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He shot the socialite his most disarming smile. “Not only will she make it right, but Miss Fox has promised to buy you two new dresses to replace those that were ruined. That’s quite a generous offer.”
As expected, Mrs. Vanderloo’s ire diminished. “I, uh—”
He lifted an arm of the ivory georgette dress to drive home the point. “Considering how outdated these frocks are, you’re making quite a bargain of it. Two new gowns in the latest fashion. You won’t find that guarantee elsewhere. Miss Fox can drop off some catalogs tomorrow.” He’d make sure Ruth had those catalogs before they parted ways tonight. “Make your choices at your leisure. We don’t want to keep you from your guests any longer.”
The woman seemed placated, until one last burst of petulance sneaked out. “But it doesn’t help me tonight. I’d planned to wear one of them.”
“That would have been a dreadful mistake.” Sam snuffed out her objections with the kind of observation that had won over reluctant girls in his college days. “The color and style are all wrong for you. Mint-green? Ivory? Not with your complexion. And the length. They must come to the ankle. Not at all stylish these days. In my opinion, that delightful navy suit brings out the copper in your stunning auburn hair.”
Mrs. Vanderloo primped with a girlish giggle, and Sam knew the battle was won.
Until he looked at Ruth. Miss Fox’s lips were pressed into an expression of undeniable displeasure. Now what had he done?
Chapter Three
That evening Ruth tried to keep her attention on the stack of bills piled on Daddy’s desk, but her thoughts kept drifting to Sam. When he’d suggested a rose-colored dress would suit her complexion, she’d foolishly thought he saw something unusual in her, but apparently he said the same sort of thing to every woman. A charming smile came in a salesman’s box of tools. It meant nothing.
Moreover, he’d abdicated his offer to buy the dresses, instead placing that burden on her. How would she manage to scrape up enough to pay for two new gowns capable of meeting Mrs. Vanderloo’s standards? She’d already spent her meager savings reducing their debt at the mercantile so the store would extend them credit again.
Ruth sighed and opened an envelope from the Battle Creek Sanitarium.
The figure on the invoice made her heart stop. How could they ever pay this, not to mention the additional treatment? Yet the doctors had made it clear that without that therapy, Daddy would not survive the year.
Ruth’s hand trembled. He couldn’t die. All her prayers and pleadings must count for something. She would do anything to save him. Anything? Jen’s bold idea came to mind. Would she marry for money? Ruth didn’t contemplate the answer for long. No matter what she would do, no man of means would marry her. Jen, on the other hand, could captivate someone like Sam. Perhaps Sunday would initiate the most unlikely of Jen’s many ideas.
Ruth smiled at the thought and reached out to touch one of the miniature stuffed elephants that stood on the shelf above the desk. She’d made them for her father when she was much younger. Red, green, purple, gold, blue. She’d been so proud of them, and he’d treated each like a priceless jewel.
“Exquisite,” he’d said after receiving every one. “Perfectly stitched.”
He’d encouraged all of them in their talents. Never once did he criticize her shyness or Jen’s poor stitching. He didn’t push any of them into the dressmaking business. Ruth couldn’t spend enough time in the shop. She loved the feel of the different fabrics, the satisfaction of the perfect pleat, the hope that sprang to life with each new dress. She loved to sketch new designs and dream one of her creations could turn a goose into a swan.
She picked up the first elephant she’d made, a pathetic calico creation with uneven stitching. Only her father had recognized that it was an elephant. He gave it a place of honor. She wiped away a tear and set the elephant back in place. Her father had taken one of her elephants with him to the sanitarium, along with Jen’s tattered baby blanket, photographs of Beattie’s babies and Minnie’s copy of Little Women, which he’d promised to read. He’d insisted those treasures would heal him more quickly than any doctor.
Yet he was still sick.
“Get well, Daddy,” she whispered.
In the meantime, she had bills to pay and no money with which to do so. Mother had told her which accounts to pay and which could wait. Daddy’s care came first, followed by the dress-shop bills. She had assured Ruth that the merchants in town would extend credit a bit longer, but the drugstore had insisted on cash for a single box of aspirin, and the mercantile had refused any credit until the account was paid down. Considering her oldest sister’s husband managed the mercantile, it was a slap in the face.
Now, as Ruth stared at the ledger, she could see disaster looming. Paying the sanitarium would nearly empty the family’s bank account. She’d have to short the shop’s fabric supplier in order to buy Mrs. Vanderloo’s dresses.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Jen had crept up so softly that Ruth hadn’t heard her.
Ruth slammed the ledger shut. “Nothing to concern you.”
