Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (30 page)

He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much.
L
uke
16:10

Jenny
Friday, June 22

J
enny was changing Johnny’s diaper when Mrs. Crutchfield appeared just outside the bedroom door that had been cut in half to allow people to see in, while still keeping the babies safely contained.

“Mrs. Duncan’s in the parlor, asking to see you.”

Jenny finished pinning the diaper. Johnny rolled over and pushed himself to a sitting position, smiling and clapping while he looked up at his mother. She didn’t move to get up off the floor. “Do I have to see her?”

“‘Course not, Princess. I’ll tell her Her Highness is busy.” The older woman grimaced as she leaned across and hissed, “Get yourself up off that floor. She’s the president of the board that pays for your keep. She asks to see you; you see her.”

“But”—Jenny gestured around at the four babies that Mrs. Crutchfield had assigned to her care—”I can’t just leave them.”

“Of course you can. Where they gonna go? There’s nothing in here to hurt ’em.” She motioned for Jenny to get up. “And don’t ask me to stay in here. You know I’ve got my report to finish before Mrs. Duncan leaves.”

Bracing her palms on the cot she’d been leaning against, Jenny stood.

“You look a wreck,” Crutchfield said. “Think maybe you could use a comb once in a while?” She opened the door and waved Jenny into the hall.

Johnny let out a protest and tried to follow.

“Mama will be right back, little man.”

Johnny began to wail as Jenny hurried down the stairs and into the parlor where Mrs. Duncan was waiting.

“Is that Johnny crying?”

Jenny nodded.

“He’s all right,” Mrs. Crutchfield said. “There’s nothing can hurt him and nothing he can hurt.”

Mrs. Duncan smiled. “I don’t doubt it, but from the sound of things,
he
doesn’t think he’s all right.” She put her hand on the newel post at the base of the stairs and waved for Jenny to lead the way back up.

Jenny obeyed, already dreading the foul mood this would put Mrs. Crutchfield in. The dread faded a bit when she opened the door to the nursery and Johnny cackled with joy. Mrs. Duncan followed her in, looking about her at the cribs and the three other babies. “I thought Mr. Duncan said there would be two other young women your age in residence.”

Jenny shrugged. “It’s just me.”

“Are you happy here?”

Was she making a joke? If Jenny complained, wouldn’t they make her leave? Mrs. Crutchfield had hinted that they might. There were two Mrs. Crutchfields—the one who greeted the women who supported the society and gave her monthly report to the committee, and the one who lived here the rest of the time. Jenny wondered at the stupidity of the rich women who didn’t realize that.

“I mean—I realize this isn’t what you wanted….” Her voice trailed off. Her face flushed as if she was embarrassed. She nodded at the other children in the room. “Tell me their names.”

“That’s Miller.” Jenny pointed to the towheaded, blue-eyed child who had just pulled himself up to stand at the cot next to Mrs. Duncan. “The one under the bed there is Huldah. I used to pull her out, but she doesn’t like it. She seems to like it under there. She had purple marks on her legs when she first came. I think maybe she’s getting less afraid. She smiled at me yesterday.” She wrapped one arm around the little boy who’d just toddled over to her. “This is Emil. I’ve been trying to get him to stop sucking his thumb. Mrs. Crutchfield put some nasty-tasting stuff on it to help with that, but it didn’t work.”

“You seem to know them pretty well.”

Jenny shrugged. “Can’t hardly help it. Been taking care of them nearly three weeks, now.”

Mrs. Duncan drew in a deep breath. “I want to tell your uncle you’re here.”

“Why? He doesn’t care. He made me leave. Sterling’s the one who took care of me. We were going—” She broke off. In recent days it had occurred to her that maybe Sterling hadn’t really planned to leave his wife. He’d never said anything bad about Mrs. Sutton. In fact, he’d never mentioned her except to say that they couldn’t have children and that made Johnny even more special to him.

“What if I don’t tell him where you are, but just tell him that you have a son? If he’s inclined to help, then we would decide what to do next.” She leaned forward. “People sometimes change their minds, Jenny. After the shock wears off.”

Jenny studied the older woman’s face for a moment before asking, “Why do you care?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. But I can’t seem to get you off my mind.” She picked Miller up and set him on her knee. “Did you hear about the fund-raiser?”

“Mrs. Crutchfield told me about it. Sterling’s wife is building a new place. They’re calling it Friendship Home. Crutchfield’s worried about it.” She’d also been unusually ill-tempered since reading the article in the newspaper, but Jenny didn’t think she should mention that to Mrs. Duncan. There was no point in complaining.

“My husband bought a beautiful quilt for me at the auction. It has the president’s name on it.” Mrs. Duncan cleared her throat. “I put it in the guest bedroom. One night when I couldn’t sleep, I started reading the names.”

“I signed that quilt. Did you find my name?”

Mrs. Duncan didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “It reminds me of you and Johnny every time I see it.” She took a deep breath. “It also reminds me of something I want to change about myself. I go to church every Sunday, but I’ve never really thought about how kind Jesus was to women in trouble. And that maybe He expected me to be His hands.” Her voice wavered. “I really do want to help you if I can.”

Jenny ducked her head to hide her tears. “I don’t know what to do. Even if I was strong enough to work, there’s no store going to hire a girl with a baby. And even if they did, I’ve no one to take care of Johnny while I work. I don’t know how to sew well enough to take in mending, and I’m not strong enough to take in laundry. I don’t like living on charity, but what else am I going to do?”

“Perhaps you could be a nanny for someone who would let you care for their child and Johnny at the same time.”

