Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (32 page)

Aunt Cornelia read more. “‘I say, if she have more skill and adaptedness for any position than a man has, let her have it! She has as much right to her bread, to her apparel, and to her home, as men have.’ Now what do you think of that!”

Noah spoke up. “I think that Reverend Talmage is clearly one of the most brilliant men in America. No—let me rephrase that. He’s one of the most brilliant men in the world.”

Emily leaned forward and in a stage whisper, corrected him. “Universe.”

“Right.” Noah nodded. “In the universe.”

Mother joined the laughter before saying, “I wonder what E. J. Starr will say—assuming Reverend Talmage granted him an interview.” And then she turned to Father and said, “Which reminds me, William. With the assembly coming to an end, so will that series I’ve mentioned to you. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get hold of E. J. Starr and hire him right out from under Carl Obrist.”

When Father only looked at her in shocked silence, Mother nodded. “I know, I know. You don’t like to be told what to do, but I can’t tell you how many times I heard comments about that series in the
Journal.
You should at least talk to the man and see if he’d be interested in switching over.”

A
t nine o’clock on Monday morning, Noah stepped through the hotel doors and onto the walkway just outside the hotel. It was going to be another very hot day. He glanced off toward the south and the assembly grounds.

Emilie and her cousins were probably already on their way over to the Tabernacle, where various musical groups were rehearsing for this evening’s “grand vocal and instrumental concert.” She’d promised to meet him for lunch back here at the hotel. And then this afternoon, she had her own appointment with Colonel Barton, during which she would conduct her final interview as E. J. Starr.

As he walked past the
Dispatch
offices, Noah smiled, remembering Mrs. Rhodes’s insistence last evening that her husband snag “that E. J. Starr” for the
Dispatch.
Emilie had turned a fabulous shade of red while that brief exchange went on.

Noah hadn’t had a chance to talk to her later, but he couldn’t help but wonder how that would all play out. How would Emilie tell her mother the truth? And how would Mrs. Rhodes respond?

As far as Noah knew, Mrs. Rhodes and her sister were the only two people in the family who didn’t know E. J. Starr’s true identity. They were going to be hurt…or angry. Or both. He really wished that Emilie had told her mother the truth before now.

Truth.
Would Colonel Barton be able to shed light on Noah’s past? The very thought made him quicken his steps. Rounding the corner and heading up Ella Street, he cast his thoughts heavenward.
Do you see me, Ma? Everyone says that Colonel Barton is the man to ask if I want to know more about Fort Kearny. I miss you, Ma. I wish you’d told me more. I wish I’d listened better.

Taking a deep breath, Noah made his way up the geranium-bordered walk and onto the porch, surprised when Colonel Barton answered the door himself. After shaking Noah’s hand, the colonel led him inside and into his office. They’d barely been seated when Grace Barton opened the door between the office and the kitchen. Both men sprang to their feet as Miss Barton offered to serve coffee. Noah said that coffee sounded good.

“If she has any in the larder,” Colonel Barton added, “I’m sure we’d both enjoy some of Mrs. Riley’s spoon-drop biscuits. With a bit of apple butter, if she doesn’t mind?”

“She don’t mind a bit,” Mrs. Riley called from the kitchen.

Grace smiled as she spoke to Noah. “You’re a gifted orator, Mr. Shaw. I imagine the Bard himself would have been pleased to hear your
Henry V.
More than one old soldier—my brother among them—grew misty-eyed when you transported them back to the days of their own ‘band of brothers.’ That St. Crispin’s Day soliloquy was magnificent.”

“Thank you,” Noah said. “That means a great deal, especially coming from someone with your experience in the theater.”

Miss Barton waved the compliment away. “Please, Mr. Shaw. My ‘experience’ didn’t really amount to much.” She glanced at the colonel. “It’s a great relief to finally have a respite from pretending otherwise.” She stepped into the kitchen, letting the door swing closed behind her.

“Allow me to echo my sister’s accolades,” the colonel said, as he and Noah once again took their seats. Sliding the small stack of papers before him to one side of the desk, the colonel leaned forward and said, “And now, tell me how I can help you.”

“I don’t really know if you can.” Noah told the colonel how he’d learned about the older man’s helping those who’d lost track of family and friends. “It’s a very slim chance—and I do realize that—but I’m hoping you might remember something about my parents. They were part of a wagon train that passed by Fort Kearny in ‘65.”

