Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (9 page)

“Go on ahead,” he said. “I’ll bring it.”

“Please just hand it over. I know you mean well, but your showing up will only create more trouble for me. The last thing I need is for my parents to think I’ve been wandering around with a strange man on a dark night.”

“Your father knew I was headed out to the grounds to rehearse. I don’t see how—”

She interrupted him. “You don’t see how because you haven’t met
Mrs.
Rhodes, the absolute queen of making mountains out of molehills. If you stroll up that drive with my carpetbag in hand, all my mother will see is her daughter and a man to whom she has not been properly introduced.” She waggled her fingers in the direction of the bag. “Please. I really do need to hurry.”

Noah gave her the bag.

The horse danced in place, seeming to sense her urgency. She held him back just long enough to say, “Thank you for rescuing me from slithers in the night. And don’t think this means I’m letting you out of an interview.”

“I won’t. I still want to hear the rest of the story about BeATrice, the town born on a Missouri sandbar.”

“And I’ll be happy to tell it,” Miss Rhodes said. “Assuming my parents don’t lock me in my room as punishment for tonight.”

Noah smiled as she cantered toward the house, her apron strings waving in the moonlight. He looked back toward town and then after Miss Rhodes. Was this really going to turn into a crisis for her? Or did a streak of the dramatic reside beneath that lovely exterior, after all?

Your father knew I was going out to the grounds.
He’d thought that a good thing just now, but with Miss Rhodes hurrying off to explain her absence—and not wanting Noah with her—a flicker of worry niggled. If Emilie’s mother really was in the habit of making mountains from molehills…if Emilie let it be known the way the two of them had met…
Emilie.
He was thinking of her as Emilie? He was. And he felt oddly protective of her. As if he should defend her somehow.

He looked down at his hands, touching fingertip to fingertip. Her waist had fit perfectly into that circle just now when he lifted her into the saddle. He wondered what color her eyes were by the light of day. If he ever expected to find out, he could not allow the remotest chance that Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes would think he’d sneaked away into the night.

Taking a deep breath, he headed up the drive toward the house.

Emilie called, “I’m home,” as she pulled Royal up just outside the wide double doors on the back side of the carriage house. Father had already opened them so that he could drive the buggy out, but by the time Emilie had dropped her carpetbag to the ground and dismounted, he’d turned Dutch back into his stall and latched it shut.

As he walked toward her, Emilie could see his face dimly illuminated by the one lantern he’d lit—the one hanging on the iron hook by the small door facing the house. He was furious. Again. As angry as he’d been earlier today when he dragged her out of the press room.

“Apparently you didn’t see my note?” She tried to keep the tone just right. She didn’t want to fawn. Then again, she did feel apologetic. She hadn’t meant to worry them. This time, she’d actually planned things out and taken pains to explain her behavior.

“What note?” Father snapped.

The
t
s were emphasized. Not good. “On the breakfast table in the nook.” She reached up to smooth Royal’s mane as she talked. Maybe it would keep her hands from trembling so. “I finished the final Ladies’ News. It’s there, too—along with a note. I left everything where you’d see it first thing in the morning. So that you wouldn’t worry.”

“Your Mother was concerned after our talk. She went to check on you—and discovered your absence.” He raked his fingers through his hair. Took a deep breath. “Do you have any idea how weary I am of trying to translate you to her—and her to you?”

“There’s nothing to translate,” Emilie said. “If you’d read my note, you’d know. I decided to ride out to the grounds and spend the night so that I could get to work cleaning the cottage at first light. I wanted to surprise Mother.”

“Mission accomplished. I am surprised.”

Emilie whirled about. Royal danced away, and there stood Mother. Fully dressed, albeit somewhat disheveled.

“I left a note,” Emilie repeated.

Mother glanced at Father. Something passed between them, and Father’s scowl relaxed a bit. Mother’s tone seemed almost conciliatory when she said, “After the way we ended things, I couldn’t sleep. I lay there thinking over how you must be feeling—I just couldn’t leave it that way. And so I knocked on your bedroom door. Imagine my surprise when I discovered you’d run away from home.”

