Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (5 page)

“Sterling was impressed with you” had been followed by seemingly innocent questions, but Cass couldn’t shake the impression that Duncan was checking what he heard today against what the boss might have said at another time. Duncan even brought up the war. “Sterling said you were in the thick of it. I was surprised. You don’t seem nearly old enough to have served.”

The tone was affable, but the unspoken question set Cass’s nerves on edge. Why was a man who hadn’t so much as bothered to talk to him when the boss brought him out to the job site suddenly so interested in Cass Gregory? While the waiter poured coffee, Cass pondered what to say about his war service. He didn’t want to admit to running away from home and lying. Not to a man who would probably wield a significant amount of power over the company, at least until the estate was settled.

“I wasn’t old enough,” he admitted. “But I’ve always been big for my age, and I grew up fast. I was working long days on the farm by the time I was ten. I’ve always acted older than my age.”

“Which is?”

“I’m thirty-four.”
Not that it’s any of your business.

Duncan frowned. “It’s a pity you have so little schooling.”

Was the man going down a mental list?
War record.
Pass.
Education.
Fail. Cass shrugged. “My stepfather thought school a luxury for the rich. He didn’t see a need for anything beyond the basics.”

Duncan’s bushy eyebrows rose with surprise. “And you haven’t wished for more?”

“I have,” Cass said, “and I’ve found ways to get it over the years. Lincoln has a good library, and I’ve attended more than my share of lectures and lyceums.” He paused. “What I do suits me. There’s great satisfaction in being able to say, ‘I built that.’”

The waiter came to take their order. Cass asked for a stack of flapjacks and a refill on the coffee. Duncan wanted poached eggs and dry toast. Cass wondered if the man had a nervous stomach—and if that was the case, what was making him nervous.

After Duncan had asked a few more pointed questions, including if Cass had family, Cass said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I wasn’t expecting to be interviewed this morning. I came on behalf of the crew. We just need to know if payroll will be on schedule—or if there’s to be a delay while lawyers divide the spoils.” He leaned forward a bit to emphasize his point. “They’re good men, and the boss always did right by them. I’d appreciate your letting me know if you think the company’s in danger of folding—or if the house isn’t going to be finished. The men deserve fair warning.”

Duncan made a show of spreading his napkin on his lap while the waiter settled their food before them. Once the waiter was out of earshot, he said, “Surely Mr. Finney knows that the company can make payroll.”

“Mr. Finney doesn’t sign the checks.”

Duncan poked at one of his eggs with a fork and muttered, “I said soft poached.” With a sigh of displeasure, he laid his fork down. “I can sign the bank drafts. In fact, I am mandated to act on Sterling’s behalf in the matter of day-to-day business, should the unforeseen occur. Which it has. That is why I thought it might be good for you and me to become better acquainted.”

So,
Cass thought,
this doesn’t just
feel
like an interview. It
is
an interview. Duncan’s in charge now.

Cass thought of Mrs. Sutton. Did a woman have property rights in Nebraska? He hoped so. He might not know her well, but he associated her name with elegance and style. And he’d never felt like she was looking down her nose at him. He hoped the boss had provided for his wife. Duncan cleared his throat. Loudly. Cass started and looked across the table at him.

“Am I boring you, Mr. Gregory?”

“No, sir. I was just—” Cass took a gulp of coffee and forced his attention back to the conversation at hand.

“I was talking about the house,” Duncan said. “Of course people’s foremost concern when they hear of last night’s tragedy will be for Juliana and Sterling’s aunts.” He set his fork down and, picking up a knife, cut his toast in half. “That is as it should be. But people being what they are, their
second
thought will be of what’s to happen to the business—and that house. Everyone knows a ship without a captain is destined to wander off course.”

Cass frowned.
He doesn’t think I’m up to the task without the boss to oversee things.
“I realize there’s no reason you would know my professional qualifications, but finishing that house on schedule won’t be a problem. If you need references, I can get them. I worked for Mr. Eads on the bridge at St. Louis and Mr. Wilson on the one connecting Council Bluffs and Omaha before Mr. Sutton hired me.” He sat back. “I can handle building a house.”

