“And Jeremiah told me one of the new soldiers is having a hard time adapting. Jeremiah is afraid he might desert.” Annie never gave the names of the soldiers she asked prayer for, and she didn’t this time.
Gladys slipped her needle into the fabric of the quilt top. “Haydn says the snowstorm damaged a few soddies. We should pray for those families.”
They had discussed their personal prayer concerns many times. Today they had touched on Mr. Keller’s health (improving), beaus for Ruth and Birdie (in spite of their objections), Ruth’s hopes for the upcoming school year, and salvation and so much more for Birdie’s friends.
Ruth finished the leaf she was working on and put the sheet away. “I’ll start.” They put away their projects and closed their eyes in prayer.
Prayer. Birdie had seen too many answers in the short months she had been a Christian to doubt its power. As each woman prayed for Birdie’s friends by name, she could believe good things would happen. God would make something good out of something bad.
If only her faith remained as solid during the middle of the night.
Ned prided himself on not revealing his emotions on his face. A successful store owner couldn’t afford to offend potential customers. But Birdie’s question today left him speechless. He recovered quickly. “You want red flannel? To make long johns?”
“I can make them for less money than they spend buying them from the catalog. Better quality, too.” If Birdie was a store owner like Gerard, she would be rubbing her hands in anticipation of potential sales. “What I want to know is if you’ll carry them in your store.” Her smile indicated she expected an automatic yes answer.
Of course Birdie had seen men’s undergarments, although Ned had shut his mind to that part of her past. But this venture would drag her back to the past and not the future she planned. Wouldn’t it?
The light went out in her eyes, and Ned realized he had waited too long with his answer. “Never mind. I’ll make money other ways.” She handed him the day’s basket of eggs. As she had promised, two dozen good-sized eggs each day.
He gave her forty cents. “This is enough for a couple of lengths of flannel.” His voice sounded strangled to his ears as he lifted the bolt onto the cutting table. The scissors lay in the table drawer, and he busied himself with sharpening the blades while he waited for her instructions. After he marshaled his features into agreement, he lifted his face. “You’re right, they would sell well.”
When she didn’t object, he nipped the edge of the material and cut in a straight line. “Do you need thread?”
Birdie shook her head and asked, “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”
Her eyes told him she wanted a serious answer. He took his time slipping the scissors back into the drawer. When he looked at her again, the folded fabric lay between them like an exhibit ready to convict her in court. “I believe it’s fine as long as no one knows who’s making them. I haven’t told anyone who’s making the ready-made dresses, but I don’t know if it’s a secret. Some people might add four and four and make ten.”
Ned’s spirits flagged as Birdie’s shoulders slumped, hunched over as if in defeat. She wouldn’t look at him. The moment stretched like taffy, until Ned feared the fragile bond of trust between them would stretch too far and break. What do I say, Lord?
“Wait.”
Ned put together the additional supplies Birdie needed for the long johns, offering his support in spite of his reservations. Once finished, he set the materials on the counter between them and waited. One moment she was slumped over, staring at the floor. In an instant, she changed. Straightening her back so that her shoulders made a proud line, she lifted her chin and looked him face-on. “Pastor Fairfield and his missus tell me that I have to avoid even the appearance of evil, because people will assume the worst. They also warned me that I might be tempted to return to my old ways. Tell me, Mr. Finnegan, is making long underwear for soldiers the kind of behavior they meant?”
His mouth suddenly dry, Ned could only nod. Popping a lemon drop into his mouth, he worked up enough saliva to speak. In the few seconds that took, he could see the tremble in Birdie’s shoulders as she maintained her composure, trying to appear as if his answer didn’t matter one way or the other.
“I’m sorry, Miss Landry. But it seems that way to me.” Ned had to find some way to ease the defeat he’d read in her earlier posture. The smile that he had practiced on grouchy customers came in handy. “Annie Bliss is part of your sewing circle, right?”
Birdie nodded.
“She’s made connections with the commander’s wife at the fort. Together they might come up with a way to keep your role anonymous. Maybe she could even pretend she’s the one making the underwear.”
