Mona Hodgson - [Quilted Hearts 03]

by Ripples Along the Shore

  Jewell laid her hand atop her sister’s knee. That’s when Caroline realized she’d been tapping her heel against the packed earth floor. No doubt Jewell had meant to still her, but her sister’s gesture also sent a calmness through her being. She looked into Jewell’s warm gaze and smiled.

  “You’re going to be all right.”

  Caroline nodded, wishing she could say the same to her sister. Bearing her own sorrow was burden enough, but watching Jewell suffer was almost impossible to bear.

  Music drew Caroline’s attention to the back of the barn, set up as a stage this morning. Four-year-old Gabi stood atop a bushel box, her lips pursed on a flute. The child played “Home! Sweet Home!” for the quieted crowd.

  A pastor in a long black vestment entered the barn from behind Gabi, with Rutherford, Quaid McFarland, and Brady McFarland at his side. The fifth man was the one who held Caroline’s attention. His limp barely noticeable, Garrett Cowlishaw stepped onto the platform wearing a frock coat with a top hat, his head held high and his smile mesmerizing. She scolded herself for noting such things, but hesitated before looking away. She had no business paying that close attention to the man.

  Nonetheless, she was. And Garrett Cowlishaw hadn’t been the only man she’d noticed since Phillip.

  Perhaps Mrs. Kamden from the New Era was right. Had the time come for her to consider the possibility that she could marry again one day? She hadn’t thought her head could be turned again, or that she could still turn heads, but her time on the boat to Memphis and back had demonstrated otherwise.

  Lewis G. Whibley was long gone, and she’d been anything but kind to Garrett Cowlishaw. Not that either of them would be interested in romantic matters. Certainly not the latter man, not with a caravan of wagons to lead west.

  If she were the pillar of faith Emilie and Maren were, she’d pray about such matters of the heart. But given her history with God, she saw no reason to trouble Him with such notions.

  Garrett’s knees weakened for countless reasons. The excitement in the air, for one thing. His best friend was about to marry, which necessitated he be dressed like a performing monkey.

  As if all that weren’t enough to topple him, Caroline Milburn sat perched on the aisle, looking like a fine porcelain doll.

  It seemed a veil had lifted. He’d seen her as a grieving widow, a caring sister, and a devoted aunt. Today, though, she was something else entirely …

  A fetching woman.

  A lacy scarf draped her velvety dress, which was the color of cranberries. Pink tinged her creamy cheeks. Her fiery red hair, piled on her head, exposed a graceful neck.

  She offered him a slight smile, then looked away. But not before he detected a spark in her green eyes. Something was different.

  When the pastor cleared his throat, Garrett returned his attention to the ceremony at hand. “Miss Jensen will enter first. Then Miss Heinrich.”

  The two grooms nodded. Gabi played her last note, jumped down, and pulled the crate to one side. Rutherford walked to the rail of the horse corral where his zither awaited him. He picked up the flat instrument, then began strumming and plucking a halting rendition of the Wedding March. Good thing his fingers knew their way around the strings, for his gaze wasn’t on the musical instrument but on his soon-to-be-bride. Miss Maren stood just inside the barn door with Mr. Heinrich at her side.

  God had given Rutherford a second chance at love and marriage. Joy for his friend welled inside Garrett, mingling with regret in the memory of his own joyous wedding day.

  He tugged his jacket sleeve straight. This day wasn’t about him. Besides, he was better off alone. Oh, how he wanted to believe that.

  Her heart beat so fast Emilie expected at any moment it would leap from her chest and race into the barn without her. Outside the open door, she’d heard Rutherford play the zither and watched PaPa escort Maren to the man she loved. Now PaPa stood beside Emilie at the door of the barn while Quaid played a lilting tune on his harmonica. He looked resplendent in his top hat and tails. Overcome by her love for the Irishman, she lunged over the threshold.

  PaPa joined her. “Is it time?”

  Emilie nodded with care so as not to upset the wispy lace veil pinned to the braid circling her head. “I’m ready.” Too ready to wait for the last refrain.

