Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (17 page)

Emilie shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it clear that you didn’t put me up to it.”

“That’s not why I’m offering to linger. I was offering moral support. As a friend.” He paused. “You still have time to change your mind, you know. There’s an amazing new invention called a telephone. It’s not too late to stop the presses.”

“I don’t want to do that.” It was true, even though the prospect of talking to Father about what she’d done made her stomach hurt.

“You barely ate. And that was a delicious meal. I’ve never heard of sauce instead of jelly with lamb, but it was wonderful.”

Emilie chuckled. “You should have heard the panic in the kitchen this morning when Dinah realized she was out of mint jelly. I’m glad you didn’t realize it was a substitute. I’ll be sure and tell her.”

Noah checked the rented buggy horse’s feet for stones. He went over the harness carefully. Finally, he walked around and prepared to climb aboard, but then he hesitated. “Emilie.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think it would cause too much of a stir if I were to reserve a seat for you at the opening ceremonies tomorrow evening?”

“Do you think I’d care if it did?”

He glanced toward the house, then back at her. “And if I were to kiss you on the cheek right now?”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Now you don’t have to worry about it.” And she hurried inside.

The house was dark. Expecting to see light spilling into the hall from Father’s office, Emilie was surprised to hear laughter floating down the back stairs from the upstairs hall. Ah. She wasn’t going to have a chance to talk to Father, after all.

She moved quietly, padding across the carpet to a window that looked out on the drive, being careful not to disturb the drape as she watched Noah climb up into the buggy. Once seated, he paused and looked toward the house before flicking the reins and heading up the drive toward the road. Emilie hurried to the front of the house, turning down the gas lights in the entry hall and perching on the window seat to catch a last glimpse of him.

She started and got to her feet when she heard the click of a door sounding from the upstairs hall.

Mother appeared at the top of the stairs. When she saw Emilie, she descended. “He is a lovely, lovely man,” she said. “I just wanted to caution you about moving too quickly, dear. You don’t want to be too forward.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A kiss is hardly appropriate. You’ve known Mr. Shaw for one day. You don’t want him to think you’re anything but a lady.”

Had it really been only one day? In some ways, it felt like she’d known Noah Shaw for years. What did that mean? “It was only a kiss on the cheek, Mother. And it was his idea.”

She was silent for a moment. “I see.”

No. You don’t.
How could she. Emilie herself didn’t really “see.” All she knew was that tomorrow evening seemed far too long to wait to see him again.

Father’s voice sounded from the dark at the top of the stairs. “Etta. Come to bed.”

Mother looked over her shoulder, then back at Emilie. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.” She called up to Father, “Coming, Will.”

Noah turned the rig in at the livery and headed back toward the hotel, but instead of going in and up to his room, he kept walking, thinking about Emilie Rhodes. How was it possible to feel so comfortable with someone you’d just met? How was it possible for a woman wearing faded calico and a ragged apron to look adorable? He’d teased her about those apron strings, but what he’d said wasn’t far from the truth. He could no more have walked away from Emilie last night than he could have flown back to town. It was as if a magnet drew him to follow her up the drive to her house.

As for today, he was tempted to think that God was arranging things so that he and Emilie would spend more time together. Miss Jones had immediately agreed to let Emilie interview her. Then, there was the coincidence that he and Miss Jones had arrived out at the grounds just as the Spring Sisters were beginning to rehearse. As for Miss Jones, she’d liked Emilie at once. Emilie’s cousins and Bert Hartwell included him in their activities without hesitation. And then she’d trusted him after her father rejected the article. It all made him feel like he’d been given a precious gift.

He looked up at the night sky and, once again, located the Bear.
Do you see me, Pa? Do you see me, Ma? These people…they’re so welcoming. Do you see her? What do you think?
He liked to think that God sometimes peeled back the sky and let his mother and father see their son. It made him feel less alone. He thought about Colonel Barton, and reminded himself that the likelihood of learning anything more about his parents was slim.

As he shoved his hands in his pockets and headed back toward the hotel, he thought about the changes in this part of the country since Ma and Pa and thousands of people just like them had crossed rivers and creeks and thousands of miles on their way to a better life. Thousands had made it…and thousands hadn’t. Walking by Colonel Barton’s place made him think of poor Grace Jumeaux. What was really behind her desire to meet with Colonel Barton? She was an odd woman. Probably accustomed to lying, although it made Noah feel guilty just to think the words. He hoped Ladora Riley’s years of experience as the colonel’s housekeeper had made her wise to the ways of “wayfaring strangers.”

