Pieces of the Past
"Emma, remind me again why we're in town at eight o'clock on a Saturday morning when we could be still asleep."
"Because this is a special occasion, Jimmy. You know it ain't everyday Sweetwater hosts the territory fair. We're low on supplies and I wanted to get there early before everything's been picked over. 'Sides, it does you boys good to get out and socialize with people, make new friends."
"Most of the folks in Sweetwater ain't too big on making friends with us, Emma," Buck muttered quietly from his horse next to the buckboard.
Emma Shannon sighed at the young man's comment. It was a crystal clear September day with just enough of a breeze to make it pleasant but not chilly. Jimmy, Buck, and Cody rode lazily on either side of her, keeping pace with the slower buckboard. Next to Emma on the seat, Ike loosely held the reigns, having offered to drive. She'd hoped the four boys would enjoy the day and the outing; it's not often Sweetwater had more to offer in the way of entertainment than the local saloon, which she didn't want her boys frequenting anyway. Buck and Jimmy's pessimistic attitudes were putting her plans on the fast track to disaster, however, not something she was going to let happen.
"Boys," she said sternly, giving each rider a pointed glare, "we are going into town to enjoy the fair. I don't care one ounce what the other people of Sweetwater may think and you shouldn't either. Just ignore them and try to stay out of trouble, please!"
Three chagrined "yes ma'am's" and one nod made Emma smile with satisfaction. Perhaps this would be a good day after all.
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The large meadow behind the church had been completely transformed overnight. There were booths with people peddling everything from miracle cures to old molasses cans. The livery stable had been turned into a small zoo; stalls now housing the cows and pigs and chickens that farmers had brought in from miles hoping to sell. The four riders stood clumped together, just taking it all it. Emma had shooed them off with an order to have fun and leave her be, and now they don't know what to do.
"There's a guy over there selling rifles and gun belts. Let's go see what he's got," Cody suggested offhandedly. Jimmy and Buck shrugged and started to follow him, but Ike stayed put.
"You comin', Ike," Buck called back to his friend.
*No, I think I'll look around for a while. I'll meet you at the lemonade stand in a bit.*
"Kay. Stay outa trouble," Buck said with a wink.
Ike simply shooed him off with a wave. He watched him go for a few seconds then turned back to the sights of the fair. Why look at gun belts when there was so much else to be seen? Enjoying the sights, Ike wandered aimlessly for a while. He smiled as he passed an old farmer napping lazily among his hogs, an ancient tobacco pipe dangling loosely from his lips. The next booth held only ladies finery, so Ike hurried by. He passed a tinsmith, a fortuneteller, and an apple stand without much interest, and was just about to go find the others when something caught his eye. Up ahead a round little man was selling second-hand household goods. Draped haphazardly over the edge of the cart was a crazy quilt. The early morning sunshine caught the worn fabrics and bright colors and set them dancing like a kaleidoscope.
For several long minutes, Ike stood rooted to the ground, unable to breath. The sights and sounds of the fair receded from around him; only he and that quilt existed. His mind told him it was not the one, it couldn't be! Ten years, hundreds of miles, and countless sorrows stood in the way, but his heart still beat faster. Unbidden, his feet moved him closer, drawn by an irresistible force he couldn't fight. Reverently he reached out, his fingers caressing the scraps of cotton and wool, lovingly tracing the lines of stitches.
"That's a mighty fine quilt, there. You have a good eye."
Ike jumped at the sudden voice intruding into his thoughts, noticing for the first time the little old man standing next to him. Smiling kindly, the cart owner continued as though he hadn't noticed Ike's surprise.
"Picked that one up years ago when I was traveling through Missouri. Man seemed awful hurried to get rid of it, although I can't understand why. It's such a lovely peace of craftsmanship. I put it out now and then, but I just never seem to find the right person to sell it to. I can't sell a quilt like this to just anyone, you know."
Ike stared at the quilt, only half listening to the man's words. The scraps of fabric and fancy stitches formed patterns that leapt straight from Ike's memories. The faded blue with sprigs of yellow became a woman's work dress, the sun glinting off it as she tended her garden. The red woolen plaid was a man's overcoat, keeping him warm as he chopped firewood in the night. The dusty pink with small roses was a doll's dress sewn by tiny fingers. And the bits of checkered red were the scraps left from a scarf made to cover a very frightened young boy's head. Every piece and every stitch was just as he remembered it. Still it was so long ago and memory sometimes warps to fit the present. There was only one way to tell.
