by Bess McBride
“Oh good, I see you have undressed. I have brought some chemises, several styles of corsets, corset covers, drawers and petticoats. I also brought some stockings and shoes. On the rack there, you see some blouses and skirts, matching jackets, and several dinner gowns.”
Gem opened her mouth to protest, question, fuss and fret, but she closed it. A half hour later, she was finally dressed in at least one of every item of clothing Mrs. Yates had named and which Gem still couldn’t name.
Mrs. Yates tugged and pulled at the formfitting peach jacket trimmed in brown satin. Three-quarter sleeves ended above the puffy sleeves of an ivory silk blouse. The matching brown satin skirt hugged her hips and flared out over a ruffled petticoat.
“How am I supposed to go to the bathroom in all these clothes?”
Chapter Ten
John returned to the shop sooner than the two hours he had agreed upon. He had hoped to take care of some paperwork, but concern about Gem, about what she might say and how she fared, distracted him. He had informed Cedric he would be away from the office for the next few days, and he had hurried back to the dress shop.
The store was empty when he arrived, and he listened for the sound of voices.
“How am I supposed to go to the bathroom in all these clothes?”
Gem’s voice came from the rear of the shop. John clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a burst of laughter that erupted in his chest. Long unused to such a sensation, he almost mistook it for a cough.
Mrs. Yates appeared in the doorway of what John assumed was the dressing room.
“Mr. Morrison! I thought I heard someone out here. I heard you cough. You have come early. I am afraid we have not yet selected hats.”
“Hats?” Gem almost shrieked from the interior recesses of the shop. “There’s more?”
John whirled around to face away from the dressing room, his hand pressed tightly over his mouth.
“Of course, Miss Holliday,” Mrs. Yates said. “A lady does not venture outside without a hat. Would you like to view the hats I have in stock? I just had some new ones delivered from the milliner.”
“Yes, thank you,” Gem said, sounding like a chastised child.
John took a deep, steadying breath and turned just in time to see Gem emerging from the dressing area. Stunningly beautiful in a jacket and skirt that enhanced the delicate tint of her face and the highlights of her auburn hair, he could do little but stare at her.
Gem ran a finger around the high neck of her lace collar before raising her head to look at John. Her cheeks bloomed, and she rolled her eyes behind Mrs. Yates’ back. John averted his gaze to prevent another recurrence of his unguarded laughter.
“This way, Miss Holliday,” Mrs. Yates said, gesturing toward a shelf holding a selection of hats.
Gem followed her to view the selection.
“These are very big,” Gem said faintly. “How do they stay on?”
That was precisely the type of question that John had worried she might ask. All women knew how to secure their hats. He hoped Mrs. Yates would take no notice of Gem’s ignorance in women’s clothing.
“Well, with hatpins, of course,” Mrs. Yates said with a smile. “You know that, I am sure.”
“Hatpins! Yes, of course I knew that!” Gem said unconvincingly.
John crossed the room to help if he could. Gem looked up at him in gratitude.
“How about this one?” Gem said, pointing to a modest straw boater trimmed in brown ribbons and silk roses.
“A fine choice. This will do nicely. You will need at least one other hat, of course,” Mrs. Yates said. She handed Gem the hat and pointed to a framed table mirror on the shelf. Gem held the hat uncertainly in both hands, as if she didn’t know how to set it upon her head.
For a brief instant, John imagined that he had two hands and that he took the hat from her and set it upon her curls. He raised one hand, dismayed to discover that he lacked the other.
Gem, studying the hat, did not see his movement. She glanced up at him with a helpless expression. He looked away, and Mrs. Yates came to the rescue.
“Let me help you with your hat,” she said.
Out of the corner of his eye, John watched the shopkeeper settle the hat on Gem’s head at a jaunty angle, anchoring it with a large hatpin.
His arm ached, the arm he did not have. He gritted his teeth and returned his attention to Mrs. Yates.
