Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (26 page)

Cass frowned. “Giving what away?”

“The house. The land. All of it. We met with the board for the Society—”

“—of the Home for the Friendless,” Aunt Lydia broke in. “Only my sister decided that was a sad word, and so we’re going to call it Friendship Home.”

Mrs. Sutton nodded. “And Aunt Theodora had the idea of turning the ballroom into a nursery, but of course that would never work without cross ventilation, so we’re hoping you can find a way to add windows. Do you think that’s possible?”

“I … uh … ma’am?”

Miss Theodora spoke up. “Juliana has offered the house you are building to the society which oversees the current charities organized to help ‘the friendless.’ It’s an unfortunate moniker. Since we intend to see that they no longer are friendless, we wish to call the house Friendship Home. The society accepted the offer this morning at a meeting at First Nebraska.”

Cass glanced at Mrs. Sutton. “You met with Mr. Duncan?”

She nodded. “And Mrs. Duncan. She’s the president of the board.”

He suppressed a smile. How he would have liked to have seen that. He cleared his throat. “I imagine that was quite a surprise.”

“You should have seen it, Cass,” Aunt Lydia said. “The committee went from dumbfounded to delighted in a split second. And then the ideas began to flow. It was wonderful.”

“I can only imagine.”

“We did make keeping the current work crew a condition of the donation,” Mrs. Sutton said.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Cass reached for the plans. “And you’d like to see the plans in order to discuss changes, now that it’s to be Friendship Home and not a private residence.”

“Exactly.” Mrs. Sutton suggested they move to the dining room across the hall where Cass could spread out the plans. She sat at the head of the table with Aunt Lydia to her right and Miss Theodora to her left.

Cass presented the plans in order. First floor, second floor, third floor. As the daylight waned, Mrs. Sutton lit the massive chandelier. And still the ladies talked on. Cass sat back and looked about him at the polished wood, the crystal side lamps on the mantle, the Wedgwood tiles around the fireplace, the heavy draperies, the silver service on the sideboard. It was a gorgeous room, although small compared to the dining room at the new house. What would they do with that massive table sitting at the warehouse?

The voices had stopped. They were looking at him. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“How many do you think we can seat in the dining room?”

“On benches or individual chairs?”

“And how many beds in each room?”

“That depends on the size of the bed. A hired man’s cot?”

“What on earth is a hired man’s cot?” Miss Theodora asked.

“Long and narrow,” Cass said. “It’s what we have at the rooming house.” He smiled. “I can measure mine when I get back. That would give you—but wait. What if I have Finney in the office do some preliminary shopping. He could measure various types of furniture. We could make a scale model of the house as it’s planned now, and then you ladies could move in—with scale models of various types of furniture.”

“It would be like playing with a dollhouse,” Aunt Lydia enthused. “I loved that when I was a girl!”

“How long would it take to create something like that?” Mrs. Sutton asked.

Cass shook his head. “Hard to say. Where would you want it? I mean, it needs to be accessible to the entire board. Depending on what materials you want to use, it might not be very portable.”

Mrs. Sutton turned and asked her aunts, “What if we had Mr. Gregory set it up right here in the dining room? I don’t mind eating in the kitchen if you don’t, and we have no plans to entertain company for quite some time.”

“A scale model could end up saving later disappointments,” Cass said. “It would undoubtedly enable you to use the space as efficiently as possible.” He got up and went to the hallway, stretching his arms out. Next, he went to the front door and did the same. Back in the dining room, he explained. “It wouldn’t do to arrive with a model that won’t go through the front door, now would it? I’m just using my arm span as a measuring stick.”

“You should measure the distance from the tabletop to the chandelier as well,” Mrs. Sutton said, smiling. “I’d rather not have to cut the legs off the dining table.”

Cass laughed as he held one of the plans up to span the space. “Duly noted, ma’am.”

After taking the “measurement,” he jotted down a few notes, then rolled up the plans and put them back in the leather tube.

