Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (29 page)

Josiah guided Grace to one of the reserved seats on the front row and then made his way up the stairs and onto the stage, just as the chorale filed up the opposite set of stairs at the far end. Miss Rhodes and the Spring Sisters were part of the chorale, but before the singing commenced, Noah Shaw stepped forward to call the crowd to order with the reading of the Declaration of Independence.

Josiah hadn’t seen Shaw at first. But when he did, Grace knew that she wasn’t the only person to have noted a resemblance between the man standing next to Josiah in that delegation photograph and Noah Shaw. Surprise transformed to shock as Josiah looked and then looked again.

When Shaw had finished the reading, Josiah rose to shake the younger man’s hand, leaning close to speak with him as he did so. Shaw smiled and nodded and then took his seat. Josiah pulled two sheets of paper from his inside coat pocket. As he was unfolding them to place them on the lectern before him, he glanced over at Noah Shaw. Once. Twice. And yet again.

As for the speech, for a man who was, according to Ladora, in demand as a public speaker, Grace assumed that what she had just heard was not her brother’s best effort. He seemed distracted, and he lost his place in his notes more than once. But the crowd didn’t seem to care, and toward the conclusion Josiah seemed to regain his balance. The closing few moments were really quite good. So much so that, when Josiah stepped back from the podium, the crowd rose as one to applaud warmly. There were even a few cheers.

The chorale stepped forward to lead the singing of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Cannon fire provided a rousing—and deafening—conclusion to the assembly. Grace thought that Josiah might speak further with Mr. Shaw as the chorale filed out, but Shaw moved quickly in the opposite direction, clearly bent on catching up with Miss Rhodes.

Josiah stared after him.

“Yes!” The crack of the bat brought Emilie and her cousins to their feet. Noah took off, loping easily along as he watched the ball he’d just whacked arch high above the heads of the outfielders. It finally came down somewhere in the brush along the river bank. The left fielder made a valiant attempt to retrieve it, but finally emerged from the weeds empty-handed, just as Bert Hartwell rounded second. The Bugeater who’d been on third had long since crossed home plate, but no one stopped cheering as Bert shuffled his way home.

Once Noah had stepped on home plate, the jubilant Bugeaters threw their caps in the air and swarmed about the man who’d just brought in the winning runs—and the captain who’d recruited him. With pats on the back and a few hurrahs, the players went their separate ways to ready themselves for the next part of the day—food.

Bert and Noah caught up with Emilie and her cousins as the girls made their way toward the cottages to help their mothers get set up. When Noah fell in beside Emilie, Bert interrupted. “Come on, Shaw. If we don’t hurry to get cleaned up and get back out here we’ll miss the food.”

“It’s only a light supper,” Emilie said.

“Right.” Bert nodded and looked over at Noah. “Allow me to define the meaning of the term
light supper
in the context of Mrs. Rhodes and Mrs. Spring. The former will fill six feet of table to the point of collapse. And then, not to be outdone, the latter will fill an eight-foot table.” He grinned. “It’s also a contest between Dinah and Ida, the two cooks—who are also sisters. I really cannot say enough about the advantages of being invited to a meal when those four women are competing for compliments.” He headed off toward the Spring cottage where he’d left a change of clothes.

“Guess I’d better take Bert’s advice,” Noah said. “You’ll save me a seat?”

“Don’t worry.” Emilie laughed. “We won’t run out of food.”

“I’m not worried about the food,” Noah said. “I just want to make sure that I get to dance with the prettiest girl at the ball—metaphorically speaking.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely, I’ll be sure to put your name at the top of my dance card.”

“And if I asked that you make mine the
only
name on your dance card?”

Emilie pretended to ponder the question. “I suppose I could be convinced to say yes to that.”

“And what would it take to convince you?”

Two familiar redheads came into view. “A promise that no matter how enticing the Penners’ invitation, you’ll stick with the Bugeaters…and me.”

“Done,” Noah said, just as the Penner twins came fluttering by.

Emilie was standing with May on the lower level of the Spring family’s tree house when she caught sight of Noah headed their way from where he’d changed in the Tabernacle dressing room. He’d donned a white suit and a straw hat, and Emilie thought him the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She wasn’t alone. Numerous heads turned as he strode across the grass toward her.

“Wow,” May muttered. “Are you quite sure he doesn’t have a brother?” And then she gave Emilie a little shove in Noah’s direction.

“Promise kept,” he said, as soon as he was within earshot. “And you?”

Emilie smiled. “Dance card filled.”

As darkness fell, everyone lent a hand with putting away the last of the food. The Spring Sisters climbed the stairs to the second story of Aunt Cornelia’s tree house, but when Emilie moved to follow, Noah put his hand on her arm.

“Do you mind if we find our own spot?”

Emilie didn’t mind. “Just give me a minute,” she said, and slipped into the Rhodes cottage to retrieve a clean blanket. Draping it over her arm, she returned to Noah’s side. “Something to sit on so you don’t ruin that gorgeous suit.”

“How about you lead the way,” Noah said, and took the blanket—and her hand. “Pick a spot where we’ll be in a good situation when it’s time to head for the river. I’ve never seen a ‘procession of illuminated barges,’ and that steamer really does look beautiful when she lights the lanterns on board.”

