Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (25 page)

He had a point. But something bothered Juliana about the whole thing. Sutton Enterprises was about railroad stock and commercial construction. And one farm? It didn’t make any sense.

Jenny
Monday, May 21

“I been sick for most of a month, Dr. Gilbert,” Jenny said. “I don’t know why I don’t get better. Susannah cooks, and I eat, but it isn’t helping.”

The doctor, who had been listening to Jenny’s breathing while she reclined on the sofa, bent down and returned the stethoscope to his black bag. He closed it and sat back. “You were very low when Mr. Duncan found you. Everything had been depleted as you tried to feed your child.” He paused. “Am I right to think that you’ve never had a very strong constitution?”

Jenny shrugged.

“You have a delicate frame,” the doctor said. “I didn’t attend the baby’s birth. Was it—difficult for you?”

“Isn’t birthing a baby always difficult?”

“Do you know how much Johnny weighed?”

Jenny shook her head.

“And did the attending physician need … special tools? Forceps, perhaps?”

“Why’s that matter? I had a healthy boy.”

Dr. Gilbert nodded. “You did. But at what cost? I suspect you haven’t felt yourself since. Am I right?”

Again, Jenny shrugged.

“You have all the reason in the world to feel melancholy. I’d like to recommend that you consider moving into town where I can keep a closer eye on you. Where you can have contact with other mothers. I think it would do you good.”

She couldn’t seem to keep the tears from flowing. They spilled down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. “I don’t have any money for that kind of thing. I’m only able to stay here because Mr. Duncan was Sterling’s friend.”

“The place I’m thinking of won’t require any money until you can afford to pay. But you would be able to make friends, and I could check on you more often.” He glanced at the baby, playing nearby on a folded quilt. “Do you think it might be nice for Johnny as well? There would be other children to play with him.”

“What about Susannah? Would she come, too?” Jenny put her hand to her bosom. “I still can’t feed my own baby.”

“She could if she wanted to, but the home I have in mind has access to goats. That would also provide excellent milk.”

Jenny swiped at her tears. She didn’t really care what happened to her. Johnny was the important one now.

“Will you at least think about it?”

Jenny nodded. “I guess.” Mr. Duncan hadn’t been out in over a week. It was looking more and more like she was on her own.

Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.
E
CCLESIASTES
9:10

O
n Monday morning, as Cass opened the office door, Finney held up an envelope. “Forgot to give you this on Friday.”

Cass looked at the return address.
Denver.
He opened the envelope and read:

The letter was signed by R. J. Greeley himself.

“Good news?” Finney had looked up from his ledger.

Cass shrugged. “Strange news.” He tucked the letter inside his coat pocket. He’d finished the work assignments for the day and had been out in the back lot looking over a stack of lumber and trying to estimate an order when Finney came to the door.

“You’ve got company.” He grinned. “Of the attractive female variety.” He stood aside to let Ma and Sadie pass.

“What’s this?”

“This,” Sadie said, holding up a huge basket, “is breakfast. I’ve been practicing those recipes Mrs. Moser wrote out for us after church yesterday.”

“Practicing,” Ma said, “as in nonstop baking until I made her quit around midnight.”

“She said we’d never eat it all, so I thought maybe we’d share.” She lifted the checkered cloth. “This one’s the kuchen. Ma’s got the
pfeffernuss.
”

Finney called from the doorway. “Did you say
pfeffernuss
?”

Sadie whirled about. “I did.”

“I
love
pfeffernuss.” Finney called to someone who’d apparently just come in. “It’s Cass’s ma and sister. They’ve made pfeffernuss.”

Jessup hurried out into the yard.

“And kuchen,” Sadie said.

The men looked Cass’s way. He laughed and shook his head. “Gentlemen. It would appear that breakfast is served in the office.” He squeezed past Ma and Sadie and cleared the long table just inside the door to make room for them to spread out their wares.

Jessup took a bite of pastry. “That—is the best d—Excuse me, ma’am.” He took another bite. “What would you charge me for an entire one?”

Finney broke in. “And a dozen cookies?”

Sadie looked at Ma. “I don’t know. I was just practicing. Ma’s the real cook. You should taste her pie.”

“Apple? I’d order an apple pie right now.”

Cass crossed the office to a shelf of supplies and pulled down a sheet of paper and a pencil, then handed them to Ma. “Looks to me like you need to take some orders.”

“I wouldn’t know what to charge,” Ma said.

“They charge fifty cents for a piece of pie at the hotel. That’s three dollars for a whole pie.”

“I could never ask that much.”

“Two fifty then,” Jessup said. “But let us know about the pastries and the cookies, too. If you’re interested, that is.”

Sadie nudged Ma. “Looks to me like you don’t need to go looking for work. Work just found you, if you want it.” She smiled at the men standing around the table. “She makes good roast beef, too. And soup. And bread. I bet she’d make lunches if you wanted. Bring them over all packed up. But you’d have to pay in advance.”

“Sadie!” Ma was horrified and hurried to apologize to Cass.

