Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (46 page)

By the time Juliana had made her way past the former nursery—how could the children have grown up so quickly—and down to the kitchen, Margaret had already arrived, and between her and Martha there wasn’t a thing left to do but sit down at the breakfast table and enjoy poached eggs and toast with the aunts—who had also preceded Juliana to the kitchen.

“You missed the boys,” Margaret said with a smile. “They looked ready to get their hands dirty—overalls and flannel shirts.”

Cass’s voice sounded from the doorway. He stepped into the kitchen and kissed his mother on the cheek. “And work gloves, I hope. I told Jessup he wasn’t to be easy on them just because they’re the boss’s boys.” He gazed about the table. “And where is the youngest blossom in my ladies’ bouquet?”

“Alfred drove her over to the church,” Martha said as she poured him coffee. “More organ practice, she said. I think she’s more than a little nervous about her debut Sunday morning.”

Aunt Lydia chimed in. “Of course it’s only coincidence that this is the morning David Saunders said he was going to plant those trees the Grounds Improvement Committee ordered from Frey’s.”

“Sister,” Aunt Theodora said, “let’s not marry the child off quite yet.”

“Hear, hear,” Cass said, toasting the air with his coffee cup.

“Who’s getting married besides Johnny?” Caroline Harrison came in the back door.

“No one!” Cass said firmly. “I forbid it. At least until she’s graduated university.”

Theodora wagged a finger in Cass’s direction. “You might wish to rethink that word
forbid
, dear boy. Young ladies of Lydia’s bent for independence don’t accept being
forbidden
very well.”

“Listen to what she’s telling you,” Aunt Lydia said. “It’s the voice of experience.”

Theodora sighed. “The reform dress movement made some very important points about women’s roles in our society. And honestly, Sister, that was seventy years ago. Haven’t we beaten that topic to death by now?”

“At our age,” Aunt Lydia said, “do you think it wise to remind Death that we are still alive and kicking?”

“When the talk turns to ladies’ garments and the Grim Reaper, that’s my cue to leave.” Cass kissed Juliana on the cheek and headed out the back door.

Aunt Theodora waved Caroline toward the empty chair at the kitchen table. “Join us.”

Caroline sat, slipping the small basket on her arm into her lap and pulling out a stack of quilt blocks. “I’ve finished all the piecing. I hope Helen doesn’t take me to task for not doing it all by hand.” She placed her hand atop the stack of indigo-and-white blocks. “But I’m worried about getting it finished by August as it is.” She glanced at Aunt Theodora. “You are still willing to write the names for us? You have such a fine hand. And Johnny was especially pleased when I told him we were going to have his Auntie-T do that.”

“His doddering Auntie-T,” Aunt Theodora said.

“Nonsense,” Aunt Lydia insisted. “Your handwriting is just as fine as it was when you were a girl.”

Aunt Theodora reached for the stack of quilt blocks. “You’ve made a list of names, I hope?”

Caroline nodded and laid the list before her on the table.

“I’ll get you a sharpened pencil from my desk in the parlor,” Juliana said.

Caroline followed her into the hall and then to the parlor before saying, “I hope this isn’t too strange for you.”

“Why would it be?”

Caroline cleared her throat. “Helen mentioned the other quilt. When she found out John and Clara wanted a signature quilt for their wedding. She was concerned it might be … difficult for you.”

“It’s fine. Truly.”

“You and Cass have been so good to Johnny all these years. The scholarship—”

“Was well deserved. The foundation awarded it on merit. There was no favoritism in that. John has always been an exemplary student. And Dr. Gilbert is thrilled to have him join the practice. As to the quilt—it’s what we do for one another.”

“I knew you’d say that.” She paused. “It was very kind of you to send congratulations—and such a generous graduation gift. Tears came to his eyes when he read your note.”

Juliana smiled. “I only wrote the truth. His father would be very proud of him.”

“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” Aunt Lydia called from the kitchen, as Helen Duncan and Lutie Gleason drove up the drive.

“It’s fine, Caroline. You and Helen are both dears for your concern, but it’s fine.” Juliana delivered the pencil to Aunt Theodora, who bent to the task of writing names on the white rectangle at the center of each blue-and-white album quilt block. As she finished one, she handed it to a waiting quilter until, finally, the ladies had all gathered in the parlor to take up the task of embroidering over the penciled lines.

