Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03]

by Message on the Quilt

  “I don’t know what to say,” Emilie repeated, as she hugged first Bert and then Noah.

  “It’s the most wonderful thing anyone’s ever given me.”

  “Even better than a pony?” Bert joked.

  “Much better.” She gazed down at the desk. Shook her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “For a woman of words, you’re kind of stuck,” Bert teased. He looked from Emilie to Noah and back again. “Tell you what. I’m going to head on over to Aunt Henrietta’s. I hear there’s a taffy pull in the works, and I’ve got my eye on the perfect partner. You two already have yours, so you just take as long as you need.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Finally, Ladora gave in to fatigue. As late afternoon turned to early evening and the hour of Josiah’s arrival loomed, Grace began to feel more panicky. When Ladora said that she was just going to go “prop her feet up for a minute,” if Grace didn’t mind, Grace didn’t mind. She’d been desperate for Ladora to do just that. It would give her the chance she needed to get away.

  “Now, I don’t plan on falling asleep,” Ladora said as she lumbered toward her room. “But if I do, you don’t let me sleep long, y’hear? Half an hour is all I need. You pound on the door and get me up. It won’t do to have the colonel arrive home and me lollygagging with my feet up.”

  “I promise I won’t so much as close my eyes,” Grace said.

  “Thank you for all your hard work today.” Ladora smiled. “You’ve been a blessing.”

  A blessing. The word stung. Ladora closed the door to her room, and Grace climbed the stairs to Josiah’s guest room for the last time. Opening a drawer in her costume trunk, she withdrew the special belt she hadn’t needed in a very long time. Laying it out on the bed, she transferred the contents of the money pouch over, separating the bills and change into the various pockets so the belt would be evenly balanced. She kept out just enough to buy a ticket to—where?

  Strangely enough, New York held no allure. St. Louis would do. Big enough to get lost in. Big enough to have a theatrical scene where an aging actress might be able to find work back stage. This time she wouldn’t hold out for a part. She’d take anything they would give her. Wardrobe assistant, ticket-taker, mender, prompter…anything. She’d scrub floors if she had to. Toilets if it came to that.

  She changed clothes. The traveling suit was a decade out of date, but a fuller skirt was necessary. Once ready for the road, she paused before the mirror, twisting and turning to make sure the money belt wasn’t visible. She gazed with regret at the open theatrical trunk poised in the corner of the room. If those costumes could speak. They’d attended balls in Europe. Curtseyed in the presence of royalty. Don’t be maudlin. You should be glad they can’t talk. They might have walked the storied halls of Europe, but they’d also witnessed things that would make even the old Josiah blush.

  With a sigh of regret, Grace crossed the room and retrieved the book she’d left on the small table by the bed. Spurgeon’s sermons didn’t belong in a thief’s room, and Madame Jumeaux didn’t belong in this house. She’d tried to learn the vocabulary to make it work, but she’d failed. All she’d learned from reading Spurgeon was just how far she had missed the mark, and if she’d ever doubted the true condition of her soul, the money belt around her waist was all the damning evidence she should ever need.

  Cradling the volume of Spurgeon in her arm, she retrieved her cane and crept downstairs. She returned the book to the shelf in Josiah’s office. Tears glimmered in her eyes as she looked up at the portrait of a naive brother and sister, unaware of the looming disaster that would soon destroy their happy existence. What a fool she’d been to think she could redeem the past.

  At the last minute, she removed a bit of notepaper from Josiah’s desk drawer and scribbled a parting message. As soon as the ink dried, she held the portrait out from the wall and tucked the note behind it. It only had to stay put for a few hours. Just long enough for her to catch a train.

  The note tucked in place, Grace took one last look around the office. She paused again before the portrait of Josiah and those Indians, wondering at the mystery of the man who looked so much like Noah Shaw. She’d never know the truth about that now. But then the truth was not something Grace Jumeaux was known for, anyway.

  “You sure you’re all right, ma’am?”

