“What about Susannah? Would she come, too?” Jenny put her hand to her bosom. “I still can’t feed my own baby.”
“She could if she wanted to, but the home I have in mind has access to goats. That would also provide excellent milk.”
Jenny swiped at her tears. She didn’t really care what happened to her. Johnny was the important one now.
“Will you at least think about it?”
Jenny nodded. “I guess.” Mr. Duncan hadn’t been out in over a week. It was looking more and more like she was on her own.
CHAPTER 17
Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.
ECCLESIASTES 9:10
On Monday morning, as Cass opened the office door, Finney held up an envelope. “Forgot to give you this on Friday.”
Cass looked at the return address. Denver. He opened the envelope and read:
Dear Mr. Gregory,
A small notice which appeared in the Rocky Mountain News a few weeks ago caught my eye in regards to the tragic death of a former business associate, Mr. Sterling Sutton. You and I have never met, but Sterling and I shared duty in the war and have stayed in contact through the years. I have applauded his success and I humbly acknowledge that he has been good enough to return congratulations when appropriate.
One of the unfortunate results of situations such as these is that good men often find themselves the victim of unexpected changes. I have no idea what Sterling’s arrangements may have been regarding the future of his business. If this letter finds you content, then you will of course disregard it. If, however, you should find yourself interested in a change, I encourage you to contact me. There is always room for a good man in a growing business, and happily, R. J. Greeley Company is growing.
The letter was signed by R. J. Greeley himself.
“Good news?” Finney had looked up from his ledger.
Cass shrugged. “Strange news.” He tucked the letter inside his coat pocket. He’d finished the work assignments for the day and had been out in the back lot looking over a stack of lumber and trying to estimate an order when Finney came to the door.
“You’ve got company.” He grinned. “Of the attractive female variety.” He stood aside to let Ma and Sadie pass.
“What’s this?”
“This,” Sadie said, holding up a huge basket, “is breakfast. I’ve been practicing those recipes Mrs. Moser wrote out for us after church yesterday.”
“Practicing,” Ma said, “as in nonstop baking until I made her quit around midnight.”
“She said we’d never eat it all, so I thought maybe we’d share.” She lifted the checkered cloth. “This one’s the kuchen. Ma’s got the pfeffernuss.”
Finney called from the doorway. “Did you say pfeffernuss?”
Sadie whirled about. “I did.”
“I love pfeffernuss.” Finney called to someone who’d apparently just come in. “It’s Cass’s ma and sister. They’ve made pfeffernuss.”
Jessup hurried out into the yard.
“And kuchen,” Sadie said.
The men looked Cass’s way. He laughed and shook his head. “Gentlemen. It would appear that breakfast is served in the office.” He squeezed past Ma and Sadie and cleared the long table just inside the door to make room for them to spread out their wares.
Jessup took a bite of pastry. “That—is the best d—Excuse me, ma’am.” He took another bite. “What would you charge me for an entire one?”
Finney broke in. “And a dozen cookies?”
Sadie looked at Ma. “I don’t know. I was just practicing. Ma’s the real cook. You should taste her pie.”
“Apple? I’d order an apple pie right now.”
Cass crossed the office to a shelf of supplies and pulled down a sheet of paper and a pencil, then handed them to Ma. “Looks to me like you need to take some orders.”
“I wouldn’t know what to charge,” Ma said.
“They charge fifty cents for a piece of pie at the hotel. That’s three dollars for a whole pie.”
“I could never ask that much.”
“Two fifty then,” Jessup said. “But let us know about the pastries and the cookies, too. If you’re interested, that is.”
Sadie nudged Ma. “Looks to me like you don’t need to go looking for work. Work just found you, if you want it.” She smiled at the men standing around the table. “She makes good roast beef, too. And soup. And bread. I bet she’d make lunches if you wanted. Bring them over all packed up. But you’d have to pay in advance.”
“Sadie!” Ma was horrified and hurried to apologize to Cass.
