Pattern for Romance: Quilts of Love Series

by Carla J Gade

  “After Customs raided Mr. Hancock’s ship last year, you would think they’d had enough of him,” Joshua said. “Mein has made Hancock out to be a hypocrite. He is nothing of the sort. The man wholly supports the cause.”

  “He’s a member of the Body of Merchants and a leader of the Sons of Liberty, thus the reason he is a target. The Sons of Liberty are up in arms.” The color of Father’s face heightened. “Beware, Joshua, beware.”

  Mr. Hancock’s problems were far greater than his own and would affect the Patriot cause. They would all suffer for it. Joshua glanced toward the workshop. He had some mending to do.

  Joshua entered the large workroom. The balmy space smelled of textiles and men’s sweat. Filled with tables of every size, bolts of fabric leaned against the walls and filled the shelves. Apprentices and journeymen of various skill levels were busy cutting, pining, sewing, fitting, ironing, and other sundry tasks.

  He went to a large cutting table near Andrew, who, slipshod, sat cross-legged atop his window-side perch to keep his work from getting soiled. Joshua laid out Father’s original suit coat pattern on the large sheets of rag linen. He read the measurement notations he had taken and began making adjustments to the pattern with a piece of chalk.

  He cast a sidelong look at Andrew, who happened to glance up from his stitching. “When you are a master tailor in another year or so, I will pass the task of sewing for Father to you.”

  “Hmmph, I think not!” Andrew shook his head and grinned.

  “What are you working on?” Joshua asked.

  “Breeches. For Mr. Hollister,” Andrew said.

  “The schoolmistress’s husband?”

  “Aye.”

  Joshua stared down at his patternmaking, recalling his encounter with the wench. He recalled the poor way she and the students treated Tempe. It relieved him to have her away from there and would soon start school with his nieces. The girls would probably begin working on samplers. Had the sampler that Tempe made at Mistress Hollister’s dame school ever been returned to her? Girls treasured their samplers, and maybe she would want to continue working on the one she had already begun. What had the schoolteacher said . . . she would see Temperance received her sampler when Honour returned Mrs. Hollister’s quilting fabric?

  His gut suddenly felt hollow. He’d forgotten to tell Honour what Mrs. Hollister had said. He doubted Honour had returned the cloth yet. He would talk to her about it, and gain approval rather than provide unsolicited help. She may now understand his motives, but he intended to earn her trust and respect.

  A lad scurried beneath his brother’s table and picked the “cabbage,” scraps of fabric lying about. Andrew looked up at Joshua and their gazes merged. “About your birthday, Josh. Can you accept my apology?”

  Joshua’s chest constricted as he sucked in a deep breath. He waited for him to say something about Honour. Was he sorry for that? Joshua picked up the large shears and slapped the flat of the blades across his palm.

  “Whoa! Easy there, brother.” Andrew’s eyes lit with alarm, though he kept his voice low.

  Joshua looked at the scissors and shrugged, and shook his head. Did Andrew think Joshua would hurt him? “Calm down.”

  Andrew ran a hunk of wax over some thread. “What say you? Friends?”

  “That depends,” Joshua began. Oh, Lord, how am I to do this? Sometimes he is like a stranger to me.

  Love him as yourself.

  Joshua’s own thoughts weighed heavy upon him at times; no doubt his brother’s did also. He had to know what Andrew was about, and love him in spite of it.

  Most of the workers remained occupied on the far side of the room, so Joshua continued. “I mean . . . I hoped you might apologize for harming Miss Metcalf. I know you cannot be such a cad that it doesn’t concern you.”

  “I meant to.” Andrew’s face grew wan. “I feel terrible that she got in harm’s way. It was my fault. Mother now tells me she has been hurt again.”

  “She will be all right. She has to be. Her little sister will be all alone if Honour does not recover.” Joshua gripped the edge of the worktable and hung his head.

  “Egad, you love her.”

  “Yes.” Why was he telling Andrew this, now? Although Andrew could be a serpent at times, he cared deeply for those he loved and often put his own needs aside. Is that why Andrew never let on he had developed feelings for Emily? He would have allowed Joshua to marry her, if their parents desired it, letting the eldest brother marry first so Joshua’s inheritance would be part of the marriage bargain. He loved Joshua that much. He loved Emily even more.

