hands in her lap. She’d known this matter would raise its ugly head again, and Judd was right: Christine had stolen money, and she should face up to it.

  Judd cleared his throat. “You probably don’t realize this, but that money you snatched would’ve bought nearly a month’s food, to tide us over until Mr. Holladay’s supply wagon comes around. I had to ask for credit today, to buy enough to feed us and our stage guests, and I detest being beholden to Mr. Moon. He’s not just a storekeeper, Christine. He’s my friend.

  “And what if Doc hadn’t agreed to run a tab for me?” he went on. “Mercy would have to feed those passengers just the vegetables from her garden and whatever we can trap for meat. No biscuits, no coffee, no pies. Other women along the stage route would see nothing wrong with that, but you know Mercy would feel she’s shorting Mr. Holladay’s passengers.”

  Christine sat with her shoulders hunched, gazing at the tabletop. Her tightly pressed lips bespoke the wish for this lecture to end—the wish that the floorboards would open up and swallow her whole, so she’d have no more of Judd’s lecture to endure.

  But he wasn’t finished.

  “And then there’s the matter of Reverend Larsen’s horse. You apparently abandoned him on your way—”

  “He kept stopping!” the girl blurted. “And when I saw he was heading for a little log hut with a cross on it—”

  “—east, which means we had to give the circuit rider one of our Morgans and a saddle, and clothes to replace what was in his saddlebags,” Judd continued. His shirt was tugging damply across his shoulders with the evening’s heat. He brushed his black hair from his brow and leaned in for the final stroke.

  “And last but certainly not least, young lady, you took napkins that Mercy’s granny embroidered for us as a wedding present,” he said in the lowest, most insistent tone he’d used yet. “That dear old lady died last year, so there’ll be no replacing them.”

  He let this settle in; let the girl stew in her own nervousness while his gaze provided the flame for a few moments more.

  “So when I heard Mrs. Barstow’s surprise because we were sending you to school—in Mercy’s remade party dresses—I had to question the wisdom of that myself,” he pressed on. “Not because you’re not kin, but because you have no remorse for the trouble you’ve caused. No real understanding of the sacrifices we’ve all made on your behalf.”

  A tear trickled down each of Billy’s freckled cheeks. He’d gone very still, again acting far sorrier than his sister for sins he didn’t commit. Yet she, too, finally bowed her head as though she could no longer stand up to Judd’s accusations.

  “I’m asking you again, Christine,” Judd said quietly. “Will you please say grace for us this evening? Because if you won’t, you can go right on upstairs. I won’t have a thankless child at my table.”

  The girl cleared her throat, and then sniffled. Her cinnamon waves had worked loose to hang like a curtain around her face, and she spoke very softly. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name—”

  “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done,” everyone else joined in. And as the familiar prayer continued, the voices around the table rose with conviction—and relief. They ate the simple meal more quietly than usual, and after Christine picked at her food she asked to be excused.

  When she was out of the room, Billy’s face went tight with boyish worry.

  “That girls’ school in St. Louis must cost a heap, and—and I know it’s the best thing for Christine, ’cause she was nearly as smart as Miss Bryce! We was doin’ our lessons at home, after renegades burned down the school, you see.” His words rushed out in a tumble, and his eyes blazed blue. “I promise you on my good name I’ll pay you back every cent of her schoolin’ someday—just for puttin’ up with that sass—”

  Mercy slipped her arm around his shoulders, thankful for this boy with a heart as big as he was. “What an angel you are to care for your sister that way, Billy,” she said in a shaky voice. “Your parents would be very proud of the man you’ve become. But there’s no need for you to worry about that expense. I wouldn’t send her to Miss Vanderbilt’s school if we couldn’t afford it.”

  “And, comes a time you want an education,” Judd joined in, “we’ll see that you get it. I’ve heard you firing off your multiplication tables—”

  “And I’m having to study up to stay ahead of him in geography,” Asa said with a wide, white grin.

  “—and if a profession besides farming or raising horses appeals to you, that’s fine, too.”

  Billy’s smile brightened. “That’s right nice of you folks. Can’t thank you enough for takin’ us in.” His gaze wandered across the table, to the round pan beside Nathaniel’s elbow. “But I can lay into a piece of that apple pie, if you don’t mind!”

  Mercy laughed and got up to fetch a knife. Above her, she heard muffled sounds coming from the corner where Christine had set her mother’s trunks. The girl was licking her wounds, perhaps salving her injured dignity by studying those pretty gowns, envisioning how they’d look when she redesigned them.

