Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (24 page)

Crossing to her dressing mirror, Juliana pinned the mourning brooch in place. She reached for the widow’s veil hanging on the door. Instead of putting it on, she retreated to the dressing table and sat down. She reached up to touch the brooch at her neck and thought of the lock of hair inside the locket in her drawer.

She looked down at the veil. She didn’t want it. If she spent the next year behind a veil, she wouldn’t be able to help with the school and the Friendship Home. Oh, she could throw more money at projects, but that wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she needed. She needed to wrest the good parts of the unfinished past and somehow piece it all together into something whole. Something good. Something that could dispel the shadow of that name on the quilt from her life, once and for all.

She lifted her head. Looked across the room at herself, seated, the long veil clutched in her arms. Opening a drawer, she took out a pair of scissors. Slowly, carefully, she snipped the threads attaching the veil to the black bonnet. The net fell to the floor. Rising, Juliana crossed to the dressing mirror and pinned the black hat in place. There. One step in the right direction. Out of the shadows.

Juliana headed down the back stairs, hesitating when she saw both aunts already seated at the table having breakfast. She forced herself to meet Aunt Theodora’s gaze. “I’ll dress simply and respectfully, but I cannot bear that widow’s veil. There is work to be done. I don’t just want to throw money at our project. I want to
do
it.”

Aunt Theodora glowered at her sister. “This is your fault. All that talk of Teddy and how you should have celebrated him instead of following tradition.”

Aunt Lydia set her teacup down. “I see no reason for a young, beautiful woman to spend a full year of her life dragging about in weighted silk and black net. It’s as if we’re punishing her for surviving. It isn’t fair.” She studied her sister. “And now that I think about it, it seems to me that forgoing a widow’s veil is a small thing compared to what a certain disciple of Miss Amelia Bloomer adopted for a few years in … let’s see … about 1851.”

“That,” Aunt Theodora snapped, “has no place in this conversation.” She turned her attention to Juliana. “Custom and tradition did not just spring up because old women take delight in making young people miserable. I do hope you realize that.”

Juliana nodded. “I do. And I haven’t forgotten what you said about the advantages of full mourning. But I didn’t feel protected yesterday. I felt like a spectacle.”

No one spoke for a moment. Finally, Aunt Theodora waved Juliana to the table. “Sit down and eat something. I may growl, but I never bite.”

Juliana obeyed. She poured herself tea and buttered a biscuit.

Aunt Theodora reached over and plopped jelly onto the biscuit. “You cannot eat like a bird and expect to have energy to do the work, my dear.” She allowed a little smile. “I do hope, however, that this is not a trend that will lead to bloomers. I have personal experience, and trust me. It is not an attractive look.”

Juliana and the aunts arrived at First Nebraska ten minutes before the appointed time for their meeting. Still, when Mr. Duncan escorted them into the conference room, the five other members of the executive board were waiting. Mr. Duncan took a seat at the head of the table. Juliana sat to his right with the aunts next to her. Helen Duncan sat on her husband’s left across from them.

As soon as everyone was settled, Juliana thanked them for coming, and then she introduced the subject at hand. She made it a point to look away from Mr. Duncan as she mentioned meeting Elmo Klein and how grateful he and his family were to the society for meeting their needs “in a moment of crisis.” She spoke of her own concern for the unfortunate victim of the fire and the desperate circumstances that often drew young women into “that life.” She shared Aunt Theodora’s wise observation about the dire circumstances that young women often found themselves in when “compromised” and abandoned by their families.

“We all know of similar instances,” she said, “and we also know that, too often, only the women suffer the consequences of misfortune, while the men who share equally in their downfall continue on, unscathed.

“Lincoln is growing rapidly, and we welcome that growth. Each one of us has done our part to encourage it. However, we all know that, unfortunately, with civic growth comes a greater need for the kind of help we feel called to provide. In the past, we’ve depended on the June bazaar to provide most of our annual budget. We should congratulate ourselves on just how successful that has been over the years. But I think we need to be more forward thinking as we look to the future. I think we should be talking to the legislature about supporting our efforts. I have other ideas, as well, but that’s not why I asked you to come here today.”

She put her hand on Aunt Lydia’s shoulder. “Aunt Lydia, Aunt Theodora, and I have two things we’d like to offer to the society. First, we want to establish an educational foundation in memory of my husband.” She looked around the table at the women. “Our idea is to begin with a day school on-site. We’ve also discussed ways to fund the further education of promising students. We may want to pursue the idea of adult education someday. That will, of course, be up to the board. For now, we thought it important to present it here before we announce anything publicly.” She looked around the table. “Do we have your support for this idea?”

Helen Duncan spoke first. “It’s a wonderful idea, but we all know how overcrowded the current homes are. There isn’t room for any kind of day school. I don’t see how we can make it work. And we can’t possibly afford to hire a teacher.”

“The foundation would pay that salary,” Juliana said.

Lutie Gleason spoke up. “In that case, I can’t see any reason not to do it. I’ll volunteer right now to organize a drive for school supplies.”

“That doesn’t solve the problem of space,” Helen said.

Juliana glanced at her aunts. “We have an idea for solving that problem, too.” She paused. “We want to donate a new facility. You all know my husband was building a new house—”

Helen Duncan audibly gasped. She whipped her head about to scowl at her husband.

