by Kit Morgan
“And of course you’ve not tapped the men’s market.”
She snapped her mouth shut and shook herself. “I’m a dressmaker, not a tailor.”
“But there’s no reason you couldn’t be both. I’ve done both, and you’re not less skilled than I am – remember, I’ve seen your work. And I can show you how, on the off chance that you’d need showing – which, frankly, I doubt. Imagine the bounty it would bring to your table.”
She wanted to throttle him, but at the same time she appreciated the compliment on her professional abilities. “You’re certainly giving me a lot to think about –”
“Thank you.”
She sighed. “– but I need to think about it before I make any firm decisions. For the moment, let’s keep things as they are. I’ll talk to Mrs. Waverly about a possible – possible – credit arrangement. But.” Now she raised a finger in warning. “Keep in mind, the sign outside the door says ‘Cornell’s Boutique.’ This is my shop; I make the decisions here. If you feel you can’t abide by them, you’re free to look for employment elsewhere. Agreed?”
Mr. Brown looked like he had something sharp he wanted to say. But after a few seconds, he seemed to swallow it. “Agreed, ma’am. I … didn’t know you had a no-credit policy when I suggested it to Mrs. Waverly. And I didn’t mean to …” He screwed up his face, searching for the right words. “… overstep my authority. My apologies.”
Well, that was progress indeed – even if Elizabeth still had an inkling to toss him out the door on his ear. “Apology accepted. Now let’s not keep our customers waiting.”
He smiled at the word our, which suited her just fine. “And perhaps we can talk about my other ideas in the morning?”
“In the morning. At which point I’ll at least be able to see your face … Mr. Bushy Beard.” With that parting shot, Elizabeth turned on her heel and headed back out front, glad that this time she’d managed to have the last word. She had a hunch it might be a rare treat when dealing with Bartholomew Brown.
7
“Elizabeth, do you love me?”
“Always.”
“Will you come with me then? Will you go?”
She went to him, her dear sweet Alexander. “Yes, you know I will.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. The thrill of adventure was at hand. All they had to do was step out their door …
“Oh, Alexander,” Elizabeth whispered into the chill morning air. She’d tossed and turned all night, the dream a cruel reminder of why she was in Cutter’s Creek in the first place. Her husband Alexander had wanted to come, but he’d never made it. He’d taken ill on the trail west and died, leaving her alone. So alone …
She tossed back her blankets and quilt and crawled out of bed. She had to prepare for battle.
After washing, she got dressed, put up her hair then went to the kitchen to make breakfast. She got the fire in the stove going and waited a few minutes for her pan to heat while staring at the small bowl of eggs on her table. She had only three – one for today, one tomorrow and one the day after that.
You eat eggs, I take it? Drink milk? Use butter?
She turned away, as if that would keep Mr. Brown’s words from her. But it had been his words that made her think of Alexander as she’d drifted off to sleep. Then the dreams came, the ones that made her chest ache all day. She tried to shake off the troublesome thought as she made her breakfast, but it wouldn’t go so easily.
Downstairs she unlocked the door (at 7:48, thank you very much) then went into the workroom to plan out her day. There was mending brought in yesterday – Mr. Brown could handle that. Maybe if he hadn’t been gabbing with all the customers, he’d have gotten it done yesterday.
Elizabeth, you’re doing it again. Why are you attacking him?
“Because I feel like he’s attacking me,” she grumbled to herself and reached for her sewing basket. Whether he’d intended to or not, he’d picked at her punctuality, her intelligence, her professional competence. Maybe he couldn’t work under anyone else. Maybe they couldn’t find common ground. Or maybe they could, but the effort would be too exhausting for her, and thus not worth it. It certainly hadn’t done her any favors the last couple of nights, what with all the sleep she’d lost.
She hadn’t been sewing long when the bell over the door rang. Her stomach tightened. Here we go.
“Good morning, Mrs. Cornell,” Mr. Brown called.
