Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (37 page)

“When I go to jail,” Rose said.

Jane frowned. “Sweetheart, you aren’t going to jail.” Her voice wavered. She couldn’t remain standing, or she was going to collapse. Max moved to her side. His arm encircled her waist. “You need to sit down,” he said, and spoke to Rose, “Come and sit down over here by your aunt Flora.”

Flora sank into the rocking chair. Jane and Rose sank to the floor beside the little trunk, and Jane reached for Rose’s hand.

Max cleared his throat. “Any physician worth his salt would prescribe rest and quiet to give you three some time to recuperate emotionally.” He glanced around the room at the three women.

Rose took a ragged breath. “I don’t want to go to jail.”

Jane pulled her into her arms. “You aren’t going anywhere. At least not tonight.” She gazed across the room at Flora. Flora seemed to hesitate, but then she nodded.

Max spoke up. “If you ladies can manage on your own for a while, I’d like to retrieve something that will help you all rest. With your permission?”

Jane stroked Rose’s hair. It seemed the girl had already fallen asleep. She spoke to Flora. “Why don’t you stretch out on the bed?” Flora did. Max smiled down at Jane, nodding at the sleeping Rose.

“That’s a beautiful sight. I’ll try not to take too long.” He bent to kiss her cheek. With that, he was gone.

Rose started awake and, lifting her head, stared across the room toward the bed where Aunt Flora lay snoring. She sat up and, looking at Mama, smiled. “Yes,” she said. “Every night.” She giggled, but then she remembered… and the laughter melted away.

“It’s going to be all right,” Jane said.

“I don’t see how.”

“You were very brave. And you were defending me. Max knows how Owen was.” She reached out and tucked a curl behind Rose’s ear. “I’m so sorry I didn’t find a way for us to get away.” She took a ragged breath. “But you—you were defending me. There’s a legal term for that, Rose.
Justifiable
.” She paused. “And besides that, you were only a child. You hardly realized what you were doing. There are so many reasons why it’s going to be all right.” She paused. “Is that what you meant in the note you wrote to Flora? When you said you hoped she’d come and visit? You thought you’d be going to jail?”

Rose nodded.

“And you were hoping she’d write to you.”

“She’s kind of a fussbudget. But… she always took good care of me.” Rose glanced at Jane. “Except for lying. And not letting me read your letters.” She took a deep breath. “I hope she still has them.”

Jane leaned over and, lifting the lid of the little trunk, she reached in and produced a stack of letters tied with string. “Flora returned these. They kept them for me until I got out.”

“The key,” Rose glanced across the room at the pasteboard box by the door. “The key opens this trunk.”

Jane nodded. “I haven’t locked it since I put the key on the quilt.”

“You said you hoped it would bring me back to you.” Rose got up and crossed the room. She opened the box and pulled out the quilt. “I remembered, Mama.” She settled down next to Jane and spread the quilt across their laps, touching the pieces as she said, “Blue for the bachelor buttons and red for that scrawny rosebush by the house. And tan for the earth.”

Jane reached over and turned up an edge. “And indigo…”

“For the night sky.” Rose nodded. “The stars have names. You used to take me outside, and we’d lie on our backs and watch the sky. And one time I saw a shooting star. And you said that even that star had a name, and it might have gone out, but God hadn’t lost it.” She reached up and tugged at an errant curl. “Just like He doesn’t lose count of the hairs on my head.”

As she sat listening to Rose remembering, something deep inside Jane took root and blossomed. Tears gathered.

Rose whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Jane shook her head. “It’s joy, sweetheart… pure joy.”

Flora had awakened, and Jane had served up tea and bread and jelly before Max returned. But he wasn’t alone. Jane saw panic flit across Rose’s face as he introduced Judge Gerard Savoie.

“The judge has helped me in the past,” Max said, “and he’s agreed to listen to your case, Rose.”

Savoie perched atop the trunk, his arms folded, his white mane of hair glowing white like a halo as the setting sun broke through the storm clouds outside. Max brought two chairs up from the shop below. Flora settled in the rocker, while Jane and Rose took seats side by side.

“All right, Rose,” the judge began. “Tell me how old you are.”

“She’s only fourteen,” Flora said.

The judge smiled. Nodded. “All right, Rose,” he repeated. “Tell me how old you are.”

“I’ll be fifteen on my next birthday, sir.”

Max came to stand behind Jane. “And you were how old the night Owen Marquis died?”

“Nine.”

“And you had no recollection of that night until recently?” When Rose nodded, the judge asked her to explain.

And so it went. The judge asking questions, Rose answering. Finally, he nodded. “All right. I believe I have a good understanding of the crime.”

