Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (23 page)

Grace made her way back to Josiah’s house through darkened, quiet streets. She’d thought she had plenty of time to become Grace Jumeaux again, but she was only halfway up the stairs when she heard the back door creak. She paused just long enough to realize that Ladora was heading this way. As quietly as possible, she scampered up the remaining stairs and into her room. Grimacing as she literally ripped the wig off her head, she stuffed it beneath the bed, along with the cane and the gray shawl, then leaped beneath the covers, still fully clothed. Turning on her side and away from the door, she huddled down, willing her breathing to even out as she listened. As expected, the door creaked open.

Adding just the right tone of confusion—after all, she was supposed to have been asleep—Grace croaked, “W–who’s there?”

With a sigh of regret, Ladora opened the door a bit farther. Her voice just above a whisper, she answered. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just couldn’t settle in until I was certain you were all right. Did those headache powders help at all?”

Grace waited before answering. “Y–yes. I believe so.” She turned over to face the door—and Ladora. “Now that I’m awake, I think—I think the pain is less. Thank you.”

“Has your stomach settled? I could make some mint tea if you’d like.”

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning. How was the opening?”

“Oh, it was fine. Just…really…so fine. Mr. Shaw’s voice…and the music. I wish you could have been there. The magic lantern show was beyond anything I could have imagined. The professor asked Mr. Shaw to read the creation account from the Bible, and when he said, ‘And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters,’ the professor actually made the waves up on the screen
move.
I’ve never seen anything like it. It was mighty near to miraculous. It made me think of all the places you’ve been in your travels. You’ve been blessed, Grace. I’m not complaining, mind you. Old Ladora Riley’s got herself plenty to do right here at home. But the ocean. That must be something.”

“It is,” Grace said. “I’m glad you enjoyed the evening.”

“There’s another one Sunday. You’ll get your chance to see for yourself.”

Grace said nothing.

“I’ll let you rest now. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Heat should be letting up in the night. There’s a bit of lightning in the west. We just might get rain.”

“I’ll be down in plenty of time to help chop more pie plant,” Grace said.

“Now don’t you give that another thought. You just rest. You need anything, give the floor a
whop
with a shoe, and I’ll come running. In fact, give the floor two
whop
s when you’re ready for breakfast, and I’ll bring it up. You remember that, now. One
whop
for help and two for breakfast.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m quite certain I’ll be mended by morning. Good night, now.”

Grace waited a moment after the door had closed before throwing back the covers. She hoped Ladora was right about the rain. Goodness but it was a hot night to be lying under even one light comforter, let alone with all these clothes on.

She sat in bed, listening until she was certain Ladora had finally retreated to her own room at the back of the house. Slipping out of bed, she knelt on the carpet, grunting as she fished her things out and stowed them in her costume trunk. Next, she retrieved the exquisite little box where she’d stowed the French buttons. She would have to sell them now. It was the only way for her to pay her way onto the grounds again. And she had to return, even though she had little interest in a magic lantern show.

Of course the businesses would stay open to take advantage of all the people in town, but the owner might want to take advantage of the Chautauqua sessions—and only an owner was likely to be aware of the value of French enamel buttons. A town this size should have at least half a dozen women in the dressmaking business. Surely there would be one owner who would choose business over pleasure. The right woman should be willing to pay a dollar a button for the matched set, and she’d know she was getting a bargain in the process.

Laying the button box atop the dresser beside the door, Grace slipped out of her dress and donned her nightgown, scolding herself for tonight—which had amounted to an abject failure. She might not have had a headache earlier this evening, but she was getting one now. She sighed. Of all the things that had changed in her world of late, of all the things that she had lost as her youth waned, she didn’t think she’d ever lose her courage. There’d been ample opportunity to resupply her empty purse tonight out at the assembly grounds. People were so naive. It would have been easy. Why hadn’t she taken advantage of it?

She turned away from the window and, in the process, knocked the book she’d borrowed off Josiah’s shelf onto the floor:
Illustrations and Meditations
by Charles Haddon Spurgeon. Intended to help her remember the right vocabulary for her current role as a respectable old maid. Confound Charles Spurgeon for his blasted meditations, anyway. And confound Ladora Riley and Noah Shaw and Emily Rhodes and their blasted niceness. Because of them, a part of her she’d thought long since dead and buried seemed to be resurrecting itself. Because of them, she was going to have to sell her French buttons. And she didn’t appreciate it. Not one bit.

This was no time for a woman alone to grow a conscience.

Wakened from a deep sleep, Noah launched himself out of bed and stood barefoot in the middle of the room. For a moment, he couldn’t quite remember where he was. Which town, which event…
June.
It was June. He was in Nebraska. On his way west.

A flash of lightning brought him fully awake. Raking his fingers through his black hair, he hurried over to lower the hotel-room window just as the heavens opened and sheets of rain poured from the sky. The air in the room had dropped several degrees. Good. All those people who’d bemoaned the heat would get some relief, and once the skies cleared—crashing thunder and another bolt of lightning was all it took to draw Noah’s attention south. All those tents. In this wind? Another bolt of lightning flashed. And another. A close one. It had struck something. Something tall. A windmill or a tree. A tree.
No!