  Grace started. She looked up at the stationmaster. Or the conductor. Or was he just a freight handler? It was hard to tell, what with these spectacles blurring her vision so. She nodded. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. Just fine.”

  “That was the last train, ma’am. Where was it you said you were headed?”

  Where was she headed? It didn’t really matter. “St. Louis.”

  “But ma’am—you missed the train. You can’t sit here all night.”

  “There aren’t any hotel rooms.” She grasped the handle of the cane she’d leaned against the bench when she sat down. “I can defend myself if I must. Now leave me be.” The money belt was heavy. That was it. That’s what had kept her from getting up to catch the train. It weighed her down. And so she’d sat here and let the first train leave. And the next. And then the next. And the longer she sat, the less will she had to move.

  Ladora would be awake by now. Grace should have left her a note, too. She could have said she went over to the assembly grounds to hear the evening lecture. Why hadn’t she thought to do that? It would have been the perfect cover. Josiah wouldn’t have thought a thing about it. He didn’t even know who his houseguest was. Both he and his housekeeper would have retired, and it would have been morning before they suspected anything was out of order.

  At least the railroad worker had left her alone. But now he was coming back. Why couldn’t a woman just sit on a bench and be left to her thoughts?

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Jeffrey was right. We can’t let you sit here all night. You were right about all the hotels being full, but there’s likely to be a cot available over on the assembly grounds. One of the church groups offers lodging.”

  “The Methodists again?”

  “Ma’am?”

  Grace just shook her head. It probably was the Methodists. Lodging beneath the very roof she’d wronged. Would history continue to repeat itself? She’d sold the house out from under Josiah, only to return and be sheltered beneath his roof. She’d stolen from the Methodists, and now, here was someone suggesting she take shelter with them. If God was paying attention, He must be amused. Again.

  “We’ve asked the last horse trolley to wait for you. Only ten cents one way.” The man reached for her carpetbag. “Here, let me—”

  She slapped his hand away. “I don’t want to go to some tent run by a bunch of pious do-gooders. Can’t you just leave me be?”

  “It’s all right, Jeffrey. I’ll help the lady.”

  Grace blinked wearily and looked over to see who was going to bother her now. Her breath caught. She looked away.

  Josiah crouched down before her. “It is you, Gracie. Isn’t it?”

  She couldn’t bear to look at him. She shook her head. Closed her eyes against the tears, but they rolled down her cheeks anyway. “No,” she whispered. That, at least, was the truth. She wasn’t the sister he remembered.

  “Oh, Gracie.” Josiah’s voice broke. “If you knew how I’ve prayed you’d come home.”

  He reached for her hands, but she pulled away. “I can’t. Can’t stay.”

  “Then just come back for tonight. Jeffrey’s right. There won’t be any more trains until morning.” When she still didn’t move, he sat beside her on the bench.

  “How did you know it was me? At the house, I mean.”

  “I knew the moment I heard your name. How old were we—six?—when Nanny Jess started calling us her jumeaux?” He chuckled softly. “How we hated it when people asked if we were twins.”

  “You remembered.”

  “Of course I remember.” He paused. “Mrs. Riley thought maybe you’d walked over to hear the evening program. When you di
dn’t come back, she was quite concerned—as was I.” He paused. “And that brought another memory to the surface. As I recall, I was always the one to come after you when you ran away.” He reached over and squeezed her hand.

  “Then you also remember that I was always the one in trouble.” She moved her hand. Any moment now, he would expect her to confess to whatever it was she was talking about. What new trouble had she brought home. Any moment now, his kind, gentle voice would take on a different tone, and he would move away.

  He let go of her hand, but his voice didn’t change, and he didn’t move away. “I remember that you were the one I ran to when I got hurt,” he said. “And I remember you taking more than one spanking for me.” He took a deep breath. “I remember you begging me not to leave after Mama and Papa died, and the selfish way I just bulled ahead, doing what I wanted to do, without regard for what I was doing to you.” His voice wavered. “I’m so sorry, Gracie. Can you forgive me?”