“Both your parents, you say. Both of them together?”

What an odd question. “Yes. But then my father was killed, leaving Ma stranded. She actually ended up working at Fort Kearny for a while as a laundress. Which is why I’m hoping you might remember something. Because of the unusual circumstances.” When the colonel still said nothing, Noah continued. “When Ma talked about the West, there was something in her voice. A wistfulness. She said it changed her forever. I’d like to know why. I’ve always felt there was more to it than just the fact that I was conceived out here.”

The colonel only nodded. He seemed to be thinking hard, trying to remember.

Noah kept talking, hoping that some detail of something Ma had said over the years would stir the older man’s memory. “It would have been late in the summer of ‘65. Ma used to tell me stories about it, but even as a boy I sensed that she was talking
around
some of the details. As I got older, I realized that parts of it were probably just too painful for her to relive. As a result, I’m not really certain what was story and what might have been real family history.” He paused. Two images from the quilt back in his hotel room came to mind. He leaned forward a bit. “If it’s any help at all, she did mention Turkey Creek. And the Powder River.”

Thank God for that quilt, because at the mention of Turkey Creek, the colonel rose from his seat behind the desk and strode across the room, where he began to rifle through the papers piled on the other desk.

“Go on,” he said. “Tell me everything you know.”

“Well, as I said, she didn’t like to talk about the accident itself. I don’t really even know how long she was at Fort Kearny. Eventually she got passage back to Brownville with a freighter. From there, she worked her way home to Missouri—as some kind of maid on a steamer.” Noah paused. “She told me that she realized her ‘predicament’—that’s what she called it. Her ‘predicament.’ Of course she meant
me.
Anyway, she realized she was going to be a mother at some point on the journey home. And here I am, Noah Leshario Shaw, born in the spring of 1865.”

The colonel spun about, papers in hand. “Leshario?”

“Yes, sir.” Noah nodded. Shrugged. “Sicilian—but not Papist, if it matters.” And from the colonel’s reaction to the name, it did matter. Inwardly, he sighed. Ma had warned him not to share his middle name with people. There had been a great deal of animosity against “Papists” since colonial days, and things were getting worse, especially for the Irish and Italians in America.

Thankfully, Miss Barton’s arrival with the coffee tray momentarily defused the tension in the room. Noah had been too nervous to be hungry for breakfast at the hotel. Just the mention of Mrs. Riley’s biscuits had made his mouth water only moments ago. But now…now things weren’t feeling quite so welcoming here at Colonel Barton’s house. Miss Barton sensed it, too. Noah could see it in the way she looked at her brother. He heard it in her voice when she said to let her know if they needed anything else.

“Thank you, Grace,” the colonel said. “Just leave us to ourselves, now, please. I’ll let you know if we require anything more.” He left off searching through his papers, and he even closed the door that opened onto the front hall before returning to his desk.

When the door latch clicked into place, Noah flinched. What was going on?

The colonel seemed bent on letting the suspense build. He spread apple butter on a biscuit and popped it into his mouth. He took a drink of coffee. And all the while, he avoided making eye contact with Noah. At one point, he rested his hand atop the Bible on his desk.

Noah braced himself for whatever might be coming.

Finally, with a little nod—as if he’d just made a decision—the colonel spoke.

“Son, I’ve commanded men from every imaginable walk of life—among them, men born in probably over a dozen different countries. German or French, Papist or Baptist, druggist or financier, it is of no concern to me.” His voice was warm with emotion as he said, “Sadly, your mother was quite right to caution you in regard to revelations about that unusual name of yours. But I’m not one to label a man ‘worthy’ or ‘worthless’ based on who his father was.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve had men in my command who, in spite of having had every possible advantage in life, proved utterly worthless. The opposite has happened, too. Men who, because of the circumstances of their birth, wouldn’t be welcome in the better homes or institutions in the land, have proven themselves worth their weight in gold to me, both as men and as personal friends.

“The apostle Paul said that there is neither Jew nor Greek in God’s eyes. Jesus Himself once reminded the Pharisees that being children of Abraham didn’t mean a thing if they didn’t have a heart for God. In fact—” He broke off. Shook his head. “Son, I don’t care if you’re Sicilian or Irish or a blue-blooded direct descendent of King George—” He broke off, chuckling. “And that concludes today’s sermon.”

