She packed the few remaining squares neatly into her bag and stowed it in her room before folding her first handmade quilt into a neat pile.
The sounds and smells of breakfast being prepared met her on the stairs. With her project draped over her arm, she took the first steps into her life as the new and improved, but still a work-in-progress, Rebekah Stoll.
She hovered in the kitchen doorway, savoring the sight before her. None of her brothers were downstairs yet, or if some were, they were already out in the barn, busy with their chores.
Samuel had moved Beanie’s cradle downstairs and the baby, still tinted slightly yellow, soaked up the rays of sunshine provided by the window. Elnora sliced the cinnamon-filled dough for breakfast rolls while Samuel hefted wood into the cookstove.
Please, Lord, give me the words.
“Good morning Ma. Pa.” Rebekah’s greeting seemed to fill the expanse that was their kitchen. Elnora froze, as did Samuel.
Her mother placed the slicing knife on the counter and turned slowly. Her eyes, normally sparkly, were red-rimmed and watery and her nose was rosy. Samuel turned too. His haggard face wore the same red-rimmed expression as his wife’s.
“I have something to say to both of you.” Surprisingly, her voice didn’t sound meek but confident. “I was wrong to speak to you in such a manner. To accuse you and resent you. I was wrong. I asked God for forgiveness, now I’m asking for yours.”
Elnora’s lower lip began to tremble as she held her arms out wide. “Come here, daughter.”
Rushing into her mother’s waiting arms, Rebekah felt the same peace as she had the night before. A moment later, Samuel’s strong embrace circled them both.
“I love you both, I am sorry I was angry at you…all you did was love me.” Despite the peace, a fresh cascade of healing tears spilled from her eyes. Her mother’s frame shook with quiet sobs.
Samuel was the first to release from the group hug. “We prayed, too. Your mother and I should have told you the truth sooner and almost did on many occasions.”
He glanced at Elnora, who stepped back from the hug and dabbed at her soggy cheeks with a hanky. “But we simply never did.”
“We tried to do right by you, daughter, and to raise you no different to our boys.” Her mother reached one thin hand to Rebekah. She took it. “But you are different.”
She nodded. “Now that I know I am English, I will learn to embrace it.”
Elnora smiled the knowing smile only a mother can produce. “Darling girl. That is not what I meant. You’re different because you’re our eldest child and our only girl. You, my dear, are our little miracle.”
Rebekah had expected to be reminded that she was indeed of English blood, but Elnora’s words left her shocked. Humble, simple love of the purest form filled her heart for her mother, her father, and her people.
“I love you Ma, Pa.” Rebekah lifted the finished quilt and held it out before her. “I finished it last night, Ma.”
The squares were uneven and jagged, held together by awkward stitches. The border was larger in some places than others, and the whole conglomeration wasn’t so much square as it was sort of oval. The filling was oddly-placed and the backing…well, the backing was comprised of three different colors of fabric instead of one uniform one, like Elnora’s.
She studied her parent’s reactions as they, in turn, studied her quilt-like product.
“This quilt is me,” Rebekah whispered. “Not perfect, not by a long shot. But it is filled with memories, love, and lots and lots of try.”
A tear dripped from the corner of Elnora’s eye. “Daughter, it is beautiful. I am so proud of you for finishing it.”
“I’d like to give it to my newest little brother, since it was the first article to touch him as he arrived here in our home.”
“Thank you, daughter.” Moving lightly, she draped the quilt over the end of his cradle. “I’ll wrap him in it when he’s finished his sun bath.”
Her parents exchanged a look. “We love you, Rebekah. We always will, no matter if you choose to stay with us or go back with Peter to the English.”
Her eyes widened. Had she neglected to mention the best part of her decision? “Oh, Ma, I’m not going anywhere. This is my home. I’ll never leave!”
A sigh escaped her mother’s lips as her free hand fluttered to her belly. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered. “Thank you for this being Your will.”
With a contagious grin, Rebekah skipped toward the back door. “I can’t wait to tell my brothers.”
Samuel stepped toward her. “Rebekah, the boys have gone down to the lake to fish. Thomas wanted fish for lunch.”
“I’ll go down and find them.” She placed her hand on the doorknob.
“What about Joseph?” Her father’s normally robust voice was muted.
Rebekah could feel her eyes sparkling as she tipped her face back to her Pa. “He told me he loved me, Pa, even when he knew I was English!”
“What did you say?”
Her surge of enthusiasm ebbed at the presentation of this question. “Oh Pa, I told him I couldn’t love him if I didn’t love myself, and that I wasn’t even sure of who I was. Then, when I turned, he was gone.”
Her mother’s voice was hushed. “Do you still feel that way, child?”
“No, Ma, I don’t.”
Elnora studied her daughter. “How do you feel now?”
A grin parted Rebekah’s lips. “I love him, Ma. I always have. I always will.”
“Then perhaps you should go tell him,” Samuel suggested. “No doubt those words stung, and as you now know, it hurts you when you hurt those you love.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps I’ll take him a cinnamon cake. That is his favorite, you know.” She kept her tone light and tried to mask the worry she felt deep in her stomach.
