Lie of the Needle(41)
Over her shoulder I admired again the peaceful scene of a humble house near a pasture with a sheep and a cow, surrounded by a decorative border.
Althea tapped on the glass. “Originally samplers served as a way for women to store their personal repertoire of stitches and patterns. But at the beginning of the eighteenth century, their purpose gradually changed to become a teaching tool for young girls. Not just for needlework, but also to learn their alphabet and numerals.”
Even though Althea was quite thin, she must be heavy-boned, as my mother liked to say. Her hands were large enough to be a man’s hands, and I wondered how she managed such fine work with those big, blunt fingers.
“Let’s see. Silk on open mesh cotton. A wide range of stitches—the usual satin, cross, chain, and eyelet, but here’s some upright Gobelin. And Queen stitch for these.” Althea pointed to a crop of strawberries. “The linen has some slight overall discoloration, but that’s consistent with its age, and the colors of the silks are good. Nice condition. I would think this should reach in the twenty-five hundred to three thousand dollar range.”
Pleased that her estimate of value and mine were in sync, I handed her another. This one was signed by Eliza Franks, who was nine years old in 1846. The top section of the sampler was decorated with an elaborate urn, stags, butterflies, and a honeysuckle border. The central section had this verse:
Hide me, O my Savior, hide till the storm of life is past
Safe into the haven guide, Oh receive my soul at last
Other refuge have I none, hangs my helpless soul on thee
Leave oh leave me not alone, still support and comfort me
“I can’t believe this fine work was done by someone so young,” I said, marveling at the tiny stitches.
“A young woman needed needle skills to be suitable for marriage. One of her primary responsibilities was to mark and mend the household linens,” Althea said. “Again, very good condition. Same price range. Where on earth did you get these?”
“At a local estate sale.” I was on a roll now, so I handed her a third, dated 1830. This time the needlewoman was only seven years old.
It looked almost like Claire Elliot’s painting of her ideal home—a large house surrounded by fields and trees with birds flying overhead and a floral border, done in numerous colors, with a section of letters of the alphabet. A bird nearly the size of a dog sat in a tree, and flowers reached halfway up the side of the house.
Althea frowned. “The Y is stitched backward, and it lacks proportion.”
I gritted my teeth. Again. “I was a teacher for most of my life, so I did notice that, yes. But personally, I think those little irregularities give it charm.”
Althea peered over the top of her glasses at me. “You were a teacher, were you? Well, teachers played a significant part in the rise of popularity of needlework. Speaking of which, it’s time to start this class. Sit down, Daisy Buchanan. You might learn something. I shall inspect the rest of your samplers later.”
“Thank you, Althea.” Obediently, I sat.
A couple more ladies hurried in. I smiled at Liz Gallagher, a young farmer’s wife. She had five children, taught spinning classes, was the president of the PTA, and had enough energy to run the Northeast power grid if they hooked her up to it.
Liz sat next to me and pulled out a Christmas sampler. It was a manger scene with the words Come let us adore him, Christ the Lord on cream linen, with a pretty combination of greens and terra cotta threads.
“That looks great, Liz,” I said. “I don’t think I could do this, even though I think samplers are beautiful and I love the finished product.” One of the necessary qualities I’d unfortunately lacked as a teacher was a sufficient supply of patience. “My grandmother was a milliner, and I loved to watch her work on projects.”