unknotted the drawstring and opened the sack, turning it upside down so that the contents fell onto my skirt. Our campfire had gone out, and at first I couldn’t see what Grandma had given me. I touched my lap and poked myself. “Ouch,” I said, then felt around with the flat of my hand. I touched the object and held it up. “Scissors,” I said, a dull feeling creeping into my heart. Then I felt an object, and without looking at it, I knew it was a thimble, a small thimble just the right size for my finger.
Something else had fallen out of the sack, but I didn’t pick it up. Aunt Catherine leaned over and took the object. “A bundle of quilt pieces, already cut out,” she said, holding them up to the light of the moon, which had just come out from behind a cloud. She laid them on top of the box that we used as a table, and then peered down at them in the moonlight. “Log Cabin, if I’m not mistaken. Look, Meggie, Grandma Mouse completed one of the blocks to use as a pattern. Isn’t it cunning, just the right size for a doll’s quilt?”
“Waxy already has a quilt that Abigail made for her,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed. But I was. Who would think I wanted to make a quilt on our journey to Colorado Territory? Grandma Mouse, that was who. She was trying to turn me into a lady, and I wouldn’t have it!
“Piecing on your own is much more fun than sitting under the table threading needles,” Ma said.
Aunt Catherine laid out the pieces of one square on the box. “Grandma Mouse pinned together the pieces for each square, but I think you could change them. You don’t have to do it her way. You could choose which pieces to put together. Your mother might even give you a scrap of the red calico we bought in St. Joe.”
But it was still quilting, I thought. Even if Ma was a quilter, I didn’t want to be one, not like Grandma Mouse.
“Look, Emmy Blue. See how the pieces fit together. They’re like a puzzle. You like puzzles, don’t you?”
I’d never thought of putting quilt pieces together as being like a puzzle, and I considered that, only slightly more interested now. I still wished Grandma Mouse had given me a book—a good book, one about a girl who ran foot races and played ball.
“We’ll lay them out on the wagon seat in the morning,” Aunt Catherine said. “At least you can fit them together. You won’t have to sew them right away.”
But I knew I would. If Grandma Mouse had given me the quilt pieces, Ma would surely make me stitch them together to form a quilt. I didn’t understand why Ma loved quilting so much.
As I lay in my blankets that night, I knew why Grandmother had given me such a gift. It was because she wanted to turn me into a quilter. That wasn’t much of a present, I decided. I might have to stitch those pieces together, but she’d never make a quilter out of me!
Chapter Ten
A PUZZLE WITHIN
A PUZZLE
W e left early in the morning, when Buttermilk John called out, “Wagons ho!” There were eighteen wagons, and half of them weren’t ready. The rest of us scrambled for places in the front of the train, although Buttermilk John said it didn’t matter who was first. We’d change places each day, the front wagon going to the back of the line and the rest of us moving up one place until we reached the front. That meant that each of us would be the lead wagon every eighteen days. The wagons that weren’t ready hurried to catch up with us. Some didn’t make it until our nooning.
We were number six in line, and the Bonner wagon was behind us. Ma told Aunt Catherine, whose wagon was in front of ours, that we’d be able to keep an eye on Mrs. Bonner. “She will need friends,” Ma said.
With all the commotion and the excitement, Ma forgot about Grandma Mouse’s quilt pieces, which was fine with me. At first I sat beside her on the wagon, but the seat was hard, and there was nothing to do but look at the backsides of the oxen in front of us. So after a time,
Something else had fallen out of the sack, but I didn’t pick it up. Aunt Catherine leaned over and took the object. “A bundle of quilt pieces, already cut out,” she said, holding them up to the light of the moon, which had just come out from behind a cloud. She laid them on top of the box that we used as a table, and then peered down at them in the moonlight. “Log Cabin, if I’m not mistaken. Look, Meggie, Grandma Mouse completed one of the blocks to use as a pattern. Isn’t it cunning, just the right size for a doll’s quilt?”
“Waxy already has a quilt that Abigail made for her,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed. But I was. Who would think I wanted to make a quilt on our journey to Colorado Territory? Grandma Mouse, that was who. She was trying to turn me into a lady, and I wouldn’t have it!
“Piecing on your own is much more fun than sitting under the table threading needles,” Ma said.
Aunt Catherine laid out the pieces of one square on the box. “Grandma Mouse pinned together the pieces for each square, but I think you could change them. You don’t have to do it her way. You could choose which pieces to put together. Your mother might even give you a scrap of the red calico we bought in St. Joe.”
But it was still quilting, I thought. Even if Ma was a quilter, I didn’t want to be one, not like Grandma Mouse.
“Look, Emmy Blue. See how the pieces fit together. They’re like a puzzle. You like puzzles, don’t you?”
I’d never thought of putting quilt pieces together as being like a puzzle, and I considered that, only slightly more interested now. I still wished Grandma Mouse had given me a book—a good book, one about a girl who ran foot races and played ball.
“We’ll lay them out on the wagon seat in the morning,” Aunt Catherine said. “At least you can fit them together. You won’t have to sew them right away.”
But I knew I would. If Grandma Mouse had given me the quilt pieces, Ma would surely make me stitch them together to form a quilt. I didn’t understand why Ma loved quilting so much.
As I lay in my blankets that night, I knew why Grandmother had given me such a gift. It was because she wanted to turn me into a quilter. That wasn’t much of a present, I decided. I might have to stitch those pieces together, but she’d never make a quilter out of me!
Chapter Ten
A PUZZLE WITHIN
A PUZZLE
W e left early in the morning, when Buttermilk John called out, “Wagons ho!” There were eighteen wagons, and half of them weren’t ready. The rest of us scrambled for places in the front of the train, although Buttermilk John said it didn’t matter who was first. We’d change places each day, the front wagon going to the back of the line and the rest of us moving up one place until we reached the front. That meant that each of us would be the lead wagon every eighteen days. The wagons that weren’t ready hurried to catch up with us. Some didn’t make it until our nooning.
We were number six in line, and the Bonner wagon was behind us. Ma told Aunt Catherine, whose wagon was in front of ours, that we’d be able to keep an eye on Mrs. Bonner. “She will need friends,” Ma said.
With all the commotion and the excitement, Ma forgot about Grandma Mouse’s quilt pieces, which was fine with me. At first I sat beside her on the wagon, but the seat was hard, and there was nothing to do but look at the backsides of the oxen in front of us. So after a time,
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