Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles]

by Shadow on the Quilt

  The drive out along a trail that led through prairie bursting with color from spring wildflowers in bloom put everyone in high spirits. Cass Gregory stepped out of the front door of the stone cottage as soon as they drove up. Juliana glanced toward the pasture and wondered about Baron. Cass had driven a wagon out? While Alfred helped the committee down from the coach, she backed down from the heights, conscious of Cass’s hands at her waist as he lifted her down.

  “I hope Baron’s all right.”

  “In fine fettle,” Cass said. He offered no further explanation as he reached up to help Aunt Lydia.

  “Promise me you will not peek at my ankles,” she said, before turning about and planting her right foot on the first foothold.

  “A lady doesn’t have ankles, Aunt Lydia,” Cass teased.

  She landed safely, albeit with a blush on her cheeks and a little curtsy. Cass bowed. Aunt Lydia introduced him to the other ladies, ending with, “Mrs. Duncan sends her regrets.”

  Cass turned to Juliana. “I was hoping you’d lead the tour, Mrs. Sutton. I’ll tag along to answer any questions that might come up, but you’re in charge.”

  Juliana led everyone inside the stone cottage, first. “This was to be the caretaker’s house. Shall we offer it to the matron?”

  Everyone seemed to think that was a good idea. Lutie Gleason opened her bag and produced a notebook and a pencil and jotted down a note.

  And off they went. The rest of the building crew drove up as they exited the stone cottage and headed toward the main house. Juliana asked everyone to wait to go in until Cass had a chance to speak to the crew. She pointed out the new windows up on the third floor and mentioned Aunt Theodora’s idea that it be the nursery.

  “Lutie, perhaps you’d give us an overview of how many people we expect to house here. It might help us all think more creatively as we walk through.”

  While Lutie talked, Juliana watched Cass. He’s wearing a good shirt. That’s what it was. She’d noticed something different but hadn’t been able to place it. His hair was as unruly as ever and longer than the fashion. Charming, actually.

  “Isn’t that right, Juliana?”

  Oh, dear.

  “Excuse me?”

  “There’s to be a scale model ready soon. To facilitate the plans for furnishings.”

  Juliana nodded. “Yes. Mr. Gregory suggested it.” Cass caught up with them, and she led the way inside. While everyone lingered in the entryway, Juliana motioned for the committee to consider the circular turret room for the office.

  “And the parlor for a schoolroom?” someone said.

  Aunt Theodora spoke up. “The library would be more suited to that.”

  “Show them, Aunt Theodora.” The ladies moved on up the hall.

  Cass fell in beside Juliana. “There’s something of special interest in the dining room.”

  She followed him, gasping with delight as morning sun streaming through the high windows illuminated the model. “This is beyond belief,” she said, as she bent down to peer into the rooms. “How did you ever—brick fireplaces?”

  Cass grinned. “Gingerbread. And I’ll have to take it back to town this evening so the cat can guard it from mice.”

  “We have—I mean, you have a cat?”

  “Finney filled that order. Ma said if we were going to make it edible, we’d need a guard.” He smiled. “Actually, though, I did end up taking it home to work on it. One of the cats refused to move, but the other didn’t mind.”

  Juliana ran her hand along the roofline.

  “More gingerbread,” he said. “Ma cut it before baking to replicate the slate tiles. Of course we had to paint them to get the gray green. It isn’t exact.” He shrugged. “I was hoping we’d have some furniture set up inside, but my partner in the process hasn’t made any yet.”

  “You’re amazing,” Juliana said. At just about the time she realized that the committee was standing in the hallway staring at the model. Or them. She motioned with both hands for them to come into the room. “Look what Cass has done for us!” She moved away from the model and walked to the windows. The warmth of the sun on her shoulders felt good.

  Aunt Lydia spoke up. “Cass suggested we display it at the bazaar.”

  “That’s a superb idea,” Lutie agreed. “And we could have a formal ‘unveiling’ right before the live auction.”

