Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (39 page)

One evening as the campfire died down and the colonel and Noah lay looking up at the canopy of stars, the colonel told a story about native men stopping at a lone dugout one winter day. “Frightened some poor homesteader’s wife half to death,” he said. “Her husband was off hunting, hoping to bag one last deer for winter meat. Anyway, the woman’s two boys took ill. She had them in bed, and here came a band of Indians, wanting something to eat.” He paused. “You’ve heard folks call Indians ‘beggars,’ I suppose?” The colonel didn’t wait for Noah to answer, merely continued. “Well, that’s just another example of the basic misunderstandings of the culture. You visit a tepee or an earth lodge, and you’re going to be given food. Welcomed in. The most respected man in the village is the one who gives the most away. And hospitality? No one is more hospitable than an Indian. So you can see how a brave would just assume that of course a woman would offer them bread. It was their way. Of course, the whites didn’t see it that way.

“Anyway, as the story goes, the head man heard the children coughing. Mind you, it was just a dugout, but they’d split it into two rooms with a blanket tacked to the rafters. The Indian peered around the blanket. The poor mother was certain that she was about to see her own children scalped. But all the man did was to touch his palm to their foreheads and grunt. They had a fever. So the Indian left. But not long after, he returned with a handful of weeds. He couldn’t speak English, but he made it clear that she was supposed to make tea with those weeds. He insisted. So now the woman was thinking that maybe he’d returned to poison her children. Except that his gestures made it clear that he intended to help them. And wouldn’t you know it? Those two boys drank a cup of tea and fell asleep. And that was the end of their fever and their cough.”

“How’d you learn that story?” Noah asked.

“The woman told me about it one Christmas at Fort Laramie. Her boys were in the Second Nebraska with me.” “Was Blue Bear the Indian?”

“No. The Indians were Sioux.” The colonel was quiet for a moment. “Remind me to write that story down tomorrow when we stop for lunch, will you?”

Noah said he would, and in moments the colonel was snoring softly. The night was still and just on the verge of too hot, but as the stars came out, Noah stared into the expanse of the sky. The vastness of the earth stretching away from the camp site in all directions washed over him.

“What is man, that thou art mindful of him?… Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?” “Grow old along with me…the best is yet to be.”
He sat up, seeking—and finding—the Big Dipper. Orion. The Pleiades.
What is man? What am I? Who am I?

He laid back down. Surely the God who had made all of this; who kept it in balance; who was not, as Colonel Barton had said, surprised at the news that Kit Leshario had a son; surely this God could make a way for Noah Shaw and Emilie Rhodes.

“Please, God,” Noah whispered, “make a way.”

As the train rumbled along, Emilie pretended to read the newspaper Father had handed over just as Emilie and her cousins, Mother and Aunt Cornelia boarded the Fremont, Elkhorn, and Missouri Valley train for the trip to Long Pine.

“This will give you an idea as to some of the unique aspects of the area that E. J. Starr might want to report on,” Father had said. “The Long Pine Chautauqua has quite an active group of boosters interested in making it one of the more attractive assemblies in the state. Perhaps you’ll learn something that will help the Interstate Chautauqua right here at home stay ahead of the game.”

Emilie had murmured something that she hoped sounded cooperative, all the while wondering at the change in Father—and Mother, for that matter. Both of them had gone from being suspicious of her ambition to encouraging it. She glanced up and realized that April was watching her with a concerned expression. When Emilie force a smile, April smiled back and returned to reading the book in her lap.

“If you aren’t going to read that,” May said, nudging Emilie and nodding at the newspaper, “hand it over.”

“In a minute.” Emilie forced herself to concentrate on the article about the Long Pine Chautauqua, which took place “in a maze of woodland scenery formed by grove thickets and shady glens, with foliage of the oak, different species of the pine, and countless varieties of other shade and ornamental trees and shrubbery.” The Chautauqua grounds were “in a canyon one hundred feet below the surrounding undulating prairie.” The article said it was a “delightful spot for recreation, rest, and keen enjoyment.”

As she read further, all Emilie could think about was how wonderful it would have been to be there with Noah. “Nature could not have created a more perfect place. A labyrinth of winding walks and driveways runs among a bower of leafy canopies and ferns and creeping vines…thousands of mossy banks and cool nooks….” She blushed to think of spreading a quilt on one of those mossy banks, having Noah join her, being in his arms again, kissing.

The article went on to say that Long Pine offered “a paradise for the angler. Nature’s laboratory for the student of geology and botany. Absolutely pure water. Extensive bathing facilities. All kinds of outdoor games,” and the “best boating facilities.” One strong point that Beatrice would never be able to rival was the fact that the bath houses at Long Pine were served by no fewer than seven natural springs.

A mention of “miraculous cures by pure water” piqued Emilie’s curiosity. “Taking the waters” was becoming something of a national pastime. Perhaps E. J. Starr could look into that. If the claims were real, Long Pine deserved more publicity. If they were grandiose, well…Was E. J. Starr going to be the kind of reporter who exposed false claims? She hadn’t thought about that before. Exactly what kind of reporter did E. J. Starr want to be?

A married one.

Honestly. It didn’t seem to matter what she did these days, Emilie’s mind always returned to Noah. Wondering where he was. Wishing he’d written. Hoping that whatever was happening with him and Colonel Barton and the West, it would all combine to eventually bring him back to her. What she wanted hadn’t changed. But what if Noah did? What if he decided he didn’t want to come back? What if his time away from her only served to convince him that everything between them had happened too quickly? What if—

“Emilie!”

