The Union Quilters, page 9
The Union Quilters and the men of Abel’s construction team were engaged in a friendly competition to see who would complete their grand project first. Anneke collected their eightieth block on the same day Abel drove in the nail that completed the framing. A church sewing circle dropped off the blocks that pushed their total above one hundred on the same day a one-legged veteran finished the interior staircase. Hans jokingly complained that it was not a fair competition because the women could determine that they had received enough blocks and begin assembling the top whenever they chose, whereas the men could not decide that they had run out of time and forgo adding a roof or plastering the walls. To make things more fair, and because it would be easier to plan the layout if she knew how many blocks the quilt would contain, Anneke settled upon 121 blocks, or eleven rows of eleven blocks apiece, framed by a floral appliqué border. She told the Union Quilters that she and Prudence would begin the border right away rather than wait for the central rows to be collected, arranged, and sashed, and anyone who wished to help would be welcome to join them.
Overwhelmed with other responsibilities, Dorothea gave the committee her regrets. They apparently had not expected her to assist with the quilt assembly, for they regarded her with surprise, and Constance said, “Of course not, Dorothea. Your days have only the same number of hours as anyone else’s.” Dorothea wished for a few extra. She felt as if she were never at rest, and she rarely completed more than half of the items on her daily to-do list. Mrs. Hennessey was a tremendous help around the house and she doted upon Abigail, but the responsibilities of running Two Bears Farm fell to Dorothea alone. She had not realized how much she and Thomas had relied on each other while making the countless daily decisions and handling the unexpected problems that confronted the farm. The hired men knew their jobs well and performed their duties ably, and Hans was only a short ride away if an emergency cropped up, but Dorothea greatly missed being able to find Thomas in the fields, barn, or study and seek his advice. Letters were too slow and too unpredictable for matters requiring an immediate decision, so Dorothea had gradually become accustomed to deciding on her own. In the first few months of the war, when confronted with an unforeseen problem or opportunity, she would consult Thomas by mail and wait to hear from him before taking action. When ten acres went up for sale along the northern boundary of their land, she proposed that they acquire it for pasture, and then waited three weeks for Thomas’s reply before she went ahead with the purchase. Over time she grew impatient with such delays and would sometimes pose a question in a letter to Thomas but chose for herself before his reply arrived. Sometimes she asked herself what Thomas would prefer, but more and more often, she simply followed her own instincts. Eventually, she simply made the necessary decisions and informed Thomas after the fact. She had little choice, and she knew he would not be offended. If he had wanted a wife who could not think for herself, he wouldn’t have married her.
But what of other wives whose husbands had gone off to war? Dorothea considered herself quite independent and was accustomed to speaking her mind, yet even she noticed a subtle but unmistakable increase in her confidence and self-reliance since she had been obliged to run the farm on her own. How much greater the change must be for those wives left at home who, through habit and custom, had deferred to their husbands in all matters. Of course, as a mother of a young child, she had constraints upon her freedom, but it was a new and strange sensation to discover that for the first time in her life, she need please no one but herself in matters small but consequential—when to retire for the night, what to prepare for supper. She would gladly relinquish her new independence to have Thomas home and safe, but it was not her choice to make, so she supposed she ought to take what satisfaction from the situation she could.
If women like her all across the valley—all across the North, she could well imagine—were enjoying a new and unexpected liberty, she refused to take a step backward and allow a small-town mayor to intimidate her into giving up even one tiny part of hers. Thomas’s lawyer friend had advised her on a course of action, and now she was determined to embark upon it.
One afternoon, she saddled her favorite bay mare and called on the Bergstrom family. Hans spotted her first as she crossed the meadow near the young apple orchard Gerda had planted near the barn. “Gerda’s Folly,” her brother called it, mostly in jest, but it seemed to Dorothea that the trees thrived, although none had yet borne fruit.
Hans inspected the horse and praised Dorothea for the fine care she was giving it; it was no small matter to him, for he had bred the horse himself. He was making quite a name for himself as a horse farmer, not only in the Elm Creek Valley but also in surrounding counties.
