Groom by Design

by Christine Johnson

  “Then how can he force us out?” Jen asked.

  “Because we didn’t make the payments.” Ruth wound a measuring tape.

  “What?” Jen and Minnie said at nearly the same time.

  “Why didn’t Mother and Daddy tell us?” Jen gripped the edge of the worktable. “I would have given all my wages to the family rather than save up for flight lessons.”

  “And I wouldn’t have lost my job,” Minnie added.

  “Stop this, you two. It’s no one’s fault.” Ruth picked up the pincushion they’d held when they’d vowed to help each other find husbands. Why had she ever gone along with such an outlandish plan? “I should have known better.”

  “How?” Jen’s eyes widened with realization. “Are you saying that you knew we were going to lose the shop?”

  Ruth bit her lip, caught in her error of omission. “I didn’t want to worry you. I never thought it would come to this.” If she’d had only a little more time, her dress-redesign concept might have worked.

  Jen braced her hands on her hips. “Stop acting like our mother. We needed to know.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry.” Ruth pushed the pins flush into the cushion. “But I wanted you to keep your dreams.”

  “By giving up yours?” Jen snapped. “Or didn’t you realize that none of us would have had to give up our dreams if you hadn’t sent Sam away?”

  “I had to.” Ruth squeezed the pincushion. “He lied to us.”

  Jen’s gaze narrowed. “You mean about how rich he is?”

  “Money doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “Except you would have dismissed him out of hand if you knew he was rich,” Jen said.

  “No, I wouldn’t have.” But even as Ruth said it, she knew that Jen was right. “It doesn’t matter. He’s gone. Or soon will be.”

  Both Minnie and Jen stared at her now. “Gone where?”

  Ruth squeezed the sides of the pincushion until the pinheads pushed up a tiny bit. “To another store in another town.” Though her throat constricted until it ached, she would never let her sisters know how much that hurt.

  “You have to stop him,” Jen urged. “Put up a fight.”

  Ruth recoiled. “Fight?”

  “Yes, fight. He loves you. I know it.”

  Minnie joined her sister in a chorus of encouragement, but Ruth couldn’t forget the look on Sam’s face when he left. Anything that might have blossomed between them had been crushed. Even the job offer came with assurances that he would soon leave.

  No, her sisters were mistaken. Sam didn’t love her. After the way she’d treated him, he wouldn’t even like her.

  “I don’t care how he feels.” Ruth shoved the pincushion into a box. “It doesn’t matter. What’s happened has happened, and there’s no use wishing things had turned out differently.”

  “How can you say that?” Jen exclaimed. “You’re acting like your whole life is set, like you have to accept whatever happens because there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Even though Ruth recognized the truth in her sister’s words, she couldn’t bear to admit it. “Maybe I don’t want to see Sam again. Have you considered that?”

  “A moment ago you were practically in tears over him.”

  “A moment of weakness.” Ruth turned to gather the fabric remnants off the cubbyhole shelves. Each had been carefully rolled and arranged by color. She began with the yellows. “Closing the shop is painful.”

  “Saying farewell is always difficult.” Mother’s calm voice made Ruth hesitate. When had she arrived? “But we will always carry a part of what we love with us.”

  Ruth resumed placing the yellow scraps into a carton, unsure if Mother was talking about the shop or Sam.

  Will you trust the Lord’s plan for your life?

  The thought came into Ruth’s mind so loudly that she turned to see if Mother had said it. But Mother was walking out the door with one of the smaller boxes. Ruth pondered her mother’s advice. Did she trust the Lord? Ruth had always thought she did, but she was no longer certain. She certainly couldn’t see the path He wanted her to walk.

  Even if He tells you to go where you’re afraid to tread?

  Mother’s words echoed in her head as Ruth finished the yellows and moved on to the reds. Surely He didn’t mean for her to chase after Sam. Apologize? All right. She could write him a letter. But not chase him.

  “I won’t throw myself at any man,” Ruth murmured.

