Threads of Change

by Jodi Barrows

  Abby smiled as each of her fellow seamstresses eagerly tried the new hint. One by one, they placed the eye of the needle between their lips to moisten the opening and then pointed the tip of the thread into the eye of the needles, threading them the first time with no trouble.

  “Isn’t that wonderful!” Megan exclaimed.

  The quilt top on which they worked wasn’t especially big. Megan had called it a lap size because it just covered a person when seated.

  “I like this smaller size,” Emma told them. “I think you could even hang it on the wall, like a picture.”

  Liz chuckled over the idea of hanging a quilt on the all. Its only purpose would be a source of beauty, a wall decoration, which seemed like a rather astonishing idea.

  The quilt, layered with cotton batting in the middle, would be covered at the back with a length of muslin. Stretched tightly in the wooden frame, it might finish up quickly as a smaller piece of appliqué art; and of course because four talented hands flew across it.

  Each of their needles had been threaded with a knot at the end of the thread, except for Liz’s. She never used a knot; instead, she used a double backstitch each time she started a line of stitches. The eye of the needle allowed the thread to move through it without hindrance as she worked each stitch into the quilt.

  The needle pushed into the middle layer of the batting and pulled through tightly, popping the knot into the batting and between the layers of the quilt sandwich. An accomplished quilter would never allow a knot to show on either side of the quilt, and Liz knew that each seamstress at this particular quilt frame could be considered an expert with the needle. Abby and Emma had been taught the art of the needle by their mother, Katherine, the youngest daughter of Lucas Mailly. Elizabeth and Megan were taught by their grandmother, Claire. Like the pieces of the quilt that they’d fit together so carefully, the women of their family were sewn expertly together by the stitches of their shared love for the art of quilting.

  The women in the community were always excited to go to a quilt gathering, sometimes called a “quilt’n” or “a quilting bee.” One of their projects could be finished rather quickly with so many hands at work, and sewing secrets were passed around as readily as community news and activities—not to be confused with local gossip, of course, a behavior which the church gatherings frowned upon.

  “I will certainly miss our little group of quilting friends,” Megan said to Liz, as if she’d read her sister’s thoughts. Turning to Abby and Emma, she added, “We have a lovely group of friends here in Lecompte! I hope we’ll have one in our new home, too.”

  Row after row, the thimbled fingers loaded stitches into the appliquéd, flower-patterned quilt. The ladies rolled it several times as the work progressed from the pattern that their grandmother Claire had designed myriad years ago. Liz concentrated on her stitches, twelve to the inch to be exact.

  Two gray kittens played with old Samson’s tail, which had a mind of its own. They swatted and jumped at it as another kitten curled around Abby’s leg under the quilt frame and rolled itself into her skirt, making it look like a gossamer puddle on the floor.

  Liz was finally at the end of her thread when Emma and Megan went off to retrieve some lunch. She slid the needle under the top layer of fabric and secured a backstitch to the cotton batting. She pulled out her stork embroidery scissors and neatly clipped the thread before placing her needle into the edge of the spool.

  “We certainly have accomplished a lot this morning,” she said, looking over the quilt. Her fingers smoothed over the tiny stitches she had just placed. “It’s coming along nicely,” she said, mostly to herself.

  The playful kitten suddenly jumped into her lap, and she jumped. “Cally, you silly thing, I sure will miss you.” She stroked the soft fur and held the kitten to her face.

  Liz felt Abby’s eyes on her. “Abby, I am so glad you are here. It has been far too long. I was beyond excitement to hear that you and Emma were willing to make the move. I’m sorry your cousin Sadie wasn’t able to come, too.”

  Abby reached for Liz’s hand across the quilt and smiled. “Grandpa is so certain about this political unrest, it is frightful, Liz.”

  “I know.” Liz gently squeezed Abby’s fingers. “Let’s not worry ourselves though. Grandpa seems certain of this move, and I have faith in him.”

  “Yes, I do as well. But that doesn’t mean that I won’t worry.”

