Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (14 page)

“Ask Mr. Gregory what he thinks,” Aunt Lydia said. “He’s a good man.”

Aunt Theodora sighed. “The willingness to set up tables at an ice-cream social hardly qualifies a common worker to advise in matters of finance, Sister.”

“It doesn’t automatically disqualify him, either,” Aunt Lydia retorted. “Everyone at St. John’s thinks very highly of Mr. Gregory.”

Juliana closed the folder with a sigh. It was all well and good for Aunt Lydia to sing Mr. Gregory’s praises because she knew him from church. Aunt Lydia hadn’t seen him at the fire.
Maybe it didn’t mean anything.
Of course that didn’t explain his involvement in Nell Parker’s funeral.
You don’t suspect Pastor Taylor. He was driving the other wagon.
Yes, but Pastor Taylor was sitting
alone
on the wagon seat. He didn’t have a woman snuggled up to him.

Would she ever learn to trust again?

Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry.
E
cclesiastes
7:9

I
t was one thing to see Sterling’s drawings of the mansion he planned and hear him describe the progress, and quite another to see the brick and stone walls rising out of the prairie. Juliana pulled Tecumseh up and sat, taking it all in with a combination of delight and dismay. This was no monstrosity. It was going to be spectacular.

A newly fenced pasture lay to the east of the caretaker’s house. Inside the barbed wire enclosure, Mr. Gregory’s bay grazed alongside a team of draft horses. Mr. Gregory was nowhere in sight. She walked Tecumseh closer in, up to what would be the back door of the manse, and called up to a worker nailing subflooring down in the back hall. “Where would I find Mr. Gregory?”

The man snatched his cap off his head. “My condolences, Mrs. Sutton.” Juliana thanked him, and then he nodded toward the stone cottage. “Boss is in the office.”

Riding up to the cottage, Juliana slid off Tecumseh and peered through the open door. Mr. Gregory was bent over a drawing laid out on some planks spanning a pair of sawhorses to form a makeshift table.

“Good morning,” she called.

“Mrs. Sutton.” He grabbed a rumpled brown coat and pulled it on, then raked a hand through his unruly hair before stepping outside.

“I thought it was time I rode out and saw things for myself.”

“I’m glad you did.” He nodded toward the pasture. “Would you like to turn your horse in with the others? Baron’s fairly peaceable. The draft horses won’t pay him any mind at all.”

“I was surprised to see a fenced pasture. That’s new.”

“The boss wanted us to do it, but we just got it finished the other day. He was hoping you’d start riding out more often.”

While Juliana held Tecumseh’s bridle, Mr. Gregory unsaddled him and set the saddle and blanket against a tree. Next, he opened the gate. Juliana walked through, unbuckled the throatlatch, and let Tecumseh go. He and the big bay snorted and danced about for a few minutes, but before long they gave up posturing and settled down to graze.

She gazed up at the cottonwood trees towering above the stone cottage, then at the carpet of deep pink wildflowers blooming off to the south. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it is out here.” She glanced to the north. “I don’t suppose it will be long before Lincoln grows out this far.”

“Hard to imagine, but of course you’re right.”

She motioned toward the open windows across the face of the cottage. “I see you’re taking advantage of the warm spring air.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She went inside and looked about the room. “This place was little more than an empty shell the last time I was here. Do you mind if I see what’s been done?” She crossed the room to peer into the kitchen, admiring the tile work on the wall above the sink.

“I’ve had the inevitable meeting with attorney and banker. They’ve encouraged me to think about selling. Mr. Duncan offered to make what he calls ‘discreet inquiries’ to gauge interest in the property. He called this morning. He has someone interested.” She glanced back at the kitchen. “I didn’t remember we were having tile work.”

“The boss had Mrs. Gaines choose it. Said that if they were going to live in it, they should have a say. He had me order the stove she wanted, too. It’s already been delivered, but we’re keeping it in town. I thought we should wait to install anything like that until someone was on the premises permanently.” He paused. “We noticed buggy tracks in the grass around the house last Wednesday morning after that rain. It made me think we were beginning to attract unwanted visitors. Now I wonder if it might have been Mr. Duncan.” He paused again. “I wish he’d let me know he was showing the place.”