When he continued, the colonel’s tone was warm with something Noah hoped meant possible friendship. “You were kind to my sister when she sorely needed kindness. Mrs. Riley can’t say enough good things about you. I can see that you were obviously a devoted son, and you’ve earned the admiration of the Rhodes family in record time. That’s enough for me.” He motioned to the coffee tray. “Now settle back and have another biscuit.”

Noah relaxed. While he ate, he told the colonel more about Ma’s quilt. “She began working on it before I started school. At some point, she began to tell stories while she embroidered over the lines creating all the symbols and figures scattered about. I’d point to something—a wagon train or a tepee, for instance—and she’d tell me a story about it. That was the beginning of my fascination with the West.” He paused. “When I ran off from my cousin’s, the quilt was the only thing I took with me. I rolled it up and tied it shut with a piece of rope—imitating a soldier’s bedroll, I suppose.”

The colonel nodded understanding. “You’d be surprised if I told you about some of the things soldiers keep tucked in pockets or saddlebags just to remind them of home. Everything from once-perfumed lace-edged hankies to gold lockets to a pebble from a creek bed in Germany.” He paused. “Women may be the keepers of hearth and home, but we men have ties just as strong as they.” He pointed behind him at the portrait of him and his sister. “That’s all I have of my family—” He put his hand on the Bible on his desk. “That, and this. My uncle carried it with him from Manassas to Appomattox. I wouldn’t take anything for either that portrait or this Bible.”

He understands.
Noah went on. “Ma didn’t know where Pa was buried. That always bothered her. It bothered her a great deal.” He swallowed. “I’m thinking of staying out here for a while after I finish up at the Long Pine Chautauqua. I’d like to see Fort Kearny for myself. See if I can find the Powder River and Turkey Creek.”

The colonel nodded. “If you’ll move this tray over onto that chair in the corner, I’ll show you something.” While Noah moved the tray, the colonel retrieved a map from the other desk. Unrolling it atop his desk, he weighed down each of the four corners—one with a paperweight, another with the inkwell from the desk set, and then the desk set itself. The small Bible was placed over the remaining corner. The colonel pointed to a place on the map. “Turkey Creek,” he said and looked up at Noah. “Tell me what you know about it.”

Noah thought for a moment before answering, trying to remember everything Ma had ever said. “Shooting. Indians. Being terrified. And being rescued by the army. Was that the Second Nebraska? Was it you?”

The colonel shrugged. He pointed to another point on the map. Noah leaned close.
Powder River.

“And your father?” the colonel asked. “Tell me what you know about him.”

“Nothing of his background. Ma said he didn’t talk about it. But he gave his life to save us. Once, when I was young—” He told the colonel about trying to lighten his skin. “I’d never seen her so angry. ‘One of the best men to ever walk the earth.’ That’s what she said about Pa.”

The colonel was looking down at the map as he said, “Your mother gave you her name. She merely dropped out the letter r.”

It wasn’t a question. Noah’s pulse quickened. “Yes. That’s right. Norah Shaw. You knew her? You really knew her?”

The older man nodded. “I was fairly certain when I first met you. But I wanted to be sure. And everything you’ve told me confirms it. She was a lovely woman. Kind, tenderhearted. Unforgettable, for many reasons. There was a grace about her—an ability to be at peace in spite of her considerable suffering. It impressed many who crossed her path, including me. Her quiet faith during the days following Turkey Creek spoke to many very roughshod hearts.

“God also used her during her time at Fort Kearny—just as surely as He uses men like Reverend Talmage.” The colonel paused. “Now that I think about it, she would have enjoyed the reverend’s sermon yesterday.” He quoted Talmage’s text. “‘Seek him that maketh the seven stars and Orion.’”

Noah nodded. “Yes. I thought exactly that when the reverend quoted that verse. Ma stitched stars on the quilt. Stars and campfires and wagon wheels. Tepees and wolves. An elk—or maybe a deer. And a bear. Just outlines in red thread. But they illustrated Ma’s stories, and they set my mind to imagining.” He gave a soft laugh. “She always encouraged my imagination. When my voice changed—I was young when that happened, and you can imagine the teasing it invited at school—she just said she liked my ‘growly voice.’ She even called me her ‘Little Bear’ sometimes.”