Free Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] by Shadow on the Quilt Page A

decide which shoes to wear, the next making a monumental decision to leave First Church. For she was. Leaving. Reverend Burnham could have Sterling’s funeral. She would do that for Aunt Theodora. But the next time she attended a religious service, it would be with Aunt Lydia. It was unfortunate that Cass Gregory also attended St. John’s—Aunt Lydia mentioned him from time to time—but Juliana supposed every church had its hypocrites in the pews. At least there wasn’t one in the pulpit at St. John’s.
    As she walked, she looked in shop windows but had no interest in the merchandise. She nodded at passersby but didn’t really look them in the eye. Thankfully, no one imposed themselves on her. She walked, head down, her thoughts swirling. And then … she was there, staring at a roped-off, ruined building, trying to grasp the truth of Sterling in this place. She looked at the curved brick archway over the door. The narrow steps. The streaks of soot accenting each of the windows, like painted eyelashes on a broken doll. And again, she wept.
    “Mrs. Sutton?”
    A deep voice sounded from just over her left shoulder. She turned to see who it was, just as Cass Gregory dismounted from a muscled bay. The minute Gregory’s feet touched the earth, he swept his black hat off his head and then, reins in one hand and the hat in the other, he said, “You shouldn’t be here.” He glanced about them. “How did you get here, anyway?”
    “I walked.” Juliana nodded toward the east. “From Lindermann’s.” She took in a deep breath. “We were making … arrangements. And suddenly I just … couldn’t.” She looked back at the building. “I meant to walk to the dresser’s. My feet brought me here.”
    A wagon trundled past. When Gregory’s horse snorted and skittered away, he grabbed the bridle throatlatch. “Steady, boy.” The horse snorted again then settled and snuffled Gregory’s shoulder.
    “Handsome animal,” Juliana said, grateful for the chance to shift attention off herself.
    “He’s not mean-spirited. Just headstrong.”
    “I can see that,” Juliana said. And she could. Something in the creature’s dark eyes. The way he held his head. Now that Mr. Gregory had hold of the throatlatch, the horse had settled. Trusting.
    “Allow me to offer my condolences,” Gregory said.
    Juliana nodded. She thought about seeing him talking to that woman last night. Had he known Nell Parker? She wanted to ask about it. But that would be unthinkable. A lady didn’t even acknowledge the existence of …
those
females. She looked north, toward O Street. “I should be going. If the aunts get to Miss Thornhill’s and I’m not there—”
    “I’ll walk you.” He offered his arm.
    Juliana hesitated, rebelling against the idea of accepting Mr. Gregory as a gentleman when, based on his associations, he clearly was not. “That’s not necessary. You were on your way somewhere.” She took a step back, newly aware of the rope behind her and the pile of rubble behind it.
    “A few minutes’ delay won’t make any difference. I’d already be at the job site, but I needed to speak with Mr. Duncan.”
    “Is something wrong?”
What a stupid thing to say.
“I meant—besides the obvious.”
    “No, ma’am. It’ll be fine. Although I imagine that sounds like an empty promise at the moment.”
    Juliana nodded. How strange that the rest of the world simply went on as if nothing had happened. It seemed that creation should at least pause while the world reoriented itself around the empty place Sterling used to occupy. She looked up at Mr. Gregory. For some reason she noticed his eyes. Hazel, flecked with green. Shining with compassion and, perhaps, just a hint of worry. What was wrong with her, that she would notice a man’s eyes at a moment like this?
    “We’ll carry on with the original plan,” Gregory said. “You can count on us.”
    Juliana blinked. The original plan? The original plan was to live happily ever