Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (38 page)

All of it made complete sense. None of it helped Emilie feel any less dejected as she sat amidst the Chautauqua crowd, with May on her right and Bert Hartwell on her left and Noah over at Colonel Barton’s house doing whatever it was he needed to do.

As the evening wore on, Emilie’s nerves wore thin and her mood plummeted. Everything Noah had said earlier today ran through her mind, over and over again. His father was a Pawnee Indian. His parents had never been married. There were labels assigned to people like him. Of course none of that mattered to Emilie. But if she thought it wouldn’t matter to her parents—she glanced their way—if she thought it wouldn’t matter to them, Emilie knew she was being naive.

She looked over at May. What would May think? What would she say? And Bert. And April and June and Uncle Roscoe and Aunt Cornelia and—Hazel Penner. Well, she could just imagine what Hazel Penner would say. Emilie closed her eyes. In spite of her best efforts, a tear escaped. She bowed her head. Another tear. She bit her lower lip. Raised her gloved hand and feigned a cough. Cleared her throat. Nothing worked.

Finally, she leaned over and whispered in May’s ear. “I’m all right, but I have to get a drink of water. Tell Mother I’ll be back in time to help over at the cabin.” With that, she slipped out of her seat and hurried away.

As she wove her way through the crowd seated on blankets and quilts, Emilie pulled a handkerchief from the small bag hanging from her wrist. It was as if the presence of the handkerchief gave the tears permission to flow. Before she consciously realized what she was doing, she was heading for the arched gates, up the road, and finally, across the bridge to town.

She’d calmed down. The sun was setting, the moon rising just above the trees. Her tears stopped. She looked back toward the Tabernacle. They were singing the closing hymn.
“My faith looks up to Thee, Thou Lamb of Calvary, Savior divine! … May Thy rich grace impart strength to my fainting heart.”
The words became a prayer as Emilie stood, looking down at the waters of the Blue River…the river that had attracted Noah to this place, the river beside which his mother had camped, the river beside which Emilie and Noah had kissed. Had it been only a few days ago? It seemed a lifetime ago.

The words to the hymn rang out, sung by thousands and carried on the wind. Harmony. They were singing harmony, soprano and alto, tenor and bass, the parts blending beautifully in the summer night.
“While life’s dark maze I tread, and griefs around me spread, be Thou my Guide; Bid darkness turn to day, wipe sorrow’s tears away, nor let me ever stray from Thee aside.”

“Oh God,” Emilie whispered. “Oh God, help me. Help us. I love him so.” She began to cry again. Someone was coming from the direction of town. She ducked her head and turned away.

“Emilie? Emilie, is it you? Oh, Emilie—” Noah reached her side. He pulled her to him.

“I just—I couldn’t just sit there. Without you. Wondering.” She choked out the words. “I’ve had hours to think. I’ve pretended nothing was wrong. I haven’t said a word to anyone. But Noah—are you really going to leave me?”

“I have to go, sweetheart,” he said.

“I know. That’s not what I mean.”

“Walk with me,” he said.

They made their way across the bridge, away from the assembly grounds, and toward town. He kept his arm about her, and for Emilie’s part, she wasn’t about to let go of him. As they walked, the sky darkened and the stars came out.

“The colonel and I have spent the evening in his office. We’ve made a terrible mess of it, sorting through all those piles of papers on his desk.” He reached into his pocket with his free hand and withdrew a few sheets of paper. “I had to tear them out of your notebook so that I could carry them in my pocket while I looked for you, but Colonel Barton answered your questions.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Emilie said. “It doesn’t really matter.” She choked back another sob.

Noah’s arm about her tightened. “It does matter. E. J. Starr has a promising career ahead of her. Neither the colonel nor I want to do anything to hamper it.”

Emilie stopped walking. She looked up at him. “Then don’t break my heart.”

He took a deep breath. “Haven’t I already?”

She closed her eyes and leaned into him, resting her cheek against his chest. “I still love you. I don’t care about that. Nothing’s changed.”

He caressed her hair, then kissed her on the forehead. “Everything has changed, beloved. Everything.”

