The Pattern Page 20

  Holding the shawl close about her, she made her halting way back over to the window. The day was darkening quickly, clouds heavy with still more snow hovered, the boughs of the pines and hemlocks surrounding the cabin were now burdened with clumps of snow, and the wind-blown snow was now banked along the rustic fence along the horse trail down the mountainside.

  Ross had better get home soon, or the way would be impassable. Fear stirred in the pit of her stomach, tightening her throat. If this was the baby coming, she couldn’t go through it all by herself. She couldn’t—dear God, she just couldn’t! She felt her eyes fill with tears of fear and frustration. It just couldn’t happen like this. Her body seemed almost apart from her mind, which became surprisingly clear. If this was the baby—and she was getting to the point where she knew it was—she should do something, get ready somehow to handle this alone, if she had to.

  Before she could move or turn around, another slow pain clutched her, making her bend over and cling to the window sill, causing an involuntary groan. There was no mistaking it. This was it!

  She closed her eyes for a minute, prayed frantically. Please, God, make me brave, show me what to do. But please send someone! Bring Ross home!

  Boil water! That somehow tugged at her memory as something to do. She wasn’t sure quite why, but she filled the kettle anyway and hung it over the fire. The fire was roaring, crackling, and the smell of apple wood was pungent as it burned. Still, Johanna could not get warm. She shivered and braced herself for another pain.

  It came and she held her breath until it passed. Fifteen minutes later another one began. Between pains, Johanna heard the ticktock of the clock. She counted the time, clenching her hands on the arms of the rocker, waiting for the pain she knew would soon overtake her. Between those times, she prayed, Please, someone come. Outside the steady, silent snow continued.

  The wind howled around the cabin, sounding like a hundred screeching owls. Johanna gritted her teeth, set her jaw, shuddered. How could this have happened to her? To the pampered daughter of well-to-do town folk? To be up here all alone in an isolated log cabin in a snowstorm that was gradually shutting her off from any help? At a time like this, she should be surrounded by loving, comforting, caring people—people who, for heaven’s sake, knew what to do!

  Panic set her heart to pounding. She hugged herself and moved closer to the fireplace, shivering in spite of its warmth.

  She thought of the day Liddy Chalmers had come to see her before she got married, begged her to reconsider marrying Ross. “You can’t, Johanna, you just can’t!” Liddy had cried. Johanna thought of that scene in detail now. “To go so far away, to live on the edge of nowhere,” Liddy had said.

  Well, that’s exactly what she had done. If she’d gone to Hillsboro months ago to have the baby there, as her mother had written to suggest, she wouldn’t be in this awful situation. But Johanna had refused. This was her home now, she’d insisted in her letter back to her mother. Was she now paying for her stubbornness, her self-will, her pride?

  Johanna imagined how it would have been for her now if she’d accepted her mother’s invitation. A picture came to her of her own bedroom, with its slanted ceiling, the dormer windows looking out onto the garden, the four-poster bed, her little desk and white-paneled fireplace, her bedside table with her favorite books. She remembered how when she had some slight childhood illness, trays were brought up to her with cinnamon toast or lemon pudding, and if she had a fever, her mother’s cool hand would be on her forehead. Ruefully she knew she’d never appreciated it enough.

  Just then another wave of pain swept over her. Johanna clamped her teeth together, accidentally biting her tongue. Tears rushed into her eyes. Finally the pain passed and again Johanna made her way haltingly over to the window, peering out. Snow piled up on the window ledge and around the small panes shut off any view. Johanna saw that the trail was almost obliterated by the drifts. And it was still snowing. There was little hope that Ross would come now. He might be caught somewhere up the mountain. Perhaps he’d stayed too long at some remote cabin with a patient. Ironically, maybe even to deliver a baby!

  First babies often took a long time, Tassie had told her. On the other hand, she’d said, some babies were in a hurry. What this baby would do, Johanna had no idea. She bit her lower lip as a strong spasm gripped her again.