  “Well, let’s not dwell on things we can’t change.”

  Abby nodded in agreement.

  “Are you excited about your new teaching engagement?” Liz asked her. “Pastor Parker seems so nice, and his wife Anna does too.”

  “Yes, I am. Excited and worried all at once.” Abby expelled a deep breath. “I do not know where to begin. I have to be careful to not scare myself into running back to my Mississippi classroom.”

  “We’ll take it one day at a time.” Liz comforted her with soft words and a pat on her hand. “Together.”

  “Liz, I’m very curious about Texas, and I do not feel that I know much about it. What can you tell me?” Abby pressed. “Settle my nerves.”

  Liz sighed before she began. “I understand the weather is actually quite similar to here, hot and such. Only less trees and rain, which might not be too terrible! Our area has trees and a river; the Trinity River, to be more specific. Sounds like home almost, doesn’t it? Except they say it’s ranch country. It has cattle grazing land and open prairie. Cattle with great long horns roam about all over. Grandpa and Thomas are always talking on the porch about this ranching. Thomas told me that a person could round up as many of these longhorns as they wish, brand them, and they’re yours!”

  Abby smiled.

  “The idea of a ranch is very exciting to them. Luke is taken with the idea of being a cowboy, but Grandpa Lucas forgets how advanced he is in years now. He never quits, and Thomas seems to forget that Grandpa isn’t a young man anymore, too. Thomas has just stepped into the shoes Caleb wore in Grandpa’s life, and Luke’s too.”

  Liz paused realizing what she had just said.

  “Well, what about you, Liz? Has he stepped into those shoes for you?”

  “I haven’t thought about it exactly like that.”

  Liz looked to Abby with tears in her eyes again. She tried to blink them back. “I still feel married, except that I get lonely. My heart hurts, but I want to feel better. And,” she paused, “if forgetting Caleb is what I have to do to get better, then I don’t see that I can do it. I will never be able to do that.”

  “I have not been here long, my dear cousin, but I can see that Thomas adores you. He doesn’t have to court you. He is already here. He is already in this family. And he is a gentleman. I think he’s waiting for you to make room in your heart for him. He won’t be assertive, Liz. My only advice is to not wait too long for happiness to find you.”

  Megan and Emma appeared with sandwiches and lemonade on a tray, and Abby reached for her drink.

  “We have much work ahead of us,” Liz told them. “Though we’ve already accomplished so much, there is even more once we reach Texas.”

  She looked to the others for support.

  Emma leaned forward, propping her elbows on the edge of the quilt frame with her chin in her hands. “I am growing more excited each day. I can barely manage the anticipation. And though it’s exciting, a part of me feels frightful too. I only wish Grandpa was coming with us now, not later.”

  Megan munched something crunchy and prepared to speak.

  “At first, I also felt frightful, and though it may come again, I have confidence in us. We may be women, but we can do this, I’ve no doubt. It’s an opportunity, and as such it will be wonderful!”

  The ladies were amused at Megan’s outlook.

  “Besides,” she said, “I’ve become a wonderful shot!” She raised her hand to look like a revolver and pretended to blow smoke from its barrel.

  They all laughed at Megan as she sat down, still in an excited state
of mind as she continued. “I am most excited at the prospect of having a dress shop. Just wait until you see that new treadle sewing machine work. We ordered it from Chicago, you know; I paid for it myself. The dresses will simply fly off the machine.”

  She finally stopped for air, carefully sipping her lemonade as Liz smiled, affirming her sister’s words.

  “It will be a hard life for a while. I don’t know how far the water is. We might have to carry it. We might even have to live in our wagons. It certainly won’t be as comfortable as we have it here.” Emma’s eyes opened wide and round as saucers as she listened to Liz speak. “We will experience firsthand how our grandmothers lived,” she told them. “We’ll get to know what their daily lives were like.”

  Liz sat on her front porch mending the binding on Grandpa Lucas’s favorite quilt, which he himself had named Southern Skies for the long, thin blue and red star points. The background had been constructed from tan scraps, and he’d told Liz that the stars were as big and beautiful as the stars in the Louisiana night sky.