“Good morning,” she said dully, got up and headed to the front of the shop –
– well, well! All else aside, Mr. Brown had taken her order regarding grooming to heart. He still wore a full beard, but it was now trimmed down to a proper length, framing his face rather than obscuring it. The hair on top of his head was shorter with a sharp part on the left, and slicked down with pomade. And he was holding – what was this? – a glass vase of daffodils. “Where did you get those?”
“Mr. Todd gave them to me. He thought you might like them.” He set the vase on the front counter.
She smiled and walked over to them. “He was right – they’re lovely. I thought by now they’d be all gone.”
“Depends,” he said with a shrug.
She looked at him, her smile still in place and noticed how he stared at her. Studying her, really. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Brown?”
“No.” He looked away. “Just ready to get to work.”
She fiddled with the flowers. “There are some mending orders. Do you mind starting on those?”
“Not at all – I’m here to serve.”
She looked him up and down. There was something different about him today, more than just the hair. “How fast can you put together a suit of clothes?”
“Men’s, I take it.”
“Of course.”
“Depends on who it’s for.”
“You?”
He sighed. “Ah, yes – I was wondering when you’d get around to asking that. I used to own more than one suit, but there wasn’t much need for an extensive wardrobe when gold panning.” He added a shrug.
She nodded. “I understand.”
“If uninterrupted – an unlikely state of affairs in a busy boutique, admittedly – I could probably do so in two workdays. Of course, I’d need to purchase the fabric first.”
“Order it, you mean. Abigail and Jasper don’t have what you’d need and I’m afraid I haven’t much either.”
“I’m sure Eldon wouldn’t mind loaning me some clothes until I can make some of my own. Or buy some.”
“I would think you’d like to make your own suit. Show off your wares, so to speak. I think it would be good for business.”
He smiled and nodded sagely. “Of course, you’re quite right. Consider it done.” He glanced around the room. “The mending?”
She looked into his eyes. They looked different today too. “In the workroom, on the chair in the corner.”
He headed into the workroom and picked up the stack of mending. “I’ll see to this, then. Appointments?”
Elizabeth had followed far enough to stick her head in the door. “Mrs. Wilkerson and Mrs. Carlson will be in today for fittings.”
“Splendid.” He sat in the chair and pulled a long, diamond-shaped green velvet case out of his coat pocket.
“What’s that?”
“The tools of the trade.” He opened it up and showed her the contents.
“I see. My, those look well-used.” Like Alexander’s, she realized with a shiver. She abruptly turned away. “I’ll be up front.”
“Very well.”
She stopped, turned to find him already bent over his work. “Thank you for the flowers.”
He glanced up, eyes bright over his now-tamed beard. “Don’t thank me, thank Mr. Todd. He’s quite the fellow.”
“Yes, he certainly is.” She smiled and went to the front of the shop.
It wasn’t long before Mrs. Wilkerson came in, and Elizabeth shooed Mr. Brown up front while she helped the matron with her
fitting. When she was done and Mrs. Wilkerson had gone on her way, he returned to his chair in the corner without a word and continued to work. His silence was unnerving on one level, but welcome on another. It was certainly an improvement over the previous day’s tête-à-têtes. She took advantage of the peace to work on a couple of other orders.
“Hello, Mrs. Cornell,” a voice said as the door opened.
“Mrs. Carlson, you’re early. Oh, hello, Mr. Carlson.”
Jack Carlson let his wife lead him to the counter. “Good morning. Is this a bad time?”
“No, not at all. Just let me tell, er … my assistant that we’ll be using the workroom for your wife’s fitting.”
Mr. Carlson’s sightless eyes stared past her. “Fine. I’m sure I can occupy myself.”
“Not that it would matter if he went with us,” his wife teased.
He chuckled. “There is that.”
Elizabeth gave Willow Carlson a warm smile. She’d come to Cutter’s Creek as a mail-order bride to marry Jack, not knowing he was blinded during the War Between the States. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just fetch Mr. Brown to the front.”