Hesitantly, Ike turned to the man, asking with halted signals if he could spread it out farther.
"Of course, just let me help you here. We wouldn't want it to fall in the dirt."
Gently, they picked it up and each grasping one side spread it open. It wasn't very large, but it was beautiful. Taking a deep breath, Ike glanced down at the lower right corner and his eyes filled up with tears. There, in elegantly embroidered stitches, was written MaryAnne McSwain, 1849.
Abruptly, Ike was drawn back to that awful day so long ago. After the men had finished murdering his family, they ransacked his house, taking anything and everything they could carry. When the sheriff finally arrived and found him two days later, Ike hadn't moved from his hiding place. The sheriff kindly went into the house and found a few trinkets missed by the robbers. After the funerals, he gave them to Ike to remember his family by. Those few items were all Ike ever saw of his family's belongings again.
Trying not to let the tears spill over his cheeks, Ike carefully gave the quilt back to the peddler. He reached into his vest and pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil stub. Quickly he wrote, showing the man his note.
How much?
"Well, it's one of my best items and I've grown rather attached to it, but I can tell by watching you that you'd take good care of it. I could let you have it for $25."
Ike's heart sank into his shoes. Twenty-five dollars! There was no way he could afford that. It seemed so unfair to have a warm memory from his past come into his life again, only to have it snatched away again, but there was nothing else he could do. To him the quilt was priceless and he would have gladly paid the twenty-five dollars for it if he had it, but he didn't. The only thing he could do was quietly let it go.
With a sad smile, Ike lovingly reached out and brushed the familiar fabrics again. Then he let his hand drop and shook his head no. Giving it one last look, he turned and walked away.
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Emma waited until Ike was out of sight before she approached the peddler. Something about the way Ike had looked as he touched the quilt made her curious. He had seriously considered buying it, but why? She had plenty of quilts lying around the station, why would Ike need to buy one?
"Excuse me sir," she said, drawing the old man's attention. "Could I see the quilt that young man was just looking at?"
"Of course, Ma'am. Help yourself."
"Thank you."
Carefully, Emma unfolded the quilt, admiring the bright colors and stitching but not finding anything that would have caught Ike's eye. Then her gaze fell on the neat letters and a small cry escaped her as she covered her mouth with her hand. Tears spilled lightly down her face and her heart nearly broke in two as she thought of the boy who had just walked away from this treasure.
"Ma'am, are you alright?" the man's concerned voice broke into her thoughts, and she quickly composed herself.
"Yes, I'm fine."
"Funny, you're the second person today that's been touched by this quilt. That boy seemed awful drawn to it as well. Do you know him?"
"Yes," Emma answered simply.
"Strange. Most ordinary young men wouldn't look twice at a quilt," the man said with a puzzled frown.
"Ah yes, but this is no ordinary quilt and that was no ordinary boy. Now, I have a question for you. How much is this fine quilt?"
"Twenty-five dollars, Ma'am."
Twenty-five – that was a lot. She didn't have that much money, but she had a pretty good idea where she might be able to come up with it.
"Sir, are you going to be in town tomorrow?"
"Yes, I was planning on staying through 'til Monday, why?"
"Because if you're willing, I have a proposal for you. . ."
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Exhausted, Ike closed the barn door quietly behind him and slowly walked toward the bunkhouse. The dust from the leaving rider's horse had long since settled and all was still and quiet. Wearily, he climbed the steps and slipped through the door, trying not to disturb the others' sleep. This last ride had been a long one. He'd left the afternoon of the fair and been gone for nearly two days. Now he was tired, dirty, and just glad to be home.
In the light of the single lamp, Ike slipped out of his clothes and went to climb onto his bunk when his breath stopped. Spread neatly over the bed was a quilt; a brightly colored, lovingly stitched quilt. Almost blind with tears and disbelief, Ike couldn't do anything but stare for minutes, maybe hours. Then a small white piece of paper caught his eye. Hands shaking, he reached up and took the note. Unfolding it he read:
To Ike, from your new family to help you remember the old.
With a smile that was both sad and happy, Ike read the note again, gratitude welling up inside his heart. Then, just in case anyone was awake, he quietly extinguished the lamp so no one would see the tears that he finally let flow; tears of grief and of hope.