“No.” Minnie hung her head and traced the wood grain on the old kitchen table. “Maybe a little.”
Ruth chose her words carefully. “There will be other opportunities—for work as well as for love. You’re young and pretty. You have plenty of time.”
“Like you?”
In the past, Ruth would have cringed at the reminder of her spinsterhood, but last night she had learned to hope.
“Yes, like me.” Ruth squeezed Minnie’s hand. “I think Sam likes me.”
Minnie could muster only a weak attempt at a smile, which confirmed Ruth’s suspicions that the tears had come from a matter of the heart. She decided to try the direct approach.
“Did something happen between you and Reggie?” She brushed a strand of hair from Minnie’s forehead as the girl’s shoulders sagged.
“How did you know?”
Such a mournful tone!
“I guessed.” Since Minnie wasn’t offering any more information, Ruth sucked up the courage to ask, “Did he hurt you?”
“No!” Minnie’s eyes blazed. “Reggie wouldn’t hurt a soul. He’s not horrible like some people say. He’s the kindest man I know. Except Daddy, of course. And maybe your Mr. Roth, but I don’t know him much. Reggie would never hurt me.”
Ruth bit her tongue to stop from pointing out that he must have said something hurtful or Minnie wouldn’t have been crying. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“He’s terribly kind.” Minnie sniffled and then wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
Ruth handed her a clean handkerchief.
Minnie balled it in her fist. “He just isn’t interested.”
Ruth recalled the conversation with Reggie at the bank. He hadn’t even remembered who Minnie was. Poor girl! “I’m so sorry.”
Minnie’s lower lip quivered. “He acted like he didn’t know me, like he’d never seen me before. But he always called me a ‘peach’ when he saw me at the Neideckers’ house. Why would he give me a nickname if he didn’t like me?” She pressed the wadded-up handkerchief to her eyes.
Ruth could think of one distinct possibility. Brothers teased sisters. Reggie treated Minnie like a little sister.
“If I’d known,” Minnie sobbed, “I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself.” Her breath hitched. “And then I wouldn’t have lost my job. I shouldn’t have gone after him. I should have danced with Peter. At least then I’d have someone. Oh, why did I do it?”
Lacking words, Ruth hugged her little sister close. She knew the pain of hoping for a special boy to notice you. Maybe he was rich or prominent. Maybe he said something to raise the hopes of a poor girl. He didn’t mean anything by it. He might even think he was being kind, but she took it as interest. Was that what Ruth had done all those years ago? Had Blake spoken casually, perhaps even from kindness, as if to a little sister, and she mistook his words for romance?
She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed Minnie’s back. It didn’t matter. The cause and the outcome were the same. “Because you were in love.”
As Ruth had been. Thankfully, she had never said a word to Beatrice.
“Why doesn’t he love me?” Minnie sobbed.
“I don’t know. No woman ever knows.” Ruth choked down the bitter pill that she’d let years of remorse destroy numerous chances for romance. “But you must have faith that God will bring the right man into your life at the right time.”
“Like your Mr. Roth?” Minnie pulled back to look at Ruth. “Do you think there’s someone like him for me?”
Ruth tucked a strand of hair behind Minnie’s ear. Her heart soared with such hope that she could not hold back a smile. Sam liked her. Sam had kissed her. In spite of Ruth’s fears, God had granted her another chance.
“I’m sure there is.”
* * *
Sam’s mother had drilled into him that Sunday was the Sabbath, a day of rest. His father, on the other hand, ignored biblical commands and worked clear through the day. Sam attended morning worship, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how much still needed to be done at the store. He could not sit around reading, eating and conversing when his father would arrive in two days to pass judgment.
So, when Ruth asked Sam to join them for Sunday dinner, he declined.
She’d looked disappointed, even a little surprised, but had accepted his decision without debate. “Perhaps next Sunday, then.”
“I would like that.”
