Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (20 page)

“He wouldn’t have.” Juliana hesitated, then decided to trust. “Nell Parker wasn’t the only one. I found evidence of others.” She allowed a bitter laugh. “The night he died. Right before the alarm rang.”

After a long silence, he said, “I am so sorry.”

“So am I. For so many things. Among them, throwing a fit over gooseberries.” She took a last sip of water and rose. “You can open the door. I believe the hysterics are over for today.” As she rewrapped her arm, she said, “If you’re still willing to drive me back, I’d appreciate it. Going riding today probably wasn’t the wisest thing I’ve ever done.

Although, I beg you not to tell the aunts I just said that.”

“Your secret is safe with me, ma’am.”

Juliana nodded. Yes. Somehow, Aunt Lydia’s faith in him aside, Juliana knew that Cass Gregory was a man to be trusted. A man who had proven his capacity for great loyalty and the kind of love that lasted through the worst of circumstances.

She thought about it all the way back to town. About what Mr. Gregory’s life must have been like all those years of searching for his family. The loneliness. And then the stubborn refusal to desert his mother and sister, even when there seemed no hope that things would ever change.

What would it be like to know that kind of love? The kind that survived in spite of circumstances? The kind that hoped all things and endured all things and never failed.
Even when a woman couldn’t have children.

Alfred came out of the house the moment the wagon drove up. “There was no small stir when Miss Theodora and Miss Lydia got your message,” he said to Juliana as he took Tecumseh in hand.

“I’ve learned my lesson. It’s too early to ride.” After Mr. Gregory helped her down, she smiled up at him. “I’ve learned many lessons, today.”

The foreman tipped his cap, climbed back up to the wagon seat, and headed south. Juliana stood watching until he disappeared from view.
Cass Gregory. Pastor Taylor. Sadie Gregory’s fiancé. Alfred Gaines.
Maybe men of integrity weren’t extinct, after all.

Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful.
L
UKE
6:36

Jenny
Monday, May 7

J
enny sat in a chair on the front porch, a tattered quilt draped across her lap. She was trying not to feel sad, but it was hard. It didn’t seem to matter how much she slept, she never felt rested. Susannah was a passable cook, but everything tasted the same, and nothing really tasted good. It had been a week of resting and eating soup, but she wasn’t getting better, and she was scared.

Dr. Gilbert had called today, and all he would say was that she had been very sick and her lungs still weren’t clear and she should rest. He hadn’t heard from Mr. Duncan and he “couldn’t speak to what that meant.” He was kind enough. He just didn’t know anything.

Susannah told her not to worry. She had all kinds of stories about sick women she had tended over the years, and she assured Jenny that she was on the mend and just had to wait. Johnny was doing fine. Maybe they could get Mr. Duncan to bring a goat out.

“Not that I mind tendin’ the boy,” she said, “but he’ll do just fine on goats’ milk, and then you won’t need me.”

Jenny couldn’t imagine not needing Susannah. How would she keep up with washing diapers? She could barely pump a bucket of water and haul it into the house, let alone enough buckets for boiling diapers. Used to be that just sitting out here listening for the occasional birdcall and making plans for the future was enough to still her mind. But no more. Jenny was worried. Worried and afraid. Mr. Duncan had said she should make plans. How could she make plans when she was too tired to do her own hair?

Susannah stepped out on the porch, Johnny in her arms. “Now show your mama what you learned!” She plopped down on the edge of the porch and set the baby down beside her. At first, she held him upright, but then she said, “Just watch, Miss Jenny. You won’t believe it.” And she let go.

Johnny looked up at Susannah with a big smile on his face. Susannah clapped her hands. The baby followed suit, laughing for all he was worth. Laughing so hard it almost made him fall over.

“Isn’t that somethin’?” Susannah said. “He’s getting strong.”

Jenny nodded. It was something. A good something. Except that it made her cry.

Cass patted his stomach even as he waved Sadie away. “I can’t. It’s delicious, but I’m going to turn into a gooseberry if I eat one more piece.”

“You mean it? It’s really good?”

“It’s better than good,” Ludwig Meyer chimed in. He winked at Ma. “It’s almost as if you learned from a professional cook.”

“Oh, you.” Sadie smiled and plopped the pie plate down on the table. Then she invited herself into Ludwig’s lap, wrapping an arm about his neck and leaning close to kiss his cheek. “It’s only the beginning. Ma had me write down a week’s worth of cooking. She’s teaching me fried chicken and biscuits and gravy and roast beef and all kinds of things you like.”

Ma spoke up. “There is a bit of a problem, though.” She twisted about and pulled a piece of paper from beneath a bowl on the sideboard. “Sadie mentioned some things that I have no idea how to make.”

Sadie nodded. “Kuchen?”

“A dessert pastry,” Ludwig said. “With filling. It can be fruit, but my Mutti always made a custard filling.”

“And borscht?”

“Soup,” Ludwig said. “Mostly beets.”

“Do you have recipes for these things?” Ma asked.

Ludwig shook his head. “I never saw it written down.”

“I could ask Andreas Moser,” Cass offered. “He’s on the crew working on Mrs. Sutton’s house, and he’s always boasting about his wife’s cooking. Or,” he said, “you and Ludwig and Ma could come with me to church on Sunday and ask Mrs. Moser yourself. They go to St. John’s.”

Sadie shook her head. “She won’t like me.”

Ludwig leaned away to look at her. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because her husband—what if he … what if someone …” She shook her head. “They’ll think I’m just pretending. Putting on airs.”