  Joshua walked over to Andrew. “You’ve got to know something.”

  Andrew swiveled around and sat on the edge of his table. “What it is it, man? Do you forgive me or not?”

  Joshua spoke in a hushed voice, glancing about the room. The apprentices and other workers were gathering their things to leave for the day. “I do, Andrew. Let us put it behind us. But you need to know that I never loved Emily. I was planning to talk to Mother and Father about it before we heard the news she’d wed. I had no idea of your feelings for her.”

  Andrew gawked at Joshua, intensity burning in his eyes. “How do you know then, now?”

  “I went to see her. I needed to know what the secrets were about. She confided in me that you loved her,” Joshua said, “and still do.”

  Andrew’s eyes harbored unyielding turmoil. “Nothing can be done about it. I must forget her. Though it will prove to be my undoing.” Andrew’s jaw clenched.

  “It does not have to be. Would it give you any comfort to know she loves you? She married out of pressure from her parents. She doesn’t love the man, nor he her.”

  “To know she is doomed to have a miserable life. No, it gives me no comfort. I know she loves me. It is why it is tearing me to shreds.” Andrew grabbed a remnant, and tore it with his fists, his eyes glazed with moisture. He hopped down from the table and trudged away.

  Joshua slammed his fist on the table. He doubted there were any words that could untangle this state of affairs. He tidied up Andrew’s work area, as his own needed little straightening. He exited the room, his heart heavy for Andrew, and Emily, and Honour. Nothing had changed from the way he felt days before. His relationships were in complete disarray.

  Father greeted Joshua in the storefront, getting ready to lock up. “How is that pattern coming along?”

  “I am still working on it. There are yet adjustments to make.”

  15

  Sun streamed through the glazed window panes of the bedchamber, casting a ray of morning light upon the floorboards. Honour marveled at the lovely room with fine furniture and lavish draperies. Indeed, everything from the crewelwork fabric garnishing the canopied bedstead in which she lay, to the exquisite flocked wallpaper opposite the blue-gray painted panels of the mantle wall, made her feel every bit like royalty. Honour once enjoyed the benefit of a fine home in England, while not nearly as grand. Yet, she now lived in quiet modesty in Mrs. Wadsworth’s pleasant, but humble home—the home of a reluctant subject of the crown.

  Where might her hostess’s sympathies lie? If Widow Lankton was a Tory and their ideals were at odds, could Honour continue to accept the hospitality the woman of affluence so graciously offered? Honour smiled inwardly as she now knew her own leanings sincerely lay with the Whigs. These were not merely her father’s values, but they had become her own—she was a true Patriot.

  As Honour continued her ruminations, she surveyed the room, noticing a small framed silhouette of a gentleman set upon an elaborately veneered chest of drawers. She assumed the inky profile was that of Mr. Lankton, a wealthy merchant. Mayhap the bureau had been imported from some far-off land by the widow’s late husband. The dower widow had wealth in her own right, Maisey had informed her one time, and thus maintained full privileges to her grand home and fortune. It was rare for a widow to not marry again, if not for financial gain, for help and companionship in these difficult times. Had the widow
been happy in her marriage, or had it been arranged for her those many years past?

  What would be the circumstances of Honour’s own marriage someday? Thoughts of Joshua entered her mind, though she had not yet agreed to court him—unless kisses under a weeping willow counted. She’d been told he had inquired of her condition every day and promised to pay her a call when she was able to receive visitors. Honour felt her strength returning and hoped to see him soon. She also missed Tempe, yet Honour was certain her sister was enjoying the time spent with friends. It was good Tempe could have a few days of leisure, though Honour could scarce afford it, having missed so much opportunity to earn her wages. And now she was indisposed once again.

  Widow Lankton appeared in the doorway. “It often happeth, that the very face sheweth the mind walking a pilgrimage. Penny for your thought.”

  “Sir Thomas Moore.” Honour smiled, glancing up at Widow Lankton. “Good morning. I suppose I was rather lost in my musings.”

