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

the resulting article to Father. Somehow she would convince him that the female portion of his readership would be fascinated to read interviews conducted by a woman. She smiled.
Another View.
The perfect title. And if Father refused to publish it—well, the
Beatrice Daily Dispatch
wasn’t the only newspaper in town.
    A new challenge reared its head. Father had already interviewed a Mr. Shaw. If she wanted the scoop concerning Miss Jones, she would need to conduct the interview as soon as the woman arrived at the Paddock Hotel. All the speakers stayed there, but there’d be no chance of preempting Father if Mother ruled Emilie’s every waking moment tomorrow, and she was depending on help with the cottage.
    Getting the place ready for habitation was no mean task. Dinah’s husband Calvin had hauled camp cots and cleaning equipment out there today. He’d probably done some cursory cleaning, but Mother would never be satisfied with that. She would insist that cobwebs be swept and walls be washed and floors be scrubbed. After that, Mother and Dinah would set up the “camp kitchen.” They didn’t really cook at the cottage—Dinah stayed at the house and made “picnic food” and delivered it every day. Still, Emilie had no doubt that Mother would think of all kinds of things for her to do.
    With a sigh, Emilie plopped down on her bed. There had to be a way to make things work—to help Mother and still get that interview. She looked across the room at the folder lying atop her writing desk. At least the Ladies’ News was done. She and Mother could get an early start. Except for the fact that Mother never got an early start anywhere.
    And then…Emilie smiled. Bert had left her Royal. She could leave at sunrise if she wanted to, riding into town to leave a note for Miss Jones with the night clerk at the hotel and then going on to the grounds. She could have most of the scrubbing and cleaning done before Mother so much as drove up in the buggy. They could be finished by early afternoon.
    It was perfect. Father would be pleased that she’d written the final Ladies’ News without any further protest. Mother would be pleased with Emilie’s hard work. And then—then Emilie would be free.
    She returned to her writing desk and wrote a note explaining that she’d gone on ahead. Mid-note, she looked out her window and realized that the moonlight was so bright it was casting shadows as it shone through the trees. Why spend the next few hours tossing and turning in anticipation of the day ahead? She could leave right now. All she would need was a change of clothes for rehearsal with the Spring Sisters. She could fit everything in a carpetbag.
    Emilie finished the note to her parents. Next, she penned an interview request to leave at the Paddock on her way through town. And then she packed a bag.

CHAPTER 5
    N oah stood beneath the roof of what the locals called “The Tabernacle.” Not much was visible in the night, but as he meandered across the fresh sand spread over the ground—benches would likely be hauled in and arranged tomorrow—he imagined the thousands of people who would crowd those benches.
    He made his way past the uprights supporting the permanent roof and finally up the stairs and onto the stage. Glancing off toward the Blue River, he once again imagined campfires glowing in the night. He closed his eyes and listened. Frogs croaked and locusts buzzed. A lone coyote howled. A chorus of barks answered.
    Taking a deep breath, he walked to the edge of the stage and looked out, imagining a sea of faces looking back at him. Expecting…expecting what. Would they want to be challenged? Encouraged? Comforted? Convinced? He was glad he’d have a day to wander the grounds before he actually had to mount this stage and face the audience. It would give him time to get a sense of things. Not every audience wanted Shakespeare. Of course if the G.A.R. had a strong presence, he would definitely do the St. Crispin’s Day