Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] Read Free Page B

revolving table crowded with colorful, leather-bound books supported a lovely oil lamp, its shade adorned with painted roses.
    Curtains served as doors to the other two rooms. Meyer pulled aside the one obscuring the view of the nearest room. “The bed is not so large,” he said, “but I have many comforters and quilts. We can make a pallet on the floor for one of you.”
    “The bed’s fine,” Sadie said, patting him on the chest as she nestled close and looked at Margaret. “Ma loves it, don’t you?” Meyer’s face turned red. When he cleared his throat, Sadie laughed and patted his shoulder. “It’s all right, sweetie. I was just teasing.” She stepped into the little room and perched on the edge of the only piece of furniture beside the iron bed—a low trunk shoved against a wall. “We’ll do just fine.”
    “Whatever you’re cooking,” Margaret said, “it smells wonderful.”
    Sadie smiled at Mr. Meyer. “That’s a real compliment. Mama’s a wonderful cook. Wait till you taste her biscuits. They melt in your mouth. The girls practically fight over them.”
    Mr. Meyer nodded before disappearing into the other room at the back, returning with a piece of paper and a pencil in hand. He offered it to Margaret. “If you will make a list, I’ll see that you have whatever provisions you might need.” His face flushed again. “I am hoping you will stay. We have some ready-to-wear at the store where I work, although nothing quite so fine as what you are”—he glanced at Sadie—“what you are accustomed to.”
    Sadie pointed at the list in Margaret’s hand. “Put down what you need to make biscuits.” She smiled at Mr. Meyer. “Goldie said she’d send someone around tomorrow. She’ll loan us enough money to last until she has a new place.”
    “But—” Meyer frowned. “I thought all was lost in the fire.”
    Margaret explained. “Goldie keeps cash sewn into the lining of that dressing gown she had on tonight. She doesn’t trust banks. You can bet there’s even more cash hidden somewhere else.” She looked at Sadie. “But I don’t think we should take much from Goldie. Maybe just enough for some proper clothes so we can look for work.”
    Sadie laughed. She held her hands out, palms up. “Do you really think the good people of Lincoln will give Simone LaBelle a job? Can’t you just see me behind the counter where Ludwig works?” The robe threatened to fall open.
    Mr. Meyer crossed the room to stand at the small cookstove. Lifting the soup pot lid, he busied himself stirring, tasting, and adding spices.
    “No,” Margaret said, “but they might be very willing to give a lovely girl like Sadie Gregory a chance.”
    Sadie rolled her eyes.
    Mr. Meyer turned around. “Sadie?” he said. “You are not Simone?”
    Sadie glowered at Margaret. “I needed something exotic.”
    Mr. Meyer smiled and repeated the name. “Sadie Gregory.” He nodded. “That’s a nice name. For a nice lady.” He ladled soup into a bowl and set it on the table. “A nice lady who is also hungry, perhaps?”
    Sadie sashayed over to the table and sat down on one of the two chairs.
    Mr. Meyer pulled out the other for Margaret. “Please. You are my guest.”
    Margaret sat down, and Mr. Meyer retreated to the back door, stepping out onto a covered porch. When he came back, he had a battered stool in hand. He served himself and Margaret, then perched on the stool at one end of the small table. He bowed his head.
    “Blessed God in heaven, thank You for saving the lives of Goldie and the others. Thank You for Your kindness and Your love to us, and for allowing me to share my home. Thank You for the promise of new life in Christ. Let us live to accept it. Amen.”
    Margaret dared not look up at Sadie after such a prayer. She did, however, dare to say
amen
along with Mr. Meyer. She wanted to believe in a new life for herself and Sadie, even though she wasn’t sure she had a right to ask for it.

    As Juliana headed