Duncan took a bite of toast and washed it down with coffee. “You misunderstand me. Your qualifications are not in question.” He set the piece of toast down and leaned back in his chair. “I shall get to the point. Mrs. Duncan is on more than one board with Mrs. Sutton. It has been her impression all along that the mansion was Sterling’s dream—not his wife’s. In fact, Mrs. Duncan has heard Juliana refer to the house as ‘that monstrosity.’”

He cleared his throat. “Only a handful of people in Lincoln have the means to sustain the opulence represented by that new house.” He paused. “Slowing things down a bit would keep the price down so that, when Juliana decides to sell it—which I fully expect she will—a buyer can be found quickly.”

Cass frowned. “Who’d want an unfinished house?”

Duncan looked out the window for a moment. Finally, he said, “Mrs. Duncan relishes the idea of a home on the outskirts of the city.” He sat back. “And the property boasts mature trees—a rare thing in our part of the country. However, not all of my assets are as liquid as I would like. I need a little time. A few weeks. Perhaps two months.”

Cass’s mind raced. Duncan wanted him to delay Mrs. Sutton’s house to give him time to gather enough money to buy it—at a reduced rate because it wouldn’t be finished. “But it won’t be finished until late November, anyway.”

Duncan pressed the point. “Every bit of progress adds to the value.” He shrugged. “I recall Sterling talking about imported hardwoods for the upstairs bedrooms. ‘A showcase of exotica,’ he once said. And marble for the entryway floor. Once those things are installed—” He broke off. Cleared his throat. “See it as an opportunity. A new property owner would likely offer a bonus to the foreman who showed the right amount of enthusiasm for realizing his vision.”

Cass took a renewed interest in breakfast, washing down a mouthful of flapjacks with coffee while he tried to think things through. What a snake, offering a bribe and coloring it as concern for Mrs. Sutton and opportunity for Cass. He forced a smile. “I expect Mrs. Sutton will be grateful to hear of your interest in the property and to know that she has options.” Duncan’s expression soured. “Of course you’ll want to give her the news yourself, you being a trusted friend and all. In the meantime, the best way I know to prove myself worthy of the boss’s trust is to keep things on schedule. Until I hear from Mrs. Sutton.”

“She never wanted that house,” Duncan snapped. “Mrs. Duncan is certain of it. And the truth is, Juliana could give
both
her houses away and hardly notice the loss—beyond the need to move. No one is proposing anything that will harm her financially. She has just become a very wealthy woman.”

Cass wiped his mouth with his napkin and laid it alongside his plate. “Well, then. That answers the question for my crew—which is why I wanted to talk to you this morning. There won’t be a problem making payroll. They’ll be really glad to hear it. So am I. We all need the work.”

Duncan snatched his napkin off his lap and plopped it atop his plate. “Your loyalty is admirable.” His tone made
admirable
sound more like a curse than a compliment.

Cass ignored the tone. “Thank you.” Duncan rose and hurried off—without shaking hands. Cass finished his flapjacks. His appetite had returned. Apparently, loyalty agreed with him.

Miserable comforters are ye all.
J
OB
16:2

J
uliana didn’t wait for Reverend Burnham to make his way up the path from the drive. Instead, she followed Marshal Hastings out the front door and onto the porch to greet him, even more dismayed when she saw that he’d brought his wife along. She’d never really cared for the Burnhams, but Sterling had been adamant:
“Where a man goes to church is just as important as where he banks. All the right people fill the pews of that church every Sunday morning, and we will be among them.”

At sight of Juliana standing on the porch, Mrs. Burnham launched herself up the gravel path ahead of her husband and, once on the porch, engulfed Juliana in a hug that nearly squeezed every bit of air out of her lungs.

“You poor, poor dear,” Mrs. Burnham clucked, then turned her attention to Lydia and Theodora lingering just inside the open front door. “You poor dears.” She snapped at her husband to “take Mrs. Sutton’s arm” and led the way inside.

Juliana and Reverend Burnham followed, just in time to see Mrs. Burnham hesitate at the door to the formal parlor.

“We’ll be in the library,” Aunt Lydia said. “We’ve been using the parlor to finish our fund-raising quilt in time for the bazaar in June.”

“Bazaar?”

“St. John’s is hosting one to benefit the Society of the Home for the Friendless.”

“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Burnham remained in the doorway to the parlor, peering into the room. “You must let me invite my circle to join you one day. They’d love to help.” She sighed. “What an exquisite room.”

