“Please, James, this is very important to me.”
“All right.” James pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes closed. “Sometimes you have a tendency to share your opinion when not asked.” He paused and dabbed the back of his neck with a folded handkerchief. “There are certain situations when a woman needs to be seen and not heard.”
She tapped her toe on the floor of the veranda and waited for him to continue.
“Topics, like women’s suffrage, are not acceptable in polite society. You know this. Your dalliance at the Negro school must end as well.” He patted the perspiration from his upper lip and returned the cloth to his pocket. He glanced down at her bouncing foot. “Don’t be cross with me, Ruth.” He wrapped her in his arms.
“James, if I agree to marry you—”
He shrank away from the embrace he had initiated moments before. “If you agree to marry me?”
“Yes, if I agree to marry you, I will give Mr. Janney notice of my intent not to return to my position in November, but I will need to finish the current school term. The children and their parents depend on me—I gave my word.”
“That is unacceptable.” The tenor of his voice rose as he massaged his brow. “You must resign so we can announce our engagement. It will make the society column of every major newspaper in the South, and I will not have it reported that my bride-to-be works for hire teaching illiterate Negroes.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry, darling, but that is not negotiable.”
She stepped closer, curious if the power of the attraction he held for her would persuade him. “What about volunteer work with organizations dedicated to improving the lives of Negroes?” She tilted her head, smiling as she fingered the buttons on his vest. “Isn’t charity work expected from the wives of politicians?”
He lifted her hand from his chest and kissed it. “I’m sorry, darling, but volunteering to assist Negroes would not be an approved charity. Everywhere you go as my wife, from the opera to the market to a soirée, even to church, will be an opportunity to advance our status socially, financially, and politically. Besides, you will be plenty busy raising our family, managing our household, and making social appearances with me.”
She stared at the hazy August sky. The muggy air pressed close against her, confining her. Her eyes darted to James. How had she gotten herself into such a mess? Her stomach churned. This wouldn’t do. If she married James, he would turn her inside out until she no longer recognized herself. However, if what her mother said was true, she may never have another offer of marriage. Oh Lord, what am I to do?
James took her hands in his again. “Can you not see this is the opportunity of a lifetime?”
Ruth Ann bit her lip. “No. Not anymore. If we marry, Ruth Ann Sutton would be replaced by Ruth Thornton as she is packaged and presented by you and both our mothers.”
“That is terribly unfair.”
Not caring for his sharp tone, she shifted away from him. “Is it?”
He lowered his voice, but it sounded strained to her ear. “You are overreacting, darling.”
“Overreacting?” She spun to face him, hands on her hips. “Tell me. If our families were not so intimately connected—if our union wasn’t the wish of both our mothers, would you seek my hand?”
Offering no response, James resumed massaging his brow as he paced.
She looked away from him. “That’s what I thought.” Her voice cracked.
He drew near to her then lifted her chin with his finger. “That’s not important. Trust me. Mother is usually right about these things.”
She jerked away. “James, I cannot marry you.” The words had barely escaped her lips before the heaviness in her chest abated.
His jaw slackened. “You cannot be serious. You are not thinking clearly.”
Ruth Ann raised her chin. “I am.”
James tugged on his vest then patted the pocket that housed his watch. “Very well.” He tipped his head in her direction, yanked open the screen door, and returned to the house through the kitchen.
She flinched when the wooden frame slammed into place. He’d rebound quickly enough. She hadn’t injured his heart, only his pride.
Her fingers clutched the locket that adorned her neck, sliding it back and forth on its gold chain. She forced a breath.
What would Mama say?
5
Ruth Ann pulled open her reticule and searched for the list of items Myra had asked her to purchase. Had she left it at home? Mama had been so cross with her since Ruth Ann refused James that she hurried out the door this morning without breakfast. Missing Myra’s cinnamon rolls was a hardship indeed, but one worth enduring if it meant avoiding another one of Mama’s lectures on her impending spinsterhood. She found the list tucked inside a small copy of the Psalms and promptly handed it to the shopkeeper’s wife.
