Groom by Design

by Christine Johnson

  Then, after church the very next Sunday, deaf Mrs. Whitley, long since passed from this world, had pulled Mother aside to commiserate in what she no doubt thought was a whisper. “Poor little Ruthie won’t stand a chance of getting a beau. Best get her used to disappointment.”

  That night and every night for months, Ruth had added a fervent plea to her bedtime prayers. “Please, God. Heal my eyes. Make me see again.”

  But He hadn’t.

  When school began in September, so did the taunts. Frog eyes. Ribbit-ribbit. Goofy Ruthie.

  Mrs. Whitley had been right. Boys either tormented or ignored her. Ruth learned to accept disappointment and bury her hopes deep inside until the day that the boy she’d secretly adored for years sought her out. Blake Kensington, the richest and most handsome boy in town, came to her!

  First he told her that she was pretty. He promised to buy her basket at the Founder’s Day picnic. Buying her basket meant he would sit with her and signaled that he was her beau. Her basket came up for bid first. She waited with eager anticipation, but Blake didn’t even bid. In the end, Daddy bought it. Devastated, Ruth worked up the nerve to ask Blake why he hadn’t bid. He’d laughed at her and asked where she’d gotten such a foolish idea. He would never be interested in Frog Eyes. Then she overheard his mother tell another lady that only one Fox could possibly be good enough for her precious son: Beatrice. Minutes later, Blake bought Beatrice’s basket.

  Even at that young age, Ruth understood she’d been used. By threatening to court a lesser girl, Blake had secured his mother’s approval of Beatrice. Ruth had retreated, humiliated and unable to tell anyone. Beattie was so happy that Ruth couldn’t spoil her sister’s joy, not that day and not through their courtship and marriage.

  Now Sam Rothenburg had done the same. Only this time, Ruth didn’t have to hide her hurt to spare a sister. Nor did she have to accept one minute in Sam’s company.

  “Things will look better in the morning,” Beatrice had told Ruth after the meeting.

  Ruth hadn’t believed her at the time, but morning’s gray dawn did bring renewed determination. Sam Rothenburg meant nothing compared to her family, and they needed her. She alone could save the dress shop. In the wee hours, she’d gathered her resolve. The department store wouldn’t open for a few days. Business might decline after it opened, but not right away. She listed the orders the ladies had promised. Ten dresses. Two had even promised to bring her all their alterations. Altogether, it might be enough to convince the bank to take over the property loan from Mr. Vanderloo.

  It made perfect sense to her. After all, the man simply wanted the full price of the property. It shouldn’t matter who paid him.

  So Ruth donned her best dress, had Minnie watch the shop and headed for the bank at nine o’clock in the morning, the list of orders tucked in her handbag. Clouds scudded across the sky, and a chill wind tugged at her hat. This last day of July felt more like autumn than midsummer. Birds chattered noisily, as if planning their migratory routes. People bustled down the sidewalk, heads bowed against the wind and jackets buttoned. A lone cheerful whistle broke the melancholy atmosphere.

  Who could delight in such a gale?

  She looked up and saw Sam round the corner of the store.

  “Ruth!” He smiled broadly.

  She turned away. The anger she’d tried so hard to dispel returned with a vengeance.

  “I was on my way to see you,” he called out.

  Why? To gloat? Or to deceive her yet again? She couldn’t talk to him. She couldn’t even look at him.

  She needed to cross the street, but two motorcars were coming from her right and a truck from her left. It was too dangerous to cross, but even more dangerous to stay put and endure more of what Sam had to dish out, so she hurried down the wooden sidewalk. Perhaps she could get far enough ahead that she could cross behind the truck before Sam caught her.

  “Miss Fox! Ruth! Wait a minute!” he called out.

  Her pulse accelerated along with her steps. Faster. Faster.

  But his long legs outstripped her. Soon he’d be within reach.

  The truck was passing now. Just a few more steps, and she could dart across the street. Please, Lord. Don’t make me face him now. I’m not ready.

  Sam touched her shoulder.

  She shrugged him off and stepped into the street.

  A horn blared. Brakes squealed. She turned her head in time to see a car bearing down on her. She screamed. It swerved. Then someone yanked her back onto the boardwalk. Only after her heartbeat slowed did she realize that the arm wrapped around her waist belonged to Sam.

  “You could have been killed.” His voice shook.

  She was only aware that he still held her. “Please let go.”

  He released her. “Where are you going in such a rush?”

  She rubbed her arms but could not look at him. “I suppose I should thank you for saving my life.” But she did not feel thankful.

  “Didn’t you hear me? Didn’t you see the car? You acted like you were running away.”

  I was. But she couldn’t say that. She darted a glance at the street. Still busy. “I’m in a hurry.”

  “I can see that, but nothing is worth risking your life.”

  My heart is.

  He circled around her.

  She turned her head the other way.

  He tried to tip up her chin.

  She pulled away.

  “What is going on?” he asked.

  Oh, that she had the courage to tell him exactly what she thought, but the words of Pastor Gabe’s sermon came to mind. Love is patient and kind. She felt neither patient nor kind. Instead, her emotions boiled and threatened to erupt in regretful words.