The starch left Birdie, and her nod wasn’t forced. “I’ll do that. I’ll also ask Mrs. Fairfield for her suggestions.” Her face returned to its usual placid expression, and she turned to exit the door.
“Don’t you want the fabric?” Ned called to her departing back.
In the doorway, she turned. “I will once I have my answer.”
That woman had enough pride and determination to build Rome in a day. Spunk, people would call that quality in someone else. She had used it to survive her past, and it gave her the courage to start over again now.
She was everything Ned was not, and he liked her all the more for it.
Chapter 3
Thank you for agreeing to meet with me in town.” In spite of wearing her most modest dress, a deep blue that buttoned up the neck and at her wrists, the hem only far enough off the floor to avoid dragging in the dirt, Birdie felt stripped as Mrs. Peate fixed steady eyes on her.
“I am honored that you would ask me to help with another one of your missions. God has done some amazing things through our friend Annie.” She nodded across the table where Annie and Gladys were seated. Mrs. Fairfield had joined them this morning, as well.
“Here is some fresh coffee.” Miss Kate bustled out of the diner kitchen.
Finding a place to meet had proved problematical. They all agreed from the beginning that the meeting should not take place at the fort. Annie had said, “They figured out I was making their mittens, hats, and scarves because they saw me at the fort. That, and the fact I was spending so much time with Jeremiah.” A small giggle testified to her present happiness.
If they met at Miss Kate’s boardinghouse, another resident might see Mrs. Peate there and make the very connection they wanted to avoid. Miss Kate had suggested an alternative: They could meet at the diner an hour before opening. If someone happened to see them sitting quietly in the corner, they would assume the women were Gladys’s or Miss Kate’s guests.
Birdie’s stomach twisted like a pretzel as she wondered whether the business opportunity she had conceived was of the Lord or of the devil.
Once all five ladies had settled at the table, sipping coffee and eating hot biscuits, they turned their eyes on Birdie. She spooned sugar into her coffee and stirred it, stalling for time. Ever since Ned questioned the wisdom of her enterprise, she had suffered a torrential rain of doubt.
Miss Kate appeared at the door again. “Just go ahead and tell them, dearie.”
“That’s my aunt Kate,” Gladys grimaced. “She loves getting into our business. All with the kindest of motives, of course. She practically forced Haydn on me.”
“And look how that turned out.” Annie grinned. “So unfortunate that you discovered the man God wants you to marry.”
Birdie decided to speak before they got sidetracked with matrimonial pursuits. “That doesn’t matter, since there is no man involved in this matter.” Her thoughts ran guiltily to Ned, his kindness and the way he championed her to the community. “At least, there is no man in particular.”
“Stop speaking in puzzles.” Mrs. Fairfield took her first sip of coffee. “My dear Mr. Fairfield always tells me to begin at the beginning.”
Birdie could do that. “Ever since I became a Christian, I’ve dr
eamed of helping other girls get away from that place. When I was invited to join the sewing circle, I believed God had given me a sign. One of the first things the women need is modest clothing.”
“What a lovely thought.” Mrs. Peate nodded approvingly. “The captain often says a man feels the most like a soldier when he’s wearing his dress uniform. Changing the look of the outside helps to change how you feel on the inside, even though the Lord values what’s inside a man.”
Bacon sizzled in the kitchen, and Birdie’s stomach growled. She placed a light hand on her midsection as if that would stop the sound.
Miss Kate brought a tray with steaming bowls of oatmeal. “I’ll have bacon and eggs for you in a minute.”
“We didn’t intend to make you work.” Birdie’s stomach didn’t agree.
“Nonsense. Since it’s already cooked, go ahead and eat.”
Mrs. Peate ate a few bites of oatmeal. “That woman is a genius with food.” She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “I love your idea, but I don’t understand how the men of the fort are involved.”
Now came the hard part. Birdie didn’t want to complain, but… “I’ve made money sewing since I became a Christian. God has provided for all my needs, but it takes everything I make to pay for my living expenses and supplies. Recently Miss Kate agreed to let me keep laying hens to make money a little faster.”