“Mr. Brown?” Jack said with curiosity.
“Yes. I’m sure he’ll keep you entertained while we see to our business.”
The couple smiled politely as she disappeared into the workroom, to find Mr. Brown still hunched over in his chair, mending away. “Would you mind going up front? Mrs. Carlson is here for her fitting.”
“Not at all. I could do with a stretch.” He straightened, finished a stitch and deftly clipped the thread, then put his tools into his case, closed it and put it in his pocket. “You don’t mind if I walk around a bit?”
“Of course not. I know how it can be. But Mrs. Carlson’s husband is up front – could you keep him company?”
“Certainly.” He smiled and went to the front.
Elizabeth went to the mannequin with Mrs. Carlson’s dress and began to remove it when she heard Mr. Brown bellow, “Jack Carlson! Mercy, look at you!” Her head snapped around. Mr. Brown knew Mr. Carlson?
“Who … who are you?” she heard Jack say.
She went to the front, far too curious now to resist. When she got there, she noted the shocked yet compassionate look on Mr. Brown’s face. He might know Jack Carlson from somewhere, but obviously didn’t know he was now blind.
“Vicksburg,” Mr. Brown said. “I took up those ridiculous long sleeves on your tunic.”
“Oh my … Captain Brown?”
Mr. Brown went around the counter and patted Jack on the shoulder before pulling him into a hug. “Jack! By Heaven, it’s good to see you!”
They parted, and Jack’s sightless eyes aimed off to Mr. Brown’s left. “What are you doing here in Cutter’s Creek?”
“Eldon Judrow wrote and told me I should come. So here I am.”
“Captain Bart Brown,” Jack said with a smile. “I never thought to run into anyone from our unit again. Everyone’s so scattered … those that are left.”
Mr. Brown put a hand on his shoulder again. “I know. In fact, I thought you were dead.”
“No, not me.”
He gave Jack’s shoulder a squeeze. “How’d it happen?”
Jack knew what he was referring to. “Gunpowder in my eyes from a Reb near-miss at Sailor’s Corner, Virginia. Three days before Appomattox, if you can believe that.” He shook his head ruefully.
Mr. Brown solemnly nodded. “I guess I should be glad I left when my enlistment was up in ‘63, or I might’ve shared your fate.”
“Big as you are, Captain, you always did present a nice target for the Rebs.” Jack chuckled and waved to his right, where Willow had re-entered the room. “I got married, by the way.” He raised a hand, fingers splayed, and Willow took it and smiled. “May I present my wife Willow.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Bartholomew Brown.” As he had with Merritt the day before, he took Willow’s free hand and kissed it gently.
“My, but this is a surprise,” she said. “Who’d have thought someone from Jack’s unit would wind up here in Cutter’s Creek?”
Mr. Brown cast a glance at Elizabeth. “Stranger things have happened.”
Elizabeth fought the urge to retreat to the back again, but she was no coward.
“Bart, just what are you doing here?” Jack asked.
“I told you – I came to see if Cutter’s Creek suits me.”
“No,” Jack said with a smile. “I mean here in Elizabeth’s boutique.”
“Oh, that,” Mr. Brown said with a laugh. “Isn’t it obvious? I work here.”
Jack looked confused for a moment before he grinned. “Of course – you were a tailor, even between battles. You know, I could do with a new suit.”
Mr. Brown cast another glance in Elizabeth’s direction. “Really? Well, why don’t I measure you while Mrs. Cornell sees to your wife?”
“Splendid,” Jack said.
Mr. Brown turned to Elizabeth. “If you’ll all excuse me, I need to fetch a measuring tape.” He brushed past her on his way to the back, a triumphant smirk on his face. Or was it a knowing one? She wasn’t really sure, but she figured he’d earned it.
He returned a moment later. “Jack, shall we?”
“Where do you want me?”
