The Quilter's Legacy Read online

  At once a crowd of passersby swept her up and carried her down the sidewalk. She managed to weave her way through the crowd to the station house, where she looked about frantically for Miss Langley. She was not waiting in the queue at the ticket window, nor was she seated in any of the chairs. Eleanor went outside to the platform, where a train waited. She did not know if this was Miss Langley's train, and it would do no good to ask about its destination, for she had no idea where her nanny went on her afternoons off. Even if she had known, she had no money for the fare.

  “Miss Langley,” she whispered, and then shouted, “Miss Langley! Miss Langley!”

  She called out again and again, until suddenly a hand clamped down on her shoulder and whirled her about. “Eleanor.” Miss Langley regarded her, incredulous. “How on earth—” She glanced at her watch and shook her head. “I cannot send you back alone, and there isn't time to take you back myself.” She gave Eleanor a searching look. “I suppose if I had allowed you to ride Wildrose as you asked, you would not have been so determined to accompany me. Well, there's nothing to be done now but make the best of it. Stay close, and say nothing of this to your parents.”

  Eleanor shook her head. Of course she would tell them nothing; she fervently hoped they would never know she had left the nursery. She mumbled an apology as Miss Langley marched her back into the station and bought her a ticket. Miserable, Eleanor wondered what portion of a day's wages Miss Langley had spent on her charge's fare.

  Miss Langley took her hand and led her aboard the train. “Sit,” she instructed when she found two unoccupied seats across from each other. Then she directed her gaze out the window as if she had forgotten Eleanor was there. Eleanor stared out the window as well, hoping to lose herself in the passing scenes of the city, but she couldn't bear the punishment of Miss Langley's silence.

  “Where are we going?” she finally asked, less from curiosity than from the need to have Miss Langley acknowledge her.

  “The garment district.”

  Eleanor nodded, although this told her nothing. She knew little of New York except for the streets right around her father's store.

  They rode on in silence, and gradually Eleanor forgot her guilt in her anticipation of the outing. Where would Miss Langley take her? To meet her family? A beau? The former seemed unlikely, as the only relatives Miss Langley had ever mentioned were far away in England, but the latter was impossible. She could not picture her nanny linking her arm through a man's and laughing up at him as Mother did to Father when they were not fighting. Not even Abigail's tale about the baby could change her mind about that.

  After a time, the train slowed and they disembarked. As Miss Langley led her from the platform to the street, Eleanor looked about, wide-eyed. This station seemed older than the one closer to home, older and dirtier. The street was even more so. Not one tree or bit of greenery interrupted the brick and stone and steel of the factories; the very air was heavy with bustle and noise. She slipped her hand into Miss Langley's and stayed close.

  They walked for blocks. Miss Langley asked her if she needed to ride, but Eleanor shook her head, thinking of the money Miss Langley had already spent. The noises of the factories lessened, but did not completely fade away until Miss Langley turned down a narrow, littered alley and rapped upon a weather-beaten wooden door. On the other side, someone moved a black drape aside from a small, square window. Then the door swung open, and a stooped, gray-haired woman ushered them inside without a word.

  “The others are upstairs,” she told Miss Langley, sparing a curious glance for Eleanor.

  Miss Langley noticed. “You can see the reason for my delay.”

  The older woman tilted her head at Eleanor. “Shall I keep her in the kitchen?”

  “No. I think it will be all right.”

  The older woman clucked disapprovingly, but she led the way down a dark, musty hall and up a narrow staircase that creaked as they ascended. They stopped at a door through which Eleanor heard a murmur of voices. The older woman knocked twice before admitting Miss Langley. Eleanor followed on her heels, but stopped just inside the room as the older woman closed the door behind them. The dozen women already there greeted Miss Langley by her Christian name and regarded Eleanor with surprise, wariness, or concern, depending, Eleanor guessed, upon their own temperaments. One ruddy-cheeked woman burst out laughing. Her hands were chapped and raw, her clothing coarse, but so were those of two other women present, and they sat among the well-dressed ladies as if they might actually be friends. Only two of the women did not seem to notice Eleanor's presence: a dark-haired woman in a fine blue silk dress who revealed her nervousness by tinkling her spoon in her teacup in a manner that would have earned the Lock-wood girls a reprimand at home, and an elderly lady who sat by the stove in the corner smiling to herself.

