by Bess McBride
John and Harvey fell to discussing matters at their respective law offices. Gem ate in silence, listening to them talk and thankful that Harvey didn’t pursue any further questioning on their mutual relationship.
When they had finished eating, Harvey pulled a pocket watch from his vest and looked at the time. He rose from the table, and John and Gem followed suit.
“I had better get down to the office,” he said. “I am leaving for Chicago tomorrow, just for a few days. Do you need anything?” he asked John.
“No, I do not believe so. Please be careful,” John said, his deep voicing dropping a further octave.
“I will, John,” Harvey said, placing a hand on his brother’s remaining arm. “I will.”
He sounded as if he was reassuring John on some specific matter, and Gem realized that in 1905, Harvey was probably taking a train to Chicago.
“It was so nice to meet you, Gem. I hope to see you when I return. I would ask Ermaline to look in on you, but she is out of town visiting her mother in Spokane.”
“It was nice to meet you too, Harvey.” Gem stuck out her hand, wondering if that was the first and last time she would ever see him. Harvey took her hand and patted it.
“We shall have to chat more on our familial connection. I look forward to hearing more about your side of the family,” he said.
Gem grinned...with her teeth clenched.
Chapter Nine
John held the front door open for Gem a short time later as they headed out. They reached the sidewalk and retraced their steps downtown. Gem didn’t think she had ever gone shopping for clothes before without a car. She wanted to say something cutesy to John about her thoughts, but she didn’t, unwilling to raise the subject of her nonexpertise on automobiles again.
As they reached the downtown district, Gem noted a few more people out and about than she’d seen the day before.
Two matronly women walked toward them, conservatively dressed in monotone dark-blue and gray skirts topped by white blouses. Gem admired the ease with which they strolled, allowing their skirts to trail the boardwalk. She had spent the past fifteen minutes trying to keep her overly long skirts out of the dusty sidewalk and road.
But it was their hats that caught Gem’s attention. She ran a quick hand up to her makeshift chignon, warm under the sun’s rays. The women, who now paused to greet them, wore massively broad-brimmed straw boater-style hats festooned with an alarming mass of ribbons, feathers and bits of netting. Given the modest simplicity of their skirts and blouses, it was as if they focused all their hopes and dreams into their hats.
“Good morning, Mr. Morrison,” the middle-aged women cooed in unison.
Gem blinked at their glowing cheeks. She glanced up at John, who greeted them with a nod. He seemed largely unaware that the ladies batted eyelashes at him.
“Miss Emma, Miss Lillian, good morning.”
Gem saw the ladies direct their attention to her with blue-eyed curiosity.
“And who is this, Mr. Morrison? Won’t you introduce us?” one of the women asked. Gem struggled to tell them apart, and she wondered if they were sisters.
“Yes, of course. This is a distant cousin of my family, Miss Gemima Holliday. Gem, this is Miss Emma Cobash and Miss Lillian Cobash.”
“Hello,” Gem said. She kept her hand to herself, unsure of the proper greeting procedures between women. She nonchalantly slid her left hand over the small of her back to hide her jerry-rigged skirt.
“A cousin, Mr. Morrison? How very nice! I do not believe we have seen you before, Miss Holliday. Are you visiting our fair town?”
“I am,” Gem said with a broad smile. However, she offered no further information, hoping John would fill in whatever blanks were appropriate.
“Yes, Gem is visiting us for a bit. We must be off, ladies. Very nice to see you,” John, said, effectively cutting off further inquiries.
“Oh!” the other one said. “Well, we hope to hear more about your visit, Miss Holliday. Do you stay in the hotel? Or are you with Mr. and Mrs. Harvey Morrison? Ermaline is such a dear woman.”
“My apologies, ladies,” John said. “We are very late for an appointment. Again, so nice to see you. Good day!”
He took Gem’s arm and pulled her past the women.
“So nice to meet you, Miss Holliday!” one called out to her back.