  Lucas loved to sit on the porch as much as Liz did. When she was a little girl, he told her the story of the geese flying south for the winter, and the way the birds knew when to fly north or south. He said the birds supported and encouraged each other in the journey. The bird in the lead had the hardest job because he had to break the wind currents for the others behind him; thus, each bird behind the front one had an easier time flying. The flock always flew in the V formation, her grandfather had taught her; the last held the resting or coasting spot. They squawked as they flew over the Mailly property, and Grandpa Lucas said the birds voiced their support and encouragement to each other, praising the lead bird for its leadership.

  “When a goose is injured and needs to leave the group,” her grandfather said, “they send down several to aid him in his recovery. They can join up with any flock again when the injured bird is ready and able to fly.”

  Grandpa Lucas had always said that people needed to be like these creatures: praising the leaders, encouraging others, and working hard.

  When Liz made Grandpa’s quilt, she put twelve flying geese in each block. She told him that it made her think of the time they spent on the porch together, and his lessons about life.

  Liz would miss this porch, but it calmed her knowing that her family would go with her, and they could build a new one.

  She felt so tired. She’d endured some busy, laborious days preparing for the trip west. Liz looked at the six wagons standing packed with goods. The structures looked like they might give birth at any time; they stood waiting as a metaphor for the new life now upon Liz and her family.

  Her family had already retired, all of them as tired as Liz, but she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d spent many nights out on the porch lately, this one her last. In the morning, she would leave the Mailly home. She would leave Riverton.

  Liz prayerfully pondered God’s promises. She asked for wisdom, guidance, health, and safety. She asked for strength and endurance. She thanked Him for Thomas, willing to travel such a long way with them, and for Chet, who knew Texas as his home, for agreeing to act as their scout.

  Liz sat rocking, comforted in knowing that the Texas Rangers would help guide them in the more dangerous areas. Grandpa Lucas had thought of everything.

  “Please God,” she requested one more time. “Protection, special protection.”

  “A penny for your thoughts?” her grandfather asked from the doorway with his pipe in hand.

  Liz looked his way. “I just finished mending your favorite quilt.”

  “Thank you, Liz. You know how much I love those Southern Skies.”

  He stepped forward, leaning on a post of the porch as he lit his pipe.

  She looked down at the flying geese on the quilt.

  “These birds are amazing, the way God created their nature …” She looked up to her grandfather and smiled. “How do you know they are squawking encouragement to each other? Maybe they’re just cranky.”

  Smoke went up from his pipe, and he crossed one leg over the ankle of the other. His eyes twinkled through the darkness, and he chuckled. “I choose to believe in the good and positive, Liz. Besides, a little bird told me.” His eyebrows teased with a wiggle.

  She stood up, placed the quilt in the rocker and went to her grandfather. With her arms around him, she said, “I miss you already.” Her voice cracked, and she looked out over his shoulder and blinked back a burn from her eyes. “I’m a little melancholy about leaving my home, but I am ready to go. In the morning, I will be ready. Why aren’t you in bed?” she asked him.

  “I was waiting on my quilt,” he chuckled. “Can’t sleep without it, you know.”

  She picked it up and placed it in his arms.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Liz. I will see you soon, real soon. When the birds fly south.”

  Liz looked back at her Grandpa on the night porch and chiseled the picture into her heart.

  She never wanted to lose such memories.

  Liz must have fallen asleep the very moment her head hit the pillow. She didn’t even remember getting into bed or saying her nightly prayer.

  Liz rolled over in the darkness to face the window, her hair in her eyes. She brushed it aside. “Is it almost morning yet?” she whispered to herself.

  She arose and went to the window, peeking out. “No sun yet.”

  While she’d slept, the moon had slid across the sky, now showing from a position opposite of where she had last seen it. The stars shone over the house and the six wagons waited in the yard; waiting for their dusty day ahead, when they would be useful and satisfied.

