Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03]

  I’m at Aunt Cornelia’s with my cousins. April received a letter this morning. Her fiancé has broken the engagement. We didn’t think she should be alone. I’ll finish my article there. April doesn’t want anyone to know, but you aren’t “anyone.”

  Fondly. E.

  Noah stared down at the note Emilie had left with the hotel desk clerk. It would take him twenty minutes to walk out to the Springs’ house. He’d want time to change before catching a horse trolley out to the grounds for this evening’s performance, and he really should be in place fifteen minutes before the evening program was slated to begin. He would need to leave the Springs’ house by early afternoon. Still, he wanted to know how poor April was doing.

  She’d been so kind to him that first day, trusting him with Hartwell’s story, almost as if he were already a friend. Poor April.

  On the other hand, if Elwood Sutter was the kind of man who would do such a thing in a letter, perhaps she was better off without him. Of course he wouldn’t say such a thing aloud. He’d do exactly what Emily and April’s sisters had done. Stand by.

  Poor April.

  Noah arrived at the Springs’, red-faced and out of breath, but when he knocked on the door and Emilie opened it and stepped into his arms, he was glad he’d made the effort. When May and June stepped into the hallway from the direction of the formal parlor, he spoke to them. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

  Emilie pulled him inside, but she kept her arm about his waist. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “It’s no intrusion,” May said.

  Junie agreed. “We’re glad you’re here.”

  Having May and June echo Emilie’s sweet thoughts warmed his heart. “I know there’s nothing I can do, but I had to see for myself that things were all right before I head out to the Tabernacle. Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?”

  April’s voice sounded from the stairs. “Be good to my cousin,” she said. “And if there’s ever a problem between the two of you, don’t be a coward about it.” Her voice wavered. “Be man enough to handle it face-to-face.”

  May and June hurried to their sister’s side.

  “I have time between here and Long Pine to hunt him down,” Noah said. “If you want it done, I’ll drag him back here and make him face you.”

  April actually smiled. “I believe you mean that.”

  “I most certainly do,” Noah said. “And your father is going to want to do the same.”

  April sighed. She looked down at the garnet ring on her finger. “I’m not nearly as brokenhearted as I should be.” She shrugged. “I might even be a little relieved.” After a moment, she said, “At least he isn’t going to parade around Beatrice with my replacement. He’s staying in Kansas City.” She forced a smile. “There is always something to be thankful for, if we look hard enough. Isn’t that what the Good Book says? Or someone—maybe that was Shakespeare.” She waved them all toward the kitchen. “Let’s have a glass of lemonade.”

  Junie spoke up. “Ma had the icebox taken out to the cottage.”

  “There’s well water,” April replied as she opened a cupboard and took down a clear glass reamer. In a few minutes, they were all sitting at the kitchen table with glasses of cool lemonade.

  April finally delivered her news to her parents and Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes late on Saturday, and Noah had the opportunity to witness the drawing together of a family—Bert Hartwell included—to support April in a way that only strengthened his resolve to do whatever was necessary to earn and keep this exceptional family’s respect and, in time, their affection.

  When Noah tried to leave “to give you all privacy,” everyone insisted he stay. By late that evening, he and Hartwell were playing checkers while May strummed on a guitar. Finally, the Spring sisters began to sing—softly, at first, but as time went on and they ventured into Stephen Foster’s songs, Noah noticed that passersby were stopping to listen. Finally, Mrs. Spring and Mrs. Rhodes produced “light refreshments” from the abundance left over from the July 4th bounty, and by the time the moon rose over the grounds, quiet resolve reigned over April’s troubles.

  “Your family is wonderful,” Noah said as he walked Emilie back to the Bee Hive beneath a canopy of stars. “The way they’ve all united to support April.”

  “That’s what families do,” Emilie said. “They support one another when bad things happen.” She paused. “To tell you the truth, I really think the sense of relief April mentioned at the house will eventually blossom into full-blown joy that she didn’t go through with it. May and I have had our doubts about that engagement ever since it happened.”

  “You didn’t like Sutter?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. There wasn’t any reason to object to Elwood. It’s just that there wasn’t any reason to be all that impressed with him, either.”

