Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (8 page)

A
lfred drove the Sutton women to Lincoln in the town coach. All the way in, Juliana replayed the argument she and Sterling had had when he ordered it.

“It’s too ostentatious,” she’d protested.

“It’s practical. It will keep my aunts out of the weather. And Alfred will feel like a king up on the driver’s seat.”

“You’re the one who wants to play at king.”

Remembering it made Juliana wince. That argument had gotten entirely out of hand. She gazed off toward the north, wishing she’d taken that ride today. It would have done her good to get the fresh air and to get her blood moving. Would she always feel like she was wading through mud?

When Aunt Theodora sniffed, Juliana looked over at her. “I’m seventy years old.” She choked out the words. “I was supposed to be next. Not—not the dear boy. It isn’t right.”

“Of course it isn’t right,” Aunt Lydia said, and took her sister’s hand. “Death is our enemy. An outrage against those God created in His image.”

“Why couldn’t God take me? I’ve had my time. He should have taken me and left Sterling.” Aunt Theodora shook her head. “What was he
thinking
running into a burning building?” Tears flowed down her cheeks. “And Reverend Burnham.” She shook her head. “Was there ever a man so devoid of tact.”

Aunt Lydia squeezed her hand. “I am so sorry.”

“You?” The older woman glared at her. “What do you have to be sorry for? He’s
my
minister.” She sighed. “Job’s comforters. I suppose each generation has a few.”

The coach had just reached the outskirts of Lincoln when Aunt Theodora said crisply, “We must contact your committee as soon as possible to move that quilt.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Juliana said. “Aunt Lydia’s friends will be a comfort to her. I have a feeling to us all, if we’ll let them. I want them to come and work on the quilt as planned.” She paused, almost afraid to say it. “I do
not
want to transform our home into a crepe-draped mausoleum.” She’d known Aunt Lydia would approve of the way she wanted to do things, and the woman’s expression proved her right.

She spoke up. “I know you don’t particularly enjoy needlework, Theodora, but it can be very soothing.”

“Soothing? It’s drudgery made lighter by the opportunity to gossip. And gossip has no place in a house of mourning.”

“We do not gossip,” Aunt Lydia said firmly. She nodded at Juliana. “The worse the heartache, the more one needs the company of friends. And when it comes down to it, I’ve always believed that some of our mourning customs are too severe.”

“You didn’t think that when Teddy died,” Aunt Theodora said. “You wore mourning for a full year. And the two of you were only engaged.”

Aunt Lydia had been engaged once? Juliana watched the sisters’ exchange with renewed interest.

“Invoking the name of the love of my life will not make me change my mind. When Teddy died, I was little more than a child. I didn’t
think
at all. I did what was expected.” Aunt Lydia shuddered. “I
despise
crepe. The best tribute I could have paid my Teddy was to celebrate his memory among the living.” She turned to look out the coach window. “And that is what I shall do with my quilting friends. I shall celebrate Sterling’s life.”

Juliana gazed out the window. Had Sterling been the love of her life? She would have said yes before last night. Even with recent difficulties, she would have said yes.
It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t the love of
his
life.
She looked back at Aunt Lydia. There didn’t seem to be one bitter bone in that woman’s body, even though she’d lost much. Somehow, it gave Juliana hope. Maybe she could get past this and be happy again.

Aunt Theodora glared at her sister. “The older you get, Lydia Johanna Sutton, the less I know you. ‘Celebrate Sterling’ indeed. It’s positively
common.
”

Aunt Lydia smiled as if she’d just been complimented. “Think what you will; I already have an idea for a memorial. Would you like to hear it?”

“I cannot imagine anything more delightful.” Aunt Theodora’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“We should establish the Sutton Foundation to provide education for the children in the society’s care. At last count we were responsible for two dozen. I propose we begin with a day school. Perhaps, in time, we can add evening classes for adults wishing to better themselves.” She paused. “And we should announce it at the June bazaar. In memory of Sterling.”

