Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (27 page)

“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 didn’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.”

“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.”

T
he 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.”