Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (37 page)

Emilie could see that something was wrong the moment she saw Noah. He’d been sitting in one of the rockers on Colonel Barton’s front porch, but as she drew near, he stood. Then he seemed to remember the papers in his hand. With a little wave in her direction, he went inside. When he returned, he was empty-handed. But the expression on his face made her call out to him before she’d even pulled Royal to a halt by the hitching post. Noah stepped out onto Colonel Barton’s front porch. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Noah descended the porch stairs without answering. His hands circled her waist and he lifted her to the ground. “Did you apologize to your mother?”

As soon as she’d hitched Royal, he took her hand and led her up the porch stairs.

“Would you believe that she knew all along? She said she recognized my writing style.” When Noah guided her to one of the rockers on the porch, Emilie sat down, but he remained standing, leaning against the porch railing while she talked. “She was hurt that I hadn’t told her, but in the end, she wasn’t really all that upset. She said she
understood
why I would have delayed telling her. That I’d been very
busy
.” She laid her riding crop on the table beside the chair, smiling up at him. “I think that was a reference to you, by the way.”

Noah smiled back, but still…there was something lingering behind those dark eyes of his. Something that made her uneasy. She took her riding hat off and smoothed her hair. “The truth of the matter is I’ll never understand her if I live to be a hundred.” She took a deep breath. “You can imagine I didn’t have any appetite at all for lunch—the colonel and I hadn’t taken so much as one bite when Mother and Aunt Cornelia waltzed up.” She glanced at the front door. “Are we really going to get one of Mrs. Riley’s famous apple dumplings?”

Noah nodded. “I’m to let her know when we’re ready. First, though, we need to talk. About my ma. The colonel remembered her.”

Why wasn’t he beaming with joy? Why was he staring down at the floorboards of the porch as if he didn’t want to look at her. What was going on? “So…he was able to give you some helpful information?”

Noah shrugged. “Information. Yes. Helpful? I’m not sure. I—” He got to his feet and stood, looking out at the street. “I don’t really know how to do this.”

Emilie rose and went to his side. “You’re scaring me, Noah.” She put her hand on his arm. “Please tell me what’s happened. You can tell me anything, you know. Just—tell me.”

He put his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. Then he grasped her upper arms and had her sit back down. This time, he sat in the other chair, but he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped before him as he talked. “I’m going to go away for a while. Colonel Barton offered to go along. That’s where he is right now. He’s over at the livery making arrangements. We’ll follow the trail Ma did when she came here. All the way to Fort Kearny. Then on to Turkey Creek and Powder River. The colonel’s offered to show me where everything happened.”

“But that’s good news, isn’t it?”

Noah reached over and took her hand. “Honestly, I don’t know. I mean—I thought it would be. But—” He rose to his feet and pulled her after him. “I’ll show you. Inside.”

He led her through the front door, into the hall, and then into Colonel Barton’s office. Her notepad lay atop the colonel’s desk. From where she stood, Emilie could see that he hadn’t written a thing. She was going to miss her deadline.

“Emilie.” Noah grasped her by the shoulders and turned her about. “You need to see this.”

She stared at the portraits on the wall, her eyes drawn first to the handsome man dressed in buckskins and standing next to a young Colonel Barton. “That’s Buffalo Bill. The colonel and he are friends.” She looked up at him. “Are you going to meet him? Is the colonel taking you all the way to Scout’s Rest?”

“Look at the other portrait. That’s what you need to see.
Who
you need to see.”

She saw. Stepped back, aware of Noah’s nearness. She tilted her head. “Who is that? You look just like him.”

“His Pawnee name is Blue Bear. Mother named me for him. My middle name. Leshario? It isn’t Italian, after all. It’s for him. Kit Leshario.” Noah paused. “He’s my father, Emilie.”

When she took another step back, Noah put his arm around her. He guided her to the chair beside the colonel’s desk and made her sit down. Next, he got a glass of water from the kitchen. She could hear him talking. To Mrs. Riley, she supposed. Perhaps even to the colonel’s sister. When he returned, Emilie took a drink before setting the glass down on the colonel’s desk with a trembling hand.

