Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (26 page)

Ladora’s voice faded as she headed toward the back of the house. Grace closed the bedroom door. She placed the money pouch on the bed and stared at it while she removed the soiled apron and donned a clean one. Finally, she opened it. And gasped. She hadn’t expected so much. Was it the entire earnings from the weekend and beyond? What fool would leave it all in one place? They should have known to deposit it at the bank at the end of every day.

She sat on the bed for a moment, willing herself to avoid the obvious. Finally, though, conviction settled over her like a cloud.
Conviction.
Where had that come from? She had what she’d wanted all along. Enough money so she wasn’t at anyone’s mercy. She could leave if she wanted to. Leave and look for honorable work and maybe write to Josiah—or return when she’d had time to—
honorable.
What a word. A good word, just not a word she should use in regard to herself.

She closed her eyes against the memories of every little step she’d taken away from honor and into all kinds of things. She hadn’t planned to wander. It had just happened. She’d never planned to lie or cheat. But sometimes a girl alone—and then a woman alone. When she’d heard Charles Spurgeon preach about “the dangers of sin” and the “wiles of Satan,” she’d smirked. Anything she’d done was petty compared to real crime. She’d made sure of that, always treading just along the edge of the pit, making sure not to slip and fall in a way that would make recovery impossible. She had rules. She didn’t steal on the Sabbath, for example. She didn’t steal from the poor, and she never took more than what she absolutely had to have to survive. She’d never done anything that would hurt someone truly good.
Until today.

As she looked down at the money pouch, conviction and fear settled over her like a cloud. She would go to jail if they caught her. What had she done?

Although the western sky was still light, the eastern sky had darkened to a cobalt blue and the evening star had appeared on the horizon when Emilie finally finished her next article and managed to sneak it into editor Carl Obrist’s bag at the newspaper tent. She’d felt oddly out of sorts all day long because, even though the interview had gone well and she felt good about the article, she hadn’t seen Noah today. Unless one counted passing by the children’s class this afternoon when he was telling Mark Twain’s story of a certain celebrated jumping frog.

Perhaps he would make his way to the Bee Hive this evening, but if he did he’d find an empty hive, for the Spring Sisters and Emilie had promised their parents to spend the evening at the cottage with the new double-decker tree house. It was, to hear Mother tell it, the “talk of the entire assembly.” Something of an exaggeration, Emilie thought. On the other hand, she imagined that the view of the grounds from the higher platform was probably quite spectacular. She was already looking forward to joining the family up there for the torchlight processional and the fireworks display on July 4th.

Bert Hartwell was standing outside the Bee Hive, almost like a sentry.

“Waiting for Junie?”

“Wh–what?” Bert frowned. He took a step sideways to keep her from entering.

“It’s all right, Bert. She won’t mind. And I have to get changed, too.”

He actually grabbed the tent flap so that she couldn’t get in.

“Hey. Give a girl a break. I’ve had a long day, and I’m in no mood.”

“Wait. Just…wait.”

She heard an odd sound and looked over at the wing she shared with May. “What’s going on in there?”

“Something you’ll like. Just trust me and wait a minute.”

Finally, a familiar voice sounded from inside. “Ready, Hartwell.”

Noah?
Emilie looked up at Bert, who grinned. With a flourish, he stepped aside and raised the tent flap himself. Emilie ducked inside. Looked. Looked again.

“It isn’t perfect,” Noah said. “But at least it isn’t in some trash pile.”

“That can’t be the same camp desk,” Emilie said. “It was smashed to smithereens.”

“Not quite,” Noah said. He nodded over at Bert. “Hartwell helped me pack up the pieces. And I talked a carpenter in town into trying to mend it.” He looked over at the desk. “I think he did a good job.”

Emilie stepped closer. She ran her hand over the surface of the desk. Peered at the cubbyholes.

“The legs that fold out had to be replaced. They weren’t much more than toothpicks. Everything else is the same though—well, with several pounds of glue added.” He chuckled.

“I—I don’t know what to say.” She looked up at him. “Does Mother know?”

“We didn’t say anything,” Bert said, “in case it really was impossible.” He nodded at the desk. “You’ll want to check that lower left-hand cubbyhole.”

Emilie reached into the cubby and withdrew a clear glass paperweight. It was the small rectangular kind made popular as a way to frame and preserve photographs or post cards. This one contained carefully pieced-together fragments of the
Journal.
The date of the edition, the words
Ten for Ten
from her first article, and the byline for E. J. Starr.

“I don’t know what to say,” Emilie repeated, as she hugged first Bert and then Noah.

“It’s the most wonderful thing anyone’s ever given me.”

“Even better than a pony?” Bert joked.

“Much better.” She gazed down at the desk. Shook her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“For a woman of words, you’re kind of stuck,” Bert teased. He looked from Emilie to Noah and back again. “Tell you what. I’m going to head on over to Aunt Henrietta’s. I hear there’s a taffy pull in the works, and I’ve got my eye on the perfect partner. You two already have yours, so you just take as long as you need.”

F
inally, Ladora gave in to fatigue. As late afternoon turned to early evening and the hour of Josiah’s arrival loomed, Grace began to feel more panicky. When Ladora said that she was just going to go “prop her feet up for a minute,” if Grace didn’t mind, Grace didn’t mind. She’d been desperate for Ladora to do just that. It would give her the chance she needed to get away.