“Still holding out?” she teased him, handing him the reins and accepting his assistance down from her horse. Since the first rumors of war had begun circulating through the valley and they discovered their mutual abhorrence of violence, they had to pretend to wager over which of them would give in to the relentless appeals to their patriotism, loyalty, and duty—and fears of insults, ostracism, or worse—and join the army. Hans insisted against all common sense that Dorothea was more likely to put on a uniform than he.
“Still holding out,” he replied, “although I endure the shame better than my poor wife does.”
“Anneke, ashamed?” Dorothea shook her head. “I can’t believe it. She adores you. I assure you she’s never said a single critical word about you that I’ve ever heard.”
“That’s not her way,” he said ruefully. “She doesn’t criticize me. Instead she praises all the brave souls who have enlisted, and reads aloud stories of heroism from the Atlantic Monthly, and makes impassioned speeches about the importance of preserving the Union and freeing the slaves. What she may not understand is that I agree with her, mostly. I believe the men who enlisted are brave, though also misguided. I like stories of heroism as much as anyone, although I don’t think heroism requires me to kill my fellow man.”
“Holding fast to your honorable convictions, though you may earn the enmity of everyone around you, is another form of heroism.”
“Tell that to Anneke. And to Gerda. She’s lost patience with our Mr. Lincoln and his slow, measured steps toward abolition. She wants slavery to end now, today, by force of arms if necessary, with no compensation offered to owners who voluntarily renounce slavery.”
Dorothea didn’t think much of Mr. Lincoln’s compensation proposals herself. “Gerda wants all slaves everywhere to be free, but especially Joanna.” Dorothea understood. She too was haunted by the faces of the runaways who were recaptured in their home on the day they were betrayed. “We sheltered two that night, a husband and a wife.”
“I remember,” said Hans, brushing the bay’s coat until it glistened like silk.
“I wish I could know what had become of them, but unlike Gerda, I don’t have an owner’s name or location.” She hesitated. “Sometimes I wish Gerda didn’t either.”
Hans paused and regarded her curiously. “Why not?”
“If, like me, Gerda didn’t even know where to begin, she might not waste so much time on a search that I fear is doomed to fail.” Dorothea reconsidered her words. “I don’t mean that the search isn’t noble, but she persists against all logic and all hope, and I worry that she’s exhausting herself and making herself vulnerable to melancholy.”
“Gerda has good reason to continue the search.”
“Yes, of course.” Instinctively, Dorothea glanced out the barn door, though it was unlikely anyone who didn’t already know the secret would have come upon them unnoticed. “And for Joanna’s sake, I hope she succeeds. But what will this mean for your family?”
Hans resumed brushing the horse. “I love the boy as much as if he were my own son. Anneke feels the same. But how can we hope that Gerda fails? She still believes that Joanna will be found and freed, and that a Union victory will hasten that day. As for me, I think Joanna is long gone, but if it does my sister any good to hope . . .” His voice trailed off and he shrugged.
“I suppose you could be right,” said Dorothea, although she was not sure how much good Gerda’s relentless, fruitless search was doing her. “Who am I to say there’s no chance?”
Hans shrugged in response and with a sigh, Dorthea went into the house to find Gerda and Anneke, entering through the kitchen door without knocking, as was the habit between their families. “Gerda?” she called, finding the kitchen empty. “Anneke?”
Hans had built his family a fine home, with two stories and an attic, four rooms downstairs and five above, with an innovative, efficient cookstove in the kitchen, a massive fireplace in the front room, and all the modern conveniences that were available at the time. He had hauled the gray stones to the site from riverbanks and creek beds, from his own land and from the countryside for miles around. He had taken one large limestone boulder to a stonecutter, who had squared it off and engraved it with the words Bergstrom 1858. This cornerstone had inspired Dorothea’s plan to engrave donors’ names on limestone markers for Union Hall, and that same stonecutter had donated his services in exchange for a prominent stone near the front entrance bearing his own name and profession.
