When Juliana raised the idea of calling the board together the next day, the aunts agreed. There was no need to delay. They weren’t going to change their minds. And so Juliana returned to the kitchen to call the Duncans. Helen answered the phone.
“Hello, Helen. This is Juliana Sutton. I’m calling with three requests. First, I’d like to request a short society board meeting tomorrow. Second, I’m hoping George will let us use the conference room at the bank for the meeting. And lastly, I’d like to speak with him privately after the board meeting about some other matters.”
“That’s very short notice for a board meeting,” Helen said. “Is there some emergency?”
“Not really. My aunts and I have something we’d like to discuss with everyone, and I’d rather not wait.”
“Do you mind telling me the specifics?”
“I’d rather not via the telephone exchange. I’ll call the others if you approve the meeting and if George grants permission to use the conference room.”
After a pause, George Duncan came on the line. “Is there some problem looming, Juliana?”
“Is the conference room available tomorrow? Are you?”
“Is this about the house?”
“Please, George.” She should never have done this over the telephone.
“All right. Of course. The conference room is at your service. As. am I.”
“Good. Thank you. I’ll ask the board to meet us there at 10:30 in the morning. See you then. And George …”
“Yes?”
“You’re welcome to sit in on the board meeting as long as your wife, the president, doesn’t object.”
Even though she was excited about everything that was about to happen, it rattled Juliana’s nerves to think of facing Helen Duncan across the conference room table. The woman was going to be livid. And poor George. Juliana wasn’t, however, so concerned for the Duncans’ feelings that she was willing to speak with them privately. God would have to forgive her for that.
As the sun set, the Sutton women gathered in the kitchen for a light supper. They set out a few cold cuts, slivers of cheese and bread, and a bowl of the wild strawberries Martha had picked on Friday. They talked about announcing the donation at the June bazaar.
At one point Aunt Theodora reached over and patted the back of Juliana’s hand. “Sterling would be so proud of you, my dear.”
Juliana nodded. She didn’t know if Sterling would be proud or not. To be truthful, she rather doubted that he would like the idea of orphans and destitute families walking the halls of his mansion. She was pleased, though. And excited about the prospect of being swept up in something worthwhile instead of living quietly behind a black veil for the next year.
That confounded veil.
Even being awakened by Martha’s “infernal rooster” couldn’t keep Juliana from smiling Monday morning. For the first few minutes of the day, she was happy. Then she slipped out of bed to get her wrapper, and there it was: the widow’s veil hanging on the hook on the back of her bedroom door. The reminder of all the dark truths that hovered over her recent past. By the time Juliana had her long braid undone and was sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair, the weight of memory had settled across her shoulders again.
With a sigh, she rebraided her hair and pinned it up. When she opened her wardrobe, the sight of all that black made her want to crawl back in bed and sleep for a year. Once dressed, she opened her jewelry box and retrieved the mourning brooch she’d had made when Mama died—an oval bit of faceted glass mounted above an intricately woven design created by an artisan back East who specialized in hair work. Aunts Theodora and Lydia had placed an order with the same artisan just last week. Soon, they would each own a similar piece made with a lock of Sterling’s hair.
Crossing to her dressing mirror, Juliana pinned the mourning brooch in place. She reached for the widow’s veil hanging on the door. Instead of putting it on, she retreated to the dressing table and sat down. She reached up to touch the brooch at her neck and thought of the lock of hair inside the locket in her drawer.
She looked down at the veil. She didn’t want it. If she spent the next year behind a veil, she wouldn’t be able to help with the school and the Friendship Home. Oh, she could throw more money at projects, but that wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she needed. She needed to wrest the good parts of the unfinished past and somehow piece it all together into something whole. Something good. Something that could dispel the shadow of that name on the quilt from her life, once and for all.
