A Quilt For Jenna

Chapter 4: The Journey Begins

Chapter 4: The Journey Begins

The gray light of dawn crept slowly into Jerusha’s room. Outside, the wind whistled around the eaves and through the trees. Jerusha lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the deep ache in her heart pounding like a throbbing wound. She had often dreamed of Jenna but never as vividly as last night.

She slowly swung her feet over the side of the bed and sat for a long time with her head in her hands. Then she rose and headed for the simple bathroom. Before she turned on the shower, she ran cold water into the sink until it was full and then put her face under the water. The shock brought her quickly awake, clearing the fog from her mind. As she toweled off her face, she couldn’t shake the memory of the dream. Jenna was near but lost in a dark place, calling to her.

She looked up into the mirror and stared at the face she saw there. She had been a lovely girl once, but grief and loss had carved their cruel imprint on her features. The once-smooth skin had frown lines that made her look much older than she really was. Her eyes, once bright and expectant and full of life and faith, now had a dull, lost look.

The sound of the grandfather clock tolling six times broke into her thoughts and brought her back to reality. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be late.

Hurriedly she stepped into the shower. As she stood under the barely lukewarm water, her thoughts pressed in on her again.

When I leave here, I’ll never have to worry about hot water or heat again. I won’t have to share the propane with my neighbors. I’ll get a car and go wherever I want to go. I’ll have Englisch friends, and I’ll call them on the phone. Maybe I’ll even have a television set!

Jerusha was startled by the sudden sense of shame that swept over her.

“And I won’t feel guilty about anything I do!” she said out loud, glaring toward the heavens, where she imagined this Amish God was sitting on His terrible throne laughing at her. As she stepped out of the shower to towel off, she continued her rant. “I won’t feel guilty ever again, and I’ll do what I want to do, and You’ll never stop me...”

Jerusha trembled at her own words but then added, “She’s gone, and You took her from me. I hate You! I hate You! I hate You.”

A knock on the front door caused her to take hold of her emotions.

“Missus Springer?”

It was Henry, the Englisch neighbor boy who was going to drive her to Dalton. She opened the bathroom door and called out, “I’m running a little late, Henry. Can you come back in twenty minutes?”

“Sure thing, ma’am,” the boy said through the door, “but if we’re going to get up to Dalton before the storm hits, we have to get going.”

“I’m sorry, Henry,” she called. “I’ll be ready in a jiffy.”

Jerusha quickly slipped into her clothes, rolled her braided hair into a knot, and pulled on her prayer kappe. She gathered her things and then went into the sewing room, where the quilt lay neatly folded on the table. She unfolded it and began to examine every detail one more time. She checked the stitching but could not see any mistakes or overruns. The pattern was totally unique, and the material was beautiful. As it lay on the table before her, the colors shimmered and shifted in the light. The quilt felt alive to her, and in a way it was. She had poured her memories of Jenna’s life and her anguish and grief into this quilt, and the result was truly a masterpiece, a symphony in color and design. She carefully refolded the quilt.

I put all of my skill and all my feelings into this quilt. I’m going to win that prize, and with the money, I’ll get a new start. I’ll be free. Free to do what I want to do and go where I will. This is a quilt for Jenna and for me. It’s my ticket away from here and from You.

“You don’t own me anymore!” she hissed into the silent room.

She then placed the quilt in a cardboard box and folded the flaps together. On the side of the box she wrote, “The Rose of Sharon—quilt by Jerusha Springer.”

A knock on the door startled her, and Henry called out from the porch.

“We got to get going, Missus Springer. The storm is picking up, and it will take us a long time to get there as it is.”

“I’ll be finished in a minute, Henry,” Jerusha said as she opened the door. “Please, could you carry my things to the car?”

“Glad to, ma’am,” Henry said with a look of relief on his face. “I hope you dressed warm.”

“Indeed I did,” Jerusha said as she pulled on her long winter coat. She handed Henry the box that held the quilt and slipped her galoshes over her lace-up shoes. She started out the door but then paused and looked back into the house.

This place used to ring with laughter, and joy and blessing overflowed. I had my life and my good husband and my little girl. It was as if the angels stood round about this house and guarded it from any harm. And then You took her from me and You stripped away every bit of joy and left only this darkness and pain. Soon I will leave this place and I’ll not look back.

Jerusha collected her thoughts and then stepped out and closed the door. The clicking of the latch had a final sound that pleased her. She turned to the young man who was standing expectantly on the porch.

“I’m ready, Henry. Thank you so much for taking me.” She smiled quickly and then stepped out into the cold. The icy snow hit her face like needles.

Henry walked down the steps and opened the door to the backseat of his sedan.

“I’ve got chains if we need them,” he said. “But these snow tires ought to keep her on the road. She’s real heavy and she goes through the drifts like a truck. I figure we’ll take the county highway to Carr Road and then cut over to Kidron Road. Bobby usually keeps that plowed pretty good during storms, and it’s the quickest way into Dalton. Are you sure they’re going to have the quilt fair, Missus Springer, given the weather and all?”

“They have never cancelled this fair, and even if they postpone it, I need to see the fair manager. I’ve arranged for a place to stay, and I’ll be fine. I have your phone number, and I’ll go to the store and call you to make arrangements to get back home, or I’ll take the bus.”

“Okay, Missus Springer, whatever you say. If I didn’t have to get up there myself today for Thanksgiving at my grandma’s, I might be having second thoughts about going.”

Henry had a grim look on his face, but Jerusha dismissed his frown.

Today is Thanksgiving. I completely forgot. But then, what do I have to be thankful for?

Jerusha climbed into the car, and Henry got in behind the wheel and started the Buick. He headed the car out of the driveway, the tires crunching on the new-fallen snow as he turned onto the long gravel road to the county highway. Suddenly a powerful sense of expectancy swept over Jerusha, a feeling so intense that she nearly cried out for joy. But she held her words and sat in the backseat trembling as they began the journey, out and away, away from this place and from these people and from this God—the God of broken dreams and lost hope and beaten-down faith.