  PaPa raised his bent arm, and, looping it, Emilie rested her hand on his woolen sleeve. Tears shimmering his blue eyes, he bent and kissed her on the forehead.

  She faced the friends gathered before them and matched PaPa’s long strides toward her future.

  His smile widening, Quaid lowered the harmonica and struggled to finish singing the song, his cracking voice winging its way to her heart.

  Emilie had little confidence her legs would’ve carried her the rest of the way to Quaid had her father not been supporting her.

  Pastor Munson pushed his spectacles to the bridge of his nose and met her father’s gaze. “Who gives this woman in holy matrimony?”

  “I do. Her PaPa.” He gently placed her hand in Quaid’s.

  When all four of them had recited their wedding vows and the two couples shared a proper kiss, they lined up in front of the reverend for his introduction. That’s when Emilie noticed the rest of the quilting circle had filled the first and second rows. Mrs. Brantenberg, Hattie, Mrs. Pemberton, Lorelei Beck and her mother-in-law, Anna Goben, Jewell, and Caroline.

  She was indeed a blessed woman to have so many dear friends and to now be Mrs. Quaid McFarland. As she and Quaid embraced family and friends, Emilie smiled at Anna and breathed a prayer for the grieving candle maker and for the young widow—that they would one day soon be blessed by love.

  Six

  Wednesday morning, Anna strolled down the hill and onto Main Street toward Heinrich’s Dry Goods and Grocery, still reveling in the merriment she’d experienced watching her friends wed on Saturday. The beauty. The music. The tears of joy. The warmth of friends gathered in celebration. The love filling the barn had defied the February chill in the air. She wished to always hold the memory close. Her witness to the festivities had hinted at a hope that one day she could find the kind of loving bond Emilie shared with Quaid, and Maren with Rutherford.

  “Anna!”

  Hattie Pemberton’s voice stilled Anna’s steps. She turned to face her friend. Hattie’s knack for fashion made Anna smile. Today, Hattie wore a stylish two-piece dress that dusted her boots at her calves. A hussar hat with layers of lace and tulle sat atop her piled curls.

  Anna smoothed her serviceable woolen skirt and shifted the sack of candles to her other arm. Careful to avoid a collision with her friend’s rigid hat brim, she stepped into Hattie’s warm embrace. “It’s good to see you.” Anyone cheery would be a boon, but Hattie’s Christian joy, despite her father’s death in the war, helped to lessen the throes of grief.

  Hattie pressed her gloved hands together. Her eyes widened. “Wasn’t the wedding divine?”

  “It was so beautiful … charming.” Hearing her own dreamy tone, Anna chided herself. She had family to take care of and couldn’t afford to entertain romantic notions.

  Hattie looked at the sack Anna carried. “On your way to Heinrich’s?”

  “Yes.” She lifted the sack. “More candles.”

  Hattie raised her chin, her blue-gray eyes no longer hidden beneath the brim of her hat. “Wonderful timing! Mother asked me to stop in for border fabric for our square of the friendship quilt.”

  Anna nodded. She needed to think on the quilting squares herself, but first she had to be sure her family was among those remaining in Saint Charles.

  “Are you still making hats for the dress shop?” Hattie glanced across the street at the Queensware Emporium.

  “Fewer than during the winter months. But I’m working on five new spring styles.”

  Hattie’s generous smile warmed Anna’s heart. If anyone appreciated fashionable hats, Hattie did. “I can’t wait to see them.”

  “I’ll make sure you’re the first.”
Anna had gone so far as to design the hats on paper and was anxious to make them, but she’d need to sell a lot more candles before she could afford the materials.

  They strolled in comfortable silence up the cobbled brick sidewalk until a couple passed them arm in arm.

  Hattie peered at Anna. “Do you think about marriage?”

  Anna gulped.

  “You’re getting to that age, Anna.”

  “That age?” A nervous giggle bubbled inside her. “You make me sound like a spinster. I’ve just turned eighteen.”

  Hattie’s eyebrows arched. “Surely you think about love and marriage and having a home of your own.”

