Pulling on a dressing gown, she descended to the kitchen, surprised to find the aunts already dressed and seated at the table, toast and tea before them.
“Here you are,” Aunt Theodora said. “We were just talking about you.”
Oh, no. What have I done now? The past few days had been hard on them all, and Aunt Theodora especially seemed to have an extra portion of vinegar in her attitude.
“We’re proud of you,” she said.
Rendered speechless, Juliana put her hand on the back of a chair and glanced over at Aunt Lydia, who only smiled. “You … are?”
“We are. I am.” Aunt Theodora nodded at her sister. “My sister has reminded me that I can be less than accepting when my strong opinions are not validated.” She took a deep breath. “I was, of course, disappointed in some of the details of the service, but Lydia is right. My own minister caused the difficulty, and I should not put blame where blame does not lie.” She took a sip of tea. “I don’t always express myself as clearly as I should,” she said. “So I wish to make it clear that, while the details of Sterling’s memorial service may not have been to my preference, in the end I feel that we all did a very nice job of honoring his memory. And—” Her voice wavered, and she blinked. Unable to stay the tears, she let them flow. “And I hope you will forgive me if I made things more difficult for you.” She broke off. “I am very fond of you, Juliana. You have no idea how fond.”
Juliana sat down next to her and reached for her hand. “It’s been horrible for us all.”
“But worse for you,” Aunt Theodora said. “And I think perhaps I was too caught up in my own sorrow to realize that.”
“Sterling was more your son than your nephew. Mothers aren’t supposed to outlive their children. It’s all wrong.” Juliana swallowed. “I’m sorry if my … fighting you … on the rituals has made it harder for you.”
Aunt Theodora shook her head. “No. Don’t apologize. You are an intelligent woman, and you are most certainly entitled to your opinions.” She glanced at Aunt Lydia. “I have no right to dictate to you. It is particularly egregious of me to do so when you have so graciously deigned to share your home with us all these years.”
Juliana didn’t know what to say. Were they feeling insecure about their situation now that Sterling was gone? She spoke to that. “Aunt Theodora. Aunt Lydia. This is your home. You aren’t guests; you’re all the family I have. I cannot imagine life without either of you. Forgive me for not making that clear. I need you.”
Aunt Theodora shook her head. “I cannot imagine what for. I’m an outspoken old woman.” She glanced at Aunt Lydia. “At least my sister is a peacemaker.”
“I need you both,” Juliana said. “And don’t either of you ever forget it.” She took a deep breath. “And now I need to get dressed so that we can get this infernal meeting over with.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you’d support me in calling and canceling? It’s a dreadful day out there.”
“You’ll feel such relief once it’s over with,” Aunt Lydia said. “We don’t mind the rain.”
“And a lady does not say infernal, dear,” Aunt Theodora said, although she was smiling as she said it.
CHAPTER 9
Thou art my hiding place and my shield.
PSALM 119:114
The offices of Amasa J. Graham, attorney at law, occupied an impressive street-level suite in what was known as the Richards Block on the northeast corner of Eleventh and O Streets. By the time Juliana and the aunts alighted on the boardwalk just outside, the town coach had driven through a downpour that made them all worry about poor Alfred huddled beneath a mackintosh on the driver’s seat above them. But “poor Alfred” gave no sign of discomfort as he opened a huge umbrella and escorted each of the women in turn across the boardwalk.
When it was Juliana’s turn, she lingered at the door to press a coin into Alfred’s hand. “I will not have you waiting out here in the rain. Find something hot to drink where you can get warm and dry. I’ll send someone to find you when this is done.”
“But the team—”
“If they didn’t bolt on the way in, they aren’t going to do so now,” Juliana said. She pointed up at the parting clouds. “The storm has passed. Please, Alfred.” She lingered inside the door watching as Alfred closed up the umbrella and slid it beneath the driver’s seat. He made sure the team was securely hitched to the iron post at the edge of the boardwalk, then ambled off in the direction of the only place in town that would serve a black man. He would have to walk several blocks in what was now a light drizzle.
