“How kind of him.” The older woman paused. “He seems rather young for the amount of responsibility that’s been thrust upon him. I do hope he’s up to the task. Do you know what kind of experience he had before my nephew hired him on?”
Juliana shook her head. “Sterling always seemed pleased with his work ethic and skill. He trusted him. I do know that.”
“Well, then. It would appear you have a good man on board. Intelligence, work ethic, honesty, and all of it in a very handsome package.” She motioned up the hall. “Shall we, my dear? I’ll wait for you.”
As it always did, the specter of the locket lurking in that drawer across the room rose up the moment Juliana closed the bedroom door behind her. Today, it was joined by the memory of Mr. Gregory’s redhead and the madam driving out to Juliana’s property to talk about rebuilding.
Aunt Lydia would be crushed if she knew that her “good” Mr. Cass Gregory had such dealings. What if Pastor Taylor knew that one of his church members was helping someone build a brothel?
And what did it mean for her? Juliana sighed. She couldn’t avoid him forever.
The moment Juliana and Aunt Theodora descended to the parlor, conversation around the quilt stopped. Juliana forced a smile. “I’m afraid I’ll be of no help at all with the quilting, but I have convinced Aunt Theodora to grace us with a reading.”
“How wonderful!” Aunt Lydia looked at the three other women seated at the quilt. “You are in for a delightful afternoon. No one has more refined elocution than my sister.”
Clearly taken by surprise, Aunt Theodora bowed as she was introduced to Edith Pritchart, Lutie Gleason, and Medora Riley. Then she excused herself and fled into the library in search of “an appropriate offering.”
When Juliana headed toward the sofa by the open windows, Mrs. Pritchart spoke up. “Now, dearie, don’t be taking yourself all the way across the room from the conversation.” She rose and pulled the desk chair out of the corner and plopped it at the quilting frame, then hesitated. “Unless of course, it pains your arm?”
At the mention of Juliana’s arm, Lutie Gleason retrieved a needlepoint pillow from the sofa. “Here you are, my dear. Always keep it elevated. It will help keep the swelling down.”
Medora Riley chimed in with a mention of an herbal tea known to promote healing of the bones. “I’ll have my man bring you some first thing in the morning,” she said. “Warm compresses help, as well.”
“Indeed, they do,” Mrs. Gleason countered, “but alternating between warm and cold is even more effective.”
“Do you still suffer from headache, dear?” Mrs. Prichart asked. “Lydia said it’s been frightful. Nothing is better for headache than Dr. Chase’s drops. I’ll write out the recipe and have it brought down. Catnip tea is good, too.”
All in all, not half an hour after Juliana had joined the group, she felt literally wrapped in affection. She’d known that Aunt Lydia felt close to her church friends, but this was Juliana’s first chance to be among them. She was so glad that she had not hidden away, that she and Aunt Theodora had joined them.
When Aunt Theodora concluded her first reading of Tennyson, the friends demanded an encore. Lutie Gleason spoke up. “Would you mind reading ‘Crossing the Bar’? I find that such a comforting perspective, especially the closing line about seeing our Pilot face to face.”
After the reading of “Crossing the Bar,” it was time for lunch. When Martha served up gooseberry pie, the talk turned to the bazaar. Martha offered to make five pies and a batch of jelly for the silent auction. And before Juliana quite knew how it had happened, she had agreed to accompany the ladies on a gooseberry-picking outing.
“And I know just where to go,” Aunt Lydia said. “There is a massive thicket of bushes on Juliana’s land south of town.”
CHAPTER 13
Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other.
PSALM 85:10
It had been weeks since Margaret had been awakened by the sound of crying. Thinking that she’d been dreaming, she adjusted her pillow and lay back down. But there it was again. Sadie? In the predawn light, Margaret glanced over at the pallet on the floor. Sadie had insisted she be the one to sleep there. Neither one of them felt comfortable in Ludwig’s room, even though he was living at Cass’s rooming house.
Margaret went to the door. Sadie stood by the stove, her head in her hands.
“What’s wrong?” Margaret hurried to her side.