She lifted her head. Looked across the room at herself, seated, the long veil clutched in her arms. Opening a drawer, she took out a pair of scissors. Slowly, carefully, she snipped the threads attaching the veil to the black bonnet. The net fell to the floor. Rising, Juliana crossed to the dressing mirror and pinned the black hat in place. There. One step in the right direction. Out of the shadows.
Juliana headed down the back stairs, hesitating when she saw both aunts already seated at the table having breakfast. She forced herself to meet Aunt Theodora’s gaze. “I’ll dress simply and respectfully, but I cannot bear that widow’s veil. There is work to be done. I don’t just want to throw money at our project. I want to do it.”
Aunt Theodora glowered at her sister. “This is your fault. All that talk of Teddy and how you should have celebrated him instead of following tradition.”
Aunt Lydia set her teacup down. “I see no reason for a young, beautiful woman to spend a full year of her life dragging about in weighted silk and black net. It’s as if we’re punishing her for surviving. It isn’t fair.” She studied her sister. “And now that I think about it, it seems to me that forgoing a widow’s veil is a small thing compared to what a certain disciple of Miss Amelia Bloomer adopted for a few years in … let’s see … about 1851.”
“That,” Aunt Theodora snapped, “has no place in this conversation.” She turned her attention to Juliana. “Custom and tradition did not just spring up because old women take delight in making young people miserable. I do hope you realize that.”
Juliana nodded. “I do. And I haven’t forgotten what you said about the advantages of full mourning. But I didn’t feel protected yesterday. I felt like a spectacle.”
No one spoke for a moment. Finally, Aunt Theodora waved Juliana to the table. “Sit down and eat something. I may growl, but I never bite.”
Juliana obeyed. She poured herself tea and buttered a biscuit.
Aunt Theodora reached over and plopped jelly onto the biscuit. “You cannot eat like a bird and expect to have energy to do the work, my dear.” She allowed a little smile. “I do hope, however, that this is not a trend that will lead to bloomers. I have personal experience, and trust me. It is not an attractive look.”
Juliana and the aunts arrived at First Nebraska ten minutes before the appointed time for their meeting. Still, when Mr. Duncan escorted them into the conference room, the five other members of the executive board were waiting. Mr. Duncan took a seat at the head of the table. Juliana sat to his right with the aunts next to her. Helen Duncan sat on her husband’s left across from them.
As soon as everyone was settled, Juliana thanked them for coming, and then she introduced the subject at hand. She made it a point to look away from Mr. Duncan as she mentioned meeting Elmo Klein and how grateful he and his family were to the society for meeting their needs “in a moment of crisis.” She spoke of her own concern for the unfortunate victim of the fire and the desperate circumstances that often drew young women into “that life.” She shared Aunt Theodora’s wise observation about the dire circumstances that young women often found themselves in when “compromised” and abandoned by their families.
“We all know of similar instances,” she said, “and we also know that, too often, only the women suffer the consequences of misfortune, while the men who share equally in their downfall continue on, unscathed.
“Lincoln is growing rapidly, and we welcome that growth. Each one of us has done our part to enc
ourage it. However, we all know that, unfortunately, with civic growth comes a greater need for the kind of help we feel called to provide. In the past, we’ve depended on the June bazaar to provide most of our annual budget. We should congratulate ourselves on just how successful that has been over the years. But I think we need to be more forward thinking as we look to the future. I think we should be talking to the legislature about supporting our efforts. I have other ideas, as well, but that’s not why I asked you to come here today.”
She put her hand on Aunt Lydia’s shoulder. “Aunt Lydia, Aunt Theodora, and I have two things we’d like to offer to the society. First, we want to establish an educational foundation in memory of my husband.” She looked around the table at the women. “Our idea is to begin with a day school on-site. We’ve also discussed ways to fund the further education of promising students. We may want to pursue the idea of adult education someday. That will, of course, be up to the board. For now, we thought it important to present it here before we announce anything publicly.” She looked around the table. “Do we have your support for this idea?”