“We’re in the front room,” called Anneke. When Dorothea joined them there, she found Gerda holding baby Albert and trying to distract the energetic twins in a corner while Anneke knelt on the floor, patchwork blocks of all colors and patterns spread out around her. “One hundred and eleven blocks,” she announced proudly. “Constance, Prudence, and I have already finished the borders and need only attach them to the center once we receive the last few blocks and sew them together. And the men still have to finish the roof and install the windows.”
“Wonderful,” praised Dorothea, amused by how much Anneke relished the competition. “I’m tempted to sew the last few blocks myself to make sure we don’t lose our lead.”
“I’ll help you, if it comes to that,” promised Anneke.
Gerda grimaced as she tried to herd the playful boys away from the center of the room. “As for me, I’ll cheer you on and admire your work. Anneke, would you please pick up the blocks now? I said I’d keep the boys away from them, but I had no idea what strong little wrestlers they’ve become.”
“Here, let me take Albert,” said Dorothea, and with a grateful sigh, Gerda handed her the baby. Holding him, Dorothea helped Anneke gather up the blocks, often pausing to admire a particularly lovely pattern. One simple but attractive design reminded her of the Boy’s Nonsense pattern, but longer, narrower rectangles than she was accustomed to seeing framed the central square. “Deborah Madigan calls that pattern Drummer Boy,” Anneke explained. “After her son.”
Dorothea nodded, remembering the boy she had taught at the Creek’s Crossing school many years before. He was too young to fight, but he had been determined to accompany his older brothers, so his father acquired a drum for him and made his other sons swear to protect him as best they could.
Another striking block resembled a traditional Churn Dash, with right triangles in the corners and narrow rectangles along the four sides, but instead of a solid, light-colored square in the center, there was a Turkey red square framed with two sets of concentric triangles. To Dorothea’s delight, Anneke informed her that it had been made by Joan Sheridan, the wife of the owner of the dry goods store on High Street. She had donated several bolt ends of fabric and spools of thread for the quilts they had made for the military hospital in Washington, and since she was also an intelligent, wellread woman, Dorothea had considered inviting her to join the Union Quilters after Eliza’s departure had left a vacancy. Joan had named the block Union Hall in honor of their “noble enterprise.”
“Show her Eliza’s block,” Gerda suggested, but in that moment of distraction, the boys darted around her skirts. Crowing with joy, they scrambled on their hands and knees to snatch up the nearest blocks, toss them into the air, and watch them fall to the floor.
“Two more minutes was all I would have needed,” Anneke admonished her sister-in-law. Searching through the blocks as they flew through the air or slid across the smooth wooden floor, she spotted the one she wanted and managed to pry it from Stephen’s grasp. “Eliza made this before Charley was killed,” she said, handing a blue, red, and light tan block to Dorothea. “Her mother found it while unpacking her things in Williamsport and mailed it to us.”
With a pang of regret for her absent friend’s loss, Dorothea studied the block. Four identical arrangements of blue squares and triangles in the corners framed a central red square set on point. “Did Eliza give it a name?”
“Campfire,” said Gerda, quickly snatching blocks off the floor before her nephews could scatter them further. “Her mother wrote that it reminded Eliza of Charley and the men of the Forty-ninth sitting around the campfire after a long march, reminiscing about loved ones back home.”
Dorothea sighed, missing Eliza, mourning Charley. He had been a childhood friend and classmate, and it pained her to think that he was put to rest hundreds of miles from those who loved him.
“It was good of Eliza to think of us, and Union Hall, in the midst of her grief,” said Anneke. “I think we should invite her to attend the grand opening of the hall as an honored guest.”
“Not as a guest, but as one of us,” Dorothea replied, shifting Albert to her hip. “Once a Union Quilter, always a Union Quilter, in my opinion.” And Union Hall must always belong to them. The town council did not fear that the Union Quilters would manage the hall badly because they were proven incompetents but because they were women. They could list their skills and accomplishments and qualifications until they were hoarse; it would do them no good. The town councilmen would not be persuaded because they would not listen. They had already made up their minds that the Union Quilters were incapable of making Union Hall a success. Dorothea refused to let an extraordinary opportunity to prove them wrong pass her by.