  Aunt Theodora nodded. “It will encourage generous bids to support the cause.” She smiled at Cass. “Well done, dear boy.”

  As the ladies continued on through the house, Juliana took another look at the replica. She smiled at Cass. “Aunt Theodora called you ‘dear boy.’ I hope you realize that’s rare praise.”

  He smiled. “She needs to be careful. Word will get out that there’s a warm heart behind that imperious mask.”

  Juliana chuckled. “You’re more discerning than I am. The aunts had lived with us for nearly a year before I realized it’s mostly an act.” Hearing footsteps echoing overhead, she headed to the back of the house and up the servant’s stairs, catching up with the committee in what would have been the master suite.

  “It’s impossible to take it all in during one visit,” Lutie Gleason said, as she scribbled notes. She shook her head. “Juliana, we are truly speechless. Such a generous gift.”

  “Hear, hear,” the ladies all said, clapping with gloved hands to show their agreement.

  Aunt Theodora spoke up. “It’s magnificent,” she said. “A magnificent gift, a magnificent legacy, just magnificent in every way. Untold good will be done within these walls, Juliana.” Her voice wavered, and her gray eyes glimmered with unspilled tears. “Generations of children will rise up and call you blessed. Well done, dear girl. Well done.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Neither as being lords over God’s heritage, but being examples to the flock…. Yea, all of you be subject one to another, and be clothed with humility.

  1 PETER 5:3, 5

  Visiting the building site raised the society women’s excitement to fever pitch and transformed Juliana’s home from a quiet residence with a weekly quilting bee into a central meeting place. Buggies often lined the drive, and Martha was kept busy producing tea cakes and lunches.

  One midmorning when Juliana stepped into the kitchen to apologize for the chaos, Martha said, “Don’t you apologize. It’s a joy to see you all smiling again. And I do mean all.” She nodded at Aunt Theodora, who was actually talking on the telephone to someone about a donation for the live auction.

  Juliana shook her head. “I never would have believed it.”

  Helen Duncan made regular excuses for why she couldn’t be at this meeting or take part in that project, but plans still went forward. In the days preceding the bazaar, the committee gave new meaning to the term “no stone unturned” in their determination to raise support. They divided the city into six sectors and assigned pairs of members to canvass for donations. While Aunt Theodora drew the line at “that kind of activity while I am in mourning,” she continued to use the telephone and commandeered lists and kept records. When she wasn’t organizing paperwork, she helped the quilters work on the signature quilt in the parlor.

  When Aunt Lydia teased her about joining the gossip around the quilt, Aunt Theodora just shook her head. “Is it necessary that you point out my every mistaken assumption?”

  The ladies convinced the largest printer in town to produce elegant invitations to the bazaar and hand delivered them to leading citizens. Medora Riley convinced R. S. Frey to donate floral arrangements to adorn the stage beneath the tent. Helen called one day to say that, for a small mention on the program, First Nebraska Bank would fund the printing. Aunt Theodora pressed for—and got—a promise that they would also pay for “nice thank-you cards.” After all, she said, it would be out of the question to overlook formally thanking everyone for their support when the event was over.

  When the editor of the Daily State Journal wondered in print about “the secret announcement” being promised to those wh
o attended the June 16 bazaar at St. John’s, the ladies congratulated themselves on “raising awareness” and planned for record attendance. The expectation launched a new search for more chairs. Alfred stepped in with the offer that he and the deacons from the A.M.E. church would handle the collecting, delivering, and return of chairs from residences and other churches.

  Reverend Burnham of First Church sent his regrets. The elders felt that it would be poor stewardship of their resources to send chairs out the door for “a community event” where it was unlikely that a religious message would be given.

  Aunt Theodora snorted with indignation when Alfred relayed the message. “He’s upset that he hasn’t been invited to speak.”

  “We could ask him to give the invocation,” Aunt Lydia said. “Pastor Taylor wouldn’t mind.”

  “I would,” Aunt Theodora said. And that was the end of that.

