Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (20 page)

Emilie took the books out of her arms. “Do you really think you’re going to have time to read?”

“One never knows,” Mother said. “Cornelia’s bemoaning the long evenings without our young people about. I just want to make sure I’m prepared to join her if she decides to become some dowager, rocking and knitting.”

Emilie laughed. “I can’t imagine Aunt Cornelia being content to sit in a rocking chair and watch the world go by.” She led the way outside. “Besides that, I doubt that wild horses would be able to keep her from coming over to the Bee Hive at least once a day, just to make sure that whatever we’re doing meets with her approval.”

“What’s this?” Mother pointed to the field desk as she settled her needlework bags on the seat.

“The cousins and I want to make some signs for the Bee Hive,” Emilie said. “The way this folds down will work perfectly. And the cubbyholes will give us all a nice, organized way to keep track of our music and the notes we’ll be taking at the sessions each day.”

Mother looked doubtfully at the old wooden box, with its drop front and fold-out legs. “Do you really need it?”

“Perhaps not,” Emilie shrugged. “But I thought I’d offer it, just in case. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I suppose not.”

“It was just stashed in a corner of the basement back by the coal bin. I’ll take it back in if you don’t want us using it.”

“No, it’s all right.” Mother climbed up beside her. “I didn’t realize the Bee Hive was going to involve actual furniture. I thought—well, in spite of all my needlework and those books, I suppose I thought—or hoped—that you girls might still spend the greater part of your time at the cottage.” She shrugged. “I made a point of telling Dinah to be sure she brought enough food for everyone—just in case.”

Emilie glanced over. Mother looked sad. “Well, if they really do end up with the predicted eight
hundred
tents pitched over on the campground, who knows but that we’ll all come running back the first night.”

Talk turned to the traffic in town and the weather, the music the Spring Sisters would present this evening, and eventually it wound its way back to the subject of Noah Shaw and Mother’s seemingly harmless musings on what he might present this evening.

“He thought he’d try to do something that complements our first song.”

“And what will that be?”

“The new arrangement April wrote that combines ‘Let Party Names’ and ‘Blest Be the Tie.’” Emilie smiled. “April thought it would be a good idea to remind everyone of the need for unity and Christian charity before the fights start over turns at the table or who gets the last piece of Mrs. Riley’s pie at the dining hall.”

Mother chuckled, and Emilie began to sing in a low voice, “Among the saints on earth, let mutual love be found; heirs of the same inheritance, with mutual blessings crowned,” then, as they were pulling up into the drive at Aunt Cornelia’s, she finished with, “Blest be the tie that binds, our hearts in Christian love; though lines be long and pie be gone, remember Christian love.” She grinned over at Mother. “We aren’t really singing those words, of course. But you get the idea.” She tied off the reins and climbed down. “Noah’s doing the Shepherd Psalm and the Lord’s Prayer.”

“So simple?” Mother sounded surprised. “I would have thought he’d be bent on impressing everyone with something less well known.”

Emilie shrugged. “He said it’s best to keep it simple on the first night—and that there are no greater words than the ones in the

Bible.”

“He said that?”

“Yes, Mother. And now you know he isn’t a heathen.”

“I never thought him a heathen, Emilie Jane. But I don’t recall the Bible being a topic of discussion at supper.”

“It came up when we sneaked off behind the carriage house to have that secret romantic interlude.” Emilie watched for Mother’s reaction before laughing. “He’s a good man, Mother. You don’t need to worry about us.”
Us.
There was no “us.” Feeling flustered, Emilie was thankful when May came out the front door and bounded down the steps. Mother went on inside, leaving May and Emilie to transfer things from the back of the buggy to the already-loaded farm wagon parked alongside the house.

May grunted as the two of them lifted the camp desk down from the buggy and began to make their way around to the wagon. “Do we really need this?”

“
We
might not,” Emilie said. “But
I
will.”

“Really?”

Emilie nodded. “Really.” They loaded the old camp desk into the wagon, and then Emilie motioned for May to follow her. Together, they ducked into the barn. Emilie made a show of making certain they were alone. “I have something to tell you.”

“Well, there’s a surprise.” May rolled her eyes. “I thought you were just doing your weekly check of the barn.”

“I’m serious,” Emilie said.

