“You?” The older woman glared at her. “What do you have to be sorry for? He’s my minister.” She sighed. “Job’s comforters. I suppose each generation has a few.”
The coach had just reached the outskirts of Lincoln when Aunt Theodora said crisply, “We must contact your committee as soon as possible to move that quilt.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Juliana said. “Aunt Lydia’s friends will be a comfort to her. I have a feeling to us all, if we’ll let them. I want them to come and work on the quilt as planned.” She paused, almost afraid to say it. “I do not want to transform our home into a crepe-draped mausoleum.” She’d known Aunt Lydia would approve of the way she wanted to do things, and the woman’s expression proved her right.
She spoke up. “I know you don’t particularly enjoy needlework, Theodora, but it can be very soothing.”
“Soothing? It’s drudgery made lighter by the opportunity to gossip. And gossip has no place in a house of mourning.”
“We do not gossip,” Aunt Lydia said firmly. She nodded at Juliana. “The worse the heartache, the more one needs the company of friends. And when it comes down to it, I’ve always believed that some of our mourning customs are too severe.”
“You didn’t think that when Teddy died,” Aunt Theodora said. “You wore mourning for a full year. And the two of you were only engaged.”
Aunt Lydia had been engaged once? Juliana watched the sisters’ exchange with renewed interest.
“Invoking the name of the love of my life will not make me change my mind. When Teddy died, I was little more than a child. I didn’t think at all. I did what was expected.” Aunt Lydia shuddered. “I despise crepe. The best tribute I could have paid my Teddy was to celebrate his memory among the living.” She turned to look out the coach window. “And that is what I shall do with my quilting friends. I shall celebrate Sterling’s life.”
Juliana gazed out the window. Had Sterling been the love of her life? She would have said yes before last night. Even with recent difficulties, she would have said yes. It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t the love of his life. She looked back at Aunt Lydia. There didn’t seem to be one bitter bone in that woman’s body, even though she’d lost much. Somehow, it gave Juliana hope. Maybe she could get past this and be happy again.
Aunt Theodora glared at her sister. “The older you get, Lydia Johanna Sutton, the less I know you. ‘Celebrate Sterling’ indeed. It’s positively common.”
Aunt Lydia smiled as if she’d just been complimented. “Think what you will; I already have an idea for a memorial. Would you like to hear it?”
“I cannot imagine anything more delightful.” Aunt Theodora’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“We should establish the Sutton Foundation to provide education for the children in the society’s care. At last count we were responsible for two dozen. I propose we begin with a day school. Perhaps, in time, we can add evening classes for adults wishing to better themselves.” She paused. “And we should announce it at the June bazaar. In memory of Sterling.”
Aunt Theodora stared at her in disbelief. “You aren’t planning on attending the bazaar?” She counted on her fingers. “That’s only ten weeks away. Keeping our promise to your committee regarding that quilt is one thing. They will come to us. But we absolutely cannot be attending social events only ten weeks after the funeral.”
“It isn’t exactly socializing. We’ll be announcing something wonderful. In Sterling’s memory. I think he’d approve.” Aunt Lydia appealed to Juliana, although a bit of doubt sounded in her tone. “Don’t you think?”
Juliana nodded. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s settled.”
Aunt Theodora pursed her lips. “I never thought I would live to see the day that women I have loved and admired would toss good manners and custom to the wind.”
Did she just say she loves me? She admires me? Juliana glanced at Aunt Lydia, who merely smiled and shrugged. As they descended from the coach just outside the funeral parlor, Aunt Lydia leaned close. “Give her time. She’ll come around.”
Aunt Lydia’s pastor was waiting for them in the reception area at Lindermann’s Funeral Parlor. The moment they entered, he smiled warmly at Juliana and said, “I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion. I was actually on my way to call at the house when I saw your town coach headed this way.” He bowed to the aunts. “I am so sorry for your loss. At times like these, one can be tempted to wonder if the Almighty has taken His eye off things.”
Aunt Theodora glowered. “At times like these, one would be well served to refrain from questioning the Almighty, lest He take offense.”
