Odd that he would pick up on that. “You think that’s unusual?”
“I suppose not. In my family, it’s just boys, though there are only two of us. I would have liked a sister. You must be a fine one.”
A sister. He thought of her like a sister. She supposed that was a good thing, seeing as she wanted to introduce him to Jen, but disappointment still blanketed her.
They walked on in silence. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. Crickets trilled and playing children shrieked. Motorcars putted past. All normal, yet today each sound reminded her that she was a plain country girl who couldn’t ever hope to interest a handsome man like Sam, no matter how much sisterly help she received. Each silent moment made her feel more and more awkward until she couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Are you the older or younger?”
His eyebrow quirked at her abrupt question. “The older. Harry is several years younger than me.”
That made Sam the heir. Even more impossible, but maybe Jen stood a chance. If the Lord wanted them together, He would make the seemingly impossible possible.
She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “Did your brother come here with you?”
“No. He’s in college.”
“During the summer?” The handful of collegians from Pearlman always returned in the summer months.
“He wants to finish his graduate studies early.” Again he cast her a smile that melted her determination to stay reserved.
“I see.” She looked toward the passing storefronts so she wouldn’t have to see that unnerving smile. “When did you arrive in town?”
“This afternoon. The train was late. I should have known then that everything was going to go wrong today.”
Everything. Such as their collision and his resulting offer to patch things up with her client. “You must be terribly busy. You don’t need to come with me.”
“Don’t think you can get rid of me that easily, Miss Fox. I’ll have you know that I’m more stubborn than the proverbial mule. Besides that, I can’t get much done with a shattered—” He suddenly stopped, as if he’d just remembered something. “There was a little accident, and I need to find a good carpenter. I don’t suppose you know one.”
“Peter Simmons is the best in Pearlman. He made the bookshelves and counter at the bookstore.”
“Peter Simmons,” Sam repeated. “Related to the woman you spoke with earlier?”
She nodded, pleased that she could help the orphaned boy. “You won’t be disappointed.”
“I’ll take your word on that.”
Ruth allowed a brief smile while she considered how to get Sam and Jen in the same room. A simple introduction would tell if they were compatible. They would certainly make a fine-looking couple. Ruth’s energetic sister was the only one of them with Daddy’s dark hair, and Jen wouldn’t disappoint Sam in the honest-expression department. All Ruth needed was a reason to bring them together.
The church secretary stepped out the front door and waved. As Ruth waved back, she realized the answer was right in front of her.
“Would you care to join us for Sunday-morning services? We attend the church across the street.”
Sam glanced at the prim white building with its plain glass window. “I don’t know....”
“I could introduce you to everyone in town. As a newcomer, you’ll want to meet people.”
If she weren’t mistaken, he looked decidedly uneasy. “I’ll have to let you know tomorrow.”
That was a quick side step if she ever heard one, and she wasn’t about to get Jen involved with someone who wasn’t a Christian. “Not a churchgoer?”
“On the contrary. I simply don’t know how long I’ll be in town.”
“But today is Friday and you only just arrived. Surely you wouldn’t have to leave tomorrow.”
His cheek ticked. “You’re right, of course.” A pause. “I’d be glad to join you.”
“Good.” Ruth breathed a sigh of relief. Her plan would still work. “You can meet us in front of the dress shop. The service starts at ten o’clock.”
“Fine, but if something comes up, don’t wait for me.”
Before she could continue the conversation, he started whistling a tune. At the end of the street, they turned left and wound up Elm Street into Kensington Estates.
She pointed to the ocher-colored Victorian with dark green trim that was half-hidden behind a tall cedar hedge. “That is the Vanderloo house.”
She stopped at the gated walkway, intimidated as always by the turreted three-story home. Already cars lined the lawn, meaning Mrs. Vanderloo’s party was under way. This would not be pleasant.
“After you.” Sam opened the gate and motioned for her to precede him.
She summoned her courage and stepped ahead. In passing, his hand brushed her sleeve. A thrill ran through her, like one got from going too fast in a motorcar or running the rapids in a rowboat. She gasped at the unfamiliar sensation.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She swallowed hard and shook her head.
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle everything. Let me do the talking.” His casual smile would have set her at ease if not for his hand on the small of her back. “I know how to smooth things over with irate women.”
Women? Plural? How many women had he managed to infuriate and why? Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to introduce him to Jen after all.
* * *
Sam couldn’t help noticing that Ruth’s eyes were the most delicate shade of blue, like winter ice. If she hadn’t lifted her gaze in surprise, he would never have seen how perfectly they matched the blue of her hatband. Her pale brows arched above her glasses, and her lips pursed into a question that was never uttered.
When she again ducked her head, he realized he’d put that badly, made it sound as if he was a scoundrel around women.
“I meant female customers,” he added hastily. “In my business I often deal with complaints.”
Her brow only furrowed deeper. “Are you in sales, then?”
It was the question he’d been dreading and avoiding. He refused to outright lie, and since Father insisted no one know that a Hutton’s Department Store was opening in town, he’d avoided all but necessary contact with the locals. Crashing into Ruth had ended that tactic.