“If you’re really interested in doing that, ma’am,” Jessup said, “some of these boys aren’t married and what passes for meals at their boardinghouses—well. You should hear them complain.”
“See? What’d I say?” Sadie nudged Ma. “Work just found you if you want it.”
Cass herded the men out into the yard to begin the day, but then he retreated back inside.
“I’m sorry, Cass,” Ma said. “I didn’t mean to create a stir.”
Finney complained aloud that he hadn’t got but one bite of pastry. He spoke to Cass. “I hope you let her ‘create a stir’ again soon.” He smiled and then, in a singsong voice said, “Remember: ‘A happy crew is a hardworking crew.’ Word gets out that Sutton Builders provides breakfast, and we’ll have people lined up trying to get hired.”
Cass laughed. “I think Mrs. Sutton would have to approve a regular repast.” He smiled at Ma and Sadie. “If you’re interested in selling on a more regular basis, though, I’d be happy to run it by her. She asked me to come to the house tonight.”
“She did?” Finney’s expression reminded Cass of a woman leaning in to gather the latest gossip.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” Ma said.
Sadie nodded. “Looks like it’s your turn to make up a list, Ma. We could write up a menu of what you make, and the men could order and pay a day ahead. We come over and pick up their orders, and then their lunch or whatever is waiting when they get to work the next morning.” She paused. “Means you’d be working half the night most nights, though.”
“Not really,” Ma said. “If I keep the choices simple.”
Cass could see that she was already thinking about how to make it work.
“I’d need to shop carefully, or I’d never make any money at it.”
“Ludwig knows all the stores in town. He’ll help with that.” Sadie grinned. “Might be he could even get you the best prices. Ludwig’s smart at things like that.”
Back in his room after a long day out at the job site, Cass washed up. He donned a clean shirt and did his best to get his too-curly hair to behave. He took down his Sunday coat and gave it a good brushing and polished his boots. Finally, he slung the leather tube holding the house plans over his shoulder and descended to the street.
Ludwig Meyer was just coming in from supper at Ma and Sadie’s.
“Seems early for you to turn in,” Cass said. “Everything all right?”
Meyer smiled. “Everything is fine. I was in the way of the work. I offered to help, but they shooed me out of the house.” He patted the spot over his heart. “I have an entire list of ingredients for which they want costs. You would think they are starting a bakery.”
“Maybe they are,” Cass said. “Some of those men talked half the day about how good those pastries were this morning.”
“As long as my Sadie doesn’t get so interested that she decides she prefers baking to storekeeping with her husband.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Cass said.
Meyer smiled. “Well just in case, I already told Sadie that if she wants to sell baked goods in our new store, we will order a special display case.”
“And she liked that idea?”
“She did. She thought we should offer coffee and tea and maybe a little table where people could have lunch.”
“So it’s going to be a combination
general store and lunchroom?”
“If she wants it.”
Cass bid Meyer good night and, mounting Baron, headed east toward Mrs. Sutton’s.
This time he called by way of the front door. Still, he was relieved when Aunt Lydia was the one who answered the door. She waved him inside.
“We can’t use the parlor because of that.” Aunt Lydia pointed to a quilting frame in the middle of the enormous room. “So Juliana thought the library. Of course we’ll move over to use the dining room table when it’s time to see the plans.” She smiled. “This is so exciting! Come this way!”
Before taking a step, Cass checked his boots for mud. It wouldn’t do to mar the highly polished floor. As they passed the parlor, he noticed the oil portrait over the fireplace. Mrs. Sutton in a stunning ivory gown. She was seated in an elegant chair, her right elbow poised on the chair back, two fingers touching her chin. Her left hand held a bouquet of roses.
Aunt Lydia touched his elbow. “It’s a beautiful portrait, isn’t it?”
Cass started. Nodded. He glanced up the hall to where Mrs. Sutton stood waiting. Yes. She is. Feeling a little like a street urchin visiting a queen, Cass followed Aunt Lydia past the staircase. More oil paintings adorned the walls in the hallway. Landscapes and, tucked beneath the stairs, a still life.