Pastor Taylor smiled. “I rest on the promise that ‘He remembereth that we are dust.’” Without waiting for a response, he turned to Juliana. Something in the man’s kind, gray eyes drew her in. She offered her hand. He took it and repeated, “I am so very sorry.”
Juliana swallowed. How could those simple words evoke emotion, when Reverend Burnham’s visit had succeeded only in making her angry? Her voice wobbled when she thanked him.
“Mr. Lindermann said he’d be out in a moment.” The pastor gestured toward a circle of chairs arranged around a low table adorned with a floral spray. “Perhaps you’d like to be seated while you wait?” As soon as Juliana was settled, he reached into his vest pocket and took out a card, which he offered to her. “In time, you may wish for someone to yell at. If so, please remember that I am at your service. Of course God can handle yelling, too, but I have found that sometimes it helps to have a more visible target.”
He shook Aunt Theodora’s hand briefly, but when Aunt Lydia reached for him, he held both her aged hands in his and said, “Don’t forget, Aunt Lydia. God knows. God allows. God plans. God permits. And someday, we will know, too—even as we are known.” He released her hands. “I’m praying. For you all.”
Just as Pastor Taylor exited by the front door, Mr. Lindermann entered through a door in the back wall. Thinking of what was behind that door, Juliana looked away to concentrate on the flowers and the elegant card on the brass easel at the base of the arrangement. Provided by R. S. Frey. Mourning wreaths and bereavement our specialty. It was odd to think of people “specializing” in bereavement. Yet she supposed they did. Reverends and pastors, undertakers and florists. Mr. Lindermann bowed a greeting and took a seat in one of the empty chairs. His next words swept her into a foreign landscape.
“You will of course want memorial cards printed.” He had written a preliminary newspaper announcement that he wanted Juliana to approve prior to publication. Had she decided who would read the eulogy? Had she selected pallbearers? Mr. Duncan would expect to be asked, as would Mr. Graham. Which suit would the deceased wear? He had done his best, but they might wish to forgo the window in the casket lid. As to flowers, Frey’s would be the best. Mr. Lindermann dared to suggest a large casket spray. It was customary to provide long-stemmed roses at the graveside service so that mourners could file by and offer a gesture. They could meet another time regarding a monument, but there was definitely something stately about an obelisk. Had they selected a lot yet?
Juliana frowned at the word. “Lot?”
Aunt Lydia answered for her. “We’ll have Alfred drive us home by way of the cemetery. We’ll let you know.”
A grave. The man who had owned so much still needed one last bit of land.
What had Pastor Taylor said when he gave her his card? “In time, you may wish for someone to yell at.” She wanted to yell now. Not at God, but at Sterling. Brave or betrayer, either way he’d left—left her alone to deal with the absurdity of all these questions. With Aunt Theodora’s disapproval. With that half-finished monstrosity south of town. And with questions that would never be answered. The unanswered questions were the worst of it.
Mr. Lindermann’s voice faded. Memories Juliana had been avoiding all day finally found their way to the forefront. Young Sterling’s handsome face, smiling at her through the small crowd that had attended that first literary club de
bate where she’d defended—something. She couldn’t remember the topic. She only remembered being drawn to the tall man with the thick, wavy hair, an air of self-confidence, and strong hands calloused from hard labor. He’d apologized for those calluses the first time he’d caressed her face.
As Mr. Lindermann talked on, Juliana lost the battle to keep doubt and anger at bay. Emotions swirled. Her pulse quickened. Her stomach clenched. Tears threatened. Again. She must not let them come. Not here. Aunt Theodora would be embarrassed. Aunt Lydia would reach out with compassion, and that would surely break the last thread of Juliana’s weakening resolve to cope.
When Mr. Lindermann suggested they might wish to follow him into the viewing room to select a casket, Juliana stood up. Mr. Lindermann broke off midsentence and sprang to his feet.
“Please,” she said and gestured for him to be seated. She looked over at the aunts. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve already run away once today, but I can’t—” Not without screaming, anyway. “I—I need some fresh air.” She glanced over at Mr. Lindermann. “Whatever my aunts decide about things will be fine with me.” She took a step toward the door.
