Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (35 page)

Donning her black bonnet and taking up Thomas’s small Bible, Jane inspected herself in the mirror. Thunder rolled across the sky, and she chuckled at the idea of God raining literal grace notes down on her first Sunday morning. As she made her way downstairs and out the back door, Jane thought about Rose off in Nebraska City, safe and well loved; the women down south learning to read and involved in an industry; Max here in Lincoln; and herself… blessed to work at Manerva, learning what it meant to be free.

“You didn’t tell me to expect a welcoming committee,” Jane said as she and Minnie rounded the corner and the church building came into view. She nodded up ahead.

“Don’t look at me,” Minnie said. “Uh-oh.” “Uh-oh?”

Minnie stopped. “I knew it. I knew those roses meant something was up.” She laughed aloud. “He’s done it. Martin Underhill has proposed, and Mamie’s said yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure? Look at them. Look at Mamie. It’s written all over her face.” Minnie didn’t wait to be told. Instead, she bustled up to Underhill and held out her arms. “Let’s do make a scene. Hug your future sister-in-law.” Blushing furiously, Underhill complied, even as Mamie protested.

“You could at least have had the grace to pretend you didn’t know. And how did you know, anyway?” She glowered at Martin.

“Now don’t look at your intended,” Minnie said. “He didn’t say a word. If you must know, the florist told me Martin bought roses. There could only have been one reason.” She kissed her sister’s cheek. “And I’ve just about gone crazy waiting to hear.”

“And you still haven’t heard,” Mamie said. “You didn’t give me a chance to say a word.”

“Say a word, Mamie. When’s the wedding?”

Martin answered, “We thought Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving!” Minnie glanced at Jane. “We’re going to be busy.” She turned back to her sister. “You’ll have to come to the shop after church so we can get started.” She looked up at Martin. “I don’t suppose you’re planning on getting married in that, are you?” She eyed his somewhat rumpled suit.

“And what if he is?” Mamie sprang to his defense.

“Settle down. It’s a perfectly fine suit. But you’ve a sister who sews. Why not take advantage?”

The two sisters bantered as they climbed the steps to the great double doors, and in the banter, Jane relaxed. Louise Irwin greeted her at the door with a warm smile. Betty Lyman tried to get her to sing in the choir, and after she was seated in a pew, Sarah Tower came across the sanctuary and, perching next to her on the pew, said, “Minnie said you’re a master at drafting patterns. I saw a quilt at the Congregational church spring bazaar. I’ve a sketch of it in my bag….” As she spoke, Sarah was pulling a folded piece of paper out of her bag. “The girls think I’m insane, but it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” She held it out. “I’m hoping you’ll agree to help me draft a pattern. If I were better at geometry…”

Jane looked down at the piece of paper. The block was a hexagon, which wasn’t all that difficult to draft, but inside the hexagon a few dozen intersections inside a circle created what looked like the compass at the edge of a map. “That’s going to be… challenging.”

“But won’t it be beautiful?”

“Stunning. But… how many dozen pieces are there in each block?”

“I’m not sure. Will you help?”

Blanche Gordon passed by, glanced down at the drawing, and shook her head. “Sarah Tower, you are insane.” She smiled at Jane. “I told her she was insane to try that. Are you going to help?” When Jane nodded, Blanche just shook her head, but she was grinning as she did so. “Heaven help us all. The Ladies Aid has another crazy quilter.” She laughed. “Welcome to First Pres’, Jane. We are especially happy to have you take Sarah in hand.”

Sarah feigned offense as she folded the paper and put it away. “We’ll talk more at quilting,” she said to Jane. “I’m making Boston cream pie this week.” And she was gone.

Jane had just turned to say something to Minnie when a familiar voice sounded from the aisle. “Might I impose on you to make room for one more?”

With an expression that said
I told you so,
Minnie slid over, pulling Jane along with her to make room for Max.

Max had barely settled in his place next to Jane when Madame Savoie arrived. She paused uncertainly when she reached her pew, looking over the congregation. Finally, she waved the young woman with her into the Savoie pew, then took her usual place. Max smiled to himself as the dowager assumed her usual posture, chin held high, hands resting atop the ornately carved head of the cane she’d finally admitted to needing, but only after she realized how much better she felt if she followed her doctor’s advice and “took the air” on a daily basis.

When Martin Underhill and Mamie Dawson came to join them, Max leaned over and said to Jane, “Do I detect an unusual amount of… enthusiasm on Underhill’s face this morning?”

“You do.” Jane nodded. “He’s proposed, and Mamie’s accepted.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Minnie Dawson leaned forward, grinning as she said, “Don’t make any plans for Thanksgiving Day, Dr. Zimmer. The wedding is at the McKennas’, and I’m quite certain you and Jane will be on the guest list.”

You and Jane.
He didn’t dare to look at Jane to see how she’d reacted to their names being thrown together that way, almost as if they were already a couple. The organist sounded out the first notes of the call to worship, and when the congregation stood to sing, Max shared his hymnal with Jane, reveling in the way their voices blended.

When Pastor Irwin stepped to the podium to deliver the message, Jane reached into her bag and withdrew a small New Testament. Max realized that he’d never thought of bringing a Bible to church. He rather liked the idea of he and Jane being joined in their mode of worship. He determined to tuck his own New Testament in the breast pocket of his shirt next Sunday.