“Do you fancy art, Mr. Gregory?” Miss Theodora was just now descending the stairs.
“I … yes, ma’am. I used to spend Saturday mornings on occasion at Washington University in St. Louis. The museum associated with the School of Fine Arts is housed there.” The still life reminded him of a Cezanne he’d seen somewhere, but he decided it might be best not to say anything. Miss Theodora might think he was putting on airs. He stepped into the library.
“Please. Sit.” Mrs. Sutton motioned to the sofa, while she and the aunts each took their places in the chairs scattered about the cluttered room lined with barrister’s bookcases.
Cass set the leather tube holding the house plans on the floor and sat down on the sofa, his palms on his thighs, his back erect. It was a feminine room, and that surprised him. Needlepoint pillows, figurines, a fancy photo album on a stand, doilies—even the grand piano was partially covered with a paisley shawl dripping with fringe. He couldn’t imagine the boss in this room.
For a moment, the three women looked at one another, their expressions reminiscent of children waiting to reveal a secret. Finally Mrs. Sutton spoke. “We’re giving it away.”
Cass frowned. “Giving what away?”
“The house. The land. All of it. We met with the board for the Society—”
“—of the Home for the Friendless,” Aunt Lydia broke in. “Only my sister decided that was a sad word, and so we’re going to call it Friendship Home.”
Mrs. Sutton nodded. “And Aunt Theodora had the idea of turning the ballroom into a nursery, but of course that would never work without cross ventilation, so we’re hoping you can find a way to add windows. Do you think that’s possible?”
“I … uh … ma’am?”
Miss Theodora spoke up. “Juliana has offered the house you are building to the society which oversees the current charities organized to help ‘the friendless.’ It’s an unfortunate moniker. Since we intend to see that they no longer are friendless, we wish to call the house Friendship Home. The society accepted the offer this morning at a meeting at First Nebraska.”
Cass glanced at Mrs. Sutton. “You met with Mr. Duncan?”
She nodded. “And Mrs. Duncan. She’s the president of the board.”
He suppressed a smile. How he would have liked to have seen that. He cleared his throat. “I imagine that was quite a surprise.”
“You should have seen it, Cass,” Aunt Lydia said. “The committee went from dumbfounded to delighted in a split second. And then the ideas began to flow. It was wonderful.”
“I can only imagine.”
“We did make keeping the current work crew a condition of the donation,” Mrs. Sutton said.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Cass reached for the plans. “And you’d like to see the plans in order to discuss changes, now that it’s to be Friendship Home and not a private residence.”
“Exactly.” Mrs. Sutton suggested they move to the dining room across the hall where Cass could spread out the plans. She sat at the head of the table with Aunt Lydia to her right and Miss Theodora to her left.
Cass presented the plans in order. First floor, second floor, third floor. As the daylight waned, Mrs. Sutton lit the massive chandelier. And still the ladies talked on. Cass sat back and looked about him at the polished wood, the crystal side lamps on the mantle, the Wedgwood tiles around the fireplace, the heavy draperies, the silver service on the sideboard. It was a gorgeous room, although small compared to the dining room at the new house. What would they do with that massive table sitting at the warehouse?
The voices had stopped. They were looking at him. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“How many do you think we can seat in the dining room?”
“On benches or individual chairs?”
“And how many beds in each room?”
“That depends on the size of the bed. A hired man’s cot?”
“What on earth is a hired man’s cot?” Miss Theodora asked.
“Long and narrow,” Cass said. “It’s what we have at the rooming house.” He smiled. “I can measure mine when I get back. That would give you—but wait. What if I have Finney in the office do some preliminary shopping. He could measure various types of furniture. We could make a scale model of the house as it’s planned now, and then you ladies could move in—with scale models of various types of furniture.”
“It would be like playing with a dollhouse,” Aunt Lydia enthused. “I loved that when I was a girl!”
“How long would it take to create something like that?” Mrs. Sutton asked.