Taking a deep breath, Juliana headed for the conference room. Aunts Lydia and Theodora had chosen chairs on either side of an empty chair at the head of a polished mahogany table. Mr. Graham took a seat at the opposite end. He had just opened the folder before him when a soft rap on the door announced George Duncan’s arrival.
Mr. Graham explained. “I thought it in your best interest if your husband’s banker—and of course he is now your banker—joined us. There are trust funds to be discussed, and Mr. Duncan has been named the administrator of those accounts.”
Juliana’s heart sank at the phrase trust funds. She folded her hands in her lap and waited. If Sterling had established trust funds, he didn’t trust her. At least that’s how it felt.
“Are we ready?” Mr. Graham looked around the table then began to read.
As it turned out, the trust funds were for the aunts. Everything else—Sutton Builders, the railroad stock, the bank interests, the homes, the land—Sterling had left it all to “my beloved wife, Juliana Regina Masters Sutton.” Mr. Graham made a joke about the largest estate he’d ever represented resulting in the shortest will he’d ever read. The enormity of the estate left Juliana reeling.
“The dear boy,” Aunt Theodora said, her voice warm with emotion.
Aunt Lydia chimed in with a low laugh. “The blessed child.”
Then Mr. Duncan spoke up. “Mr. Graham and I have conferred,” he said. “It is most unusual for a man of Mr. Sutton’s status to burden his wife with this amount of responsibility. The tragic circumstances of Sterling’s death can only make that responsibility more challenging.” He looked at Mr. Graham.
Mr. Graham cleared his throat and pulled a lone piece of paper from beneath the file containing the will and, Juliana assumed, real estate deeds. “Mr. Duncan and I have prioritized some of the more pressing matters that should be addressed as soon as possible.” He adjusted his spectacles. “You will, of course, want to sell the farm.”
“The farm?” Juliana frowned.
Mr. Graham nodded. “Several hundred acres just to the west of the penitentiary.”
Juliana glanced at the aunts. “Did you know Sterling owned a farm?” They shook their heads.
“I daresay that Sterling owned a great many things you wouldn’t necessarily be directly aware of,” Mr. Graham said.
“I daresay,” Juliana agreed. “But I don’t think I’ll be inclined to sell any of it until I’ve had a thorough look at whatever you have in that file.”
Graham nodded. “Of course.” He glanced at Mr. Duncan. Something passed between them.
“There is the matter of the new house,” Duncan said. “That could very quickly become a liability and a drain on your circumstances.”
“In what way?”
He leaned back in his chair and tented his hands across his midsection. “There’s not much of a market for anything so grand, for one thing. It might be wise to put a stop to the construction while you decide what to do.”
Aunt Lydia spoke up. “And put all those men out of work?” She looked at Juliana. “I’m sorry, dear. I know it’s not my place to speak, but—surely we have some responsibility to the workforce.”
Juliana nodded. “My aunt makes a good point.”
“It would only be a delay,” Mr. Duncan said. “And a temporary one, at that. Whoever bought the property would of course continue the project. But stopping it now would increase the likelihood of selli
ng it in a timely fashion. You could price it reasonably and move it quickly. And be done with it.” He paused. “It’s not exactly uncommon knowledge that the house was Sterling’s idea and that you had … reservations. There’s no need to burden yourself with it any longer. If the workers are a concern, we could prepare a generous severance package and promise the best of recommendations would be forwarded to the new owner.”
Something didn’t seem right about this. Duncan was pressing the point too strongly. And he was nervous. Dots of perspiration had broken out across his brow. Juliana looked over at Mr. Graham, who had taken a sudden interest in the piece of paper lying on the table before him.
“What else, Mr. Graham? You said you had a list. What else must I decide today?”
“The monument. And the charitable donations for the year.”
Juliana held out her hand. “I’ll look the donations list over right now.”
Mr. Graham slid the list across the table to where Aunt Lydia could reach it. She, in turn, placed it before Juliana.
