Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (35 page)

Tecumseh’s breath sent clouds into the brisk morning air as Juliana rode along what was now a fairly well-worn trail across the prairie. The first thing she noticed out at the site was the golden light shining in one of the upstairs windows over at the stone cottage. Mrs. Harrison must be up. Juliana guided Tecumseh to the opposite side of the main house and dismounted, hitching the horse to a fencepost where he wouldn’t be visible from the stone cottage. She just didn’t want to see anyone right now.

“I won’t be long,” she said, patting Tecumseh’s neck and then scooting around the turret and onto the front porch. She paused to look off to the south. It was hard to imagine homes rising out of that prairie. Hard to visualize houses as far as the eye could see, but she supposed it would inevitably happen. She remembered Sterling saying the city planners had named the east-west trail that ran just on the other side of their property line South Street because they expected that would be the southernmost border of the city for some time to come. Sterling had called it shortsighted, and Juliana agreed. Before long, Friendship Home would have neighbors.
And if we want our own medical clinic, we’d better be building it before those neighbors have a chance to take issue with what we do.

The thought made Juliana smile. Martha would be proud. She was looking to the future.
Would you be proud, Sterling?
Taking a deep breath, she opened the front door and stepped inside.

Even in the early morning light, the finished entryway fairly glowed with promise. The sweeping staircase seemed to reach out like a welcoming arm embracing visitors and drawing them in. Back in the library, warm red walls and polished wood created what Juliana hoped would be a sanctuary. The room still smelled of varnish and fresh paint. She opened the windows, then made her way past the dining room to the back of the house, pausing to peer into the gleaming kitchen, its black-and-white tile floor flowing about a marble-topped work island. By the end of the week, the floor-to-ceiling cupboards would hold mountains of practical, all-white dinnerware. The wire rack hanging from the ceiling above the island would sport all manner of cookware. They’d had to consult one of the hotel cooks about how to equip the kitchen. One could only hope they’d made the right decisions.

Back at the front of the house, Juliana ascended the stairs, pausing halfway up to look down upon the entryway, the heavy front doors, the leaded windows. Once upstairs, she circled the balcony to go into the second-floor turret room. There’d been many discussions as to what to use it for. They had finally agreed that at first it would simply be another sitting room, a small retreat where adult residents could enjoy the view of the distant horizon. Aunt Lydia was looking forward to supplying this room—which would contain rocking chairs and hand-crocheted afghans—with copies of various Sunday school publications. She’d also ordered subscriptions to the
Ladies’ Home Journal, Cappers, The Delineator
, and
Godey’s.

After today, the wood floors in each of the bedrooms would boast fringed wool rugs. Helen Duncan had won the committee over to the idea of making the single mothers’ rooms cheerful. Juliana stepped inside these rooms, originally intended to be hers and Sterling’s.

Crossing the room, she stepped out onto the screened porch and looked down on Tecumseh.

The horse looked half-asleep, but as Juliana retreated back inside, the sun broke through the fog and began to stream in the windows, reflecting off the yellow walls. Envisioning the white iron bedsteads and the blue-and-white coverings the quilters had planned, Juliana realized that Helen would get her wish. These would be cheerful rooms—and God willing, a place where women could come instead of ending up like poor Nell Parker.

There were far too many Nell Parkers in the world.
Far too many P. L
.s. It was strange to be standing in this room thinking about those women—that particular woman—and feel concern instead of resentment. Compassion instead of bitterness. Did that mean she was doing what Martha said? Was she marching away from the shadows and into something new?

She thought of the day she’d been here alone with Cass. His hands on her shoulders. The way his presence had comforted her. He’d ridden home with her and lingered, but then he’d said she needed time. Since then, Juliana had done her best to keep her mind occupied with things other than smiles shared with Cass and those few moments alone. But Martha had just wished her new love. Was it all right to think of it now? Sterling had left her long before he died. She realized that now. And she was beginning to hope for new love. Maybe that’s why she could stand in the very rooms originally built for her and Sterling and feel something besides anger. Heading out of the suite, she lingered in the doorway and allowed a faint smile. She did feel something new. Something akin to hope.

Upstairs on the third floor, Juliana tried to imagine a row of cribs, rocking chairs, and toys, but she was instead drawn to the eastern windows to look out over the landscape, to watch as the sun won over the fog and the prairie came into focus. It was going to be a beautiful fall day.
“This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”
Juliana smiled. She
was
glad. Glad for the future promise this place held. Humbled by the fact that, while she’d endured pain and grief, her life had been blessed compared to many others. She’d had the love of Aunt Theodora and Aunt Lydia, the prayers of people like Martha and Alfred to help her through a terrible time. And she’d never had to worry about money. She had so much to be thankful for.
I’m sorry, God. I haven’t been thankful enough.

Back at the top of the front stairs, Juliana paused again, looking down on the foyer and thinking about all the pain and suffering people would carry with them through those doors.
Please bless what we’re hoping to do. Make us wise in the decisions we still have to make. Thank You for showing me how to make something good out of this.

She stopped praying, surprised by the tears that gathered. God really had done that. He’d taken a half-finished house, her ruined dreams, a failed marriage, and turned them all into a place where ruined dreams could find shelter. Hope.
Maybe we should have called it House of Hope.

