Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] by Key on the Quilt Page B

right about the coyotes,” she said as she worked. “It takes a sturdy fence to keep them out. Or a big dog. If you put the chicken yard next to that garden, it’ll make it easy for whoever does it to put up a fence around the whole thing. Your maid will have fat, sassy hens if she lets them feed on Nebraska hoppers. That’ll save your garden.”
    Mrs. McKenna gazed through the kitchen window toward the garden space. Jane went on. “The same trustees who built the barn could probably build you a chicken coop. They’d most likely be glad to fence in a yard, too.” She paused. “The time goes slow, sometimes. It helps to have work.” She slid the pot of water back off the burner and stood back. “Ready to heat things up, ma’am.” Seeing the question on Mrs. McKenna’s face, she explained. “I don’t imagine anyone cares to have me building a fire.”
    Mrs. McKenna’s face turned red. “Oh… I—I suppose….” She lifted the cover off the stovetop, got the fire going, and then slid the pot in place. Just then Vestal yelled Jane’s name.
    Georgia appeared in the doorway.
    Mrs. McKenna frowned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
    Georgia shook her head. “Baby’s turned wrong. Coming out feet first.” She glanced at Jane. “You squeamish?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Guess we’ll find out,” Georgia said. “Follow me.

    Sometimes it seemed like the good Lord just wasn’t quite paying attention. Not that Mamie would have said anything quite so heretical out loud, but she couldn’t help but think it, now could she? What else could explain the situation today?
    The Lord Himself had said that when a child asked for bread, a father didn’t give him a stone, so why had Mamie been given Pearl Brand to mind, just when Mamie herself had been in the middle of a season of especially faithful, fervent prayer, asking for all kinds of things that were definitely in the realm of bread when it came to the women on the third floor.
    She wanted to serve these women. She wanted to show them God’s love. She wanted… so much. And yet, here Mamie was in the middle of a crisis, at the mercy of a new warden, and looking like she hadn’t done her duty.
    If that weren’t enough, she had to put up with Martin Underhill again, for it was Martin the warden appointed to “keep Miss Dawson apprised of the situation” while that handsome Mr. Selleck, who could just as easily have been given the task, was sent off to join the search for Pearl Brand.
    Perhaps it was just as well, Mamie thought as she remembered the way Mr. Selleck’s golden hair curled around the back of his uniform collar. The man could be a distraction. Still, the entire situation put her ill at ease and out of sorts. So much so that the fourth time in an hour Mr. Underhill showed up at the barred door to the dormitory and called for her, Mamie almost snapped at him in front of her charges. “What is it now, Mr. Underhill?”
    Underhill waited for Mamie to come to the door before saying quietly, “Warden McKenna wants to question each of the women. Said to have you decide who’s to go first.” He paused. Swallowed. “Least likely to most likely.”
    Mamie frowned. “Least likely to most likely
what,
Mr. Underhill? I am not a mind reader.”
    The man blushed. “Least likely to most likely to be in cahoots with the one that’s missing. He said I should escort you over.” Another guard arrived on the third floor and headed their way. “J. B.’s here to mind the ward while we’re gone.”
    With a sigh, Mamie turned around and called for petite, half-blind Ivy Cochran, then spoke to the other women. “The rest of you might as well begin your sewing stint while Ivy and I are with the warden.”
    “What about breakfast?” Agnes Sweeney called out. “Don’t seem right us getting stuck with cold oatmeal and colder coffee on account of Pearl Brand’s foolishness.”
    J. B. scowled as he retorted, “Don’t seem right I should have to stay on duty