Jen pulled up a chair. “Just because Mother put you in charge doesn’t mean you’re the only one who knows what’s going on. I can read a ledger, too. I keep the accounts at the airfield.” She tapped the ledger cover. “I say we ask Beattie for help.”
Memories of Beatrice’s whispered fears swept over Ruth. “We can’t.”
“Why not? Blake might be tightfisted, but she’ll get it out of him somehow.”
Ruth couldn’t tell Jen that their oldest sister’s marriage was struggling. Her husband, Blake, gave her only a pittance to spend on herself. Beattie used every cent for the children. Moreover, Blake’s lack of leniency at the mercantile showed he would give his in-laws nothing. Beatrice had confirmed Blake went through money at a frightening rate. She feared gambling—or worse. No, Beattie couldn’t help.
Neither could Ruth betray a confidence. “I could never ask Beatrice to part with money intended for her children.”
Jen dismissed that excuse. “They won’t suffer. They’re Blake’s kids, too. Beattie’s our sister. She’d want to know we’re having financial trouble.”
But Beattie did know, and not being able to help pained her. “Maybe she can’t.”
Jen frowned, her eyes darting between Ruth and the ledger. “What’s really going on?”
Ruth folded up the sanitarium bill. “I’ve already said more than I should.”
“If you mean that Blake’s being a cad, I already know that.”
“Jen!”
The girl shrugged. “Everyone knows it. Pearlman’s a small town. There aren’t many secrets here.”
Ruth felt sick. Beattie would hate that her marriage was the talk of town gossips. “We shouldn’t pass along rumors.”
Jen snorted. “I’m not the one doing the passing. If you ask me, Blake Kensington was always a cad.”
Ruth rummaged through the bills to hide her distress. Aside from the problems in Beattie’s marriage, Jen had struck too close to the painful secret that Ruth had kept for over ten years—a secret that must never see the light of day.
“Are you all right?” Jen asked. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine. It’s just a headache.” Her head did throb, though that wasn’t the only reason she felt ill. “I’m just a little worried, is all.”
“That’s why I suggested one of us marry into wealth.” Jen’s voice lowered. “That man you met earlier looks promising. Nice suit. Nice smile. Rather handsome. Is he married?”
“Jen! I would never ask a stranger such a thing.” Though she had wanted to.
“You don’t ask directly.” Jen rolled her eyes. “You ask if his wife came with him.”
“I didn’t think of that.” Ruth straightened the stack of envelopes. “He’s not wearing a ring.” Perhaps Jen was already attracted to Sam. Ruth played up the point. “And he does act like a bachelor.”
“How does a bachelor act?”
Ruth felt her face heat again. “They flirt with pretty women.”
Jen laughed. “You do like him!”
“I do not. I simply find him interesting.”
Jen’s laughter came out in a snort. “Interesting? He’s unbelievably handsome. The man could be a moving-picture star. Maybe he is. Did you ask what he did?”
“He’s a salesman.”
“Oh.” Jen considered that a moment. “Maybe he sells moving pictures. What do they call that? A promoter?”
“I don’t think he has anything to do with moving pictures.”
Jen’s eager smile turned into a frown. “Did you at least get his name?”
“Sam.”
“Sam what?”
Ruth had to admit that she didn’t know. As far as she could recall, he’d never given his last name, though she’d told him hers. How peculiar.
Jen gave her a look of thorough exasperation. “How could you spend an hour and a half with a man and not ask him anything important? What did you talk about?”
“Business. Mrs. Vanderloo’s dresses.”
“Dresses. Of course, you’d talk about dresses. If you’re ever going to find a husband, you’ll have to learn to talk about things that interest a man.”
“We had business to address. Nothing more.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to learn a little more about the man.”
“One can hardly ask a stranger personal questions.”
“There are other ways of getting information.” Jen looked as though she was about to burst. “Unlike you, I happened to ask around.”
“You did what?” Ruth tried to look horrified, but she was curious. Still... “That’s gossiping.”
Jen rolled her eyes. “How else are we going to know? You didn’t learn anything, and you had the perfect opportunity. Business. What woman talks business with a handsome bachelor?”
Ruth wasn’t about to divulge the little he’d shared about his family or the unnerving way she’d felt when he touched her.
“Well, do you want to know what I heard?” Jen’s smug smile told Ruth she’d heard plenty.
“I’m not listening to gossip,” Ruth said, knowing her sister would spill the news anyway.
“It’s not gossip. It’s fact. He’s working for the new store that’s opening up in the old carriage factory next door. You know. The store that everyone’s wondering about. I heard they’re going to sell automobiles.”
