That was the kind of faith Mother had. And Ruth. Sam stirred uncomfortably. For the space of an afternoon, Sam had felt that heady certainty, only to have it dashed by Miss Harris’s revelation.
“Sounds like you trusted him,” he said.
“Ya.”
“He never let you down.”
Mrs. Terchie turned to look at him. “Ain’t a soul on this earth that doesn’t let someone down from time to time. Is that what’s botherin’ you?”
Sam stared straight ahead.
Mrs. Terchie chuckled. “Must be a girl.”
Sam tensed his jaw and gripped the arms of the chair. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
Mrs. Terchie didn’t take a hint. “What she done? Told you goodbye? If it’s that Miss Harris gal, a handsome fella like you can do better’n someone like her. She’s something to look at but no good.”
“It’s not Miss Harris. This lady is much more beautiful, even though the world wouldn’t think so.”
“Doesn’t matter what the world thinks. Beauty ain’t what’s on the outside.” Mrs. Terchie jabbed a finger into her chest. “It’s what’s in here.”
“I know. Believe me, I know.” Lillian had taught him that much. “I just found out something disturbing.” He hadn’t intended to tell anyone, but Mrs. T. was so easy to talk to. “I found out she and her sisters devised a plan to trap me.”
Mrs. T. burst out laughing.
It did sound ludicrous. After watching Mrs. T.’s mirth, Sam cracked a tiny smile, too.
“My, my.” She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. “There ain’t a girl on this earth don’t find a way to attract the man that catches her eye.”
Sam could only stare at the rosy-cheeked doughball of a woman.
“Take my Caz, for example. He thought he liked my cousin Rose. Even asked her to the church social, but Rose didn’t think much of him. She knew I was sweet on Caz, and since we looked like twins, we traded places.”
“You did what?” Even Sam hadn’t faced that much manipulation.
Mrs. T. laughed heartily. “I tell you, that boy never noticed! Took two socials and a buggy ride before I had the heart to tell him. By then—” she winked “—he’d forgotten all about Rose.”
“But didn’t he think you were Rose?”
She shrugged. “What’s a name? Rose. Polonia. They’re spelled different. Caz had fallen in love with me.” She pinched his forearm. “Trust me. If this gal’s gone to the trouble of getting her sisters’ help, she’s sweet on you. That’s the one you want, Mr. Sam, not some floozy who’s only lookin’ for a fancy house and a big name.”
“But how do I know if she likes me for who I am or for what I can give her?”
“What’s she willin’ to give up? My Casimir didn’t have much learnin’ or prospects. That’s why Rose wasn’t interested. I saw something in him that she couldn’t.”
“What was that?”
Mrs. Terchie grinned and hefted her bulk to her feet. “It’s different for everyone, but once you find it, you’ll know deep in here.” Again she jabbed at her heart.
Sam leaned back with a frustrated sigh. That was the problem.
Chapter Nineteen
Every sound, every creak or cough, woke Ruth. A dozen times that night she tiptoed to her parents’ bedroom door. Lamplight streamed from the crack beneath the closed door, and she could hear Mother talking and singing so softly that her words could not be discerned. Each time Ruth crawled back to her bed, taking care not to wake Minnie. But she could not sleep, and though she prayed without ceasing, no comfort came.
Only dawn brought hope, for its arrival meant her father had survived the night.
“He’s weak,” Mother said as she prepared chicken bouillon.
Minnie wrinkled her nose at the smell. “I don’t know how anyone can drink that at this hour.”
“Dr. Stevens suggested it.” Mother poured the liquid into a bowl and set it on a tray. “Ruth, dear, will you bring this up to your father? Then I suggest you take a nap. You look like you didn’t sleep a wink all night.”
“Yes, Mother.” Ruth had learned her lesson yesterday. Never again would she dispute her parents. But that vow did not erase the trepidation.
Mother handed her the tray.
Ruth must face her father. He wouldn’t chide her. Daddy never scolded, but his disappointment cut deeper than a sharp tongue.
She carried the tray up the narrow steps, taking care not to spill any liquid. With each step her nerves increased. At the top, she turned to the left and walked past the linen closet. The door to her parents’ room was shut. She balanced the tray on her arm and rapped lightly.
Not a sound. Maybe he’d fallen back asleep.
“Breakfast is ready,” she whispered. If he didn’t answer, she’d leave the tray on the bedside table and scurry back downstairs.
“Come in.”
Daddy’s voice sounded weak, and when she pushed open the door and saw how pale he was, she nearly dropped the tray.
He managed a wan smile from his position propped against the headboard. “I must look awful.”
“No, Daddy.” She set the tray on his lap while avoiding eye contact.
“I know better.” He sniffed the broth. “Your mother wants to baby me. I asked for eggs and bacon. She gives me broth.”
“Dr. Stevens said it would be good for you.”
He leaned against the headboard and ignored the broth. “Doc Stevens has his opinions. I have mine. But I’m glad you’re here. Have a seat.”
Ruth gingerly sat on the bedside chair.
He patted her hand. “I imagine you’re blaming yourself for this little episode.”
Ruth ducked her head. “I’m sorry I upset you yesterday.”