  Jen quirked an eyebrow. “Why not? Your namesake did.” That was her way of referring to the biblical Ruth. “She lay at Boaz’s feet on the threshing floor while he slept. Can you imagine the scandal?”

  “That was thousands of years ago. Their culture had different customs than ours.”

  Jen refused to let go of her point. “An unmarried woman sleeping in the same room as an unmarried man? I can just imagine what the other girls said the next day. The gossip would have spread like wildfire.”

  “Thank you for proving my point. Chasing after a man is scandalous.”

  “Except that Ruth won.” Jen acted as if her point was obvious to even the simplest soul. “She risked everything and gained a husband. A good husband. One worth fighting for.”

  Ruth tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “She could have lost.”

  “Maybe.” Jen shoved the whole shelfful of blue fabric into a box. “But to win big, you have to take a chance.”

  Could Ruth do the same? Once before she’d risked her heart. She’d chased after Blake Kensington only to discover he’d used her to get Beatrice. Pursue Sam Rothenburg? Until she’d discovered his lie, she’d thought him good and kind and moral. No, Jen was wrong. Sam had used her for his own purposes.

  “I don’t—” Ruth began, but before she could counter Jen’s proposal, the front door of the shop burst open.

  Mr. Vanderloo stepped inside. “Where is your father?”

  “He’s—” Jen began before Ruth cut her off.

  “Not here. You may speak with me.” She would not subject Daddy to a tirade.

  “You?” Mr. Vanderloo surveyed her with disdain. “What can you do?”

  Ruth swallowed hard. “I can promise that we will have everything out of here by dark.”

  “Out?” Mr. Vanderloo scoffed. “You have no idea what’s happened.”

  Ruth froze. “What do you mean?”

  Vanderloo’s lip curled into a sneer. “I don’t know who bailed you out, but you tell that father of yours that the moment he falls behind on the payments again this property goes up for sale.”

  Then, before she had time to fully take in what Mr. Vanderloo had just said, he left, slamming the door behind him.

  Jen and Minnie stared at her.

  “Does he mean what I think he does?” Jen whispered, wide-eyed.

  “Impossible.” Ruth mentally calculated the account balances. “There’s not enough money. Anywhere.”

  “But Mr. Vanderloo said we don’t have to close the shop,” Minnie said.

  “It makes no sense.” Ruth hugged a bolt of muslin. “Who would have done such a thing?”

  “Beattie,” Jen said. “It has to be.”

  Ruth’s older sister was the only one in the family who had access to that much money. “I don’t know. She told me that she couldn’t pay anything. Besides, why would she keep it secret from us?”

  “If not her,” Jen mused, “then maybe that’s why Mother and Daddy came home.”

  “But Daddy insisted we close the shop,” Ruth countered before a horrible thought occurred to her. Had he done this for her? Had he seen her distress and spent money he didn’t have in order to save the shop? “I don’t know where he would have gotten the money.”

  Jen voiced what Ruth couldn’t bear to think. “Maybe he used m
oney that should have gone elsewhere.”

  Such as for his treatments.

  “Oh, Daddy. What have you done?” Ruth whispered into the dead silence.

  * * *

  Sam secured Mr. Fox’s approval of the alteration manager’s contract before the sisters returned home. Once Sam told him that the contract stipulated Ruth take the position, Mr. Fox promised he would talk to Ruth about it. The man had been surprisingly understanding and genial. Sam anticipated success.

  After taking care of business at the bank, Sam headed for the store, a copy of the contract in hand, and braced himself for the storm that was bound to occur when his father discovered what he’d done. His father’s choice for the position, Miss Tinderhook, would have to stay in Cleveland.

  At this late hour, pedestrians and automobiles clogged the sidewalks and street. Only when he paused at the corner opposite his store to wait for a break in the traffic did he see that Father had already struck.