“Now you must have a piece of Martha’s gooseberry pie before we send you off into the night,” Aunt Lydia said.

“I’ve had my share of sweets today,” Cass said. “I’d better not.”

“I insist,” Aunt Lydia said. “Martha’s taking five pies to the bazaar, and if you’ve tasted it, you can be counted on to raise the bid at the silent auction.”

“I believe that is called ‘fixing the bid,’ Sister,” Miss Theodora said.

“It is nothing of the kind,” Aunt Lydia protested. “It’s merely good planning.”

“I promise to do my part,” Cass said. “Mrs. Gaines’s pie is well known. I’ll make sure the crew knows about it, too. They’ve proven themselves to be more than willing to pay for sweets.” He told them about what had happened earlier that day at the office. “Ma and Sadie were only trying to make sure nothing went to waste. And now it appears Ma may have a fledgling business.” He glanced at Mrs. Sutton. “As long as the owner doesn’t protest the idea. It would take a few minutes in the morning to handle orders and payment. They could eat on the way out to the site.” He went on to describe Jessup’s idea for Ma making up lunches, too.

“The bazaar would be a good place for her to advertise her wares,” Aunt Lydia said. “Would she consider donating?”

“That’s a superb idea. Thank you. I’ll suggest it. Who would she need to let know?”

Mrs. Sutton spoke up. “We’re all on the board now.” She paused. “And I certainly don’t object to her feeding my crew. You said she was going to be looking for work. It appears that work found her.”

“That’s exactly what Sadie said.” Cass smiled. “Sadie’s already talked Mr. Meyer into letting her do the same when they get their store open down in Roca.”

“It would appear,” Miss Theodora said, “that Gregory women have an entrepreneurial bent.”

For a moment, Cass thought Miss Theodora might be making a veiled comment about the working class, but when he looked her way, she smiled. “I’m not criticizing. It has long been my belief that women who depend on men are more often than not, disappointed. I, for one, applaud your mother and sister. If more women were like them, there would be less of a need for Friendship Home.”

“The poor we will always have with us,” Aunt Lydia said gently. “Our Lord Himself said that, Sister.” She led the way to the front door.

As they passed by the parlor, Cass glanced up at the portrait again.

“It is lovely, isn’t it?” Aunt Lydia said. “And President Arthur signed a block for us. We’re hoping it’s fiercely contended for.”

The quilt.
She was talking about the quilt.

“I promise to bid,” Cass said. And then he had an idea. “When did you say the bazaar is?”

“June 16.”

“And it’s at St. John’s?”

“Yes. We’re having a tent erected on that open lot next door. The Ladies’ Aid will serve breakfast in the morning. Would your mother be willing to help? And items to be auctioned will be on display throughout the day. Some at silent auction, but the quilt and some other major donations at live auction that evening, right after supper. And then the announcement of the donation of the house. Followed by a hymn sing to celebrate the results.”

“I’ll ask Mother about helping,” Cass said. He glanced at Mrs. Sutton. “What would you think of having the model on display at the bazaar—assuming we can get it finished in time?”

They called the idea
inspired.
Aunt Lydia even hugged him. “Now don’t forget. We want Margaret’s help with the food. You must warn her that I’ll be seeking her out at church on Sunday to ask.”

On his way back to the livery, Cass’s mind swirled around building models and the possibilities for Ma to have a unique kind of business feeding construction workers. But the thoughts always swirled back to the portrait of Juliana Sutton and the idea that, however entrancing it was, it didn’t hold a candle to the living, breathing, Juliana.

“You know what I bet you could use right now?”

It was late in the week after Cass’s meeting with the Sutton women, and he’d spent most of every workday in the stone cottage, working and reworking the calculations for the model he’d promised to build in time for the fund-raising bazaar. He looked up and grimaced, then tilted his head from side to side and reached up to rub his neck. “I could use a back rub,” he said to Jessup, slouched against the doorframe, his arms folded. “But I doubt that’s what you were going to say.”