Mrs. Peate ate a few more mouthfuls before Birdie started up again.
“I had another idea to increase my earnings. I thought about all those single men at the fort and wondered where they get their long underwear. If they would buy their long underwear from me, I could use the extra money. When I asked Mr. Finnegan for red flannel, he acted like it was a bad idea.”
Mrs. Fairfield sighed, and Birdie froze, wondering what it meant.
When she didn’t speak, Birdie continued. She turned to Annie and said, “I did wonder if you wanted to take on this business, since you already know the men. You could make a little extra money.” She struggled to keep her expression neutral. If their secret was discovered, people wouldn’t question Annie as much as they would someone with Birdie’s past.
Miss Kate brought in bacon and eggs, and Annie turned her attention to her plate, her face a delicate pink. She speared a bite of eggs before she answered. “I’ll stick to making things with my knitting needles.”
The others nodded, and Birdie had a sinking sensation in her heart. The thought of a man’s underwear made Annie uncomfortable. Birdie couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced embarrassment. No wonder Ned talked about the appearance of evil.
Mrs. Fairfield looked at Birdie with so much compassion that tears jumped to Birdie’s eyes. “It’s a bad idea. I shouldn’t have asked,” she said.
Mrs. Peate set her slice of bacon aside. “It’s an admirable idea. From what I’ve seen of the men’s laundry, they could use some new things. Why don’t I think about the situation and see what we can do?”
“In the meantime, start sewing, so you can sell them as soon as we’ve figured it out,” Annie said.
Birdie shook her head. If she bought supplies before she knew she had a buyer, she might waste money. Even though she hoped to speed up the process of making extra money, she needed to wait for God’s timing.
“If the work makes you uncomfortable, you shouldn’t pursue it. God will give you what you need,” Mrs. Fairfield said. She reached out and squeezed Birdie’s hand. “But the plan is a sound one, if that is what you feel led to do. Just remember, you’re not on your own.”
But Birdie had a hard time believing that. She had been on her own, all her life.
Ned kept the red flannel hidden on the shelf beneath the cash register, waiting for Birdie to ask for it. Morning after morning, she walked into the store, dropped off her eggs, and took her money without asking for the flannel.
The bell over the door jangled. Birdie swung into the room and set the basket by the cash register with renewed light shining in her eyes. “Four of my hens dropped an extra egg today. I have enough money to buy what I need to make a dress.”
Ned headed for the shelf of calicoes. “What do you have in mind?” How would the town respond to a pair of ex-saloon girls trying to make an honest living? Saloon supporters would object to the loss of “talent,” and the Pharisees in town would object to their presence in church. If Ned was honest with himself, he’d admit he had reservations also.
Birdie followed him and hesitated by some of the fancier fabrics, a pretty beige silk that would look wonderful with her red hair, a fine wool on sale for a good price because it didn’t sell well during the heat of summer. If he thought she would agree, he would offer it to her for the same price as the calico.
Next she passed behind Ned and studied the solid-colored cotton, the least expensive fabric. A frown creased her face, and she surveyed the calicoes, choosing a brown with white flowers, the plainest calico he had. She took the admonition to dress modestly very seriously, but even ugly fabric couldn’t hide her beauty. “I’ll take two lengths of this, with half a length of the brown.” She pointed to a bolt of cotton.
Ned set out the box with sewing notions for her to examine, and she choose thread and a handful of buttons. “This is wonderful. Michal has indicated she’s ready to leave as soon as I have a dress ready.”
Another customer came in, and Ned left Birdie for a few minutes to measure out potatoes and flour. After the lady left, Birdie brought the supplies to the counter. “How much is it?”
“I’m glad you can do this at last.” Ned told her the total and made change for her. He glanced at the shelf below the register, his hand touching the bundle of flannel still waiting for her. He picked it up and set it down next to the calico. “I would like for you to take this. A bonus for being a good supplier and customer. Since I already cut the flannel, I can’t sell it to someone else.”