Juliana shared Mr. Gregory’s displeasure at the idea of George Duncan hauling people out here without her knowledge. It felt presumptuous. She walked over to the mantle, admiring the carving that made the edge look like a twisted rope. “Beautiful work.”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ve a first-rate carpenter. He’s already started on the finials for the staircase in the big house. Says it’s the most fun he’s had in a decade.”

“Fun?”

“It’s a joy to work on something that uses all your skills.” He nodded at the main house, just visible through the open front door. “To say you had a hand in building something that fine? Plenty of craftsmen never get the chance.” He paused. “I hope you won’t let Mr. Duncan rush you into a decision. Things have to be overwhelming right now.”

She tried to keep bitterness out of her voice. “You have no idea.”

“Would you like a tour?” He offered his arm, and together they crossed the prairie to the building site, pausing first near the front entrance. Juliana stared up at the massive house. The sound of hammers and saws and the faint scent of sawdust wafted on the breeze.

“I’m curious about something,” she said. “Mr. Duncan warned me about what he called ‘inevitable delays’ that would occur without my husband overseeing things out here.” She looked around them. “This doesn’t look like ‘delay.’”

Frustration sounded in Mr. Gregory’s voice. “I did my best to assure Mr. Duncan there would be no delays. Apparently I failed to gain his confidence.”

“When did you talk to him?”

“When I came to work the morning after the fire, about a dozen of the crew were waiting for me. You can imagine they had questions. The only one I couldn’t answer had to do with payday. I offered to talk to Mr. Duncan for them. I assumed the boss’s banker would know if there was going to be a delay. I’m sorry if that sounds callous.”

“You don’t have to apologize. They’re working men with families to feed. I don’t blame them for wondering, and I don’t blame you for acting quickly. In fact, I’m glad you did.”

“If I’d known Mr. Duncan could sign the checks, I wouldn’t have bothered him. Finney knows the business is in good shape financially.”

George Duncan can sign Sutton Builders checks.
Why hadn’t he mentioned that at their meeting? She would need to think about that. “You said the meeting didn’t go well?”

“It didn’t stay … simple. He asked me to breakfast. And he brought up the idea of ‘delays’ with me, too. At first I thought he was just reassuring me. The payroll would be on time, and people would be understanding while everyone adjusted.”

“That’s not what he meant?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. He kept talking around it, but I’m not used to reading behind people’s words. Finally, he came out and told me that Mrs. Duncan has her eye on this place, but he needs time to liquidate some assets before he has the money to purchase it. Even at that, he would need the place to be unfinished.”

“He told you to slow things down?”

“Not directly, no. He was … careful. But it was apparent that he anticipates having an important say in the business with the boss gone.”

Vultures circling.
Just as Sterling always said. “But you’re not slowing down.”

He shook his head. “Mr. Duncan isn’t my boss, ma’am. You are.”

He seemed sincere. Aunt Lydia said he had a good reputation. But still … he’d been with those women. As to George Duncan’s machinations, she was disappointed but not surprised. Helen Duncan had always seemed to take an inordinate interest in what other people possessed. Let one of the women at a function wear a new fur, and Helen had one the next time you saw her. Let someone redo a room, and Helen redecorated two. She had made no secret of her opinion of what she called “conspicuous excess” on the part of the Suttons.
I guess it’s only excessive if it’s someone else’s.

Mr. Gregory cleared his throat. “It isn’t my place to sway your decision one way or another, ma’am. But I do feel that I should tell you that if you sell to Duncan, I’ll be giving my notice. I won’t work for him.”

They had been standing near the house. A worker appeared in one of the turret windows. “‘Scuse me, Cass,” he called down. “Did I just hear right?” He glanced at Juliana. “Ma’am? You sold to Duncan?” He looked back at Cass. “We can look for work together.” He bobbed back out of sight.

“I want to talk to him,” Juliana said.

Cass called. “Klein. Elmo Klein.” When Klein reappeared in the window, Cass motioned for him to join the two of them.

As soon as he hopped down and came near, Juliana asked, “Why would you give up a good job, just because the owner changes?”

