As she reached for the phone, Juliana glanced out the kitchen windows to where Tecumseh stood, looking scruffy in his thick winter coat. It had snowed in the night. Cass was probably calling to cancel the ride they’d planned for today. She didn’t mind. Soon they would be taking out the sleigh. Perhaps she would even retrieve the old ice skates from the attic. Sleigh rides … ice skates … hot cocoa … Goodness. She was turning into a romantic.
But it wasn’t Cass on the phone. It was Helen Duncan, choking out terrible news. “I’ve just heard from Dr. Gilbert. He was called out to the stone cottage in the night….” Her voice wavered. “That sweet girl went into premature labor.” Helen sobbed. “And she … she didn’t survive.”
Juliana closed her eyes. Oh, no. Poor Jenny. “The baby?”
“No. Too soon.”
“Oh, Helen. I am so sorry. I know you were very fond of her and the little boy.”
She could hear Helen weeping quietly. “Would you like for me to contact Mr. Lindermann?”
There was such a long silence that Juliana wondered if they’d been disconnected. “Helen? Helen, are you there? He’s helped us in the past. He’ll know what to do.”
“Y–yes. Of course he will. But you shouldn’t—no, it’s my responsibility as president of the board. I’ll speak with him.”
“All right. But we must have a service. A real service. At church with Pastor Taylor officiating. I–I’ve been thinking about this for a long while. Since the fire, actually. That poor Nell Parker with no marker at all and—our own Home for the Friendless plot. It’s lovely, but—it simply isn’t right that people are laid in unmarked graves just because they don’t have anyone.” She paused. “Jenny and her baby deserve our best. All the residents of a place called Friendship Home do.”
“You’re right,” Helen said. “George and I will want to contribute, and I’ll bring it up at the next board meeting. A Friendship Memorial Fund.”
Juliana turned to see a pale Aunt Theodora poised in the doorway, clutching her sister’s hand. “Helen, my aunts have just come down. I need to go. I’ll call you later today—or stop by.” She hung up the phone and looked at the aunts. “It’s Jenny. And the baby.”
“Both of them?” Aunt Lydia’s eyes filled with tears.
“I’m afraid so.”
“No!” Aunt Theodora staggered to a chair. Once seated, she buried her face in her hands.
“That poor child. Motherless. What’s to become of him?” She looked up at Aunt Lydia. “It’s Felix all over again.” She leaned into her sister, racked by sobs.
Juliana busied herself making tea. Felix? Who was Felix? She set two cups on the table before the aunts and motioned to Aunt Lydia that she was going upstairs to dress. Half an hour later, when Juliana went back downstairs, Martha was making breakfast, and a red-eyed Aunt Theodora was alternately sipping tea and dabbing at tears.
“That poor girl.” Martha shook her head.
“We can be thankful that Caroline took her in,” Aunt Lydia said. “There’s no one more understanding than Caroline.”
That was true, and how grateful Juliana was to know it. In fact, the more Juliana had come to know about the petite widow, the more she admired her. Caroline had had her share of heartache and disappointment, but she possessed a marvelous depth of faith. Unlike the aunts and everyone else Juliana had met at St. John’s, Caroline was unusually open to talking about how faith could—and should—translate into life. She spoke about God as if He were in the room with her. Which, Juliana realized, He was. But the idea was new to her.
Caroline. Strong faith didn’t mean a person was exempt from grief. She’d said that just the other day when she was caught offguard by unexpected tears over her Reggie.
“We should go to her,” Juliana said. “She shouldn’t be alone.”
Aunt Theodora nodded. “Yes. We must.” She glanced at her sister. “I’ll feel better after a few minutes with little Johnny. He—he seems to l–like me.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
“He adores you,” Aunt Lydia said. “It will do him good to have his Auntie-T there.”
She crossed to the stove to have Martha replenish her tea.
