Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (32 page)

A fall breeze tumbled fallen leaves past as Jane and Minnie made their way toward the corner of Eleventh and J Streets and Jane’s introduction to the First Presbyterian Church Ladies Aid Society members via their weekly quilting. When Jane hesitated a few feet from the side door that would lead them inside, Minnie reached out to her. “You quilt twelve stitches to the inch. They’ll welcome you with open arms.”

Jane swallowed. “It’s not the quilting I’m nervous about. It’s that newspaper article. And the chitchat.”

“That all happened to Jane
Marquis.
You’re Jane Prescott now.”

“What if they realize…?”

“Well, if they do, they’ll know that you’re very brave and that you’ve modeled love like few people ever do.” Minnie smiled. “Give them a chance. They’re good women. You’ll like them.”

Jane looked back in the direction of Manerva. Every single instinct told her to run for cover while she had the chance. She wasn’t ready for this part of real life. Not yet. She’d just opened her mouth to thank Minnie before heading back to the shop, when the side door to the church opened to reveal a severe-looking woman dressed in a simple green calico dress. Jane stood rooted to the earth, feeling like a schoolgirl about to be inspected for head lice. But then, the woman’s green eyes crinkled at the corners and, smiling, she called out a greeting to “Minnie and the woman we’ve all heard so much about.”

What had they heard?
A new wave of dread washed over Jane, but then the woman introduced herself. “I’m so
glad
you’ve finally decided to join us. May I call you Jane? I’m Louise. Louise Irwin.”

Oh dear. The pastor’s wife.
Jane stammered a greeting.

Mrs. Irwin reached out and gave Jane’s hand a little squeeze, holding on as she said, “I can only imagine how much courage it’s taken for you to come this far today. I’ve been praying my heart out while I watched for you and Minnie. I was afraid you’d change your mind.”

Jane glanced back toward the shop. “I—I think I had. Changed my mind.”

Mrs. Irwin nodded. “I understand how you might. Believe me, the first day my husband stepped into this august pulpit, I felt like I was being stared clean through.” She patted Jane’s hand. “I’ve been watching for you so that we could get some business out of the way. Of course I know your previous name and some of what’s happened to you, but only because of my involvement on the committee with Miss Dawson and Mrs. McKenna. No one else needs to know a thing about any of that unless you decide to tell them. I just wanted to reassure you about that. Your privacy will be respected.” Mrs. Irwin let go of her hand. “I also wanted to tell you that, in my opinion, you’re quite heroic.”

Jane stammered her thanks. She didn’t feel quite like running off, but she still wasn’t convinced about facing a group of church women. She thought about Vestal and Agnes and wondered how they would fare in situations like this.
Without the caveat of the preacher’s wife calling them “heroic.
” Would either woman so much as think of attending a church with stained-glass windows and a pipe organ, a church where prominent citizens supported aid societies and projects for “the friendless”? She couldn’t imagine it. She couldn’t imagine ever feeling like she really belonged here, either. Mrs. Irwin might think her heroic, but Jane felt very much like a woman with a shadowed past.

Mrs. Irwin motioned for Jane and Minnie to follow her inside. “I suppose I should confess to an ulterior motive in wanting you to stick with us.” She paused. “There’s something of a competition between us and the Methodists and the Baptists when it comes to our quilting—and our pie baking, truth be told. At the moment, the Baptists are the uncontested best pie-bakers.” She smiled at Jane. “I’m hoping
you’ll
help us get ahead in the quilting competition. Minnie says you’re a master quilter. We’re working on our state fair entry for next year as soon as we get the present project out of the frame, and I don’t mind telling you the Methodists have a few quilters who are giving us a run for our money. Their holiday bazaar last year was the talk of the town. We’re determined to best them—in a completely loving manner, of course.” She laughed.

As she talked, Mrs. Irwin was leading them inside. She paused on the landing just inside the door. Jane glanced up the wide stairs toward the massive double doors above.

“Of course the sanctuary is at the top of those stairs,” Mrs. Irwin said. “We’re just beginning a Sabbath school. The rooms are off up this hall.” She pointed straight ahead. “But we quilt down in the basement. The light isn’t the best except at midday, but it’s cooler in summer and warmer in winter, so we make do by meeting over lunch on Tuesdays when the light is at its best. Some of the ladies come on Thursdays, too, but this is our official…”

Her voice trailed off as they descended the stairs. An uninvited chill made Jane shiver a bit at the memory that came with the faintest aroma of damp basement. The floor was smooth, gray concrete. Today, though, sunshine streamed in the half-windows level with the sidewalk outside, glancing off the bright white walls and making the room much more cheerful than the prison dormitory had ever been. They made their way past a table laden with sandwiches and luncheon foods, pitchers of water, and a stack of plates and napkins.

