Free Elm Creek Quilts [04] The Runaway Quilt by Jennifer Chiaverini

certainty, did I wish to hear any more of it from Mr. Pearson. I looked from Anneke to Hans and back again, pleading silently for their aid, but Hans appeared oblivious to my distress, and Anneke seemed to enjoy it.
    “You’re so accomplished, Mr. Pearson,” said Anneke then, disarmingly, “that I must wonder why there is no Mrs. Pearson.”
    “I have not yet found a woman deserving of that title.”
    “Oh, you must keep looking,” said I, thinking, But not at Elm Creek Farm . “I’m sure you’ll find her.”
    Some of the brightness faded from his smile, and he lookedto Anneke for an explanation. Before she could speak, Hans said, “Tell me, when you find your Mrs. Pearson, will you give her a home of her own or bring her into your mother’s house?”
    “My mother’s home will be her home, as it is mine.”
    “Come now,” persisted Hans. “You know how women are. Asking two to share a kitchen is like throwing two wet cats into a sack and tying it shut. Asking them to share a home is asking for trouble, unless it is clear from the start who will be mistress of the household.”
    Anneke gave her husband a slight rebuke, but Mr. Pearson chuckled. “Mother will not be dictated to in her own home.”
    “So your Mrs. Pearson will have to know her place?”
    “Indeed.”
    “You couldn’t have her speaking her mind or acting contrary to Mrs. Engle’s judgment.”
    “Of course not, but I do not anticipate any conflict. The only woman I could love would be of such purity of heart and generosity of spirit that she would love my mother as if she were her own. She would tend to my mother’s needs with the same tender, unselfish eagerness as she would to mine.”
    Anneke twisted her pretty features into a frown. “You sound as if you are looking for a nurse or a housekeeper, not a wife.”
    “It would only be for a little while,” said Mr. Pearson, with a hasty glance at me. “Once Mother passes on, my wife will be the mistress of the household, but until then—”
    “Until then she is to be a servant in her own home?” said I, indignant on behalf of this unfortunate bride, forgetting, for the moment, that Mr. Pearson hoped I would be she. “My goodness, but you require a great deal of patience and forbearance in a wife. I do not think half the women of my acquaintance could manage it.”
    “It would not be as bleak as I have made it seem,” said Mr. Pearson.
    “I should hope not,” said I. “If I were to marry into such circumstances, I might be tempted to hasten your mother’s demise.”
    “I hope your future bride lacks my sister’s temper,” said Hans to Mr. Pearson in a confidential tone. “If not, you’d better find someone else to do the cooking.”
    Mr. Pearson glanced down at his plate in alarm as if expecting to find some deadly poison amid the mashed turnips. As Hans and I laughed merrily, he grew red-faced and said, “Yes, I’ll be sure to do that.”
    “Your bride will be a lovely woman,” said Anneke soothingly, glaring at Hans and me in turn. “Do not let their silly jokes trouble you.”
    Mr. Pearson let out a thin laugh as if to show us he understood our joke. Anneke steered the conversation to other matters, but for the remainder of the meal, Mr. Pearson spared no opportunity to avoid looking in my direction. Afterward, he thanked Anneke for her kind hospitality, shook Hans’s hand, gave me a curt nod, then made some excuse about needing to tend to a sick horse.
    As soon as the door shut behind him, Hans and I burst into laughter again.
    “I fail to see what is so amusing,” said Anneke.
    I tried to speak. “The thought of that man—”
    “—and my feisty, opinionated sister,” finished Hans. “Married!”
    Anneke folded her arms and pursed her lips, but eventually she, too, allowed a small smile. “Perhaps they would not be such a good match after all.”
    “Perhaps not, my love,” said Hans, smiling tenderly. “But I can’t blame you for trying.”
    “I