  On the Tuesday before the bazaar, Juliana was helping the quilters take the finished signature quilt out of the frames when someone knocked on the front door. Expecting Lutie Gleason, who’d taken a quick drive into town to deliver an article to the newspaper (Aunt Theodora had written about the signatures that would render the fund-raising quilt an “important historical record”), Juliana called out, “Come in,” and kept removing pins from along the edge of the quilt frame.

  “Are you certain?” Helen Duncan called through the door she’d barely cracked open.

  “Helen!” Juliana pricked herself with a pin. “You’ve been missed!” She went to the door and opened it wide. “Please. Do come in, and forgive me for treating you like a delivery boy.”

  “It’s all right,” Helen said, smiling at the quilters and offering praise for the completed quilt.

  “Hopefully we’ll get the binding on it yet today,” Aunt Lydia said. “You’re welcome to help.”

  “I just might do that.” Helen turned back to Juliana. “After we have a word.”

  Juliana led her into the library, but not until she’d asked Martha to bring them tea and exchanged an “I-haven’t-any-idea” glance with Aunt Theodora, who was in the dining room with two other committee members trying to finalize the order of the live auction.

  As soon as the two women were alone in the library, Juliana said, “We’ve missed you.”

  Helen shrugged. “It’s kind of you to say, but it appears you’ve all done quite well without me.”

  “Most of the plans were already made. We’ve just been trying to build on the foundation.”

  “I’m sure that seeing the property aroused new enthusiasm among all the committee members.”

  Martha brought a tea tray in, and Juliana motioned for Helen to sit down, pouring tea as soon as Martha had closed the door. “I hope you don’t think I’m plotting to wrest any kind of authority out of your hands.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

  “That’s not what’s going on. Keeping busy has been a great boon to both Sterling’s aunts and to me. It’s been healing. It isn’t an attempt to undermine your position as president of the society. It’s just our way of trying to cope.”

  “Well, I haven’t been as involved as I might have, but at least I got George to offer the bank’s support for the programs. And you should hear him grouse about it.” Helen waved Juliana’s apology away. “No, no. That’s not necessary. George grouses. That’s just his way.” She paused. “It didn’t used to be….” Her voice trailed off. She reached for the sugar bowl. When she’d prepared her tea, she sat back. “I finally stopped by Sutton Builders this morning to see the model everyone has been raving about. I am amazed.”

  Poor Helen. This had to be so hard for her. “It was Cass Gregory’s idea. A way to plan the furnishings to best advantage. I had no idea he would go to so much trouble. I can’t imagine the time he spent on it. His mother and sister helped, too.” She smiled. “Did he tell you the fireplaces are gingerbread?”

  “Mr. Finney did.” Helen paused. “Mr. Gregory’s mother and sister delivered two baskets filled with baked goods and sandwiches while I was there. They seem very nice. Mrs. Nash has quite the fledgling business started. I suggested she donate samples for the breakfast we’re all serving the morning of the bazaar. Apparently she’s already promised to contribute.”

  Juliana nodded. There was an awkward silence. Finally, she blurted out, “It wasn’t revenge.” When Helen looked confused, she took a deep breath. “I didn’t give the place away to spite you and George. I’m sorry if it seemed that way.” She paused. “I should confess that I did take an unholy amount of satisfaction in announcing it the way I did. That was unkind, and I owe you an apology for that.” She didn’t quite know what to do when Helen’s eyes filled with tears. So she sipped her tea. And waited.

  “What George did was wrong,” Helen finally said. “But if I hadn’t nagged him—” She shook her head. “I didn’t know he would try to take advantage that way. I truly didn’t expect it. He told me about it later, and all I can say is that I am sorry.” She took a deep breath. “It’s going to be a wonderful place. A haven. You should be very proud. I hope you’ll accept my apology for my part in—everything.”

  “Of course.”

  Helen cleared her throat. “At some point later today you are going to wonder if this was a ploy to get you to give George another chance to manage your affairs. It isn’t. A woman alone must have trustworthy counselors. Mr. Carter has an unblemished reputation, and I am sorry to say I know that my husband does not.” She shook her head. “Husbands. They have no idea the heartbreak they cause us.” After a moment, she forced a smile. “I predict that that model is going to result in a record-breaking fundraiser. The society will be the talk of the town for quite some time to come.”

