The New Year's Quilt (Elm Creek Quilts Novels) Page 8

  “Why did it have to be a handsome man?” asked Sylvia, placing her peeled potato in the bowl next to Grandma’s and reaching for another. “Why not a pretty lady?”

  “If the lady was expecting a child, or if she was a new bride, she was also considered to bring good luck,” Grandma said. “A blond man, on the other hand, was believed to bring bad luck. My mother said that was because a dark-haired man was assumed to be a fellow Scot, but a blond could be a Viking, come to pillage and plunder. Naturally, since everyone wanted good luck and no one could stay shut up in their homes until the appropriate person came to the door, the tradition changed. Tall, dark-haired, handsome men would be enlisted to go around to the homes of their neighbors, bringing with them symbolic gifts such as coal for the fire, or salt, or a treat like fruit buns or shortbread. No one was supposed to speak to the First Footer until he entered the house, gave them the traditional gifts, and spoke a blessing: ‘A good New Year to one and all and many more may you see.’ After that you could speak to the guest and offer him a drink of whiskey before he departed for the next house.”

  “My father would be a good First Footer,” said Sylvia. “He’s tall, he has dark hair like mine, and he’s very handsome. Everyone would be glad to see him on New Year’s Eve.”

  Grandma laughed. “I’ve always thought he was very handsome, too, but he’s my son, so I can’t pretend to be impartial. Oh, there’s something else my mother told me about that I’ve always wished I could see. The young men of her village would build large balls about a yard wide from chicken wire, paper, tar, and other materials that would burn. They would attach a chain, light the ball on fire, and walk through the streets of the town swinging the burning fireball around and around. It must have been a dazzling sight, all the young men out in the streets lighting up the darkness with those crackling circles of fire. When the fireballs were almost burned out, or when the young men tired of the game and wanted to celebrate with more whiskey, they would parade down to the riverside and send the fireballs sailing through the air into the water below.”

  Sylvia shivered with delight. It sounded terribly beautiful, and terribly dangerous. “I probably wouldn’t be allowed to try that here,” she said.

  “Absolutely not,” said Grandma. “It’s a wonder those Scottish villages weren’t burned to the ground, or the young men seriously injured. As much as I’d like just once to see those fireballs swinging, I suppose it’s just as well that my mother’s family left that tradition behind when they came to America.”

  “Maybe someday we can go to Scotland for the New Year and see them.”

  Grandma smiled at her affectionately for a moment before taking up her paring knife again. “Perhaps you will someday, my dear. I hope you travel far and wide and see many beautiful and wondrous things in your lifetime.”

  Sylvia bit back the impertinent question that immediately sprang to mind: Then why did Grandma fear the Wandering Foot quilt pattern so much? Wasn’t what Grandma wished for her exactly what the quilt was supposed to bring?

  She almost, but not quite, wished that someone had given her a Wandering Foot quilt when she was a baby. Maybe Claudia’s choice wasn’t so bad after all—not that Sylvia would ever tell her sister that.

  Since Claudia had taken Mama her breakfast tray, Sylvia was granted the honor of serving her the special New Year’s Eve dinner. Sylvia entertained her mother by retelling Grandma’s stories of Scottish New Year’s celebrations and imagining what would happen if she tried to make a fireball of her own. “Your father would have a fit, that’s what would happen,” her mother said, smiling. “Grandma would never tell you another story out of fear that you might decide to try it.”

  “How did you celebrate New Year’s Eve when you were a little girl, Mama?”

  Her mother regarded her with mild surprise, and Sylvia felt a quick flush of shame. It was true that she rarely asked her mother to share stories of her girlhood in New York. Unlike Claudia, she had little interest in descriptions of pretty dresses and fancy balls, of dance lessons and learning good manners. Her mother never spoke of mischief or play, but only of rules and restrictions. Grandfather and Grandmother Lockwood had raised her to be a proper young lady, and since this was the very sort of well-behaved child Sylvia invariably failed to emulate, her mother’s stories seemed like dull morality tales. Sylvia had decided long ago that the Bergstrom family was far more interesting than the Lockwoods. Unlike Claudia, who hung on their mother’s every word, Sylvia paid little attention when a distant look came into her mother’s eyes as she remembered events long ago and far away.