“Thank you for your prompt assistance, Mrs. Yates. Please send the bill to my office. My clerk will take care of the account. Do you have boxes for me to carry?”
He dared the shopkeeper to challenge him, but she did not. Gem laced and unlaced her fingers together.
“Certainly, Mr. Morrison. I will collect those from the dressing room now.”
She turned away, and Gem looked up at him, her piquant face charming under the festive hat. She pushed at it with a crooked smile.
“Look. I don’t know how sensitive I can be to everything, but I’m going to carry bags as well. You probably don’t know how many clothes she picked out for me, and how big and heavy they are. You’re going to need help.”
John, already on edge, stared down at Gem’s upturned face. Her sympathy pained him. On the verge of retorting that he could handle whatever was necessary, he stopped when she poked a finger at the brim of her hat to push it from her face.
Muscles in his cheeks, unused to smiling, ached as he chuckled inwardly. He reached out to adjust the hat she had dislodged.
“I believe these hats are to be borne, survived, but not necessarily enjoyed. Fortunately, your complexion will see no sun today.”
Gem’s face lit up in merriment.
“No, I guess not. I need a smaller hat.”
John turned and studied the selection.
“Here is something a little less...large,” he said, picking up a delicate hat in soft black straw with a minimum of red ribbons and lace chiffon.
“Fine,” Gem said. “Good choice. Thank you.”
She leaned in to whisper to John. “Do I really have to wear these?”
John nodded. “Yes, it is customary to wear hats, especially when one ventures outdoors to visit, shop or dine.”
Gem sighed.
“I’m going to need more hatpins,” she murmured. She ran another finger along the neck of her blouse as if to loosen it.
John caught sight of a glass case holding hatpins, and he moved toward it. A delicate hand-painted porcelain brooch depicting soft yellow roses caught his eyes. He turned to look at Gem again. Purchasing jewelry for a woman he hardly knew seemed such an intimate practice, and he hesitated.
Mrs. Yates emerged from the dressing room with several boxes, which she brought to the front counter.
“There are more boxes. Oh, you have selected another hat! Excellent! I will put that in a box as well.”
“Miss Holliday states she will need some additional hatpins as well.”
Mrs. Yates paused and turned toward the case containing the baubles.
“Yes, of course. Do you have a preference?”
“No, whatever you think will look best with these hats,” Gem said.
Mrs. Yates pulled three more hatpins out and slipped them into a hatbox along with the black hat.
“I’ll just go get the rest of the clothing,” she said.
“Just a moment,” John said.
Mrs. Yates looked up.
“That brooch,” John said, pointing, “would look very fine on Miss Holliday’s blouse. We will take that as well. Thank you.”
He tried to sound as officious as possible to remove any suggestion that he was buying jewelry for Gem.
“Oh!” Gem gasped.
“It is just a small thing. Many ladies wear brooches at their necks,” John muttered.
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Yates said in a professional manner, which John had come to admire.
“It’s beautiful,” Gem said.
Mrs. Yates removed the brooch from the cabinet and pinned it to
the neckline of Gem’s blouse. Gem ran her fingers along the outline of the brooch. Then she looked up at John. The affectionate smile she gave him seized his soul, and he found himself short of breath. Suddenly weak kneed, he leaned against the cabinet.
“Yes, it is,” he said gruffly, looking away toward Mrs. Yates returning to the back of the shop.
“Well, I’m all decked out,” Gem said, clearing her throat. “So, car shopping next?”
“We will have some luncheon at a café, then automobiles.”
Gem’s eyes widened, and she pressed a hand to her abdomen.
“Eating? In this? How?”
John wanted to smile, but could not. He leaned forward to speak in a low voice.
“I heard your inquiries of Mrs. Yates as I entered the store. Were you able to resolve that dilemma?”
“Which dilemma? There are so many.”
John’s face heated.
“The issue of...” His gaze dropped to her skirt, and Gem followed his eyes.