Beloved.
He’d never said that before. He sounded older. Distant. The music had stopped. He noticed.

“They’ve stopped singing. Your family will be worried.”

He was right, of course.

“I don’t know how to behave around them. As if nothing has happened. As if nothing is wrong. How can I do that?”

“I asked the same question earlier of the colonel. He said that we just ‘do the next thing.’” He paused. “For me, that’s learning to ride a horse. For you?”

She sighed. “Packing. Helping pack up the cabins.”

“Beware of snakes,” he said. “And wait for me. And pray. The colonel reminded me that God isn’t surprised by any of this. I know he’s right. But I don’t know what it means for the future.” He lifted her chin. “Do you see me, Emilie Jane?”

She nodded. “I see enough.”

“I love you.” He bent to kiss her, and then he said, “If you still want me a month from now—when you’ve had time to think it through—I’ll be back. I’ll talk to your father like a proper gentleman. And then we’ll see.” When she started to speak, he touched his finger to her lips. “Shhh,” he said. “We’ll see. Now take my arm, and I’ll walk you back.”

Finally back in her own bed—she had forgotten how luxurious a real mattress could feel—Emilie slept half the morning away on Tuesday, waking only when Mother opened the door and called to her.

“Your cousins will be here in half an hour, Emilie Jane.”

Emilie turned over to face her. “Do I have to go?”

“For the last meeting of the chorus class? The closing song? I suppose not, if you really don’t want to.” Mother stepped into the room. “Are you ill?”

With a sigh, Emilie sat up. “No. I’m just…tired of it all.” She paused. “I wish we weren’t scheduled up at Long Pine. I’ve had my fill of camping.”

“We’ve a lovely cottage reserved,” Mother said. “You’ll love it once we’re there. I hear the natatorium is much better than the one here.” She paused. “And before he left for the newspaper this morning, your father said he has some ideas for E. J. Starr. Something connected to your Chautauqua experiences.”

Emilie threw back the sheet and put her feet to the floor. She stretched. Looked over at the bag she had yet to unpack. Sighed.

“Come now, Emilie. I know it’s a great disappointment to you that Mr. Shaw isn’t going to be there, after all. But really—” She smiled. “He’ll be back at the end of the summer. And a little period of separation isn’t a bad thing in these matters.”

“Tell that to April,” Emilie said, crossing to her dressing table and reaching for her hair brush.

“Noah Shaw,” Mother said firmly, “is nothing like that Elwood Sutter.”

Emilie glanced at Mother in the mirror. “You had doubts about Elwood?”

Mother hesitated. “Of course I didn’t want to say anything. But yes. I did. His people have never been particularly…oh, I don’t know. His family doesn’t impress. As for Elwood, he never seemed to be able to muster passion for anything—including April. Your Mr. Shaw is nothing like Elwood Sutter—thank heavens. It’s obvious he comes from good stock. I only wish his parents were still living. But as far as I can see, he’s more than proven himself in every way that’s important. He’s made something of himself, even without the support of a strong family behind him. That speaks well for a man.” She came up behind Emilie and put her hands firmly on her shoulders. “Allow him his little adventure in the West, dear, and be thankful for Josiah Barton’s taking him under his wing. There’s no better man for Noah to be around if he’s intent on adventure. Josiah will return the boy safe and sound, right where he belongs.”

“And where is that?”

“At your side, of course,” Mother said.

“Do you really believe that?”

Mother frowned. “In the end I don’t suppose it matters whether I believe it or not. Are you having second thoughts?”

Emilie shook her head. “It’s just that the next few weeks are going to be the longest few weeks of my life.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“What’s this?” Mother gathered her in her arms. “Where’s my brave girl reporter? It’ll be all right, dear. Truly. The young man’s completely in love with you.”

Emilie took a deep breath. “I’m behaving like a child,” she said and stepped out of Mother’s embrace. “I’ll be fine. Just—let me get ready. There’s no good reason for me to sit here at home pining over Noah, especially when he hasn’t even left yet.” She began to unbutton her chemise.