Except there might not be a next Sunday. If the grand opening didn’t succeed beyond expectations, Father would send Sam back to New York. Even if the store did succeed, he’d still be sent to another location. That was his job at Hutton’s. He breezed into a town, worked with the store manager to improve profits or set up a new program and went on to the next location.
Only this time was different. This was his store, his chance to prove he deserved to inherit the company presidency. That justified working on Sunday, but he wouldn’t force his workers to do so. They’d put in extra hours all week, and the store was ready to be stocked. Boxes of merchandise waited in the storeroom. Pricing and shelving the goods would take every hour between now and Friday’s grand opening.
“I’ll help,” Miss Harris volunteered as he packed a couple of waxed-paper-wrapped sandwiches into his valise. She removed the lid from the large jar at the end of the boardinghouse’s kitchen counter. “Let’s take a few cookies. Mrs. T. made snickerdoodles yesterday.”
He gratefully accepted a couple of the cinnamon-coated sugar cookies. “You don’t have to give up your Sunday.”
“What else would I do? This town isn’t exactly filled with entertainment options.”
Sam rather liked that about Pearlman. “They have a cinema.”
Miss Harris wrinkled her nose. “I saw that film a year ago.” She popped a chunk of cookie in her mouth. “Might as well earn a little extra money.”
If only Sam could hire Ruth and her sisters. Unfortunately, a month’s wages wouldn’t pay off their debt.
“Well, then, let’s go.” He grabbed the valise. “I appreciate the help.”
He held the door for Miss Harris and, once they reached the street, offered her his arm. As usual, the woman wore shoes that made it difficult for her to walk without losing her balance.
She hung on his arm. “On Friday, this will be over. Do you know where you’re going next?”
He shook his head. Father never told him in advance where his next assignment would be. Usually Sam didn’t care, but this time he wanted to stay. He wanted to make the Pearlman Hutton’s his own. He wanted to spend time with Ruth. “I hope I get to stay.”
Miss Harris laughed. “Here? The vice president of operations in this tiny town?”
It did sound impossible, but there had to be a way. When answers couldn’t be found, Mother placed her faith in God, but this didn’t seem the kind of matter that God would care about. Why should He waste time helping Sam stay in Pearlman when other matters were more important? Wars, hunger, poverty. The Fox Dress Shop. Friday night’s idea had eased his guilt for the moment, but dawn had erased that. A few orders wouldn’t bring in the cash the dress shop needed. He must find another answer. He’d start with the bank.
“I’ll do it Monday,” he muttered.
“Do what?”
Sam had forgotten he was walking with Miss Harris. “Nothing. Just a matter I need to attend to Monday morning.”
“Well, no use worrying about it today.” She squeezed his hand and leaned close. “I understand the drugstore has ice-cream sodas. Shall we get one after we finish at the store?”
“If we finish early enough.” The thought of a cool soda sure sounded good on such a warm and muggy day, but Miss Harris’s clinginess was beginning to irritate him. He wondered if she wore those precarious shoes on purpose. She sure was hanging on tigh
tly. Bringing her to the soda fountain would only encourage her and start rumors that would find their way back to Ruth.
“We’ll finish in plenty of time.” Miss Harris leaned her head on his shoulder. “Even if I have to work twice as fast.”
Uncomfortable with the direction this was heading, Sam stepped to his left to put a little distance between them. He’d done that several times before, and each time she followed. This time was no different. No matter what he did, he couldn’t shake her without causing a scene, and he couldn’t afford to irritate any employee a few days before the grand opening.
What had given her the idea he cared for her beyond that of an employer? Yes, he’d helped her hobble back to the store when her feet hurt. Yes, he’d agreed to her plan to find out if anyone in town had figured out that he was opening a Hutton’s Department Store. Yes, he’d complimented her on her stellar work. She must have taken that kindness as personal interest, which it most certainly was not. Her pointed attention was making him very uncomfortable. If anyone saw them...