  Since he demanded an answer, she stuck to fact. “I need to go to the bank.”

  “At least let me escort you across the street.”

  “My eyesight might be poor, but I am not blind.”

  He drew in his breath sharply. “I didn’t mean to suggest you were.”

  She had to keep her face averted, lest she see his expression and lose her resolve. “Then please, allow me to attend to my business.”

  “I’m sorry if I somehow offended you. Please tell me what I’ve done.”

  He’d given her opportunity to speak openly. She could spit out every angry word that had crossed her mind since yesterday’s meeting. Instead, a verse from James’s Epistle came to mind. Let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath.

  Hear? She didn’t want to hear more false explanations and excuses. He’d lied to her. She could never believe him again.

  “At least look me in the eye, Ruth, and tell me what I’ve done. I promise to make it up to you.”

  What good were the promises of a liar? But she would never be rid of him if she didn’t say something. The truth would do.

  Seeing as the street had cleared of traffic, she summoned the courage to snap the silk thread that had once bound them together. “Thank you for saving me from the oncoming automobile, but I’m in rather a hurry, Mr. Rothenburg.”

  Before he could answer, she darted across the street.

  * * *

  Ruth disappeared into the bank before Sam realized what she’d said. Rothenburg. She knew his name. Someone had told her. Miss Harris? If so, he’d have words with her. On the other hand, two other people in town knew the truth: the banker and Vanderloo. Father had used his full name when dealing with the property. Sam suspected Vanderloo or the man’s wife. Regardless of who spilled the secret, if Ruth knew, so would the rest of the town.

  Sam raked a hand through his hair. What could he do?

  Ruth had gone straight to the bank. There she’d learn that the family wouldn’t lose the dress shop, at least not while his offer was under consideration. That ought t
o salve her fury, but she wouldn’t know that he was the one who’d stepped in.

  If a man takes away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also.

  Sam shook his head. Where had that come from? He’d memorized Scripture in childhood, but he hadn’t opened a Bible or recalled a verse in years. Moreover, it made no sense. No one had taken his coat, and he didn’t even own a cloak. He shook off the thought.

  He couldn’t change Ruth’s feelings, nor could he stop the town from learning that a Hutton’s would soon open. He could only prepare for Father, who had wired last night that he would arrive on the afternoon train. Sam had worked the crew late getting the store ready, but the ball gowns still hadn’t arrived. Beautiful gowns drew in customers, so he put them in the window display. Without a single ball gown, the displays and the sales would suffer.

  He’d been on his way to ask Ruth if she would loan him that lovely blue dress she’d worn to the dance until the merchandise arrived. It could benefit them both. He’d have a display, and she would get both the credit for creating the dress and the business it would spur, but after that icy reception he doubted she would lend him a thing.

  “Mr. Roth! Mr. Roth,” called out a young woman’s voice.

  He looked back and spotted Minnie Fox standing in the dress-shop doorway. She looked both ways, as if afraid someone would see her, and motioned for him to come there.

  Why?

  She nodded encouragingly and again motioned for him to come to the dress shop.

  Why not? He had planned to go there before Ruth marched off in a huff. If Ruth wouldn’t listen to him, maybe her sister would. Surely Minnie would understand why he’d used the shortened version of his name. His name! That was it. Minnie had called him “Mr. Roth.” That meant Ruth hadn’t told her sisters what she’d learned. Maybe he could salvage this day after all.

  * * *

  “You did what?” Ruth screeched, the surprising news she’d received at the bank forgotten at her sister’s announcement.

  Minnie cringed and withdrew behind the dress-shop worktable. “You don’t have to yell at me. I thought you’d want your dress on display in the front window of a department store.” She sighed. “A Hutton’s Department Store. Right here in Pearlman.”

  Ruth stared at her youngest sister. “You have no idea what that means, do you?”

  “What what means?”

  “A department store next door.”

  Minnie looked a bit wary as she offered up the first thing that came to mind. “Pretty dresses?”

  Ruth shook her head. No wonder the dress shop was failing. If her sisters didn’t understand the importance of their work, why should anyone else?

  “It means people won’t come to us for new dresses. We won’t even get alterations. A store the size of Hutton’s probably has its own alterations department.” She threw her handbag onto the worktable.

  “Oh.” Minnie blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry.”

  Ruth felt a twinge of guilt as she tugged off her gloves. Her sister truly didn’t know better. The blame lay with Sam, who’d used her family for the last time.

  “It’s not your fault. You did what you thought best. You couldn’t know that I didn’t want my dress on display.” She sighed at the thought of her work in the front window of any store, least of all a big department store. “The damage is already done.”

  Her dress would grace the Hutton’s front window. If Mrs. Vanderloo hadn’t figured out yet that Ruth had used her ruined dresses to make the gown, she would have plenty of time to come to that conclusion. When she did, the woman’s wrath would know no bounds.

  Even the loan reprieve that the bank had given her wouldn’t help. Someone had made another offer on the property, delaying the proposed sale. Mr. Shea wouldn’t say who or how long, but he did hint that the second offer might benefit her family.