Something sounding suspiciously like a chuckle came out of him. “You can never upset me by speaking your mind.”
“I can’t?” Ruth met his gaze and found affirmation there. Just like Sam. He’d said the very same thing.
“I’m proud of you. You’ve grown into a courageous young woman. You managed the shop all on your own.”
“Not on my own.” Nor did she do a good job of it.
He shook his head. “No false modesty, now. I know your sisters aren’t much help. Jen isn’t suited to sewing, and Minnie is still growing up. Ruthie, I wish you realized how talented you are. Your mother showed me some of your sketches. They’re beautiful. And your idea to refurbish old dresses is brilliant.”
“It wasn’t completely my idea,” she admitted.
“Ideas are seldom completely ours. The point is you took the kernel and developed it. That takes vision and imagination.”
Tears rose to her eyes. “Not enough. If I’d thought of it sooner, you wouldn’t have had to leave the sanitarium and spend that money saving the shop.”
“Saving the shop? What are you talking about? First of all, I left the sanitarium because I wanted to be with my girls. Secondly, I did not spend a cent on the dress shop.”
“But Mr. Vanderloo said the payments were brought up-to-date.” She couldn’t tell him the rest—that any future delinquency would bring the same result. “If you didn’t make the payments, who did? Beatrice said she didn’t, and she’s sure Mr. Kensington wouldn’t have paid.”
“To be sure.” Daddy stroked the corners of his mouth, which threatened to inch up into a grin at any moment. “I wonder who would do such a thing. It would have to be someone who cared deeply. Maybe even someone who loved one of us. Do you have any ideas?”
Ruth couldn’t fathom her father’s levity in the face of such a serious matter. “It must be the bank. Mr. Shea seemed very sympathetic.”
“I doubt very much that Mr. Shea loves any of us enough to pay off our debt.”
&n
bsp; “I suppose you’re right.” Ruth twisted the corner of her apron between her hands. He thought Sam had done it, but how was that possible after the way she’d treated him?
“Whoever it is, we’ll need to repay him.”
“I will,” Ruth vowed. “I mean, we will. We’re a family, and we’ll figure this out together.”
A faint smile creased his lips. “Then you’ll take the job that nice young man offered?”
Ruth swallowed hard. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Good girl.” He patted her hand. “I like that Sam Rothenburg. Good man. Heart’s in the right place.” He grinned. “And he’s partial to you, which shows good sense.”
“You must be mistaken. What could a rich man like him see in someone like me?”
He cupped her chin. “Beauty, kindness, goodness.”
Ruth saw none of that in herself.
But Daddy did. “Mark my words, Ruthie. If you give that man a chance, there will be a wedding in the future.”
“I don’t think so.” Still, she couldn’t hold back the rush of heat to her cheeks.
“I do. It’s not every day that a young man spends his fortune helping a young woman’s family keep their business.”
“Sam?” Ruth choked. What had Sam told Daddy yesterday?
“It’s the only explanation.”
She felt a measure of relief. “Then you don’t know for sure that he’s the one who did it.”
“Do I have proof? No. But I’m a pretty good judge of character, and he displayed every indication of a man so smitten that he would do anything to win your approval. Trust me. Sam Rothenburg loves you.” He coughed and sank back against the pillow. “Now let me rest.”
Ruth set the breakfast tray on the bedside table, kissed her father and left the room. Her mind reeled at the thought of Sam paying off their debt. If so, then he must have done so yesterday afternoon—after she’d unceremoniously told him to leave.
That meant Daddy was right. Sam did love her.
Her knees threatened to give out, so she sat on the top step of the stairs and rested her head in her hands. Which was the real Sam Rothenburg? The one who would go to great lengths to help others or the one who kept secrets from those he should trust most?
* * *
By any measure, the grand opening was a success. Customers streamed through the store all day. Sam mingled, welcoming them and answering questions. He matched Mrs. Evans with the perfect boudoir gown and helped Mr. Amos select a pressure canner. The sales staff reported brisk sales. It was everything Sam had dared to hope. Except for one thing: no Ruth. Despite the gnawing concern that she might have pursued him strictly for the money, he’d still hoped she would come over and see the crowd of ladies admiring her gown.
The store bubbled with excitement. Even Father should have been pleased, but he scowled as he brushed past the customers on a beeline toward Sam.
“Report to my office at once,” Father snapped before heading upstairs.
Sam steeled himself. Whatever had upset his father, it wouldn’t be good news for Sam.
“Was that your father?”
The familiar voice of Beatrice Kensington caught Sam off guard. “Yes, it is.”
The pretty woman exuded sympathy and something more. Sadness? “I won’t keep you.” She looked left and right. “I wanted to tell you that you have a lovely store.”
“Thank you.” It must have taken courage to come here against Ruth’s wishes and to offer a compliment to the man who’d nearly destroyed the family’s livelihood. “I’d hoped Ruth would stop by to see her dress on display.”
Beatrice ducked her head, so much like Ruth that it made Sam’s heart ache. “I don’t believe she will.” Her shoulders heaved and a hand fluttered to her throat. When she lifted her gaze again, pain replaced the sympathy. “Daddy suffered a seizure last night.”
