Pattern for Romance: Quilts of Love Series

by Carla J Gade

  “Are you all right, brother?”

  Andrew rubbed his temples, shaking as he sat up.

  Joshua stood and tugged Andrew to his feet. Father pulled him into his embrace and Mother rushed toward them.

  Sheriff Porter stood over Leach. The pitiful soul groaned and released his last breath.

  Joshua looked back and saw Emily’s head buried against Honour’s shoulder. Honour glanced up and met Joshua’s gaze across the parlor—just beyond the pristine quilt, untouched in the center of the room.

  “The marriage would have been nullified, under the circumstances,” Reverend Cooper said, his wife standing near, “but it matters not, because now he is deceased.”

  Honour observed the reverend explaining the situation to Widow Lankton, thankful the elderly woman had blessedly fainted and been ushered from the chaos by the reverend and his wife. Deborah had taken Anne to safety, given her delicate condition. Moreover, Honour was relieved when she’d learned Mrs. Hall had instructed the maidservant to take the children to a neighbor’s house. The girls knew little of what happened, save the unsavory outburst of a drunken man.

  Joshua took Honour by the hand. “’Tis a fine way to begin a courtship.”

  “I believe you were merely attempting to impress me, saving me from harm as you did. I do thank you.” Honour sighed. “Oh, Joshua, what a dreadful evening this has been.”

  “I know, love. I never anticipated it would turn out as it did,” Joshua said. “Yet, we followed Sheriff Porter’s plan for confronting Leach. The trap was set, but it was not for us to know the outcome.”

  “Where is Emily?” Honour asked. “Have you seen her?”

  “She is with Andrew and Mother in the other room. I believe Maisey has gone to fetch the girls. My sisters and their husbands will be on their way soon. Mrs. Wadsworth and the captain are waiting for Maisey to return.”

  “Your father?”

  “I believe he is in the kitchen pestering Mrs. Hall for something to eat.” Joshua grinned.

  Andrew, Emily, and Mrs. Sutton returned to the parlor.

  Widow Lankton approached the group. “Joshua, Andrew, would you mind setting the quilt frame against the wall so my servants may reassemble this room? Though, I do not know what will become of it after this debacle.” The widow glanced at her niece. “Sorry, dear. We shall get through this, fear not. I am only glad your parents were not here to witness this. They shall be shocked to learn what has transpired upon their return from their trip.”

  Emily glanced away, apparently lost in thought.

  Andrew and Joshua each took an end of the quilt frame and carefully leaned it against the far wall of the long room. The small group gathered around, admiring the coverlet.

  “Even after all of this, something beautiful remains,” Mrs. Cooper said.

  Reverend Cooper nodded. “So are the ways of the Lord.”

  Temperance came skipping into the room, unawares. She halted in front of the quilt, and stared, tilting her head from one side to the other. “Honour, your quilt!”

  “You are mistaken, Tempe. This belongs to Mrs. L—it belongs to Emily,” Honour said.

  Tempe looked up at her with such certainty on her face it nearly broke Honour’s heart.

  “The designs are like the indigo quilt Mother made. I know it is yours. I couldn’t tell when it was lying down,” Tempe said.

  “Tempe, the quilt is not mine.”

  “It could be, should you accept it.” Emily gave Honour a gentle nod. “I would like you to have it, Honour. It truly belongs to you with all the time and effort—and love—you have invested in it.”

  Widow Lankton smiled approvingly at her niece, and turned to Honour. “Take it, dear.”

  Honour rubbed her arms, a feeling of warmth encompassing her like the familiar cloth of a quilted counterpane. “Thank you, I shall.” Her eyes filled with tears of many emotions, but she brushed them back, willing only the joyful ones to remain.

  “Temperance, why don’t you go home with Abigail tonight? We can bring you there on our way home,” Mrs. Sutton said. “Would you like that?”

  “Oh, yes.” Tempe turned to Honour. “May, I?”

  Honour smiled. “You certainly may, pumpkin.”

  “Shall we release the quilt from its prison?” Andrew asked with a grin.

  “It would be very nice of you,” Honour said.

  Andrew and Joshua removed the frame, and folded the quilt with care.