  Miss Langley apologized for her tardiness and removed her hat. “As you can see, Mary could not leave her little lamb at home today,” she added as she took the nearest chair and gestured for Eleanor to sit on the footstool.

  “Never mind,” said one of the women, who was dressed so much like Miss Langley that Eleanor wondered if she were a nanny, too. “We've started without you.”

  A deeper voice added, “But we're a long way from finished.”

  Others chimed in as they told Miss Langley what she had missed. Their friends from upstate needed their help in organizing the demonstration at the capital, but while many of them were eager to assist, others insisted they were wasting their time with state governments and should instead concentrate on reform at the federal level. On the contrary, the others countered, success in one state would ease the way for others.

  One debate swiftly flowed into another: Universal suffrage ought also to include coloreds and immigrants, with all impediments such as property ownership and literacy removed. No, they should fight for the rights of white women only unless they wanted to jeopardize the very structure of their society.

  “Is that not precisely what we seek to do by seeking the vote for ourselves?” inquired Miss Langley, setting off another debate.

  Eleanor followed the back-and-forth, fascinated. These women looked so ordinary but they talked like confounded radicals. Even Miss Langley. If Father could hear them, his eyes would bulge and the little blue vein at his temple would wriggle like a worm on hot pavement.

  Then the woman in blue silk set aside her tea. “My husband has spoken to his colleague in Washington.”

  The voices hushed.

  “A certain influential senator has promised his public and unwavering support if we compromise on our demands.”

  “What's he mean, exactly?” said a dark-haired woman in a thick, unfamiliar accent.

  “He would limit suffrage to women who owned substantial property.”

  The caveat made laughter echo off the walls of the dingy room, and the ruddy-cheeked woman laughed loudest of all. “I'd like to see him tell that to the girls on my floor,” she said, wiping a tear from an eye. “They'd drown him in their dye pots.”

  “We cannot abandon any of our sisters,” said Miss Langley in her clear, precise tones. “A laundress may have as much reason as the wealthy woman who employs her. We cannot deny the workers their voice.”

  The ruddy-cheeked woman applauded but the woman in blue silk looked to the heavens and sighed. “Reason, but no education. Do we want the ignorant masses determining the fate of our nation?”

  Miss Langley fixed her with a level gaze. “You sound very much like the men who argue that no woman should vote.”

  “You care more about your workers than the rights of women.”

  Voices rose in a cacophony that hushed at a quiet word from the elderly woman in the corner. “Women who own substantial property are so few in number that their votes would scatter like dandelion seeds on the wind.” Her voice was low and musing. “No, it must be all women, including colored women, including those who cannot yet read and write or even speak English. Yes, they should learn, and we must
see they are taught.”

  She sipped her tea, but not one of those listening would have dreamed of interrupting. “Our emancipation must be twofold. We must have the vote, but we will not be truly independent until we are independent economically as well as politically.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Miss Langley quietly, as the others murmured their assent.

  The elderly woman smiled fondly at her. “And to that end, you must continue your work.”

  Miss Langley nodded.

  The elderly woman went on to say that she hoped they would attend the demonstration, and she would express their concerns to the others in her organization. Then she rose, bid them farewell, and departed, accompanied by one of the younger women in the group.

  The meeting broke up after that; Miss Langley spoke quietly with a few of the others, then took Eleanor by the hand and led her back down the creaking staircase and outside. Eleanor pondered the strange gathering as they walked back to the train station, so absorbed in her thoughts that she forgot the cramp in her side and her labored breathing. She was sure she heard Miss Langley tell the ruddy-faced woman something about a union and something more about a strike.