  She tried not to think of some of the horror stories she’d heard whispered among the girls at boarding school. Of course, none of them really knew anything about it. All they circulated were old wives’ tales passed from one ignorant girl to the next. However, she did know that sometimes women died having babies. What if she died here all by herself? What if they came and found her dead, and the baby too?

  If she died, how sad everyone would be. Even Cissy. The idea struck her that when people died, they always left a will. To distract herself from the next pain, which she knew would be coming soon, Johanna thought of what she would bequeath to her sisters in her nonexistent will. She really should have made a will, she thought. Facing what she was now, there was always the possibility of dying. If she were to make a will, she’d leave Cissy the cameo pin Grandmother Shelby had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Cissy had been really put out about that. She had always admired the delicate Grecian profile carved in ivory on a pale lavender background, framed in gold, circled with seed pearls. And Elly. What could she leave to her youngest sister. What would Elly want of hers?

  That was as far as Johanna got in her melancholy thoughts. She perked up suddenly. Didn’t she hear something? Above the wind, beyond the pattering of the icy snow against the windows—was that the sound of voices? Oh, dear God, was someone actually coming? She got up from her crouched position, staggered to the door. It was! She heard shouts! It wasn’t her imagination. Someone was actually coming. Thank God.

  Pressing her face to the window, wiping away the frost that veiled her view, she looked out. Stumbling through the blowing snow, the piled-up drifts, were two bundled figures, hanging on to each other, making their way toward the cabin.

  With all her strength, Johanna slid back the wooden bars on the door. The wind pushed against it, and she was hard pressed to hold the door open enough for the two people to come inside.

  Woolen mufflers around their heads hid their faces, and Johanna could only see their eyes, which were fringed by snowcrusted lashes. The tips of their noses were red with cold. Heavy shawls stiff with frozen snow were wrapped around them, disguising their shapes. Then as they began unwinding the long knitted scarves, she saw who they were. The first face revealed was Tassie’s, the second that of Ross’s mother, Eliza.

  “Oh Ma, I’m so glad you came,” Johanna gasped, clutching Eliza’s arm. “I think the baby’s on its way! But how did you know to come?”

  “Tassie come by, told me she’d seen Ross up on the ridge near the Coltons’ cabin early in the day. She heard tell that Milt had broke his leg felling a tree, and thought Ross might have trouble gettin’ down the mountain agin iffen it kept snowin’ so heavy. We both decided you shouldn’t be up here alone in case—well, just in case. So we come.”

  “Thank God you did!” Johanna said fervently. “But what about Sue and Katie?”

  “They’ll be fine. Took them over to Jenny and Merriman’s ’fore I set out,” Eliza told her. “Now, don’t you worry ‘bout nuthin’ but bringin’ this here baby into the world.”

  Even as her mother-in-law spoke, Johanna felt another pain coming. She nodded and braced herself. Her fingers clutched Eliza’s arm. Immediately she felt the swift support of both women holding her firmly. When the pain had passed, Johanna let Eliza help her over to bed. There quilts were tucked around her, pillows piled beneath her head, shoulders, back. She could hear Tassie moving around in the cabin. Soon she brought Johanna a mug of steaming herbal tea, a mixture of red raspberry and chamomile. “Here, you sip on this, honey. It’ll ease you and make you feel better.”

  After that, things became blurred. There was th
e rhythm of pain, each one closer and harder. Always in the background were the comforting voices of the two women, who held her hand, rubbed her back, soothed her with quiet, calm instructions.

  Outside the day darkened. Between pains, Johanna asked, “Ross? Is Ross here?”

  “Not yet, honey. Now, you jest quiet yourself. Everything’s goin’ fine. Your baby’ll be here ‘fore long.”

  Johanna couldn’t remember just when she lost track of time—possibly hours passed. Everything centered on the cycle of ever-increasing pressure, Tassie’s encouraging voice. Then she heard the slam of the cabin door as it was thrust open and banged against the wall. The next thing she knew, her hand was covered by two large ones, her name whispered. “Johanna, darling, I’m here.”