  Widow Lankton crossed the floor and took her seat by the fireplace with her needlework in hand. “I trust you have been looked after this morning by my housekeeper?”

  “Aye, she has cleansed my wound and managed to freshen me a bit.” How sweet the cloth dipped in the basin of lavender water felt as it washed over her, the scent reviving her from several days of the laudanum-induced haze. Widow Lankton’s housekeeper had helped Honour into a clean shift and loose-fitting short bed gown and petticoat Mrs. Wadsworth had sent. The maidservant also came to brush and plait Honour’s dreadfully tangled hair.

  “You do look improved.” The widow’s eyes crinkled with a smile. “You have some color restored to your face. How are you feeling, Honour?”

  Honour toyed with the loose braid hanging over her shoulder. “I believe I am improving, too, though I still feel terribly weak. Yet, my pain has lessened and I sense my wits returning to me, enough to set my thoughts to worry.”

  “’Tis difficult to have one’s normal activities interrupted. Perhaps we might remedy it when Mrs. Wadsworth comes by later. We’ve a little something to discuss with you lest you grow overly restless.”

  A servant girl entered with a tray of breakfast. She pulled a small table close to the bedstead and set the tray down. A steaming cup of coffee, an egg, and toast with strawberry jam tickled Honour’s appetite. ’Twould be nice to have something more than broth.

  “We’ll see how you do with this, miss,” the maidservant said.

  “Thank you,” Honour said, before the girl slipped from the room.

  “You go right ahead, dear,” Widow Lankton said. “I have already broken my fast this morning, though I dare say it was a tad more plentiful than what you have been served. Yet you must take things slowly if you wish your health to be fully restored.”

  “Hmm. It shan’t be easy.” How difficult it would be to stay abed until her wound completely healed, but she could not risk her well-being on account of Temperance. Concern about her livelihood and the burden her absence must be causing Mrs. Wadsworth nudged at her. But it gave Honour comfort, at least for now, she and Tempe were provided for—her sister in the care of a fine family, and she in the home of a grand dame—Patriot or not.

  Widow Lankton concentrated on her embroidery, quietly encouraging Honour to take her morning refreshment. Honour closed her eyes offering a brief, but heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving for the Lord’s provision for Tempe and herself, and for the care and ministrations she received from Widow Lankton and her servants. Someday Honour hoped to repay the graciousness of her hostess.

  After her breakfast, Honour read for a short time from a small Bible Widow Lankton left by her bedside. The affirming words of Deuteronomy 31:6 brought refreshment to her heart. Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the LORD thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.

  The maidservant returned with word Mrs. Wadsworth had arrived, and at Widow Lankton’s direction, Honour’s employer came up to the second floor bedchamber. “Good morning, ladies. ’Tis a pleasant day to see you looking so alert, Honour.”

  “Honour tells me she is feeling improved today,” Widow Lankton said.

  Mrs. Wadsworth smiled at Honour. “I am glad to hear it. As Temperance shall be.”

  “You told her then?” Honour asked.

  “Joshua went to Deborah’s and they told her together you had a setback. They assured her you would soon recover and you were enjoying your visit with Widow Lankton,” Mrs. Wadsworth said.

  “I am, at that,” Honour said. “I do hope Tempe will take comfort in that report.”

  Mrs. Wadsworth sat in the chair opposite Widow Lankton. “Joshua promised Tempe he would bring her to visit once you were improved. Deborah will keep Tempe with her as long as necessary. Of course, I could keep her with me, but I think she would enjoy herself more with Sarah and Abigail.”

  “Abigail?” Honour asked.

  “Yes, she is there too. Abby’s mother, Anne, has been feeling rather poorly in her condition,” Mrs. Wadsworth said.

  “I am sorry to hear it. I shall pray for her,” Honour said. “What a wonderful idea for the girls to be with Deborah. I am certain Tempe must be enjoying herself.”

  “I’ve no doubt she is. A young girl needs friends, as do we all.” Widow Lankton’s fingers covered her lips, but the furtive grin she cast Mrs. Wadsworth did not escape Honour’s notice.