It had taken so many people to make it work.
Thank You for the committee. For Lutie and Medora, for Edith and Helen. For the successful bazaar. For the faithful workers. For Aunt Theodora’s dry wit and affection and for letting me see that affection past the prickles. For Aunt Lydia’s gentle ways and strong faith. For Martha’s understanding and Alfred’s kindness. For Pastor Taylor’s love for lost sheep. For Margaret Nash’s and Sadie Gregory’s new lives. For Sterling’s providing so well.
Once Juliana began to thank God for blessings, they seemed never ending. Words spilled out, and her heart swelled with joy.
Joy.

Thank You for Cass.
The man had worked so many long hours. He deserved a generous bonus. So did Mr. Finney, for that matter. All the model furniture he’d created. Some of it was little more than a block of unpainted wood with a word written on it to designate a desk or a bureau, but still. The scale was the thing that mattered. She would ask Mr. Carter to look back in the books and see what had been done in the past to reward special effort. Or perhaps she would simply make a decision and do what she thought best.
There’s a thought. Trust yourself. Isn’t that what Cass told you to do at the beginning?

Finally, she descended the stairs. Her hand on the doorknob, Juliana looked up and chuckled as she said aloud, “Thank You, Father. Now if You could please just let the furniture fit.”

Juliana heard voices as soon as she stepped out onto the front porch. Murmurs from the direction of the stone cottage. And a child giggling. After unhitching Tecumseh, she led him around the front of the house just as Cass Gregory reached out and took a child out of Mrs. Harrison’s arms.

Ah, yes. The sickly young mother who’d been at Mrs. Crutchfield’s. Together, Helen, Mrs. Harrison, and Lutie Gleason had enabled an early move. Juliana only knew that Mrs. Crutchfield had proven unsatisfactory in many ways, and the ladies who’d taken special interest in the situation were eager to sever ties. Mrs. Harrison had offered to share her home with the young mother—Juliana remembered the name
Jenny.
It was, now that Juliana thought about it, an exceedingly kind thing for Mrs. Harrison to do. The child was darling. While Cass held him, Mrs. Harrison pantomimed patty-cake. The baby cackled with joy. Mrs. Harrison looked up at Cass and said something. The two of them laughed.

Juliana’s elation and thankful heart seemed to recede into the fog. Using the stone steps to boost herself, she mounted Tecumseh, half-tempted to retreat around the far side of the house again and head home without interrupting whatever might be going on. But then the child saw Tecumseh and squealed.

“Mrs. Sutton! What are you doing here?” Cass handed the child back to Mrs. Harrison, who waved at Juliana and retreated inside. He hurried over. “I thought you were coming out with the aunts.”

“I am.” She gathered the reins.

“You’ve been inside.” It wasn’t a question.

She nodded. “A final walk-through.” She shrugged. “To say good-bye, actually. I suppose that’s silly.”

He shook his head. “Not one bit silly.” He looked past her and up at the house. “You’ve done a grand thing here.” He seemed just about to say more when Mrs. Harrison stepped out of the stone cottage and headed their way.

Juliana took a deep breath. “Well, I should let you get to—” She nodded in Mrs. Harrison’s direction. “And I told Martha I’d be back in time for breakfast.”

He stepped back. “Yes. Well. See you later, then?”

She nodded and nudged Tecumseh into a walk.

He called her name. “Mrs. Sutton.” She swiveled in the saddle to look back at him.

“Are you all right? Really?”

Goodness.
Was everyone she saw today going to ask that question?

“Perfectly, Mr. Gregory.” She raised a hand in greeting to Mrs. Harrison and urged Tecumseh into a lope.

All the way home, Juliana told herself that it was none of her business if Cass rode out to see Mrs. Harrison. As long as he was back at the office in time to organize things for the day’s work, it was none of her business. Mrs. Harrison was a lovely woman. And when it came right down to it, Juliana should have thanked God for her, too, when she prayed just now. She forced herself to say it aloud. “Thank You for Mrs. Harrison. She really does seem perfect for the position.”

“This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Was that how true faith worked? A person talked to God, and He talked back by bringing scripture to mind?
I want true faith, Lord. Or at least a truer version of it than I’ve had. I think You’re giving it, and I’m grateful. And Mrs. Harrison really is a good woman. I know that. I just …
Finally, Juliana said it aloud. “I want Cass to wait. For
me.
”

Not a single Bible verse came to mind.

Alfred had already left with the wagon and the team by the time Juliana got back to the house, but he’d hitched Fancy to the buggy before leaving, so all Juliana had to do was see to Tecumseh, which she did in record time. Hurrying in the back door, she bounded up the kitchen stairs, nearly colliding with the aunts on their way down to breakfast.

“Good heavens!” Aunt Theodora said. “Have you already been out for a ride this morning?”

Juliana nodded as she rounded the corner and headed off up the hall to change. “Be down in a minute.” Back in her room, she changed out of her riding habit as quickly as possible. She and the aunts had already agreed that today was not a day for silks and velvets. This was a workday, and they would dress simply in black cotton day dresses. Juliana repaired her simple chignon, then stepped into black unmentionables. Even the corset was black. She did feel rather smart in the day dress, though, with its white pinstripe.

Once she’d fastened the last of the jet buttons marching up the front of the waist, she tucked it into the tailored skirt and took a turn before the dressing mirror. Not bad. Not as lovely as the rich indigo Mrs. Harrison was wearing today, but once Juliana donned an apron, she wouldn’t look quite so gloomy. She forced a bright smile and headed downstairs, taking a moment to linger over the four pies sitting on the kitchen counter while Martha poured coffee.