“Francis!” The reverend’s tone was firm. Almost scolding. When Mrs. Burnham whirled about, he handed her his hat and gloves. She placed them on the hall tree and then removed her own mantle, bonnet, and gloves.

Juliana watched with dismay. Were they planning a long visit? Anger could only fuel a person for so long. She was beginning to feel weary. She led the way into the library. This time, she sat down right away. When she shivered, Lydia pulled the paisley scarf off the Steinway in the corner and draped it about her shoulders.

The aunts exchanged glances. “I believe tea is in order,” Aunt Lydia said. “If you’ll excuse me, Alfred and Martha have Mondays off. I’ll just be a few moments.”

“You must let me help,” Mrs. Burnham said and followed Aunt Lydia out of the room.

Reverend Burnham selected the most substantial chair in the room. As he lowered his bulk into it, the chair creaked. He cleared his throat and opened his Bible, into which he had inserted a few sheets of blank paper. Lifting the sheets of paper away, he said, “Before we address the grievous but necessary details, I should like to offer a few words of comfort.”

Juliana didn’t particularly want to be comforted at the moment. She did, however, have a strong urge to march upstairs and empty the rest of Sterling’s drawers. Into the pit behind the carriage house where Alfred burned the household trash. She said nothing.

Aunt Theodora thanked the reverend for his thoughtfulness.

He waited a moment, obviously hoping that the other ladies would return from the kitchen, but when they did not, he cleared his throat and began to recite the Twenty-third Psalm. After reaching the end of the psalm, he continued on to other less familiar—at least to Juliana—scriptures until, at last, he concluded with, “‘The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’”

He closed his Bible and, balancing it on one knee, put the blank sheets of paper atop it. “It is my hope that you will find comfort in your faith and in the knowledge that your loved one is with God. Now. Shall we designate Thursday morning for the service?”

The abrupt segue caught Juliana off guard. Aunt Theodora was looking down at her hands, a slight frown on her face, her left thumb making small circles on the surface of the large garnet set into a ring Sterling had given her years ago.

Did Nell Parker have a garnet ring? A locket?

The other ladies finally returned with the tea tray. While Aunt Lydia poured tea, Mrs. Burnham popped one of the pastries Aunt Lydia had put on a small plate into her mouth. After eyeing the available chairs doubtfully, she pulled out the piano bench and sat down. When she leaned in to take tea, a crumb that had dropped on her bosom fell to the floor.

“We are simply devastated by your loss,” she said. “It’s always been a joy to see such a handsome couple occupying the same pew every Sabbath.” She gazed over at Juliana. “Herbert and I were just saying last month how fortunate we are to have a future governor as a member of our congregation.” She sighed. “
Governor
Sutton. A bright star has been extinguished.”

While Mrs. Burnham waxed poetic, Juliana’s mind wandered. She ran her finger along the rim of her teacup, thinking back to the day all those years ago when Mama opened the barrel of dishes Papa had ordered from England to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary. Somewhere in his professorial mind, Papa had remembered Mama admiring Spode’s “Greek” in a store window, when it was actually Staffordshire’s “Palestine” Mama loved so. Papa was mortified when he realized his mistake, but Mama laughed, and for the rest of their married lives, Mama and Papa enjoyed “afternoon tea with the Greeks.”

Why did remembering how much her parents had enjoyed afternoon tea make her want to cry?

Silence called Juliana back to the present. Everyone was staring at her, clearly waiting for her to say something. She couldn’t think what.

Aunt Lydia spoke up. “The reverend has asked if Thursday morning would be all right for the service, dear.”

Mrs. Burnham chimed in. “And the Ladies’ Aid will serve a nice lunch at the church after the graveside service.” Her eyes wandered toward the formal parlor again. “Unless you’d prefer to have luncheon here.”

A nice lunch.
Juliana blinked.
Nice.
What an odd thing to say. “I don’t … know.” She looked to the aunts. “We haven’t had a chance to talk about it.”

Reverend Burnham cleared his throat. “Of course. We do understand. The entire city has had a shock.” He tapped the still-blank paper on his knee with the pencil. “The difficulty is that there’s to be a conference at First Church the latter part of the week. The session planned it more than a year ago, and the first gathering is to be Thursday afternoon. So you see, if your service could be Thursday morning …”