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

home,” as she pulled Royal up just outside the wide double doors on the back side of the carriage house. Father had already opened them so that he could drive the buggy out, but by the time Emilie had dropped her carpetbag to the ground and dismounted, he’d turned Dutch back into his stall and latched it shut.
    As he walked toward her, Emilie could see his face dimly illuminated by the one lantern he’d lit—the one hanging on the iron hook by the small door facing the house. He was furious. Again. As angry as he’d been earlier today when he dragged her out of the press room.
    “Apparently you didn’t see my note?” She tried to keep the tone just right. She didn’t want to fawn. Then again, she did feel apologetic. She hadn’t meant to worry them. This time, she’d actually planned things out and taken pains to explain her behavior.
    “What note?” Father snapped.
    The
t
s were emphasized. Not good. “On the breakfast table in the nook.” She reached up to smooth Royal’s mane as she talked. Maybe it would keep her hands from trembling so. “I finished the final Ladies’ News. It’s there, too—along with a note. I left everything where you’d see it first thing in the morning. So that you wouldn’t worry.”
    “Your Mother was concerned after our talk. She went to check on you—and discovered your absence.” He raked his fingers through his hair. Took a deep breath. “Do you have any idea how weary I am of trying to translate you to her—and her to you?”
    “There’s nothing to translate,” Emilie said. “If you’d read my note, you’d know. I decided to ride out to the grounds and spend the night so that I could get to work cleaning the cottage at first light. I wanted to surprise Mother.”
    “Mission accomplished. I am surprised.”
    Emilie whirled about. Royal danced away, and there stood Mother. Fully dressed, albeit somewhat disheveled.
    “I left a note,” Emilie repeated.
    Mother glanced at Father. Something passed between them, and Father’s scowl relaxed a bit. Mother’s tone seemed almost conciliatory when she said, “After the way we ended things, I couldn’t sleep. I lay there thinking over how you must be feeling—I just couldn’t leave it that way. And so I knocked on your bedroom door. Imagine my surprise when I discovered you’d run away from home.”
    “But I didn’t,” Emilie insisted. “How many times do I have to say it? Here,” she said, and held Royal’s reins out to Father. “I’ll prove it. You take Royal, and I’ll go get the note I left.”
    “No.” Mother waved for Father to join her. “You tend to Royal, Emilie. Your Father and I will go in. After all this excitement, I’ll need a cup of tea before my nerves calm down, anyway.” She bent to retrieve Emilie’s carpetbag. “We were headed to Cornelia’s first. I told your Father it was likely you would have confided in May.”
    Emilie sighed. For Mother to suspicion some plot with May wasn’t all that unreasonable. But this time, May was innocent. “It was just an idea that came up tonight, while I was writing my final piece for the paper.”
    The three of them stood, looking at one another like combatants who wanted to call a truce but didn’t quite know how. Royal pricked his ears and turned his head to stare into the shadows just past the house. He snorted and shook his head. When Noah Shaw emerged from those shadows, Emilie saw Mother put her hand to her hastily arranged coiffure and step back.
    Mr. Shaw spoke first to Emilie. “You were very kind to release me from my duties escorting you home, but it just didn’t seem right not to see you all the way.”
    Before Father could say a word, Mother had dropped Emilie’s bag in the dust and blurted out, “You!” And then she looked at Father. Her tone was scolding as she said, “You didn’t tell me that Mr. Shaw had already arrived in Beatrice. You should have invited him to dine with us this evening.” She smiled at Mr.