  He was apologizing—to her? After all she’d done? “I shouldn’t have left that way. I shouldn’t have sold the house. I—I was just so angry. I wanted to hurt you.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “Have you forgiven me? Is that why you came home?”

  She closed her eyes, trying not to wail the answer. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Tears flowed again. “I just couldn’t face the poor house. I was going to beg you to take me in.” The money belt weighed on her like concrete. If she were only younger she would run into the night. Anywhere. Just away. But the “run” had gone out of her. She was tired of running. Sighing, she let her head droop forward, her shoulders sag. “The trains kept coming. I meant to go. But I couldn’t make myself get off this bench. They kept coming, and I kept thinking about the next one. I’d take the next one. But then I couldn’t. I just…can’t.”

  “Shhh, now, Gracie. Shhh…it’ll be all right. I’m so glad you came home.” Josiah stood. Grasping her by the shoulders, he helped her up, wrapped his arm around her, and together, they headed back toward the house with the red geraniums.

  The last thing Grace remembered was leaning into Josiah at the train station. The next thing she knew, she was waking up back in the bedroom with the rose wallpaper. A soft tap sounded at the door.

  The money! She sat up. Her hand went to her waist. It was still there. She’d just been settled on the bed and left to sleep, fully clothed. Someone had removed her tattered bonnet and covered her with a light blanket. She sat up. “Come in.”

  Ladora.

  The housekeeper smiled as if nothing had happened. As if guests misleading her and then running off in the night were all part of a normal day. She pulled the dressing table bench out and set a breakfast tray on it. One look at the tray and Grace’s eyes filled with tears. Wildflowers. Ladora had put a little vase of wildflowers on the breakfast tray.

  “The colonel wanted me to tell you that you’re to rest as long as you want. There’s no hurry about anything,” she said. She seemed about to say more, but then she merely nodded and headed for the door.

  Grace found her voice. “Wait. Please.”

  Ladora turned about, but she stayed by the door.

  “I–I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  Ladora shook her head. “But you didn’t. I studied on it half the night after the colonel brought you home. Seems to me you were real careful not to lie. I appreciate that, Grace. And I understand your wanting the colonel to be the first to know you’d come home. It’s only fitting.”

  Grace blinked with disbelief. Where was the woman’s outrage at being duped? “B–but I—tricked you. I wasn’t forthcoming.”

  Ladora shrugged. “I decided to think on all the hard work you did instead. How much you helped me with the pies and all. And how nice it was to have company instead of being alone all day, every day. Like I said, I understand your wanting the colonel to be the first to know. It wasn’t your fault he wasn’t here when first you knocked on the door. I don’t know what I would have done in your place, but you just picked up a knife and started chopping rhubarb.” She smiled. “It’s all right, Miz Barton. I’m not one to hold a grudge.”

  “Grace. Call me Grace.”

  “Don’t seem fittin’.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Ladora opened the door a little farther. “I’ll think on it.” She pointed at the breakfast tray. “Don’t let that get cold. Nothin’s worse than cold oatmeal.” She slipped out and closed the door behind her.

  Grace’s stomach growled. Her hand went to her midsection. And she knew what she had to do. Slipping out of bed, she hurried to change, then downed a few bites of oatmeal. It took only a few moments to retrieve the black money pouch from the depths of the theatrical trunk.

  One by one, she unrolled the bills, then arranged them in dimensions, from small to large. People must be in the habit of adding a donation amount to their luncheon tab. That would explain the number of five-dollar “woodchoppers,” and perhaps even the ten-dollar “rainbow” note. It also made her feel even worse about what she’d done. But she was going to make it right. Today. First, she would chop up the rhubarb she’d picked last night. Then she would make another pie delivery. And no one would ever have to know the rest of that story.

  “Saints alive and praise be! Ladora! Ladora Riley, would you look at this!”

