The Quilt

So two of you have read this but I am posting it anyway because where I and writing am, there is The Quilt. Enjoy!

The Quilt

Private Jonas Camelot squinted at the bright rows of polished bayonets marching in front of him. His spiffy blue uniform with shiny brass buttons was still as new as if he had just come from the tailors. Jonas didn’t like that. For as long as he had been enlisted, he thought that he should have at least one hole made by a rebel bullet grazing his skin but there was  nothing of the sort.

 The men around him were restless. The officers, yelling at them not to break ranks or go plundering, didn’t seem to be heard. Men were leaving the division, running up to houses by the road, pounding down doors and taking anything of value.  They would have burned the houses had not the soft snow thoroughly soaked everything making it impossible.

  Jonas shivered as he watched two men charge up a little hill to a cabin and tear down the door. A woman’s scream echoed through the snow- covered valley and a moment later one of the men came out hauling a ratty quilt. Blankets were scarce and as Jonas watched the man rap the quilt around his shoulders he decided at the next house he would borrow a quilt. Borrow and not return of course. The houses down here belonged to rebel southerners; they didn’t deserve the quilts; they were sending sons, husbands, or grandsons to war against the Union. For all he was concerned they could freeze to death. 

 Seeing up ahead a small cabin, he broke ranks and floundered through the deepening snow to the strong oak door. When he hit the but of his rifle against the old lock the door flew open.   He stepped inside squinting this time because of the lack of light.

 The first time he scanned the room he saw no one and no blanket. As his eyes adjusted, however, he saw in the corner closest to the glowing embers a small rugged bedstead.  It was not the bedstead that he was looking at though; it was what adorned the bed. A quilt. But such a quilt he had never seen before; it was obviously a very strong and warm one that had been past down from generation to generation. He stepped forward, reverently feeling the green and yellow calico. A slight movement caught his eye and looking up he saw an old lady huddled under his quilt. Her eyes were wide and filled with terror. He reached down and snatched the quilt off the small bed laughing with derision when she begged him not to take it. As he headed out the door, back into the  blinding light,  he heard her say something about a grandson in the army who would be heart broken when he came home and found the quilt gone and his grandma frozen to death. Jonas laughed again, how warm the beautiful quilt felt around his shoulders. He was doubly pleased when he thought how a rebel’s heart would be broken when he came home. It would serve him right for thinking he could beat Abe Lincoln’s Northern army. If he ever did come home.

 That night as Jonas lay curled up under the quilt listening to the soft sound of snow falling, he found himself watching the night sentinel as he went on his rounds around the camp. As he passed Jonas he stopped.  “I’m glad to see that you are warm.”  He paused and then went on. “That’s a beautiful quilt; it reminds me of my grandmother’s. Actually hers was one of the cabins we passed on the march in. I hope she’s warm tonight.”lives near here."t, it remindes me of my grandmotheruld keep her warm. quilt listening to the soft sound of snow falling, he fou

                                                          The End