  She clung to that faint hope, for it might let Daddy stay at the sanitarium long enough to get the treatments he needed. If he got well, she could endure any suffering, even having Sam next door.

  Well, maybe not dealing with Sam every day. Hopefully, he’d gotten the message that she didn’t want to talk to him again. She supposed she’d have to see him to get her dress back, but that was all until he apologized.

  “Did he say anything else?”

  Minnie drew circles with her finger on the worktable. “Nothing much.”

  Ruth felt a twinge of guilt. She’d reacted too strongly. “I’m sorry I got upset. I was just surprised.” She removed her hat. “It seems to be a day of surprises.”

  Minnie sneaked a wary glance at her. “He said he hoped to see you at the grand opening.”

  Ruth choked back an ill-tempered response. Her anger was with Sam, not Minnie. “I don’t think I’ll be attending. If you see him, you may tell him that.”

  “You’ll see him before that, won’t you?”

  “I doubt it.” Ruth wasn’t going to explain their falling-out. “He’ll be busy getting his store ready. I’ll be busy with all the orders I took yesterday.”

  “You’re not going to work through meals, are you? He said he was going to the Wednesday-night church supper.”

  Ruth made a quick decision. “I’m not going this week.”

  “But you always go, and Sam wants to see you. He said he likes you.”

  “He did?” For a moment, her resolve wavered. He had kissed her. But then, he’d also withheld his full name and talked Minnie into giving him Ruth’s gown. “It doesn’t matter if he likes me or not. I’m not going.”

  “Not going where?” Jen breezed into the shop.

  “To Wednesday’s church supper,” Minnie answered. “Ruth’s mad at Sam.”

  “I am not mad at Sam.” That was a terrible lie, but she would not have anyone—even her sisters—know how much he’d hurt her. “I’m simply too busy to go to the supper.”

  Jen plopped onto a stool. “You have to eat.”

  “I can eat here. I have a lot of orders to fill before Friday.”

  “You do? You mean yesterday’s speech worked?”

  “Don’t act so surprised,” Ruth said. “A good idea will bring in customers, no matter how poorly it’s presented.”

  At least she hoped so.

  The bell over the door tinkled lightly.

  “What good idea?”

  All three sisters whipped around at the sound of the dearest and most unexpected of voices.

  “Daddy!” they cried in unison and, without regard for anything or anyone else, raced across the room and flung their arms around their beloved father.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After leaving the dress shop, Sam rushed to get the store ready for his father’s arrival. By the time the crew quit for the lunch hour, each department had begun to take shape. Cases were filled. Most shelves had some merchandise on them. Half the mannequins were in place. He’d masked the empty ball-gown department by moving the tea gowns to the front. Hopefully Father wouldn’t notice the scanty offerings in ladies’ attire.

  One major hurdle remained, and it couldn’t wait until after lunch.

  Sam cornered Miss Harris before she left the building. “Will you help me get this display finished?”

  “I don’t see why you’re in such a rush.”

  “You know that Father is due on the afternoon train.”

  Miss Harris pouted. “But it’s my lunch hour. We’ll have two whole hours after I return, and the boardinghouse only serves lunch between noon and one o’clock.”

  “Two hours might not be enough time. Please?” He turned on the charm. “If you stay, I’ll buy you lunch at the restaurant down the street.”

  She returned a coy smile. “You’ll come with me?”

  He was playing with fire, but he needed the assistance of the best window
-display designer on staff. “All right. If we finish with enough time to spare.”

  Women’s clothing needed a woman’s touch, and Miss Harris was the only woman currently in his employ. He would rather have had Ruth’s help. Earlier, he’d planned to ask her to assist—for wages—if she would agree to loan him her dress. He’d even planned to break the secrecy surrounding the store and reveal his full name. Sam had never done that before, but he’d gotten to know Ruth so well over the past week and a half that he felt certain she’d understand and keep the secret.

  Unfortunately, someone had ruined that. Sam could only hope Ruth’s anger would be tempered by the pending reprieve for the dress shop.

  “Well?” Miss Harris tapped her toe in irritation. “I’m not giving up my lunch hour just to stand around doing nothing.”

  Sam fetched the carton containing Ruth’s dress and asked Miss Harris to set up the mannequin while he hung the backdrop featuring a moonlit night. He’d chosen that design in tribute to the night of the dance, when she’d thrown her arms around him in a rare display of emotion, inspiring him to kiss her for the first time. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

  “You need a man in the display,” Miss Harris said as she pinned the dress in place on the mannequin.

  Sam had chosen the colors and props—a silver-leaved tree and stepping-stones to hint at a romantic stroll—but he’d never considered two figures. Women’s clothing brought in customers. Men’s did not, but the romance of a couple might work, if tastefully done.

  “Put him in full dress,” she added. “I suggest the black serge swallow-tailed coat and a top hat.”

  “Too formal.” Sam moved the tree to make room for a second mannequin. “I like the idea of a couple, but this should be a casual encounter, hinting that romance is yet to come.” He stood back and surveyed their progress. The backdrop needed adjusting. He climbed the ladder. “Dress him in a tuxedo. A little less formal occasion. He’s interested but not yet committed.”