  Excitement squeezed her insides. She slipped back into her warm bed and tried to sleep, knowing she might regret not having a full night’s rest when weariness caught up to her out on the trail.

  A pink ray of sunlight sliced through Liz’s morning curtains and splashed against her face and pillow. Within just a few short moments, she was in the kitchen preparing a small breakfast and packing a lunch they all might eat along the journey. She wrapped a piece of bread and cheese in a small cloth for everyone and then placed each of them into a larger cloth sack that held two green apples and a tin cup. She made a sack for each person and planned to place the sacks under the wagon benches for later.

  Cheese might prove a real luxury for lunch along the trail on their first day. Afterward, high temperatures would surely spoil such treats. From then on, they would have to eat dried meats, breads, and beans. Hopefully, the men could kill something for dinner each night. The jars of preserved fruit and other items from the cellar, packed neatly away in the sawdust, would serve them for special occasions or hard times on the trail. The four chickens she planned to bring along would hopefully produce eggs for their nourishment.

  Grandpa Lucas had already risen, and Liz saw him out there inspecting the wagons once again, reassuring himself of their trailworthiness. In one wagon, he placed several extra wooden wheels and other materials that might be useful if the originals were damaged during the journey. Liz knew how surprisingly easy a wheel could break; sometimes the spokes caught and stripped the insides away. Or, as happened more often than any other scenario, the bolts could wiggle off and lose hold of the wheel, sending the wagon down in a dusty crash. Grandpa Lucas had seen this many times before, and Liz knew he wanted to ensure they would have enough materials in the instance that it happened along the trail.

  The group gathered in the kitchen and quickly ate breakfast. Afterward, they collected all the essentials that could not be packed the night before and placed them in the appropriate wagons. Most of the millworkers waited in the yard next to the wagons, noticeably intrigued that Lucas Mailly had actually allowed his four granddaughters to embark on such a voyage west. Alone! It was a rare occurrence for any woman or group of women to have such an opportunity. Liz supposed that, in essence, it positioned a stepping-stone in their small community, and she hoped that stepping-stone mi
ght be utilized by other women in the months and years to come; used again and again.

  Luke placed his mother’s chickens into her wagon, and Liz surveyed their placement, adjusting the wooden cages as she saw fit. Luke smiled at his mom and gave her a hug.

  “They could drop off,” she defended. “It’s not going to be trails like we are accustomed to. These trails are much shakier and not used so often.”

  “Are you set?” he asked her.

  Liz’s eyes widened and she smiled. “Yes, I suppose I am all set.”

  “Good! I can’t wait to get out of here! I wonder how far we’ll make it today.”

  Liz smiled at Luke’s excitement. “Where’s Bear?”

  “Grandpa has him,” he said, motioning toward his grandfather and Thomas. “Bear! Come boy!” Luke whistled.

  The fluffy-haired black ball ran toward them, stopping just in time to keep from colliding with Liz. Luke patted the dog’s sides and rubbed his head with two hands.

  “Are you all set, boy?” The dog grew more and more excited with Luke’s encouraging words, and he began to bark. “Good boy,” Luke assured him.

  The wagons had been lined up according to Grandpa Lucas’s instructions and stood patiently with drivers now onboard. Liz’s grandfather decided that the best manner to travel would be in pairs, two wagons traveling side-by-side and two wagons traveling behind and so forth. This allowed each person a partner who could assist them if necessary. The wagons had been arranged accordingly, and Grandpa Lucas appeared satisfied to have the matter settled in his favor. Thomas took the lead out front, the leader for the wagon train. He also agreed that this method of travel was a good idea in case one of the ladies needed help with the reins. Behind his wagon, Liz and Megan teamed up, then Abby and Emma, Luke and Blue, and John as a single at the back. Chet planned to ride on horseback. Thomas’s saddle horse had been tied to the side of his lead wagon, and Grandpa Lucas insisted that they take a few extra horses along, leaving them fresh in case they were needed to scout ahead or search for water, so they’d tied them to the back of John’s wagon.