  Ladora tugged on the reins and Babe stopped, almost in midstride, as a red-headed woman came trotting up to her side of Josiah’s farm wagon from the direction of the dining hall. The woman held a black money pouch up, her face beaming. “I told Dorcas it would turn up. Land sakes but things were such a mess yesterday, what with trying to move everything over to capture the shade of a few trees and Pearl not here to head things up. I just knew someone had set it aside and it got tangled in a bundle of tablecloths or something. And I was right. Here it is. Whoever found it must have felt so bad about it they just set it right there with the pies. Can you imagine? And Dorcas so upset she was going to have Mr. Rhodes make it a headline in the newspaper. As if someone stole it.” The woman rolled her eyes. “Aren’t we glad we didn’t do that. Our Chautauqua doesn’t need bad publicity such as that.”

  Ladora agreed that a newspaper article would have been a bad thing. But for a different reason. “You don’t want folks thinkin’ the ladies are lax when it comes to the money box,” she said. “I hate to think on it, but the colonel’s sister reminded me—”

  “Sister? Colonel Barton has a sister?”

  “Now where are my manners,” Ladora said. “Miss Grace Barton”—she nodded at Grace—“Mrs. Opal Safford.” The introductions finished, Ladora continued. “As I was saying, Miss Barton has traveled the world, and she reminded me the first time she saw these crowds that the world isn’t as kind as it once was. Some people see such an event as our assembly as little more than an opportunity for thieving.”

  The woman held the pouch up to Ladora. “Which is why I’m giving it to you. Can you stop at Nebraska National and deposit it for us? We’ve all decided we’ll keep only the smallest amount of change on hand and make regular deposits so this can’t happen again.”

  Ladora took the money pouch and handed it to Grace to hold until they got back into town. It was a wonder it didn’t burn her hands.

  As Emilie hurried to prepare for Thursday evening’s meeting, the Bee Hive tent flap waggled and a deep voice called her name.

  “Just a minute,” she answered, wiggling her way into first one and then the other of her white lace-up shoes. Tying each one quickly, she stood up and smoothed her skirt, then hurried to open the flap, talking as she untied the closure. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long, but…Father?”

  He smiled. “Your cousins were beginning to look worried, and so I offered to fetch you. Of course Shaw would have been more than happy to do the honors, but I convinced him to let me have a moment alone with my daughter.”

  Oh no.

  “And no, I have not been recruited by your mother to raise further concerns in
regards to Mr. Shaw. Although I will say that it has been noted that the two of you are spending quite a bit of time together.”

  “We’re interested in the same things,” Emilie said. “And Noah’s being very careful about protecting my reputation. And—”

  Father held up his hand. “Do you remember what I said at breakfast last week?”

  “About topics of conversation? Mothers and daughters and all that?”

  Father nodded. “Exactly. I haven’t changed my mind, but if I had, you would know about it. It is not in my nature to talk around things instead of about them. I have no objections to the company you are keeping, and anyone who does is quite likely motivated by sentiments other than true concern for you.”

  He means whoever’s been talking is jealous. Emilie nodded.

  Father reached inside his coat. “This is the reason I wanted to see you alone for just a moment.” He handed her a small folder. “I had the honor of seeing Miss Willard to the train yesterday. She was most complimentary in regards to a certain young woman who’d interviewed her. She was also quite pleased with the resulting article. She asked if I would mind seeing that Miss Starr received this.”

  Emilie opened it. Below her portrait, Miss Willard had written, Kind regards to E. J. Starr—Frances E. Willard, July 2, 1890. “What a treasure! Thank you, Father.”

  Father nodded. “Yes. Well…I wanted you to know that after she’d given me the portrait, I told Miss Willard that you are my daughter.” He held up his hand. “Now, there’s no need to be upset about that. Only Miss Willard heard me say it. I thought you might also want to know that when I told her you’d chosen a pseudonym expressly because you wanted to be published on your own merits—and that you are writing for my competition—she expressed admiration for your determination.” He paused. “As I’ve had time to ponder the situation, I’ve come to realize that I…well. I may wish that the matter had been resolved differently, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am proud of you.”