“If you’re really interested in doing that, ma’am,” Jessup said, “some of these boys aren’t married and what passes for meals at their boardinghouses—well. You should hear them complain.”

“See? What’d I say?” Sadie nudged Ma. “Work just found you if you want it.”

Cass herded the men out into the yard to begin the day, but then he retreated back inside.

“I’m sorry, Cass,” Ma said. “I didn’t mean to create a stir.”

Finney complained aloud that he hadn’t got but one bite of pastry. He spoke to Cass. “I hope you let her ‘create a stir’ again soon.” He smiled and then, in a singsong voice said, “Remember: ‘A happy crew is a hardworking crew.’ Word gets out that Sutton Builders provides breakfast, and we’ll have people lined up trying to get hired.”

Cass laughed. “I think Mrs. Sutton would have to approve a regular repast.” He smiled at Ma and Sadie. “If you’re interested in selling on a more regular basis, though, I’d be happy to run it by her. She asked me to come to the house tonight.”

“She did?” Finney’s expression reminded Cass of a woman leaning in to gather the latest gossip.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” Ma said.

Sadie nodded. “Looks like it’s your turn to make up a list, Ma. We could write up a menu of what you make, and the men could order and pay a day ahead. We come over and pick up their orders, and then their lunch or whatever is waiting when they get to work the next morning.” She paused. “Means you’d be working half the night most nights, though.”

“Not really,” Ma said. “If I keep the choices simple.”

Cass could see that she was already thinking about how to make it work.

“I’d need to shop carefully, or I’d never make any money at it.”

“Ludwig knows all the stores in town. He’ll help with that.” Sadie grinned. “Might be he could even get you the best prices. Ludwig’s smart at things like that.”

Back in his room after a long day out at the job site, Cass washed up. He donned a clean shirt and did his best to get his too-curly hair to behave. He took down his Sunday coat and gave it a good brushing and polished his boots. Finally, he slung the leather tube holding the house plans over his shoulder and descended to the street.

Ludwig Meyer was just coming in from supper at Ma and Sadie’s.

“Seems early for you to turn in,” Cass said. “Everything all right?”

Meyer smiled. “Everything is fine. I was in the way of the work. I offered to help, but they shooed me out of the house.” He patted the spot over his heart. “I have an entire list of ingredients for which they want costs. You would think they are starting a bakery.”

“Maybe they are,” Cass said. “Some of those men talked half the day about how good those pastries were this morning.”

“As long as my Sadie doesn’t get so interested that she decides she prefers baking to storekeeping with her husband.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Cass said.

Meyer smiled. “Well just in case, I already told Sadie that if she wants to sell baked goods in our new store, we will order a special display case.”

“And she liked that idea?”

“She did. She thought we should offer coffee and tea and maybe a little table where people could have lunch.”

“So it’s going to be a combination general store and lunchroom?”

“If she wants it.”

Cass bid Meyer good night and, mounting Baron, headed east toward Mrs. Sutton’s.

This time he called by way of the front door. Still, he was relieved when Aunt Lydia was the one who answered the door. She waved him inside.

“We can’t use the parlor because of that.” Aunt Lydia pointed to a quilting frame in the middle of the enormous room. “So Juliana thought the library. Of course we’ll move over to use the dining room table when it’s time to see the plans.” She smiled. “This is so exciting! Come this way!”

Before taking a step, Cass checked his boots for mud. It wouldn’t do to mar the highly polished floor. As they passed the parlor, he noticed the oil portrait over the fireplace. Mrs. Sutton in a stunning ivory gown. She was seated in an elegant chair, her right elbow poised on the chair back, two fingers touching her chin. Her left hand held a bouquet of roses.

Aunt Lydia touched his elbow. “It’s a beautiful portrait, isn’t it?”

Cass started. Nodded. He glanced up the hall to where Mrs. Sutton stood waiting.
Yes. She is.
Feeling a little like a street urchin visiting a queen, Cass followed Aunt Lydia past the staircase. More oil paintings adorned the walls in the hallway. Landscapes and, tucked beneath the stairs, a still life.

“Do you fancy art, Mr. Gregory?” Miss Theodora was just now descending the stairs.

“I … yes, ma’am. I used to spend Saturday mornings on occasion at Washington University in St. Louis. The museum associated with the School of Fine Arts is housed there.” The still life reminded him of a Cezanne he’d seen somewhere, but he decided it might be best not to say anything. Miss Theodora might think he was putting on airs. He stepped into the library.

“Please. Sit.” Mrs. Sutton motioned to the sofa, while she and the aunts each took their places in the chairs scattered about the cluttered room lined with barrister’s bookcases.

Cass set the leather tube holding the house plans on the floor and sat down on the sofa, his palms on his thighs, his back erect. It was a feminine room, and that surprised him. Needlepoint pillows, figurines, a fancy photo album on a stand, doilies—even the grand piano was partially covered with a paisley shawl dripping with fringe. He couldn’t imagine the boss in this room.

For a moment, the three women looked at one another, their expressions reminiscent of children waiting to reveal a secret. Finally Mrs. Sutton spoke. “We’re giving it away.”