  A huge banner proclaimed the new Hutton’s Department Store was opening August 1st. Tomorrow! But the ball gowns hadn’t arrived yet, and he hadn’t oriented the Chicago sales staff. All the advertising copy specified August 3rd. How dare Father change the date of the grand opening without consulting him? This was a grand mess.

  Sam stormed across the street, where a curious crowd had gathered beneath the banner.

  “Then the rumors are true?” Beatrice Kensington stopped Sam on his way to the back entrance.

  Sam nodded and hustled past. Soon enough she’d learn about the rift between Ruth and him, but he didn’t want to be the one to explain it.

  Other people accosted him with similar questions. To each he either nodded or shook his head, keeping his gaze on the alley and the door that would free him from the throng. It took ten minutes to get there, only to see the rumpled newspaper editor blocking the door.

  “Care to make a statement?” Devlin asked. The stump of an unlit cigar hung from the editor’s mouth.

  Sam offered a smile, hoping charm would pry the man away from the door. “I think the banner says it all. Hutton’s offers excellent merchandise at an affordable price.” The company motto rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, but this time he heard the crass commercialism behind it. Yes, the words he’d staked his career on still held true at face value, but it didn’t account for those small-business owners who’d been crushed by their giant competitor.

  Devlin scribbled in a notepad. “Why wait until now to announce that you’re opening a Hutton’s Department Store?”

  That was always the question, and Father was nowhere in sight to answer to the rule that he had put into place. Sam chafed that he always had to fend off questions while Father hid in the office. Yet this time Sam felt his culpability. He’d gone along with the plan. He’d withheld the name of the store from everyone, including the one person who’d trusted him with all her heart.

  “Do you have an answer, Mr. Rothenburg?” Devlin tapped his pencil against the pad.

  Sam started to spout the usual response that he was following standard procedure, but Pearlman deserved a better answer. Pearlman deserved the truth. “Hutton’s executives believe that the speculation generated by withholding the store’s identity will generate interest and spur business on opening day.”

  Devlin’s jaw dropped, and the cigar fell to the ground. “I can quote you on that?”

  “Quote away.” Father would be furious, but spilling the truth would put an end to this tactic. It also freed Sam from the shackles of untruth. His spirits soared, and an uncanny peace settled over him. This was the way God intended man to live.

  Devlin hurried off to the newspaper, and Sam entered the store, where Father shattered that newfound peace. The man stood behind the front window display, whose backdrop had been pulled aside.

  Father pointed at Ruth’s ball gown. “Where did you get that? It’s not one of ours.”

  Sam shoved the copy of the contract in his jacket pocket and set his jaw. “No, it’s not, and if you’d bothered to consult me, you would have learned that the evening gowns have not yet arrived. That’s why I didn’t intend to open early.”

  Father brushed off Sam’s comment. “Where did you buy this gown and how many do we have in stock?”

  “None.” Sam felt a surge of pride in Ruth’s work. “It’s a designer original.”

  Father’s gaze narrowed. “How much does it sell for? Or are you planning to have it produced?”

  Produced. Of course. That was the answer to Ruth’s dilemma. Her design was exquisite. All her sketches were. With his industry connections and her creativity, she could succeed beyond her biggest dreams. What was a little dress shop in Pearlman compared to a glamorous shop in the New York Fashion District?

  “Well?” Father demanded. “Answer me.”

  “I’ll have to ask the designer.” This idea would save Ruth’s family. Maybe it would even bring Ruth back to him.

  * * *

  “Why did you do it?” Ruth sat down next to her father, determined to somehow convince him to retract any funds he’d spent on the dress-shop loan. Just hours ago that shop had stood as her future, but she would give it all away to save her father’s life. “You need to get well.”

  He gently patted her hand. “Now, Ruthie, you know as well as I that healing is in God’s hands.”

  “And those of the doctors.”

  He smiled weakly. “That’s my Ruthie, always needing a solid answer. I had hoped you would understand why I needed to make this decision.”