  “But why would April have agreed to something she didn’t really want?”

  “April’s always been the perfect, conventional daughter—the one who does what’s expected. In a lot of ways, she’s the standard against which the rest of us have been measured.” Emilie paused. “It’s a wonder we don’t all hate her for it. We probably would if she weren’t so resolutely kind.”

  “Well, I hope people don’t gossip behind her back about it.”

  “I don’t imagine it’ll be too rabid. And even if people do talk a bit, I have no doubt April will be fine. Beneath that gentle, kind exterior, lives a strong woman. If Elwood Sutter knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay clear of Beatrice for a very long time.”

  Noah almost felt a bit of pity for the man—first, for losing out on the chance to have April Spring for a wife, and second, for missing out on being part of her family.

  The Sunday service that would feature Reverend Talmage wasn’t scheduled to begin until midafternoon, but every bench beneath the Tabernacle roof had been claimed long before lunchtime. In fact, those who attended the morning service stayed put, alternating lunchtimes and breaks to preserve their places.

  Just when it was time for Emilie and Noah to take their turn at the dining hall, news filtered through the crowd that lines were unusually long and supplies were running out quickly. Several workers—including Colonel Barton’s sister—had been ordered home when they grew ill from the heat.

  Emilie looked toward the cottages. “Let’s raid the icebox over there,” she said. “Dinah will have brought something out—if she was able to get here.” She nodded toward the entrance and the seething mass of pedestrians and carriages, wagons, and buggies that stretched from the entrance and out of sight toward the city.

  Bert walked up, mopping his brow. “There are so many people headed this way that they’re actually worried about overstressing the bridge. The Burlington’s bringing in five excursion trains today, and there’s at least five more specials headed this way. It took me nearly an hour to get here.” He smiled over at Junie as he produced a tiny nosegay of wildflowers from the inside pocket of his suit coat.

  “Bert Hartwell,” Junie said, blushing.

  “Sorry they’re wilted,” he said and settled next to her before waving Emilie and Noah toward the cottages. “Bring us back a drink of water if you don’t mind.”

  Emilie led the way to the cottage, only to find that someone had raided the icebox. “Mother will be incensed,” she said as she rifled through a basket sitting atop the icebox. “There’s a bit of tea left, but if we take time to make it…”

  “It’s all right,” Noah said. “Let’s just head back. We’ll be all right. Maybe I’ll persuade you to join me for supper at the hotel later this evening.”

  “Will the hotel have anything left? It must be bedlam in town.”

  Noah grinned. “We can always throw ourselves on Mrs. Riley’s mercy again.”

  “Dinah would never forgive me. If the hotel can’t help us, we’ll just head home.”

  “I thought you said that Dinah essentially had the ten days of Chautauqua as a holiday—save for bringing a picnic supper out for yo
ur parents.”

  “She does,” Emilie said. “But just because I don’t cook doesn’t mean I can’t.”

  As it turned out, both families ended up back at the Rhodeses’ house late that night, talking over the size of the crowd (thirty thousand), the effect of thousands of voices singing “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name,” and the fact that Mrs. Penner had “scooped” everyone when her husband convinced the famous Reverend Talmage to deliver a ten-minute address from the balcony of the Penners’ cottage, under the auspices of enabling a few more people to actually hear what the man had to say.

  Later that evening, as the family gathered back at the cottages, Aunt Cornelia produced an issue of Leslie’s Illustrated and read Reverend Talmage’s contribution aloud. “‘It is said, if woman is given…opportunities she will occupy places that might be taken by men.’”

  “There’s a terrifying thought,” Father said.

  Mother nudged him. “Hush, William. You might learn something.”

  Father didn’t try to hide his amusement. “I suppose I have Miss Ida Jones and her talk of suffrage and women’s influence to thank for this?”

  Aunt Cornelia read more. “‘I say, if she have more skill and adaptedness for any position than a man has, let her have it! She has as much right to her bread, to her apparel, and to her home, as men have.’ Now what do you think of that!”