  She opened her eyes. Ross’s face bent over her, his keen eyes worried. His cold cheek pressed against hers, and he said huskily, “It won’t be long now, honey.”

  Relieved, reassured, Johanna clung tightly to his hand and gave herself up to the business of giving birth, feeling safe, secure, and completely comforted by his presence.

  It seemed endless. Then, as if from a long distance off, Johanna heard the strong, unmistakable sound of a baby’s cry! It was over. She’d had her baby. She fell back against the pillows, filled with a tremendous joy, a sense of accomplishment.

  Johanna awakened to the sweet aroma of spice wood tea boiling, then the stirring of the little bundle tucked into the bed beside her. Her baby! she realized in dreamy surprise.

  She looked down into the pink, crumpled little face. The baby’s eyes were closed. Gently she touched the downy crest of hair on the small, round head, let her finger trace the cheek. How sweet, how dear. She was in awe of this perfection. This is what she had waited for all these months, their child. Johanna felt an emotion new and deep move within her. “Thank you, God,” she whispered.

  Slowly she became aware of other movement in the room, and then she saw Eliza come to the side of her bed, holding a cup from which a spiral of fragrant steam arose.

  “You’re awake, Johanna. Let’s see if we can sit you up some so’s you can sip this tea. It’ll give you strength, then mebbe later you can eat somethin’.” She paused, then asked hesitantly, “Kin I hold the baby for you?”

  Johanna smiled up at Eliza, turning back the edge of the blanket so she could see the little face better. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Eliza beamed. “Yes, she shure is a right peart little’un,” she replied, nodding her head. “Ross sez you’re namin’ her Johanna—that’s the custom in your family for a first girl.”

  “Yes ma’am, but we’re going to call her JoBeth—Johanna Elizabeth.”

  Johanna watched as her mother-in-law’s face underwent a change of expression, from a startled look to a softness she had never seen there before.

  “’Lizabeth?” Eliza repeated softly.

  “Yes ma’am, after you.” Johanna said.

  Eliza struggled not to show her emotion, but her eyes brightened suspiciously and her lips worked as if trying to say something. At length, not being able to express what she was feeling, she simply lifted Johanna’s fingers and pressed them to her cheek. “I—well—thanky,” she managed to say at last.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Johanna’s third September in the mountains seemed particularly beautiful to her. Coming out onto the porch one afternoon, she lingered. High in the tall trees surrounding their cabin, the wind sang. Listening to its music, Johanna realized it was a melody she had learned to hear and love. She felt a part of all this now—these hills, the scent of wildflowers, wood smoke, the special light in summer evenings, the sweet scent of honeysuckle, the clean smell of freshly cut pine. She felt the satisfaction of belonging. A feeling that had been long coming.

  Sometimes, Hillsboro and her own girlhood seemed a hundred years away. Her life now was centered here in the mountains, on the baby, and on Ross.

  After her father’s death, Ross had been her strength, her comfort. She had never before realized the depth of his love, the generosity of his soul, the strength of his devotion, the selflessness of his being. Johanna felt sure her father would be glad to know how beloved she was, how cherished, protected.

  The baby was napping and Johanna was tempted to stay, enjoying the sunshine, but there were still chores to be done. She sighed and reluctantly went inside.

  Her glance fell on the quilting frame Uncle Tanner had made for her before the baby was born. There was an unfinished quilt stretched upon it. She hadn’t worked on it for weeks. Somehow there was always something else that needed doing. Besides, this one wasn’t coming out as she had planned. Maybe she was too impatient, or maybe she didn’t have the skill—it didn’t seem to have a theme. Johanna went over to it, stood looking down at it. Shouldn’t a quilt have some sort of theme, a message—shouldn’t it represent something? Something was missing. Something was wrong. The colors? The pattern? The pieces she had selected? It was a daily reminder of something lacking in her—the will to continue, to complete. Whatever the problem, somehow it didn’t please her. Something seemed to be missing, but she didn’t know just what.