Helen Duncan spoke first. “It’s a wonderful idea, but we all know how overcrowded the current homes are. There isn’t room for any kind of day school. I don’t see how we can make it work. And we can’t possibly afford to hire a teacher.”
“The foundation would pay that salary,” Juliana said.
Lutie Gleason spoke up. “In that case, I can’t see any reason not to do it. I’ll volunteer right now to organize a drive for school supplies.”
“That doesn’t solve the problem of space,” Helen said.
Juliana glanced at her aunts. “We have an idea for solving that problem, too.” She paused. “We want to donate a new facility. You all know my husband was building a new house—”
Helen Duncan audibly gasped. She whipped her head about to scowl at her husband.
Mr. Duncan spoke up immediately. “If I might interject a thought, here, Mrs. Sutton—we should discuss your situation before you commit to such a bold change of course.” He glanced at his wife. “You will recall that I anticipated that you might wish to reconsider that particular plan, and I suggested—”
“Yes. I do recall,” Juliana said. “We’ll speak of that later.”
Duncan glanced at his wife again, shrugged, and sat back.
Juliana continued. “My aunts and I propose that we donate the house and property south of Lincoln to the society. There’s a stone cottage already complete that was to be the caretaker’s house. We have ten acres and plenty of room for expansion. The house isn’t finished, but that’s to our advantage. It won’t be that difficult to make changes.”
Helen Duncan spoke up. “You’re giving it—all of it—to the society?”
Juliana nodded. “Yes.” She glanced around the table. “If you want it.”
The women looked at each other, stunned.
Juliana filled the silence. “I know that we’re asking you to do a prodigious amount of work. You’ll want to look over the plans and see what changes need to be made. We’ll need to hire staff. To be quite honest, it may overwhelm us.” She smiled at each woman sitting at the table. “But you’ve each one proven over the years that you can handle just about any challenge that arises.” She nodded at Lutie Gleason. “Including sheltering desperate people in your own parlors.” She paused. “You should probably drive out and see the place before you give us a final answer.”
“We don’t need to see it,” Lutie said. “We just need to say yes. And thanks be to our God!” She laughed and sat back, her face glowing with a combination of joy and embarrassment over the outburst.
When the other members agreed, Juliana said, “We do have two stipulations.”
“Here it comes,” Helen Duncan muttered.
“First, that the current building crew be allowed to complete the project. And second, that we be allowed to name the house.”
“Let me guess,” Helen said. “The Sterling Sutton Home for the Friendless.”
Aunt Theodora leaned forward. “If I may speak?”
“Sadly,” Helen said, “the by-laws do not allow for input from non-board members without prior approval. I’m sure you can appreciate the need to maintain order.”
“Madame President,” Lutie Gleason said. “I move that Miss Theodora Sutton and Miss Lydia Sutton be extended invitations to join the board.”
Before Helen could say another word, the motion had been seconded, approved, and a vote taken. Lutie nodded at Aunt Theodora. “Welcome to the board, ladies. Now, Miss Sutton, you were saying?”
“That we thought the word friendless rather bleak. We like the idea of calling it Friendship Home.”
The board members agreed in chorus. In less than an hour, a formal vote had been taken to accept the donation and preliminary assignments doled out. Aunt Lydia would plan the drive for school supplies, and Lutie Gleason would initiate a toy drive. They would meet the next week to further discuss how best to proceed. The board would visit the building site on Friday and meet Mr. Cass Gregory, the project foreman.
They rose to leave. Promising to return right away, Mr. Duncan escorted his wife out.
“I don’t envy him going home tonight,” Aunt Theodora said.
Juliana sighed. “I don’t, either, but he brought it down on himself. The sad thing is, if he’d been honest with me from the start, I might have agreed to whatever he wanted.” She shook her head. “I’m going to have to interview some other bankers.”
“We have Mr. Carter from First National at St John’s,” Aunt Lydia said.