  “Since returning to the quilting circle, it’s been nigh unto impossible to think of anything else, with Maren and Emilie so enamored with Rutherford and Quaid.”

  Hattie’s giggle overpowered the sound of the shod horse trotting past. “True. It has been about all they’ve talked about in recent months.” She sobered, the lines at her mouth smoothing. “I think about it too. Wonder what it would be like to have a man look at me the way Quaid looks at Emilie … with devotion brimming his eyes.”

  Hattie Pemberton was definitely the incurable romantic in the quilting circle.

  Outside the door to Heinrich’s Dry Goods and Grocery, Anna glanced at the sack cradled in her arm. “I can’t think about anything but work right now.”

  Hattie held the door open. “Life won’t always be this hard for you.”

  “No?” Anna wanted to believe it. Some days, like Thursdays and last Saturday, she entertained daydreams of a different life, but most days she dared not allow herself the luxury.

  Hattie reached for Anna’s free hand and squeezed it. “God will make a way.”

  “For my mother? My grandfather?”

  “For you.”

  “You are a sweet friend.” Crossing the threshold into the store, Anna breathed in the warmth from the coal-burning stove.

  Mr. Heinrich bent beside the checkerboard barrel with the Rengler brothers. At the sound of the doorbell, he looked their way. Doffing his top hat, he joined them at the counter. “Ladies.”

  “Good day, Mr. Heinrich.”

  Their words came out in unison.

  “Good to see you both.” He pushed his spectacles to the bridge of his nose.

  “Mother sent me to look at cloth.”

  “Got in new patterns.” He nodded toward the bolts of fabric.

  “I’ll take a look.” Hattie strolled that direction.

  Mr. Heinrich looked at the sack Anna carried. “I hope you’ve brought more of your bayberry and beeswax candles.”

  “I have.” Anna had a feeling the man would cheerfully accept candles from her even if he had a storeroom full. She spread three dozen merry-colored candles on the countertop.

  “You are a hard worker, Miss Anna.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Anna smoothed her sack on the counter. Her hand hesitated at the redwork embroidery Mutter had done before Dedrick died: Gleich und gleich gesellt sich gern. It was a saying her brother was fond of: “Birds of a feather flock together.” She’d made the sack for him, and it was one of the few belongings the army returned.

  Mr. Heinrich pulled the money box out from under the shelf. “Your grandfather? How is he?”

  “About the same.”

  “No need of another hank o’ caning yet then?”

  She folded the sack and looked up. “No, thank you. He has enough to finish the chairs he has.”

  “Don’t imagine your mother is feelin’ any better either?”

  Anna shook her head.

  “I’m sorry.” He counted out payment for the candles and handed her the bills.

  Anna tucked the money deep into her seam pocket and sealed it with the sack. “You and Emilie have been a tremendous help to us, Mr. Heinrich. I can’t thank you enough for the work.”

  “We’re happy to help. I grow weary feeling powerless to help those I care about.”

  When tears stung Anna’s eyes, she looked away.

  Mr. Heinrich returned the cashbox to its nesting place beneath the counter. “You know the Rengler brothers.” He glanced toward the checkerboard and the men gathered there.

  “Yes.” She knew they’d lost their freight boat in an explosion last fall. They’d been driving wagons for the McFarlands.

  “They’re joining the caravan going west this spring. The Kamdens and the Brenners are buying wagons to go too.” He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “Maybe your grandfather should think about it.”

  When he won’t even leave the house?

  “Might be good for him, Anna, and for your mutter.”

  If Großvater couldn’t muster the energy to cane chairs, how was she to expect him to cross the country by wagon? And then there was Mutter.

  “There’s a meeting at The Western House Inn next Tuesday, thirteenth of February. Half past six, I believe. Flier’s pinned at the post office.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Anna hoped her answer didn’t sound as halfhearted to him as it did to her. “I best get back. Thank you again, Mr. Heinrich. Give my best to Emilie and Quaid.”

  “And you carry my regards to your family.”

  Family. Will we ever feel like a family again, Lord?

  Hattie walked toward her holding a bolt of cloth in each hand.