Adelaide Turner scanned the paper before heading off in the direction of the dry goods. “Malachi got a new shipment of books,” she called over her shoulder.
New books. Ruth Ann darted to the bookshelf near the window on the opposite side of the store. Teaching at the Freedmen’s School was the only thing that rivaled her zeal for literature. Her sister, Sarah, preferred poetry, but Ruth Ann didn’t have the patience nor the inclination for poetic gibberish. Whether riding with the calvary across the Great Plains or rescuing a princess locked in a medieval castle, she preferred to lose herself in the make-believe world authors created for her in the pages of their books.
She paused at the corner display. A man in faded dungarees and shaggy black hair thumbed through the books—her books. From the back, he appeared desperate for some soap and a haircut. Some clean clothes wouldn’t hurt either. She slipped into the center aisle and observed him through the glass chimney of a kerosene lamp. He retrieved one book then another, skimming the first few pages before returning it to the shelf. If only he’d hurry up then she could have a moment to examine the new arrivals herself.
“I’ve got your order ready.”
Ruth Ann jerked suddenly, catching the handle of a large cast iron skillet in the pocket of her skirt. The heavy pan knocked a Dutch oven from the shelf. Several pieces of cookware stacked inside the skillet careened to the floor, barely missing Adelaide’s foot.
“I’m sorry, Adelaide. You startled me.”
“No harm done. I’m fine.”
“Everything all right over there?” Mr. Turner called from the storeroom.
Adelaide responded to her husband’s concerns. “Yes, we’re fine. Just knocked over some merchandise.”
Ruth Ann stooped to pick up the frying pans. A pair of dirty work boots appeared next to the pile of cookware strewn across Adelaide’s floor.
“Here, let me help you with those.”
That voice. The disheveled person perusing her books was the man from the creek?
He squatted and reached for the cast iron skillet in her hand.
Now mere inches apart, her gaze locked on his amber eyes. Her tongue grew thick and lazy all of a sudden. “I-I-I…”
Adelaide returned the Dutch oven to its resting place on the wooden shelf. “When you’re ready, Ruth Ann, your items are in a crate up front.” She disappeared around the corner, leaving Ruth Ann to deal with the shaggy Mr. Coulter on her own.
A grin split his bearded face. “You were trying to tell me something before, but it came out a bit jumbled. Care to try again?”
She tugged the heavy cookware from his grasp. “I can manage quite nicely on my own.”
Ruth Ann stacked the cast iron pieces according to size. Grunting, she lifted her heavy load. She listed slightly toward Mr. Coulter before righting herself and depositing her burden on the shelf next to the Dutch oven.
Chuckling, he shook his head.
She planted her hands firmly on her hips. “And exactly what are you laughing at?”
“You and your mulish ways. I offered to help you, but you’d rather grunt and groan and do it yourself.” He stroked his overgrown
beard, eyes twinkling. “If I remember correctly, refusing my help is what got you in a tight spot the last time we met.”
Chin lifted high, she pivoted on her heel and strode to the back of the store. Mr. Coulter’s laughter reverberated in her ears. She wouldn’t let him get the best of her again.
“Hello, Ruth Ann, how are you?”
Malachi Turner’s warm greeting brightened her mood as she approached the counter.
He wiped his hands on his crisp, white apron. “Come, tell me how things are going at the school.”
“Very well, thank you. My students are making slow but steady progress.”
“Splendid.” His tone softened. “I imagine many folks don’t understand what you’re doing, but you are changing our community for the better.”
“Thank you.”
“Do the children need anything for the classroom?”
“No, sir, but thank you. We’ve had books and some maps provided and the Society of Friends has supplied the students with slates and slate pencils.”
“Glad to hear it, but Adelaide and I have something set aside for you nonetheless.” Mr. Turner motioned for Ruth Ann to follow him. He opened a cabinet door and pulled out a large, red book. “The missus and I want you to have this. Consider it a donation to your school.”