With a start, Emilie looked up from the newspaper at May, who was standing in the aisle. “We’re going up to the dining car to have something to eat. Don’t you want to come with us?”

Emilie gazed toward the front of the car, then back out the window at the passing landscape. When she hesitated, May sat back down next to her.

“Are you going to tell me what’s really going on with you, or are we just going to continue to pretend this is all because you’re pining after Noah? I mean—I know you’re pining after Noah, but there’s something else. Something you aren’t saying.”

Surprised when tears came to her eyes, Emilie looked away. Shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet.”

May reached over and grasped her hand. “I hate seeing you so miserable.”

“And all the while I thought I was hiding it,” Emilie said. May snorted softly. Emilie took a deep breath. “It’s—Noah. Something Colonel Barton—something that changed everything.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that.” Again, her eyes filled with tears.

June appeared at the front of the car and made her way toward them. “Come on, you two,” she said. “Mama’s fit to be tied. What do you want to eat?”

“Just order us a sandwich and hot tea,” May said. “We’ll be along in a bit.” She handed Emilie a handkerchief. “And don’t say anything about—this.”

June rolled her eyes. “As if you had to tell me that.” She headed back to the dining car.

Emilie moved to get up. “I’m sorry I haven’t confided in you, May. But—I need time to think.” She paused. “I have to work it out in my own mind first.”

“I could help you with that, too,” May said. “If you’d only trust me.”

The hurt in May’s voice only added to Emilie’s burden. “Please don’t be angry with me,” Emilie said as she set the newspaper on May’s seat.
Please, May.
“Everyone will know about it in time. But I’ll tell you first. I promise.” She pointed at the newspaper. “You can read that next. Long Pine sounds really beautiful.” And with that, she got up.

As she followed May up the aisle, Emilie took a deep breath. She could do this. She would do it. She had to. She had to smile and “just do the next thing,” as Noah had said. And the next thing was Long Pine. Accompanying the Spring Sisters. Writing as E. J. Starr. And praying.

Mrs. Riley had said to pray, squeezing Emilie’s hands and whispering, “Times like these, I ponder on a verse that says, ‘Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee.’ When I don’t have words for a situation, I still hold it up to the good Lord. You do that, Miss Rhodes, and He’ll give you some peace while your young man is gallivanting all over creation.”

The woman’s sweet spirit had been better than a hug—although she’d offered one of those, too. That had been a few days ago. Her conscience pricked, Emilie wondered if maybe the reason she was so troubled was that she hadn’t spent much time thinking about “the good Lord” and His part in things. She would try to do better. But first, she was going to have to pretend to be hungry or Mother and Aunt Cornelia would hover like nursemaids.

Nursemaids. Wouldn’t it be grand if all it took to heal a person’s problems was the right poultice?

In the days following Josiah and Noah Shaw’s departure, Grace grew increasingly restless. Every morning was the same. She was awakened by the crowing of Ladora’s infernal rooster. Pulling on her dressing gown, she descended to the kitchen, only to be greeted by a cheerful Ladora, who had already gathered the eggs and made coffee and was happily humming her way through a quiet morning. As if boredom was a gift.

As far as Grace was concerned, it seemed that Beatrice had awakened for a few days and, once the brief disturbance was over, bowed its head and gone back to sleep. When she groused about it over breakfast one morning, Ladora stared at her with surprise. “Land sakes, Grace. Aren’t you glad to be finished with all that baking? I surely had my fill.”

“Oh, well, I don’t suppose I mind not having to chop all that rhubarb or peel apples for half the morning. That’s not what I mean exactly.” Grace sighed.

“You’ll get used to the quiet,” Ladora said. “And the colonel will be back before you know it, wanting to have this meal or that and waiting on folks that come to visit him looking for his help. And he’ll be bent on writing those memories once he comes back, you can be sure of that. He might even need a secretary. Maybe you can help him with that.”

“That’s all well and good,” Grace said. “But what about—” She opened her mouth to complain, then closed it quickly. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“You need to get on some committees,” Ladora said.

“Why would I do that?”

“’Cause they could use the help, of course. There’s the library committee and then the Ladies’ Aid.”

“I don’t quilt,” Grace said quickly.

“Well there’s nothing to quilting,” Ladora said. “And you could learn. It’s for a good cause, after all. We’ve got a project going right now to make comforters and such for the home.”

“Which home is that?”

“For the feeble minded,” Ladora said. “Now that I think on it, you should come to the meetin’ this afternoon. Half the ladies who come to quilting you already met working at the dining hall.”

Yes, I know. Those are the women I stole the money from.
“I don’t know….”

“What do you know, Grace?” Ladora stood up and went to work. Taking the cover off the crockery bowl where she’d put some bread to rise, she snatched the cloth off and punched down the dough, then left it to rise again. “I mean it. I invited you to everything, and you don’t want to go. But you’re not happy.” Ladora paused. Finally, clearing her throat, she said. “You gave it back, Grace. You got to let it go.”

“Wh–what are you talking about?”

“The money pouch. It’s been nigh on to a month now. You gave it back. It was a lot of money, but that don’t matter. You thought better of it, and that’s that. God forgave you. Forgive yourself and stop wallowin’ in it.”