“Excuse me, Miss Harris.” He removed her hand from his arm and made a show of looking for the key to the store.
“Sam?” Ruth’s voice shot straight to his gut.
“Ruth. Miss Fox.” He whirled around to see her stepping off the back stoop of a small house directly behind the dress shop. Why hadn’t he considered where she lived? It only made sense they’d live nearby, and with the employee entrance to his store on the same alley as her back door, it was a wonder they hadn’t crossed paths before.
Ruth looked from him to Miss Harris. “You said you were busy today.”
“I am. We are.” He hoped he didn’t look as guilty as he felt. “We have work to get done. Miss Fox, this is Miss Harris. She’s the office secretary.”
The women greeted each other coldly, and then Ruth zeroed in on the first part of his excuse.
“You’re working on a Sunday?” Her frown told him exactly how she felt about that.
“It can’t be helped. Too much to be done before the grand opening.”
“Oh. I see.” But she clearly did not. “When is that?”
“Soon.” He shot a look at Miss Harris telling her to be quiet. The banner was ready, but, in Ruth’s eyes, a Friday opening would not excuse him from working on the Sabbath. “You see, my father is due to arrive midweek. He will expect things to be in order.”
“Of course.” Ruth’s taut expression belied her words. She didn’t understand at all.
“I’m sorry,” he offered, knowing it was too weak. “I would rather have had a home-cooked meal at your house.”
At that, Miss Harris’s gaze narrowed. Great. Now he’d infuriated two women. Ruth was too kind and gentle to chide him, but Miss Harris wouldn’t hold back once they entered the store. He had no choice but to face her wrath, for, as his mother would say, he’d cooked the stew and now he had to eat it.
He held up the door key apologetically. “We should get to work.”
“Fine.” Ruth’s expression froze into an unreadable mask.
He would have to make a lot of amends later.
* * *
Ruth tried to forget the way that woman hung on Sam’s arm. She’d even laid her head against his shoulder. In public! Miss Harris, the office secretary. As if that excused her from suspicion. No, all that position gave Miss Harris was constant access to Sam. Though Ruth knew her feelings bordered on jealousy and she ought to believe Sam, as the hours passed, she found more reasons to mistrust him.
Workplace romances had led directly to marriage in recent years. Hadn’t Anna Simmons worked for Brandon Landers before they wed? And Darcy Shea worked on Jack Hunter’s plane. They had married, too. Miss Harris posed a serious threat. More than serious, for the woman was a pretty, petite brunette. She didn’t wear glasses. She sported the latest fashion and wore shoes that cost more than Ruth made in a month. Worse, Sam looked like a boy caught sneaking cookies from the jar.
In comparison to Miss Harris, what could Ruth offer? Debt, an ailing father and sisters who were more often in trouble than out of it. No man of sound mind would take on that burden when he could have a pretty woman who clearly adored him.
By dusk, Ruth had convinced herself that Sam had kissed her only out of pity. A man in love did not turn down dinner with his beloved in order to work with another woman. On a Sunday. Alone together. She could picture them working side by side. His hand would brush hers. Miss Harris would lift her lovely face to him, begging for a kiss.
Ruth pressed her hands to her cheeks. Stop this! But the thoughts wouldn’t stop. If anything, they sped past faster and faster, like a moving-picture show run at too rapid a speed.
She paced the living room. Maybe Ruth had been wrong about Sam Roth. She should never have trusted him. She should have stuck to her plan to help the family. They needed her. In fact, Minnie was still moping around the house—out of both a job and the object of her affections. Ruth would try to cheer her. Busy hands might take both their minds off disappointing relationships.
“I could use your help at the dress shop,” Ruth said. Minnie was fairly good with needle and thread. “I hope to bring in new business by speaking at the Women’s Club tomorrow. Someone will need to watch the shop.”
Minnie nodded, head still hung low, and shuffled off to her bedroom.
