Judith glanced at Honor’s quick, even work. “Such intricate patchwork will take some time,” she remarked. “Does thee never do appliqué? It goes much faster. Even pieced blocks in patterns like Shoo Fly or Flying Geese or Ohio Star would be quicker than what thee is making.”
“In England we have always made patchwork like this.”
“Thee is not in England any longer.”
Honor bowed her head.
When Dorcas brought out a pitcher of water and glasses, Judith stopped rocking and the men broke off their conversation. “I would like to know what Honor brings to this marriage,” she announced as her daughter began to pour out the water.
There was a silence apart from Dorcas clinking the pitcher against a glass.
“She brings very little, Judith,” Adam replied. “Thee knows her circumstances. Honor has never presented herself to be more than she is.”
“I know that. But does she bring anything at all? Quilts, for example.” Judith turned to Honor. “How many comforts does thee have ready?”
“One.”
“One?” Judith was aghast. “I had been led to believe thee is an expert quilter. I saw thy stitching at the frolic. Look how fast thee works now.” She leaned across and took up Honor’s hexagons. “Thee has the best hand in Faithwell. What has thee been doing back in England?” Behind that question Honor could hear other unvoiced ones: How did a rope merchant’s daughter spend her time? Was she lazy? How would she be useful to the Haymakers?
“I did have more quilts,” Honor explained, “but I gave them away, as they would be too unwieldy for the journey. Grace and I only brought two with us, and Grace’s marriage quilt had to be burned, as there was worry it could be infected with yellow fever.” She looked down, ashamed that she had no quilts to be married with. Marriage had not been her expectation, at least not so soon, and she was unprepared. She should count herself lucky that Jack wanted her anyway.
“Did thy sister not bring more quilts with her for her marriage to Adam?”
“She was not concerned about the quilts, and thought she could make them once she got here.”
Judith grunted and handed back her patchwork. “Thee must ask for thy quilts back from England. Write and explain the circumstances, ask that the comforts be sent. It will take several months, but at least thee will have them. How many can thee get back?”
Honor hesitated-it seemed rude to ask for quilts she had willingly given away. She tried to think of who would be least offended. “Three, perhaps.”
“I do not know what the traditions are in England,” Judith said, “but here young women should have a dozen quilts ready for marriage, and a thirteenth made, a whole-cloth one in white. Perhaps Abigail and Adam did not tell thee, as theirs is a second marriage, where the tradition is different. Now, if thee can provide the white material,” she directed at Adam, “we will hold a frolic later this week to quilt it. We are busy now with crops, but we will simply have to make the time. And we will give thee three of Dorcas’s comforts-with the quilts sent from England that will make eight.”
Dorcas clattered the pitcher onto the table with a stifled cry, red dots coloring her cheeks.
“Of course I will provide the material,” Adam agreed. “I thank thee for accepting Honor into thy family. If the quilts are a problem, perhaps there is no need to rush into the marriage. Honor can remain with us while she makes the quilts she needs.” He did not sound confident in this suggestion, however.
“That would take far too long, if the quality is to be good,” Judith Haymaker replied. “To make five good quilts-”
“Eight!” Dorcas interrupted. “Three to replace mine.”
“Eight quilts, she would need two years, with us helping.”
Adam looked startled, clearly unaware of the work involved in quilting. Though he dealt in cloth, he had not grown up around sisters making quilts.
“Though if she would make appliqué rather than patchwork, it would go faster.” Judith gestured at Honor’s diamonds. “It is time to put those away and take up Ohio patterns.”
Honor stopped sewing and laid her hands in her lap. It was not a great hardship to set aside the hexagons, and she could make appliqué quilts if needed. But she had always assumed that when the time came to make her marriage quilt, she would have plenty of time to design it and oversee the quilting, even if as the bride she was not meant to work on it herself. She would have chosen one or two hands to do it, and had them quilt carefully. At the frolic Judith would organize, however, many hands would quilt it, with varying degrees of skill. At least a patchwork design hid bad stitching; on a whole-cloth quilt of one color the stitching was everything, and the unevenness of the different hands helping would show. She and Jack would begin their married life under a quilt of dubious quality. It was not an auspicious start.
I must not cry, she thought. I will not cry. To keep the tears from spilling over, she gazed out into the front yard for distraction. Then she noticed a tiny form hovering around the morning glory that twined up the porch columns. Honor blinked. It was a minute bird, almost a bee but with a needle beak, moving its wings so fast she couldn’t see them. As she watched, it inserted its beak to draw out the flower’s nectar.
Jack followed her gaze. “That is a hummingbird,” he said. “Has thee ever seen one, or is it another thing England does not have, like lightning bugs?”
Honor shook her head, the movement sending the bird away, though it soon returned. “I have never seen one.”
“We have brought in two crops of hay,” Judith continued, frowning at the interruption, “and we will get in one more this summer. The oats are ready, and then the corn, and there is all the kitchen garden to put up. We are not expecting Honor to work in the fields, but she can cook and look after the garden and milk the cows and sell cheese. It is always a difficult time of year, with just three of us. With four we can manage more easily. If Honor is to be of any help to us, she and Jack must marry as soon as possible.” She shook her head. “But eight quilts for a wedding. I’ve never heard the likes.”
Honor noted that Jack said nothing about the quilts, but allowed his mother to negotiate; perhaps he felt he had already played his part in the cornfield. However, when his mother had finished, he took them around the farm, eager to show off what the Haymakers had built up. It was then that Honor truly began to understand how much her life was about to change. At Abigail and Adam’s at least there were other houses within sight, and the general store-basic as it was-was nearby. The Haymakers’ was only a quarter-mile beyond Faithwell, but the road had turned into a rutted track by then and the farm felt remote. And though it had been cleared so that there were front and back yards, a kitchen garden, an orchard and a pasture for the cows, there was still a sense that the wilderness was close at hand, pushing in on the farm from all sides, particularly the woods to the west where she and Belle had stopped before. Honor had always thought she loved trees, but now the beech woods her brothers had climbed in, the apple orchard behind their house, the horse chestnuts they collected conkers from each autumn, all seemed tame next to the bur oaks and black ash and beeches and maples that made up the woods by the farm. “Wieland Woods,” Jack called it. “Named for my father.” When Honor looked questioningly at him, he added, “He died in North Carolina. Fire.”
She did not ask for details: Jack’s face had shut down.
Almost as worrying as the press of the trees were the animals. The Brights had kept eight chickens for eggs, and bought everything else they needed from the town butcher and dairy. The Haymakers had eighty chickens: twenty layers and sixty pullets for eating. There were two horses, two oxen they shared with another farm, eight cows (“We are adding a cow a year,” Jack explained proudly), and four pigs, huge and so smelly her stomach turned. Indeed, the whole farm smelled of raw animal; she could not imagine living with such a pervasive odor. But Jack had Honor and Adam inspect every animal. As they went around, Adam was polite and seemed genuinely interested, while Honor felt only a growing dread. She could never be proud of a cow. In Bridport she had lived far from barns, and close to the shops that did the selling. Here she would be at the heart of the making. It was a very different life, full of alien smells and sounds and textures and spaces. Seeing Jack in his home made him more of a stranger; she would have to grow used to him too.