Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03]

by Message on the Quilt

  “You are?”

  He nodded. Then he pointed at Miss Willard’s gift. “Now put that somewhere safe and let’s get going before I have to face the wrath of the Spring Sisters for making you late.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The Beatrice cornet band’s “national salute” sounded through Noah’s open hotel room window at six o’clock in the morning on Friday, Independence Day. He was already half awake, and hearing the music made him smile. Emilie was hearing the same music. Like him, she’d get ready for the day to the tune of the “Star Spangled Banner.”

  Humming the tune as he crossed the room to the wash stand, Noah pulled his nightshirt off and poured water into the bowl. As he rinsed his face and combed his hair, he wondered if he would still be smiling at the end of this Independence Day. He peered at himself in the mirror. How he wished Ma could somehow telegraph advice to Nebraska. Do this. Say that. Too soon. Time flies. Hold her hand. Let go. Tell her. Don’t.

  With a sigh, he shrugged into a clean shirt. Do you see me, Ma? What would you say? What should I do? Am I being foolish? Is this what it’s like to be in love? He’d never felt this way about a woman before; never spent time thinking about ways to please her; never counted the minutes until he could see her again; never felt his own mood change just because she smiled—or didn’t. And he had most certainly never lain awake obsessing over how to propose.

  Was it even possible to be in love after knowing a woman only—he looked at his watch—nine days, six hours, and twenty minutes? What would he say to Mr. Rhodes? The man would think him a fool. I’d like your permission to court Emilie. Noah could just imagine the reaction. Mr. Rhodes would take his own watch out of his vest pocket and mutter something about those nine days. Wait, he’d say. Wait. But at the end of the Long Pine Chautauqua, Noah would only have known Emilie for twenty-eight days. He’d counted. From a parent’s perspective, that was still a ridiculously short period of time—at least in this place, at this time.

  In some cultures, a man met his bride on the wedding day. In others, a man didn’t even see his veiled bride until after the ceremony. He and Emilie had already spent more time together than those couples. True or not, pointing out foreign marriage customs was unlikely to persuade Emilie’s parents to alter their expectations for their daughter’s future. The best Noah could probably hope for would be a suggestion that he and Emily conduct a long courtship that would involve writing letters and more visits when his travels allowed for it. But he didn’t want to write letters and he didn’t want to wait. He wanted to share his life with the girl who’d been able to finish his sentences since the first night they met.

  He glanced over at the quilt Ma had made. Can you see her, Ma? Isn’t she beautiful? I love her, Ma. I wish I knew what you think I should do.

  With a sigh, he finished getting ready.

  Grace was halfway down the stairs on the morning of July 4th when Josiah called a greeting from his place behind his desk. “How long have you been down here?” she said. “You should have awakened me. I could have made you breakfast.”

  “Mrs. Riley fed me well before she departed for the grounds.”

  “She’s already left? I should have helped out.”

  “You’re not a servant, Grace. You’re my sister, and this is your home—if you want it to be. No one resents your taking a well-earned rest. You’ve been under a great strain. Don’t feel guilty for sleeping past dawn.”

  “And how long have you been at your desk this morning, Colonel Barton?”

  He smiled even as he tapped a letter on the stack to his left. “Touché. But there was quite a bit of mail, and I’m especially glad that I read these. There’s an interview request from the daughter of a friend, who is apparently writing for her father’s competition—and then a note from a young man I believe I’ll be sharing the stage with today.”

  “That would be Noah Shaw,” Grace said. “I met him on the train. He has an interest in the West, although he didn’t say why.” She told Josiah about the hours Miss Rhodes and Mr. Shaw had spent at the house. And then she stepped into his office and pointed to the portraits hanging to the left of the doorway. “I can see why reporters want to interview you,” she said. “Buffalo Bill? And this one appears to have been an important event.”

  “It was,” Josiah said. “Although like so many other delegations to Washington, the results weren’t what we’d hoped for.”