Ruth Ann reached for the leather-bound volume. It was heavy. She couldn’t believe her eyes—An American Dictionary of the English Language. “Oh, Mr. Turner, how wonderful. Thank you so much. I will put this to good use.”
Mr. Coulter approached the counter, two books in hand.
Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, Ruth Ann’s gaze roamed to his selections. She hadn’t reviewed the new arrivals yet.
He glanced at her, brow arched.
She redirected her gaze to the shopkeeper’s face. “I almost forgot. Sarah asked me to purchase some Pears soap while I’m here.”
Mr. Turner nodded. “All right, but first take a look at this.” He directed Ruth Ann toward a soft bound book lying open on the counter. “Have you heard about the new mail-order catalog?”
She shook her head.
“A man named Montgomery Ward has put out a registry of general merchandise. Customers can select items to purchase from the catalog and pay for them here in the store. For now, the merchandise will be shipped to Leesburg. However, once the train comes to Catoctin Creek, goods will be delivered right here to my store for you to pick up.”
“I can order merchandise from a book and have it delivered to your store?”
“That’s right. Very clever idea this Mr. Ward had. He calls it mail-order shopping. Very exciting, isn’t it?”
She had never heard of such a thing. “May I take a look?”
He nodded.
Pages and pages of ready-made clothing, farm equipment, and jewelry unfolded before her eyes.
“I’ll get the soap for you in a moment after I wait on this gentleman.” He stepped toward Mr. Coulter. “May I help you, sir?”
Ruth Ann’s attention shifted again to the books Mr. Coulter had placed on the counter. She craned her neck for a better view. What was he purchasing?
“Yes, I’d like to buy these books.” He nodded in her direction. “If they meet with the lady’s approval.”
He looked to be stifling a grin when their eyes met. Heat raced across her cheeks as she attempted a weak smile. Mr. Turner’s gaze flitted between her and Mr. Coulter. She feigned attention to the catalog. “It’s no matter to me what you read, Mr. Coulter.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met. Malachi Turner. My wife, Adelaide, and I own this store. My brother, Samuel, owns the Hampton Hotel across the street. Are you employed by the railroad?”
“Benjamin Coulter. No. I work for Dutton and Farrell Land Mapping Agency, but yes, I’m working to get the Washington & Ohio here to Catoctin Creek and then over the Blue Ridge.”
“Land Mapping Agency—that’s mighty impressive. What do you do for them?”
Impressive. It would be impressive if he would visit the barber. She flipped another page in the catalog as she eavesdropped on their conversation.
“I’m a surveyor.”
A chainman, a rodman, even a spikeman for the railroad would better fit his scruffy appearance. Why did he have to be a surveyor? She hated to admit it, but that was impressive.
“Well done, young man. You have a bright future ahead of you.” Mr. Turner tore off a piece of brown paper. “That will be two dollars.”
Mr. Coulter held up his hand. “No need to wrap them, Malachi. I’ll take them as is.” He reached in his pocket to retrieve a few coins for the shop keep.
“Thank you, sir.” Mr. Turner pointed to the catalog she perused. “Care to take a look?”
Mr. Coulter stepped toward Ruth Ann and glanced at the catalog over her shoulder. He towered above her. He was taller than James, taller than Joseph and most likely taller than her father, and he had been six feet tall.
“The catalog is small now, but the Montgomery Ward Company has plans to expand it to include furniture, baby carriages, stoves, sewing machines, ready-made draperies, and the list will only keep growing. Anything you can think of will one day be for sale through the catalog.”
Muscled forearms revealed themselves underneath the rolled sleeves of Mr. Coulter’s work shirt. He pointed to one of the Winchester rifles listed on the page. “A Winchester Yellow Boy.” His finger dragged across the page. “Eighteen dollars.”
She placed her hand against her stomach. Why was she suddenly jittery? “Does the catalog include books, Mr. Turner?”
“Oh, yes.” He turned to the section with Bibles, dictionaries, and classic literature. I’m sure the list of titles will expand. In the back of the catalog there’s an index listing all the categories of merchandise available and their page numbers. This truly is the way of the future.”