  If she were packing to run off again, surely she’d wa
it until dark. Wouldn’t she?

  Mercy set aside this thought and returned to the front room, where plates were scraped clean and awaiting a wedge of her tart, sweet dessert. On impulse, she slid in beside Billy again and spoke near his ear, so her voice wouldn’t drift up to his sister.

  “Can you keep a secret?” she asked, deftly sectioning the pie.

  He nodded, his eyes glancing toward the ceiling as though this particular treat was all for him.

  “This Miss Vanderbilt who runs the academy? Well, she was my teacher—not so many years ago!” she added with a grin. “And she nearly expelled me once, because I had a sassy mouth almost as bad as your sister’s.”

  Billy’s eyes got as round as marbles. “Go on, now—you?” he replied with a laugh. “What in tarnation did you say, Miss Mercy?”

  The memory put a conspiratorial smile on her lips, and the three men leaned in to catch every word.

  “I spread the rumor among the other girls that our headmistress was always so strict and cross because she was laced up too tight. And if that wasn’t enough,” she confided with raised eyebrows, “I went on to speculate that Miss Vanderbilt could die sitting in her chair and no one would know it for days, because all that starch in her drawers would hold her upright.”

  Billy’s eyes twinkled. This was mischief he could understand! “And she heard about it?”

  “Of course she did! Teachers have eyes in the back of their heads and ears that hear every little thing. And in a huge houseful of girls, there’s bound to be a few who can’t keep their mouths shut.” She placed the largest slice of pie on Billy’s plate, grinning to emphasize her point. “And I’m sure Miss Vanderbilt’s only gotten older and crankier since then.”

  The boy let out a snicker, shoving a large bite of pie into his mouth. “Sounds like Christine’s about to meet her match.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning Mercy found a folded note on her kitchen table, and her heart went into a spin. Had that foolish girl run off again, unable to handle Judd’s reprimand? How would Billy possibly weather another emotional storm on top of his other losses?

  But when she picked up the page, money fell out: almost thirty dollars, in old worn bills. She read the dainty, precise script twice, nipping her lip.

  Mercy and Judd,

  Please accept my apologies for the trouble I’ve caused. This is all the money I have left from what I took, plus some that Mama had stashed in her trunk. I promise to behave myself, and to be worthy of the schooling and dresses you’ve provided for me. Not everyone would take in two strangers and treat them like family, the way you have.

  Yours sincerely,

  Christine Bristol

  For the next few weeks, the girl was as good as her word. She helped in the kitchen and washed dishes almost without complaint after the stagecoaches passed through.

  And when she wasn’t performing chores, the quiet, steady rhythm of the treadle sewing machine hummed beneath the other sounds in the house. Mercy offered assistance only when Christine asked, for it was clear the girl had a talent for envisioning the gowns in more current designs, and then remaking them according to the fashion dictates in her dog-eared copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book.

  As she finished each one, she gently washed it, hung it to dry in her room, out of the dusty wind, and then pressed it meticulously with a flatiron. By the middle of September, Judd and Billy were fastening new pegs along the upstairs wall so she could hang all her dresses to keep them fresh.

  “Wouldja look at these colors!” Billy said when his sister hung the final gown in her room. Then he approached a dress of sage-green silk with flounces of a coordinating paisley print, fingering it reverently. “Mama wore this at her birthday party, right before Daddy got shot. You’re gonna look just like her when you put it on, Sis.”

  Christine blinked at his revelation, while Judd studied a magenta dress with ribbons of deep rose satin sewn into a flower pattern on one shoulder. “And Mercy wore this one to a nephew’s christening, right before we got married. You did a fine job of covering that spot where the baby’s breakfast landed on her.”

  The girl flushed with pleasure. Despite the stern way he’d lectured about her misdeeds, Christine purred like a cat at his compliments.

  “I know! I know! We need to see her wearin’ these dresses—like one of them fancy parades of ladies comin’ to church on Easter Sunday!” Billy exclaimed. He whirled around to face her, his face lit with the joy of his suggestion.

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “But it’s the only way we’ll get to see ’em! Please, Christine?”

  Then he got quiet, following the display of gowns from one wall over to the next. “That way I can think about how you’ll look goin’ to all them parties and dances and such. And maybe I won’t miss you and Mama quite so much.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Mercy agreed. “These gowns were made to be seen in, and you’re just the girl to show them off. I hope you’re proud of what you’ve accomplished, dear.”