  “You may set it in the best parlor, for the time being,” Widow Lankton said. “Joshua, you won’t mind taking it in there for Honour, will you? Honour, please show him where to place it.”

  Honour blushed as she left the room, fully aware the dowager offered them a few moments of privacy.

  Once inside the best parlor, Honour sat on the rolled-arm velvet sofa.

  Joshua held the quilt over his arms. “Where should I place this?”

  Honour patted the top of her quilted petticoat. ’Twas her favorite of blue calamanco. “I would like to hold it for a little while.”

  “I thought that you might.” Joshua sat beside her and draped the quilt across their laps.

  Honour traced the heart shape which, perchance, was on the top. She scarcely could believe the quilt had been safely returned to her, though the course it had taken to find its true home was as astounding as her own journey.

  Joshua brushed a loose tendril from her face. “’Tis yours, isn’t it? The quilt you had lost.”

  Honour glanced up at him. “Aye, the very one my mother and I began on our journey to America.”

  “You amaze me, Honour Metcalf. You knew all along, yet you relinquished it for the joy of another.” Joshua gazed into her eyes, full of admiration.

  “Emily needed it more than I,” Honour said. “Yet giving it up proved to provide a blessing for me. I shall forever wonder at the mysteries of the Lord.”

  He moved closer, the warmth of his body radiating from him. “And I shall forever wonder at the mystery of you, my love.”

  Honour dared touched his face, trailing her finger along his jaw. “I have other secrets for you to discover.”

  “I intend to rectify that at your earliest convenience.” The corners of his mouth curved.

  “Allow me then, to confess my love to you,” she whispered. “For you have filled every crevice of my heart.”

  At last, he kissed her, lovingly, longingly . . . until a little giggle came from the doorway. Tempe inched her way into the room. Mrs. Sutton called after her, soon appearing at the door.

  “Do come in, ladies,” Joshua said, stroking back his hair.

  Honour looked at him, astonished.

  “I was about to offer something to Honour and you have arrived precisely in time.” Joshua grinned mischievously, and pulled something from his waistcoat pocket. He held it up, pretending to inspect it. “Look what I found at Mr. Greenleaf’s mercantile, Mother. Imagine that. Someone with the initials H E M, hem. It must belong to a quilter.”

  Honour recognized it at once, and grasped it from his fingers. “My thimble!” She rubbed her finger over the engraved initials. Her initials.

  Tempe giggled.

  Mrs. Sutton tsked. “You never know what that son of mine will do next.”

  Joshua retrieved another item from his pocket. He held the shiny item, again feigning to inspect it. “I am not sure. I think I prefer this one. I bought this silver thimble from Paul Revere and had him engrave it.” He held the thimble within Honour’s view, though not allowing her to have it. “Tell me, what do you think of those initials, my love?”

  Honour beheld the intricately fashioned thimble, with the three letters H E S engraved upon the front. Her heart soared. Honour Elizabeth Sutton!

  “Mayhap you would like to exchange the one you have for this one?” Joshua grinned, his dimples creating deep contours by his handsome mouth. “What say you, Miss Metcalf? Will you exchange and M for an S?”

  Honour handed him her thimble. “I feared
you would never ask.”

  Joshua placed the new thimble in her hand, enclosing her hands in his. Honour glanced down, their clasped hands resting atop the heart-shaped pattern on her bridal quilt.

  Epilogue

  September, 1812

  Honour Sutton gathered the white whole-cloth quilt from the chest at the end of her bed and pulled it close to her breast. Squeezing her eyes, she breathed in its faint fragrance with the barest hint of lavender, cinnamon, and the scent of years. Oh, the wealth of memories, seemingly woven into the very fabric of the white linen whole-cloth quilt.

  She closed the lid of the chest, and lay the quilt down upon her bed. A canopy of rich fabric draped over the tester bed with the print of vines and floral motifs in crimson, gold, and indigo on a background of ivory. The white quilt had graced her marriage bed for many years, though after some time she had decided to tuck it away to preserve it, using it to mark special occasions such as the month of her wedding anniversary, October.