  Johanna had finished two smaller ones for the baby. Eliza had sewed the tops to the matting and flannel backing, and JoBeth slept sweetly and soundly, wrapped up in their warmth. This quilt was supposed to be Johanna’s showpiece, to exhibit the skills she had learned through much struggle, much ripping out and redoing, a masterful work to be displayed proudly. And yet it wasn’t right. Why? Not feeling inclined to work on it, she went on to do other chores.

  She still had trouble juggling everything there was to do. The baby took up most of her time. Johanna found her a source of endless delight. She knew she neglected other things to spend time with her baby.

  JoBeth was a daily miracle to her. Everything about her seemed extraordinary to Johanna. She could hardly put her down or stop watching her. She loved caring for her, cuddling, feeding, rocking, admiring the rosebud mouth, the startlingly blue eyes, the way her silky dark hair was beginning to curl around her forehead and shell-like ears.

  Hearing the sound of stirring from the cradle, Johanna hurried over and, greeting JoBeth with soft, cooing sounds, she lifted the baby. It was just too pretty to stay inside, Johanna decided. Then, taking one of the quilts Eliza had given her, she carried her outside. Spreading the quilt on the grass in the mellow gold of the autumn sunshine, she placed JoBeth on it. The baby was just about ready to crawl. She would get up on her fat little hands and knees and rock back and forth, as if she hadn’t quite figured out just how yet.

  Johanna never tired of watching her. She felt that time with her baby was precious, and she didn’t want to miss a minute.

  The afternoon lengthened. JoBeth had now been placed on her back, kicking her little legs, waving her arms. Her round, blue eyes watched a cluster of birds flying back and forth between the oak tree overhead and the fence nearby.

  Above them, purple-shadowed mountains arched against the sky. Johanna realized how much she had come to love them. They no longer seemed threatening or ready to close her in, isolate her, but instead seemed to protect and surround her with love.

  The light began to change, the wind began to stir the pine boughs. Ross should be coming home soon. Johanna picked the baby up and walked to the fence overlooking the trail, peered down to see if Ross might be making his way up. At a long distance on the mountainside, she saw him coming. Her heart lifted with a little thrill she astonishingly recognized as being much the same as the very first time she had seen him at the Chalmerses’ Christmas party.

  He sat somewhat slouched forward in his saddle, his shoulders bent as though he’d had a tiring day, his hands easy on the reins. Johanna felt a rush of tenderness.

  Coming near, he saw her and waved one hand.

  “‘Evenin’, honey,” he called, then smiled at the baby. “Evenin’, Miss Johanna Elizabeth.”

  At the top of the hill he dismounted. Taking off the horse’s bridle, the
n the saddle, he placed them on the top of the fence, opened the gate, and turned the animal into the pasture.

  Ross walked toward Johanna and held out his arms for the baby and placed her against his shoulder. Then he put his other arm around Johanna, and together the three of them went into the house. Inside, Ross leaned down, gave Johanna a long, slow kiss, then sighed, “It’s good to be home.”

  Joy surfaced in Johanna. It was good to be home. Their home. She remembered hearing it said, “Home is where the heart is, where your treasure is.” Her treasure was Ross and the baby. She felt a deep thankfulness for all that was there and for all the years ahead of them.

  Johanna glanced at the quilt on the frame. She went over, stared down at it critically. Suddenly she began to see its design. She saw the pieces all coming together in a harmonious pattern. What she wanted it to represent was her life here with Ross and the baby. All the things home meant to her—love, laughter, devotion, belonging.

  All at once Johanna knew what she wanted her quilt to say. There was still much of their life that was yet to come, just like the quilt. There was more to work on, more to bring forth. But the pattern was there underneath. Nothing was missing—not from her quilt nor from her life.

  American Luilts Series

  Bonus Section:

  Dear Reader:

  This bonus section is our special gift to those who have enjoyed reading Jane Peart’s The Pattern as much as we, the editors and publisher, have enjoyed bringing it to you. This section contains the “Prologue” to Jane Peart’s next book, The Pledge, which is the sequel to The Pattern. It continues the story of Johanna and her family.