“You too,” Gem said over her shoulder. She realized how odd she must look as John held one of her arms, while her other was tucked behind her back. As soon as they gained some distance, Gem dropped her hand and clutched her skirts.
“Okay, okay!” Gem protested against John’s fast pace. “We’ve made our escape. Friendly people!”
“Too friendly,” John muttered. “I desired more anonymity when I moved here.”
“Why?”
“Do you look at me and ask that question?”
“John!” Gem said, almost reprovingly. She struggled with a million thoughts—some supportive and encouraging, some censuring of his obvious self-loathing—but she said nothing further. She would never know what it was like to suffer injuries like John’s. She really had no right to criticize his adjustment to them.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s not my place to say anything.”
“Perhaps not.”
A lump formed in Gem’s throat at his curt tone. “I said I was sorry.”
She pulled her arm away and stormed ahead.
“If you keep marching, you will miss the shop,” John said.
Gem stopped and turned. John pointed to a storefront boasting a large display window featuring blouses and skirts on dress forms. Still smarting from his rebuke, she turned around and entered through the door he held open.
A beautifully-coiffed brunette woman, who had been studying the contents of a glass-topped cabinet, looked up as they entered. Her brilliant ruby-red silk hat set her ivory face and dark hair off to perfection. A black blouse with bouffant sleeves topped a matching red skirt.
“John!” she exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing in here?”
John stopped short. His cheeks bronzed, and he looked like he would back out of the shop. Gem forgot her anger and watched as the vision in ruby red approached. She wasn’t the only one watching. Several other female patrons cleared a path for the lady in red.
John seemed at a loss for words.
“Who is this?” the lady asked, her dark-brown eyes narrowing.
John’s chest heaved as he eased out the breath that he had apparently been holding.
“Mrs. Stewart, this is a distant cousin of my family, Miss Gemima Holliday. Miss Holliday, this is Mrs. Sarah Stewart.”
Gem didn’t miss John’s more formal use of her name. It sounded unusually stiff and prim for cousins. Apparently, Sarah agreed.
“Miss Holliday? So formal with family, John? And are you from Ohio, Miss Holliday? Cleveland, I believe, is that correct, John?”
“No, I’m from Seattle,” Gem replied, again adding nothing further. The town had grown smaller and smaller since they’d set out that morning. She saw the other customers pause, as if to listen to their conversation.
“And what brings you to Livingston?”
“Just visiting,” Gem replied briefly. She had taken an instant dislike to the woman.
“I am so surprised to see you out of the office, John. I almost believed that you lived there. Is Miss Holliday the reason you cannot attend my dinner? You are most certainly welcome to bring her.”
Gem resented being discussed in the third person by Mrs. Sarah Stewart.
“No, I couldn’t,” Gem began, though she had not been directly addressed.
Sarah turned to her, tilting her beautiful head on an impossibly long neck.
“But I did not tell you the date of my dinner, Miss Holliday.”
Gem pressed her lips together, color flooding her cheeks. She couldn’t very well say she was going to be sick all weekend or whenever the dratted dinner was.
“Yes, Miss
Holliday and I are committed to another engagement next Saturday evening, Mrs. Stewart.”
“I see,” Sarah murmured, her dark eyes traveling over Gem. “Perhaps next time then. Are you shopping today?”
“Yes,” John said almost curtly. “Miss Holliday lost her luggage, and so we are here to purchase some clothing.”
“But surely not you, John?” Mrs. Stewart laughed outright. “You, a confirmed bachelor? I cannot imagine that you are a very knowledgeable shopping companion for a lady purchasing women’s fashions!”
At Sarah’s laugh, the other women in the shop stopped pretending to look at displays and turned to openly watch them.
Gem’s eyes popped, and her heart pounded. It was all she could do not to pounce on the woman and rip her red hat off her head. She looked up at John, whose cheeks bronzed even more deeply.
“No, of course not! I am merely here to carry the purchases.”
Gem drew in a sharp muted breath, and Sarah eyed John’s pinned sleeve pointedly. Apparently John realized what he had said as he followed Sarah’s eyes to his sleeve.