  Honour longed to see it on her bed once more, before she relinquished it to the care of another, much the same as she did those many years ago. The joy had returned to her tenfold, and now the time had come to share it again. Honour unfolded the quilt over another quilted counterpane upon her bed, its fabric matching the draped canopy. She searched each corner of the quilt, locating the first and last stitches—the small M placed there by her mother at its beginning, and the S Honour stitched at its completion after Joshua asked for her hand in marriage. As she smoothed her hand over the white cloth, another hand covered hers, that of a younger woman. The pale satin hand gently took hold of Honour’s own hand, with its silky sheen and wrinkles.

  “This quilt must have quite a story, Grandmum,” the sweet voice said.

  Honour traced her finger around the feathered heart pattern. “Aye. It contains plentiful memories, with many yet to behold. Though the cloth has faded, the memories are as fresh now as ever.” She glanced up at her granddaughter and smiled.

  Her eldest granddaughter kissed her on the cheek, Honour in turn patting the spot, feeling the lines of time beneath her palm. Honour grasped the edge of the quilt, pulling it into place over the feathered mattress.

  “Let me assist you with that.” Her granddaughter went to the opposite side of the bed and helped lay the quilt in its proper place. They both ambled to the foot of the bed, admiring the beautiful quilted counterpane.

  “The patterns are beautiful. Did you design them yourself?” her granddaughter asked.

  “I did—with the help of my mother on our journey to America. My mother taught me the skill, which we enjoyed in the leisurely days of my girlhood in England. We passed the time on our voyage working on my bridal quilt for my dower chest.”

  “I am blessed to have learned how to quilt from both you and my mother.” Her granddaughter lifted her shoulders and smiled. “Perhaps I shall pass the skill along to my own daughter someday.”

  Honour beheld the young woman before her. Her dark auburn tresses so resembled her own in her days of youth, though Honour’s were now silver. She noted her granddaughter’s high-waisted lawn gown, lace fichu, and flat satin slippers. “’Tis a lovely dress, my dear. How the fashions have changed through the years. Indeed, much has changed, as much will. Yet, so many things remain the same.”

  “Thank you,” the young lady said, fingering the fine embroidery of the buttercream-colored fabric. “The cloth came from Grandfather’s store. Great aunt Temperance created the dress for me in the spring. She is a fine seamstress.”

  “She is, at that. She was taught by the best mantua-maker in Boston, Margaret Wadsworth, the wife of a sea captain. She owned Mrs. Wadsworth’s Mantua Shoppe where I worked when Temperance and I first came to Boston.” Honour smiled with a fond sigh of remembrance. “She was so dear to us and treated us as her own daughters, having no children of her own. She was like a second grandmother to your mother in her early childhood. Your mother loved visiting her shop as a child, with all of Mrs. Wadsworth’s lovely gowns, fripperies, and fashion dolls.”

  “You were a mantua-maker? I did not know that.”

  “Nay, I was a quilter then. The skill my mother had taught me, and talent bestowed on me by my Heavenly Father, proved to be a saving grace when I arrived in Boston with nary a shilling to my name, and a young sister to provide for.”

  “Mother has told me about the tragic circumstances leaving you and Aunt Temperance orphaned. It must have been devastating.”

  “’Twas a troublesome time.” Honour’s mouth grew taut, and she brushed her finger across her lips as her thoughts drifted back over the sands of time. Her eyes became moist pools, even after all of these years.

  “I fear I could not have endured it. You have great strength.”

  Honour blinked back her forming tears, a habit she’d grown accustomed to, having grown more stoic in her maturing years. “’Twas the Lord’s strength that bolstered us. We trusted Him to see us through it and learned to walk with Him, not in perilous times alone, but to walk each day in His truth.”

  Her granddaughter sidled up to Honour and hugged her arm.

  “Sweet, Honour. My namesake.”

  Her granddaughter smiled. “My sister, Margaret, is she named for Mrs. Wadsworth?”

  “She is. And your sister, Olive, for your grandfather’s mother,” Honour said. “And your own mother, I named after my Mum, Susannah.”

  “Let’s sit by the window.” The two Honours rested upon a pair of upholstered winged-back chairs.