Mr. Lindermann called after her. “There is one thing you should know before you take your leave. It will affect everything else.”
Reluctantly, Juliana turned back around. But she stayed by the door.
“Pastor Taylor asked that I offer St. John’s for the service, if it would help you. They won’t be impacted by the conference demanding so much of Reverend Burnham’s attention this week.” Mr. Lindermann smiled. “He didn’t tell you himself because he didn’t want to seem to be pressing the matter.”
Juliana frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“He wants the funeral,” Aunt Theodora snapped. “Although he’s been clever enough to couch it in decorum and dignity.” She shot a look at her sister. “There is a sizeable honorarium involved in holding a service for a leading citizen. And St. John’s is desperately in need of improvements. Anyone can see that just driving by.”
“Theodora.” Aunt Lydia shook her head sadly.
Mr. Lindermann cleared his throat. “Pastor Taylor assumed that Reverend Burnham would conduct the service. He also said that St. John’s would neither expect nor accept remuneration for the use of the facilities, should you decide to have the service there.”
Aunt Theodora sniffed. “I don’t suppose he’d return a new organ if one were to suddenly show up, though, now would he?”
Aunt Lydia’s tone sharpened. “Theodora.”
Juliana thought back to Mrs. Burnham discreetly admiring the parlor. And not so discreetly examining the china. She thought back to the way Reverend Burnham kept tapping that infernal piece of paper with his pencil, pressing for a commitment to a service time.
She thought about Pastor Taylor’s promise to pray for them. Reverend Burnham’s scripture reading had been delivered in the manner of a field marshal firing off orders. Feel this way. Think that. Believe this. Pastor Taylor hadn’t quoted one Bible verse at them. He’d offered to let Juliana yell at him.
She needed to think. She turned to go.
Aunt Theodora called after her. “What of the music?”
“Who better to select it than you?”
“Reverend Burnham will want to consult regarding the order of service.”
Juliana took a deep breath. “That will have to wait until I speak with Pastor Taylor tomorrow.”
“Whatever for?”
“Because I’m going to accept Pastor Taylor’s offer to have the funeral at St. John’s.” She didn’t dare look at Aunt Theodora when she said it. “I’ll have Alfred wait for you two. I’m going to take a walk. I’ll meet you at the dresser’s.” She exited quickly.
Outside, she put her hand on the coach to steady herself as she looked up to where Alfred sat on the driver’s seat. “Please wait here for the aunts. When they’re finished inside, they’ll want you to bring them to Miss Thornhill’s. Then I’d like you to carry a message to Pastor Taylor of St. John’s, asking him to call tomorrow. Mid-morning, if he can manage it.”
Alfred looked toward O Street. “You sure you’re up to walking all that way?”
“I’m sure.” She headed off up the street, hoping that she looked more determined than she felt. What a jumble of emotions she was: one moment nearly consumed with anger, the next drowning in hurt and regret. One minute unable to decide which shoes to wear, the next making a monumental decision to leave First Church. For she was. Leaving. Reverend Burnham could have Sterling’s funeral. She would do that for Aunt Theodora. But the next time she attended a religious service, it would be with Aunt Lydia. It was unfortunate that Cass Gregory also attended St. John’s—Aunt Lydia mentioned him from time to time—but Juliana supposed every church had its hypocrites in the pews. At least there wasn’t one in the pulpit at St. John’s.
As she walked, she looked in shop windows but had no interest in the merchandise. She nodded at passersby but didn’t really look them in the eye. Thankfully, no one imposed themselves on her. She walked, head down, her thoughts swirling. And then … she was there, staring at a roped-off, ruined building, trying to grasp the truth of Sterling in this place. She looked at the curved brick archway over the door. The narrow steps. The streaks of soot accenting each of the windows, like painted eyelashes on a broken doll. And again, she wept.
“Mrs. Sutton?”
A deep voice sounded from just over her left shoulder. She turned to see who it was, just as Cass Gregory dismounted from a muscled bay. The minute Gregory’s feet touched the earth, he swept his black hat off his head and then, reins in one hand and the hat in the other, he said, “You shouldn’t be here.” He glanced about them. “How did you get here, anyway?”