Juliana waited for Aunt Theodora to be out of earshot before saying, “‘Auntie-T.’ How did I miss that? When did I miss it? And who is Felix? It’s not like Aunt Theodora to be so … overcome.”
“Johnny said it the last time Theodora visited. Actually, there was a gingersnap in her hand and little Johnny was likely trying to say cookie, but my sister heard ‘Auntie-T,’ and the smile on her face? Who could begrudge her a little intentional deafness if it brings her joy?” She paused. “As to the other matter, that is not my story to tell.” She headed upstairs to change.
Juliana had just lifted the receiver from its mount and was about to turn the crank to call Cass, when Aunt Lydia padded back down the stairs.
“About Felix …”
She placed the receiver back on its mount.
Aunt Lydia lowered her voice. “It is a matter about which we do not speak. I was shocked to hear Theodora say the name.” She paused. “Your life has been singularly blessed, dear. But others … others have things in the shadows that are best left there. I hope you understand. My only motive in speaking of it now is to protect my sister from undeserved pain.” She sighed. Glanced up the stairs. “She has had enough of that these past fifty years.”
Juliana reached out and put a hand on the old woman’s arm. “I won’t speak of it again. You have my word.”
“Thank you, dear.” Aunt Lydia gave her hand a gentle pat and retreated back up the stairs.
Juliana took a moment to calm herself, and then she called Cass to relay the sad news. He prayed with her over the phone. Another new experience for the two of them. Strange, and yet comforting.
“Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“Would you come by this evening? It’s going to be a hard day.” And I’m worried about Aunt Theodora. She couldn’t say that, of course. She would keep her promise. “I’d just like the company. I think we all would.”
“I’ll get there as soon as I can.” There was a pause, and then, “Juliana?”
“Yes?”
“Have Martha fill those foot warmers with hot water. Have the aunts put their feet on the warmers and then wrap them up with blankets. And do you still have those buffalo lap robes the boss brought back from that trip west?”
“I … think so.”
“It didn’t snow much, but it’s bitterly cold out this morning.” He paused, and then Juliana heard him smiling as he said, “I will love you anyway, but I’d prefer you didn’t lose the tip of your nose to frostbite.”
Did he just say he loves me? “I’ll be sure to keep my nose,” she said, “and to preserve the aunts’ toes, as well.”
As she hung up, she realized the two of them had just given the telephone exchange operators quite the scoop when it came to gossip. And she didn’t care.
Bundled and blanketed, the Sutton ladies made their way to the Friendship Home. When the buggy got within sight of the house, Juliana saw Mehetabelle waving for them to drive up to the back door. “Praise the Lord,” she said. “I been prayin’ for someone to come so Miz Caroline wouldn’t be alone. How did you hear?”
She stepped back from the door as the ladies clomped inside, stamping their feet to remove the snow and sighing with relief as they made their way into the warm kitchen.
“Mrs. Duncan called,” Juliana said. “Dr. Gilbert informed her when he got back into town.”
Mehetabelle nodded. “Miz Caroline is upstairs, rocking little Johnny. Nurse Wilder brought the others down to play in the library so that poor little lamb could sleep. He’s had a hard time of it.” She smiled at Aunt Theodora. “He’ll be glad to see his favorite auntie.”
“You two stay here and get warmed up,” Juliana said. “I’ll let Caroline know we’re here.” She padded up the back stairs to the third floor. Caroline was seated in a ro
cker, a sleeping Johnny in her arms. When she saw Juliana, she rose and settled the baby in a crib.
“The aunts came with me. Aunt Theodora was especially distraught for Johnny’s sake.”
Caroline smiled. “He does win hearts.”
Back downstairs, the older women offered hugs and murmured sympathy. “You should have seen her face,” Caroline said. “So peaceful. She was a beautiful girl. I’m thankful I was there. There’s no moment in life when a person is more aware that they are standing on holy ground. One moment a life is here with you, and the next they’ve stepped into Jesus’ arms.”
“She didn’t suffer, then,” Aunt Lydia murmured.