“I c–can’t d–do anything,” Sadie sobbed. “I—I woke up and was going to make biscuits, but I don’t remember how.” She sniffed loud and long. “And I ground the coffee, but I don’t know how much to put in to make it. She dropped her head in her hands again. “Ludwig won’t w–want me. He’ll st–starve w–with me as h–his w–wife.”
Margaret pulled Sadie into her arms and let the girl weep. “Ludwig,” she said quietly as she stroked Sadie’s long red hair, “adores you. And I believe you know someone who can teach you to cook. All you have to do is ask.”
Sadie calmed a bit. Margaret sat her down at the kitchen table. “Wait here,” she said, and went into Ludwig’s room to retrieve paper and pencil from the small box on his desk. Back in the main room, she set the paper before Sadie. “What do you need to know how to make?”
“Everything,” Sadie moaned.
“Not everything. You could make breakfast when you were only twelve years old.”
“Anybody can fry up ham and eggs.” Sadie shrugged. She looked up at Margaret. “Ludwig likes pie. He was down talking to Mr. Jessup last week, and when he came back, he said there’s a big thicket of gooseberries down that way. He went on and on about how his Mutti used to make the best pie.” She began to cry again. “And I don’t know the first thing about making a pie.” She looked at her mother. “He’s going to hate being married to me.”
“Sadie Gregory!” Margaret gave her a little shake. “Stop your blubbering.” She tapped the paper with her finger. “Write down a whole week of meals. Think about what I cooked at Goldie’s. What did you like? What do you know Ludwig likes? Make a list. We’ll ask Cass about the gooseberries this evening.”
Sadie wrote while Margaret made coffee. By the time she set a steaming mug in front of the girl, Sadie had a week’s worth of meals written down. Margaret looked it over. As she read down the list, she nodded until she came to some words she didn’t know. “What’s this?” she set the paper down and pointed to the group of foreign words.
“I don’t know how to spell them, but those are things Ludwig said his ma made.” She pronounced the words as she went down the list. “Boarsht. Feffernoose. Plat-shinda. Kook-in. Flyshkookla.”
“Well,” Margaret sighed, “I haven’t any idea what any of those are. We’ll have to ask Ludwig.”
“No! I want to surprise him! I don’t want him to know I can’t cook.”
“Sadie.” Margaret sat down again. She looked meaningfully into her daughter’s blue eyes. “Ludwig knows you haven’t spent your time cooking.”
Sadie blinked. She looked away. “I still want to surprise him. And I want to be a good wife.”
Margaret chuckled. “Daughter, I do believe you have fallen in love.”
Sadie ducked her head. Shrugged. “I guess I have. I sure don’t want him to starve because of me.”
“All right, then.” Margaret got up and, crossing to the hooks by the door, took down two aprons and handed Sadie one. “Biscuits,” she said.
And the lessons began.
Just after sunrise early in May, Cass met Ma and Sadie at the livery. He rented a buggy and an ancient mare for them and led the way south of town, crisscrossing ahead of the buggy, keeping his eye out for the thicket of gooseberries he’d found after Ma had asked about them. It had to be near here—there. Right there. He urged Baron to a trot, and when he’d verified the find, he waved in the direction of Ma and Sadie’s buggy.
As they drove up, Ma asked again. “You’re sure Mrs. Sut
ton won’t mind?”
“I asked Aunt Lydia at church yesterday. She said it would be fine. Her committee wants to come out this week, but she said they’ll never use them all.”
Ma climbed down from the buggy. “My goodness,” she said. “I don’t know when I’ve seen bushes so laden with fruit.” She smiled up at him. “We only want enough for a pie-baking lesson. They won’t even notice we’ve been here.”
Cass dismounted, hitched Baron to the rented buggy, and began to pick gooseberries. Ma began to hum, and before long the three of them had filled the basket she’d brought along.
Sadie climbed back up to the buggy seat. “There’s gooseberry pie tonight if you know anybody who might be interested.”
“Is that an invitation to supper?”
“It’s an invitation to dessert.”
