Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (12 page)

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Ma. I’m not gonna change my mind. It’s just … a big change, is all. I know you’ve hated every minute of it for—”

“Seven years. Since that day I got well enough to realize what you’d done.” Margaret shook her head. “I’ll never forgive myself.”

“For what? Sticking with me when I was too bullheaded to listen?” Sadie shook her head. “You were sick. We were gonna end up out on the street. I did what had to be done. And then I just kept at it—I don’t know why. But I’m finished with it now.” Sadie took her mother’s hand and smiled. “Who would have thought a bespectacled German would come along and win Simone LaBelle’s heart?”

“Has he? Has Mr. Meyer won your heart?”

Sadie didn’t answer the question. “I still have trouble believing he wants a future with me.”

“Sadie.” Margaret chucked her daughter beneath the chin. “Look at me. Ludwig Meyer does not deserve to have his heart broken.”

Sadie pulled away and strode on up the street, with Margaret hurrying to keep up. “Don’t you think I know that? I’ve got no plans to break his heart. It’s just—this is all so new.” She pointed back at the little house. “I don’t even know how to
talk
to regular women.”

“You know how to talk to me,” Margaret said. “I’m as regular as they come.”

“You don’t count. You’re my ma. You have to put up with me and pretend to like it.”

Margaret put her arm around her daughter’s waist. “I bet you love Roca when you see it.”

“What if Roca doesn’t love me?”

“The wife of the owner of their new store? The woman who sells them calico and lace? Why wouldn’t they like you?”

“Because I’m loud and I say what I think.” Sadie took a deep breath. “Don’t you dare tell Ludwig or Cass, but the truth is I’m scared. Scared to death I’ll say or do something wrong. And people will punish Ludwig for taking up with me. And he’ll be sorry he ever met me.”

“He isn’t taking up with you. He’s marrying you.”

“What if he changes his mind?”

“I’ve had two weeks to watch the two of you. Mr. Meyer loves you. Very much. And if you doubt it, explain his moving over to Cass’s rooming house to protect your reputation.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “And if that isn’t a sign that he’s lost his mind, I don’t know what is. Next thing I know, he’ll be expecting me to go to church with him and Cass.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Can you imagine Simone LaBelle at church? Don’t say it. The answer is no, but maybe Sadie Gregory could fit in. Someday.”

“He’s a good man.”

Sadie’s eyes filled with tears. “I know it. I know he is.” She looked away. “And I can’t see why he’d settle for the likes of me.”

“Do you remember what you said that first day when Cass came to supper? That Mr. Meyer sees
you
?”

Sadie nodded.

“That’s the answer. He doesn’t see Simone LaBelle when he looks at you. He sees the young woman who will do anything to protect the people she loves. Who makes hot tea for her friends when they’re feeling low. Who’s always willing to listen. And who has a way of making people smile.”

“Don’t forget the part about being kind to wounded animals and orphaned children,” Sadie muttered. “Might as well spread it thick if we’re gonna make me over.”

They neared the burned-out building, and Margaret gestured toward the rubble. “That fire destroyed two lives. We can keep it from destroying ours. In fact, we can use it for good. We can claim the new life God’s offering us. Just like Ludwig says in his prayer every evening before supper.”

Sadie looked at her mother. “You have to know that I’m not real big on the idea of God. Not since—a very long time.”

“I know,” Margaret said. “I’ve wondered where He was, too. Ever since Quantrill’s raiders did what they did to us. But I love you with all of my battered heart, Sadie. And somewhere in the Good Book it talks about love hoping all things. I guess I’m hoping that you and me and God can all get reacquainted.”

Sadie gazed across the road at the saloon. “Well, Lord knows we’re going to need some new friends in about ten minutes.” She glanced up at the sky. “You listening? This would be a good time to step in, if Ma’s right and You do care, after all.”

Taking a deep breath, Sadie led the way in search of Goldie.