Mr. Duncan spoke up immediately. “If I might interject a thought, here, Mrs. Sutton—we should discuss your situation before you commit to such a bold change of course.” He glanced at his wife. “You will recall that I anticipated that you might wish to reconsider that particular plan, and I suggested—”

“Yes. I do recall,” Juliana said. “We’ll speak of that later.”

Duncan glanced at his wife again, shrugged, and sat back.

Juliana continued. “My aunts and I propose that we donate the house and property south of Lincoln to the society. There’s a stone cottage already complete that was to be the caretaker’s house. We have ten acres and plenty of room for expansion. The house isn’t finished, but that’s to our advantage. It won’t be that difficult to make changes.”

Helen Duncan spoke up. “You’re
giving
it—all of it—to the society?”

Juliana nodded. “Yes.” She glanced around the table. “If you want it.”

The women looked at each other, stunned.

Juliana filled the silence. “I know that we’re asking you to do a prodigious amount of work. You’ll want to look over the plans and see what changes need to be made. We’ll need to hire staff. To be quite honest, it may overwhelm us.” She smiled at each woman sitting at the table. “But you’ve each one proven over the years that you can handle just about any challenge that arises.” She nodded at Lutie Gleason. “Including sheltering desperate people in your own parlors.” She paused. “You should probably drive out and see the place before you give us a final answer.”

“We don’t need to see it,” Lutie said. “We just need to say yes. And thanks be to our God!” She laughed and sat back, her face glowing with a combination of joy and embarrassment over the outburst.

When the other members agreed, Juliana said, “We do have two stipulations.”

“Here it comes,” Helen Duncan muttered.

“First, that the current building crew be allowed to complete the project. And second, that we be allowed to name the house.”

“Let me guess,” Helen said. “The Sterling Sutton Home for the Friendless.”

Aunt Theodora leaned forward. “If I may speak?”

“Sadly,” Helen said, “the by-laws do not allow for input from non-board members without prior approval. I’m sure you can appreciate the need to maintain order.”

“Madame President,” Lutie Gleason said. “I move that Miss Theodora Sutton and Miss Lydia Sutton be extended invitations to join the board.”

Before Helen could say another word, the motion had been seconded, approved, and a vote taken. Lutie nodded at Aunt Theodora. “Welcome to the board, ladies. Now, Miss Sutton, you were saying?”

“That we thought the word
friendless
rather bleak. We like the idea of calling it Friendship Home.”

The board members agreed in chorus. In less than an hour, a formal vote had been taken to accept the donation and preliminary assignments doled out. Aunt Lydia would plan the drive for school supplies, and Lutie Gleason would initiate a toy drive. They would meet the next week to further discuss how best to proceed. The board would visit the building site on Friday and meet Mr. Cass Gregory, the project foreman.

They rose to leave. Promising to return right away, Mr. Duncan escorted his wife out.

“I don’t envy him going home tonight,” Aunt Theodora said.

Juliana sighed. “I don’t, either, but he brought it down on himself. The sad thing is, if he’d been honest with me from the start, I might have agreed to whatever he wanted.” She shook her head. “I’m going to have to interview some other bankers.”

“We have Mr. Carter from First National at St John’s,” Aunt Lydia said.

“Good. I’ll start with him.”

Mr. Duncan returned to the conference room. He closed the door behind him. “Well. That was certainly one of the more … energetic events that’s ever taken place in our conference room.” He cleared his throat. “I do wish you would have consulted me before making the announcement.”

Juliana nodded. “And
I
wish you would have consulted me before suggesting that Mr. Gregory arrange for a work slowdown so that you could buy the place at a bargain price.”

Duncan’s face turned red. “I was merely hoping to create a mutually beneficial situation. You had a half-finished house. My wife—”

“Yes. I know. And if you’d only been forthcoming about your interest, we might have been able to work something out.”

“I apologize.”

“I accept.” When Juliana and the aunts stood, Duncan rose as well.

“I’ll be interviewing other bankers in town about possibly taking over as my financial advisor,” Juliana added. “I’m sure you can understand that my confidence has been shaken.”

He gulped. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

“No.”

“Y–you’ll want to speak with Graham about the property transfer. There are special rulings regarding such large donations.”

Juliana nodded. “Yes. I imagined as much. Thank you.” She paused. “I do have one question for you.” She set the folder down and drew out a deed. “This farm. I didn’t find an accounting for sale of any crops. Isn’t the land being worked?”

“I don’t know,” Duncan said. “I’ll have to look into it for you. I could drive down.”

“I can do that for myself.”

“You don’t want to do that.” He paused. “What I mean is, it’s not an easy drive. With recent rains, it could be especially trying.”

“Are there tenants? A house? Do you know why Sterling bought it? It was only last year. I’m assuming he discussed the investment with you.”

Duncan shook his head. “I’m sorry, Juliana. I really can’t say. I can look into it for you. As I said at our first meeting last month, it’s a complicated estate, and Sutton Enterprises is only one of my accounts. I can’t be expected to know about every aspect of every one of my accounts at the drop of a hat.”

“Yet you know that the farm is remote and you don’t recommend that I drive out to see it.”

Duncan frowned. “I wouldn’t advise that any woman take an excursion of any kind past the penitentiary and out into the country alone.”