“Another one? There’s already the place selling Cadillacs. You’d think one would be enough for such a small town.”
Jen grinned. “Maybe he’s rich like Mr. Cornelius, and he’ll sweep one of us off our feet. Then all our troubles will be over.”
Ruth couldn’t believe Jen was still stuck on that patient-nurse romance she’d heard at the sanitarium. Such a fortuitous occurrence couldn’t happen again, or could it? “If you’re interested in Sam, you’ll have to move quickly. It doesn’t sound like he’ll be in town long.”
“Me?” Jen squeaked. “Why would I be interested in Sam? You’re the one he was doting on.”
“Doting? He helped me after we collided. Any gentleman would do the same. I’d hardly call it ‘doting.’”
“It looked like doting to me.” Jen crossed her arms. “I’d say he’s already sweet on you.”
“I’d say you’re talking nonsense, just like that idea of yours.” Ruth pulled the stack of unpaid bills closer. “Besides, Mother will be home Tuesday.” Jen would never pursue her ridiculous plan in front of their mother.
“No, she won’t.” Jen withdrew a crumpled envelope from her pocket and handed it to Ruth. “She’s staying two more weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Ruth yanked the letter from the envelope and scanned her mother’s sprawling writing. Jen was correct. Two more weeks. The family couldn’t afford the costs that had already piled up. If Mother knew they were in such dire straits, she would never have decided to stay in Battle Creek. But Daddy had always handled the bookkeeping. After he went to the sanitarium, Mother had tried to manage, but judging from the lack of ledger entries and number of addition errors, she had no head for figures.
“So you see, there’s plenty of time,” Jen said as she headed to the door, “for you and Sam.”
Before Ruth could scold her, Jen ducked outside.
Ruth lifted her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her head pounded, and she still had to finish opening the bills. She halfheartedly leafed through them until she got to the last. From Kensington Bank and Trust. Her heart stopped. If the ledger was correct, Mother hadn’t made a payment on the dress shop’s loan in months.
She ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter. A single sentence greeted her: We request your presence the morning of Monday, July 23rd at 9:00 a.m.
Her stomach dropped. What if the bank demanded they bring their payments current? She couldn’t scrape together enough for a single payment, least of all the total owed. It was impossible.
Panic raced up and down her spine. What would she do?
She stared at Mother and Daddy’s wedding photograph. They looked so young and solemn on their happy day. She pressed a finger to the handmade frame.
“What do I do, Daddy?”
He couldn’t possibly answer, but an idea sprang to mind. The bank wouldn’t expect her to do anything in her parents’ absence. Any paperwork would require Daddy’s signature.
She took a deep breath. All would come out well. She would simply go to the bank Monday morning and listen to what the banker had to say. Then she would convey his message to her mother, who would tell Daddy. That would settle the matter.
* * *
Though Father would not approve of hiring a local, in the morning Sam approached young Peter Simmons about repairing the display case. Considering the job did not require Peter to enter the store, Father shouldn’t fly into a rage. The town fathers already knew he was opening some type of retail establishment. One display case wouldn’t give away that it was a Hutton’s Department Store.
Sam stood inside the garage watching Peter assess the damage to the case. The lad looked rather young to be an expert carpenter, yet his blackened mechanic’s hands tenderly stroked the oak framing. His solemn, almost reverent expression contradicted the cowlick springing from the crown of his head. Tall and beanpole-thin, he looked like a boy trying to be a man.
“That’s a pretty bad split,” Peter said slowly as he pointed out the worst of the fractures. “It’s at the joint. I’d hafta replace three pieces. Here, here and here.” He indicated each one. “But this is old oak. I can’t match it.”
Father’s sharp eyes would notice the repair unless Peter could make it seamless. “What can’t you match? The color?”
“I’ll try, but it’ll be tough.”
Sam chewed on that. “Can you get close enough that people won’t notice?”
“Can try.”
Apparently that was the best Sam could hope for. He’d checked out the shelving and counter at the bookstore and found the workmanship first-rate. If Peter met those standards, he just might pull this off. “And the glass?”
“Got some out back that’d do. It’s not quite this clear, though. If you want the same kinda glass, we’ll hafta order it.”
Sam didn’t have the time or money to order new glass. He was going to have to pay for the repairs himself. Father didn’t accept additional costs. Period. “We’ll use what you have on hand. Your rate?”
Soon enough they settled on a reasonable fee. Sam paid half in advance, but Peter seemed less interested in the money than the work. Soon he resumed running his hands along the breaks and examining the joinery.
