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

deep breath, she rose and followed Martha toward the upstairs hall. At the door, she reached for Martha’s hand. “Thank you.” She glanced back toward Sterling’s dresser. “I think it helps, having someone know.”
    Martha headed on down the back stairs to the kitchen. Juliana lingered on the upstairs landing for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. Meeting with Mr. Lindermann about the funeral was only the beginning. Beyond deciding about the new house, she would need to speak with Mr. Duncan at the bank. And Mr. Graham, Sterling’s attorney. Her throat constricted. Did Sterling have a will? Surely he wouldn’t leave her unprotected. Would he?
    She thought of the woman and the child in the photograph.
To my P. L.
Whoever it was, would she even know that Sterling was gone? If she wasn’t in Lincoln—if she lived somewhere far away—she would think Sterling had abandoned her.
    Maybe the two of them weren’t all that different.

    Jenny
Monday, April 16
    Footsteps on the porch.
    Her eyes flew open. From beneath the pile of blankets, Jenny listened. It wasn’t the right day, was it? She thought hard. No. It was Monday. He never came on Monday.
    Someone knocked on the door. She wasn’t supposed to answer the door when strangers came knocking. Which was fine with her, anyway. It wouldn’t be long before they were moving away. They’d have a nice house and a new life where Johnny would be accepted as the son of a rich man. Soon, the loneliness and this farmhouse would be a bad memory. If only she could hold on. She hunkered beneath the blankets and waited for them to leave.
    “Jenny. It’s George Duncan.” He pounded on the door. “Open up. We need to talk.”
    Maybe this was it. Maybe the plan had come together. And her looking such a mess. “Just a minute. I’ll be there in a minute.” When she stood up, she felt dizzy. And chilled. She hurried to the bedroom and pulled on a wrapper. No time for anything else. No time to do her hair, either. What would that matter, anyway? It was only George Duncan.
    She crossed the hall and checked in on the sleeping baby. Such a beautiful boy. The white-blond hair was beginning to darken. He was going to be a handsome boy. George knocked again. Buttoning her robe, Jenny went to the window and peered out before opening the door.
    Mr. Duncan glanced behind him like a robber making sure there were no witnesses. Finally, he stepped inside and pulled the door closed. Jenny backed away from him, frowning. George Duncan had never been particularly nice to her. Oh, he’d been polite. He had to. Sterling would never have put up with anything less. But the manners were exaggerated just enough that Jenny knew what he really thought. Today, he wasn’t hiding his dislike for her. His disdain.
    She was tired of pretending. Tired of waiting, too. On everything. Johnny was six months old. He’d started to recognize his daddy and smile at him, and it was time Sterling made good on his promises.
    “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
    “What kind of bad news?” She swallowed. If Sterling was going to go back on his promises, he would find out something new about her. She was not going to go away quietly. She’d given him a son. This wasn’t just a little fun under a moonlit sky anymore. There was a life at stake. An important one.
    Mr. Duncan pointed at the sofa. “You should probably sit down.”
    Jenny sat. She’d taken another chill. Perspiration broke out on her forehead. She suppressed a cough.
    “Don’t tell me you’re sick.”
    “Don’t you worry about me,” Jenny said. “Just tell me what you came to say.”
    “Sterling’s dead.”
    “Wh–what?” She felt woozy. She couldn’t have heard that right.
    “You heard me. Sterling’s dead.”
    “But—how? Why?” Fear clawed at her.
    “There was a fire. He went in to save—” Mr. Duncan broke off. “That’s the official version. The fire was at Goldie’s. He didn’t make it out.”
    Jenny blinked.