Read Elm Creek Quilts [07] The Sugar Camp Quilt for Free Online

condemn me for the wrongs my parents have committed.”
    She smiled to soften her words, but slipped away before Mary asked her which wrongs she meant.
    By that time the newlyweds’ home had filled almost to bursting with what appeared to be nearly every resident of Creek’s Crossing within the range of Mrs. Engle’s condescension. Dorothea found her father engrossed in conversation with the mayor, but merely waved to him on her way to the kitchen, where she found her mother chatting with the colored cook about abolition and woman’s suffrage. The cook regarded Dorothea’s mother curiously and with some wariness, as if she did not know what to make of this white woman who spoke so passionately about impossibilities in the heat of the kitchen, rather than enjoy the laughter and music of the party. Dorothea was so accustomed to her mother that she sometimes forgot that others often found her inscrutable.
    Dorothea’s mother greeted her affectionately and introduced her to the cook, who nodded a greeting as she removed a pan from the oven and looked Dorothea over with renewed cautious curiosity.
    “So, Dorothea,” her mother said. “How was your conversation with Mr. Nelson?”
    “I have not met him yet. I had hoped someone would offer a toast to him so that I might be able to pick him out of the crowd.”
    “You must have gone out of your way to avoid him.” Mother described him—a bespectacled, brown-haired man, slender, somewhat pale—and pointed out that he would be one of the very few people in the familiar crowd Dorothea did not already know. “Swallow your pride and meet him soon,” she added. “We must leave before long or all the evening chores will be left to your uncle.”
    With a sigh of resignation, Dorothea left the kitchen and made her way to the parlor, where she spied a man chatting with Cyrus Pearson who fit her mother’s description. He was not quite as tall as Cyrus, but he wore a finer suit with an overlarge but not unattractive boutonniere on his lapel. Dorothea made her way to an unoccupied spot nearby, where she could await a suitable moment to introduce herself, if Cyrus did not see her there first and take care of the formalities.
    She fixed a pleasant smile in place and observed the dancing. Abner whirled Mary about; Mrs. Claverton waggled her fingers and called out a greeting as she and her husband passed. Dorothea returned the greeting with a smile and looked around the room for Charlotte, hoping for the girl’s sake that her parents had possessed the sense to allow her to remain home, as befitting her age.
    “You have not danced one single set all afternoon,” Dorothea overheard Cyrus chide the young Mr. Nelson, if that was, in fact, who he was. “Surely your health cannot be as bad as all that.”
    “It is not for my health that I refrain,” came the reply, in a voice both deeper and more disdainful than Dorothea expected.
    “What is it, then? Come, now, my mother made me promise that there would be no young ladies unattended at her party, and I insist you help me.”
    “While I regret disappointing the woman who so kindly organized this gathering for me,” said Mr. Nelson, “you will have to satisfy your obligations to your mother yourself. I dance when I am inclined to do so, and at this moment, I am not so inclined.”
    “Why not? Look—there are three, four, no, five ladies not engaged at present. Your legs are obviously not broken whatever else might ail you. You will not do yourself an injury if you take one turn about the floor.”
    “Nevertheless, I decline.” He paused and gave Cyrus a slight bow. “With my apologies.”
    “I cannot understand you, Nelson. You are newly arrived in Creek’s Crossing, and apparently you mean to stay. Surely you wish to make the acquaintance of our charming local beauties.”
    Mr. Nelson frowned and indicated his boutonniere. “If their taste in conversation resembles their taste in flowers, we will have very little to say