The fire bell began to clang. Scrambling to get dressed, Noah didn’t even take time for socks, just pulled his shoes on over his bare feet. Stuffing his shirt into his pants, he threw open the door to his hotel room and joined the other men hurrying into the hall and thundering down the stairs. Most seemed to come to their senses in the lobby where they stood, milling about, talking, staring out into the pouring rain, worrying aloud about crops at home—had it hailed anywhere; where the fire was; hope the fire hose company is well-equipped—and a range of other topics. Noah didn’t care about any of them. Shouldering his way past them, he dodged into the rain and took off running south.

Drenched to the skin, half-blinded by the rain, Noah staggered through the assembly grounds gates. He was one among many making his way past farm wagons and buggies parked along the fence. A couple of young boys had taken shelter beneath one of the farm wagons. Every time lightning flashed, Noah saw more of the scene. One or two farmers dressed in overalls held on to the bridles of staid draft horses they’d apparently hitched up for the drive home. Now they stood in place, waiting for the storm to pass.

The main pole to one of the larger tents—one of the stores, but Noah didn’t know which one—had collapsed. Apparently no one was hurt, because the few people standing around observing the damage remained huddled beneath their umbrellas. A gaggle of young people were floundering in the rushing waters of the creek that meandered through the grounds, shrieking with laughter, ignoring the possible dangers hidden in the rushing water.

The grounds didn’t seem to have suffered much damage. Still, Noah couldn’t erase the thought of that huge branch stretching over the very place where Emilie had planned to lay her head tonight. He slowed to a trot but kept going, past the Tabernacle and toward the campground. Shouts and an occasional screech carried above the wind, which did seem to be dying down.

By the time he’d found Kinney Street, he was beginning to feel stupid for chasing over here half-dressed. But then he came around the corner. For a moment, he didn’t believe it. He swiped at the rain blurring his vision as he lumbered forward. But cleared vision didn’t change the view. That tree limb had been ripped away from the tree. And it had landed right where it could do the most damage to the girl he loved.

N
oah? Noah!”

Noah looked down at whoever was pounding him on the back.

“What are you doing out here?”

Swiping at his face again, Noah recognized Bert Hartwell. The downpour was letting up.

“I was—I—” He gestured toward the ruined tent.

Bert raised the umbrella he was carrying high enough to shield Noah from the rain. “I know.” He shook his head. “Emilie is not going to be happy. Nor is Mrs. Rhodes. The field desk her father carried through the war is under that limb. In pieces, I imagine. I told Em I’d check on the tent. I didn’t expect this.”

“Emilie…Emilie’s all right?”

“Of course. They all high-tailed it over to the cottages as soon as the rain started.” Hartwell looked back over at the ruined tent. “You thought—no, no, old man,” Bert clapped him on the back again. “They’re all having a high old time over at the Springs’ cottage. They’d just started a game of Authors when I ducked out to come over here.”

Relief washed over him. Noah reached up and swiped at his face. “Thank God.” And thank God his hair was sopping wet. The rivulets of water would hide the tears of relief. He took a deep breath. Gestured at the tent. “Think we can move that branch, just the two of us?” A break in the clouds overhead revealed the night sky. It grew wider until finally, moonlight spilled out. All over the campground, people began poking their heads out, calling from tent to tent, checking up on one another.

Bert closed his umbrella and leaned it against the tree. “We can try.”

“Maybe the desk can be salvaged somehow,” Noah said, as he circled the tent. “I don’t think it’ll be too difficult to put this back up once we move that branch.”

For the next few minutes, Noah and Bert worked together, dragging the branch out into the street, and raising the tent again. Several other men joined the effort, and before long the task was done. Together, Bert and Noah stepped inside to survey the damage. Sopping wet bedding could be remedied. But the camp desk was another matter.

“Too many pieces,” Bert said, shaking his head.

“Maybe not.” Noah wasn’t convinced. “A good carpenter can do wonders.”

“You talking about that carpenter who used to have a business in Nazareth? Because I’m thinking we’re talking miracles if we expect to put this thing back together.”

“I want to try,” Noah said. He looked around. “We could wrap the pieces in that blanket. She won’t mind if we tell her why the blanket is missing. Think we could round up some twine or rope?”

“You really want to haul the pieces all the way back to town? On foot?”

Noah shrugged. “I ran all the way out here on foot.”

Bert just stood there, looking up at him with a dumb grin.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. There’s twine over at the newspaper tent. I’ll be back in a minute.”

While Bert was gone, Noah did what he could to resurrect the Bee Hive. Apparently Emilie had taken all of her writing materials with her when they ran for cover. At least that hadn’t been lost. The girls’ luggage was gone, too. Aside from soaked feather beds and the camp desk, the Bee Hive had survived relatively unscathed.

Bert returned. “You don’t have to use one of those wet blankets to wrap up what’s left of that desk,” he said. “I found a gunny sack that should do the trick.”

Together, Noah and Bert filled the gunny sack, then tied the bag closed with twine.

“You sure you can handle this?” Bert asked.

“I’m sure. After I’ve seen to this in the morning,” he said, “I’ll buy some work clothes and come back out. I expect there’ll be more cleanup to do once the sun’s up.”