  “No, I—”

  “Just hear me out. Do you agree that as head of the family, my decisions are not to be questioned?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But this time you are.” He winced and rubbed his shoulder.

  “You’re hurting.” Ruth hopped up. “I’ll fetch a warm compress.”

  “Don’t baby me like your mother. It’s just a little spasm, probably from lifting the luggage. A little honest pain never hurt a man, especially when he’s helping his family.”

  “You always help us, Daddy.”

  The corner of his mouth ticked upward as she sat back down. “Except in the case of this decision.”

  “I didn’t mean—” Ruth began before he cut her off with a raised hand.

  “A father must make decisions for the good of his family. Do you trust me, Ruth?”

  “Of course.” Unlike Sam.

  “Hmm.” He didn’t look convinced. “Then you’ll accept my decision and work at Mr. Rothenburg’s store?”

  “What?” Ruth stared. “I thought you were talking about the dress shop. Work at the store? I already refused the position.”

  “I know. I heard you.”

  Her cheeks heated at the memory of her strong words. Had Daddy overheard everything? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to hear.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have spoken so loudly.”

  Ruth averted her eyes. She’d tried so hard to keep all stress away from her father, but in the end she’d brought it right into their home. Or rather, Sam Rothenburg had. “He should not have come here.”

  “Now, listen to me, Ruthie.” He waited for her to look at him. “Mr. Rothenburg is a generous man. He wants to help.”

  She fisted her hands on her lap. “How do you know?”

  “He spoke with me a little over an hour ago.”

  “You?” Ruth choked. “Here? About the job I already turned down?”

  “He thought you might be a little too overwrought over the dress shop to see things clearly.”

  “Overwrought, indeed.” Ruth’s outrage built. No wonder Jen preferred to make her own decisions. No wonder she’d rallied with the suffragists prior to the passage of the 19th Amendment and now fought for equality of wages. Jen wouldn’t let the men in
her life make decisions without her say-so. This time, neither would Ruth. “Samuel Rothenburg has no right to speculate on either my emotional state of mind or my ability to make a rational decision.”

  “He only wants what’s best for you. As do I.” Ruth’s father rubbed his left arm. “After all these years you must know that I would never recommend anything that would hurt you.” The last words came out a bit strained, and he leaned back in the chair, eyes closed.

  “I know, Daddy, but I am a grown woman now. I ran the shop while you and Mother were gone. And I spent enough time with Sam Rothenburg to know that he doesn’t always reveal the whole truth. He’s manipulating us. He manipulated me.”

  “Now, Ruthie.”

  She had to make her father understand. “He told me his name was Sam Roth, and he withheld the name of his store. He let me think he was a friend when he...he—” she could barely spit out the words “—he intended to destroy our dress shop.”

  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?”

  “No! You should have heard him.”

  “I did hear him out, child,” he wheezed. “He confessed that he hadn’t been up front with you. He laid bare every mistake. If anything, he was a bit too hard on himself.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Ruth had heard Sam’s manipulations. “He can be quite convincing when he wants to. What I don’t understand is why he’s so desperate to hire me. To ease his guilty conscience?”

  “Maybe he wants to...” Daddy gasped and clutched his chest. His lips blued, and bit by bit he leaned forward.

  It happened slowly, like a moving picture shown at the wrong speed. Ruth heard herself scream. She saw her arms reach for him. She felt his dead weight. His cold and clammy skin. Odd gasping sounds issued from his lips.

  “Daddy! Daddy! Help!” Her voice sounded so far away, as if from behind the other side of the mirror.

  She held on to him. She screamed for help. But he fell silent, even the gasps gone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Call him,” Sam’s father demanded, still pointing at Ruth’s dress. “I want more of these. Buy all he has in stock.”

  Sam stifled a grin at Father’s assumption that the designer was a man. His father would be speechless if he learned that Ruth had made that gown. Sam was tempted to tell him but couldn’t put Ruth through the ordeal of dealing with Father. “I’ll do what I can.”