Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles]
Read Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] Online
Authors: Shadow on the Quilt
© 2012 by Stephanie Grace Whitson
Print ISBN 978-1-61626-444-4
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62029-104-7
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62029-105-4
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover design: Müllerhaus Publishing Arts, Inc.,
www.Mullerhaus.net
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683,
www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
CHAPTER 1
Save me, O God; for the waters are come in unto my soul.
I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing:
I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.
P
SALM
69:1–2
Lincoln, Nebraska
April 15, 1883
J
uliana Sutton stood before her husband’s mahogany dresser, staring down at the gold locket. What was it doing nestled in the leather box where Sterling kept his diamond studs? She glanced back at the bedroom door, feeling almost guilty for having found it. He was probably planning to surprise her. Ah, well. She would pretend to be surprised and tease him about how she’d come to find it.
“It’s not my fault my husband doesn’t pick up after himself,” she would say. “I was sitting at my dressing table, brushing my hair before retiring last night, when something glinted in the lamplight. I glanced over, and there it was: one of your diamond studs languishing against the baseboard. It must have gotten lost when I … when we—” And she would blush as she was blushing now, remembering her part in—
things
just last night. Her response to Sterling’s hand at her waist when he pulled her close. Her removing one glove before reaching up to rake her fingers through his hair. Her unfettered joy at his kiss.
She turned the locket over in her hand.
He’s had it engraved.
She shouldn’t read the inscription, but now that she’d discovered it, she couldn’t help herself. And so, leaving the dresser drawer open, she retreated to her dressing table and held it close to the lamp and—gasped. She sat down.
To
MY
P. L.
S. T. S.
Her mouth went dry. She didn’t know anyone with the initials P.
L
. Sterling was Sterling Theodore,
S.T.S.
Maybe it’s an estate piece. He was going to have it reworked for me. Perhaps the initials are a coincidence.
She reached up with her free hand to touch the locket that hung around her neck.
He knows how I love lockets.
She already owned half a dozen, all but one gifts from Sterling.
She opened the locket and looked down at the portrait of a young woman holding an infant in her arms. But it wasn’t the portrait of the woman that sucked the air out of her lungs. It was the curl of white-blond hair that dropped into her lap. And Sterling’s profile behind the glass on the left.
God help me.
For the first time in her life, Juliana wished she was the kind of woman who fainted away in a crisis. If she could only faint, the pain would stop. At least for a moment, she wouldn’t have to feel as though some evil specter had reached inside her chest to squeeze her heart with a ghostly hand.
Steady. Breathe. Hold on.
She looked at herself in the mirror, willing the glimmering tears away.
Be strong. You are no wilting violet.
She lifted her chin. Stared into her dark eyes to remind herself. Juliana Regina Masters Sutton was a graduate of Mt. Holyoke Female Seminary. On the board of directors of the Society of the Home for the Friendless. A respected member of First Church. Not a woman to act the role of the wounded martyr.
She would not wail or accuse. She would … think.
Think. This is no time for hysterics. It will only drive him further away.
But as the lamp flickered and the moments passed, thinking didn’t really help. Thinking reminded her of all the nights Sterling “worked late.” Thinking reminded her of Aunt Theodora’s protest just this morning.
“I might have to work late tonight,” Sterling had said as he laid his napkin aside and rose from the breakfast table. “Finney’s having trouble with the ledger. Could be a while. Don’t wait supper.” He’d kissed the top of her head on his way out of the dining room. “And don’t wait up.”
Juliana hadn’t protested, but Sterling’s Aunt Theodora had not been so accepting. “Successful businessmen need efficient help, dear boy,” she’d called after him. “If that Irishman can’t handle the job, then—”
Aunt Lydia had interrupted her. “Now, now, Sister. Let’s not suggest poor Christopher Finney should lose his position. The man has five children and a wife to feed.”
Children.
Juliana looked down at the infant, little more than a smudge of sepia swathed in lace. Once again, tears threatened. She and Sterling had longed for children for all of their ten years of married life. She’d seen more than one specialist, even traveled to Philadelphia in search of help. No one gave them hope. Through it all, Sterling had been steadfast. Loving. Everything a husband should be. “
We have each other,”
he’d said more than once.
“That’s all that matters.”
Juliana closed the locket. She swiped her tears away. She shouldn’t be surprised. Not really. After all, in recent years, a great many things had seemed to matter more to Sterling than she did. More business mattered. More land. More investments. More employees. More buildings. More professional accolades.
Oh, he’d included Juliana and his two elderly aunts in his life, but now that Juliana thought about it, perhaps they merely served as excuses for his quest for more. More jewelry. More furs. More horses. A grand piano for Aunt Theodora. Generous donations to all of Aunt Lydia’s pet causes. A summer house in Wisconsin so the aunts could escape the Nebraska heat.
He’d pressed Juliana to go with them last summer. Now she wondered if there’d been a hidden reason for his sudden willingness to have her gone for a month. How old was the child in that woman’s arms?
She bowed her head and closed her eyes. She’d thought last night meant a new beginning. They’d weathered the storm. They were going to be all right.
The locket burned into her palm. Opening her eyes, she put it down on the cool marble surface of the dressing table and stared at it. What should she do? She took a deep breath. Then another. Finally, her racing heart began to slow. Somehow she managed to force shock and betrayal, hurt and dismay back. In favor of anger. Anger could be useful. Anger would keep her strong until—until she knew what to do.
Rising, she crossed the room and dropped the locket back into the satin-lined case with the diamond studs. She closed the drawer. Firmly. And began to pace. As she crossed the carpeted room, she reached up to grasp the locket around her own neck. Reaching the closed door, she spun about to head back toward the opposite wall where Sterling’s dresser loomed. She yanked on the chain. Once. Twice. Finally, it gave way.
Locket in hand, she paced out of the bedroom. Through the sitting room on the upstairs landing. Out onto the upstairs porch and to the ornate railing that graced the Italianate home she had grown to love. She looked toward Lincoln and the warehouse district. Wondered where Sterling was really “working” tonight. And with all her strength, she launched the locket into the night.
Juliana stayed out on the balcony, pacing back and forth, willing herself not to give in to tears, until she felt that she could retire without wailing and waking the aunts. They both doted on their only nephew, and Juliana had grown to love them. Whatever she decided to do, it must not involve them. Aunt Lydia was sixty-two; her sister, Theodora, seventy. They didn’t deserve heartbreak. Juliana would do what she could to shield them from it. How that would work out, she didn’t know, but she would find a way.
She headed for the door to the upstairs hall, hesitating for one last glance toward town before going inside. Sterling had taken her for a gullible fool. He would learn that that was a mistake.
She’d just opened the door when the fire bells sounded in town. Was it her imagination, or could she smell smoke on the spring breeze? She looked west. Tongues of fire lapped up the darkness hovering over what appeared to be the warehouse district. Frowning, Juliana let the door close and stayed outside, returning to the railing to gaze toward the western horizon.
Moments later, Aunt Theodora came out onto the porch. “We heard the alarm.”
“It’s a big fire,” Juliana said, nodding toward town.
“I tried to call Sterling at the office. He didn’t answer.”
“I didn’t realize you even knew how to use the telephone.”