Helen sighed as she settled in. “These windows let in such exquisite light!” She glanced over at Juliana. “That really is the only thing I don’t like about your former home. I told George we’re going to have to add a sunroom this year. To the south.”

“A sunroom is an excellent idea.” Juliana nodded. “Those shade trees you planted out back should be large enough to give you nice shade from the summer sun, too.”

“Blue floss, correct?” Lutie asked.

Caroline nodded and passed her a length of floss. “Clara loves the idea of all blue and white.”

Talk turned to the spring fashions and the most recent issue of
The Delineator
which touted something called a
bolero.
Aunt Theodora labeled it yet another useless appendage nearly as ridiculous as the season’s “hideously full sleeves” and the Cluny lace and embroidered net being set into lawn and batiste shirtwaists. “Impractical,” she called them. “Designers continue to treat women like dress-up dolls. And white shoes?” She shook her head. “Ridiculous.”

At lunch, the ladies exclaimed with delight over Martha’s dainty sandwiches and Margaret’s gooseberry pie. Juliana smiled as her mother-in-law accepted accolades. Margaret and Martha had long ago called a truce in their pie competition. They alternated making dessert for quiltings now, and all was well.

When the talk turned back to John and Clara’s wedding quilt, Caroline mentioned setting the signature blocks on point. “I brought a sample with me of what I think I’ll use for the joining blocks. It’s in the basket I left in the kitchen.”

“I’ll get it.” Juliana hopped up to retrieve the basket. She reached in and pulled out a square of dark blue fabric dotted with tiny white stars. “This is lovely.” A lone quilt block caught her eye. “You’ve forgotten one.” She reached in.

“Oh, did I drop that? Here,” Caroline said. “I’ll do that one. I’m just about ready for another.”

Juliana looked back down at the name. Jenna
Pamelia Lindermann.
She glanced at Caroline, who looked … well, concerned. And she would. Caroline would do anything within her power to keep from causing another person pain. Such a dear woman.

As the sample of setting fabric was passed about the room, Juliana sat down, pondering the name on the quilt block still in her lap, while the others talked about how to quilt the top once Caroline had assembled the blocks.

Had it really been twenty-five years ago when she’d done everything she could to erase even the shadow of that name from her life? It didn’t seem possible. She glanced up. At Aunt Theodora, ninety-five years old and still alternately delighting and frustrating them with her acerbic wit and ever-strong opinions. Aunt Lydia, beloved as ever for her gentle ways. Lutie Gleason, widowed five years ago and pouring her grief into service projects. Helen Duncan, making do with a so-so marriage but not letting it sap the joy out of her life. Cass’s mother, whose marriage to Pastor James Taylor a few years ago had delighted the congregation who had come to love Margaret Nash for her servant’s heart. Goodness, but the women in this room had lived a life. They had enough stories between them to fill more novels than Aunt Theodora would ever allow in the library out at Friendship Home.

And
Jenna Pamelia Lindermann
, mother of Dr. John Harrison, who would soon be practicing alongside the beloved Dr. Miles Gilbert. How many lives would Jenny’s boy, Johnny, save? Only God knew. Juliana looked over at her open desk. At the cabinet photos of her three children. Three miracles, as far as she was concerned. At her wedding photo. Another miracle. A husband who still took her breath away. She smiled, remembering this morning. Cass might not remember how many years they’d been married, but he remembered everything that mattered.

She thought back to a night long ago when she’d asked God to show her what to do and then awakened to the sound of Aunt Theodora playing the piano.
“My faith looks up to Thee, Thou Lamb of Calvary, Savior divine….”

Tears gathered in her eyes. She looked over at Caroline, who was still glancing at her every few minutes, a concerned look on her dear face.

She smiled. Nodded.
It’s all right.
And it was. More than all right. She picked up her needle and began to embroider the name.

Stephanie Grace Whitson,
bestselling author and two-time Christy finalist, pursues a full-time writing and speaking career from her home studio in southeast Nebraska. Her husband and blended family, her church, quilting, and Kitty—her motorcycle—all rank high on her list of “favorite things.” Learn more at
www.stephaniewhitson.com

Other titles by
Stephanie Grace Whitson

The Key on the Quilt

Coming Soon

The Message on the Quilt