  The elder Honour released a soft laugh. “Time passes so fast. Here we are and another war has begun. Your mother was about thirteen when the last war ended. We called her our little daughter of liberty, because she helped me mend soldier’s uniforms and care for her younger siblings whilst I was busy with those tasks.”

  “They are calling this Second War of American Independence,” Honour’s granddaughter said. “Grandfather Joshua fought in the first war, did he not?”

  “He did, along with your great uncle Andrew. How proud their mother was to see them in their uniforms, though it was worrisome to see them go. Aunt Anne’s and Sarah’s husbands also enlisted.”

  “Thankfully they all returned.”

  “Indeed.” Honour looked heavenward, and sighed. “Yet when Joshua and Andrew returned, they provided another service to our country at home, by sewing uniforms for officers and soldiers alike. Great-grandfather Sutton received a commission from the Continental Army, by George Washington. Though he worked long hours, I was glad to see him at the end of the day to encourage him with his work. And to have him kiss our children good night, your mother among them!”

  Young Honour smiled.

  “Folks tend to forget about the faithful service many performed at home for the cause of liberty. Everyone did his or her part in those days, and many works of service to our country remain unspoken of today.”

  “Like your mending uniforms?”

  Joshua appeared at the door, his white hair pulled back neatly in its tie. “Yes,” he interjected. “Has your grandmother told you it was her plan to invite soldiers to bring their worn and torn uniforms to Sutton’s Clothiers? She’d take them up to the house to mend them, without charging for her services.”

  “Grandfather, would Sutton’s be willing to participate in the cause again?”

  Joshua tilted his jaw in interest. Honour looked on with pride.

  “Perhaps we could collect quilts and blankets for the soldiers. People could drop them off and should they need mending, my sisters and I could patch them with spare cloth from your workrooms.”

  Honour raised her eyebrows as she met Joshua’s gaze. His bright eyes sparkled at his granddaughter’s idea. “What do you say, dear?”

  “I say she has a heart much like her grandmother.” The crevices at the corner of Joshua’s mouth deepened and he smiled. “We shall do it.”

  “It will not interfere with your business, Grandfather?”

  Joshua rubbed h
is chin. “Nay. The only thing interfering in my business is Jefferson’s trade embargoes these past years. It has been disseminating the economy, though we are holding our own. There is always a need for textile. Despite the Enemy Trade Act and this new war, the British are not keeping as tight a blockade on the Northern states so we are able to receive goods from the West Indies.”

  “Thanks be to God,” Honour said.

  Joshua adjusted his waistcoat. “Enough of politics. I hear my lovely granddaughter shall be wed at the Lankton mansion. Your Uncle Andrew and Aunt Emily are looking forward to having you at their home.”

  “I’ve spent many of my girlhood days playing there with my cousins. It is the perfect setting for my wedding.”

  “How is Aunt Temperance coming along with your wedding gown, dear?” Honour asked.

  She could scarcely believe her granddaughter’s childhood days were bygone, and now she was a young lady about to be wed. Had her own face glowed similarly all those years ago?

  “It is nearly done, Grandmum, and so lovely. I cannot believe I shall soon be a bride.” Their granddaughter’s eyes misted.

  Joshua gave his granddaughter a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and walked across the room to the bedstead. “What have we here?” He turned toward Honour, his eyes wide. “’Tis not our anniversary, is it?”

  Honour swatted her handkerchief into the air.

  Joshua looked from his wife to his granddaughter. “I might forget our anniversary, but I shall never forget our wedding day. We, too, were wed at the Lankton estate . . . in October.” Joshua leaned over Honour’s shoulder and kissed her on the cheek, while their granddaughter looked on demurely.

  “We shall share the same wedding month,” young Honour said.

  Honour glanced over to the bed. “Then it is especially fitting, granddaughter, that we gift you with our bridal quilt.”

  “Grandmum! Grandfather! Truly?”

  “’Tis an honor to bequeath it to our eldest granddaughter.” Honour rested her hand upon her shoulder.

  “And your namesake.” Joshua squeezed Honour’s hand. “You must honor the Lord in all things, Granddaughter, especially in matters of love.”