“Do I understand my situation correctly?” She looked at Mr. Duncan. “I have nothing to worry about when it comes to personal finances.”
“Absolutely nothing. In fact, you could give the unfinished house away and never miss the money.”
Juliana nodded. “Very well.” She looked at the aunts. “Would you look at the list and tell me if you agree that these are all still worthy causes?”
Aunt Lydia looked the list over while Aunt Theodora reached into her bag for her spectacles. When it was the older woman’s turn, she took her time, tracing her progress down the list of a dozen different charities with a gloved hand as she read. Finally, she sat back and nodded. “We agree. Very worthy causes, all.”
Juliana smiled. She looked to Mr. Duncan. “Please triple these figures. And we might have a few things to add in due time.” She glanced at Aunt Theodora. “St. John’s really does need an organ.” She’d never heard the old woman laugh out loud, but that did it, although it was more of a snort that was very quickly swallowed.
“I suppose you do have a point,” Aunt Theodora countered. “I simply cannot join a church that does not provide the appropriate atmosphere for worship.”
Aunt Lydia spoke up. “Sister! Does that mean you will join us at worship?”
“These gentlemen have neither the interest in nor the need to participate in our private affairs. We shall discuss it later.” Aunt Theodora’s silk mourning gown rustled as she repositioned herself in the leather chair.
The scolding only made Aunt Lydia’s smile brighter. “I told you so,” she said to Juliana in a low voice.
Mr. Duncan cleared his throat. “Back to the subject at hand,” he said. “Shall I make inquiries as to whether there is interest in the property as it stands?”
“As long as you make it clear that nothing is officially for sale,” Juliana said.
Duncan nodded. “Of course. I shall be clear.”
Juliana spoke to Mr. Graham as she rose from her chair. “I’ll take the folder with me and study the documents at home.”
“Are you certain you wouldn’t rather do that here, where they can be kept secure?”
Juliana smiled. “I appreciate your concern, but I think, between the three of us, my aunts and I can manage to keep track of it.” She looked to Mr. Duncan. “I’d appreciate another meeting next week. That should give you and your clerks time to prepare a detailed list of the cash assets. I’m assuming Sterling had funds in a variety of accounts.” She paused. “And I would also appreciate it if both of you gentlemen would stop looking so surprised. I am a woman, not an ignoramus. The two terms are not necessarily synonymous.”
Happily, Alfred had returned and was waiting for them. The clouds had cleared. Other than the sound of the coach wheels hissing their way through the muck, the drive home was pleasant. Aunt Theodora congratulated Juliana on her parting request, and Aunt Lydia rejoiced openly at the increase in charitable donations.
“I didn’t forget your idea regarding an education fund as a memorial,” Juliana said. “The thing is, knowing that Sterling left us in such a healthy financial state, I thought we might want to do more.” She smiled. “And won’t it be fun to think what that might be?”
“The dear boy,” Aunt Theodora said. “He left nothing to chance.” She smiled at Juliana. “What better declaration of love could he have given than to entrust it all to you?” She nodded. “He knew you well, my dear. And respect for your intelligence was part of his devotion. That should comfort you.”
It was a comfort, but it did nothing to heal the pain of betrayal. Even if Marshal Hastings’s version of what had happened the night of the fire was right, Juliana would be haunted by the locket for the rest of her life. He may have trusted me. He may have respected me in his own way. But I wasn’t enough. I was never enough.
Jenny
Wednesday, April 25
Where was George Duncan? Why didn’t he come? He said he would come. She lay on the bed, a wailing baby next to her. How long had it been? She thought it was Wednesday, but she wasn’t sure. Johnny … for Johnny she had to try. She was so sick. So weak.
Dragging herself out of bed, Jenny stumbled to the door. She felt her way down the hall to the kitchen. Once there, she slumped into a chair, trying to gather strength. There was a little wood left by the stove. If she could just get a fire started, she could heat some water. Have a cup of tea. Eat something. Anything.