Two layer cakes vied for the place of honor at the middle of the table: one with white frosting sprinkled with coconut, the other boasting pink frosting garnished with strawberries.

Mrs. Irwin raised her voice just a little as she called out, “Here, here, ladies. Minnie’s brought us a visitor and hopefully a new member.” The room grew quiet.

Jane forced herself to smile and meet each woman’s gaze, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. She also hoped they couldn’t see how she was trembling as she clasped her gloved hands in front of her.

Minnie spoke as she removed her own gloves. “Jane’s worked at Manerva for a few weeks now, and I can guarantee you are all going to be happy she’s chosen First Presbyterian for her home church.” She chuckled. “
We’ll
be winning the blue ribbon at the fair next year. You’re going to
love
having Jane in our group.”

Jane thought she recognized the woman in the gray silk, and she was right. The willow-slim woman looked up with a smile. “Blanche Gordon. I remember seeing you last week. I was in Manerva for a fitting.”

“Thank you for the advertisement,” Minnie quipped as she smiled at the other women. “And you’re all welcome to follow the good Mrs. Gordon’s example and come by the shop. Jane’s helped me catch up and get organized. We can turn out the latest styles more quickly than any of the other dressmakers in Lincoln.”

“Don’t let the Thornburns hear you say that,” the brunette at the far end of the quilting frame laughed. She held up the book in her hand. “Eliza Carver. I’m terrible at handwork, so I’ve been designated the entertainment committee. We’re reading Mr. Twain’s
Innocents Abroad
at the moment.”

“Eliza also keeps us apprised of changes in fashion,” Mrs. Irwin said. “She wears the latest styles.”

“Now, Louise.” Mrs. Carver smiled as she tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “That’s flattery, and your husband just preached a sermon on the dangers of vanity.”

Mrs. Irwin smiled and pointed to the next woman seated at the quilt. “Next to Eliza is Betty Lyman, who directs the Ladies Missionary Band, has perfect pitch, and sings like an angel. And then there’s Sarah Tower. She keeps us all on task and generally has us committed two or three quilts ahead.”

“Which aren’t going to get finished before the snow flies if we don’t get down to work.” Sarah punctuated the implied scolding by snipping her thread and unwinding a new length from one of the spools lying atop the quilt.

Mrs. Irwin pulled out a chair for Jane between herself and Minnie. As she sat down, Jane studied the current project. She’d thought the church was going to have the women at the prison quilt their fund-raising quilt. Apparently they’d decided against it. She wondered why but didn’t dare ask the question. She’d never seen this particular block before. Turkey-red-and-white strips created a fan in each corner of the square blocks. The white strips bore signatures, while business names and advertisements filled the spaces at the edges of the fans. A block near Jane touted Singer sewing machines. Jane glanced at Minnie. “Did Manerva sponsor a block?”

“Over here.” Sarah Tower pointed to the block in front of her. “Individuals donated fifty cents to sign in a fan blade. Most businesses donated two dollars.”

Blanche Gordon adjusted her glasses as she said, “Dr. Zimmer insisted I accept a dollar the day he signed. He said it was for a worthy cause.” She swept her palm across the surface of the quilt. “I think there’s a very good chance we’ll add at least a hundred dollars to the band fund once this is raffled off.” She glanced at Mrs. Tower. “You can remind Dr. Zimmer that he promised to buy an entire book of raffle tickets as soon as we have them printed up.”

“That man.” Eliza Carver practically sighed. “What a catch he’ll be.”

Betty Lyman scolded, “Eliza Carver, you are a married woman.”

Eliza agreed. “Happily, permanently, and joyfully. But not dead, Betty. And don’t sit there and pretend you haven’t enjoyed the view from the choir loft since the good doctor joined First Pres’.”

Betty laughed and shook her head, even as she blushed crimson.

Sarah Tower spoke up. “Don’t let Madame Savoie catch you all giggling like girls. She’d be horrified. Besides, you know good and well she has Dr. Zimmer’s romantic future planned.” She held her needle up to the light and squinted in a vain attempt to thread it.