Rose clenched her hands before her and waited.

Savoie cleared his throat. “The real crime, Rose, is that a man was allowed to terrorize a good woman and her child. To beat the woman to the point that she suffered broken ribs. To finally become so violent that a child felt forced to take action to protect her mother’s life.” He paused. “That, dear child, is the real crime. When your mother couldn’t defend herself, you acted on her behalf. It is my considered opinion that there is not a judge or jury in the universe who would seek to punish you for doing something so brave as to stand up to a drunken, violent man bent on murder. Owen Marquis is dead, and the court does not take human life lightly. But that event has been judged and the sentence served. And you, young lady, may rest assured that justice has been done and the only thing that remains now is for Owen Marquis to meet the Judge of all the earth, whom we pray will have mercy on his soul.” He waited for Rose to meet his gaze. “It’s over, dear girl. The price has been paid. Let it be.”

Rose sat so still for a moment that Jane wondered if she understood what was happening. But then she raised her hands and covered her mouth for a moment, almost as if to smother a shout. “I… don’t have to go to jail?”

The judge shook his head. “No, dear. Your mama already did that. There’s no reason to repeat the mistake of punishing something that was justifiable.”

Rose blinked. She looked at Jane. At Flora. And she began to cry.

Max walked the judge back downstairs and out to his rig. As the older man swung up to take a seat, Max thanked him. Again.

“Like I told the girl, Doc. A man in my profession doesn’t get to make people happy all that often. It’s a singular story. I was glad to be a part of helping that young woman.” He gathered up the reins. “You gave my wife a new lease on life, Doc. Don’t know if you realize it, but she’s always struggled with melancholia. I love her with all of my sin-soaked heart, but it didn’t seem enough. Whatever you did… I’ve got my Genie back, and I thank you.”

Max shook his head. “All I did was prescribe a walk. Truly. That’s all.”

The judge laughed. “Well, she thinks you’re a miracle worker.” He winked. “Although she is more than a little disappointed that her plans for you and Claudine aren’t going to work out.”

“I… don’t know what to say.”

“Nothing to say, son. You’ve a fine woman up there.” He nodded toward Jane’s apartment. “Claudine’s got a ways to go. She’s spoiled. A good girl, but never had a heartbreak. Always gets what she wants.” He grinned. “Until you.” He chirruped to the horse and headed off, his booming laughter ringing out as he headed for home.

Aunt Flora went home on the morning train, but not before she begged—and received—Mama’s forgiveness for everything. In the days that followed the judge’s pronouncement that Rose bore no guilt for which she had to pay, Mama took Rose to speak with Reverend Irwin in private, and finally—although Mama said that the old feelings of guilt might resurface sometimes—finally, Rose began to believe that what Jesus said about forgiveness was true, even for what she’d done.

Rose helped Mama in the shop downstairs, and when she showed a natural talent for matching colors and selecting trims, Miss Dawson declared her a “born designer” and even let her help with sewing her own sister’s wedding dress.

In the evenings, Rose and Mama spent hours with the things stored in the little trunk. Dr. Zimmer joined them a couple of times, and when Mama told stories about Papa Thomas, Dr. Zimmer listened as if Papa Thomas had been his own friend.

One evening, the doctor took them to dinner at the Lindell Hotel, and then they walked over to his infirmary and sat upstairs on his private porch. He made Rose chamomile tea, and when she got chilly, he took off his very own coat and draped it across her shoulders. Rose decided that one day, when she grew up, she would marry someone like Dr. Zimmer.

And then, the week was over, and Mama said it was time to go home to Aunt Flora, because Rose must finish school and then come to live with her in Lincoln while she attended the university. Mama would work hard over the next year to “get established,” and by the time Rose was ready to move to Lincoln, she would have a home for them instead of the little room over Manerva.

As the train pulled out of the Lincoln station headed for Nebraska City, Rose smiled and waved at Mama. And Max. He’d said to call him Max and teased her about keeping “that ferocious dog of your aunt’s in hand” when Mama came to visit next weekend.

Rose promised.

J
ane watched the train until it was out of sight, oblivious to everything else around her except, of course, for Max, who waited, unmoving, at her side. She dropped her eyes from the horizon and followed the line of the tracks back to where she stood beside Max. Other passengers moved around them. At the far end of the siding, a couple of men transferred crates from a wagon onto a freight car. Farther still, someone was leading an impressive black horse off another car, down a ramp, and toward a group of men who, by their smiles and gestures, seemed pleased with the animal. It seemed odd that life was continuing on for everyone when such a momentous thing had just happened.