“Now, I don’t plan on falling asleep,” Ladora said as she lumbered toward her room. “But if I do, you don’t let me sleep long, y’hear? Half an hour is all I need. You pound on the door and get me up. It won’t do to have the colonel arrive home and me lollygagging with my feet up.”

“I promise I won’t so much as close my eyes,” Grace said.

“Thank you for all your hard work today.” Ladora smiled. “You’ve been a blessing.”

A blessing.
The word stung. Ladora closed the door to her room, and Grace climbed the stairs to Josiah’s guest room for the last time. Opening a drawer in her costume trunk, she withdrew the special belt she hadn’t needed in a very long time. Laying it out on the bed, she transferred the contents of the money pouch over, separating the bills and change into the various pockets so the belt would be evenly balanced. She kept out just enough to buy a ticket to—where?

Strangely enough, New York held no allure. St. Louis would do. Big enough to get lost in. Big enough to have a theatrical scene where an aging actress might be able to find work back stage. This time she wouldn’t hold out for a part. She’d take anything they would give her. Wardrobe assistant, ticket-taker, mender, prompter…anything. She’d scrub floors if she had to. Toilets if it came to that.

She changed clothes. The traveling suit was a decade out of date, but a fuller skirt was necessary. Once ready for the road, she paused before the mirror, twisting and turning to make sure the money belt wasn’t visible. She gazed with regret at the open theatrical trunk poised in the corner of the room. If those costumes could speak. They’d attended balls in Europe. Curtseyed in the presence of royalty.
Don’t be maudlin. You should be glad they can’t talk.
They might have walked the storied halls of Europe, but they’d also witnessed things that would make even the old Josiah blush.

With a sigh of regret, Grace crossed the room and retrieved the book she’d left on the small table by the bed. Spurgeon’s sermons didn’t belong in a thief’s room, and Madame Jumeaux didn’t belong in this house. She’d tried to learn the vocabulary to make it work, but she’d failed. All she’d learned from reading Spurgeon was just how far she had missed the mark, and if she’d ever doubted the true condition of her soul, the money belt around her waist was all the damning evidence she should ever need.

Cradling the volume of Spurgeon in her arm, she retrieved her cane and crept downstairs. She returned the book to the shelf in Josiah’s office. Tears glimmered in her eyes as she looked up at the portrait of a naive brother and sister, unaware of the looming disaster that would soon destroy their happy existence. What a fool she’d been to think she could redeem the past.

At the last minute, she removed a bit of notepaper from Josiah’s desk drawer and scribbled a parting message. As soon as the ink dried, she held the portrait out from the wall and tucked the note behind it. It only had to stay put for a few hours. Just long enough for her to catch a train.

The note tucked in place, Grace took one last look around the office. She paused again before the portrait of Josiah and those Indians, wondering at the mystery of the man who looked so much like Noah Shaw. She’d never know the truth about that now. But then the truth was not something Grace Jumeaux was known for, anyway.

“You sure you’re all right, ma’am?”

Grace started. She looked up at the stationmaster. Or the conductor. Or was he just a freight handler? It was hard to tell, what with these spectacles blurring her vision so. She nodded. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. Just fine.”

“That was the last train, ma’am. Where was it you said you were headed?”

Where was she headed? It didn’t really matter. “St. Louis.”

“But ma’am—you missed the train. You can’t sit here all night.”

“There aren’t any hotel rooms.” She grasped the handle of the cane she’d leaned against the bench when she sat down. “I can defend myself if I must. Now leave me be.” The money belt was heavy. That was it. That’s what had kept her from getting up to catch the train. It weighed her down. And so she’d sat here and let the first train leave. And the next. And then the next. And the longer she sat, the less will she had to move.

Ladora would be awake by now. Grace should have left her a note, too. She could have said she went over to the assembly grounds to hear the evening lecture. Why hadn’t she thought to do that? It would have been the perfect cover. Josiah wouldn’t have thought a thing about it. He didn’t even know who his houseguest was. Both he and his housekeeper would have retired, and it would have been morning before they suspected anything was out of order.

At least the railroad worker had left her alone. But now he was coming back. Why couldn’t a woman just sit on a bench and be left to her thoughts?

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but Jeffrey was right. We can’t let you sit here all night. You were right about all the hotels being full, but there’s likely to be a cot available over on the assembly grounds. One of the church groups offers lodging.”

“The Methodists again?”

“Ma’am?”

Grace just shook her head. It probably was the Methodists. Lodging beneath the very roof she’d wronged. Would history continue to repeat itself? She’d sold the house out from under Josiah, only to return and be sheltered beneath his roof. She’d stolen from the Methodists, and now, here was someone suggesting she take shelter with them. If God was paying attention, He must be amused. Again.

“We’ve asked the last horse trolley to wait for you. Only ten cents one way.” The man reached for her carpetbag. “Here, let me—”

She slapped his hand away. “I don’t want to go to some tent run by a bunch of pious do-gooders. Can’t you just leave me be?”

“It’s all right, Jeffrey. I’ll help the lady.”

Grace blinked wearily and looked over to see who was going to bother her now. Her breath caught. She looked away.

Josiah crouched down before her. “It is you, Gracie. Isn’t it?”

She couldn’t bear to look at him. She shook her head. Closed her eyes against the tears, but they rolled down her cheeks anyway. “No,” she whispered. That, at least, was the truth. She wasn’t the sister he remembered.