Ruth Ann continued to peruse the catalog, stopping on occasion to comment on a particular item for sale. She flipped the page to find drawings of women’s bloomers and stockings. She scrambled to turn the page, cheeks flaming. Her jaw dropped. Sketches of women modeling corsets stared back at her. She abruptly closed the catalog, not daring to glance at either man.
Mr. Turner cleared his throat. “Um, I’ll just... go get the Pears soap for you, Ruth Ann.”
Mr. Coulter wasn’t as discreet. His head jerked backward, his shoulders shook, and a deep, hearty laugh escaped him.
The warmth in her cheeks had become a raging inferno. She smiled sheepishly. Why did she always seem to be stretching the bounds of propriety?
~*~
Benjamin’s hand pressed over the aching muscles of his abdomen. He hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time. Miss Fancy Boots spun on her heel and headed for the door. The ringing of the bell told him she’d found it.
Clink.
A young boy nudged Benjamin. “Excuse me, mister. Dropped my penny. It rolled by your foot.”
Benjamin moved to the side, allowing the boy to reclaim his coin.
Malachi returned a moment later with Ruth Ann’s soap and laid it with the other items in her order. His eyes darted around the store.
“She left,” Benjamin volunteered.
“She left? But all her... never mind.” He shrugged. “I’ll just deliver them to the Sutton’s home this afternoon. It would’ve been difficult for Ruth Ann to carry it all anyway.”
Benjamin glanced toward the door. “Say, Malachi, if you tell me where Miss Fancy...uh, I mean, Miss Sutton lives, I’d be happy to deliver those for you.”
Malachi strummed his fingers on the counter. His glance flitted between the crate and Benjamin.
“I’d appreciate the opportunity to make it up to her. I think I embarrassed her when I laughed at her quandary.”
“All right. That would be helpful, Benjamin. I promised the missus I’d get that storeroom organized today, and you know what the Bible says about living with an unhappy wife.”
Benjamin raised a brow.
; “You single, Benjamin?”
He nodded.
A knowing grin crossed the shop keep’s face. “Proverbs 21:19. ‘It is better to dwell in the wilderness than with a contentious and angry woman.’ Knowing that, my friend, is the key to a long and happy marriage. You’ll find the Sutton’s house on Colonial Highway right at the edge of town. Big stone place on the left. Lots of ivy growing on it. Can’t miss it.”
Benjamin glanced at the red-haired boy now eyeing the glass canisters of candy. “I’ll take a penny’s worth of lemon drops, too.”
Malachi scooped the hard candies into a paper sack and handed it to Benjamin.
Benjamin laid two pennies on the counter then tilted his head in the direction of the little moppet. “How about a penny’s worth for him, too?”
The boy twisted swiftly in Benjamin’s direction and flashed him a gapped-tooth smile. “You mean it, mister?”
Benjamin nodded. He looked forward to having toothless little ones underfoot someday.
“Gee, thanks!”
Benjamin stuffed the candy in his shirt pocket and placed his books underneath the large dictionary. He grabbed the crate and headed for the door. Things were looking up. He had learned Miss Fancy Boots’ name—Ruth Ann Sutton—and now he knew just where to find Catoctin Creek’s spunky schoolmarm. Yep, it was shaping up to be a rather good day.
Benjamin leaned against the door, jingling the bell when he exited the store. He squinted. The late afternoon sun hung just above the tree line to the west. Someone tugged at his shirtsleeve.
“Excuse me. I believe those are mine.” Miss Sutton hadn’t gone far at all.
“Malachi gave me directions to your house. I was going to deliver these for you.”
She reached for the crate. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”
Benjamin held firm to the container. “Nope, I insist, Miss Sutton. It wasn’t very gentlemanly of me to laugh at your predicament a few moments ago. It’s just—” He pressed his lips together. Despite his best efforts, a grin edged his face. “It’s just... well, you seem to have a knack for finding yourself in tight spots.”
A Love Restored Page 4