Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (19 page)

“You’re talking about Rose Prescott,” Bowen said.

“That was it.” Max nodded. “The child’s name was Rose.”

Bowen shook his head. “Horrible tragedy for any child, losing both parents. I know the aunt. Wonderful woman. Took Rose in and has raised her as if she were her own. The poor child had nightmares for months, but she’s doing fine now.” Bowen smiled. “Time heals wounds, especially for the young. Rose is proof.” He set his fork and knife down. “Hope you saved room for dessert. This place has the best gooseberry pie you’ve ever eaten.”

Aurelius Bowen was a lonely man with a thriving practice, and he seemed to take Max’s appearance as a sign that he should consider taking on a partner. So Max spent Tuesday morning assisting in Bowen’s office before heading back to Lincoln on the afternoon train. He was hoping to learn more about Rose, but the topic didn’t resurface. From what Dr. Bowen had said, what he’d suspicioned was true. Flora Ward had guided Rose to believe her mother was dead. He wouldn’t tell Jane that, at least not until she was free and they could do something about it.

As he headed for the train station to head back to Lincoln, he walked past the yellow house again. A small black dog came tearing off the porch and charged the fence like a guard dog bent on destruction. Max could barely keep from laughing at the fur ball’s intensity. The only sign of human life was a young girl’s voice calling an apology from an upstairs window.

“Don’t pay him any mind, sir.” She didn’t wait for Max to respond, just scolded the dog with the improbable name of Zeus.

“Not a problem,” Max called, and hurried on his way, alternately thrilled at having another tidbit of information for Jane and worried that Rose would recognize his voice or his face. Then again, if she’d been encouraged to forget her own mother, she’d have no reason to remember the man who stitched up her hand once a long, long time ago.

Mr. Simon, the stationmaster, tried to pry more information loose before Max climbed aboard the train. “Heard you spent the morning helping Doc Bowen.”

Max smiled. “Thanks for the recommendations. The Monarch served up a noteworthy supper last evening.”

“But you didn’t stay at the Fisk.”

Max paid for his ticket without answering.

“Doc Bowen answer all your questions about Nebraska City? You going to join his practice?”

“Hard to say.”

“It isn’t hard at all,” the stationmaster said. “Not if you like a place.”

“What’s to dislike about Nebraska City?”

The man harrumphed. Shook his head. “Best evasive answer I’ve had in quite a while.” He grinned. “You have yourself a nice train ride, Doc. Hope the rails bring you back our way sometime.”

Max thanked the man and headed out onto the siding, looking toward Lincoln and trying to plan what he would say to Jane tomorrow. Wondering about his own future. Dreading, rather than anticipating his return to Plum Creek.

It was raining again that Wednesday when Max slogged back out to the penitentiary with news that was part burden, part joy. Jane would be disappointed about the way things had gone with the governor, but he could tell her about Rose, and that would help. When Underhill brought her down to the visitors’ room, Max thought she looked lighter, somehow. Something in the way she held herself reminded him of the woman he’d danced with. Even when she sat down opposite him, she seemed more sure of herself. When he asked about Vestal and the baby, she smiled. A real smile.

“Warden McKenna drew me aside after the chapel service Sunday morning. Vestal didn’t go. She’s feeling amazingly well, but I think she was afraid to stir up anything among visitors, especially with the warden still deciding what he would do. Anyway…” She smiled again. “The baby stays until she’s weaned.”

“And that’s good? That isn’t very long.”

“It’s just long enough. Vestal will have served her sentence by then. They won’t have to be separated at all.” She paused. “First thing Vestal did when I gave her the news was look down and say, ‘You hear that, Grace? You’re staying with Mama.’” Jane nodded. “When she came in Monday morning and heard the name, Miss Dawson said the baby could be a reminder. Prison walls can’t keep God out. He can rain ‘grace notes’ into a life whenever and wherever He chooses.”

“God bless Miss Dawson,” Max said. “She’s obviously helping everyone see their circumstances in a different light. I can see that you feel better.”

Jane shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve discovered the secret to life. It’s just something to think about. A different way of looking at things that happen. Maybe. I haven’t—” She shook her head. “I haven’t thought it through, but Miss Dawson does seem to have a way of insisting that hope isn’t always a fool’s game.” She smiled. “In Vestal’s case, it would seem she was right.”

Seeing her smile, seeing that new light in her eyes was so good. Max delayed the subject of the pardon. “And how does everyone else feel about having baby Grace around?”

“No one’s going to be completely transformed because Vestal had a baby. But things are different. God hasn’t given up on the human race as long as there are babies. Grace is a reminder of that. At least that’s how I think of it.” She paused. “I’m just so glad Vestal doesn’t have to—you know.”

Max did know. And so he spoke into that silence in a way intended to fill Jane with even more hope and joy. The governor had said “not yet,” but he hadn’t said no. He was looking into her case. “It’s good news, Jane. He didn’t say no. Still, I dreaded coming back out here today.”

“You didn’t need to dread it. I expected a no.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I didn’t. And I wanted to give you something more to go on. So I did something… brash.” He told her about going to Nebraska City.

Something flickered in her eyes. The half smile disappeared. “I told you not to do that.”

“Yes, I know. But then I realized that I’d spoken with a Nebraska City doctor at our Medical Society meeting just last year. All I did was stop in to say hello to him. We had dinner together, and in the course of the dinner…” He related the meeting and the result. “I didn’t ask specifically. There are no red flags waving in Dr. Bowen’s mind. I’m sure of it.” He smiled. “I walked past the house, Jane. It’s a lovely little cottage. And I saw Rose.” He drew a word picture of Rose on the swing, the book in her hands, the patchwork quilt tucked about her legs. “What she’s been led to believe about you is wrong. Someday she’ll know the truth. But for now, I wanted you to have that mental image. She’s lovely. Healthy and happy and doing well.”

