Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (13 page)

“What else, Mr. Graham? You said you had a list. What else must I decide today?”

“The monument. And the charitable donations for the year.”

Juliana held out her hand. “I’ll look the donations list over right now.”

Mr. Graham slid the list across the table to where Aunt Lydia could reach it. She, in turn, placed it before Juliana.

“Do I understand my situation correctly?” She looked at Mr. Duncan. “I have nothing to worry about when it comes to personal finances.”

“Absolutely nothing. In fact, you could
give
the unfinished house away and never miss the money.”

Juliana nodded. “Very well.” She looked at the aunts. “Would you look at the list and tell me if you agree that these are all still worthy causes?”

Aunt Lydia looked the list over while Aunt Theodora reached into her bag for her spectacles. When it was the older woman’s turn, she took her time, tracing her progress down the list of a dozen different charities with a gloved hand as she read. Finally, she sat back and nodded. “We agree. Very worthy causes, all.”

Juliana smiled. She looked to Mr. Duncan. “Please triple these figures. And we might have a few things to add in due time.” She glanced at Aunt Theodora. “St. John’s really does need an organ.” She’d never heard the old woman laugh out loud, but that did it, although it was more of a snort that was very quickly swallowed.

“I suppose you do have a point,” Aunt Theodora countered. “I simply cannot join a church that does not provide the appropriate atmosphere for worship.”

Aunt Lydia spoke up. “Sister! Does that mean you will join us at worship?”

“These gentlemen have neither the interest in nor the need to participate in our private affairs. We shall discuss it later.” Aunt Theodora’s silk mourning gown rustled as she repositioned herself in the leather chair.

The scolding only made Aunt Lydia’s smile brighter. “I told you so,” she said to Juliana in a low voice.

Mr. Duncan cleared his throat. “Back to the subject at hand,” he said. “Shall I make inquiries as to whether there is interest in the property as it stands?”

“As long as you make it clear that nothing is officially for sale,” Juliana said.

Duncan nodded. “Of course. I shall be clear.”

Juliana spoke to Mr. Graham as she rose from her chair. “I’ll take the folder with me and study the documents at home.”

“Are you certain you wouldn’t rather do that here, where they can be kept secure?”

Juliana smiled. “I appreciate your concern, but I think, between the three of us, my aunts and I can manage to keep track of it.” She looked to Mr. Duncan. “I’d appreciate another meeting next week. That should give you and your clerks time to prepare a detailed list of the cash assets. I’m assuming Sterling had funds in a variety of accounts.” She paused. “And I would also appreciate it if both of you gentlemen would stop looking so surprised. I am a woman, not an ignoramus. The two terms are not necessarily synonymous.”

Happily, Alfred had returned and was waiting for them. The clouds had cleared. Other than the sound of the coach wheels hissing their way through the muck, the drive home was pleasant. Aunt Theodora congratulated Juliana on her parting request, and Aunt Lydia rejoiced openly at the increase in charitable donations.

“I didn’t forget your idea regarding an education fund as a memorial,” Juliana said. “The thing is, knowing that Sterling left us in such a healthy financial state, I thought we might want to do more.” She smiled. “And won’t it be fun to think what that might be?”

“The dear boy,” Aunt Theodora said. “He left nothing to chance.” She smiled at Juliana. “What better declaration of love could he have given than to entrust it all to you?” She nodded. “He knew you well, my dear. And respect for your intelligence was part of his devotion. That should comfort you.”

It was a comfort, but it did nothing to heal the pain of betrayal. Even if Marshal Hastings’s version of what had happened the night of the fire was right, Juliana would be haunted by the locket for the rest of her life.
He may have trusted me. He may have respected me in his own way. But I wasn’t enough. I was never enough.

Jenny
Wednesday, April 25

Where was George Duncan? Why didn’t he come? He said he would come. She lay on the bed, a wailing baby next to her. How long had it been? She thought it was Wednesday, but she wasn’t sure. Johnny … for Johnny she had to try. She was so sick. So weak.

Dragging herself out of bed, Jenny stumbled to the door. She felt her way down the hall to the kitchen. Once there, she slumped into a chair, trying to gather strength. There was a little wood left by the stove. If she could just get a fire started, she could heat some water. Have a cup of tea. Eat something. Anything.

Water.
That would make her feel better. She rested her head on her arms.
Come on, Jenny. The pump’s just outside the back door. You can do it. You have to do it.

Johnny’s cries fueled the impossible. She made her way to the pump, used what little reserved strength she had to fill a bucket with water. Too heavy. It was just too heavy. She knelt down by the bucket and, cupping her hand, sucked the water into her mouth. Her hair fell forward. When she lifted her face to the sun, the wet curls dampened her nightgown.

Shivering, she began to scoot the bucket of water back toward the house. It took most of her strength, but finally, she shoved the bucket in the back door. Exhausted from the effort, she curled up on the kitchen floor and slept.