Ma spoke up. “Are you pretending?”

“Of course not.” Sadie looked at Ludwig, who had been strangely quiet. “Do you want me to go to church?”

Ludwig thought for a moment before answering. “Not for me. It should be for you.”

She pondered that. “I won’t fit in. They’ll stare at me. And they’ll know.”

“What will they know, mein Schatz?”

“That I’m not like them. I’m not all hymn-sing-y and good.”

Ludwig chuckled. “No one who goes to church is good without God’s help.”

“Well, you know what I mean.” Sadie pointed at Ma. “You could go. You used to go all the time back home.”

“And so did you.”

Sadie shrugged. “I’m different now. You haven’t really changed much. Only reason you worked at Goldie’s was because of me.”

Ma rose and began to clear the table. “We’ve put that all behind us, remember? Everyone forgave everyone, and we agreed to move forward.”

Sadie rose and began to help clear the table. “And I meant it. I just—I’m not ready for church.”

Ma smiled. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I’ll talk to Mrs. Moser about kuchen and borscht.” She glanced at Cass. “If you’ll introduce me.”

“With pleasure.”

After the women had cleared off the table, Ludwig brought out the checkerboard. Cass lost three games in a row. Finally, he sat back and said, “I give up, Meyer. I’m no match for you.”

The men walked back to the rooming house together. As they passed the place where Goldie’s had once stood, Cass thought back to that night and seeing Juliana Sutton driving her buggy home after finding her husband’s office empty.
She knows.
What kind of pain did that cause a woman? How could she bear it? It was no wonder she’d been so angry with him when she thought he was keeping company with Goldie and one of her girls.

Once in his room, he lay on his back, looking up at the strip of night sky just visible through the small window above his bed. He replayed the day in his mind. He remembered the way Juliana’s dark eyes flashed with anger and the way those same eyes had shimmered with tears. He remembered how, when he helped her down from the wagon, she smiled up at him. Sterling Sutton had been a fool to betray that woman’s love. The worst kind of fool.

And he was a fool for lingering over dark eyes that might as well belong to the Queen of England.

“Dear me.” From where she sat in the buggy with Juliana and Aunt Lydia, Aunt Theodora put a gloved hand to hold her hat in place as she craned her neck to look up at the house. “I had no idea.” She looked at her sister. “Did you?”

Aunt Lydia shook her head. “It’s one thing to see a drawing and quite another to see it realized.”

Juliana nodded. “I know. And none of us had been out here in weeks when Sterling died.”
Died.
Finally, she’d said the word. Sterling died. She looked about her. At the stone cottage, at the pasture. The tall cottonwoods. All hers now. Saying that one word seemed to carve a new place for her in the physical space out here at the building site. It was hers to do with as she wished. Completely hers.

Aunt Theodora called up to Alfred. “And what do you think of the cottage, Mr. Gaines?”

He turned about on the driver’s seat. “Can’t quite think of it as home yet, but once Martha gets to nesting, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Drive us around front if you don’t mind, Alfred.” Juliana looked at the aunts. “The stonemasons finished the front stairs this week. And I want you to see the interior.”

Once inside, she pointed out the various rooms, still little more than framework. “Mr. Gregory said that the carpenter is already at work on the stairway. Apparently he’s enjoying the challenge. I gather Sterling ordered something out of the ordinary.”

“No doubt,” Aunt Theodora said, looking up toward the second floor. “It’s all quite out of the ordinary, isn’t it?”

“There’s a question about the entryway floor,” Juliana said. “We have to decide if we want inlaid wood or marble.”

“Marble? Really?” Aunt Lydia didn’t seem to like that idea.

Juliana nodded. “Let’s go upstairs.” They all hugged the wall as she led the way up the sweeping staircase where more framing outlined the rooms. She named each one as they made their way up the hallway toward the back of the house.

“Goodness,” Aunt Lydia remarked, looking over the temporary banister that framed the servant’s stairs. “They’re as wide as the front stairs at home.”

Juliana nodded. She waved them into two rooms on the west side of the hall. “These are your rooms. Private dressing rooms off each bedroom and of course your own sitting room. Sterling told Mr. Gregory to put your suite toward the back of the house so that the comings and goings wouldn’t disturb you. He expected we’d do a lot more entertaining once we moved out here.” She pointed across the hall. “The master suite is over there. It’s a mirror image of your suite except there’s a porch.”
Because I like to watch the sunrise.

Together, they descended to the main floor and headed into the first room behind the stairs. “This would be the library,” Juliana said and pointed at one corner. “Your piano will go there, Aunt Theodora.” She crossed the room to the base of a spiral stairway leading up to a narrow walkway above. “Once the carpenter has installed the stairway—which of course has to wait until the windows are in—he’ll begin building bookcases up there.”

Aunt Theodora gazed around the room. “What library was Sterling going to purchase to fill them all?” She shook her head. “I know the dear boy has done well, but we aren’t Vanderbilts.” She paused. “I don’t really recall Sterling being all that fond of reading. Unless you count the business page in the newspapers.”

Aunt Lydia spoke up. “Martha cannot be expected to care for all of this.”

“I know,” Juliana said. “We didn’t go up there, but the third-floor plan includes rooms for four servants off the ballroom.”

“Four servants?” The aunts spoke in unison, but then Aunt Theodora finished the thought. “For three women? That’s—”

“Absurd?” Juliana nodded. She finished the tour of the main floor, ending up in what would become the kitchen. Finally, she said, “George Duncan took Cass to breakfast the morning after the fire. And told him that he wants to buy this place.”