  Noah spoke up. “I think that Reverend Talmage is clearly one of the most brilliant men in America. No—let me rephrase that. He’s one of the most brilliant men in the world.”

  Emily leaned forward and in a stage whisper, corrected him. “Universe.”

  “Right.” Noah nodded. “In the universe.”

  Mother joined the laughter before saying, “I wonder what E. J. Starr will say—assuming Reverend Talmage granted him an interview.” And then she turned to Father and said, “Which reminds me, William. With the assembly coming to an end, so will that series I’ve mentioned to you. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get hold of E. J. Starr and hire him right out from under Carl Obrist.”

  When Father only looked at her in shocked silence, Mother nodded. “I know, I know. You don’t like to be told what to do, but I can’t tell you how many times I heard comments about that series in the Journal. You should at least talk to the man and see if he’d be interested in switching over.”

  CHAPTER 23

  At nine o’clock on Monday morning, Noah stepped through the hotel doors and onto the walkway just outside the hotel. It was going to be another very hot day. He glanced off toward the south and the assembly grounds.

  Emilie and her cousins were probably already on their way over to the Tabernacle, where various musical groups were rehearsing for this evening’s “grand vocal and instrumental concert.” She’d promised to meet him for lunch back here at the hotel. And then this afternoon, she had her own appointment with Colonel Barton, during which she would conduct her final interview as E. J. Starr.

  As he walked past the Dispatch offices, Noah smiled, remembering Mrs. Rhodes’s insistence last evening that her husband snag “that E. J. Starr” for the Dispatch. Emilie had turned a fabulous shade of red while that brief exchange went on.

  Noah hadn’t had a chance to talk to her later, but he couldn’t help but wonder how that would all play out. How would Emilie tell her mother the truth? And how would Mrs. Rhodes respond?

  As far as Noah knew, Mrs. Rhodes and her sister were the only two people in the family who didn’t know E. J. Starr’s true identity. They were going to be hurt…or angry. Or both. He really wished that Emilie had told her mother the truth before now.

  Truth. Would Colonel Barton be able to shed light on Noah’s past? The very thought made him quicken his steps. Rounding the corner and heading up Ella Street, he cast his thoughts heavenward. Do you see me, Ma? Everyone says that Colonel Barton is the man to ask if I want to know more about Fort Kearny. I miss you, Ma. I wish you’d told me more. I wish I’d listened better.

  Taking a deep breath, Noah made his way up the geranium-bordered walk and onto the porch, surprised when Colonel Barton answered the door himself. After shaking Noah’s hand, the colonel led him inside and into his office. They’d barely been seated when Grace Barton opened the door between the office and the kitchen. Both men sprang to their feet as Miss Barton offered to serve coffee. Noah said that coffee sounded good.

  “If she has any in the larder,” Colonel Barton added, “I’m sure we’d both enjoy some of Mrs. Riley’s spoon-drop biscuits. With a bit of apple butter, if she doesn’t mind?”

  “She don’t mind a bit,” Mrs. Riley called from the kitchen.

  Grace smiled as she spoke to Noah. “You’re a gifted orator, Mr. Shaw. I imagine the Bard himself would have been pleased to hear your Henry V. More than one old soldier—my brother among them—grew misty-eyed when you transported them back to the days of their own ‘band of brothers.’ That St. Crispin’s Day soliloquy was magnificent.”

  “Thank you,” Noah said. “That means a great deal, especially coming from someone with your experience in the theater.”

  Miss Barton waved the compliment away. “Please, Mr. Shaw. My ‘experience’ didn’t really amount to much.” She glanced at the colonel. “It’s a great relief to finally have a respite from pretending otherwise.” She stepped into the kitchen, letting the door swing closed behind her.

  “Allow me to echo my sister’s accolades,” the colonel said, as he and Noah once again took their seats. Sliding the small stack of papers before him to one side of the desk, the colonel leaned forward and said, “And now, tell me how I can help you.”

  “I don’t really know if you can.” Noah told the colonel how he’d learned about the older man’s helping those who’d lost track of family and friends. “It’s a very slim chance—and I do realize that—but I’m hoping you might remember something about my parents. They were part of a wagon train that passed by Fort Kearny in ‘65.”