“But I didn’t,” Emilie insisted. “How many times do I have to say it? Here,” she said, and held Royal’s reins out to Father. “I’ll prove it. You take Royal, and I’ll go get the note I left.”

“No.” Mother waved for Father to join her. “You tend to Royal, Emilie. Your Father and I will go in. After all this excitement, I’ll need a cup of tea before my nerves calm down, anyway.” She bent to retrieve Emilie’s carpetbag. “We were headed to Cornelia’s first. I told your Father it was likely you would have confided in May.”

Emilie sighed. For Mother to suspicion some plot with May wasn’t all that unreasonable. But this time, May was innocent. “It was just an idea that came up tonight, while I was writing my final piece for the paper.”

The three of them stood, looking at one another like combatants who wanted to call a truce but didn’t quite know how. Royal pricked his ears and turned his head to stare into the shadows just past the house. He snorted and shook his head. When Noah Shaw emerged from those shadows, Emilie saw Mother put her hand to her hastily arranged coiffure and step back.

Mr. Shaw spoke first to Emilie. “You were very kind to release me from my duties escorting you home, but it just didn’t seem right not to see you all the way.”

Before Father could say a word, Mother had dropped Emilie’s bag in the dust and blurted out, “You!” And then she looked at Father. Her tone was scolding as she said, “You didn’t tell me that Mr. Shaw had already arrived in Beatrice. You should have invited him to dine with us this evening.” She smiled at Mr. Shaw. “A dear friend of mine was at the Lake Mohonk Conference last year when you presented your paper. She could not say enough about you—about your lecture.”

Mother was practically gushing like a nervous schoolgirl. Apparently, Noah Shaw was more of a celebrity than Emilie had realized. If he’d delivered a paper at the Lake Mohonk Conference on the plight of the Indian, there was more to him than a handsome face and a magical voice.

Father cleared his throat. “Mr. Noah Shaw, may I introduce my wife, Mrs. Henrietta Rhodes.” He looked over at Emilie. “It appears that you have already made the acquaintance of our daughter, Emilie Jane.”

Shaw smiled as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be standing outside a barn in the middle of the night with a young woman and her barely presentable parents. Did he have experience making amends with flustered parents? Emilie hoped not. Oh, she hoped not.

Shaw bowed over Mother’s extended hand and thanked her for her kind words about the paper she’d referenced. Then he spoke to Father. “As I mentioned at the newspaper office earlier, I meandered out to the grounds to try out the stage. Of course I assumed I was alone. But then I heard a scream.” He turned toward Emilie and motioned for her to take up the story.

Emilie repeated her plan to surprise Mother by cleaning the cottage. “But when I lit the lamp—” She shuddered. “A huge snake was curled up in one corner. I did manage not to drop the lamp.” She glanced at Mr. Shaw, and he took the stage back.

“I arrived just after the second scream,” he said.

“And he removed the snake.” Emilie smiled at him.

“A bull snake,” he explained.

“Not poisonous,” Emilie added. “He carried it out.”

“Let it go by the river.” Shaw grinned at her. “Although there was mention of my ‘killing the vile thing.’”

“But he convinced me to let it be,” Emilie added. “And I suppose he had a point.” She glanced at Father. “I remembered what you said to Calvin this past spring about the nest beneath the porch.”

“So,” Mr. Shaw explained, “the snake dispatched, I convinced Miss Rhodes to allow me to walk her home.” He looked over at Father and then at Mother. “I wasn’t blessed to have a sister, but if I had been, I know my mother would not have wanted her left alone on a dark night after such an episode.”

“And so here we are,” Emilie said. “And I’m so sorry for causing a stir.” She looked once again from Mother to Father. “Truly sorry.” She glanced at Mr. Shaw. “For inconveniencing everyone.” Those dark, kind eyes. Looking at…the kerchief about her head. The worn calico skirt. The faded cotton apron. Looking away, she reached into the apron pocket and began to toy with the cottage door key. She dared a glance over at Mother.

Mother addressed Mr. Shaw. “William and I offer our sincere thanks to you. Emilie is a capable and brave young woman—except when it comes to snakes.”