  Christine stood looking at all of them, pleased with their compliments. Yet she’d soon be leaving Billy behind, for months at a time.

  “All right,” she murmured. “After supper. And if you see loose threads, or hems not hanging straight—anything that needs fixing—I can take care of it tomorrow. Do—do you think we’ll be hearing from Miss Vanderbilt soon?”

  “I’m sure her response to my note is in the mail by now,” Mercy said. “You’ll have plenty of places to wear these pretty gowns, Christine. And she’ll be pleased to have you at the academy.”

  During their evening meal of corn cakes with creamed prairie chicken, Christine hardly tasted a bite. She’d tried the dresses on, of course. But with only the clouded mirror on Mercy’s vanity to go by, she had no idea if the gowns truly became her, or if she looked like an abandoned girl making do with her mother’s hand-me-downs. If the other students wore newer, prettier gowns and recognized hers as makeovers, she’d be doomed—like a little kid who could only press her nose against the candy-store window.

  How she hated these days of making over and making do! They had to end soon or she’d go insane for wanting something fresh—something that wasn’t years behind the trends now that the war was over. And if Miss Vanderbilt made one condescending remark about her wardrobe, well—she’d just board the next train!

  These thoughts whirled in her mind as she carefully dropped the skirt of the first gown over her head. She’d remade Mercy’s lavender dress in two pieces to preserve the lines of lace trim at its hem when she shortened it—and so she could dress without assistance. The top half was now a fitted jacket, boasting rows of repositioned lace that pointed just below her slender waist, like ivory arrows from each shoulder.

  She adjusted the crinoline so it felt evenly balanced, smoothed her hair into a simple chignon, and took a deep breath. If she could negotiate these narrow, dim stairs in this belled skirt, she could handle anything in the palatial home of her future headmistress.

  When she stepped through the kitchen, she saw that Judd had moved the long table along the side wall of the front room. There they all sat on the benches—even Asa and Nathaniel—looking toward her with anticipation shining in their eyes.

  “Now, there’s a picture!” the wiry little colored man sang out. Lo and behold, he began to clap. And the others applauded, as well.

  “Oh, Christine, let me see what you’ve done!”

  Mercy hopped up from her seat, and her expression made Christine’s pulse race with exhilaration.

  “Why, you’ve shortened the gown at the waist, rather than . . . and made a separate jacket that buttons in the front. It’s perfect for you!”

  The woman deftly smoothed the fine satin at Christine’s shoulders, and then she came around to face her. The awed light in those brown eyes was priceless. “I wouldn’t ordinarily admit it, for this lavender gown was one of my favorites, but I believe you look even lovelier in it than I d
id.”

  Christine sucked in her breath, holding Mercy’s gaze for several seconds. She’d been sewing for years, helping Beulah Mae with most of the family’s clothes. But never had she received a compliment that made her float a foot from the floor.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “It was wonderful to work with such fine fabric again—like all your gowns were made from. I’d better try on the next one or we’ll be here all night!”

  The smiles that followed her from the room felt warm and encouraging. Her feet barely touched the stairs, and as she carefully rehung the gown, she considered her next choice. Something of Mama’s, to see how Billy would react.

  As she entered the front room again, the taffeta of the sage-green gown rustled provocatively when she walked. Her little brother’s mouth dropped open. His eyes widened until she thought he might cry.

  “Lord a-mercy, if you was wearin’ that little hat with the peacock feather, I’d swear you was Mama,” he gasped.

  It hurt to smile, but she managed. A proper young lady rose above her difficult emotions when more than family were gathered around. She’d needed practice at that lately.

  “Your mama’s eyes were green, too, weren’t they?” Judd murmured. “It suits you, honey. Makes you look all grown up.”

  Christine’s heart pounded. Could he see the gown’s delicate bodice fluttering from the force of it?

  When he wasn’t putting her in her place, Judd Monroe was a man whose approval she yearned for; a man whose open affection for his wife made her want the same thing when she grew up. Recalling the way he’d kissed Mercy at the Frontier Store made her cheeks tingle. And having Mercy circling her again, admiring her handiwork, was a sign she’d earned high marks on this dress, as well.

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen such a pretty print in a lace trim,” Mercy mused, fingering the layers of paisley silk. “The gold and sage certainly complement your complexion, dear. When Miss Vanderbilt takes you on outings to meet influential people around town, you should wear this gown.”