Read Online A Quilt for Christmas by Sandra Dallas - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sandra Dallas
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affected everyoneâMr. Browne, herself, the children. They needed her now, just as much as she needed Will. Eliza put her arms around Davy and Luzena and held them close.
Davy cussed under his breath, muttering, âDamn Secesh,â while Luzena cried and asked who would care for them now.
âI will,â Eliza said, realizing the awful burden that had been placed on her.
âYou going to read Willâs letter?â Missouri Ann asked.
âWhat?â Eliza had forgotten the missive that was enclosed in the envelope. Now she looked at the second letter, which lay on the table, folded up to form its own envelope. She picked it up and read her name, written in the handwriting she loved.
âOpen it,â Davy said.
Eliza started to unfold the paper, but then she stopped. âI couldnât. He must have had hours, maybe only minutes, to live when he wrote it. I couldnât stand to read his letter, knowing he was alive then and maybe only minutes later, he was dead. Maybe weâll read it later, but not now. I couldnât bear it.â
She sat in the chair clutching the letter, while the others cleared the table and washed the dishes. After a time, Missouri Ann put Nance to bed.
âYou go to bed, too,â Missouri Ann told Davy and Luzena. âIâll sit with your ma.â
The children, tired from grief, went up the ladder to the loft and were quiet except for sobs that broke the stillness from time to time.
âYou want your Bible?â Missouri Ann asked. She reached for the leather volume on the mantel, near where the letter had rested.
Eliza shook her head. Her eyes were too tired to read. Besides, what words of comfort were in the Bible that she didnât already know? What comfort could any words give her now?
âGet you on your night dress then,â Missouri Ann, said, helping Eliza to stand. âRaise up your arms.â Eliza let her friend undress her and slip the white cotton shift over her. Then Missouri Ann went to the trunk and took out Elizaâs Sunshine and Rain quilt and wrapped her in it. She blew out the candles, and now, only the dying fire lit the room.
âIâll sit for a moment. You go to bed,â Eliza said, still clutching Willâs letter. She sat down in the rocker, the one Will had made for her when she was expecting Davy.
Missouri Ann started to protest, but it was clear that in her sorrow, Eliza wanted to be alone. So Missouri Ann lay down on her side of the bed, and after a time, her breath slowed in sleep.
Eliza rocked back and forth in a rhythm that ought to have made her sleepy. But she was wide awake, tears silently rolling down her face. Will had been dead more than a month. She had done the milking, had fixed supper, had fed the animals and quilted with Missouri Ann, and all that time Will was dead. They had celebrated Christmas, had read his letter, and Will was dead. Each time sheâd heard a horse in the lane, she had half expected the rider to be Will, home from the war, but Will was in his grave. Would she ever know where it was, or would his resting place go unmarked? He wouldnât even be buried on the farm he loved, where she could erect a stone and tend the mound of dirt over his coffin. She remembered the Christmas letter and how happy Will had been with the quilt. Was it now his shroud? Would he wear it for all eternity? Or had it been left to rot in the mud of the battlefield?
Eliza rocked a long time, thinking of Will, of herself, of the children. The fire was dead when she rose, opened the door, and looked out at the snow. It had fallen all day and been swept into white drifts by the wind. But the wind had stopped, and the snow fell straight down. Another time, she would have found the night magical, but now she could only wonder about Will far away, lying under a blanket of white. He had died in Virginia, the letter said. Eliza tried to think where that was. Did it snow in Virginia? Maybe
Davy cussed under his breath, muttering, âDamn Secesh,â while Luzena cried and asked who would care for them now.
âI will,â Eliza said, realizing the awful burden that had been placed on her.
âYou going to read Willâs letter?â Missouri Ann asked.
âWhat?â Eliza had forgotten the missive that was enclosed in the envelope. Now she looked at the second letter, which lay on the table, folded up to form its own envelope. She picked it up and read her name, written in the handwriting she loved.
âOpen it,â Davy said.
Eliza started to unfold the paper, but then she stopped. âI couldnât. He must have had hours, maybe only minutes, to live when he wrote it. I couldnât stand to read his letter, knowing he was alive then and maybe only minutes later, he was dead. Maybe weâll read it later, but not now. I couldnât bear it.â
She sat in the chair clutching the letter, while the others cleared the table and washed the dishes. After a time, Missouri Ann put Nance to bed.
âYou go to bed, too,â Missouri Ann told Davy and Luzena. âIâll sit with your ma.â
The children, tired from grief, went up the ladder to the loft and were quiet except for sobs that broke the stillness from time to time.
âYou want your Bible?â Missouri Ann asked. She reached for the leather volume on the mantel, near where the letter had rested.
Eliza shook her head. Her eyes were too tired to read. Besides, what words of comfort were in the Bible that she didnât already know? What comfort could any words give her now?
âGet you on your night dress then,â Missouri Ann, said, helping Eliza to stand. âRaise up your arms.â Eliza let her friend undress her and slip the white cotton shift over her. Then Missouri Ann went to the trunk and took out Elizaâs Sunshine and Rain quilt and wrapped her in it. She blew out the candles, and now, only the dying fire lit the room.
âIâll sit for a moment. You go to bed,â Eliza said, still clutching Willâs letter. She sat down in the rocker, the one Will had made for her when she was expecting Davy.
Missouri Ann started to protest, but it was clear that in her sorrow, Eliza wanted to be alone. So Missouri Ann lay down on her side of the bed, and after a time, her breath slowed in sleep.
Eliza rocked back and forth in a rhythm that ought to have made her sleepy. But she was wide awake, tears silently rolling down her face. Will had been dead more than a month. She had done the milking, had fixed supper, had fed the animals and quilted with Missouri Ann, and all that time Will was dead. They had celebrated Christmas, had read his letter, and Will was dead. Each time sheâd heard a horse in the lane, she had half expected the rider to be Will, home from the war, but Will was in his grave. Would she ever know where it was, or would his resting place go unmarked? He wouldnât even be buried on the farm he loved, where she could erect a stone and tend the mound of dirt over his coffin. She remembered the Christmas letter and how happy Will had been with the quilt. Was it now his shroud? Would he wear it for all eternity? Or had it been left to rot in the mud of the battlefield?
Eliza rocked a long time, thinking of Will, of herself, of the children. The fire was dead when she rose, opened the door, and looked out at the snow. It had fallen all day and been swept into white drifts by the wind. But the wind had stopped, and the snow fell straight down. Another time, she would have found the night magical, but now she could only wonder about Will far away, lying under a blanket of white. He had died in Virginia, the letter said. Eliza tried to think where that was. Did it snow in Virginia? Maybe
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