  “Ladora says that you’ve helped a great many people as a result of your years in the army.”

  “I like to think that.”

  “She said you’d been at Fort Kearny?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Mention of Fort Kearny is what brought Mr. Shaw to your doorstep.” She smiled. “Well, that and following the lovely Miss Rhodes.” Josiah laughed when Grace told him about Ladora’s matchmaking.

  “I’ll look forward to meeting Shaw and hopefully answering his questions. Which brings up the topic of today. There’s sure to be a huge crowd, and thousands of people plus only one good bridge across the river equals a monumental challenge. If it isn’t too much of a strain for you, we’d be much better off walking there and back.”

  “Just because I wasn’t up at dawn doesn’t mean I need to be coddled.”

  “Don’t take a tone, Gracie. I was only trying to be thoughtful—and diplomatic. You had a cane with you at the station, remember?”

  Of course. The cane. Grace shrugged. “A poor replacement for a good pistol, but still serviceable if a lady needs to defend herself.”

  Josiah chuckled as he rose from his chair. “I should have known. Well, in any case, I’m pleased that the cane wasn’t a symptom of decrepitude.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Mrs. Riley left a plate of flapjacks in the oven. As I said, I’ve already eaten, but I’d like a second cup of coffee. May I join you?”

  By the time the cornet band sounded the final notes to the “Star Spangled Banner,” Emilie and her cousins had accomplished the camping version of their morning toilette. Soon they’d had breakfast and joined the rest of the campers trimming their tents with flags and red, white, and blue bunting.

  Emilie was as patriotic as anyone, but this year she was far more interested in how the day might end than in the speeches—except, of course, for the reading of the Declaration of Independence by Mr. Noah Shaw. She wondered how long Colonel Barton would speak. He hadn’t contacted her about her request to interview him, but then he was probably very busy after being away from home. Today was not the day to follow up on that request, anyway. Today was about hearing Noah read and watching Noah play baseball and, if she was fortunate, being at his side when the fireworks display began…and then again when the illuminated parade began on the river.

  “Emilie!”

  “What?” She looked over at April, who had apparently said something to her more than once.

  “Have you decided to be the centerpiece of your very own tableau for the day?”

  Emilie looked down at the small flag in her hand.

  April just shook her head. “When you’ve finished daydreaming, come on over to the cottages. Those of us who aren’t daydreaming about Noah Shaw are going to help Mama and Aunt Henrietta decorate.”

  Emilie and May were nearly finished draping bunting across the front of the pink cottage when Aunt Cornelia, who was planting small flags in her window boxes, sighed. “I do regret the disharmony between my lovely little cottage and the national colors.”

  “Really?” May teased. “You don’t think Lydia Pinkham is a good match for Old Glory?”

  “Lydia Pinkham?” Aunt Cornelia looked horrified. “Miss Pinkham’s medicines aren’t this color.”

  April looked over. “We know, Mother. That’s not why we call it ‘Pinkham.’”

  Aunt Cornelia looked up at the cottage. The truth dawned. She seemed honestly surprised as she murmured, “It makes you ill? Is it really so hideous as that?” She planted the last of the small flags in the window box before her and then stepped back t
o take a look at the decorations. And then she began to laugh. “I see what you mean.” She shrugged. “Oh well, there’s nothing to be done about it now.” She summoned June to help her decorate the new tree house.

  Noah arrived at the cottages just in time for everyone to make their way to the Tabernacle. Early attendees filled every seat available beneath the roof, with the exception of the front row, which had been reserved for the immediate family of today’s speakers. As Emilie and Noah picked their way through the patchwork of quilts and blankets used by the ever-growing crowd to stake claims on the lawn, Emilie said, “I’m glad the Spring Sisters aren’t expected to sing today. Only half the crowd would have any chance at all of hearing them.” She paused. “When Father said there might be as many as fifteen thousand on the grounds by this evening, I didn’t believe him.” She pointed toward the entrance in the distance. “But look at that. There’s a solid line as far as we can see. Does it make you nervous, looking out on such a sea of faces?”