“Accepted. Pie for supper. I like it.” Cass untied Baron’s reins and stood watching as the buggy headed back into Lincoln. If he’d ever doubted Sadie’s feelings for Ludwig Meyer, the fact that she wanted to learn to cook for him was proof. He lifted his face to the sky. “Thank You.” This is the day the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it. He bent to pluck a wildflower and tucked it into his coat lapel. Baron whickered. Someone was headed this way. Riding a tall red horse.
Mrs. Sutton? She wasn’t supposed to be riding until June sometime. He took his hat off and waited for her to come within earshot.
“Does Dr. Gilbert know you’ve disobeyed his orders?”
“Does my aunt know you’ve been purloining the berries she needs for her fundraiser?”
The look on her face—she was really angry. Over gooseberries? “I thought you knew. I asked at church yesterday. Aunt Lydia said it would be all right.” Tecumseh had sensed her distress. Tossing his head, he began to prance about. “Doesn’t that hurt your arm? Can I help you down?”
“Dr. Gilbert decided it’s just a sprain. And please do not change the subject.”
Cass nodded. “All right. I’m sorry if I misunderstood. It was only enough for a couple of pies.” He looked at the thicket of bushes and then back up at her. “I doubt you’ll even miss them.”
She looked after the buggy. Back at him. “You said one pie. Now it’s two?”
“Ma’am?”
She nodded toward the buggy disappearing in the distance. “I saw you with your arm around that—woman—the night of the fire.”
All right. So she’d seen more than she’d let on before. “Yes, ma’am. I was thanking God they were all right.”
Mrs. Sutton sucked in a breath. “I do not wish anyone ill, Mr. Gregory. But I object in the most intense way possible to your association with those—people.”
“You object?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “To your inviting them onto my land and offering a stonemason in my employ to help them rebuild. And”—she was picking up steam—”to my gooseberries being given away.” She glowered at him. “Do you have any idea—”
She broke off. She must be in pain. She was trying not to cry and losing the battle. Or maybe this was just a bad day. People could act strange after losing someone. Half the men in Cass’s regiment in the war had seemed crazy at one time or another. Back then, the best thing had seemed to be to let them have their feelings and avoid trying to talk them out of them. Trying to convince Mrs. Sutton that she was being ridiculous was probably the worst thing he could do. So he’d apologize. Over the gooseberries he had permission to pick.
“I’m sorry. Truly. Aunt Lydia said you wouldn’t mind about the berries. I should have talked to you myself. But you haven’t seemed to want to speak to me. I would never intentionally presume on your gooseberries.” Did he really just say that? He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. “And as to the building, I told you about Jessup taking that job, remember? The day you came out to the house. The day of the accident. You didn’t seem to have a problem with it then. Jessup’s kept his word, and so have I. You aren’t being cheated out of a minute of his time. Or mine. But if you’ve changed your mind and you don’t want him to—”
“It isn’t that,” she snapped. Tecumseh’s ears shot back to take in what she was saying. It did nothing to calm him down. “It’s the principle of the thing. The sneaking around. The hiding. The pretending that all is well.” She glared at him. “How can you sit in Pastor Taylor’s church on Sunday morning, pretend that you’re helping him with some poor unfortunate’s funeral, and then continue to consort with them? How can you?!” She drew in a ragged breath. “I suppose you think it doesn’t matter. After all, my own husband …” Her voice wavered. “Well, I didn’t … know about St–Sterling.” She was losing the battle not to cry.
He wanted to reach over and take her hand. Help her down off that horse. Comfort her. Of course he didn’t dare.
She recovered enough to continue. “I was stupid and naive. But I am no longer either one, and I will not have any more of it, do you hear me?” She spoke slowly, her voice clear, her tone cold, now that she’d conquered the tears. “I will not have men working for me who pretend to be gallant and go to church and then laugh behind my back all the way to the brothel.”
His mouth dropped open. “You what?”
She drew herself up. “I am giving you notice, Mr. Gregory. I do, however, expect you to remain on task until I have found a qualified foreman. You’re very good at playing the gentleman. It shouldn’t inconvenience you to continue the charade while I seek your replacement.”
