Read Online Elm Creek Quilts [07] The Sugar Camp Quilt by Jennifer Chiaverini - Free Book Online Page A

trifle more appreciation for her quilt top. “Where shall I put this?” she asked as they entered the house. It was small and tidy. Mr. Wright had managed well for a bachelor, but as far as Dorothea could discern, Constance had made few changes since her arrival. A vase of flowers stood on a corner shelf in the house’s front room, but Mr. Wright could have arranged the decoration for his bride. A sewing basket sat on the floor beside a chair loaded with a pile of clothes, likely for mending.
    “Leave it in the bedroom, I suppose.”
    As her mother went to the kitchen, Dorothea found the bedroom but lingered in the doorway, studying the quilt already spread upon the bed. It was an unusual string-pieced star pattern, one Dorothea had never seen before, probably stitched from the leftover scraps or even remnants of older quilts.
    “Dorothea?” Lorena joined her in the doorway and spotted the quilt that had captured Dorothea’s attention. “Perhaps you should place the appliqué sampler over it.”
    “Why?” The fabric in the quilt did not appear to be new, but the colors had held fast, the stitches were small and even, and the binding was not worn. Perhaps the quilt had been made more recently than it appeared. “I think it’s rather striking.”
    “Yes, but it is not quite the thing for a bridal chamber.”
    Dorothea thought of the elaborately pieced, appliquéd, and stuffed creations some of her friends had made as their own nuptials approached—beautiful, decorative, and often too fine for daily use. Her best friend and her husband, married only seven months, had last slept beneath their quilt on their wedding night, although Mary was considering releasing it from the hope chest for their first anniversary. In comparison, Abel Wright’s quilt was less lovely and impressive, but far more comfortable and enduring. She wondered how he had come to own it. He did not piece quilts himself, as far as she knew.
    “Perhaps it is not a proper bridal quilt,” said Dorothea. “But it is a perfect marriage quilt.”
    “I suppose so.” Dorothea’s mother put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders as she regarded Abel Wright’s quilt. “A summer quilt is not enough for these cool autumn evenings, anyway. Since Mr. Wright is not a quilter himself, he is not likely to have anything more suitable, and Constance was unlikely to bring a wedding quilt with her, much less the thirteen pieced tops required of a bride of fashion in this county. It is a pity we no longer have yours. All those tops would have made a fine wedding gift, quilted or not.”
    “They would have, indeed,” said Dorothea, managing a tight smile. “The appliqué sampler top will have to do.”
    She saw no reason to tell her mother she never would have agreed to give away all her quilt tops. Why confess her selfishness when such a sacrifice was impossible, as the seven quilt tops she had pieced, appliquéd, and tucked away in her hope chest had been lost in the flood that had taken their farm? Dorothea had intended to re-create them and complete the thirteen that, according to local custom, would have shown she was properly trained and prepared for marriage. Lorena had her own ideas of proper training, however, and with so many more important items to replace, a new hope chest remained a luxury they could not afford. With home, land, and livestock lost, thirteen unquilted tops for Dorothea’s own use in some distant and uncertain future were a secondary, even frivolous concern. What no one in the family had yet admitted aloud was that Dorothea, with no wealth of her own, was unlikely to need even one wedding quilt.
    Her throat constricting, she set the muslin-wrapped bundle on a pine bureau. “I should help Constance in the garden,” she said, and left the house.
    Constance did not look up as Dorothea approached, nor did she respond when Dorothea asked where Constance would prefer for her to begin. “I suppose I’ll start over here, then,”