Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (35 page)

Grace put the mending down. “If you’ve a burden to encourage Noah Shaw, Ladora, then you should do it. Stop preaching to me and get in there and tell the boy what you think he needs to hear.”

Ladora sat back, almost as if she’d been slapped. After a moment, she rose and, crossing to the stove, bent down and opened the oven door. The aroma of baked apples and cinnamon filled the kitchen. Pulling a shallow bowl off a shelf, she ladled a dumpling into place, then sprinkled cinnamon over it. Next, she poured a tall glass of milk. Finally, without so much as a glance in Grace’s direction, Ladora headed into the next room, fresh-baked dumpling and glass of milk in hand.

Grace sat still for a moment. Finally, she gave in. Tiptoeing across the kitchen to the swinging door, she leaned close to listen, like a child eavesdropping on her parents.

Noah started and leapt to his feet the moment Mrs. Riley pushed the kitchen door open. “‘Scuse me for bothering you,” she said as she crossed the room. “But these dumplings are always best fresh out of the oven.” She set a bowl and a glass of milk before him, then stood back, her hands clenched before her.

When Noah thanked her, Mrs. Riley nodded. “Yer welcome. I…umm…I know food don’t fix everything, but there’s something about a warm dumpling that’s downright comforting. At least it seems so to me.”

Apple dumplings.
Just the aroma brought tears to Noah’s eyes. How could Mrs. Riley in Nebraska have known about Norah Shaw in Missouri? It was impossible. And yet…Noah glanced down into the shallow bowl. “You sprinkled extra cinnamon on top.”

“Always do,” Mrs. Riley said. “Looks pretty. Smells nice. Tastes good.”

Noah nodded. “My mother made apple dumplings every fall. Almost as a way to mark the passing of summer.”

“Wouldn’t mind if summer would pass,” Mrs. Riley said with a low chuckle. “Sad to say, my kitchen’s hot enough to prove that summer is still with us.” She motioned to the closed hall door. “You’d have a chance of catching a breeze if you opened that door.”

Noah rose and opened the door, rewarded for the effort by a slight breeze that blew in to riffle the papers he’d scattered across Colonel Barton’s work desk as he read. For some reason he felt self-conscious in Mrs. Riley’s presence. What was the woman thinking? What did she know? Had those murmurs in the kitchen meant that Colonel Barton had told both women everything? Not knowing, he blathered on about Ma and her recipe for dumplings and how he helped her roll out the dough. “One year, she made me memorize President’s Lincoln’s Thanksgiving Proclamation about ‘blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies.’” He paused. “I think she feared my forgetting God as I grew older.”

“Well, you didn’t, and she’d be proud to know it.”

He looked around him at Colonel Barton’s library. “Some days, I’m not so certain about God and me.”

“A man that’s forgot God,” Mrs. Riley said, “don’t recite the words of the Good Book like you did at the assembly last week. I never thought much on the book of Job until I heard you recite it. That part about the ocean having to stop because God said so? I’ve never seen the ocean, but I can imagine it’s a powerful thing. And God controls it. And the stars. You reminded me of just how powerful He is.”

“Thank you, but any skilled orator could have done the same.”

The older woman shook her head. “No, sir. Not so. Not the way you did it. There was life in the words. They came from your heart.”

Noah didn’t know what to say. He had always loved that passage in Job for the same reason Mrs. Riley had just expressed. It reminded him of God’s power—a concept that had comforted him through more than one long night. Today, though, he was more than a little disgruntled with God. Why had He allowed Ma to encounter such a vicious thing as being held captive? And why once she’d been set free, why send a snowstorm? Why trap her with a stranger? And then why leave her alone to raise a boy? In the past couple of hours, questions had piled up until Noah felt like a man facing a mountain range with no chance of scaling the sheer walls.

“I am so sorry for what you must be going through,” Mrs. Riley said.

“Colonel Barton told you, I suppose.”

“He didn’t have to,” Mrs. Riley said. “I been dusting that portrait hanging on that wall for ten years. I thought on it the minute I saw you. Wondered at it.” Her voice gentled. “Wasn’t my place to say anything, of course. I knew Colonel Barton would know what to do.”

Noah glanced back at the portrait. “I know it must be true, but I can’t quite embrace it yet.” He motioned to the papers scattered on the desk. “Any of it. It doesn’t seem real.”

“You hang on to God, Mr. Shaw. That’s what I came in here to say. Even when He’s quiet, He’s there. And you’re a good man. Anybody can see that. As for Miss Rhodes, the way she looks at you? You just give yourself some time. You’ll be all right.”

Emilie.
Noah winced at the thought of her. “You’re very kind to say so.”

Mrs. Riley smiled. “The dumplings and the milk are for kindness’ sake. The words are because they’re true.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not a learned person, but I’ve been at the bottom of the heap in my life, and I know that if you’ll keep your face toward heaven, God will carry you—even if you can’t carry yourself. So you just hang on to God.” She turned to go, then hesitated. Turned back to face him. “As for Miss Rhodes, don’t you be turnin’ into some noble fool runnin’ off and leavin’ her to wonder what she done wrong. That’s not kindness. That’s just pridefulness in a new uniform.” When Noah said nothing, she pressed the point. “You respect her enough to let her make her own decision about this.” She swept her hand over the two desks. “You been washed over by a flood today. Give the waters time to recede. Give the good Lord time to send that dove with the olive branch.” She harrumphed. “That’s a fancy way of sayin’ don’t you go runnin’ off. And that’s all I got to say. Except for that dumpling’s gettin’ cold, and you should eat it while it’s warm.”