Sam reeled. “But he seemed fine when I spoke with him.”
“Doctor Stevens said it could happen at any time.”
“Is he...?” Sam couldn’t get out the rest of the question.
“He survived the night, which is a good sign, but he’s very weak.”
Relief flooded over Sam. “Thank You, God.” God? Since when did Sam turn to God? Since yesterday at the river. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“Thank you.” Beatrice nodded. “I simply wanted you to know. It hit Ruth particularly hard. She could use a friend.” She lightly touched his sleeve. “I must return home.”
“Good afternoon.” Sam watched her leave with a growing ache in his heart. This was the last thing the Fox family needed.
“Why, God?” he whispered. Life made no sense. Ruth’s beloved father hovered near death while Sam’s cantankerous one wrecked lives without regret.
Sam reluctantly left the crowded floor and climbed to the mezzanine. The long walk to the office seemed even longer after what he’d just learned.
“Your father is inside,” Miss Harris said without stopping her typing. Despite her unwelcomed flirtation, she was a valuable employee. She would have to work in a different store than him, but he would not fire her as Father had suggested and he’d considered last night.
The office door was ajar. When Sam pushed it open, he saw Father seated at his desk, scowling like a gargoyle.
“What took so long?” the man snapped. Never a kind word. Never a moment of consideration.
“I was talking to—” Sam paused. Father would not understand anything but commerce. “I was talking to a customer. Sales have been brisk.” Sam closed the door behind him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we outsold Cleveland on opening day.”
“Sit.” Father motioned to the chair across the desk from him.
That couldn’t be good. At least his brother wasn’t here.
“Where’s Harry?”
“Headed back to college,” Father growled. “Apparently he wasn’t ready to take charge yet.”
Sam considered that a victory. In previous sibling battles, Harry usually came out on top.
He sank into the chair. “What’s bothering you?”
Father leaned forward. “I think you know.”
A knot slowly formed in Sam’s gut, but he struck a casual pose. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”
“The property deal fell through.” The older man looked ready to snap off Sam’s head. “But I suspect you know that already.”
Did Father know about Sam’s involvement? How? By bullying Shea? The banker had promised confidentiality. Sam had to trust the man would not break his promise.
“How would I?” Sam hedged. “I thought Harry was handling the details.”
“Harry,” Father said, fuming. “I thought the boy had more smarts than that. Outmaneuvered, that’s what happened. What I want to know is who. Vanderloo claims Fox did it. That’s why he came back yesterday. But the man hasn’t got the funds.”
Sam gritted his teeth at the callous way Father referred to Mr. Fox, especially after what he’d just learned. “Mr. Fox suffered a seizure last night.”
Father didn’t display the slightest degree of concern. When had he lost the smidgen of compassion he used to possess? Sam recalled his father putting money in the collection pail for the poor that Christmas they’d been stranded in Pennsylvania.
“That takes care of one competitor,” Father said.
Sam stared at the man he’d spent so many years trying to please. Why? So he would end up cold and embittered, too? If that was what power and success bred, Sam wanted no part of it.
“But not all of them.” Father banged his fist on the desktop. “Someone swooped in behind my back and cut me off. I suspect Kensington. The man’s livid that we opened a Hutton’s next to his paltry mercantile.”
“I rather enjoy the charm o
f the general store,” Sam countered.
Father glared at him. “Are you going soft on me? I’ve been counting on you to take over the business.”
Sam didn’t believe that for a second. Father had pitted him against Harry for years. For what? A handful of department stores? A wife who languished at home hoping to see him from time to time? Children forced to compete for affection? That future had never looked so unappealing.
Father leaned even closer, his voice low. “I want you to find out who is behind this.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because whoever it is, I intend to crush him to dust. Find out who paid that note. If it’s Kensington, I’ll see to him.” The man’s eyes gleamed at the prospect. “Find out who did it, and I’ll publicly name you my successor.”
Sam battled revulsion and a thread of desire. As president of Hutton’s he could turn the callous firm toward philanthropy and goodwill. Father’s vile legacy could be reversed. He would lavish every moment of affection possible on a woman like Ruth.
At last Father had given Sam the chance he’d fought for his entire life. All he had to do was name the man who’d paid down the loan. Unfortunately, he couldn’t. Sam was that man.
* * *
For the next two days, Ruth watched the crowds pass by her dress shop and throng outside the new Hutton’s Department Store. Though the dress shop had staved off closure, business had dwindled to nothing. Worse, half the promised orders she’d received at the Women’s Club meeting never materialized. Oh, they each had an excuse, but the true reason was obvious. They could get a new dress at Hutton’s for less than Ruth could redesign an old one. By the end of the year, they’d face expulsion again.
“He’s so handsome,” Minnie sighed as she basted two skirt panels together.
“Who is?” Ruth lifted her attention from the sewing machine. “Is there a new man capturing your interest?”
Minnie made a face that indicated there wasn’t and pointed a finger toward Hutton’s. “I meant your Sam.”
“He’s not my Sam.” Still, her pulse accelerated. “Tell me he’s not coming this way.”
“Why would he come here when you were so awful to him?”
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