Noah pulled the colonel’s desk chair out from behind his desk and sat next to her. “I didn’t know any of this until today. When I told him what I knew of Ma’s story, the colonel remembered her.” He paused. Took a deep breath. “There’s more, but the point is—he’s my father. Colonel Barton knew him, too. They were friends. They haven’t communicated in a while, but—apparently he works at Scout’s Rest.”

Emilie rose from her chair and went back to study the photograph. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. This was the real reason Noah hadn’t come to luncheon. The reason Colonel Barton came instead. She turned back around. “I can’t imagine how you’ve been feeling. To be alone, learning this.” She went to his side and sat down, reaching out to put her hand on his arm.

He covered it with his own, but he only patted it before pulling away. “I spent the day reading part of the colonel’s memoirs. Then military reports.” Finally, he looked at her. “You have to believe me, Emilie. If I’d known, I never would have…I never would have…”

“You wouldn’t what? Have fallen in love with me? Because that’s what I thought we were doing. Falling in love.”

He took a deep breath. “They weren’t married, Emilie. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He paused. “I’m not coming to Long Pine.” He paused. “I might even—I might even meet him. I don’t know—I don’t know if I want to do that. But maybe—maybe I will. I just don’t know.” Tears filled his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Em. I didn’t know. Please believe me. I never would have—if I’d known.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” she said. “Were we falling in love?”

He closed his eyes and half groaned. “Yes. I love you. But now—” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know.”

He loves me. He loves me.
The admission was couched in pain, but still…the words rang true. She reached for him. Lifted his chin so that he would look at her. “You go with Colonel Barton. See what you need to see. Meet your father. And then you come back to me, Noah Shaw. Because of all the things you need to know—this one is the most important.” And she leaned close to kiss him.

W
hat do you mean he isn’t coming to Long Pine?” May stuffed the rest of her bedding into the box the girls were using to pack up the Bee Hive while she talked.

“Not coming?” April and June echoed.

Emilie nestled the paperweight Noah had given her in her own packing box, then folded up the camp desk and latched it shut. “I mean he isn’t coming to Long Pine,” she repeated. “Colonel Barton’s taking him to Fort Kearny.”

“Well how long does that take?” June asked. “Aren’t there several trains a day?”

“They aren’t going by train,” Emilie said. “They’re riding.”

“Horses?”

“No. Camels.” Emilie looked at her cousins. “Of course
horses.
”

“I didn’t know Noah rides,” June said.

“I’m not sure he does. I suppose he’ll learn. He said he wants to experience things the way his parents did.” She paused. How she wanted to talk to May about—everything. But she didn’t dare. Not yet, anyway. “It’s a pilgrimage, and it’s important to him. It was Colonel Barton’s idea. He told Noah that it will help renew his own enthusiasm for his memoir.”

“But—can Noah just cancel out on an event like that?”

Of course April—the responsible one—would ask. “He said that he’s never missed an engagement, and his manager will understand.”

“Fine,” May said. “But what about you?”

“What about me?” Emilie didn’t look up. She’d nearly depleted her strength for being nonchalant and supportive. If the questions didn’t end soon, she was going to burst into tears.

“Emily Jane Rhodes.” May was standing, hands on hips. “What about—you know—” She kissed the air.

Emilie blinked away tears as she bent down to fold up her camp cot. “He’ll write. I’ll wait.” She cleared her throat and feigned a cough. “Now come and help me carry the camp desk out of here.”

“Are you taking this to Long Pine?” May asked as they set the desk on the ground beside the growing pile of things Calvin would pick up later this evening.

Emilie shook her head. “Once again, Mother has amazed. She’s bought me one of those writing boxes I’ve been admiring at the stationer’s. It’s almost as if my having a writing life was her idea. As if our past disagreements never happened.”

“You have Noah to thank for that,” May said as they ducked back inside.

“How so?”