Jessup laughed. “I was thinking you really need a big slice of your sister’s kuchen.” He held up his thumb and forefinger. “This deep in custard. Or maybe strawberry filling. I know where there’s a great patch of wild strawberries.”

“Are you offering to pick strawberries for my sister? What would Mrs. Jessup have to say about that?”

Jessup laughed. “Diana would say go right ahead. Just bring enough home for me to have a piece.” He motioned for Cass to step outside. “I need to make sure we’re headed in the right direction with those new windows.”

Cass followed him out. Friendship Home was getting its roof this week. Next week they’d begin installing windows. Part of the crew was knocking out brick to make way for a few small windows in the east and west walls up on the third floor. Miss Theodora’s nursery would have its cross ventilation.

After checking and approving what was going on, Cass returned to the table and went back to calculations and drafting. Finally, he tossed the pencil aside and headed back outside to stare up at the house. What had he been thinking to offer a scale model? It was a good idea, but he wasn’t going to be able to make it work.

That evening he shared his frustration over supper at Ludwig Meyer’s.

“You mean you can’t do the computations?” Ma frowned. “Ask Mr. Finney. He works with numbers every day.”

Cass shook his head. “It’s not that. I want it to be as close to perfect as I can make it. The stone trim, the brick walls, the windows … everything.” He held his hands up, fingertips touching, and moved them apart as if there was a hinge at his fingertips. “I want it to open like so, so people can see a cross section with the interior finished. Fireplaces, staircases, everything.”

“You’re making a dollhouse,” Sadie said.

Cass nodded. “I suppose so. But my hands are just too big. I won’t be able to get inside to paint a wall, let alone lay up a miniature fireplace.”

“You were going to make miniature bricks?”

“Pfeffernuss,” Cass said. “I thought you could roll it out and cut little pieces.”

“Gingerbread would work better,” Ma said. “Do you remember the little house the Knoerzers made when you were young? I could make a sheet of gingerbread and cut the bricks before we bake it. Although how you’ll keep from attracting every mouse in the city, I don’t know.”

“Buy a cat?” Cass said.

“You’d need a cat.” Ma held up her hands. “You got big hands from your father, not me. I’ll help you.”

And so it began. In a week’s time, the carpenter had cut lumber to re-create the exterior walls, the interior partitions, and the roof. The model began to take shape on the table in the office. Cass stayed late nearly every night to work on it. Finney offered to scour his neighborhood for a cat and ended up bringing in littermates: one gray tabby that claimed a corner of Finney’s desk as its personal property, and a calico that decided to annoy Cass. At least he called it an annoyance.

Ma and Sadie took on the interior, cutting fragments of cloth to make tiny draperies for windows and baking the gingerbread bricks. With them also working at baking and making lunches for the crew, Cass soon moved the model—and the calico cat he’d taken to calling Patch, home. Actually, they moved both cats home, but the gray tabby slipped out the door the first night and was found waiting at the office when Finney got there the next morning.

Patch soon proved herself a capable mouser at home. It wasn’t long before the project took on a life of its own.

“You should move here,” Sadie said, late one night when Cass was bemoaning the few hours he would have to sleep. “Use Ludwig’s room. He won’t. Someone might as well.”

And so Cass moved out of the rooming house and, Ma and Sadie teased him, in with Mrs. Sutton’s model.

One night Ludwig brought home a tobacco flannel printed to look like a rug. Sadie installed it in the miniature library and rewarded him with a kiss. Next, he brought a piece of striped calico. “I was thinking maybe wallpaper?”

They were spending a ridiculous amount of time on the model, but no one cared. Juliana was going to be so pleased. Maybe, Cass thought, just maybe he would finally see her smile. Not the polite smile, not the expected smile, but a real smile. One that included those dark eyes.