  Mrs. Wadsworth’s eyebrow rose. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

  Honour nodded. “Mrs. Wadsworth, what shall I do about Tempe’s clothing? And her tambour work? She loves to practice her quilting.”

  “You shall do nothing. I instructed Maisey to pack a satchel for Tempe and be sure to include her embroidery frame,” Mrs. Wadsworth said. “Tempe did inquire about her sampler, which we couldn’t find.”

  Honour grimaced. “Oh, dear. Mrs. Hollister must still have it.”

  “Why was it not returned?” Widow Lankton asked, then instructed the maidservant to prepare some tea.

  Honour watched the girl take a creamware tea service from the open cupboard beside the paneled hearth. “I . . . I am not sure. It does seem neglectful.” Yet she had something belonging to Mrs. Hollister—the fabric she had bartered to quilt for her in exchange for Tempe’s dame school. Mrs. Hollister must be holding Tempe’s sampler until the fabric was returned. She’d not had an opportunity to quilt it yet. Honour’s brow pinched. Joshua had resolved her debt to the teacher, it was he she owed.

  “What is it, Honour?” Mrs. Wadsworth asked.

  “I have much to attend to. I remembered I have a piece of fabric to return to Mrs. Hollister. Mayhap it is the reason she is holding Tempe’s sampler.”

  “It is unkind of her to do so,” Widow Lankton said. “Your sister is just a little girl. How old is Temperance?”

  “She is eight. Though she is a very grown-up eight-year-old, as she has endured much in her young life.” Honour winced, straining to sit erect.

  “Do be careful and stay reclined, you mustn’t pull the stitches,” Mrs. Wadsworth said. “Is there something I may help you with?”

  “No, thank you. It is still painful to move, but I am all right,” Honour said.

  Widow Lankton accepted the tea her servant girl had poured. “Chamomile,” she said. “Would you care for some, Honour? It should have a calming effect.”

  “Yes, please.” The young maidservant whisked to Honour’s bedside with a cup and walked away with the breakfast tray, most of which she’d managed to consume.

  The ladies sat quietly while Honour reposed upon the feather tick. Mrs. Wadsworth and Widow Lankton passed secretive glances before turning their attention toward Honour. “Honour, dear, we’ve a matter of importance to discuss. It concerns you and Tempe.”

  “Aye, Widow Lankton mentioned there was something to discuss.” Honour offered a meek smile hoping for no more unpleasantness to come her way. But the words which came next were far worse than Honour could ever have imagin
ed.

  Joshua stood in the windowed alcove at the top of the grand staircase, waiting to be announced. Widow Lankton had instructed the housekeeper to bring him up when he arrived. They’d not told Honour, wishing to surprise her with his visit. He hoped she wouldn’t mind. Did she desire to see him as much as he longed to see her?

  Joshua’s hearing quickened as Mrs. Wadsworth spoke, and the pit of his stomach tightened with alarm. “Regretfully, Honour, I am no longer am in need of your quilting services.” He groaned inwardly. How could this be?

  Joshua paced a few steps, working his way closer to the bedchamber door where the housekeeper waited to announce his arrival. Finally, the woman tapped on the door. “Mr. Joshua Sutton has arrived, Mistress.”

  The women’s words tumbled over one another in protest. It appeared he had arrived at precisely the wrong moment, but his mind raced ahead, eager to learn about this untoward turn of events. Honour’s familiar voice rose above the colloquy, “Nay. Please allow him in. I wish him near me to receive this news.”

  As Joshua entered the room, his earnest gaze beheld her at once. Bolstered against a carved headboard upon a layer of embroidered pillows, Honour appeared as a precious stone in its glorious setting. Her face yet wan, her eyes glistened with moisture. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. He’d not seen her since he carried her into the Lankton home the last day he’d been here, and now it took all within him to keep from rushing to her side. But just speaking her name brought him great relief.

  “Honour.”

  “Oh, Joshua.”

  She extended her slender arm toward him and he accepted her hand. He bent down on his knee at her bedside. Covering her hand with his, he drew her palm to his chest. When he released his grasp, their eyes remained locked.