The light in Birdie’s eyes dimmed. “Thank you, but no. I decided against doing that. I’ll pay you for the flannel, of course.”
“Nonsense.” Ned shook his head. “You never bought it.”
“While we’re talking …,” Birdie started.
Another customer entered and Birdie cuddled the fabric against her chest. He expected her to disappear with the same quiet stealth that dictated most of her movements. But she waited for the new customer to finish her business and leave the store before she addressed Ned again.
“You’ve had a busy morning.”
“Business has been good lately.” Although Ned welcomed the trade, he knew Birdie felt uncomfortable unless the store was empty.
“I’ve noticed that. Do you need additional help?” She tugged the fabric against her side and stared at her fingers before looking up again. “You’re already doing so much for me that I feel guilty for asking.”
“You can ask me anything.” Ned’s heart sped a little at the thought of what Birdie might ask of him.
“It’s my friend. She’ll need a job, and I wondered if you could use an assistant.”
Ned scratched his head. “So far I’ve kept up with the extra business. I can’t really afford to pay anyone.”
Birdie’s face fell, and she turned away. He should never have mentioned money.
“Of course. I should have realized … Never mind. God will provide. That’s what Mrs. Fairfield always says.” With that, she scooted out the door.
Birdie slumped at the street corner, away from the window where Ned could see her. I can’t stay here long. I can’t start crying my eyes out while I’m in public, where anyone can see. She called on the iron backbone that had seen her through so many difficult times. After a minute, she raised her face, free of tears, and walked down the street as if she had a right to be there. Once in the boardinghouse, she raced up the stairs to her room and flung herself across the bed and allowed the sobs to shake her body.
I’m worthless, no matter what Pastor Fairfield says. No one believes in my dream. Why should they?
She had thought Ne
d was different, but he didn’t want anything to do with a dirty saloon girl any more than anyone else did. God and Pastor Fairfield might see Birdie with new eyes, but no one else did. She allowed herself to hope that the members of the sewing circle liked her as well as their friendship suggested. “But not Ned.” With that final thought, she burrowed her head into the pillow, allowing her tears to soak the fabric.
Get up. We don’t allow any bawling in here. Customers come for a pretty face, not one all puffy from tears. The voice of Nigel Owen from the Betwixt ’n’ Between intruded in Birdie’s thoughts, as loud as if he were in the room with her.
Here, take some of this. It will take the edge off. Nigel had offered Birdie whiskey after her first customer humiliated her and bruised her in places she had scarcely known existed. She drank it that one time but then felt even worse. Never again. After that, she hid her true feelings, smiling on the outside while crying on the inside.
The new Birdie had no problem crying, but she held on until she could escape to a private place before she let go. Unable to put any more into words, she repeated the same three names—Annie, Gladys, Ruth—over and over. At last the tears stopped and she sat up.
The Bible on her nightstand opened to the eighth chapter of Romans, one Mrs. Fairfield said offered her great encouragement when she got discouraged. Birdie had read the chapter so often she almost had it memorized. She especially liked the verses about the Holy Ghost lifting up her heart “with groanings which cannot be uttered” and how neither height nor depth nor life nor death could separate her from the love of God. She reread the familiar words and clasped her Bible to her chest. She still couldn’t believe the God of all the universe loved her like that.
A single tear dropped, and Birdie wiped it away. Exchanging the Bible for a brush, she ran it through her nearly waist-length hair, a hundred strokes. After she had calmed somewhat, she splashed water on her face until she had cooled, and looked into the mirror. Fiery hair framed her face, paler than usual except around the eyes, which were puffy and red. The puffy eyes didn’t matter to her, and she knew they didn’t matter to God, but Miss Kate would cluck over her. Birdie might skip lunch altogether. Why eat? She wasn’t hungry. Instead, she took her Bible and sat in a chair by the window, sipping from a glass of water and reading first one psalm then another, soaking in the promises and expressing the outrage the psalmist felt.
The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection Page 23