Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (23 page)

She scurried around the side of the building. A narrow exterior stairway led down to what must be meeting rooms in the basement. With a glance behind her, she sat on the top stair, hunkered against the building, and let the tears roll.

A handkerchief seemed to float out of the sky. She glanced up and muttered, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Aunt Lydia sent me,” Cass said. “When I saw you leave, she caught my eye. She had hold of her sister’s hand. Miss Theodora was mopping up tears.” He gave a low laugh. “Poor Pastor Taylor. I don’t think he’s accustomed to his sermons having such an effect.”

Juliana dabbed at her tears. “It wasn’t the sermon—at least not for me.” She drew another deep breath. “I’ll be fine. You should go back inside. Your mother and sister will be worried.”

“Lutie Gleason is sitting in the pew right in front of us. It’s as if the good Lord put an entire welcoming committee on the spot in case I had to … check on my boss.” He paused. “You said it wasn’t the sermon. Do you want to talk about it?”

“First I couldn’t concentrate. My mind bounced all over the place. Then I felt trapped. Like I couldn’t breathe. For a moment I thought I was going to faint.” Fresh tears threatened. “It’s absurd. I just—I thought—” She gave up trying to speak. The congregation was singing the final hymn. And her in this state.

Cass held his hand out. “Keep the handkerchief. Take my hand and stand up.”

When she obeyed, her gloves dropped out of her lap. He bent to pick them up and handed them over. Next, he reached behind her and lifted the veil back up and over her face. “Now. Take my arm and walk with me around back and over to the side street. We’ll wait there for the town coach.”

“What an introduction to a new church,” Juliana muttered. “I’ll be branded a madwoman.”

He covered her hand with his. “You’ll be branded a brave widow who wanted the comfort of her faith and was overcome with grief. Here come your aunts. You can all wait here together. I’ve got to find Ma and Sadie, but I’ll try to watch for Alfred and the town coach and send him around the corner. Would you like me to send Pastor Taylor your way?”

Juliana shook her head. “I wouldn’t know what to say.” She paused. “I so wanted to meet your mother and sister and thank them for rescuing me.”

“Another time. I’ll let them know.”

“And I have news. About the house. Aunt Theodora suggested we invite you to supper, but now—”

“Probably not the best time,” he said and smiled. “You know where to find me. Feel better, Mrs. Sutton.”

As he walked past Aunts Lydia and Theodora, Cass stopped and said something. Whatever it was, the aunts smiled and nodded. He turned back and bowed in her direction and then hurried off toward the crowd spilling down the stairs.

Juliana spoke to Aunt Theodora as soon as the aunts drew near. “Before you say ‘I told you so,’ I admit it. You were right. We should both probably stay home for a few more weeks.”

“No,” Aunt Theodora said. “I was wrong. We needed—
I
needed to hear those words today.”

“But he made you cry.”

Aunt Theodora was not one to show her emotions in public. Juliana had expected her to be mortified.

The woman smiled. “Not all tears are because of sadness, my dear.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t believe I have ever heard anyone say that God
furiously longs
for relationship with His creation. When the pastor said that, I thought,
How absurd.
” Her voice wavered. “But then I looked up at him, and all I could see was that cross hanging above the choir loft. And I realized if that terrible death wasn’t about
furious longing
after humanity, what was it for?” She coughed. “I was quite overcome with the notion that the Lord of Heaven should care that much. I’ve been in church all my life. But today, it was as if I was hearing things for the first time.” She dabbed at her eyes with the black-trimmed kerchief. “St. John’s is a place of comfort. I look forward to returning. Often.” Once again, she reached for her sister’s hand.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to you, dear,” Aunt Lydia said. “Theodora needed me.”

Juliana shook her head. “I wish I could say that spiritual enlightenment was the cause of my collapse. I just couldn’t breathe.” Cass reappeared around the corner of the church with his mother and sister and Mr. Meyer. He pointed behind them, and the town coach came into view. Juliana raised a hand. Cass’s mother and sister returned the greeting.

Cass was right. They had time for meetings and for sharing news. And there was a better way to thank the people who had taken her to Dr. Gilbert’s than speaking a few words from behind a black veil.

Blessed is he that considereth the poor.
P
SALM
41:1

T
he aunts fluttered over Juliana all afternoon, like mother birds tending a hatchling. They ensconced her on the sofa in the library and set a tea tray next to her.

Aunt Lydia worried aloud. “Are you sure we shouldn’t call Dr. Gilbert out?”

Juliana shook her head. “It’s nothing Dr. Gilbert can treat.” She reached for a cup of tea.

As the afternoon went on, Aunt Lydia slipped into the parlor to work on the signature quilt. When she mentioned that she’d come to the block with Sterling’s name on it, Juliana lay her head back against a pillow and closed her eyes. She tried to enjoy Aunt Theodora’s playing the piano, all the while wondering if Martha had succeeded in getting the shadow of that other name off the quilt. Would it haunt her for the rest of her life? Eventually, Juliana dozed off.

When the telephone out in the kitchen rang three longs and one short, she started awake. Aunt Lydia hurried to answer it. Juliana kept her eyes closed, listening to murmured words until she sensed Aunt Lydia standing in the doorway. When Juliana opened her eyes, she said, “Pastor Taylor inquiring as to your health, dear.”

Not long after Pastor Taylor called, Lutie Gleason and Medora Riley followed suit. And then, Cass Gregory. “I know he’d feel better if he heard your voice,” Aunt Lydia said. “He sounds so concerned.” Juliana hurried to the kitchen to take the call.