  “I don’t know that I’d say I’m nervous,” Noah replied, “but I am definitely thankful I’m reading instead of reciting today. People might not be upset if I misquoted a poet or faltered in the middle of a story, but I doubt that would be the case with our Declaration of Independence.”

  “There’s Colonel Barton.” Emilie nodded toward the opposite side of the Tabernacle. “And isn’t that Madame Jumeaux on his arm?”

  “It is.”

  “I wonder what their story is.”

  Noah chuckled. “Give a woman a byline, and she sees a news item everywhere.”

  Emilie nudged his arm. “Well, whatever her story is, it’s probably played a role in the fact that I didn’t get the interview I wanted. There won’t be a Ten for Ten article tomorrow—unless I corner someone else today.”

  “Did you plan to do that? I was hoping we could spend the day together.”

  And just like that, Emilie decided that either her series title would have to change, or Ten for Ten would continue at least one day past the closing ceremonies of Beatrice’s 1890 Interstate Chautauqua.

  Grace and Josiah had covered only half the distance to the grounds when she realized that, in spite of Ladora’s glowing praise for “the colonel,” Grace hadn’t truly realized just who her brother had become. Not everyone recognized him, of course, but many did, and they greeted him—and her, because she was with him—with deference and, in some cases, thinly veiled awe.

  When Josiah approached the Tabernacle stage, a smattering of applause followed in his wake. Grace’s heart swelled with pride—and then the pain of regret and shame threatened to smother it. What she had almost done. Would regret ever stop hounding her? At least she could be thankful that she’d had a chance to give the money back. No one suspected. No one knew, save God, and since Grace and God hadn’t been on speaking terms for a very long time, she didn’t expect that to be a problem.

  Josiah guided Grace to one of the reserved seats on the front row and then made his way up the stairs and onto the stage, just as the chorale filed up the opposite set of stairs at the far end. Miss Rhodes and the Spring Sisters were part of the chorale, but before the singing commenced, Noah Shaw stepped forward to call the crowd to order with the reading of the Declaration of Independence.

  Josiah hadn’t seen Shaw at first. But when he did, Grace knew that she wasn’t the only person to have noted a resemblance between the man standing next to Josiah in that delegation photograph and Noah Shaw. Surprise transformed to shock as Josiah looked and then looked again.

  When Shaw had finished the reading, Josiah rose to shake the younger man’s hand, leaning close to speak with him as he did so. Shaw smiled and nodded and then took his seat. Josiah pulled two sheets of paper from his inside coat pocket. As he was unfolding them to place them on the lectern before him, he glanced over at Noah Shaw. Once. Twice. And yet again.

  As for the speech, for a man who was, according to Ladora, in demand as a public speaker, Grace assumed that what she had just heard was not her brother’s best effort. He seemed distracted, and he lost his place in his notes more than once. But the crowd didn’t seem to care, and toward the conclusion Josiah seemed to regain his balance. The closing few moments were really quite good. So much so that, when Josiah stepped back from the podium, the crowd rose as one to applaud warmly. There were even a few cheers.

  The chorale stepped forward to lead the singing of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Cannon fire provided a rousing—and deafening—conclusion to the assembly. Grace thought that Josiah might speak further with Mr. Shaw as the chorale filed out, but Shaw moved quickly in the opposite direction, clearly bent on catching up with Miss Rhodes.

  Josiah stared after him.

  “Yes!” The crack of the bat brought Emilie and her cousins to their feet. Noah took off, loping easily along as he watched the ball he’d just whacked arch high above the heads of the outfielders. It finally came down somewhere in the brush along the river bank. The left fielder made a valiant attempt to retrieve it, but finally emerged from the weeds empty-handed, just as Bert Hartwell rounded second. The Bugeater who’d been on third had long since crossed home plate, but no one stopped cheering as Bert shuffled his way home.

