Free Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] by Message on the Quilt

as a series title. Ten questions asked of ten speakers for the ten editions of the
Chautauqua Express
to be published over the ten days of the event.”
    “That’s a very creative hook,” Mr. Shaw said. “Any chance you’d want to try your questions out on me?”
    “It’s probably not a good idea to imply that my Father didn’t get the scoop on ‘The Man of Many Voices,’” Emilie said.
    He gave a dramatic sigh. “You ‘crush me under the weight of your rejection,’ mademoiselle.”
    Emilie laughed. “Don’t be hurt. And it isn’t fair to scold me with Shakespeare. Besides, for all you know, I can’t write a complete sentence without four misspelled words and a dangling participle.
    “And for all you know,” he rumbled, “the real reason I’m here in Nebraska has almost nothing to do with the stage I was standing on when I heard you scream.” He pointed up at the night sky. “I do love walking at night. When I was a boy, my mother used to tell me a story about the bear in the sky…”
    Emilie listened, but she didn’t really hear what he was saying about the sky. She was circling the hook Mr. Shaw had dangled before her about why he might really be in Nebraska. And thinking that interviewing him might not be a bad idea, after all.

CHAPTER 6
    B y the time he and the charming Miss Emilie Rhodes had crossed the bridge south of Beatrice and ambled on into town, Noah really didn’t want to say good night yet. He couldn’t explain it, but it was as if the curtain that usually existed between strangers didn’t exist with her.
    “It’s only half a mile more,” Miss Rhodes said. “I don’t want you to have to retrace your steps in the dark.”
    “But it’s nearly midnight, and I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I let you go on undefended.”
    “It’s Nebraska, Mr. Shaw.” Miss Rhodes laughed. “There are no highwaymen waiting in the bushes to steal my carpetbag. And besides that, you’d regret your kind offer once you had half a mile of dark road facing you on the walk home.”
    “Who could object to half a mile of moonlight?”
    “Half a mile of moonlight?” She shook her head. “All right, Mr. Shaw. How can I reject someone with such a creative bent for describing a walk down a dirt road in the dark.”
    He laughed. “I believe you’ve just summarized the difference between your desired profession and mine.”
    “Really?”
    “I look north and see half a mile of moonlight. That’s drama. You see half a mile of a dirt road. That’s realism. Theater and journalism. So tell me, which courses did you enjoy most at Rockford? I’d wager it wasn’t the course on the romantic poets.”
    “Gambling is a sin, Mr. Shaw,” Miss Rhodes said. Still, she gathered her horse’s reins and began to walk north.
    Noah caught up to her and asked about Beatrice.
    “The accent is on the second syllable,” Miss Rhodes said. “I know it sounds wrong—especially to a world traveler like yourself, but it isn’t. It’s from Julia Beatrice Kinney, one of the founder’s daughters, and that’s the way she pronounced her middle name, so that’s the way we pronounce it. Put the accent on the first syllable, and everyone will know you’re a stranger.”
    “Bee-AT-trice,” Noah said and repeated it three times.
    Miss Rhodes laughed. “Very good.”
    “Tell me more.”
    “Well, let’s see. We’re the third largest city in the state, and to hear my mother tell it, Father’s a big part of the reason. In fact, sometimes I think that if she had her way, the town would be renamed Rhodesville.”
    “And what would Miss Kinney say to that?”
    “Maybe she wouldn’t know. She never did actually live here. I think she’s somewhere out in California, lucky woman.” She turned east on another road. “It’s not far now. Just up ahead, actually.” They’d only walked a short way when she stopped and muttered, “Oh no.”
    “What is it?”
    It was as if the air around them trembled when Miss Rhodes