The Mail Order Bride's Quilt by Atwood Leah

Author:Atwood, Leah [Atwood, Leah]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2013-07-05T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 3

“John, what is it?” Jenny asked her new husband, confused by his sudden behavior. Had he guessed she’d had money sewn up in it and meant to take it? She didn’t figure him for that type, but one never could tell for sure. And she’d already removed the money before going out to him. She hadn’t mentioned anything about money yet. Her plan was to wait until she knew she could trust him. It wasn’t in her nature to keep secrets, but she figured this was self-preservation in case her judgment about him was off.

“Where did you get this quilt?” he demanded, but not unkindly. In fact, he actually sounded rather excited.

“It was my mother’s. Her best friend and she made it and an almost identical one when their husbands were at war. It became a symbol of their friendship.”

“Wait here a minute, Jenny. I just can’t believe this. It’s too big of a coincidence.”

She watched him run of the room and heard his feet climb the ladder to the loft. Several minutes later he returned with a quilt in his arms that looked eerily similar to the one Jenny had unpacked.

“Look here in the corners,” he said. “It’s the same embroidered initials.”

“No,” Jenny gasped connecting the pieces.

“You are Jenny Lane, my best friend from childhood.”

“And you are Johnny Grayson, my best friend that I’ve never forgotten. But how could this be? What are the chances? And you told me your last name is Thomas.”

“Thomas is my biological father’s last name. It’s the name I’ve went by for years? And what about you? How’d you get the last name Mason?” John asked her.

“Mama remarried shortly after you moved west. Mr. Mason was the gentleman, and I took his name. He was a good Pa,” she explained, smiling at the wonderful memories she’d had with him.

The exhaustion they felt earlier was gone, replaced by the excitement at rediscovering a best friend. They moved back out to the living area, and Jenny put some hot water to boiling for tea. For hours they talked and reminisced. John already knew through her letters what had happened to Mama.

“What happened to your mother?” Jenny asked. “My mother lived for her letters and was distraught when they stopped. I always wondered myself.”

“Mother got sick with the influenza one year and couldn’t recover it from. She’s buried a little past the barn, if you’d like to visit her grave.”

“I’d like that,” Jenny told him. She’d like to pay final respects to her mother’s best friends. “How come your Pa never wrote and told us?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. He was rather distraught for some time though, and my assumption would be that he just didn’t think about it in his grief. I was so young when it happened. If I had been older maybe I would have thought to write."

Jenny reached over and pat his shoulder. He looked so contrite. “Don’t pass any blame on yourself. It’s no one’s fault. And who’s to say if a letter had been written, that it would have reached us.

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