  Anna smiled, glancing toward the door. “However will you decide? I like them both.”

  “I do too.” Hattie sighed, blowing a brown curl on her forehead. “Do you have to go?”

  “Yes. But I’ll see you soon.” After waving good-bye, Anna stepped outside to go home to fix the noon dinner. If her mother was awake to care about eating.

  The more Anna thought about going west, the more the idea of wide-open spaces and new opportunities intrigued her. But the building excitement collided with caution. Großvater’s house was full of chairs they couldn’t sit on. Chairs that belonged to his paying customers. Many of whom had been waiting a long time for new seats. He’d been doing a quarter of the work he’d done before falling sick with grief. Raising her hopes over a trip she’d never make wasn’t good sense.

  Anna started up the hill. She spent her walk talking to God about Mutter and Großvater, a familiar topic, although this time she added a few questions about the trail west. By the time she reached the gingerbread-enrobed house, third from the end, Anna had mustered the courage to talk to Großvater. Her elder or not, he owed her the courtesy of hearing her out. And if Mutter was anywhere in the vicinity of sober, Anna had a few things to talk over with her as well.

  Squaring her shoulders, Anna climbed the porch steps. She left her muddy boots outside and closed the door behind her. Großvater’s voice, uncharacteristically cheerful, carried from the kitchen. A second male voice sounded vaguely familiar …

  Robert? After all these years?

  She quickened her steps through the empty dining room.

  The moment Anna darkened the doorway, Robert Hughes jumped to his feet, leaving his hat on the kitchen table.

  “Annabana—” He glanced at Großvater and quickly cleared his throat. “Miss Anna.”

  “Robert.” The boy fond of dunking her braids into the inkwell in their one-room schoolhouse.

  “Remember? My friends call me Boney.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. She nodded, recalling the day her brother gave his friend that moniker.

  His gaze tender, the now grown-up Boney took short steps toward her. “I’ve been in Saint Louis since the war. Just moved back to Saint Charles and came to pay my respects.”

  Großvater pulled a third chair from the table. “It’s mighty good to see him, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Though she spoke to Großvater, Anna kept her gaze fixed on Boney. “You heard about Dedrick?”

  His blue eyes glistened. “I saw his name listed among the state casualties in the St. Louis Dispatch. I knew he would be the brave one.” He shifted his weight and held out his hand to her. “I’m truly sorry about your lo
ss, Anna. I was mighty fond of Dedrick.”

  She nodded, and he let go of her hand. “You were a good friend to him.”

  “What’s all the racket?” Mutter dragged into the kitchen. One hand cradled her head while the other trailed the wall.

  Anna pasted on a smile. “Mutter, you remember Robert Hughes, don’t you?”

  Leaning on the corner of the cupboard, Mutter brushed unruly hair from her bloodshot eyes. “Dedrick’s friend?”

  “Yes. He’s moved back to town.”

  Mutter scowled, pulling her dressing gown tight at her waist. “Why didn’t you tell me we had company?”

  “I apologize if I disturbed you, Mrs. Goben.”

  Mutter waved a shaky hand. “Don’t be silly. I was feeling a little ill this morning, is all.”

  Boney held his arm out to Mutter, and she accepted his escort to a chair at the table.

  “Thank you.”

  Großvater was ready with a stout cup of coffee, nearly strong enough to overpower the stench of the previous night’s rum on her breath.

  “I’m feeling much better now that you’re here.”

  While Mutter dominated the conversation, Anna busied herself at the cutting board, chopping potatoes for their dinner. So much for her reunion with Boney Hughes, the only other person who understood how much she’d lost when her brother died.

  Seven

  Caroline followed Jewell up the narrow porch steps of Emilie and Quaid McFarland’s home on Monday. The newlywed couple had moved into a small cottage up the street from his father’s freight company. Gingham curtains the color of sunshine hung in the front window.

  Jewell had just raised her hand to knock when the door swung open.

  “Welcome to my new home.” Emilie’s brown eyes sparkled with a pride that made Caroline’s heart ache.