  Once Noah had stepped on home plate, the jubilant Bugeaters threw their caps in the air and swarmed about the man who’d just brought in the winning runs—and the captain who’d recruited him. With pats on the back and a few hurrahs, the players went their separate ways to ready themselves for the next part of the day—food.

  Bert and Noah caught up with Emilie and her cousins as the girls made their way toward the cottages to help their mothers get set up. When Noah fell in beside Emilie, Bert interrupted. “Come on, Shaw. If we don’t hurry to get cleaned up and get back out here we’ll miss the food.”

  “It’s only a light supper,” Emilie said.

  “Right.” Bert nodded and looked over at Noah. “Allow me to define the meaning of the term light supper in the context of Mrs. Rhodes and Mrs. Spring. The former will fill six feet of table to the point of collapse. And then, not to be outdone, the latter will fill an eight-foot table.” He grinned. “It’s also a contest between Dinah and Ida, the two cooks—who are also sisters. I really cannot say enough about the advantages of being invited to a meal when those four women are competing for compliments.” He headed off toward the Spring cottage where he’d left a change of clothes.

  “Guess I’d better take Bert’s advice,” Noah said. “You’ll save me a seat?”

  “Don’t worry.” Emilie laughed. “We won’t run out of food.”

  “I’m not worried about the food,” Noah said. “I just want to make sure that I get to dance with the prettiest girl at the ball—metaphorically speaking.”

  “Well, since you asked so nicely, I’ll be sure to put your name at the top of my dance card.”

  “And if I asked that you make mine the only name on your dance card?”

  Emilie pretended to ponder the question. “I suppose I could be convinced to say yes to that.”

  “And what would it take to convince you?”

  Two familiar redheads came into view. “A promise that no matter how enticing the Penners’ invitation, you’ll stick with the Bugeaters…and me.”

  “Done,” Noah said, just as the Penner twins came fluttering by.

  Emilie was standing with May on the lower level of the Spring family’s tree house when she caught sight of Noah headed their way from where he’d changed in the Tabernacle dressing room. He’d donned a white suit and a straw hat, and Emilie thought him the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She wasn’t alone. Numerous heads turned as he strode across the grass toward her.

  “Wow,” May muttered. “Are you quite sure he doesn’t have a brother?” And then she gave Emilie a little shove in Noah’s direction.

  “Promise kept,” he said, as soon as he was within earshot. “And you?”

  Emilie smiled. “Dance card filled.”

  As darkness fe
ll, everyone lent a hand with putting away the last of the food. The Spring Sisters climbed the stairs to the second story of Aunt Cornelia’s tree house, but when Emilie moved to follow, Noah put his hand on her arm.

  “Do you mind if we find our own spot?”

  Emilie didn’t mind. “Just give me a minute,” she said, and slipped into the Rhodes cottage to retrieve a clean blanket. Draping it over her arm, she returned to Noah’s side. “Something to sit on so you don’t ruin that gorgeous suit.”

  “How about you lead the way,” Noah said, and took the blanket—and her hand. “Pick a spot where we’ll be in a good situation when it’s time to head for the river. I’ve never seen a ‘procession of illuminated barges,’ and that steamer really does look beautiful when she lights the lanterns on board.”

  When Emilie decided on the perfect spot from which to view the fireworks and then get a front-row seat for the river display, Noah spread the blanket on the ground. Emilie sat down, feeling self-conscious and more than a little awkward. “Did you get enough to eat?” Stupid. What a stupid question. She looked toward the cottages in the distance. She hadn’t realized they’d come this far. Wonderful. Mother would undoubtedly feel it her duty to have another little chat.

  “Look at that,” Noah said, and pointed toward the tangle of brush along the river. “Fireflies. Ma used to call them God’s fireworks. She let me catch them in a jar, but she never let me keep them for long. She said they should be free to dance.”

  “What a lovely image.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For welcoming me the way you have. Introducing me to your friends.”

  “They like you,” she said and chuckled. “Some of them a little too much. What did the Penner twins want, anyway?”