“Good. I’ll start with him.”
Mr. Duncan returned to the conference room. He closed the door behind him. “Well. That was certainly one of the more … energetic events that’s ever taken place in our conference room.” He cleared his throat. “I do wish you would have consulted me before making the announcement.”
Juliana nodded. “And I wish you would have consulted me before suggesting that Mr. Gregory arrange for a work slowdown so that you could buy the place at a bargain price.”
Duncan’s face turned red. “I was merely hoping to create a mutually beneficial situation. You had a half-finished house. My wife—”
“Yes. I know. And if you’d only been forthcoming about your interest, we might have been able to work something out.”
“I apologize.”
“I accept.” When Juliana and the aunts stood, Duncan rose as well.
“I’ll be interviewing other bankers in town about possibly taking over as my financial advisor,” Juliana added. “I’m sure you can understand that my confidence has been shaken.”
He gulped. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”
“No.”
“Y–you’ll want to speak with Graham about the property transfer. There are special rulings regarding such large donations.”
Juliana nodded. “Yes. I imagined as much. Thank you.” She paused. “I do have one question for you.” She set the folder down and drew out a deed. “This farm. I didn’t find an accounting for sale of any crops. Isn’t the land being worked?”
“I don’t know,” Duncan said. “I’ll have to look into it for you. I could drive down.”
“I can do that for myself.”
“You don’t want to do that.” He paused. “What I mean is, it’s not an easy drive. With recent rains, it could be especially trying.”
“Are there tenants? A house? Do you know why Sterling bought it? It was only last year. I’m assuming he discussed the investment with you.”
Duncan shook his head. “I’m sorry, Juliana. I really can’t say. I can look into it for you. As I said at our first meeting last month, it’s a complicated estate, and Sutton Enterprises is only one of my accounts. I can’t be expected to know about every aspect of every one of my accounts at the drop of a hat.”
“Yet you know that the farm is remote and you don’t recommend that I drive out to see it.”
Duncan
frowned. “I wouldn’t advise that any woman take an excursion of any kind past the penitentiary and out into the country alone.”
He had a point. But something bothered Juliana about the whole thing. Sutton Enterprises was about railroad stock and commercial construction. And one farm? It didn’t make any sense.
Jenny
Monday, May 21
“I been sick for most of a month, Dr. Gilbert,” Jenny said. “I don’t know why I don’t get better. Susannah cooks, and I eat, but it isn’t helping.”
The doctor, who had been listening to Jenny’s breathing while she reclined on the sofa, bent down and returned the stethoscope to his black bag. He closed it and sat back. “You were very low when Mr. Duncan found you. Everything had been depleted as you tried to feed your child.” He paused. “Am I right to think that you’ve never had a very strong constitution?”
Jenny shrugged.
“You have a delicate frame,” the doctor said. “I didn’t attend the baby’s birth. Was it—difficult for you?”
“Isn’t birthing a baby always difficult?”
“Do you know how much Johnny weighed?”
Jenny shook her head.
“And did the attending physician need … special tools? Forceps, perhaps?”
“Why’s that matter? I had a healthy boy.”
Dr. Gilbert nodded. “You did. But at what cost? I suspect you haven’t felt yourself since. Am I right?”
Again, Jenny shrugged.
“You have all the reason in the world to feel melancholy. I’d like to recommend that you consider moving into town where I can keep a closer eye on you. Where you can have contact with other mothers. I think it would do you good.”
She couldn’t seem to keep the tears from flowing. They spilled down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. “I don’t have any money for that kind of thing. I’m only able to stay here because Mr. Duncan was Sterling’s friend.”
“The place I’m thinking of won’t require any money until you can afford to pay. But you would be able to make friends, and I could check on you more often.” He glanced at the baby, playing nearby on a folded quilt. “Do you think it might be nice for Johnny as well? There would be other children to play with him.”
Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] Page 17