“Oh! You mean...” She nodded in the direction of her skirt. She shook her head.
“No. And I don’t think you’re the guy to ask. You don’t wear what I’m wearing. Thanks for reminding me though. I’d almost forgotten. Now I really have to go!”
She hurried away to the rear of the shop, and John stared after her, wondering what he had gotten himself into when he crossed the street to find her at the train station. His cheeks ached to smile, to grin, to laugh. He sincerely hoped that she found the information she required.
Ten minutes passed, and finally Mrs. Yates and Gem emerged from the dressing room, both carrying boxes. Gem smiled widely when she saw John, and he presumed that she had found relief. Never once in his life had he ever wondered how a lady managed in her skirts, but now he did.
John looked at the stack of boxes, far more than he had imagined. He hated to admit defeat, but had he two hands, he could not have managed the load.
“I will have my clerk pick up the boxes and deliver them to my home.”
“Very good, Mr. Morrison,” Mrs. Yates said. “It was so nice to meet you, Miss Holliday.”
“You too, Mrs. Yates,” Gem said, a wide smile playing on her face. “And thank you for everything.”
Mrs. Yates blushed. “Of course.”
John wondered at that exchange. Without prompting, Gem clarified the matter as soon as they stepped outside the shop.
“She showed me how to use the restroom in these clothes. It’s not easy, John. I’m not going to lie.”
John’s face burned, and he covered the cough that erupted from deep within his chest. Or laughter.
“Yes, of course. I am so sorry,” he mumbled. “I cannot imagine.”
“Well, you should!”
John choked again.
“I did try,” he managed to eke out.
“Good.”
“Did Mrs. Yates happen to wonder why you did not know how to–” Not wishing to embarrass Gem further, John did not finish the sentence.
“I told her I was a farm girl and wasn’t used to wearing corsets and drawers and skirts. She looked surprised but didn’t say anything else.”
Gem lifted her head to look at him, albeit with effort, given the size of her hat. “Thank you, John. Thank you for everything. I hope I don’t seem unappreciative. I’m not sure how I can ever repay you, but thank you.”
“You are most welcome,” he said, marveling at the crystal lights in the depth of her eyes. “Shall we?”
He held out his arm, and she slipped her hand under companionably. They stopped by his office so that he could speak to Cedric about collecting the purchases before making their way to a local café that John frequented.
Once seated, John enjoyed Gem’s whispered comments regarding the exceptionally low prices, the oddity of the menu and language with which she was unfamiliar.
“Is it so very different in your time?” he asked in a hushed voice when the waiter left.
“In some ways, no, but in other ways, yes. I don’t know how we changed so much in just over a hundred years, but we did.”
On the point of asking Gem more, John was interrupted by a married couple that he’d helped with the estate of the woman’s father.
“Mr. Morrison! How nice to see you!” Mrs. Abernathy said. Plump with a pleasant personality, the gray-haired lady in dark-brown cotton looked at Gem with curiosity and interest. Her husband, also rotund, smiled congenially.
John rose.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Abernathy, Mr. Abernathy. May I introduce you to my distant cousin, Miss Gemima Holliday? She is visiting for a while. This is Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy. I have done some work for them.”
“Miss Holliday!” Mrs. Abernathy said with a bright smile. “Welcome to Livingston! Yes indeed, Mr. Morrison was most helpful in settling my father’s estate. I cannot praise him enough. We are so fortunate that he came to town.”
John noted that Gem had turned to look at him, and he averted his face, his skin reddening at the uncomfortable praise.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“We are having a dinner this Saturday. Why don’t you come and bring this young lady with you?”
John sighed inwardly. As a rule, he declined all invitations. He did not wish to socialize but wanted only to be left alone. That he had to interact with clients was difficult enough. Mrs. Abernathy had invited him to dinner before, and he had declined. He dropped his gaze to Gem. He could not in all conscience deny her the benefit of a full social life simply because he chose solitude.