“I suppose the fact that you came to the phone answers my question,” he said. “You’re all right?”

“I am. And I’m very sorry for causing such a stir this morning. I don’t know what came over me. To tell you the truth, I’m embarrassed about the entire episode. The aunts have been treating me like a piece of cracked porcelain this afternoon—with the emphasis on the ‘cracked’ part of the image.” She forced a laugh.

“No one thinks you’re ‘cracked,’ least of all me. It’s only been a month. Be kind to yourself.”

“The aunts and I—we have something to discuss with you about the house. We’ve come up with an idea.” Why couldn’t the telephone exchange manage private lines? Knowing that people were probably listening in made things so awkward. “Would you be able to drop by tomorrow evening or Tuesday morning? Either one would suit.”

“It’s good news, I hope?”

“Very good news. And please bring the house plans with you.”

“Now I really am intrigued. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

Juliana retreated to the library and told the aunts that Mr. Gregory would stop by Monday evening. “We’ll tell him about Friendship Home then and get some preliminary ideas for what he’d advise in the way of changes.” She glanced at Aunt Theodora. “You can ask him about windows on the third floor.”

She sat down on the sofa. “I’m going to want it made clear that the current workforce will be kept on to finish the job.” She paused. “And now that I think about it, we probably shouldn’t just presume the board will be as delighted as we are. What if they don’t want it?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Aunt Lydia said.

“I don’t know. The location? Will they think it’s too far out of town?”

“In a few years,” Aunt Theodora said, “it will likely be in the middle of town.”

Juliana nodded. “You’re right about that. But I don’t want to look like a queen pontificating ‘in all her generous glory.’” She paused. “Frankly, if it comes to a vote, you know Helen Duncan will be against it. Just for the sake of spite.”

“I disagree,” Aunt Theodora said. “She wouldn’t dare refuse such a generous gift to a cause she’s supported for years. Can you imagine what people would say if they knew about the Duncans’ attempt to take advantage of a new widow? You needn’t worry about Helen Duncan.”

“Theodora’s right,” Aunt Lydia said. “It’s all about what people think for Helen. She’ll be all sweetness and light.” She paused. “Although I wouldn’t put it past her to find a way to be spiteful in the future—if she can do it without hurting her public reputation.”

When Juliana raised the idea of calling the board together the next day, the aunts agreed. There was no need to delay. They weren’t going to change their minds. And so Juliana returned to the kitchen to call the Duncans. Helen answered the phone.

“Hello, Helen. This is Juliana Sutton. I’m calling with three requests. First, I’d like to request a short society board meeting tomorrow. Second, I’m hoping George will let us use the conference room at the bank for the meeting. And lastly, I’d like to speak with him privately after the board meeting about some other matters.”

“That’s very short notice for a board meeting,” Helen said. “Is there some emergency?”

“Not really. My aunts and I have something we’d like to discuss with everyone, and I’d rather not wait.”

“Do you mind telling me the specifics?”

“I’d rather not via the telephone exchange. I’ll call the others if you approve the meeting and if George grants permission to use the conference room.”

After a pause, George Duncan came on the line. “Is there some problem looming, Juliana?”

“Is the conference room available tomorrow? Are you?”

“Is this about the house?”

“Please, George.” She should never have done this over the telephone.

“All right. Of course. The conference room is at your service. As. am I.”

“Good. Thank you. I’ll ask the board to meet us there at 10:30 in the morning. See you then. And George …”

“Yes?”

“You’re welcome to sit in on the board meeting as long as your wife, the president, doesn’t object.”

Even though she was excited about everything that was about to happen, it rattled Juliana’s nerves to think of facing Helen Duncan across the conference room table. The woman was going to be livid. And poor George. Juliana wasn’t, however, so concerned for the Duncans’ feelings that she was willing to speak with them privately. God would have to forgive her for that.

As the sun set, the Sutton women gathered in the kitchen for a light supper. They set out a few cold cuts, slivers of cheese and bread, and a bowl of the wild strawberries Martha had picked on Friday. They talked about announcing the donation at the June bazaar.

At one point Aunt Theodora reached over and patted the back of Juliana’s hand. “Sterling would be so proud of you, my dear.”

Juliana nodded. She didn’t know if Sterling would be proud or not. To be truthful, she rather doubted that he would like the idea of orphans and destitute families walking the halls of his mansion. She was pleased, though. And excited about the prospect of being swept up in something worthwhile instead of living quietly behind a black veil for the next year.

That confounded veil.

Even being awakened by Martha’s “infernal rooster” couldn’t keep Juliana from smiling Monday morning. For the first few minutes of the day, she was happy. Then she slipped out of bed to get her wrapper, and there it was: the widow’s veil hanging on the hook on the back of her bedroom door. The reminder of all the dark truths that hovered over her recent past. By the time Juliana had her long braid undone and was sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair, the weight of memory had settled across her shoulders again.

With a sigh, she rebraided her hair and pinned it up. When she opened her wardrobe, the sight of all that black made her want to crawl back in bed and sleep for a year. Once dressed, she opened her jewelry box and retrieved the mourning brooch she’d had made when Mama died—an oval bit of faceted glass mounted above an intricately woven design created by an artisan back East who specialized in hair work. Aunts Theodora and Lydia had placed an order with the same artisan just last week. Soon, they would each own a similar piece made with a lock of Sterling’s hair.