Tuesday morning, nearly a week after Sterling’s funeral, Juliana lay in bed, listening to the steady rhythm of rain in the predawn light. When she finally got out of bed and went to the window to look outside, the sodden landscape only darkened her mood. She and the aunts were supposed to meet with Mr. Graham today for the inevitable “reading of the will.” Perhaps she could call and postpone it. Aunt Lydia never complained, but Juliana had noticed her massaging her arthritic hands in recent days. Heading out into damp weather would do nothing to ease her aching joints.

Pulling on a dressing gown, she descended to the kitchen, surprised to find the aunts already dressed and seated at the table, toast and tea before them.

“Here you are,” Aunt Theodora said. “We were just talking about you.”

Oh, no. What have I done now?
The past few days had been hard on them all, and Aunt Theodora especially seemed to have an extra portion of vinegar in her attitude.

“We’re proud of you,” she said.

Rendered speechless, Juliana put her hand on the back of a chair and glanced over at Aunt Lydia, who only smiled. “You … are?”

“We are. I am.” Aunt Theodora nodded at her sister. “My sister has reminded me that I can be less than accepting when my strong opinions are not validated.” She took a deep breath. “I was, of course, disappointed in some of the details of the service, but Lydia is right. My own minister caused the difficulty, and I should not put blame where blame does not lie.” She took a sip of tea. “I don’t always express myself as clearly as I should,” she said. “So I wish to make it clear that, while the details of Sterling’s memorial service may not have been to my preference, in the end I feel that we all did a very nice job of honoring his memory. And—” Her voice wavered, and she blinked. Unable to stay the tears, she let them flow. “And I hope you will forgive me if I made things more difficult for you.” She broke off. “I am very fond of you, Juliana. You have no idea how fond.”

Juliana sat down next to her and reached for her hand. “It’s been horrible for us all.”

“But worse for you,” Aunt Theodora said. “And I think perhaps I was too caught up in my own sorrow to realize that.”

“Sterling was more your son than your nephew. Mothers aren’t supposed to outlive their children. It’s all wrong.” Juliana swallowed. “I’m sorry if my … fighting you … on the rituals has made it harder for you.”

Aunt Theodora shook her head. “No. Don’t apologize. You are an intelligent woman, and you are most certainly entitled to your opinions.” She glanced at Aunt Lydia. “I have no right to dictate to you. It is particularly egregious of me to do so when you have so graciously deigned to share your home with us all these years.”

Juliana didn’t know what to say. Were they feeling insecure about their situation now that Sterling was gone? She spoke to that. “Aunt Theodora. Aunt Lydia. This is your
home.
You aren’t guests; you’re all the family I have. I cannot imagine life without either of you. Forgive me for not making that clear. I need you.”

Aunt Theodora shook her head. “I cannot imagine what for. I’m an outspoken old woman.” She glanced at Aunt Lydia. “At least my sister is a peacemaker.”

“I need you both,” Juliana said. “And don’t either of you ever forget it.” She took a deep breath. “And now I need to get dressed so that we can get this infernal meeting over with.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you’d support me in calling and canceling? It’s a dreadful day out there.”

“You’ll feel such relief once it’s over with,” Aunt Lydia said. “We don’t mind the rain.”

“And a lady does not say
infernal
, dear,” Aunt Theodora said, although she was smiling as she said it.

Thou art my hiding place and my shield.
P
SALM
119:114

T
he offices of Amasa J. Graham, attorney at law, occupied an impressive street-level suite in what was known as the Richards Block on the northeast corner of Eleventh and O Streets. By the time Juliana and the aunts alighted on the boardwalk just outside, the town coach had driven through a downpour that made them all worry about poor Alfred huddled beneath a mackintosh on the driver’s seat above them. But “poor Alfred” gave no sign of discomfort as he opened a huge umbrella and escorted each of the women in turn across the boardwalk.

When it was Juliana’s turn, she lingered at the door to press a coin into Alfred’s hand. “I will not have you waiting out here in the rain. Find something hot to drink where you can get warm and dry. I’ll send someone to find you when this is done.”