“Mr. Duncan was my landlord last year. I missed a payment. The baby got sick. I could either pay Dr. Gilbert or pay the rent. Well, Dr. Gilbert sat up for three nights with my Betsy. Said not to worry about the money, the baby was the thing. So when I had to choose, I paid Dr. Gilbert. Figured Mr. Duncan would understand. I’d rented from him for two years, and it was the first time I’d missed. He understood, all right. Understood that he wasn’t getting paid, and he didn’t care why. He put me and my wife and our new baby out on the street.”

Juliana frowned. “I can’t imagine George Duncan doing something like that.”

The worker’s voice trembled with barely contained rage. “Oh, he didn’t do it himself. He didn’t have the gumption. He sent someone else to do it.” He glanced at Cass. “Mr. Gregory, here, offered to help pay the rent, but I’d had enough of that landlord. The Friend’s Society took us in. They didn’t really have room, but one of the ladies let us camp out in her parlor until I could find something new.”

“You mean the Society for the Friendless?”

The man shrugged. “The other name fits better, doesn’t it?” His gray eyes glittered with rage. “We had a month-old baby, and Duncan didn’t care a bit. I’d move to gol-durned Indian Territory before I’d work for that man.” He apologized for swearing.

One of the stonemasons waved for Mr. Gregory to come and answer a question, and he stepped away. Juliana smiled at Mr. Kline. “If any rumors get started about what’s going to happen out here, would you do your part to squelch them? I’m not saying I will never sell this place, but as of today,
nothing
I own is for sale, and I own everything that belonged to my husband. I hope no one objects to working for a woman.”

Mr. Klein grinned. “Don’t imagine anyone will care a bit. As long as the lady in question is smart enough to keep her foreman on.” Klein nodded at Cass. “You’ve got a good one there, ma’am.”

Juliana thanked Klein, and he returned to work. She caught up with Mr. Gregory, who was standing by the broad stone stairs that would lead guests up to the massive double doors tucked beneath an arched overhang rimmed with stone. “I’ve never seen this kind of work done before,” she said.

“You’ve Jessup to thank for it.” Mr. Gregory pointed to a big man dressed in overalls. “He did the work on the stone cottage, too. And he’s done a fair amount of work south of here around Roca. In fact, there’s someone driving out from town this afternoon to talk with him about a project down there. They wanted me to bid it. I told them I have a job.”

“So does Mr. Jessup.”

“It isn’t unusual for the men take on side jobs. Don’t worry. They all know your house comes first. Weekends only for second jobs.”

“Tell me about the progress here.”

Mr. Gregory pointed up to the roofline. “The slate for the roof is due in next week. We’ll be ready when it comes. I’ve talked to the factory manufacturing the windows. We should have them set in place by the first of June. Once we’ve got the windows in and the roof on then the interior work will begin.” He paused. “Mr. Sutton said you’d likely have a lot to say about that.”

That was so like Sterling. Determined to go his own way and equally convinced that she would, eventually, see things his way. Maybe she would have. Mr. Gregory’s voice brought her back to the moment. “Would you like to go inside? It takes a little imagination, but the framework is in place. I think you’ll be able to see it.”

Juliana shook her head. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t feel ready. Instead, she led the way around the corner turret to the side of the house, staring up at the brickwork and then ending up at the back corner of the house, peering up at a doorway on the second floor.

“That’s the master suite,” Mr. Gregory said. “There’s to be a large porch off that doorway. A good view of the eastern horizon. Mr. Sutton said you like to watch the sunrise.”

She didn’t want to think about that, and so she headed around the other side of the house and walked up to what would be the rear entrance and peered inside. “Are there really ten fireplaces?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I remember something about paneling for the upstairs bedrooms.”

“A different wood in every room—English brown oak, chestnut, cherry, teak, French walnut, padauk. None of it’s arrived yet.”

“Is it too late to cancel?”

“I can check. I don’t know.”

“If you can, cancel it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All that wood … it’s too dreary. Too dark.”

He nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

She met his gaze. Those hazel eyes. That square jaw.
And a redheaded paramour.
She looked away. “Thank you, Mr. Gregory.”

“For what?”

“For telling me about George Duncan.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe I’m behaving like a child with a toy she doesn’t want to share, but the idea of Helen Duncan crowing about ‘her George’ landing the biggest house in town at a bargain price—and she would crow—just makes me want to dig in my heels.” She paused. Looked through to the front door. “I want you to build it. I’ll decide what to do with it later.”