Caroline shook her head. “I don’t think so. She just stepped over. One breath here … the next there.” She smiled at the cook. “Mehetabelle sang her into glory. Just think of it. Breathing in heaven’s air. What that must be like.” She paused. “Who called you? I’m so glad you came.”
Juliana told her. “And Helen is making arrangements. She called Mr. Lindermann. I expect he’ll be here soon.”
Caroline took a deep breath and swiped at a tear. “The baby was a girl. I never thought to ask Jenny about a name.”
“Deborah,” Mehetabelle said. “After the prophetess. And Joshua if it was a boy. She wanted strong names. Asked me what Bible names were good for that. She was worried that things would be hard for them in the world, them not having a daddy and all.”
“Deborah, then,” Caroline said.
The front bell rang. “I’ll get that.” Juliana was pleased to find Pastor Taylor standing on the front steps.
“Cass called and told me,” he said. “I just thought I’d drive out and see if there’s anything I can do.”
Juliana nodded. “There is. Help us plan a service.”
They gathered in the parlor. Caroline smiled through her tears as she told Pastor Taylor everything she could remember about Jenny. “Something had happened in recent days. She seemed more settled. Happier. Like a burden had rolled away. Oh—and she loved Mrs. Kennedy’s singing. She just soaked it in.”
“Do you think Mrs. Kennedy would sing at the service?”
Caroline nodded. “Jenny would like that.”
Aunt Theodora had gone upstairs to check on Johnny when Juliana saw Mr. Lindermann’s rig pull up to the stone cottage. Caroline asked Aunt Lydia and Juliana if they would mind checking on Nurse Wilder and the other babies while she and Pastor Taylor handled “the sad business at the cottage.”
She and Aunt Lydia were headed to the library when Juliana said, “I wonder if it might help Caroline more if I pull Jenny’s file and work on a memorial.” She paused. “And the board hasn’t really discussed a situation like this, but it seems to me that if there is family listed in that file, wouldn’t they want to know? Even If … even if they are estranged. There’s a child’s life to be considered. Shouldn’t we do what we can to find Johnny a family? And if it could be part of his real family, so much the better.”
“Absolutely.” Aunt Lydia nodded agreement. “They may regret severing ties. We should definitely let them know. I’ll see to the children—and my sister. You see what you can find.”
Before opening the file drawer in Caroline’s office, Juliana glanced out the window. She didn’t recognize either of the men talking to Caroline and Pastor Taylor. It was odd that Mr. Lindermann had sent someone else. Juliana hoped it didn’t mean that he counted residents of Friendship Home unworthy of his personal attention. The elongated wicker “basket” in the back of the wagon made her shudder. Turning away, she opened the file drawer, trying to imagine the day when it would be filled with the records of people they’d helped. Today, though, finding Jenny’s record was easy.
The name on the file was simply Jenny L. Dear Caroline, so kindhearted. Undoubtedly concerned about guarding residents’ privacy—especially in the case of the children. Laying the file on Caroline’s desk, Juliana took a seat. Taking a piece of notepaper from the letter box that was part of an ornate desk set—another of Reggie’s treasures—Juliana set it alongside the file. She took the lid off one of the crystal inkwells, dipped the pen in the ink, opened the file, and prepared to write.
And then she saw the name.
Her throat constricted. Jenna Pamelia Lindermann. With a sharp intake of air, she looked out the window to the wagon. A smudge of ink reminded her to lay the pen down before she ruined the nib.
She closed her eyes and sat back, trembling. God help me. Help me. Help me.
Finally, her heart pounding, she opened her eyes and read:
Jenna Pamelia Lindermann
Born: December 1, 1859, Xenia, Ohio.
She wasn’t even twenty-five. If he were still alive, Sterling would be celebrating his forty-third birthday in a few months.
Children: A son, John S. Lindermann
born October 14, 1882, near Lincoln, Nebraska.
John S. John Sutton? John Sterling?