Half of what the woman had just blathered didn’t make a bit of sense. But he’d understood the last part, loud and clear. “You’re firing me?” He looked toward the buggy disappearing into the distance. “Because I let my mother and sister pick gooseberries?”
She gazed after the buggy. Looked back at him. “Please, Mr. Gregory. I know who that was.”
“Who do you think it was?”
“The madam they call Goldie. And one of her … girls.” She swallowed. “As I said earlier, I saw you with them the night of the fire. And again at the cemetery. You were driving a wagon. And those same women were on the seat next to you.”
“You were at the cemetery when we buried Nell Parker?”
“I was. I often ride there. I’d taken Tecumseh down the hill to the creek. But there was no question that it was you.”
She’d seen him. He took a deep breath. “Of course it was me. But that’s not Goldie.” He sighed. There was no way around it. He had to tell her. Firing a prayer to heaven, he explained. “My mother’s name is Margaret. And the redhead is Sadie. She’s my little sister. And yes, they worked for Goldie. Mother was the cook, and Sadie was exactly what you think. But neither of them works for Goldie anymore—and neither of them ever will again. And if you’ll just … calm down, I’ll explain it. All of it. Anything you want to know.”
He didn’t know how to interpret the expression on her face. He glanced off toward the job site. “Are you up to riding all the way out to the place? The men will be wondering where I am. I had Jessup oversee loading things up this morning so that I could help Ma and Sadie.” He looked up at her. “Truly, Mrs. Sutton. Aunt Lydia said it was all right. I wouldn’t have presumed. Ever.”
Her jaw was set. She didn’t answer.
“Please. You can’t fire me. I mean, of course you can—but please don’t. Not until you’ve heard what I have to say.”
She looked back from the direction she’d come. “Everyone will worry if I don’t come right back. They didn’t want me riding yet. Alfred had to help me mount up.” She looked down at her gloved hands. Put one palm to her injured arm.
“I’ll send someone to tell them you’re all right. That you came out to the site. And once I get things going, once we’ve talked, I’ll escort you back. If you’re tired, I’ll drive you back. Please, Mrs. Sutton. Just … let’s talk.”
She didn’t look him in the eyes, but she nodded and gave a curt,
“All right.”
Cass mounted Baron, and they headed out.<
br />
By the time Cass Gregory and Juliana rode onto the job site, a few men had begun to work, but more were milling about, clearly waiting for Mr. Gregory. Before he went to speak with them, he helped her dismount. “I’ll turn Tecumseh into the pasture. You look a little pale. I hope this wasn’t a mistake.”
“I look pale because I haven’t been allowed out of doors by the aunts,” Juliana snapped. “My arm hurts and I have a bit of a headache, but I’ll be fine. I’ll wait inside.” She took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t refuse a drink of water.” She wouldn’t refuse something a little stronger, either, but a lady didn’t admit to such things.
Mr. Gregory nodded. “Jessup! Get Mrs. Sutton a drink of water while I turn her horse out.” He called for Mr. Klein and handed him Baron’s reins. “You know Mrs. Sutton’s house? Good. Ride in and tell them she decided to come out to the building site. I’ll drive her back in shortly. Just make sure they know she’s all right.”
As Klein urged Baron into a lope and headed off, Mr. Gregory unlocked the door to the caretaker’s house. It was cool and quiet inside. Juliana opened the windows in the main room. Wincing, she pulled her gloves off and flexed her fingers. Her right hand and arm throbbed. The part of her hand that was exposed seemed a little puffy. She shrugged out of her riding jacket. Rolling up the sleeve of her waist, she began to unwrap her arm. The cooling breeze felt good.
Mr. Jessup, tin mug in hand, knocked on the doorframe. “Your water, ma’am?”
Juliana sat down on the stairs and took the water with her left hand. “Thank you.” He turned to go. “Tell me about the building you’re doing—for those other people.”
“You mean the general store in Roca?”
“General store?”
“Yes, ma’am. I told them right up that I can only work on the weekends. I hired a couple of men to keep things going during the week.” He frowned. “Is that a problem? Because if it is, I’ll tell Mr. Meyer he has to find someone else.”
Juliana shook her head. “No. I was just—interested.”
Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] Page 13