That she was out of time and place presented some problems, but none that would warrant hiding her away in an attic.
Gem met his eyes, and he thought he saw an imperceptible shake of her head as if she said no. He ignored the plea in her eyes.
“Thank you. We would enjoy that very much.”
Mrs. Abernathy blinked as if in surprise and cast a glance at her husband.
“Oh! Good then! Eight o’clock. We will see you then.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Abernathy. Good day, Mr. Abernathy.”
John resumed his seat as the couple moved on.
“What did you do that for?” Gem whispered urgently. “This pretending to be from your time is exhausting!”
“But, Gem, if you cannot return to your time, then you must learn to live in this time. You will need friends.”
“I have you, cousin,” she murmured. “Don’t I?”
John saw the plea in her eyes. His chest swelled...or perhaps it was his heart. He could not abandon her.
“You do. You do indeed.”
Chapter Eleven
Gem admired the bright red Model A that John and the dealership owner discussed as they walked around it. She wasn’t sure how it worked or what the owner was explaining, but visually, the car was a thing of beauty.
“Would you care to take it out for a spin?” Mr. Jones asked. A roly-poly man with thinning gray hair, the vest of his three-piece brown suit barely closed over his stomach. Pant legs too long for his short frame draped over his brown shoes.
“Yes, indeed! Gem? Shall we?”
“Oh dear, Mr. Morrison! This is a two-seat runabout, as you see. You can only have two passengers, and I must accompany you. I fear Miss Holliday will have to await us here at the shop.”
“No, that’s impossible. Miss Holliday will accompany me!”
Gem spoke up.
“Could I speak to you privately for just a moment, John?”
“Excuse us,” John said, sounding slightly miffed at Mr. Jones.
They moved a distance away from the hopeful owner.
“John, I think Mr. Jones should go with you. I’d be no help in telling you how the car works. I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t think this car is a very good idea anyway. It seats only two, it has no windshield, no roof, nothing to protect you or your things from the elements.”
John turned to study the car before returning his attention to Gem.
&nb
sp; “Are you saying that automobiles will feature these things? What is a windshield?”
“A piece of glass to protect one’s face from the wind, although that might be too far into the future. I personally think you should look at that larger car out there.” Gem pointed to a black vehicle outside the shop that featured a roof and two rows of bench seating.
“I know it still doesn’t have a windshield, but at least you can transport more people and stuff, like purchases—remember the boxes at the dress shop?”
“I see what you mean. I do not know if I need a larger car though. I live alone. That will not change. I am not certain I need room for more passengers.”
Gem could have taken him by the arms and shaken him—if that were possible.
“Look! We’re here to look at cars...automobiles. Don’t get me started on why I can’t stand to hear you say you won’t marry. Two different subjects.”
“Yes, indeed they are,” John said stiffly. “Very well. I will ask about the larger vehicle.”
“Fine!” Gem retorted, mad at herself that she’d grown angry with him again, ungrateful woman that she was.
John turned to Mr. Jones.
“I would like to drive the tonneau, please.”
Mr. Jones looked out the window at the larger Model A.
“Oh! Yes, of course! Excellent choice!”
They followed Mr. Jones outside to a small dirt lot where the car called a tonneau awaited them. John helped Gem climb awkwardly into the backseat while he took the driver’s seat. Mr. Jones heaved himself into the passenger seat.
All of a sudden, it became clear that driving a car was going to be a problem for John. In the absence of his right arm and hand, he wasn’t going to be able to hold the steering wheel and shift at the same time.
Mr. Jones, in the act of showing John the gearshift and how it worked, paused awkwardly.
Gem’s heart ached for John as she watched him stare at the steering wheel and the gearshift. Sudden tears flooded her eyes, and her throat constricted.
“I do not think this will work after all,” John muttered darkly.
“Mr. Morrison! I am so very sorry! I should have explained sooner. I should have given this more thought,” Mr. Jones fussed, his cheeks bright red.