  As the station came into view, Miss Langley broke her silence. “You were a good girl, Eleanor.” Then she laughed, quietly. “I imagine today was quite an education for you.”

  Eleanor nodded, but she didn't think she had learned very much because she had so many questions. She had understood enough, though, to realize Miss Langley would be discharged if Eleanor's parents discovered her activities.

  “Miss Langley,” she ventured as they boarded the train, “who was that woman, the one everyone listened to?”

  Miss Langley did not reply until they had seated themselves in an unoccupied compartment. “We call her Miss Anthony. She is the leader of an important organization, and the rest of us were honored by her visit.”

  “When she said you must continue your work …” Eleanor hesitated. “She didn't mean being my nanny, did she?”

  “No.”

  Eleanor waited for her to explain, but when she said nothing, Eleanor asked, “Are you a confounded radical?”

  Miss Langley burst into laughter. “I suppose some people would call me that, yes.”

  Eleanor did not think that was such a terrible thing. Even Mother wanted to vote. Eleanor had heard her confess as much to Harriet, although she would never mention such a shocking thing to Father or Mrs. Newcombe. But she did not understand the rest of it.

  She took a deep breath. “You're not the one trying to get a union at Father's store, are you?”

  “Eleanor, listen to me.” Miss Langley took her hands. “Unions are important and just. Only when all the workers speak with one voice can they hold any leverage against the owners. The influence of power and money are too great otherwise.” She gave Eleanor a wistful smile. “But I am not organizing at your father's store. I would be recognized.”

  “Somewhere else, then.”

  “Yes, somewhere else.”

  Miss Langley settled back into her seat, and Eleanor rested her head in her lap. They rode in companionable silence until they reached the station nearest to home. The carriage waited for them outside, and the driver's eyes grew wide at the sight of Eleanor.

  “There's a lot of trouble for you at home, miss,” he said to Eleanor, then removed his cap and addressed Miss Langley. “The missus has her eye on you. You best pretend we found Miss Eleanor on the way home.”

  “Thank you, but I shall not lie.” Miss Langley smiled kindly at the driver and helped Eleanor into the carriage.

  “Maybe he's right,” said Eleanor as the carriage began to move. “I could get out a block away and walk home. I could say I was hiding. I could say I was mad about the luncheon.”

  Miss Langley shook her head. “We will tell the truth and accept whatever comes of it.”

  Mother met them at the door, frantic. When Miss Langley tried to explain, Mother waved her to silence, ordered the nanny from her sight, and told Harriet to take Eleanor to her room. “You should be ashamed of yourself, giving your poor mother such a fright,” scolded Harriet as she seized Eleanor's arm and steered her upstairs. “We thought you had been kidnapped or worse.”

  “I was fine.”

  “Ungrateful, disobedient child. It's that Langley woman's influence, I know it.”

  “Leave me alone,” shouted Eleanor, pulling free from Harriet's grasp. She ran to her room and slammed the door. She stretched out on the bed and squeezed her eyes shut against tears. She listened for Miss Langley on the other side of the wall until fatigue overcame her.

  She woke with a jolt as the first shafts of pale sunlight touched her window. She ran to Miss Langley's room. The nanny opened at Eleanor's knock, and in a glance Eleanor took in the bulging satchel, the stripped bed, the missing quilts.

  Eleanor flung her arms around her. “Please don't go.”

  “I have no choice.”

  “I hate her. I hate them both.”

  “Don't hate them on my account.” Miss Langley hugged her tightly, then held her at arm's length. “I knew their rules and deliberately broke them. I made a choice, and I am prepared to accept the consequences. Remember that.”

  Eleanor nodded, gulping air to hold back the tears. “Where are you going?”

  “I have a friend in the city who will take me in for a while, until I can find a new situation. Maybe I'll stay in New York. Perhaps I'll return to England.”

  “I thought you couldn't go back to England because of the baby.”

  “What baby?”

  “Yours. Your baby.”

  Miss Langley regarded her oddly. “I never had a baby. Whatever gave you that idea?”