So he rushed past a full answer. “I do have a lot of experience working with customers. Please, allow me to take the lead.”
The question mark vanished from her lips and the furrows from her brow, replaced by determination. “Thank you for your offer, but Mrs. Vanderloo is my customer.”
“And this—” he waved at the dresses “—is my fault. I trust we don’t have to go over that again.”
After a brief internal battle that played out on her lovely face, she acquiesced with a quick nod. They set off for the house. For such a small town, the home was fairly sizable, rather like a country house for a wealthy New Yorker. A circular driveway cut through the lawn, and several automobiles lined its edge, their headlamps and windshields reflecting the late-day sun. Tall oaks and maples dotted the property while crimson geraniums spilled from large clay urns on either side of the front door.
He let Ruth drop the heavy brass knocker against the thick oak door. Once its dull thud faded, the faint clink of glasses and murmur of voices drifted past on the afternoon breeze.
“She must be in the garden,” Sam said.
“Her housekeeper should answer.” Ruth knocked again.
Sam’s arm had begun to ache from holding the dresses for so long. He draped them over his other arm, drawing a critical look from Miss Fox.
At last the door opened, and a trim socialite stared up at him. The perfectly coiffed hair and expensive summer suit left no doubt he was looking at Mrs. Vanderloo.
&nbs
p; “I’m sorry. It’s an inconvenient time.” The woman began to close the door.
She thought he was a peddler, a door-to-door salesman!
Sam caught the door before she fully closed it. “I beg your pardon, Madame.” He swung the dresses before him with a flourish. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Vanderloo.” Ruth’s voice shook, only making the situation worse.
That was when the woman noticed Miss Fox, and all the venom that might have been directed at him spewed instead on Ruth. “What have you done to my gowns?”
Ruth flinched. “Th-th-there was a little accident.”
“Little? It looks like you threw them in the mud and trampled on them. What were you doing? You were supposed to bring them before five o’clock.”
“Yes, I know.” Poor Ruth’s complexion got blotchy. “I would have been here if I hadn’t dropped them—”
Sam was not going to let her take the blame. “The only reason she dropped them was because I ran into her. The fault is entirely mine and so is the remedy.”
Mrs. Vanderloo didn’t seem to hear him. “I trust you’ll make this right, Miss Fox, or I’ll have to take my business to a more reliable establishment.”
Sam clamped his jaw shut so he wouldn’t speak his mind. He would like to tell the woman that she’d have a tough time surpassing the excellent stitching he’d noted on these gowns, but Ruth rose to the occasion with surprising grace.
Calm as a pool at nightfall, she expressed her sympathy and regret, ending with “Of course, I’ll compensate you for your loss.”
She would compensate Mrs. Vanderloo? It took all of Sam’s will to hold his tongue. Ruth had claimed the credit, when he was paying the bill. Part of him wanted to correct the record, but another part remembered that Ruth’s father was in the hospital with a serious illness. Justice against charity. In the end, charity—and the lovely Ruth Fox—won out. It wouldn’t hurt his pride too much if Mrs. Vanderloo thought that Ruth was paying the full cost.
He shot the socialite his most disarming smile. “Not only will she make it right, but Miss Fox has promised to buy you two new dresses to replace those that were ruined. That’s quite a generous offer.”
As expected, Mrs. Vanderloo’s ire diminished. “I, uh—”
He lifted an arm of the ivory georgette dress to drive home the point. “Considering how outdated these frocks are, you’re making quite a bargain of it. Two new gowns in the latest fashion. You won’t find that guarantee elsewhere. Miss Fox can drop off some catalogs tomorrow.” He’d make sure Ruth had those catalogs before they parted ways tonight. “Make your choices at your leisure. We don’t want to keep you from your guests any longer.”
The woman seemed placated, until one last burst of petulance sneaked out. “But it doesn’t help me tonight. I’d planned to wear one of them.”
“That would have been a dreadful mistake.” Sam snuffed out her objections with the kind of observation that had won over reluctant girls in his college days. “The color and style are all wrong for you. Mint-green? Ivory? Not with your complexion. And the length. They must come to the ankle. Not at all stylish these days. In my opinion, that delightful navy suit brings out the copper in your stunning auburn hair.”
Mrs. Vanderloo primped with a girlish giggle, and Sam knew the battle was won.
Until he looked at Ruth. Miss Fox’s lips were pressed into an expression of undeniable displeasure. Now what had he done?
Chapter Three
That evening Ruth tried to keep her attention on the stack of bills piled on Daddy’s desk, but her thoughts kept drifting to Sam. When he’d suggested a rose-colored dress would suit her complexion, she’d foolishly thought he saw something unusual in her, but apparently he said the same sort of thing to every woman. A charming smile came in a salesman’s box of tools. It meant nothing.
Moreover, he’d abdicated his offer to buy the dresses, instead placing that burden on her. How would she manage to scrape up enough to pay for two new gowns capable of meeting Mrs. Vanderloo’s standards? She’d already spent her meager savings reducing their debt at the mercantile so the store would extend them credit again.
Ruth sighed and opened an envelope from the Battle Creek Sanitarium.