“I walked.” Juliana nodded toward the east. “From Lindermann’s.” She took in a deep breath. “We were making … arrangements. And suddenly I just … couldn’t.” She looked back at the building. “I meant to walk to the dresser’s. My feet brought me here.”
A wagon trundled past. When Gregory’s horse snorted and skittered away, he grabbed the bridle throatlatch. “Steady, boy.” The horse snorted again then settled and snuffled Gregory’s shoulder.
“Handsome animal,” Juliana said, grateful for the chance to shift attention off herself.
“He’s not mean-spirited. Just headstrong.”
“I can see that,” Juliana said. And she could. Something in the creature’s dark eyes. The way he held his head. Now that Mr. Gregory had hold of the throatlatch, the horse had settled. Trusting.
“Allow me to offer my condolences,” Gregory said.
Juliana nodded. She thought about seeing him talking to that woman last night. Had he known Nell Parker? She wanted to ask about it. But that would be unthinkable. A lady didn’t even acknowledge the existence of … those females. She looked north, toward O Street. “I should be going. If the aunts get to Miss Thornhill’s and I’m not there—”
“I’ll walk you.” He offered his arm.
Juliana hesitated, rebelling against the idea of accepting Mr. Gregory as a gentleman when, based on his associations, he clearly was not. “That’s not necessary. You were on your way somewhere.” She took a step back, newly aware of the rope behind her and the pile of rubble behind it.
“A few minutes’ delay won’t make any difference. I’d already be at the job site, but I needed to speak with Mr. Duncan.”
“Is something wrong?” What a stupid thing to say. “I meant—besides the obvious.”
“No, ma’am. It’ll be fine. Although I imagine that sounds like an empty promise at the moment.”
Juliana nodded. How strange that the rest of the world simply went on as if nothing had happened. It seemed that creation should at least pause while the world reoriented itself around the empty place Sterling used to occupy. She looked up at Mr. Gregory. For some reason she noticed his eyes. Hazel, flecked with green. Shining with compassion and, perhaps, just a hint of worry. What was wrong
with her, that she would notice a man’s eyes at a moment like this?
“We’ll carry on with the original plan,” Gregory said. “You can count on us.”
Juliana blinked. The original plan? The original plan was to live happily ever after. To give Sterling children. To grow old together. The original plan was out of reach. Lost forever.
“Mrs. Sutton? May I walk you to Miss Thornhill’s?”
Juliana took his arm and let herself be led away. Goldie’s was just out of sight when she stopped and looked back. “You were there last night. I saw you.” With one of those women.
“I heard the fire bell. My rooming house isn’t all that far away.”
So perhaps he was just being … gallant when it came to the redhead. “The fire bell carried all the way to the house. When I came out on the porch and saw the flames, it seemed like it could have been the lumberyard.”
“You must have been terrified.”
She took a deep breath and barely managed not to say it aloud. Actually, I think I was disappointed. I thought maybe—if he lost everything—maybe he’d come back to me. Of course I didn’t realize…. I didn’t know I’d lost him to more than the business.
Later that afternoon, Cass stood in what would, by fall, be the impressive entry hall to the Sutton mansion. He gazed through the doorway as the last of the supply wagons trundled past, headed back into town. Jessup raised a beefy arm in salute. Cass returned the gesture, then turned in a slow circle, imagining polished finials, gleaming marble floors, and crystal chandeliers reflecting candlelight onto the massive dining table that, at this very moment, sat beneath a heavy tarp in the warehouse in town.
“Don’t tell my wife,” the boss had said, when he sent Cass with Jessup and three other men to hoist the table off the freight car and deliver it to the lumberyard. “I want to surprise her.”
Cass went to the arched doorway leading into the dining room. And he worried about Mrs. Sutton. He’d thought of little else since leaving her with “the aunts” at Miss Thornhill’s. She’d been calm enough, but a couple of times there’d been an edge to the things she said. Like when she said that she’d seen him at the fire. Had she seen him with Ma and Sadie? He could just imagine the assumptions a woman like Mrs. Sutton would make about that. And if she suspected her husband, what might she think of him, now? The idea made him uncomfortable.
Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] Page 6