  “I really want to know,” Sylvia persisted.

  “We didn’t eat pork and sauerkraut,” said Mama. “My father believed hard work brought one good luck, and my mother put her faith in knowing the right people. My parents almost always went to a New Year’s Eve ball at one of their friends’ homes or somewhere else in the city. When we were older, my sister and I were allowed to go with them. The men wore elegant coats and tails, and the ladies dressed in stunning gowns and wore their finest jewelry. The orchestra played, we danced and danced, and at midnight we threw streamers and drank champagne. My sister and I were quite grown up by that time,” she hastened to add.

  “That sounds like fun,” Sylvia said gamely.

  Mama tried to hide a smile. “You might truly think so when you’re older. My favorite New Year’s Eve came years before I was allowed to go to fancy balls. I was ten years old in 1900, and the city was electric with anticipation for the turning of the century. My parents and sister celebrated by going to the theater and then to a party at the home of my father’s biggest business rival. The men didn’t get along, but they ran in the same social circle so they had to include each other in their gatherings or people would talk. They were both glad, too, for any opportunity to show off their wealth and success to the other. If my parents refused the Drurys’ invitation, it would be seen as admitting they could not compete or, worse yet, rudeness.”

  “Your sister got to go but you didn’t?” Sylvia exclaimed. “Again?”

  “I was too young, and my mother thought I would catch a terrible chill if I stayed out so late on a winter’s night.”

  “That’s silly. You would have been indoors almost the whole time. You could have worn a coat.”

  “That’s what I told them. My father and sister stuck up for me, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it.” Mama smiled and lifted her shoulders as if to say it had happened so long ago that it no longer mattered. “I was terribly disappointed to be left behind. After they left, I went upstairs to work on my Crazy Quilt. It was nearly finished, and stitching upon it usually lifted my spirits, but not that night. A new century was about to begin, and I would have to watch its arrival through a nursery window.”

  Sylvia stung from the unfairness of it all. “I would have snuck out of the house and followed them.”

  “The last time I had tried anything like that, I got my nanny fired,” said her mother. “I loved her dearly, too, so it was a great loss to me. But after they sent her away, there was no worse punishment they could deliver, or so I thought at the time. I waited for my mother’s maid to fall asleep, then I dressed in my warmest clothes and left the house.”

  Sylvia stared, disbelieving. “Where did you go? What did you do?”

  “I walked through the city, enjoying the lights and the celebration. I had a little pocket money, so I bought myself a cup of hot chocolate and a cinnamon doughnut at a small café that my mother would never have considered worthy of her patronage. I walked a long, long time until I came to City Hall Park in lower Manhattan. I had overheard other passersby say that there would be fireworks at midnight, and I thought there could be no better way to welcome the New Year than with fireworks.

  “I had never seen such a crowd, and I was thrilled to be a part of it. Everywhere, people were laughing and singing, too distracted with their own fun to notice one little girl all alone. Finally, at the stroke of midnight, City Ha
ll went dark for just a moment, and then suddenly all the lights came on and fireworks lit up the sky. All around me people were cheering and kissing, and sometimes, above the din, I heard the bells of Trinity Church ringing in the New Year several blocks away.

  “Then, suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. ‘Miss Lockwood?’ I heard a man ask. He spun me around and I found myself looking up into an unfamiliar face, rough and incredulous.

  “I gulped and spoke not a word. ‘You’re the younger Miss Lockwood, aren’t you?’ the man asked. I didn’t see any point in denying it, so I nodded. He glanced around for my parents, but of course, they were nowhere to be found. ‘What are you doing out here all alone?’ he asked. ‘This is no place for a girl like you.’