  “Both your parents, you say. Both of them together?”

  What an odd question. “Yes. But then my father was killed, leaving Ma stranded. She actually ended up working at Fort Kearny for a while as a laundress. Which is why I’m hoping you might remember something. Because of the unusual circumstances.” When the colonel still said nothing, Noah continued. “When Ma talked about the West, there was something in her voice. A wistfulness. She said it changed her forever. I’d like to know why. I’ve always felt there was more to it than just the fact that I was conceived out here.”

  The colonel only nodded. He seemed to be thinking hard, trying to remember.

  Noah kept talking, hoping that some detail of something Ma had said over the years would stir the older man’s memory. “It would have been late in the summer of ‘65. Ma used to tell me stories about it, but even as a boy I sensed that she was talking around some of the details. As I got older, I realized that parts of it were probably just too painful for her to relive. As a result, I’m not really certain what was story and what might have been real family history.” He paused. Two images from the quilt back in his hotel room came to mind. He leaned forward a bit. “If it’s any help at all, she did mention Turkey Creek. And the Powder River.”

  Thank God for that quilt, because at the mention of Turkey Creek, the colonel rose from his seat behind the desk and strode across the room, where he began to rifle through the papers piled on the other desk.

  “Go on,” he said. “Tell me everything you know.”

  “Well, as I said, she didn’t like to talk about the accident itself. I don’t really even know how long she was at Fort Kearny. Eventually she got passage back to Brownville with a freighter. From there, she worked her way home to Missouri—as some kind of maid on a steamer.” Noah paused. “She told me that she realized her ‘predicament’—that’s what she called it. Her ‘predicament.’ Of course she meant me. Anyway, she realized she was going to be a mother at some point on the journey home. And here I am, Noah Leshario Shaw, born in the
spring of 1865.”

  The colonel spun about, papers in hand. “Leshario?”

  “Yes, sir.” Noah nodded. Shrugged. “Sicilian—but not Papist, if it matters.” And from the colonel’s reaction to the name, it did matter. Inwardly, he sighed. Ma had warned him not to share his middle name with people. There had been a great deal of animosity against “Papists” since colonial days, and things were getting worse, especially for the Irish and Italians in America.

  Thankfully, Miss Barton’s arrival with the coffee tray momentarily defused the tension in the room. Noah had been too nervous to be hungry for breakfast at the hotel. Just the mention of Mrs. Riley’s biscuits had made his mouth water only moments ago. But now…now things weren’t feeling quite so welcoming here at Colonel Barton’s house. Miss Barton sensed it, too. Noah could see it in the way she looked at her brother. He heard it in her voice when she said to let her know if they needed anything else.

  “Thank you, Grace,” the colonel said. “Just leave us to ourselves, now, please. I’ll let you know if we require anything more.” He left off searching through his papers, and he even closed the door that opened onto the front hall before returning to his desk.

  When the door latch clicked into place, Noah flinched. What was going on?

  The colonel seemed bent on letting the suspense build. He spread apple butter on a biscuit and popped it into his mouth. He took a drink of coffee. And all the while, he avoided making eye contact with Noah. At one point, he rested his hand atop the Bible on his desk.

  Noah braced himself for whatever might be coming.

  Finally, with a little nod—as if he’d just made a decision—the colonel spoke.

  “Son, I’ve commanded men from every imaginable walk of life—among them, men born in probably over a dozen different countries. German or French, Papist or Baptist, druggist or financier, it is of no concern to me.” His voice was warm with emotion as he said, “Sadly, your mother was quite right to caution you in regard to revelations about that unusual name of yours. But I’m not one to label a man ‘worthy’ or ‘worthless’ based on who his father was.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve had men in my command who, in spite of having had every possible advantage in life, proved utterly worthless. The opposite has happened, too. Men who, because of the circumstances of their birth, wouldn’t be welcome in the better homes or institutions in the land, have proven themselves worth their weight in gold to me, both as men and as personal friends.