Patchwork Bride by Jillian Hart Page A

leaves. “Maybe it will be for my first place when I’m on my own as a teacher.”
    “Your plans may change.” Tilly took an end, holding it out. “The right man may come along and save you from my fate.”
    “You are not a spinster yet, Matilda.” She ached for her poor sister, whose beauty ran deep, but it was a sad state of the world that many men did not measure a woman for her internal beauty. The one slight interest Matilda had from Emmett Sims, a local teamster, had faded away. While she had never expressed her disappointment, Meredith knew it was there, a secret sadness her older sister did her best to hide. She did not know how to comfort her and sighed. “And evenif we both grow old without husbands, there are much worse fates.”
    “True. There is pestilence and plagues.” Tilly gathered up the material in her arms, drawing yard after yard into a messy bundle. “Or we could take up smoking.”
    Thinking of their rebellious younger sister, they burst into laughter. Their peals echoed against the coved ceiling.
    “Can you imagine?” She helped Tilly with the last bit of fabric. “Mama would burst.”
    “If we did that, we would have to take up horseback riding, too.”
    “Maybe chewing tobacco.”
    “We could learn to spit.”
    “So much for the family’s reputation.”
    “From couth to uncouth in sixty seconds.” Tilly gasped, sputtering. “It would be a total waste of our finishing school.”
    “True.” She led the way through the dining room, the last vestiges of laughter fading. “Have you ever thought how different our lives would be if we weren’t Worthingtons?”
    “Now and then.” Tilly’s smile remained, but it had turned sad. “Emmett and I—”
    She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. Events might have turned out differently for Tilly. He was a teamster, a common occupation about which Mama had made her opinion very clear. Meredith couldn’t help her suspicions. “Do you think our mother said something to discourage him? The way she’s treated Shane makesme wonder. Do you think she did the same with the Sims brothers?”
    “Who knows?” Tilly shouldered open the kitchen door. “If Emmett didn’t care enough about me to stand up to Mama, then…” She said no more, turning away, disappearing into the kitchen.
    Meredith caught the door. She didn’t know what to say to ease her sister’s devastation. She wished there was a way to piece those broken dreams back together for her.
    “I’ll be happy to get this washed up for you, Meredith.” Sadie’s voice rose above the clatter Cook was making at the stove. The scent of baking pork roast filled the air. “This is lovely fabric. It will be a perfect match with those blocks you are piecing.”
    “Thanks. I think so, too. Would you like the scraps when I’m done?”
    “Oh, I would love them. Thank you.” Sadie curtseyed, her accent sweet as the delight on her face. Soft auburn curls tumbled down beneath her ruffled cap. “It will go well with the scrap quilt I’m making.”
    “You’ve started a quilt?” Sadie was another sad story. The girl was the same age as Meredith and her friends, but she was an indentured servant, working off the cost of her steamer and train fare from Ireland. She was poor without family to help her and without the chance for an education. The difference in their lives, although they were a month apart in age, reminded Meredith how fortunate she was. Why the Lord had blessed her well and not Sadie, she did not understand. “I would love to see it.”
    “Truly? I can show you on Sunday.” Her only day off. “I’ve just started piecing my first blocks.”
    “The beginning is always so exciting.”
    “Yes, and—”
    “Sadie!” Cook bellowed. “I’ll not have you wasting time like a lazy lout. Get over here and scrub these pots.”
    “Yes.” Sadie bobbed her head in acquiescence, shot Meredith an apologetic shrug and gathered the big ball of fabric into her arms. She