April chimed in. “Well, thanks to Noah, Aunt Henrietta no longer has nightmares about her daughter the reporter, lingering in the newsroom, smoking cigars and wearing pants so she’ll fit in with the rest of the crew.”

May nodded. She put a pencil in her mouth, jutted out her chin, and strutted about the tent, her thumbs in imaginary suspenders.

It was a perfect imitation of Tom Tomkins, and it made Emilie laugh. “Like that was ever a danger.”

“
You
know that, and
we
know that,” June said. “But did Aunt Hen?”

April smiled. “June has a point, Em. You’ve put our mothers through a lot over the years.”

“Well, she’s in love now,” June said, “so they can stop worrying and start planning a wedding again.”

Once again tears threatened as Emilie thought about the next few weeks without Noah. He’d kissed her, but would he really come back to her? If she thought about that question for long—she went to help June fold her bedding.

But April wasn’t finished with the discussion of engagements—broken, anticipated, or otherwise. “Thank goodness you’ve given them a distraction,” she said. “I’m sick to death of my role in the spotlight as April of the Broken Engagement.” She sighed. “If mother gives me one more of her pathetic, sympathetic looks—”

“I know how to make that stop,” May said.

“Pray tell,” April countered.

“Accept Will Gable’s invitation.”

“What’s this?” Emilie asked with a fierce scowl. “What invitation? What haven’t you been telling us?”

May spoke up. “It’s no secret that Will’s been pining after April ever since Elwood gave her that
tiny
little garnet.”

“May Ophelia Spring,” April scolded. “The size of that ring never mattered to me, and you know it.”

“All I’m saying is you should give Will a chance. We all like him.” May motioned for Emilie and June to support her. “Don’t we?”

“We do,” June said.

“Absolutely.” Emilie nodded. “You should definitely accept his invitation—to whatever it was.”

April shook her head. “He asked me if I’d like to go for a walk after the concert this evening. That’s all.”

“And you said?” May asked.

“I said it would depend on whether or not my family needed me. That we were packing up the Bee Hive and then there were the cabins to attend to.” She smiled. “He offered to help.”

“Then he’s a gem, and you should marry him tomorrow,” May joked. “Any man who is willing to help women pack up a camp”—she glanced over at Emilie—“or de-snake one is a man we can all approve of.”

“Here, here,” Junie said. “Bert’s already said he’s helping Calvin load the wagons.”

“Well then,” May said. “I guess everyone has the perfect man all lined up. Except for poor, pathetic May.” She forced a frown and swept away an imaginary tear, then clasped her hands together and leaned toward Emilie. “Are you
sure
Noah doesn’t have a brother?”

The final evening beneath the Tabernacle roof included a moving invocation and a rousing vocal and instrumental concert. The crowd offered up enthusiastic applause after the Spring Sisters’ final song, and when they left the stage, Emilie smiled when Mother and Father nodded their approval. She would have felt wonderful, except for the fact that Noah wasn’t there.

There was so much to do, he’d said. He couldn’t leave Colonel Barton to make all the preparations. The colonel had suggested that Noah check out of the hotel and board at the house while they got ready for their adventure. Emilie imagined him walking up the geranium-bordered walk to the colonel’s house just now, traveling bag in hand, the duffel containing his mother’s quilt slung over his shoulder.

The colonel had at least a hundred more pages of material for Noah to read before they left. No, he didn’t think he’d be able to come this evening. He couldn’t just leave the colonel to do all the work.

As for tomorrow, he didn’t know when he would be able to see her. The colonel said his suits wouldn’t last a week on the trail, and so he was going to have to shop for sturdier gear. Beyond that, there was the matter of horses. Apparently a greenhorn didn’t just choose one of the more gentle horses at the livery. A gentle horse might not have the stamina for the trek. And a horse with stamina might have too much spirit. Apparently choosing any trail horse could be a challenge. Choosing a trail horse suitable for a greenhorn was another matter entirely. The colonel wanted Noah to ride more than one horse. Noah didn’t know how long that would take.