The figure on the invoice made her heart stop. How could they ever pay this, not to mention the additional treatment? Yet the doctors had made it clear that without that therapy, Daddy would not survive the year.
Ruth’s hand trembled. He couldn’t die. All her prayers and pleadings must count for something. She would do anything to save him. Anything? Jen’s bold idea came to mind. Would she marry for money? Ruth didn’t contemplate the answer for long. No matter what she would do, no man of means would marry her. Jen, on the other hand, could captivate someone like Sam. Perhaps Sunday would initiate the most unlikely of Jen’s many ideas.
Ruth smiled at the thought and reached out to touch one of the miniature stuffed elephants that stood on the shelf above the desk. She’d made them for her father when she was much younger. Red, green, purple, gold, blue. She’d been so proud of them, and he’d treated each like a priceless jewel.
“Exquisite,” he’d said after receiving every one. “Perfectly stitched.”
He’d encouraged all of them in their talents. Never once did he criticize her shyness or Jen’s poor stitching. He didn’t push any of them into the dressmaking business. Ruth couldn’t spend enough time in the shop. She loved the feel of the different fabrics, the satisfaction of the perfect pleat, the hope that sprang to life with each new dress. She loved to sketch new designs and dream one of her creations could turn a goose into a swan.
She picked up the first elephant she’d made, a pathetic calico creation with uneven stitching. Only her father had recognized that it was an elephant. He gave it a place of honor. She wiped away a tear and set the elephant back in place. Her father had taken one of her elephants with him to the sanitarium, along with Jen’s tattered baby blanket, photographs of Beattie’s babies and Minnie’s copy of Little Women, which he’d promised to read. He’d insisted those treasures would heal him more quickly than any doctor.
Yet he was still sick.
“Get well, Daddy,” she whispered.
In the meantime, she had bills to pay and no money with which to do so. Mother had told her which accounts to pay and which could wait. Daddy’s care came first, followed by the dress-shop bills. She had assured Ruth that the merchants in town would extend credit a bit longer, but the drugstore had insisted on cash for a single box of aspirin, and the mercantile had refused any credit until the account was paid down. Considering her oldest sister’s husband managed the mercantile, it was a slap in the face.
Now, as Ruth stared at the ledger, she could see disaster looming. Paying the sanitarium would nearly empty the family’s bank account. She’d have to short the shop’s fabric supplier in order to buy Mrs. Vanderloo’s dresses.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Jen had crept up so softly that Ruth hadn’t heard her.
Ruth slammed the ledger shut. “Nothing to concern you.”
Jen pulled up a chair. “Just because Mother put you in charge doesn’t mean you’re the only one who knows what’s going on. I can read a ledger, too. I keep the accounts at the airfield.” She tapped the ledger cover. “I say we ask Beattie for help.”
Memories of Beatrice’s whispered fears swept over Ruth. “We can’t.”
“Why not? Blake might be tightfisted, but she’ll get it out of him somehow.”
Ruth couldn’t tell Jen that their oldest sister’s marriage was struggling. Her husband, Blake, gave her only a pittance to spend on herself. Beattie used every cent for the children. Moreover, Blake’s lack of leniency at the mercantile showed he would give his in-laws nothing. Beatrice had confirmed Blake went through money a
t a frightening rate. She feared gambling—or worse. No, Beattie couldn’t help.
Neither could Ruth betray a confidence. “I could never ask Beatrice to part with money intended for her children.”
Jen dismissed that excuse. “They won’t suffer. They’re Blake’s kids, too. Beattie’s our sister. She’d want to know we’re having financial trouble.”
But Beattie did know, and not being able to help pained her. “Maybe she can’t.”
Jen frowned, her eyes darting between Ruth and the ledger. “What’s really going on?”
Ruth folded up the sanitarium bill. “I’ve already said more than I should.”
“If you mean that Blake’s being a cad, I already know that.”
“Jen!”
The girl shrugged. “Everyone knows it. Pearlman’s a small town. There aren’t many secrets here.”
Ruth felt sick. Beattie would hate that her marriage was the talk of town gossips. “We shouldn’t pass along rumors.”
Jen snorted. “I’m not the one doing the passing. If you ask me, Blake Kensington was always a cad.”
Ruth rummaged through the bills to hide her distress. Aside from the problems in Beattie’s marriage, Jen had struck too close to the painful secret that Ruth had kept for over ten years—a secret that must never see the light of day.
“Are you all right?” Jen asked. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine. It’s just a headache.” Her head did throb, though that wasn’t the only reason she felt ill. “I’m just a little worried, is all.”
“That’s why I suggested one of us marry into wealth.” Jen’s voice lowered. “That man you met earlier looks promising. Nice suit. Nice smile. Rather handsome. Is he married?”
“Jen! I would never ask a stranger such a thing.” Though she had wanted to.
“You don’t ask directly.” Jen rolled her eyes. “You ask if his wife came with him.”
“I didn’t think of that.” Ruth straightened the stack of envelopes. “He’s not wearing a ring.” Perhaps Jen was already attracted to Sam. Ruth played up the point. “And he does act like a bachelor.”
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