“Gerda, Anneke,” she said, handing the blocks she had gathered to Anneke, who put them on a high shelf near the window, out of the children’s reach. “I have a plan to discourage the town council from continuing their ridiculous demands for us to turn over Union Hall to them.”
“Good,” declared Gerda. “At first they were merely persistent, but lately they’ve become thoroughly annoying.”
“What do you think we should do?” asked Anneke.
“I think we should incorporate,” said Dorothea, “and I need your help.”
Gerda found Dorothea’s proposal astonishing, intriguing, and delightful. By writing up a list of bylaws and declaring themselves “a body corporate,” they would not secure themselves legal protection from the town’s power of eminent domain, but they would force the council to give them full due process under the law. “They will have to deal with us on an equal footing,” said Dorothea, “as rational adults, and not as dependent inferiors. If they want to seize control of Union Hall, they’ll have to do it the long, difficult, messy, ugly way—through the courts. I suspect they won’t do it.”
Gerda lacked Dorothea’s faith in the reasonableness of their neighbors. As she knew all too well, many otherwise sensible people took a certain malicious delight in slinging mud at others, realizing only after they found themselves in it up to their knees that they couldn’t avoid soiling themselves in the process.
“Why don’t we just put everything in Hans’s name?” asked Anneke. “That’s what we did to buy the property. Or, if that seems too self-serving, give equal shares to all of the Union Quilters’ husbands—the agreeable ones, anyway, the ones that won’t give us any trouble. The council won’t challenge a Union Hall board comprised of men the way they challenge us.”
“That’s probably true,” admitted Dorothea. “But don’t you see? That’s precisely why we can’t do it. We have to take a stand now, when it matters. We can’t keep waiting for another, better opportunity, one we can afford to lose. The men aren’t going to give us the vote willingly. We have to fight for that right little by little in battles such as this.”
“So you’ve chosen this battle,” said Gerda, “knowing that losing it would mean losing Union Hall as well?”
“If I’m not willing to work and fight and sacrifice to win equality for women, then I don’t really deserve it, do I?”
Gerda considered. “If it’s a question of what rights one deserves, I refer you to the Declaration of Independence. Mr. Jefferson and the Founding Fathers believed that the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness were granted to us by God, not any man. I would argue that you deserve your liberty implicitly and should not have to fight man for it.”
“Even our Founding Fathers had to fight for their rights.”
“Gracious, Dorothea, I believe we may see you in a soldierʹs uniform after all,” exclaimed Anneke. “Only what would you wear? Certainly not Confederate gray, but you sound like you want to pitch battle against our own government, so not Union blue, either.”
“I’ll wear a double-breasted frock coat in a lovely shade of pink, with gold epaulettes,” Dorothea retorted, smiling. “You know very well that I’ll never take up arms. My fight is intellectual—with a dash of cunning.”
The Nelsons’ lawyer would guide them through the necessary steps to acquire official legal status, but it was up to the Union Quilters to define themselves. They would need to compose a series of resolutions and bylaws, outline their purpose, and declare themselves a body corporate. “We shall become an official relief organization devoted to providing essential goods and services for active and veteran soldiers,” said Dorothea. “The town council will have a more difficult time convincing the public that they should wrest control of Union Hall from an official relief organization than from a simple sewing circle.”
Gerda thought Dorothea’s plan was a stroke of genius, but Anneke frowned and shook her head. “I don’t think all these machinations should be necessary,” she said. “Haven’t we done quite well as a sewing circle? Think of all the clothing and food the Union Quilters have provided the 49th. Think of the relief funds we’ve raised for our wounded veterans. Didn’t we furnish quilts to three wings of the new military hospital in Washington? Why must we pretend to be anything more than a sewing circle, when clearly a sewing circle can accomplish great things?”