“I’ll have Dinah get a light breakfast ready. You’d better hurry, now.” Mother stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her.

Emilie faltered only once in dressing.
Just do the next thing.
She could do that. She could attend the closing ceremonies and sing in the chorus. She could unpack and plan for Long Pine. And she could go by the newspaper office and talk to father about E. J. Starr’s future with the
Dispatch.
Thoughts of writing brought her up short. Made her smile. She would talk to Father about his ideas for E. J. Starr. But first…first, she would stop in at the
Journal
and introduce E. J. Starr to Carl Obrist. It couldn’t hurt to have more than one egg in one’s basket. And now that she thought about it, she had some ideas of her own for E. J. Starr.

A
t the end of the first day of what Noah had come to think of as his “quest,” he swung out of the saddle with a groan, staggering a bit when his feet hit the ground. The bay Colonel Barton had advised him to purchase looked back at him with what Noah could have sworn was disdain. “I know,” he said, “I’m embarrassing you. Can’t be helped. Everything hurts.” The horse shook its head and gave a soft snort. When Colonel Barton dismounted with a grunt, Noah spoke to the horse again. “He’s sore, too. And
he
knows what he’s doing.”

Colonel Barton laughed. “These old bones keep reminding me just how long ago that was.” He arched his back and stretched. “I’ve turned into a city boy, too. Let’s call it a day.”

It was still dark when the colonel shook Noah awake the next morning.

“Four o’clock, son,” he said. “Don’t have a bugle and decided to forego the gunfire. Still, it’s time to rise and rustle breakfast. Assuming, of course, you still want to re-create your mother’s trail experience.”

“I do,” Noah said. And then he tried to sit up. He knew it wasn’t really possible to pull every single muscle just sitting astride a horse. Yet every move hurt something.

The colonel chuckled. “Wait until you’re fifty and you decide to pull some fool stunt like this. Then you’ll know what it’s like to be sore.” As he walked past on his way to stir up the campfire, the colonel tossled Noah’s hair. “Come on, greenhorn. Buck up and move out. It’ll get better in a few minutes after you’ve stretched out the kinks.”

With a loud groan, Noah managed to get to his feet. Staggering like a drunkard, he made his way to the creek. When he crouched down to cup his hands and splash his face with water, he lost his balance, landing on his backside in the grass. His horse had been grazing nearby, but the sudden motion of Noah’s fall made him jerk his head up and snort.

“What are you looking at?” Noah groused.

The horse took a step toward him. Then another. Noah lay still, staring up at the predawn sky, hurting. In a moment, the horse loomed over him. Dropping its head, it lipped his hair, then nuzzled his cheek.

“Thank you,” Noah said, reaching up to pat the horse’s muzzle. “Your sympathy is appreciated. You wouldn’t want to help me up, would you?”

By way of answer, the animal stepped away. Seconds later, Noah heard the sound of the grass being watered. Laughing, he once again crouched at the waters’ edge, ignoring the pain in his legs as he splashed water in his face, then raked his damp fingers through his hair. Finally, he stood up, leaning from side to side, grimacing with every move.

“You fry the bacon,” the colonel called. “I’ll show you how we make camp coffee.”

Boiled beans completed the meal. They were on the move by seven and rode until noon. Lunch consisted of bread, a hunk of cheese, and water drawn—with permission—from a rancher’s well.

“What did you do before the country was settled?” Noah asked. “How’d you know where to find water?”

“At first, we depended on native scouts who knew the land. In a dry year, we sometimes went without, even with a guide along.” With that, the colonel was off on a story of a fruitless search for water and men fighting to be the first to put their parched lips to a trickle of water seeping out of a canyon wall.

Not all that far west of Beatrice, rolling hills gave way to treeless prairie, and a landscape Noah at first thought of as empty. But as time went on, he began to see things a different way. Blooming wildflowers made him think of Ma again and her love for something she called a butterfly weed. He wondered if she might have been remembering the bushy plants with orange blossoms that seemed to attract butterflies. In time, he realized there was variety, even in what had at first seemed an endless sea of grass.