“And I’m in a hurry,” May replied, “so tell me and then let’s get back inside so we can finally get out to the grounds and get set up.”

“I took my article to Father.”

May frowned. “But it wasn’t in the
Dispatch.
I looked as soon as it arrived.”

“He said no. Very firmly. But then—” Quickly, she told May about what had happened.

“It’s in the
Journal
? And Noah did that for you?”

“I used a pen name.”

“I heard that part,” May said. “And Noah did that for you?”

“If you heard the pen name part, you heard the part about Noah putting it in the mail slot.”

“Yes,” May said, “but the Noah part is more interesting—at the moment.” She nodded. “So you need the camp desk because you have a series to write now.” She arched one eyebrow. “Is Noah going to continue helping you?”

“I don’t know. That’s not important. What is important is that I’m going to need your help.”

“Help with what?” Junie appeared in the doorway.

“Help with the sign for the Bee Hive,” May said, without missing a beat.

June frowned. “And you had to sneak out here to the barn to discuss that?”

“There’s a surprise involved,” Emilie said.

“And to make it work, Emilie needs to stay in town for a while today.” May grabbed Emilie’s hand. “We both do, actually. But you can’t tell Ma or Aunt Henrietta what we’re up to. Because the surprise involves them.”

May pulled Emilie after her, and somehow she convinced Mother to let the two of them linger in town instead of following them out to the Chautauqua grounds right away. In moments, Mother and Aunt Cornelia, April and June were headed south in the family’s wagon, while May and Emilie pulled the Springs’ buggy over in front of Klein’s.

Emilie climbed down. “Tell me when they’re out of sight. I need to find Noah, and that search begins at the Paddock.”

“You also need to figure out where to get more ink and paper. I suppose we could buy it on credit at Crowell’s.”

“That’s a good idea,” Emilie agreed. “By the time Mother notices the charge, we’ll be in Long Pine. She’ll have forgotten all about it by the time I get back.”

“I’m helping you with this for now,” May said, “but you have to tell Uncle Bill and Aunt Henrietta everything—and before we leave for Long Pine. It isn’t right to keep them in the dark. And besides that, it’s a sin to lie.”

“Of course I’ll tell Mother,” Emilie promised. “Just not yet. I want to let Father get used to the idea first.”

“He knows?”

Emilie nodded. “I couldn’t just let him read it in the
Journal.
”

May looked over at her. “That explains that strange sound we heard this morning at breakfast.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Papa said it was likely just the
Queen of the Blue’
s whistle. I’m thinking it was more likely Uncle Bill blowing off steam.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Emilie looked toward the hotel. “I’ll be right back if I don’t find Noah.”

“Find who?” Noah strode toward them from the opposite direction. “I’ve been pacing around the block, hoping you’d get here before too much longer.” He held up the
Journal.
He’d folded it to reveal E. J. Starr’s interview of Miss Ida Jones. “Have you read this? It’s excellent.” He winked at Emilie.

May said something about his being on the front page of the
Dispatch.

“That—oh—yes. Of course. Thank you.” He smiled up at May. “I was hoping you might be able to introduce me to this E. J. Starr. I’d like to see if I could wrangle my way onto his list of ten—although I suppose it’s nine, now. You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you?”

“
Him
?” Emilie looked up at May. “Did you just hear that? The man reads an article he likes and automatically assumes the author is a man.” She looked over at Noah. “Chauvinist.”

“Reporter,” Noah said back. “Journalist. Writer.”

Emilie bobbed a curtsey “Thank you.” She motioned at May. “May came up with a way for me to stay in town just long enough to get the next interview accomplished. I hope you’re available?”

“I’ve been waiting for you, with just that in mind,” Noah said. “And I’ve been thinking that you probably still want to maintain anonymity?” When Emilie nodded, he continued. “I have an idea to that end. Is Colonel Barton still on your list?”

“Absolutely. He’s the perfect subject for Independence Day.”

“I stopped by his house yesterday about another matter,” Noah said, “and his housekeeper invited me to return.”

“Mrs. Riley tried to feed you.” May laughed. “She’s famous for that. Every guest must eat. It’s her motto. Some of us wonder if she’s worked it into a sampler to hang on the kitchen wall.”