“Here you are.” Caroline was standing in the doorway.
Juliana closed the file. “I thought I’d help—” She glanced out the window. “Aunt Lydia and I decided…. We thought—if there was family. They should know.”
The men Mr. Lindermann had sent out were back up on the wagon seat, driving the team of black horses in a tight turn that would head them back into Lincoln.
Caroline nodded. “I agree. We should create a policy to that effect.” She paused. Cleared her throat. “In this case … I would imagine Mrs. Duncan has taken care of that by now.”
Lindermann. Jenny cast out. Ending up here … destitute. Dying. And all the while her uncle—it was too much to process right now.
How much did Caroline know?
Trembling, Juliana returned the fountain pen to the groove on the desk set. She looked down at the smudged paper then put her hand atop the closed file. “Th–there isn’t much here. If I hadn’t recognized the name—”
“I thought it best to err on the side of privacy,” Caroline said. “Jenny requested it.” She took a deep breath. “I suppose that’s something else the board should discuss in the near future. A policy regarding our residents’ privacy. And that of their families.”
She seemed about to say more, but then the sound of baby laughter echoed in the hall, and Aunt Theodora appeared in the doorway with Johnny Lindermann in her arms. “The nap did wonders,” she said and gave the child a hug. “I haven’t seen a prettier baby since Sterling was this age.”
Juliana could only nod.
Caroline’s voice was gentle as she reached over and took the file. “I’ll take care of the obituary. I probably knew Jenny better than anyone.”
Was there hidden meaning behind the words? Juliana couldn’t tell. One thing was certain: the aunts must never know. The only thing to do was to … do the next thing. Let Caroline and Helen handle the issue with Mr. Lindermann. And keep the promise she’d made to herself that women without anyone to care should not leave the earth without someone taking note. Without a proper burial and a proper granite memorial.
God help me.
CHAPTER 29
Behold, I have refined thee, but not with silver; I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.
ISAIAH 48:10
How was it possible for a person to climb aboard a buggy and drive home when she couldn’t breathe? Somehow, Juliana managed. But once home, once the aunts had climbed down with a shiver, all Juliana could think of was that she had reached the end of her ability to pretend. She needed time. Time to think. Time away from the aunts struggling with regrets that had, apparently, crept out of their own past to overshadow Jenny Lindermann’s tragic story.
She needed Cass. Where was he? The building site or the office? She spoke up. “I–I’m going to see if I can find Cass. He was going to come by this evening, but I—I need him now.” She didn’t wait for a response before driving off. When she glanced back as she drove out onto the road leading into town, the aunts were standing in the cold, watching her leave.
Dear God. Help me.
Raw emotion broke through her reserves of strength. There wasn’t enough anger to mount a defense against the realization that if she continued to be involved out at the Friendship Home, she was going to see Sterling’s boy grow up. Watch a living, breathing reminder of the only thing she could have given Sterling that he couldn’t buy … and the very thing she’d been unable to provide.
A rabbit skittered from behind a patch of brown grass in front of Fancy. The little mare snorted and would have bolted if Juliana hadn’t been quick to respond. As it was, she nearly had to stand up to regain control. The distraction helped her stop blubbering. By the time she got to the building site, she was almost in her right mind again.
Cass was there, dressed in overalls and a flannel shirt, his face smeared with dirt, his hands caked with filth. He didn’t see her at first. She pulled the lap robe closer and waited. Finally, someone—Jessup, she thought it was—nudged him and nodded in her direction. Cass took his cap off and waved.
That smile. That blessed smile.
And then the smile faded. He said something to Jessup and ran to her, nearly stumbling over the uneven ground. Once at the buggy, he scrambled up beside her. “What is it? What’s happened?”
She shook her head. Gulped. “I needed—I needed—”
“Is it Miss Theodora? Aunt Lydia?”
She shook her head. “It’s Sterling. Always—Sterling.” She began to sob.
Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] Page 30