  “I hope so,” Juliana said, “because every once in a while when I really stop to think what we’ve taken on and what it’s going to take to keep it running in coming years—” She shivered.

  Helen nodded. “The second reason for my visit. I really meant what I said about this bazaar resulting in record donations. I believe we are at a point where we need to think about investing some of the funds that will come in—with the goal in mind that the operating budget self-perpetuate. Bazaars and silent auctions are all well and good, but we need more reliable, regular income if we’re going to sustain Friendship Home and a staff to run it.”

  “I agree,” Juliana said, “but I haven’t any idea how to go about doing something like that.”

  “Mr. Carter would. I’m hoping you will agree to accompany me to speak with him about it.”

  Juliana frowned. “What will your husband think?”

  Helen sighed. “George hasn’t been happy with much of anything about me for a very long time.” She repeated the question. “Will you set up a meeting with Mr. Carter sometime next week?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” Helen finished her tea. She returned her cup and saucer to the tray. Rising, she picked up the tray. “I’ll take this to the kitchen if you’ll open the door. And then, I believe I’ll see if Lydia and the others really do need help finishing the quilt.”

  Juliana spent a good part of the afternoon of the bazaar helping Cass’s mother slice cake and serve kuchen and other delicacies to what seemed to be an infinite line of dessert lovers. The two women were so busy at first that their conversation took place in short bursts and half sentences.

  “I still haven’t thanked you for rescuing me,” Juliana said.

  “So glad we were there.”

  “I hope Tecumseh didn’t give you any trouble.”

  “Tame as a puppy. Glad you’re all right.”

  “The arm wasn’t broken.”

  “Cass told me. Thank the Lord.”

  “I hope we don’t run out of chocolate cake.”

  “I made five, but they seem to like it.”

  “Cass said you helped with the model?”

  “He was whining about his big hands.”

  “Well, thank you. People are goi
ng to be amazed.”

  At one point, Mrs. Nash did the obligatory “I am so sorry for your loss,” but by the time she said it, they’d talked about cake and kuchen, and Sadie and Ludwig Meyer had stopped and chatted, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for Juliana to merely say thank you and move on to other topics.

  When it was time for the buffet supper, Juliana helped haul fried chicken up out of the church basement and then returned to the replenished dessert table, where she worked alone for quite some time while the committee members tallied up silent auction items, closed down that part of the fund-raiser, and prepared for the evening’s activities beneath the tent erected on the vacant lot next to the church. Lanterns were hung and lighted as daylight waned.

  Finally, Cass walked up and said, “They’re ready for you.” He pointed her toward the front row, where the committee had already assembled.

  Juliana put down the server in her hand and headed for the tent.

  “Umm … Mrs. Sutton?”

  She turned back.

  “You might want to hand over the apron.”

  “Are you offering to take my station?” She untied the apron and handed it over.

  “Sure thing.” With a grin, Cass donned the apron and picked up the server.

  “Charming,” Juliana said, laughing as she ducked into the tent and took her seat on the end of the row next to Aunts Theodora and Lydia.

  Helen Duncan went to the podium, but when she called out “Ladies and gentlemen,” the conversation and laughter failed to dim. Jess Jessup and a couple of other men whistled everyone to attention. With laughter and good humor, the crowd settled.

  Helen thanked everyone for coming and announced that she had been informed that the silent auction proceeds would set a new record for any society fund-raiser. When the cheers and applause died down, she glanced Juliana’s way and said, “You’ve all been wondering about the promised surprise.” She gestured at the model sitting on a table in front of the podium but still hidden beneath a sheet. “In a moment, we’ll give you all a chance to get one more piece of fried chicken or cake while you take the opportunity to view what’s beneath that sheet. But for now, I’d like to introduce the committee and thank everyone for making this day a success.”