“No one rich enough to pay for a nanny wants a girl who got in trouble around their husband.”

“Let me talk to your uncle.”

“I don’t guess I can stop you, can I?” Part of her wanted to hope. Maybe if Mrs. Duncan talked to him, maybe things would be different.

Mrs. Duncan gave Miller a hug and set him back down as she stood up. “Don’t give up hope, Jenny. Let me see what I can do.” She said good-bye.

Jenny listened to her footsteps descending the stairs, chatting with the nice Mrs. Crutchfield. Then they were both gone.

From the moment Cass delivered the model to Juliana’s on the Sunday after the bazaar, she felt like a cloud had lifted. The committee continued to meet at her home on a weekly basis, reporting on new donations and writing thank-you notes to generous supporters.

On most days, her daily ride took her to the job site rather than the cemetery. Some days she dismounted only long enough to get a drink of water from the well behind the stone cottage, and yet, before long, she knew each of the two dozen workers by name.

As time went on, she began to take an interest in their families. The day Elmo Klein missed work and Cass said the Kleins’ child was ill, Juliana asked Dr. Gilbert to make a call. When Jess Jessup mentioned that his daughter was hoping to apprentice as a seamstress, Juliana asked Miss Thornhill about what a girl had to know to interview for a beginning position at the dresser’s.

The next week when she sought out Jessup to tell him what she’d learned, she caught Cass looking at her with an odd expression on his face. Thinking he was upset because she’d interrupted Jessup at work, she went into the stone cottage to talk with him. “I should have spoken with Mr. Jessup another time,” she said. “I’m sorry I took him away from his work. It won’t happen again.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not upset about that.”

“You had a look—”

“I had a look?” He grinned.

“I don’t mean to make a nuisance of myself out here.”

“You aren’t a nuisance, Mrs. Sutton. A distraction, maybe, but a lovely distraction, and a most welcome one.” He hurried to apologize. “I’m sorry, ma’am. That was inappropriate.”

“I don’t—care.”

He sat back. “Ma’am?”

“I don’t care if it was inappropriate. It’s nice to know someone—”

She shook her head.

“Someone?”

“It’s nice to know someone thinks of me as a real person, not just ‘a widow mourning her loss.’” She snorted. “You know the truth about all of that.”

He nodded. “That may change the nature of the grief, but I don’t imagine it erases it.” He paused. “Some would even say it makes it harder. Not having people know the depths of it.”

She swallowed. Looked out the windows. Reached up to clutch an invisible locket. When she realized what she’d done, she dropped her hand to her side. “I don’t know if it’s harder. It’s surely different.” She shook her head. “At first I thought it was a sham. The funeral. The foundation with his name on it. But then, that night at the bazaar, with everyone saying such nice things about him?”

She shrugged. “I told myself that it wasn’t right to forget all the good things, just because …” Her voice wavered. She looked over at Cass and forced a nervous laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to subject you to more hysterics.” And then she was mortified by unexpected tears. “I am so sorry.”

He rose and pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket. As he handed it over, he said, “You’ve a right to your feelings,

Mrs. Sutton.”

She mopped up her tears, started to hand the kerchief back, then retracted it. Shook her head. “I’ll return it after it’s laundered.”

“And I’ll look forward to seeing you again.”

That night she dreamed of widow’s veils and weighted silk disappearing into the shadows while she chose a gown for some important event. Suddenly, she was dressed in a blue gown standing next to a bay horse in the middle of a field of wildflowers. A bay horse that looked exactly like Baron, Cass Gregory’s gelding.

It didn’t make a bit of sense.

Cass swung down off Baron and tied the reins to the back porch railing at home. Ma was sitting beneath the overhang, stemming and snapping the green beans in a bowl in her lap.

“Fresh green beans for supper,” she said. “Mrs. Howard, two doors down, is sharing her bounty.”

“That’s good, Ma. I’m glad you’re getting to know the neighbors. But I won’t be staying for supper. Finney got some more model furniture finished, and I want to take it to Juliana’s.” He bent to kiss her on the cheek as he passed by. “I won’t mind a late supper though, if you don’t mind leaving a plate in the oven.”

“The aunts won’t let you go hungry.”

He crouched down in front of her. “You know I love your cooking. I just want to get these delivered so Juliana has them for her committee meeting tomorrow. They’re going to have to start discussing rules and staff soon. If they can get the furniture decided, that’ll just be one less thing they have to worry over.”

Ma nodded. Then she did something strange. Dropping the green beans back in the bowl, she leaned forward and cradled his face in her hands. “She is a good woman, Cass, but you are from two very different worlds.” Then she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I’ll put a plate in the oven before I turn in. And I will take offense if you slight my pot roast and green beans.”

“I won’t, Ma, I promise.” He stood up. “Where’s Sadie?”

“Back any minute. She met Ludwig at work. He wanted her advice on some display cabinets for their new store.” She smiled up at him. “
They
know better than to shun my pot roast.” She winked.

Cass stood up and headed inside. He washed up and was about to exit by the back door when Sadie and Ludwig walked in the front.

“Where you going all gussied up? Oh, wait. Don’t tell me.” Sadie stuck her nose in the air and inhaled, then nudged Ludwig. “Smell that? That is the smell of a man out to attract a lady.”

“And this is the sound of a man ignoring you,” Cass said and kept going.

“You’re wearing your best shirt,” Sadie called after him. “You might as well get her name tattooed over your heart.”

Cass whipped about to face her. He almost asked her how in the world she knew about tattoos. But then he thought better of it.