Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] Read Free Page A

location of the
Beatrice Daily Dispatch
wasn’t a complete mystery.

CHAPTER 2
    E milie was quiet for most of the drive to the Chautauqua assembly grounds. Thankfully, Bert knew her well enough to let her simmer without forcing conversation. He was driving the buggy beneath the largest of the four wooden arches that marked the entrance before she voiced one of the worries that had been niggling at her for most of the twenty-minute drive. “What do you think Father will do to Will for letting me help set type?”
    Bert didn’t answer for a moment. Instead, he let Father’s pride-and-joy buggy horse cool down, ambling along the winding road that led to the open-air auditorium called the Tabernacle. When he did speak, his tone was confident. “It’s more important than ever to get the paper out on time during Chautauqua. Folks are estimating there could be as many as ten thousand people on the grounds—and that’s on an average day. Who knows how many will come to hear Reverend Talmage that last Sunday? I imagine Will’s safe—although he’s probably had his ears pinned back by now. When it comes right down to it, though, there’s too much business to be missed if the
Daily
isn’t running smoothly over the next couple of weeks. You don’t need to worry about Will.”
    “Too much business to be missed.”
Too much money at risk. Bert was right. Father was, first and foremost, a businessman. He wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of all those newspaper sales.
    “Come prepared to suggest your replacement.”
In the wake of relief on behalf of Will Gable came a wave of dread at the memory of Father’s implied threat to take the Ladies’ News away from her. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t. She’d find a way. But she’d have to think about that later. Worrying over it would make her hands tremble. And then she’d miss notes at rehearsal, and Cousin April would scold even more than she would anyway because of Emilie’s being late.
    Glancing toward the Tabernacle in the distance, she said, “Do you really think the crowd will be that large this year? Will was working on the program today, so I had a chance to see the schedule. Ex-President Hayes isn’t coming. I know Reverend Talmage is popular, but I can’t imagine him being as big a draw as a former president.”
    “Never underestimate the power of a good sermon.” Bert looked over with a grin. “And besides that, I hear that the Spring Sisters and their lovely accompanist are to be featured a half-dozen times.” He pulled the buggy up alongside the Tabernacle stage. “At least I
thought
we had the Spring Sisters. But there’s clearly no one waiting to rehearse. Do you think they got tired of waiting?”
    “Who could blame them?” Emilie gazed past the empty stage toward the row of cottages in the distance. “They could be helping Aunt Cornelia settle in. You wouldn’t believe what she hauled out here last year for the series. She even brought an icebox. For a ten-day campout. Can you imagine?”
    Bert smiled. “Well, just because a person is camping is no reason to suffer needlessly, eh? I seem to recall that your parents’ cottage was fairly well furnished last year, too.” With a flick of the reins, he headed the buggy around the back side of the Tabernacle and toward Cottage Row.
    “In case you don’t remember it’s the pink one with the diamond-patterned roof,” Emilie said. “I don’t see the girls, but there’s definitely something going on.”
    Mother had been the first of the town ladies to come up with the idea of erecting a cottage out here. Once it was known that Mrs. Rhodes had come up with such a clever alternative to tent camping, a flurry of activity along the Blue River had resulted in an entire row of diminutive cottages. Some boasted gingerbread, while others had expansive porches or whimsical gazebos.
    As the buggy got closer, Bert said, “Looks like the ladies have some kind of competition going this