Pounding on the door. Johnny wailing.

Jenny opened her eyes. The sun … what had happened to the sun? She raised her head to look toward the front of the house just as George Duncan stepped into the hall. Swearing, he hurried to her side.

Jenny
Friday, April 27

Someone was in her kitchen. No …
she’d
been in her kitchen. On the floor, trying to get a drink of water.
Johnny.
She sat up. The baby was gone. Her heart pounded.

Who was in her kitchen?

Humming. Was that
humming
?

The sour smell was gone. Her bedding was clean. The window was open. A fresh spring breeze rustled the lace curtains. She pushed back the blankets and wobbled her way to the door. She could just see the tip of Johnny’s head cradled in the arms of the dark-skinned woman sitting in a rocker by the back door. The woman was singing while she rocked him.

As Jenny drew near, the woman looked up and nodded. “And look-a here, Johnny. Here’s Mama now.” She leaned over and laid Johnny in the cradle at her feet then rose to settle Jenny in the rocker.

“Got some soup on the stove. You need to get your strength back.”

Jenny sat watching as the woman ladled soup into a mug and handed it over.

“You sip that slowly. Make sure it’s going to stay down. I only filled it half full. Doctor said to be real careful at first.”

“Doctor?” Jenny frowned as she lifted the mug to her cracked lips with a trembling hand.

“Dr. Gilbert. Mr. Duncan found you. Put you in bed and hightailed it after the doctor.” She sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. “You were not long for this world to hear the doctor tell it.” She glanced down at the sleeping baby. “Baby, neither.” The woman lowered the gaze of her clear blue eyes to Jenny’s bosom. “Poor thing wasn’t getting hardly anything.”

Jenny moistened her lips. The salt in the soup stung. She took another sip. “We were doing just fine until I got the ague.” She looked toward the front door. “Mr. Duncan was supposed to come back. It was a whole week before he did.”

The woman nodded. “You be glad he came when he did. Glad he went for Dr. Gilbert.” She lowered her gaze. “Guess you can be glad the doctor knew about me just losing my own child.” She ran her palms over the tight amber curls cut close to her head. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Jenny said. She couldn’t imagine losing Johnny. Life wouldn’t mean a thing without him.

“Name’s Susannah. Mr. Duncan is payin’ me to take care of you and the baby until you’re better and can handle things yourself.”

When Susannah reached for the mug of soup, Jenny said, “I’d like some more.” She put her hand to her stomach. “I feel hollow.”

“You lay down a bit and see how your stomach does. If it keeps that little bit down, you can have some more. That’s what the doctor said to do.”

Jenny bent down to stroke Johnny’s cheek. When she rose to return to bed, the room swam. For a minute she thought she might faint. But Susannah steadied her and helped her back to bed.

“No one can tell you what to do, dear. You must decide.” Aunt Theodora took up her spectacles and bent to the task at hand. Both aunts had taken to working on the signature quilt for an hour or so each morning. Apparently Aunt Theodora’s aversion to needlework was weakening. Juliana’s had not. Even though Martha had eradicated the shadow of “that name” and rolled it out of sight, Juliana couldn’t bring herself to work on the quilt.

This morning, she’d brought the folder from Mr. Graham and taken a seat at the drop-front desk tucked into one corner of the room, reading through the deeds and documents, trying to understand all that was hers. Mr. Duncan had called just a few moments ago. He had someone interested in the property south of town. Would she be open to an offer?

Juliana had come back from talking with him on the phone in the kitchen and told the aunts about the call. “He says I’m at an advantage with this buyer because the house isn’t finished. Whoever it is would want to change some things, and that’s less costly at this stage.”

“What stage is that?” Aunt Theodora asked.

“I don’t know, exactly. I haven’t been out there in weeks.”

“We can go with you,” Aunt Lydia said. “If you can wait until this afternoon. I’m expecting Edith Pritchart and Lutie Gleason to stop by.” She glanced at her sister. “I see what you’re thinking. It isn’t a social call. We need to have a preliminary meeting to plan the bazaar. It’s only a few weeks away.”

“You still plan on attending?”

“You need to ask?” Aunt Lydia didn’t so much as look up from the quilt. “You should stay downstairs and meet Edith and Lutie. You’d like them.” She glanced up. “Edith has tried unsuccessfully to get an organ campaign going more than once in recent years. The two of you are kindred spirits in that regard. You should hear her play the piano.”

Aunt Theodora pursed her lips. “Perhaps I shall one day.” She rose from the quilt. “But it will not be a mere eleven days after our dear boy’s funeral.” She paused in the doorway to look back at Juliana. “As to your ‘monstrosity,’” she said, “you must decide. And I, for one, think that you should decide without either of us imposing our views on the decision. It’s a lovely day. Why not ride south instead of north today?”