Cass shook his head. “Hard to say. Where would you want it? I mean, it needs to be accessible to the entire board. Depending on what materials you want to use, it might not be very portable.”
Mrs. Sutton turned and asked her aunts, “What if we had Mr. Gregory set it up right here in the dining room? I don’t mind eating in the kitchen if you don’t, and we have no plans to entertain company for quite some time.”
“A scale model could end up saving later disappointments,” Cass said. “It would undoubtedly enable you to use the space as efficiently as possible.” He got up and went to the hallway, stretching his arms out. Next, he went to the front door and did the same. Back in the dining room, he explained. “It wouldn’t do to arrive with a model that won’t go through the front door, now would it? I’m just using my arm span as a measuring stick.”
“You should measure the distance from the tabletop to the chandelier as well,” Mrs. Sutton said, smiling. “I’d rather not have to cut the legs off the dining table.”
Cass laughed as he held one of the plans up to span the space. “Duly noted, ma’am.”
After taking the “measurement,” he jotted down a few notes, then rolled up the plans and put them back in the leather tube.
“Now you must have a piece of Martha’s gooseberry pie before we send you off into the night,” Aunt Lydia said.
“I’ve had my share of sweets today,” Cass said. “I’d better not.”
“I insist,” Aunt Lydia said. “Martha’s taking five pies to the bazaar, and if you’ve tasted it, you can be counted on to raise the bid at the silent auction.”
“I believe that is called ‘fixing the bid,’ Sister,” Miss Theodora said.
“It is nothing of the kind,” Aunt Lydia protested. “It’s merely good planning.”
“I promise to do my part,” Cass said. “Mrs. Gaines’s pie is well known. I’ll make sure the crew knows about it, too. They’ve proven themselves to be more than willing to pay for sweets.” He told them about what had happened earlier that day at the office. “Ma and Sadie were only trying to make sure nothing went to was
te. And now it appears Ma may have a fledgling business.” He glanced at Mrs. Sutton. “As long as the owner doesn’t protest the idea. It would take a few minutes in the morning to handle orders and payment. They could eat on the way out to the site.” He went on to describe Jessup’s idea for Ma making up lunches, too.
“The bazaar would be a good place for her to advertise her wares,” Aunt Lydia said. “Would she consider donating?”
“That’s a superb idea. Thank you. I’ll suggest it. Who would she need to let know?”
Mrs. Sutton spoke up. “We’re all on the board now.” She paused. “And I certainly don’t object to her feeding my crew. You said she was going to be looking for work. It appears that work found her.”
“That’s exactly what Sadie said.” Cass smiled. “Sadie’s already talked Mr. Meyer into letting her do the same when they get their store open down in Roca.”
“It would appear,” Miss Theodora said, “that Gregory women have an entrepreneurial bent.”
For a moment, Cass thought Miss Theodora might be making a veiled comment about the working class, but when he looked her way, she smiled. “I’m not criticizing. It has long been my belief that women who depend on men are more often than not, disappointed. I, for one, applaud your mother and sister. If more women were like them, there would be less of a need for Friendship Home.”
“The poor we will always have with us,” Aunt Lydia said gently. “Our Lord Himself said that, Sister.” She led the way to the front door.
As they passed by the parlor, Cass glanced up at the portrait again.
“It is lovely, isn’t it?” Aunt Lydia said. “And President Arthur signed a block for us. We’re hoping it’s fiercely contended for.”
The quilt. She was talking about the quilt.
“I promise to bid,” Cass said. And then he had an idea. “When did you say the bazaar is?”
“June 16.”
“And it’s at St. John’s?”
“Yes. We’re having a tent erected on that open lot next door. The Ladies’ Aid will serve breakfast in the morning. Would your mother be willing to help? And items to be auctioned will be on display throughout the day. Some at silent auction, but the quilt and some other major donations at live auction that evening, right after supper. And then the announcement of the donation of the house. Followed by a hymn sing to celebrate the results.”
Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] Page 18