Aunt Theodora stared at her in disbelief. “You aren’t planning on
attending
the bazaar?” She counted on her fingers. “That’s only ten weeks away. Keeping our promise to your committee regarding that quilt is one thing.
They
will come to us. But we absolutely cannot be attending
social
events only ten weeks after the funeral.”

“It isn’t exactly socializing. We’ll be announcing something wonderful. In Sterling’s memory. I think he’d approve.” Aunt Lydia appealed to Juliana, although a bit of doubt sounded in her tone. “Don’t you think?”

Juliana nodded. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s settled.”

Aunt Theodora pursed her lips. “I never thought I would live to see the day that women I have loved and admired would toss good manners and custom to the wind.”

Did she just say she loves me? She
admires
me
? Juliana glanced at Aunt Lydia, who merely smiled and shrugged. As they descended from the coach just outside the funeral parlor, Aunt Lydia leaned close. “Give her time. She’ll come around.”

Aunt Lydia’s pastor was waiting for them in the reception area at Lindermann’s Funeral Parlor. The moment they entered, he smiled warmly at Juliana and said, “I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion. I was actually on my way to call at the house when I saw your town coach headed this way.” He bowed to the aunts. “I am so sorry for your loss. At times like these, one can be tempted to wonder if the Almighty has taken His eye off things.”

Aunt Theodora glowered. “At times like these, one would be well served to refrain from questioning the Almighty, lest He take offense.”

Pastor Taylor smiled. “I rest on the promise that ‘He remembereth that we are dust.’” Without waiting for a response, he turned to Juliana. Something in the man’s kind, gray eyes drew her in. She offered her hand. He took it and repeated, “I am so very sorry.”

Juliana swallowed. How could those simple words evoke emotion, when Reverend Burnham’s visit had succeeded only in making her angry? Her voice wobbled when she thanked him.

“Mr. Lindermann said he’d be out in a moment.” The pastor gestured toward a circle of chairs arranged around a low table adorned with a floral spray. “Perhaps you’d like to be seated while you wait?” As soon as Juliana was settled, he reached into his vest pocket and took out a card, which he offered to her. “In time, you may wish for someone to yell at. If so, please remember that I am at your service. Of course God can handle yelling, too, but I have found that sometimes it helps to have a more visible target.”

He shook Aunt Theodora’s hand briefly, but when Aunt Lydia reached for him, he held both her aged hands in his and said, “Don’t forget, Aunt Lydia.
God knows. God allows. God plans. God permits.
And someday, we will know, too—even as we are known.” He released her hands. “I’m praying. For you all.”

Just as Pastor Taylor exited by the front door, Mr. Lindermann entered through a door in the back wall. Thinking of what was behind that door, Juliana looked away to concentrate on the flowers and the elegant card on the brass easel at the base of the arrangement.
Provided by R. S. Frey. Mourning wreaths and bereavement our specialty.
It was odd to think of people “specializing” in bereavement. Yet she supposed they did. Reverends and pastors, undertakers and florists. Mr. Lindermann bowed a greeting and took a seat in one of the empty chairs. His next words swept her into a foreign landscape.

“You will of course want memorial cards printed.” He had written a preliminary newspaper announcement that he wanted Juliana to approve prior to publication. Had she decided who would read the eulogy? Had she selected pallbearers? Mr. Duncan would expect to be asked, as would Mr. Graham. Which suit would the deceased wear? He had done his best, but they might wish to forgo the window in the casket lid. As to flowers, Frey’s would be the best. Mr. Lindermann dared to suggest a large casket spray. It was customary to provide long-stemmed roses at the graveside service so that mourners could file by and offer a gesture. They could meet another time regarding a monument, but there was definitely something stately about an obelisk. Had they selected a lot yet?

Juliana frowned at the word. “Lot?”

Aunt Lydia answered for her. “We’ll have Alfred drive us home by way of the cemetery. We’ll let you know.”