  Eleanor couldn't bear to repeat Abigail's tale. “The baby footprints on your Crazy Quilt. I thought you traced your baby's footprints and embroidered them.”

  “Eleanor.” Miss Langley cupped Eleanor's cheek with her hand. “Those are your footprints, silly girl.”

  Eleanor took a deep breath and scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Miss Langley sighed, reached into her satchel, and handed her a handkerchief. Eleanor wiped her face and tried to compose herself. “Will I ever see you again?”

  “That's up to you.” Miss Langley closed her satchel. “When you're a woman grown and free to make your own decisions, I would be very pleased if you called on me.”

  “I will. As soon as I'm able.”

  Father's carriage was waiting outside, the rest of Miss Langley's belongings already inside. At first Eleanor was surprised to see it, but naturally Mother would also not have it said that the Lockwoods allowed a woman, even one discharged in disgrace, to struggle on foot into the city, unescorted and encumbered by baggage.

  “I'll write as soon as I'm settled,” said Miss Langley as she put her satchel into the carriage and climbed up beside it. “Take care of Wildrose.”

  “I will.”

  Miss Langley closed the door, and the carriage gave a lurch and moved off. Eleanor followed in her bare feet, waving and shouting good-bye. Miss Langley leaned out the window to blow her a kiss, but then she withdrew from sight, and Eleanor could do nothing but watch as the carriage took her through the front gates and away.

  “Come inside,” called Mother from the doorway. “Goodness, Eleanor, you're still in your nightgown.”

  “You should not have sent her away.”

  “On the contrary, I should have done so long ago. You're too old for a nanny, especially one with no regard for your safety.”

  Without another word, Eleanor went inside and upstairs to the nursery, where she flung herself on the sofa, aching with loneliness. Only anger kept her from bursting into tears. Every part of this room held a memory of Miss Langley, but they would make no more memories here.

  After a long while, Eleanor sat up, and only then did she realize she still clutched Miss Langley's handkerchief. She opened it and traced the embroidered monogram with her finger: An A and an C flanked a la
rger L. She knew the A stood for Amelia, but she did not know what the C was for.

  She was tucking the handkerchief into the pocket of her nightgown when her gaze fell upon the window seat. Less than a day before, she and Miss Langley had concealed her Crazy Quilt diamond beneath it. Eleanor had been correct to suspect they would not continue their quilting lessons, but she never could have imagined the reason why.

  She crossed the room and lifted the window seat. There, under a faded flannel blanket, she found her Crazy Quilt diamond—but something else lay beneath it. Wrapped in a bundle of muslin were the rest of the fabrics Eleanor had used the previous day, the two crazy patch diamonds Miss Langley had made, and her favorite sewing shears, the silverplated, heron-shaped scissors.

  Eleanor held them in her lap a long while before she closed the window seat, seated herself upon it, and cut a diamond foundation from the muslin. She appliquéd a green silk triangle to the center, then added another patch. She added a second patch, and a third, working toward the edges as Miss Langley had showed her.

  Then Harriet entered. “Your mother wants you to get dressed and come to breakfast.”

  “I'm not hungry.”

  Harriet waited as if hoping to receive some other reply, but Eleanor did not look up from her work. Eventually Harriet left.

  Within a few minutes, Abigail replaced her. “Mother and Father want you to come to breakfast,” she said. “So do I. Won't you please come down?”

  “I'm not hungry.”

  “But you didn't have any supper.”

  “I said I'm not hungry.”

  “All right. I'll tell them,” said Abigail. “I'm sorry about Miss Langley.”

  Eleanor snipped a dangling thread and said nothing.

  Soon after Abigail left, Mother herself appeared. “You're too old to hide in the nursery and sulk. Come down to breakfast this instant.” She watched Eleanor sew. “What are you doing?”

  “I'm making a Crazy Quilt.” Eleanor embroidered a seam of velvet and wool with a twining chain stitch. “I will eat breakfast when I'm hungry, and after that, I'm going outside to ride Wildrose.”