“But the team—”

“If they didn’t bolt on the way in, they aren’t going to do so now,” Juliana said. She pointed up at the parting clouds. “The storm has passed. Please, Alfred.” She lingered inside the door watching as Alfred closed up the umbrella and slid it beneath the driver’s seat. He made sure the team was securely hitched to the iron post at the edge of the boardwalk, then ambled off in the direction of the only place in town that would serve a black man. He would have to walk several blocks in what was now a light drizzle.

Taking a deep breath, Juliana headed for the conference room. Aunts Lydia and Theodora had chosen chairs on either side of an empty chair at the head of a polished mahogany table. Mr. Graham took a seat at the opposite end. He had just opened the folder before him when a soft rap on the door announced George Duncan’s arrival.

Mr. Graham explained. “I thought it in your best interest if your husband’s banker—and of course he is now your banker—joined us. There are trust funds to be discussed, and Mr. Duncan has been named the administrator of those accounts.”

Juliana’s heart sank at the phrase
trust funds.
She folded her hands in her lap and waited. If Sterling had established trust funds, he didn’t trust her. At least that’s how it felt.

“Are we ready?” Mr. Graham looked around the table then began to read.

As it turned out, the trust funds were for the aunts. Everything else—Sutton Builders, the railroad stock, the bank interests, the homes, the land—Sterling had left it all to “my beloved wife, Juliana Regina Masters Sutton.” Mr. Graham made a joke about the largest estate he’d ever represented resulting in the shortest will he’d ever read. The enormity of the estate left Juliana reeling.

“The dear boy,” Aunt Theodora said, her voice warm with emotion.

Aunt Lydia chimed in with a low laugh. “The blessed child.”

Then Mr. Duncan spoke up. “Mr. Graham and I have conferred,” he said. “It is most unusual for a man of Mr. Sutton’s status to burden his wife with this amount of responsibility. The tragic circumstances of Sterling’s death can only make that responsibility more challenging.” He looked at Mr. Graham.

Mr. Graham cleared his throat and pulled a lone piece of paper from beneath the file containing the will and, Juliana assumed, real estate deeds. “Mr. Duncan and I have prioritized some of the more pressing matters that should be addressed as soon as possible.” He adjusted his spectacles. “You will, of course, want to sell the farm.”

“The farm?” Juliana frowned.

Mr. Graham nodded. “Several hundred acres just to the west of the penitentiary.”

Juliana glanced at the aunts. “Did you know Sterling owned a farm?” They shook their heads.

“I daresay that Sterling owned a great many things you wouldn’t necessarily be directly aware of,” Mr. Graham said.

“I daresay,” Juliana agreed. “But I don’t think I’ll be inclined to sell any of it until I’ve had a thorough look at whatever you have in that file.”

Graham nodded. “Of course.” He glanced at Mr. Duncan. Something passed between them.

“There is the matter of the new house,” Duncan said. “That could very quickly become a liability and a drain on your circumstances.”

“In what way?”

He leaned back in his chair and tented his hands across his midsection. “There’s not much of a market for anything so grand, for one thing. It might be wise to put a stop to the construction while you decide what to do.”

Aunt Lydia spoke up. “And put all those men out of work?” She looked at Juliana. “I’m sorry, dear. I know it’s not my place to speak, but—surely we have some responsibility to the workforce.”

Juliana nodded. “My aunt makes a good point.”

“It would only be a delay,” Mr. Duncan said. “And a temporary one, at that. Whoever bought the property would of course continue the project. But stopping it now would increase the likelihood of selling it in a timely fashion. You could price it reasonably and move it quickly. And be done with it.” He paused. “It’s not exactly uncommon knowledge that the house was Sterling’s idea and that you had … reservations. There’s no need to burden yourself with it any longer. If the workers are a concern, we could prepare a generous severance package and promise the best of recommendations would be forwarded to the new owner.”

Something didn’t seem right about this. Duncan was pressing the point too strongly. And he was nervous. Dots of perspiration had broken out across his brow. Juliana looked over at Mr. Graham, who had taken a sudden interest in the piece of paper lying on the table before him.