Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (28 page)

Martin joined her for breakfast, exclaiming over her scrambled eggs and making her blush like a girl with his compliments about her ensemble. “This old thing?” she protested. “Minnie made it last year. You’ve seen it a hundred times.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Martin said. “It’s pretty, and so are you. Neither will ever change.”

“We’ll see how you feel about that statement five years from now—if we’re both still working here.”

“I’ll still be here, and I’ll still feel the same, Mamie.”

His expression was so… something… that Mamie blushed. “Well, thank you.” She hiccuped.

“I love that about you.”

“What?”

“That little hiccup. You do it when you’re nervous. Although I can’t quite understand why an ugly old bird like me giving you a compliment would make you nervous.”

“Martin Underhill.” Mamie’s voice was stern. “I will not have you speaking of my dear friend and coworker in such a manner. Beauty is vain. The Bible says so. God looks on the heart, and yours is generous, kind, and noble.” Something about his expression was concerning. “Have I said something to upset you?”

He shook his head. “Of course not, Mamie. You’re… everything…” He didn’t finish.

“Am I really… everything?” She hiccuped again. He nodded. She looked away. “Eat your eggs, Martin. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“You can’t be serious.” Jane stood in the middle of Minnie’s shop, staring at the bolts of fabric, the dresses in the window, the drawers of buttons and trims… and repeated herself. “You can’t be.”

“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t be.” Minnie laughed. “I
am
overwhelmed with work, and I
can
be serious about offering you a job. I promise you it will be very boring at first. I need someone to create order in the back room. That alone may take a month. I have no idea what’s back there, which is the problem. Hopefully there are no uninvited guests too intent on staying. I’d also want you to sweep the shop—clean up at the end of the day so that back room never again becomes what it is. Once that’s taken care of, you’ll be hemming. Very basic, and, as I said, very boring. But I’ve miles of hems. As time goes on, we’ll see.”

Jane crossed the shop and brushed her palm across a bolt of cloth. “This is wonderful.”

“Glad you like it,” Minnie said. “Take it down.” Jane hesitated. “No, really, take it down. We’ll make your first dress out of it.” She pointed toward the dressing screen in the corner. “Step back there. I’ll take your measurements.” Still, Jane hesitated. “Don’t be shy. If you’re working for me, you can’t wear that… thing.” She pointed at the dress Jane was wearing.

“But I can’t pay—“

“Of course you can. In small increments. I’ll take it out of your salary. I didn’t get this place by not keeping proper accounts. I’m not offering charity. I need help. You need work. Oh, and did I mention the apartment upstairs?”

“It isn’t really an apartment,” Mamie chimed in. “It’s more of a large room with a stove just big enough to heat a teakettle.”

“True.” Minnie grinned. “Care to see it?”

“Can I have a cat?”

“A cat.” Minnie repeated the word.

“You know, Minnie,” Mamie said. “About so high. Four legs. Fur. Makes a sound like, ‘meow.’”

Minnie glowered at her sister. Glanced back at Jane. “As long as you keep it off my fabric. I won’t have an animal shedding all over my merchandise.”

“I give you two weeks before you’ve made a patchwork chaise for it so it can greet your customers,” Mamie said.

“Would you care to wager on that?”

“I would, but I’d win and that’s not fair.”

Jane called from behind the screen. “Are you two always this way?”

“What way?” they said in chorus.

“I’ll take them.”

“What did we offer?”

“A job, an apartment, and the promise of a cat. I’ll take all three.”

Minnie came around the corner of the dressing screen, tape measure in hand. “You will probably live to regret your enthusiasm,” she said. “I can be a witch.”

Jane smiled. “You just hired me to wield a broom. I believe your powers will be limited.”

Only a few days after Jane had accepted Minnie’s offer of a job and a room—it really was just a room, but all she needed—Jane lay awake worrying. What had she done? She couldn’t move into Lincoln. Lincoln meant crowded boardwalks and streets busy with horse-and-buggy traffic. Dusty streets and… oh my…
customers.
Women who would come into Manerva expecting small talk and chitchat, and what on earth would Jane say when they asked about her family, her background, her anything? No, she could not move to Lincoln. She’d want to go to church. Might even want to join one. They’d ask all kinds of questions. Had she belonged to a church before? Had she been baptized? If she told the truth, they wouldn’t want her. If she lied, they shouldn’t.

Her heart racing, sweat rolling down her back, her chest hurting, Jane sat up in bed. Was she having a heart attack? A breeze rustled the white lace curtains hanging at the window by her bed. She reached out and swept them back, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. Someone had cut hay today somewhere. Coyotes yelped. Far
off. A cat yowled. At least they’re letting me have a cat.

Slipping out of bed, she knelt by the window and looked out. In the moonlight, the building across the road really did look like a castle. Someone was awake in the second-floor apartment on the east side of the building—that, or they’d left a lamp burning.
A lamp in the window.