A grave.
The man who had owned so much still needed one last bit of land.

What had Pastor Taylor said when he gave her his card?
“In time, you may wish for someone to yell at.”
She wanted to yell now. Not at God, but at Sterling. Brave or betrayer, either way he’d left—left her alone to deal with the absurdity of all these questions. With Aunt Theodora’s disapproval. With that half-finished monstrosity south of town. And with questions that would never be answered. The unanswered questions were the worst of it.

Mr. Lindermann’s voice faded. Memories Juliana had been avoiding all day finally found their way to the forefront. Young Sterling’s handsome face, smiling at her through the small crowd that had attended that first literary club debate where she’d defended—something. She couldn’t remember the topic. She only remembered being drawn to the tall man with the thick, wavy hair, an air of self-confidence, and strong hands calloused from hard labor. He’d apologized for those calluses the first time he’d caressed her face.

As Mr. Lindermann talked on, Juliana lost the battle to keep doubt and anger at bay. Emotions swirled. Her pulse quickened. Her stomach clenched. Tears threatened. Again. She must not let them come. Not here. Aunt Theodora would be embarrassed. Aunt Lydia would reach out with compassion, and that would surely break the last thread of Juliana’s weakening resolve to cope.

When Mr. Lindermann suggested they might wish to follow him into the viewing room to select a casket, Juliana stood up. Mr. Lindermann broke off midsentence and sprang to his feet.

“Please,” she said and gestured for him to be seated. She looked over at the aunts. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve already run away once today, but I can’t—”
Not without screaming, anyway.
“I—I need some fresh air.” She glanced over at Mr. Lindermann. “Whatever my aunts decide about things will be fine with me.” She took a step toward the door.

Mr. Lindermann called after her. “There is one thing you should know before you take your leave. It will affect everything else.”

Reluctantly, Juliana turned back around. But she stayed by the door.

“Pastor Taylor asked that I offer St. John’s for the service, if it would help you. They won’t be impacted by the conference demanding so much of Reverend Burnham’s attention this week.” Mr. Lindermann smiled. “He didn’t tell you himself because he didn’t want to seem to be pressing the matter.”

Juliana frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“He wants the funeral,” Aunt Theodora snapped. “Although he’s been clever enough to couch it in decorum and dignity.” She shot a look at her sister. “There is a sizeable honorarium involved in holding a service for a leading citizen. And St. John’s is desperately in need of improvements. Anyone can see that just driving by.”

“Theodora.” Aunt Lydia shook her head sadly.

Mr. Lindermann cleared his throat. “Pastor Taylor assumed that Reverend Burnham would conduct the service. He also said that St. John’s would neither expect nor accept remuneration for the use of the facilities, should you decide to have the service there.”

Aunt Theodora sniffed. “I don’t suppose he’d return a new organ if one were to suddenly show up, though, now would he?”

Aunt Lydia’s tone sharpened. “Theodora.”

Juliana thought back to Mrs. Burnham discreetly admiring the parlor. And not so discreetly examining the china. She thought back to the way Reverend Burnham kept tapping that infernal piece of paper with his pencil, pressing for a commitment to a service time.

She thought about Pastor Taylor’s promise to pray for them. Reverend Burnham’s scripture reading had been delivered in the manner of a field marshal firing off orders. Feel this way. Think that. Believe this. Pastor Taylor hadn’t quoted one Bible verse at them. He’d offered to let Juliana yell at him.

She needed to think. She turned to go.

Aunt Theodora called after her. “What of the music?”

“Who better to select it than you?”

“Reverend Burnham will want to consult regarding the order of service.”

Juliana took a deep breath. “That will have to wait until I speak with Pastor Taylor tomorrow.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because I’m going to accept Pastor Taylor’s offer to have the funeral at St. John’s.” She didn’t dare look at Aunt Theodora when she said it. “I’ll have Alfred wait for you two. I’m going to take a walk. I’ll meet you at the dresser’s.” She exited quickly.