It was when he went to hand the offering plate to the usher in the aisle that Max caught Madame Savoie’s eye—and that of the slight young woman seated with her. The girl smiled at him with an unsettling amount of boldness, then whispered something to Madame Savoie, who smiled at Max. He nodded. She returned the unspoken greeting.

At the conclusion of the service, Max was just about to invite Jane to lunch at Dinah’s, when Madame Savoie crossed the aisle. She spoke first to Jane. “I wondered why the good doctor had abandoned his usual pew,” she said and held out her hand. “Eugénie Savoie.”

“Jane Prescott.” Jane returned Madame Savoie’s handshake.

“Ah… the new member of Louise’s aid society. I’ve heard good things.” Without waiting for Jane to respond, Madame Savoie reached for the young woman who’d been waiting at her side. “I have the great joy to introduce my niece this morning.” She smiled down at the young woman, slipping effortlessly into French as she said,
“Permettez-moi, Monsieur le Docteur
…
ma nièce, Mademoiselle DuBarry.”

The girl didn’t wait for Max to respond. Instead, she trilled, “
Enchantée
,” and poised her hand in exactly the correct position for Max to bow and offer a continental kiss.

Smiling, Max indulged the expectation, then took a step back and offered Jane his arm.

“What a lovely brooch,” Madame Savoie said, indicating the onyx oval Jane was wearing.

“Isn’t eet charming,” Mademoiselle Barry squinted as she inspected the brooch, then with a lilting little laugh she looked up at her aunt. “It reminds me of ze one Ariana insisted on buying when we were in Rome last year.” She rolled her eyes. “Can you imagine? Choosing to wear a petite mosaic of St. Peter’s? How droll.” She pointed at Jane’s brooch. “Yours is so much more attractive. It is proof that one need not spend a great deal of money to find something amusing.” She squinted at the brooch again. “It is a floral design, non? Ze little blue smudges are meant to be flowers,
oui?
But then some artisans simply don’t do nice work, do they?”

Max saw Jane’s cheeks flush. There was a moment of odd silence, during which Jane dropped Max’s arm. Madame Savoie frowned and, in a low voice, scolded her niece, who merely fluttered her eyelashes as she waved the scolding away with an insincere
“Pardon, Madame,”
directed at Jane.

Jane nodded. “If you’ll excuse me.” Disengaging from Max, she slipped up the aisle toward where the Dawson sisters and Martin stood, chatting with Pastor and Mrs. Irwin.

Don’t let her steal your joy. She’s a spoiled little girl, and her flirting clearly embarrassed her aunt. And Max.
While Minnie and Mamie, Martin, and the Irwins discussed a Thanksgiving wedding, Jane did her best to pretend to listen, but she could not seem to keep her eyes from straying toward Max and the domineering woman who’d taken control of him the moment the organ music died away.

“Jane.”

With a start, Jane looked at Minnie, who’d just called her name.

“You will come with us, won’t you?”

“Come with you?”

Minnie laughed and shook her head. “We’re headed to Dinah’s for a celebratory lunch. You’ll come, of course. And bring Dr. Zimmer?” She glanced toward the front of the sanctuary. Frowned.

Jane followed her gaze just in time to see Max retreating toward the side door, the dowager on one arm… and the little French snippet on the other.

“Oh dear.”

Jane forced a smile. “I’d love to come.” She glanced at Mamie. “As long as you promise to tell us all just exactly how your beau proposed.” She smiled up at Mr. Underhill, who flushed crimson even as he grinned.

“It wasn’t all that much. I took flowers. And I stuttered a lot.”

“Well, obviously you managed the most important words,” Jane said.

Mamie nodded and took Martin’s arm. “That he did.” She smiled up at him with unabashed affection.

Together, the foursome made their way out into the foyer, down the broad stairs leading to the street, and then to Dinah’s, where, in spite of the welcoming aroma of roast beef, Jane discovered that she didn’t have much of an appetite.

M
ax escorted Madame Savoie and her niece out the side door of the church and toward their waiting coach. The ladies had just ducked inside when the skies opened, and with screeching laughter, Mademoiselle DuBarry clutched Max’s sleeve and hauled him in after them. He landed on the bench next to her, flustered and more than a little embarrassed.

“It is fate,” the girl said. “You must join us for lunch.”

Max hesitated, looking back toward the church, but there was no sign of Jane, the Dawson sisters, or Martin Underhill.

“Please,
Monsieur le Docteur.
When my aunt speaks of the handsome doctor and his great gift for
le médecin,
I do not believe her. But I visit, and she has returned to such great health. I wish to thank you.”

Max glanced at Madame Savoie. He didn’t know how to interpret her expression, but when she echoed her niece’s invitation, he decided that pleasing the woman who’d helped him so much was a small thing to ask. He could endure an hour with a vapid girl for Madame Savoie’s sake.

The brooding Savoie manse lurked at the end of a wide thoroughfare that connected to O Street and then led south. As the driver turned between two brick columns, lightning flashed and, with a sharp whinny, the horses broke into a trot. The girl at Max’s side gave a shrill cry and grabbed his arm.