  “When I offered no explanation, he shook his head and said that I must return home at once. He told me he worked on the loading docks at my father’s store, and he had seen me come in just days before to pick out my Christmas present, as my sister and I were allowed to do every year. He took me firmly by the shoulder and steered me out of the crowd. Somehow he managed to hail a cab, and he gave the driver strict instructions to take me home and not to leave until he saw me safely inside. I was mortified when the man dug into his pockets and counted out change to pay my fare. I knew he couldn’t possibly earn very much; the low wages of my father’s store employees had been a constant source of disagreement between him and my nanny, who supported workers’ rights to form unions. I wanted to apologize, but I was speechless from embarrassment. I could only nod as he warned me never to do such a dangerous thing again, shut the cab door, and waved the driver on.”

  “You were so naughty,” breathed Sylvia.

  “Oh, don’t I know it, but I was lucky, too. I crept off to bed and was sound asleep long before my parents and sister returned home.”

  “Did they ever find out?”

  “At first, I wasn’t sure.” Mama finished her supper, wiped her lips, and set the tray on the nightstand. “My father stayed home from work on New Year’s Day, but he kept to himself in his study and I only saw him at mealtimes. I watched my mother carefully to see if she suspected anything, but she was too busy going over every detail of the previous night’s party with her maid, Harriet. My sister assured me that the play had been dull and the party afterward even worse, but I knew she was only saying so to make me think I had not missed out on anything. I didn’t breathe a word of my New Year’s Eve adventure even to her, and I was relieved that I had apparently gotten away with it.

  “The next day my father returned to work and, as usual, did not come home until supper late that evening. My mother, sister, and I were already seated when he strode in and took his place at the head of the table. ‘Did you hear about the panic at City Hall Park two nights ago?’ he asked us.

  “ ‘Of course, my dear,’ my mother told him. ‘I do read the papers, you know. It was all over the Times. Some of the worst of it happened right in front of its building.’

  “I kept silent while my sister begged our father to explain. I then learned that I had unwittingly been part of a historically momentous gathering. Remember that I told you I heard the bells of Trinity Church from where I stood at City Hall Park, several blocks away? An enormous crowd had massed in the narrow strip around the church, as well, and as the night went on, both gatherings swelled to such numbers that the two crowds, thousands strong, merged on Broadway. The revelers made merry until shortly after midnight, but then chaos erupted as people set off at cross-purposes, some trying to make it to the Brooklyn Bridge, others fighting their way up-town. Families were separated, and a child was trampled underfoot as the revelers pushed against one another. It was a terrifying scene, and the police could do little to manage it.

  “I had been sent home in my cab only moments before the panic started. I gaped at my father, thinking of what a narrow escape I’d had. ‘Was anyone hurt?’ my sister asked.

  “ ‘One child was injured,’ my father said, ‘but it could have been much worse. Thankfully both of my little girls were safely far away from that midnight disaster.’ And with that he raised his eyebrows at me as if daring me to disagree.”

  “The man from the store tattled on you,” said Sylvia.

  “He probably thought it was his duty to tell his employer that his little girl had put herself in great danger,” said Mama. “I don’t find any fault with him. That little child who was trampled could have been me. I didn’t have any grown-ups around to hold my hand or pull me out of harm’s way. If I had not left City Hall Park when I did, my New Year might have had a tragic beginning.”

  “I can’t believe you left the house alone at night,” marveled Sylvia. “Did your father spank you? Did he tell your mother?”

  “Goodness, no. If he had, I’m sure she would have locked me in my room for a week. I received no punishment for what I had done, and in fact, my father never spoke of it again.” Mother smiled, her gaze distant. “It was the most adventurous, most disobedient thing I had ever done, and would ever do, until I married your father.”

  “Why was marrying Father disobedient?” said Sylvia. “Didn’t your parents like him?”

  Her mother hesitated as if regretting the mention. “Oh, I suppose they liked him well enough, but they wanted me to marry someone else. I wanted to please them, but I loved your father, so I married him instead.”