“Right over here will be fine.” He took him by the elbow and guided him to the waiting area.
Willow joined Elizabeth. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see Jack run into an old friend.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Yes, it’s wonderful. Shall we head back?”
Willow took one last look at her husband, then followed her into the workroom.
Once they were done with the fitting, they returned to the front. “I’ve invited Bart to supper tomorrow, dear,” Jack announced.
“To catch up on old times?” she said with a laugh. “He’d best plan on spending the night.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Jack agreed. “I wouldn’t want you riding back to the Judrow place in the dark. Besides, we’ve got the room.”
“That’s very kind of you, Jack,” said Mr. Brown.
Willow suddenly turned to Elizabeth, making her jump. “I have an idea! Why don’t you join us?”
Her eyes widened. “What? Me?”
“Yes, if these two are going to be telling old war stories all evening, it’ll leave me with no one to talk to.”
“What about Rev. Latsch and Mary?”
“They’re having supper at the Petroffs’ tomorrow night.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Do come, Mrs. Cornell,” Jack urged. “I’d like to hear how you two are getting along.”
Elizabeth shot Bart (she was starting to think of him by his Christian name – they were working together, after all) a warning glare. “There’s not much to tell. This is only his second day.”
Jack laughed. “Oh, Mrs. Cornell, I’m sure the captain has all sorts of things to tell, knowing him.”
She pressed her lips together. “I can only imagine,” she muttered, glancing at Bart again. His face was bland as milk, which only made her suspicious.
“Then it’s settled,” Jack announced. “Supper tomorrow night, six o’clock.”
Willow nudged his arm. “We’d best be going, Jack, if you still want to drop in on Estelle and Sam.”
“The Todds?” Bart asked.
“Yes – such a nice couple,” said Willow. “We’re organizing some things for the town picnic with them.”
“Do you know them?” Jack asked.
“Only in passing, but yes, they’re very nice.” Bart looked at Elizabeth, as if to see if she’d agree. It was a well-known fact that everyone in town liked the Todds, so she felt safe smiling in agreement. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” he concluded, taking Jack’s hand and shaking it.
“Splendid!” Jack said as Willow took him by the arm, gave them a nod in farewell and headed for the door.
Once it closed, Elizabeth openly glared at Bart. “I never
said I was going.”
“Of course you are.” He began to roll up the measuring tape. “They invited you, didn’t they?”
“You accepted for me.”
Bart straightened, blinked twice. “I dare say I did. I didn’t mean to presume – I thought you’d at least implied …”
“I hadn’t,” she said flatly.
“Oh. But … weren’t you about to? You don’t want to spend another evening alone, do you?”
That stung. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He smiled, but with a hint of exasperation. “I seem to be going about this all wrong. Let me run and catch up to the Carlsons – I’ll explain there was a misunderstanding …” He turned toward the door.
Elizabeth waved him to a stop. “No, no – I might as well go. I just don’t want …” She stopped to choose her words carefully, taking a deep breath. “Mr. Brown, you’re right that I usually spend my evenings alone – and part of why is that I don’t like other people dictating how I spend them. I like my privacy, and I like my freedom of choice. I think you can respect that.”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Cornell. But I would argue that you do have to get out now and then.”
“How I spend my evenings, Mr. Brown, is none of your concern.”
“If I may beg to differ. As your employee, it would affect me as well.”
She took a step back. “Do tell?”
“Well, if you go out tomorrow evening and have a good time, you’ll be in an better mood the next day, and probably accomplish more work. If you’re getting more work done, then I likely am as well, which will please your – our? – customers. Everyone’s happy.”
Once again, he put her in a place where she could only stand and stare. Where did he come up with this stuff?
“And you are very busy. I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re behind, but –”
She sighed loudly. “Point taken, Mr. Brown, point taken. But please, my life is my own. Unless you have hard evidence that what I do in my off hours is detrimental to the working of this shop, I’ll ask you to keep your views to yourself.”