He’d expected the good news about Rose to cover over the bad news of the delayed pardon. He’d planned what he would say and how to say it so that it would soften the blow. Help Jane to feel better about things. Instead, as he talked, the woman across the table seemed to deflate. She closed her eyes and sat, motionless except for the rise and fall of her waist as she breathed. The woman who’d been so happy about the news concerning Vestal Jackson’s baby—who’d smiled at the notion of grace notes and God—was gone. A pale replica stared back at Max.

She cleared her throat. “Are you finished?”

“I—I guess. Don’t you want—?” Frowning, Max met her gaze. Something he saw kept him silent. He waited.

She took a deep breath and shifted her focus to a place just to his right, looking past him as she spoke. “My world was shattered when Thomas Prescott died. Rose was only two years old. How would I go on? But then, in time, Owen Marquis looked my way. For a while, I thought he was God’s way of setting Rose and me on a new path. Proof of what Miss Dawson calls God raining ‘grace notes’ into a life.” She gave a low, sad laugh. “Imagine. I thought Owen Marquis was a ‘grace note.’” Bitterness sounded in her voice. “I was a fool, and I’ve paid for that mistake every single day for four years now. In spite of everything, I’ve hung on. Because of Rose.”

Her voice wavered. “Rose gives me reason to hope.” A tear trickled down one cheek. “Flora sent a postcard that first year.” She recited the words.” ‘Rose has mourned her loss and is happy with me as her new mother. It is not wise to stir up memories of the tragic past.’”

She swiped through the air with one hand. “Just like that, she erased me. I don’t imagine it was all that difficult. I can even understand why she did it—in theory. It would be easier for Rose if I were dead. Why try to explain reality?”

She brought her hands onto the table, lacing her fingers together and then twirling a nonexistent ring around her ring finger as she continued. “At first, I thought the idea that I had been erased from my daughter’s life would kill me. But it didn’t. I’m still here. Still serving the sentence. Still doing the time.” She looked up at him. “In Miss Dawson’s terms, you might say I’ve held on to believing in grace notes.” She took a deep breath.

“Enter the well-meaning Dr. Max Zimmer. The man I danced a dance with that fueled the hellish night that ended everything. He wants to be the knight on the white horse, vanquishing the dragon and saving the damsel in distress.” She shook her head. “Never mind that the damsel has begged him to leave her in the tower. Dr. Zimmer knows a better way.”

Jane leaned forward. “I asked you to leave it be, Max. I
begged
you. But you wouldn’t listen. You couldn’t just let it be. You had to go looking for Rose. Bring me news of her sitting on Flora’s front porch, reading in the rain, cuddled beneath a patchwork quilt.” Her voice wavered. She swallowed. Swiped at the tears cascading down her face.

“Did you think that would comfort me? Did you think it would be helpful to know that my child has forgotten all about me? Did you think it would cheer me to know how beautiful she is? To be reminded that someone else braids her hair and sees her school reports?” She spoke through sobs. “Did you think it would be a comfort to imagine her cuddled beneath a quilt I didn’t make for her, to think of her standing with her class at the end of the school year, giving her recitation while her eyes search the crowd for
Flora
?”

Her fingers curled against her palms, and she brought two fists down on the table before her. “Do you have any idea how many terrified nights and endless days it took me to learn how to be in this place?” She started to say something more, but then apparently thought better of it.

Her voice was calmer, almost emotionless as she went on. “You’ve just set a banquet before a starving woman, describing every course in detail. I can see the luscious dessert, imagine the tart strawberries combining with the sweetness of the cake and the whipped cream in my mouth. I can smell the aroma of the roast turkey. Imagine the spices in the dressing. Taste the champagne in the crystal flute.” She paused. “You’ve reminded me of the banquet… and left me starving.” She sat back. Her voice held no emotion as she croaked, “I’m glad you feel better for having gone to Nebraska City. Good for you, Max. But please, if you care about me at all, stop being kind. Because you’re killing me.”

She didn’t jump up and ask the guard to take her back upstairs. She didn’t even swipe at the tears spilling down her cheeks. She just sat, weeping quietly.

Max closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. Finally, he slid his hands, palms up, across the table toward her. Beseeching. “Dear Lord in heaven. Jane… I didn’t think…. I’m… I just didn’t think. Can you ever forgive me?”

When Jane reached out, Max expected Underhill to intervene.
No contact with the prisoner.
He did move, walking to the door and, with his back to the room, leaning against the doorjamb as Jane linked fingertips with Max. He sat motionless, for fear she would jerk away.

“I forgive you,” she croaked. “But please. No more.” She slid her hands into his and held on. “Miss Dawson says these walls can’t keep God out. I want to believe that. But all the hope I have strength for is the hope that He will get me through today.” She looked up at him. “Please. You have to let it be.”

He nodded. When Underhill called a greeting to someone in the hall, Jane snatched her hands back. Max cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking I might move, but I don’t know where. Not far. Just—not Plum Creek anymore.” He stood up. “I’ll make sure Warden McKenna knows where to find me so you can retrieve your trunk when the time comes. It’s safe. You have my word on that. If you ever need me—” He broke off. “I won’t bother you again. I promise.” He waited for her to look up at him, but she never did. She was still sitting at the table when he brushed past Underhill and made his way toward turnkey.