Brave?
Mother thought she was brave? And capable?

Father was still annoyed, though. It sounded in his voice as he asked, “How is that you have Royal, Emilie? I told Hartwell to ride him home.”

“Bert thought I might need him tomorrow. In case our plans changed.”

Father just shook his head before reaching for Royal’s reins and offering them to Mr. Shaw. “Thank you for seeing our daughter home safely. You’re welcome to the horse if you’d rather not walk back to town at this abominable hour.” He glanced at Emilie. “I’m pleased that you’ve finished the Ladies’ News, but your plans for Wednesday have not changed.”

Mother spoke up. “Now, William, there’s no need to growl at the poor girl like a bear roused from his cave. Emilie’s home, and all is well.” She smiled at Mr. Shaw again. “In addition to helping me ready the cottage, our daughter has a rehearsal as soon as a piano is delivered to the Tabernacle stage. She’s quite an accomplished pianist. She accompanies the Spring Sisters trio. I doubt you’ve heard of them, but the girls—Emilie’s cousins—really are quite good and very popular. In fact, they are on the program at the Long Pine Chautauqua in the western part of the state in just a couple of weeks. It’s to be their swan song, now that Emilie’s eldest cousin, April, is engaged to be married.”

Emilie felt like a third-grader being shown off to company. She was blushing as she grabbed her carpetbag and took a step toward the house. “Thank you again, Mr. Shaw. I hope the rest of your evening enjoys a distinct absence of screams and bull snakes.”

As Emilie scooted past Mother, the older woman caught her free hand as she said, “You must allow us to show our appreciation for all you’ve done this evening, Mr. Shaw. Would you agree to join us for supper over at the cottage Thursday prior to the opening ceremonies?” She hesitated. “Of course we can only offer simple fare when we’re camping—perhaps this evening would be more appropriate. Here at the house. Yes, I believe it would. Please say you’ll come.”

Father, who’d just returned from putting Royal in his stall, added his approval to the plan. “Superb idea, my dear. In fact, since you’ve just mentioned the Springs, why don’t we invite them, too? The girls can give Shaw, here, a bit of a preview.” He actually clapped Shaw on the back, and then he invited him inside for “a bit of refreshment to fuel your walk back into town.”

Mr. Shaw accepted, and after he’d bowed to Mother and Emilie, he and Father headed inside like two old friends.

Mother put an arm around Emilie’s shoulders and hugged her. Then with a low laugh as they headed inside, she said, “Imagine. My daughter screams, and who but Mr. Noah Shaw comes running out of the night to rescue her.” She opened the screen door and waved Emilie inside ahead of her. “I’ll have Dinah make her lemon pie. Or maybe rhubarb. Which do you think?”

Emilie shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Well of course it does, dear,” Mother scolded gently. “We want Mr. Shaw to enjoy his time with us.” She pulled the door closed behind them. “Cornelia is going to be positively green with envy when she realizes who our dinner guest is.” At the foot of the back stairs, she paused and gazed toward Father’s study. “And Hazel? Oh, my goodness.”

Emilie frowned. “Hazel?”

“Yes, dear. Hazel Penner. She’s the friend who heard his lecture at the conference in New York. And she is going to be beside herself when she learns that the handsome Mr. Noah Shaw has been to dinner at our house.”

Emilie continued up the stairs and on to her room. She might not be as angry as she’d been earlier about the Ladies’ News, but that didn’t mean she wanted to think about Mother’s friend Hazel Penner—or chatter about Noah Shaw as if he were a prize to be won.

“He is very handsome,” Mother said. “
And
unmarried.”

A
s the night sky began to pale in the east, Grace Jumeaux slipped out of bed and lit one of the gas lamps on the wall by her hotel room door. It had been a long night. A very long night. And now—it was time. She had to leave before the hotel manager arrived at work and learned that she still had not paid for her room. She remembered him well. Bushy eyebrows and a permanent scowl. Unlike that sweet young man who worked the desk at night, the day manager would have no hesitation when it came to pounding on her door and demanding money.