With that, she was gone, without giving Noah a chance to say a word. Which was just as well. He wouldn’t have known what to say. But at some point during the woman’s long-winded speech, just a flicker of hope had been born. Surely God was still on His throne, and if He had, indeed, enclosed the oceans, then He must know about what was happening here in Beatrice, in this moment. He knew Kit Leshario and Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes. He knew Emilie and Noah and whether or not their love would stand the storm that had just swept into their lives. Maybe, just maybe things would be all right.

Noah reached for the apple dumpling. He inhaled the aroma of cinnamon and baked apples.
Do you see me, Ma? I’m trying to understand.
He closed his eyes.
Do you hear me, God? Help me. Please. Help me.

Emilie sat in the back of the buggy, her head bowed, her hands clenched in her lap. She wished she hadn’t forgotten her parasol back at the Bee Hive. It was so hot. As she stared off into the distance, the scenery shimmered. An imaginary pool of water glimmered in the distance.

“I really am quite weary of the battle.”
That’s what Mother had said just before they left town. She’d said she wanted to settle things between the two of them “once and for all.” Did that mean she was going to deliver an ultimatum? When she turned the buggy up the road leading to the new house instead of continuing on to the Springs’, Emilie realized that Aunt Cornelia was going to be in on the conversation, too. That did not bode well.

Mother pulled up beneath the porte cochere, and Calvin came hurrying out of the barn. “This evening’s concert begins at 7:30,” she said to him. “If you can have the buggy ready by 6:30, that should be fine.” She hesitated, then glanced back at Emilie. “Would you like Calvin to saddle Royal for you? Then you can meet up with…whoever….” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

“That’s a good idea. If you don’t mind, Calvin?”

“I’ll have him waiting right here at the hitching post, soon as I get old Dutch, here, unharnessed and cooled down.”

Emilie climbed down and followed Mother and Aunt Cornelia up the stairs to the side door, through the back hall, and finally into the front parlor which, thanks to Dinah’s having drawn the heavy drapes early this morning, actually felt almost cool compared to the rest of the house.

Mother removed her bonnet and dropped it on Father’s chair. Aunt Cornelia followed suit. Together, the sisters crossed the room and perched on the couch along the far wall. They simultaneously removed fans from their bags and sat, fanning and waiting. As if they’d planned how to make Emilie as uncomfortable as possible.

Emilie cleared her throat. “As I said, I meant to tell you. I just—there was never a right time.”

“You have had an unusually busy few days,” Mother said.

“I don’t know what else to say, except that I’m sorry. And I am, for hurting you.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m not sorry for doing the work. I’m just—sorry—that you found out the way you did today.”

“Today?” Mother looked over at Aunt Cornelia. “She thinks I just learned about it today.” She looked back at Emilie. “Emilie, dear. I’ve known since the appearance of the first article. Or perhaps the second. Yes, now that I think on it, it was the second.”

“Father told you?”

“Emilie Jane,” Mother said, shaking her head. “Do you really think I am so obtuse? I’ve read everything you’ve written since you were ten years old. I recognized your style with the first article. By the second, I was convinced. No one had to tell me.” She shook her head. “And goodness, but the dancing about each other your father and I did until finally we both realized the other already knew.” She paused. “I will admit to being hurt that you didn’t trust me in the same way you trusted him. But I forgive you for that. And while I’m reluctant to admit it, I can even understand your reluctance to tell me.”

Emilie plopped into a chair. “You knew. You both knew? And you don’t mind?”

“Mind?” Mother looked over at Aunt Cornelia again. “Well, yes. I do mind, actually. But apparently some very fine people are in the other camp. Reverend Talmage, for example. And Miss Jones. Mrs. Colby—although I’ve always thought of her as something of a radical.”

Aunt Cornelia nodded agreement. “Radical…and yet still quite a lady in every respect. As is Miss Jones.” She paused. “I do hope you aren’t going to take this newfound independence of yours too far, though. Your mother’s been worried all week that you’ll be donning reform dress next.”

Mother nodded. “I just…well…of course I’ll still love you, dear, but honestly, I don’t think it’s attractive for a lady to expose her bloomers to the public. Do you?”

Relief set Emilie to laughing. “Reform dress? No…I have no plans to raise any hems or expose any bloomers. Writing for publication is all the rebellion I have planned at the moment.” She paused. “And I didn’t really even plan that. It just…happened.”

“Thanks in part to Mr. Shaw’s assistance, I presume,” Mother said.

Emilie sat back up. “No, ma’am. Don’t blame Noah. It was entirely my idea.”

“I don’t doubt that it was,” Mother said. “And you’re misunderstanding my point. As usual. The thing is, if Mr. Shaw isn’t supportive of your writing, that’s a problem that needs to be addressed.” She paused. “You must realize, dear, that you will be miserable married to a man who doesn’t understand your…unique intentions when it comes to the future. Goodness, if I hadn’t had your Father’s unwavering support for all my causes…well. I don’t know if our marriage would have survived.”

“Noah…my writing won’t be a problem,” Emilie said. “He understands me.” She shrugged. “We finish each other’s sentences half the time. It’s almost strange.”

“No,” Mother said with a gentle smile. “It’s wonderful.”

“He’s your soul mate, dear,” Aunt Cornelia said. “Everyone who’s seen the two of you together knows it. Even Hazel Penner recognizes it—although those girls of hers are being stubborn.”

Emilie smiled at them both. “You approve of Noah?”

“Well, of course I approve of Noah, dear,” Mother said. “And don’t look so surprised. The very first time I saw your Father, I came home and wrote in my diary that I’d just met the man I was going to marry.”

“You did?”