When Rose was a baby and Thomas had to be gone until late at night, Jane had always kept a lamp burning in the window for him. The first time she did the same for Owen, he scolded her for wasting kerosene. And how stupid did she think he was, anyway? He didn’t need help finding his way home on his own ranch. How had she ever thought—

Stop. You cannot remake the past. You have to look to the future now.

Of course the future held its own—mid-thought, something flashed in the sky. Jane leaned forward, looking up. Another flash.

Look, Mama, another one! Look, Mama! Look!

Getting to her feet, Jane slipped out of her nightgown and into her outdated waist and skirt. Barefoot, she padded downstairs and out the back door. Standing by the well pump, she looked up.

Look, Mama! Look!

With a glance back at the house, she walked toward the horizon, her attention fixed on the sky.

See that, Rose? Just there? Doesn’t that look like the dipper that hangs on the pump by the barn? That’s what it’s called. The Big Dipper. There’s a little one, too. Over here…

When another shooting star streaked across the sky, Jane smiled.
All this space and I’m not afraid.
She lay on her back and looked up.
The heavens declare….
Again, a streak of light seared the sky. Jane caught her breath.

Look, Mama, look! What was that one’s name?

The indigo backing on her courthouse steps meant this. A reference to the times Jane and Rose lay side by side, staring up at the night sky.

Your grandpa sailed the seas, and he taught your first papa to read the sky. And Papa taught me, and someday, you can teach your children.

Jane sat up. No.
I can teach Rose’s children. I’m free. There’s nothing stopping me
…
but me. There’s no reason to fear the memories anymore. I can reclaim them, savor them, relive them, take joy in them.
Suddenly her present reality took purchase. Freedom was no longer a thing to fear. If she didn’t like the noise in town, she could move. If she wanted a cat, she could get one. If crowded boardwalks bothered her, she could go out earlier or later or not at all. If she wanted tea, she could make it. Her heart pounded with joyful possibilities.

If she wanted to, she could get on board the train for Nebraska City tomorrow and knock on Flora’s front door and demand to see her daughter. That wasn’t the way to do it, but still… I
am free.
Springing to her feet, she lifted her face to the skies and twirled about.
Free to laugh, to dance, to make a fool of myself on the prairie at night.

She stopped twirling. Motionless, she looked toward town.

Max, I am free.

Jane began her first day of true freedom sitting at the McKennas’ breakfast table, staring down at her plate. Melted butter oozed out of every crevice in the still-warm breakfast roll on the plate before her, and if the aromas of rising yeast and baking bread, cinnamon, and fresh coffee weren’t enough to make a woman nearly swoon, the caramelized pecans were. “This has to be sinful.”

“Happy to help you eat it, if you just can’t manage.” Jack McKenna stepped into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of milk and drank it down, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before flashing a smile. “Really. I live to serve.”

Jane laughed. “Thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I think I can manage.”

“If you change your mind, I’ll be back in after I do my chores.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Jack left, then ducked his head back in the doorway. “Mother said you’re leaving today?”

“Yes. Miss Dawson’s offered me a job in town. And a room over her shop. The Miss Dawson from across the road is driving me in this morning. She’ll be here in just a bit.”

“Well… I hope….” His face turned red. “Is it all right to say good luck?”

“It is definitely all right.”

“Good luck then.” He nodded at her plate. “Don’t forget my offer to help you out. I don’t even mind if you start in and just can’t finish it. I’m not picky.” He gave a two-fingered salute and was gone.

Ellen swept into the room. “Did I just hear my son trying to wrangle an extra roll for himself?”

“You did. And he just might have succeeded.” Jane stared down at her plate. “I don’t know if I can eat.”

Ellen slid into a chair beside her. “I don’t blame you, and I don’t know what else to say. I mean, I could say ‘you’re going to be fine,’ which I do believe is true, but it seems arrogant for me—as if I know the first thing about what you’re feeling.” She paused. “How does one thank someone for saving their life, Jane?”

“You already did that.”

“It isn’t enough.”

“Then I suppose we are at an impasse. Unless you’d want to promise a lifetime supply of these rolls—and Georgia’s raisin cream pie.”

“You say the word, and it will be done,” Georgia said.

“Then we have an understanding, and I can go.” Once again, the truth of what Jane had just said rolled over her.
I can go.
Tears threatened. “Don’t mind me. I’m having a bit of trouble getting accustomed to the idea that I actually can… go. I mean, I can just say that and…” Her voice trailed off. “But before I do, I need to get my things. Miss Dawson, uh, Mamie—goodness, it seems strange to call her that, but she insists—should be here any minute.”

Back upstairs, Jane gathered her few belongings into the carpetbag Georgia had brought down from the attic. She was halfway back down the stairs when she heard the buggy roll up to the front door. She called to Mamie that she’d be right out, then retreated back to the kitchen to say a tearful good-bye. As she headed up the hall, Warden McKenna descended the stairs.