Ruth sighed. On top of Minnie’s woes, the loan had to be paid before Wednesday. She needed dozens of orders at the Women’s Club meeting to have a chance of convincing the bank to help her.
Between bouts of anger and self-pity, she composed a short speech for the meeting, but every time she rehearsed it, she recalled that Sam had given her the idea. Then tears threatened, and a terrible ache would start.
“Are you all right?” Jen asked the moment she walked in. She plopped onto the sofa and propped her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands. “You’re moping around here like Minnie. Missing Sam?”
Ruth shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about him. “I’m just rehearsing a speech for the Women’s Club meeting tomorrow.”
“Must be some speech if it’s making you weepy.”
Ruth couldn’t suppress a smile at Jen’s tart response. Her sister could cheer up the most melancholy soul. “You have a way with people. Have you ever considered becoming a nurse?”
“I’d rather do something important like fly airplanes or find a cure for rheumatic fever, but there’s no money for either.”
Dear, practical Jen. “Maybe there will be one day.”
“Oh?” Jen’s eyes widened. “Did Sam ask you to marry him?”
“No!” Ruth was startled by the rush of feeling that question brought. “Certainly not.” She clutched at the ache in her midsection. “Nor do I expect it. He made it quite clear that he will be leaving Pearlman soon. Once his business opens, he’ll go elsewhere.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute, but even if it is true, you have to fight for him. He loves you. I know it.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Well, you’d better start acting like you’re sure. You need to let him know how you feel. Have you told him?”
Ruth stared at her sister. “How do you know so much about men? I can’t remember the last time a man asked you to an event.”
Jen shrugged. “They tell me things.”
“Really?”
“The man has to make the first move, but at some point the woman has to let him know she’s interested.”
Ruth’s thoughts drifted back to Friday night’s dance. Had she let Sam know how she felt? She’d hugged him, yes, and impulsively kissed him on the cheek, but any friend could do that. Yet, that was when he’d kissed her. She hadn’t pulled away, but had she truly kissed back? She’d been surprised at first and uncertain how to respond. Once she let him take the lead, the emotion of the mo
ment had swept her away. She remembered little else of that night. Had she let him know that she was falling for him? Probably not. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe if she’d told him how she felt, he would have accepted her dinner invitation rather than go off with that pretty woman.
“I could have done better,” she admitted.
“Well, you have until Friday to take care of that.”
“Friday?”
“Didn’t you see the banner?” Jen looked appalled. “It’s hanging on the front of his store. Grand opening Friday.”
Five days. Five short days. At least half of that would be spent trying to save the dress shop. And Sam would be so busy at the store that he’d work late hours. With Miss Harris. Her stomach twisted. By her calculation, they wouldn’t meet again until church on Sunday.
That would be too late.
Chapter Twelve
Though Sam considered buying flowers for Ruth, he doubted mere blooms would spur her forgiveness. Saving the family dress shop stood a better chance of turning her heart.
At the opening of business on Monday morning, Sam approached the banker, Mr. Dermott Shea, to find a solution to the mess that the Foxes found themselves in.
“How much is due?” Sam asked.
The banker steepled his fingers. “Let me get this straight. You are Samuel J. Rothenburg’s son.”
Sam stared in disbelief. Shea knew? Sam struggled to comprehend why Father would have given the bank his name. A fool could connect the dots and realize that a Hutton’s Department Store was opening in Pearlman.
The muggy room hummed with the undercurrent of knowledge. If Shea told anyone... But wait. Shea must have known that information for days, and neither Sam nor Miss Harris had heard any speculation come near the truth. That could mean only one thing. The banker had revealed nothing. Sam could trust his discretion.
Sam struck a casual pose, as if Shea’s revelation meant nothing. “Yes. I’m his oldest son. I realize this might be difficult to believe, but my father and I don’t always share the same opinion on matters. Father doesn’t know the situation that the Fox family faces. I see no immediate need for the piece of property. Our current location is more than sufficient. Perhaps something can be worked out.”
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