His eyes darkened, and he turned away to face a silver-haired woman in a plain blouse and gray skirt who had been standing behind a counter, clearly an employee or possibly the shop owner.
Sarah wasn’t to be ignored.
“Of course, I did not mean to insult you, John. That certainly was not my intention. But if Miss Holliday knows no one in town, perhaps I can offer myself as a suitable shopping companion?”
“No!” Gem ground out through her teeth. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
Sarah’s jaw dropped, and Gem turned away to hear John speaking to the older woman.
“How do you do? I am John Morrison,” he said. “This is my cousin, Miss Gemima Holliday. Could we speak in private?”
“How do you do, Mr. Morrison? I have seen you in town. Good morning, Miss Holliday. Welcome to Nancy’s Fine Apparel. I am Mrs. Nancy Yates, owner of this establishment. Yes, of course, my office is in the rear of the store. Please follow me.”
“John!” Sarah called out as they passed her.
Gem thought he might keep walking, but good manners appeared to be important in 1905. Or John had been raised a gentleman. He stopped.
“Yes, Mrs. Stewart?”
Sarah lowered her voice, but not enough. Gem wondered if she wanted to be overheard. The other shop patrons had returned to studying clothing in cases, but one of them paused, as if to listen.
“I did not mean to offend you, John. I am too forthright by far. You know that, of course. Have we not known each other long enough?”
“I took no offense, Mrs. Stewart. If you will excuse me now.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, throwing Gem another narrow-eyed look. Gem turned a shoulder on her, covered the back of her waistband with her hand and followed John and Mrs. Yates through a doorway into a tidy windowless office centered by a small wooden desk.
Mrs. Yates gestured to two wooden chairs on the opposite side of the desk.
“How may I assist you?” she asked as John and Gem sat.
“I did not care to discuss Miss Holliday’s personal affairs in public, Mrs. Yates. My cousin arrived on the train yesterday, but her luggage was stolen. We need to furnish her a wardrobe. I will pay the bill. Could you assist her in selecting some suitable clothing? Enough for several weeks, I should think.”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Yates said. “If you would accompany me into the shop, Miss Holliday, I can show you some things.”
Gem started to rise, but when John spoke, she sat back down.
“I wonder if Miss Holliday could consult with you in private? Perhaps here in the office? Or do you have a dressing room or somewhere more...discreet?”
Mrs. Yates stared at John for a moment. He met her gaze steadily. Gem squirmed in her chair.
“Yes, of course. I have two dressing rooms. I can certainly set one aside for Miss Holliday’s private use. Will you be approving her selections?”
John coughed.
“No, certainly not! She may purchase what she wishes. I have an office nearby, and I shall attend to some business while she shops. At what time should I return?”
He pulled out his pocket watch and consulted it. Gem was reluctant to see him go.
Mrs. Yates looked down at her own watch, a sweet little thing pinned to her blouse.
“In two hours?”
“At about noon. Very good!”
John rose, and Gem jumped up.
“Anything she needs,” he said. “Hats, shoes, other items of clothing.”
He seemed eager to get out of the shop, and Gem stopped herself from grabbing hold of him.
“At noon then.” He left the office, closing the door behind him, and Gem turned back to Mrs. Yates.
“If you could wait here for a moment, Miss Holliday, I will ensure that the dressing room is unoccupied and select some things for you to try on.”
Gem nodded and watched her leave the office as well. She slumped down into the chair, loneliness creeping over her.
She didn’t blame John for running out of the shop, but a smile of reassurance would have gone a long way toward easing her anxiety. She felt bereft, lost and unwanted. Why should John want her? She was nothing but a nuisance, especially to a lifelong bachelor who probably didn’t like women anyway.
Gem wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged herself. She had expected to be chatting with John’s tombstone, lecturing him on the merits of sharing his DNA and lineage with others, not sitting in a dress shop in 1905, wondering if John even liked her.