“Can I do that for you?” Jane asked.

“Thank you, dear.”

Jane concentrated on threading Mrs. Tower’s needle while the women teased and bantered about Max and how the church women with daughters of marriageable age were competing to have him to dinner. By lunchtime, they were practically taking wagers on whether or not Madame Savoie, whoever that was, would succeed in her plans to match Dr. Zimmer with her niece, who was apparently due to arrive in Lincoln any day now.

Over lunch, Jane learned that Blanche Gordon and Sarah Tower carried on a perpetual competition as to whose cake was the best, and Eliza had very specific opinions regarding what was and was not appropriate reading material for Christian women. They might be reading
Innocents Abroad
at the moment, but the author’s novels were not on Eliza’s approved list.

“Don’t look now,” Minnie murmured at one point. “You’re being reviewed.” She glanced toward the quilt. Jane couldn’t help but smile as she realized that, while they were discreet about it, each of the women made it a point to look down at the place where Jane had been quilting as they passed by to take up their own stations.

That afternoon, as she and Jane made their way back to the shop, Minnie leaned close and said, “You passed inspection with flying colors, Mrs. Prescott.”

“You think so?”

Minnie nodded. “When Blanche Gordon compliments a quilter’s stitches, that’s as good as getting an engraved invitation to the inner circle of the Ladies Aid.” She grinned. “Although they may falter a bit when they see you sitting with Max Zimmer in church on Sunday. I noticed a couple of Sundays ago that the Lymans had taken to sitting in a new row that puts Betty’s daughter in the line of sight between your Dr. Zimmer and the pulpit.”

“He is not
my
Dr. Zimmer,” Jane protested, “and there is absolutely no reason for anyone to be jealous. Max and I are friends. I hardly think we’ll be sitting together in church.”

Minnie rolled her eyes. “Fine, Jane. Have it your way.”

“Did you hear what I just said? Max and I are friends. And besides that, don’t you think Dr. Zimmer should have things
his
way when it comes to where and with whom he sits in church?”

“Absolutely. Which is why he’ll be sitting with you.”

Jane said nothing. She didn’t think Max would be parading their friendship in public. What if her past became known? That would likely happen at some point, whether she’d taken back Thomas’s name or not. Max should avoid ruffling feathers while he was building his practice. Earning people’s trust took time. Besides that, this Madame Savoie the women talked about was obviously someone prominent. It wouldn’t do to offend her. Not if it could be avoided—and it could. Jane would be a good friend. She’d encourage Max to be friendly with the woman’s visiting niece. Friends did that for one other, didn’t they? She would be a good friend. She told herself so over and over and over again until, finally, she fell asleep.

M
amie Dawson stood at her turret window, looking out on the browning prairie as shadows lengthened. Tugging at the shawl about her shoulders, she set her jaw and “took herself in hand,” intent on speaking to the Lord about the past few weeks—in their entirety, whether what she talked about made her sound like the fool she was or not. As was her habit, she began with “thankfuls.”

There was much for which to be thankful. The ladies had adjusted to Jane’s absence and settled into a new routine that kept them busy with profitable work. They’d taken to Ellen’s reading lessons well. Agnes Sweeney had found ways to spoil Patch, thereby revealing a nurturing spirit that began to shine past her rough exterior. Baby Grace was thriving, and Vestal had asked for help with finding work once she was released early next year. Ellen was making inquiries, and a possibility in the small town of Normal just outside Lincoln looked promising.

All in all, the Lord had done “exceeding abundantly beyond” all that Mamie had expected in regards to the female department. All in all, if it wasn’t for her foolishness over Martin Underhill, life would be satisfying. The Lord had called her to a strange mission field, but the harvest was beginning to look promising. If only she hadn’t ruined everything with Martin.

Blinking away tears, Mamie finished her list of thankfuls and took up the topic of foolishness. She’d always known that words were powerful things, but she’d had no idea that only three words spoken out of turn could ruin a friendship. Martin had been… odd since the day she’d said them. Well. Odder. He was still there to help serve breakfast every morning, and he still treated the ladies with studied kindness. But then, then that was all. No invitations to supper down in the kitchen, no smiles, and this morning when she’d invited him to drive into Lincoln with her for Sunday church—to see how Jane was faring, of course—he’d mumbled about possibly having something else to do. On the Sabbath. When he didn’t have to work.