Noah smiled. “Well, she said I’d be welcome to bring company and enjoy the ambiance of the colonel’s front porch.” He looked down at Emilie. “So I was thinking that you could leave word with Mrs. Riley about wanting to interview the colonel as soon as he’s back—and conduct my interview over pie and coffee.”

“Perfect,” May said, and moved over into the driver’s seat and gathered the reins.

“But—aren’t you coming with us?” Noah asked.

May shook her head. “I really do have to help my sisters get set up at the Bee Hive. Don’t worry. I’ll come up with a reasonable explanation for why Emilie had to stay behind for a little while.”

“Composition books,” Emilie said. “Don’t we all need them to take notes at all the sessions? And we probably need something else for our C.S.L.C. demonstration.”

“Your
what
demonstration?”

“May and her sisters host a Chautauqua Scientific and Literary Circle every Monday evening at their house,” Emilie said. “The board asked us if we’d demonstrate what goes on at a meeting. Monday at four o’clock.”

“The Penner twins are presenting papers on the sovereigns of England,” May explained to Noah. “And trust me, once you’ve seen those two speak on a literary subject, you’ll never forget it.” She looked over at Emilie. “You know, thinking of Fern and Flora, wouldn’t it be nice if we made special corsages for them? Doesn’t Klein’s carry some kind of special ribbon we’d need to make them?”

Emilie nodded. “I’ll get a couple of yards.”

“I’m so glad we remembered,” May said. “It’ll be much easier to have all the supplies before things get going out at the grounds. It’s very good of you not to mind running those errands for us.” She paused. “In fact, now that I think about it, would you mind walking over to Young’s and getting a set of mandolin strings? And a set of strings for June’s guitar wouldn’t be a bad idea, either.”

“I think we’ve come up with enough reason for me to stay in town.” Emilie laughed. “At this rate, I’ll have to buy a market basket to carry everything.”

“One more stop. We can use a market basket. And for the record, Ms. Reporter, I really would like a spare set of strings. And so would Junie.”

Emilie laughed. “All right. I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you. Just please don’t take a second longer than is absolutely necessary to get Two of Ten turned in and to get to the Bee Hive.”

“I won’t,” Emilie said.

“I’ll drive her out,” Noah offered.

“Unless you’ve already reserved a rig,” May replied, “there’ll be no chance of that. And honestly, it might be faster just to walk. The bridge slows things down quite a bit when there’s a crowd, and there’s sure to be a crowd all day long—only to get worse as time gets closer to the opening exercises.” She glowered at Emilie. “And you had better make sure that the Spring Sisters have their accompanist.”

Emilie put her hand to her heart. “I promise. I’ll be there no later than four.”

May slapped the reins across the buggy horse’s rump and headed off. As she crossed Court Street, someone shouted her name. Bert Hartwell trotted over to the buggy and climbed aboard. He said something to May, then turned about and waved at Emilie and Noah.

“You have wonderful friends,” Noah said. He offered his arm then. “Which way, Madame Reporter?”

“Up Court Street,” Emilie said. “We can stop at Crowell’s Stationers before going on to the music house to get the strings May wants. It’s only a short walk from there to Colonel Barton’s. And on the way, you can tell me how it is that you know our illustrious colonel.”

Noah smiled down at her. “Do I sense the beginning of an interview?”

“You do.”

“In that case, ask me something else.”

Emilie looked up at him with a frown. “Really?”

“Really. Ask me something else.” When Emilie didn’t speak, he finally said, “I’ll tell you anything you want to know about that, but not for your article. Just for you. And anyway, we’ve got over a week for those kinds of conversations—in fact, we have even longer than that if we consider Long Pine.”

He is thinking about Long Pine.
Emilie’s heart sang.

G
race and Ladora had finished their morning coffee on the porch, retreated to the kitchen, and donned aprons in preparation for the baking day ahead, when the front doorbell rang. Grace listened carefully, relaxing measurably when she heard a familiar voice. Not another telegram. Not Josiah returned early. Noah Shaw…and a young lady.

“It’s Mr. Shaw.” Ladora bustled back into the kitchen. “He’s takin’ me up on the offer of pie on the front porch.” She chuckled. “And from the look of things, I wasn’t too far off when I teased him about sparkin’ on that porch swing.” She grabbed a knife and prepared to cut into once of the fresh-baked pies. When Grace looked over with regret, Ladora said, “Now, Grace. It never hurts to taste-test. We can always make another.”