Water. That would make her feel better. She rested her head on her arms. Come on, Jenny. The pump’s just outside the back door. You can do it. You have to do it.
Johnny’s cries fueled the impossible. She made her way to the pump, used what little reserved strength she had to fill a bucket with water. Too heavy. It was just too heavy. She knelt down by the bucket and, cupping her hand, sucked the water into her mouth. Her hair fell forward. When she lifted her face to the sun, the wet curls dampened her nightgown.
Shivering, she began to scoot the bucket of water back toward the house. It took most of her strength, but finally, she shoved the bucket in the back door. Exhausted from the effort, she curled up on the kitchen floor and slept.
Pounding on the door. Johnny wailing.
Jenny opened her eyes. The sun … what had happened to the sun? She raised her head to look toward the front of the house just as George Duncan stepped into the hall. Swearing, he hurried to her side.
Jenny
Friday, April 27
Someone was in her kitchen. No … she’d been in her kitchen. On the floor, trying to get a drink of water. Johnny. She sat up. The baby was gone. Her heart pounded.
Who was in her kitchen?
Humming. Was that humming?
The sour smell was gone. Her bedding was clean. The window was open. A fresh spring breeze rustled the lace curtains. She pushed back the blankets and wobbled her way to the door. She could just see the tip of Johnny’s head cradled in the arms of the dark-skinned woman sitting in a rocker by the back door. The woman was singing while she rocked him.
Bye-o-baby,
Go sleepy,
Bye-o-baby,
Go sleepy,
What a big alligator
Coming to catch the one boy.
Diss here the Sutton boy child,
Bye-o-baby,
Go sleepy,
What a big alligator,
Coming to catch this one boy.
As Jenny drew near, the woman looked up and nodded. “And look-a here, Johnny. Here’s Mama now.” She leaned over and laid Johnny in the cradle at her feet then rose to settle Jenny in the rocker.
“Got some soup on the stove. You need to get your strength back.”
Jenny sat watching as the woman ladled soup into a mug and handed it over.
“You sip that slowly. Make sure it’s going to stay down. I only filled it half full. Doctor said to be real careful at first.”
“Doctor?” Jenny frowned as she lifted the mug to her cracked lips with a
trembling hand.
“Dr. Gilbert. Mr. Duncan found you. Put you in bed and hightailed it after the doctor.” She sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. “You were not long for this world to hear the doctor tell it.” She glanced down at the sleeping baby. “Baby, neither.” The woman lowered the gaze of her clear blue eyes to Jenny’s bosom. “Poor thing wasn’t getting hardly anything.”
Jenny moistened her lips. The salt in the soup stung. She took another sip. “We were doing just fine until I got the ague.” She looked toward the front door. “Mr. Duncan was supposed to come back. It was a whole week before he did.”
The woman nodded. “You be glad he came when he did. Glad he went for Dr. Gilbert.” She lowered her gaze. “Guess you can be glad the doctor knew about me just losing my own child.” She ran her palms over the tight amber curls cut close to her head. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Jenny said. She couldn’t imagine losing Johnny. Life wouldn’t mean a thing without him.
“Name’s Susannah. Mr. Duncan is payin’ me to take care of you and the baby until you’re better and can handle things yourself.”
When Susannah reached for the mug of soup, Jenny said, “I’d like some more.” She put her hand to her stomach. “I feel hollow.”
“You lay down a bit and see how your stomach does. If it keeps that little bit down, you can have some more. That’s what the doctor said to do.”
Jenny bent down to stroke Johnny’s cheek. When she rose to return to bed, the room swam. For a minute she thought she might faint. But Susannah steadied her and helped her back to bed.
“No one can tell you what to do, dear. You must decide.” Aunt Theodora took up her spectacles and bent to the task at hand. Both aunts had taken to working on the signature quilt for an hour or so each morning. Apparently Aunt Theodora’s aversion to needlework was weakening. Juliana’s had not. Even though Martha had eradicated the shadow of “that name” and rolled it out of sight, Juliana couldn’t bring herself to work on the quilt.
Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] Page 9