When Emilie decided on the perfect spot from which to view the fireworks and then get a front-row seat for the river display, Noah spread the blanket on the ground. Emilie sat down, feeling self-conscious and more than a little awkward. “Did you get enough to eat?”
Stupid.
What a stupid question. She looked toward the cottages in the distance. She hadn’t realized they’d come this far. Wonderful. Mother would undoubtedly feel it her duty to have another little chat.

“Look at that,” Noah said, and pointed toward the tangle of brush along the river. “Fireflies. Ma used to call them God’s fireworks. She let me catch them in a jar, but she never let me keep them for long. She said they should be free to dance.”

“What a lovely image.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For welcoming me the way you have. Introducing me to your friends.”

“They like you,” she said and chuckled. “Some of them a little too much. What did the Penner twins want, anyway?”

“Just to say hello.” He looked over at her. “You don’t have to be concerned about the Penner twins.”

The cornet band began to play. Everyone looked toward the sound, and as they did, the torchlight processional came into view from the direction of town. They marched in pairs at first, but as they approached the Tabernacle, they moved through an intricate and obviously oft-practiced routine that had the crowd applauding in appreciation. Finally, with a clash of cymbals, the first of the fireworks erupted, and for the next few moments, the sky was ablaze with color. At some point, Noah planted his arm just behind her. To provide a backrest, Emilie assumed. And so she leaned back, resolutely fixing her eyes on the sky, as if it were nothing to be almost in his arms.

When the fireworks concluded, he rose and helped her up, shaking out the blanket and draping it over his arm. She took his hand again and led the way to the river and a spot where he draped the blanket over a fallen limb and then lifted her up to a new perch in full view of the river. It was a wonderful spot. He folded his arms and leaned back, and when the first lighted “barge” came into view, it seemed only natural for Emilie to put her hand on his shoulder and lean close to say, “What do you think?”

He turned to look at her. The golden light reflected off the water and illuminated his face as he said softly, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Emilie caught her breath. Was this what it felt like? Did everything fade away…everything except dark eyes a girl could get lost in…and arms to lean into…and lips that, when they were pressed to hers made her believe that this was what she’d been waiting for all her life?

L
and sakes, Miz Barton! You got no call to be out here in the half dark like this, working like you was the housekeeper!”

As Grace pulled another stalk of rhubarb from the dangerously thinned row of pie plant in Ladora’s garden, the older woman chugged down the back porch steps and across the lawn, scolding all the way to Grace’s side. Grace added to the bundle of rhubarb already lying in the wide basket she’d set on the ground before answering Ladora’s protest. “It would appear that my first inclination was the correct one. I’m going to have to leave Beatrice.”

Ladora frowned. “Leave? What are you talking about? You can’t leave. The colonel is downright giddy to have you home, and hasn’t he proven it? Why, you should have heard the ladies at the dining hall talking about it yesterday. Not a one of them any less than thrilled to see the smile on the colonel’s face every time he introduced you.” She paused. “Saving Mrs. Patterson, of course. She’s always had a notion in regards to the colonel and her—which of course she finally realizes is nothing more than ridiculous, especially now that the colonel has you to keep him company, but—why’d you say such a thing as you ought to leave? You’ll break his heart, Miz Barton.

“Why, didn’t you notice that when we left for the grounds yesterday, he told me I didn’t need to leave a note on the door? And what did that mean but that for all these years, I been leavin’ notes in case you was to come home. He didn’t want you finding an empty house and getting away.”

Grace had learned that if she set her theatrical ear to listen for the tell-tale lift in tone toward the end of one of Ladora’s long speeches, she could sometimes stop listening to specifics in the middle. This time, though, she’d listened all the way through, and what she heard brought tears to her eyes. Josiah had had Ladora leave notes because of her?

“So you see,” Ladora was saying, “you can’t leave. Although I suppose if you got business to tend to, the colonel will just have to understand.”

Grace shook her head. “I don’t have any business to attend to. That’s my point. Madame Jumeaux is upstairs in that theatrical trunk, and I am more than happy to have bade her a fond farewell. But Ladora, I can’t just sit in that big house like some newly appointed lady who folds her hands in her lap and observes, while you do all the work.”

The housekeeper blinked. “Well I—but you’re the colonel’s sister. Folks would think I was putting on airs, tryin’ to be friends with the colonel’s sister.”

“Putting on airs?” It was the ultimate irony—or perhaps a good dose of reaping what she’d sown over all those years as Madame Jumeaux. She hadn’t retired to applause. Instead, she’d sneaked off into retirement and used what little talent she had to steal. Oh, she’d restored the money pouch to the Methodist women, but that hadn’t dispelled her persistent, lingering guilt. And now Ladora Riley—of all people—had erected a wall that Grace couldn’t seem to get past. More reaping what she’d sown, Grace supposed. Except that she wasn’t going to put up with it.

“Ladora. Have you stopped to think that if I’d stayed put instead of running off after Josiah,
I
would most likely be Josiah’s housekeeper? I’m trying to make up for the past, but you won’t let me. You won’t let me be Grace Barton. Won’t you at least try to see the situation from my point of view?”

Ladora looked toward the house. “Oh.” Frowning, she sucked in her lower lip, obviously thinking hard about what Grace had just said. “Well, now, I didn’t think on it that way. But now that you mention it, I guess I do see what you’ve been trying to say.”

“Thank God.” Grace bent to pick up the basket of rhubarb. “I’ll get started on this while you gather the eggs.”