You’re a wayfaring stranger. Be careful about looking down your nose at others.
It was a good reminder. A man shouldn’t think too highly of himself. That was in the Bible. He smiled, thinking of Ma’s gift for quoting chapter and verse of the Good Book. Somehow, she’d always known exactly which ones he needed to hear. If she were with him right now, she’d smile up at him as sweetly as could be as she said, “‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.’”

He wished Ma was here with him. He’d take her to the opening exercises tomorrow evening, and she’d meet Emilie Rhodes. Maybe she’d help him figure out what was going on in his heart and soul over the girl he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. He’d been arguing with himself about it since standing at the back of that Tabernacle, watching her play the piano today. She was just a girl he’d met because of a bull snake. Then again, Ma had always said that sometimes God was doing His best work when it seemed that He wasn’t paying any attention at all.

Emilie wasn’t “just a girl.” He didn’t really need Ma to tell him that. He knew it because it had taken everything in him to keep from pulling her into his arms when she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek a little while ago. He knew it because even now, as he walked toward the Paddock Hotel, he could remember the faint scent of the roses pinned in her hair and the sensation of her lips against his cheek. He knew it because he was worried about what would happen when her father found out what she’d decided to do with that article she’d written. He knew it because…because he knew.

Emilie started awake. She felt a moment of panic, thinking that she’d overslept, but then she realized that what had awakened her was the sound of wagon wheels crunching on the drive. Apparently Dinah had ignored Mother’s directive to sleep a little later after the previous night’s entertainment.

Slipping out of bed, Emilie padded to the window. The indigo sky had barely begun to lighten just above the eastern horizon. It couldn’t even be five o’clock yet. How did Dinah do it? She and Aunt Cornelia’s Ida had worked until nearly midnight, with Dinah insisting that every dish be washed and returned to its proper place in the pantry, every kitchen counter scrubbed, every damask napkin treated for stains and ready to be washed in the morning.

Emilie knew this because she and the cousins had helped clear the table after dessert. They’d seen the mounds of dishes on the counters, carried the coffee and tea tray into the formal parlor, and witnessed Mother’s insistence that she would deal with the coffee cups herself and that Dinah and Ida were to go home
now.

Now that Emilie thought about it, Dinah and Ida were probably looking forward to Chautauqua for very different reasons than the family. Gathering eggs, milking the cow, and preparing and delivering a picnic supper to the cottage once a day amounted to a holiday compared to what those two women managed most of the time. Maybe she should interview a housekeeper for Ten for Ten.

She chuckled when the idea first arrived, but the more she thought about it, the more she wondered if maybe it was one of her more original ideas. Mother had often said that she’d be lost without Dinah. Now that Emilie thought about it, Dinah and Ida were the reason that Mother and Aunt Cornelia had time to champion their causes. What would happen to those causes if the women who supported them had to do without their housekeepers and maids and gardeners? Emilie had never stopped to think about the layers of society and what would happen if they stopped cooperating. Maybe the concerns of the labor unions were more important than temperance. Maybe she should think less and get dressed for the day.

She dressed in the dark, donning a simple green gored skirt and a white blouse. She brushed her hair and tied it back with a ribbon, then waited until she heard Dinah leave to gather eggs before descending to the kitchen to make coffee and set up the silver serving tray in the nook in preparation for Father’s appearance.

She was seated in the breakfast nook waiting when she heard him head down the front stairs. She stirred sugar into her own coffee to try to give her trembling hands something to do.

She spoke before he had a chance. “There’s something you need to know.”

Father sighed as he settled opposite her. He lifted the silver coffeepot and filled the shaving mug he drank coffee out of every morning. It was his silent protest against the minuscule cups that were part of the delicate porcelain breakfast set Mother loved and he despised. “I don’t want to get between you and your mother on this, Emilie. Discussions about such things are for daughters and their
mothers.
”

Emilie frowned. “What are you talking about?”

He seemed surprised. “This isn’t about your…behavior…with Mr. Shaw before he left last night?”

“What behavior?” The words were out of her mouth before she realized what he meant. “Is Mother really so upset about a peck on the cheek?” She held up her hand. “Never mind. You’re right. Not something I want to discuss with my father. Besides, that’s not why I got up early. I wanted to talk to you about my article.”

He grimaced. “I want to talk about that even less than I want to talk about the other matter.”

“I don’t want to fight about it.”

“Thank God.”

Dinah came in from gathering eggs. While the door was open, Emilie heard the sound of a horse cantering up the drive. “That’ll be Billy Towle. I’ll see to it.” Sizing up the competition had been part of Father’s routine for as long as Emilie could remember. He’d hired a boy to bring him the
Dispatch
and the
Journal
as soon as the first copies came off the presses in the morning. She supposed that Carl Obrist of the
Journal
had a similar arrangement.

As she opened the side door, Dinah said, “Tell Billy I’ll scramble some eggs if he wants them.”