  Sylvia shook her head at this new, unbelievable revelation. As difficult as it was to imagine her mother as a naughty little girl, it was impossible to believe that anyone would want Mama to marry someone other than Father. Sylvia couldn’t imagine either of them loving anyone else.

  “After making such a disobedient start to a new century, I resolved never again to defy my parents out of anger or jealousy,” said Mama. “The New Year wasn’t only a time for celebration, you see. It was also a time for reflection, and for deciding to mend one’s ways and change one’s life for the better.” Sylvia’s mother put her arms around her and kissed her on the top of the head. “You could do that, you know. Think about how you would like to improve yourself in the year ahead and make a New Year’s resolution to change.”

  Sylvia frowned, thinking. “I’d like to run faster,” she announced. “I think I’ll resolve to do that.”

  Her mother laughed. “Very well. Deciding how to improve yourself is the first step. Now, how would you go about achieving that goal?”

  “Practice? Maybe if I try to run a little faster each day, by next year I’ll be lots faster.”

  “That sounds like the right way to do it. But practice only outside or in the nursery,” Mama hastened to add. “I don’t think Grandma and the aunts would like to see you running through the halls. For your first New Year’s resolution, I think that’s fine, but you should know that most resolutions are meant to improve one’s character rather than one’s athletic skills.”

  “You mean like…not fighting with your sister?”

  “Exactly,” said Mama. “In fact, that’s a resolution most people in this house would be very happy to see you keep.”

  Sylvia hadn’t meant that resolution for herself, but for Claudia. Still, she supposed she could keep it, too, and better than her big sister could.

  Father appeared in the doorway then, so Sylvia carried her mother’s dishes to the kitchen and ran off to play, thinking of New Year’s resolutions and her mother’s New Year’s Eve adventure so long ago. If Sylvia had been in her mother’s place, she would have resolved to have more exciting escapades like that one, instead of promising to be less defiant. It sounded like her mother had only been defiant that one night, so why should she have to resolve to change? It must have been unbearable to stay behind so often and watch her sister go out into the city with their parents. Grandmother and Grandfather Lockwood should have made resolutions to treat their daughters more fairly. Certain members of the Bergstrom family ought to do the same.

  In fact, Sylvia thought as she climbed the stairs to the nursery where she kept paper and pencil, everyone in
the family would benefit from making New Year’s resolutions, and she knew exactly which ones were most necessary.

  Sylvia wrote, crossed out mistakes, and copied her writing over neatly on fresh sheets of paper as night fell. She rolled the pages into fancy scrolls and tied them with ribbons, and she had just hidden them in her sewing basket when Claudia came upstairs and summoned her down to the ballroom. Great-Aunt Lucinda had set out Pfannkuchen and apple cider, and everyone was gathering for the New Year’s Eve party. Father had spent all evening by Mama’s side, looking through photo albums and reading aloud, but when Mama wanted to sleep, he joined the rest of the family downstairs by the fire. The adults of the family told jokes and stories of New Year’s Eves past, remembering loved ones that Sylvia knew only through family legends. Great-Grandfather Hans and Great-Grandmother Anneke, who had come to America from Germany and founded Elm Creek Farm. Hans’s sister, Gerda, who never married but had loved to read and discuss politics and cook. Sylvia drifted off to sleep to the murmur of their voices, but Grandma gently shook her awake five minutes before midnight so she could count down the last seconds of the old year with everyone else. When the mantel clock chimed midnight, she jumped up and down, blew on her tin horn, and shouted, “Happy New Year!” louder than anyone, but after that, she did not argue when her father sent her upstairs to bed.

  First, though, she wanted to wish her mother Happy New Year. A light shone through the crack beneath her mother’s bedroom door, so Sylvia knocked and softly called out to her. When she did not reply, Sylvia slowly pushed open the door and found her mother sleeping soundly, her book resting open on the bed.