The sound of feminine voices caught her attention, breaking through her bout of self-pity. She rose and opened the door a crack to peer out. John was gone, and Sarah Stewart had left as well. The two patrons who had been in the shop earlier remained, though they had moved and stood close to the office, looking at other displays. Gem moved out of sight but left the door ajar.
“Well, he doesn’t like women, does he?” one said.
“And where did you hear such a thing, Bertha?”
“Everyone in town has known it for some time, everyone with the exception of you, Agnes. I know you heard the story. He was engaged to be married when he was in that awful train accident, and she couldn’t bear to look at his scarred face and mangled body, so she broke it off. How could you forget such a tragedy?”
“Yes, that is right. I do remember hearing about it now. The jilted groom. Poor man.”
Gem’s heart dropped to her stomach. Nothing in her research showed that John had been engaged. Her throat ached with grief. How awful!
“Yes, poor man, indeed. I wonder who the waif was with him.”
“I think I heard him introduce her to Sarah Stewart as a cousin.”
“A cousin, my left foot!” Bertha said.
“Oh, Bertha, really! What are you insinuating?”
“I will leave that to you to decipher, Agnes. Surely you saw the way the cousin looked at him. And that business with Sarah Stewart? Why, George Stewart is barely in his grave. Mr. Morrison certainly attracts the ladies, does he not?”
“Well, I will give you that, Bertha. Mr. Morrison is a very attractive gentleman, despite the ravages of the accident. One can only imagine how handsome he must have been before. It is no wonder that women fawn on him. But I had forgotten about his broken heart.”
“I didn’t. It is written all over his face. He does not like women.”
“Then your insinuations about this young lady, his cousin, would be incorrect, and she probably is his cousin.”
“Hmpf, perhaps so, now that I think about it.”
Mrs. Yates’ face appeared at the doorway, and Gem jumped back, embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping. Mrs. Yates looked over her shoulder toward the women shopping before entering and shutting the door.
“Was Mrs. Landry gossiping again? She has little else to do all day.”
Gem’s lips curved into a smile at the unexpected forthrightness of the shop owne
r.
“Yes, a bit. I learned a lot though.”
“Don’t we always?” Mrs. Yates smiled. “If you would follow me, I will take you to the dressing room. Ignore the ladies. Mrs. Schultz is a lovely person, but Mrs. Landry is a very busy woman.”
Gem grinned again and followed Mrs. Yates out the door and through the shop. With her hand behind her back, she nodded politely to the two ladies, who stared as she walked by.
The dressing room was really a room by modern standards, not a closet like Gem was used to. She took a seat on a stool.
The room featured a mirror and a rack upon which Mrs. Yates had hung some clothes.
“I’ll just take some measurements,” she said.
Gem rose, and Mrs. Yates measured her hips, waist and bust. Gem wasn’t able to hide the back of her skirt any longer.
“What has happened here?” Mrs. Yates asked. “Oh, I see. The skirt is too tight in the waist.”
“Yes, I borrowed these clothes from Mrs. Stanton, Mr. Morrison’s housekeeper. Her waist is much smaller than mine.”
“Perhaps not. If I am not mistaken, you are not wearing a corset, are you?”
Gem shook her head. “No.”
Mrs. Yates looked up in surprise.
“So you will need to purchase a few corsets as well? I did not collect any from the shop. I will just go get those now.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that! I don’t have to wear one, do I?”
Mrs. Yates, having pivoted to leave the dressing room, paused and turned back. She quirked an eyebrow.
“Not wear a corset? Well, of course you must wear a corset!” She laughed as if Gem had been joking.
Gem rolled her eyes at the woman’s back as she left. She had no idea how she was going to explain her sports bra. She caught sight of something silky in a pale-peach color draped over the rack, and she pulled it down to look at it.
A robe! Gem thought fast, eyed the door and shimmied out of her skirt, blouse, bra and panties before slipping into the silk wrap. Pleased to discover pockets, she bunched up the bra and panties and stuck them into the pockets before tying the sash.
Mrs. Yates tapped on the door and stepped in holding an armful of satin beribboned garments in shades of ivory and white.