Groom by Design

by Christine Johnson

  Ruth swallowed hard. She had treated him coldly, but Minnie didn’t realize the extent of his interference in their lives. If Sam hadn’t gone behind her back and talked to Daddy about that contract, he would never have had the stroke. Paying down the loan—if Sam had done that—salved the ache, but it didn’t excuse his lack of trust in her. Or did it? Daddy seemed to think so.

  Minnie left the table to press her face to the glass. “He’s looking at the window display of your dress. Everyone’s talking about it.”

  Ruth concentrated on feeding the fabric under the presser foot of the sewing machine and keeping a steady rhythm on the treadle. That was another reason she couldn’t walk next door. Her dress on display in the Hutton’s window? She’d thrown it together so quickly that she’d probably forgotten to snip all the thread ends. What if a seam puckered? Still, she was curious. How had they displayed it? On a hanger or a mannequin? What type of shoes and millinery? Maybe one evening after the store closed she’d take a look. “I’m sure no one is talking about it.”

  “Yes, they are.” Minnie bobbed back to her stool. She could not work and talk at the same time, so Ruth usually tried to keep chatter to a minimum. “Kate says all the girls want a dress like that.”

  “Kate?” Ruth paused, stunned. “Kate Vanderloo?”

  “Do you know any other Kate?” Minnie grinned. “If she only knew you made it from her mother’s dresses.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t tell her that.”

  “I won’t, silly. It is rather difficult keeping a straight face, though, when she goes on and on about it.”

  Ruth shook her head. “I can’t believe she doesn’t recognize it from the dance.”

  “It was dark, and she wouldn’t have been looking at you. She was too busy watching Reggie.” Minnie’s disgusted tone and wrinkled nose told Ruth she was completely over the man. “Like everyone else.”

  Girls Minnie’s age would not have noticed Ruth. Only bachelors and competitors mattered, and she didn’t fit in either category.

  Ruth lifted the presser foot and snipped the thread. “I understand that the matrons noticed the dress, but that Mrs. Vanderloo didn’t recognize it. I wonder if she does now that she can see it in the light of day. If she was even considering coming back to our shop, she won’t now.”

  “Don’t worry. She doesn’t recognize it,” Minnie said. “Kate says her mother is going to ask Hutton’s to order one for her.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Minnie grinned. “You ought to see the display. It’s fabulous.”

  Curiosity stopped Ruth’s foot on the treadle. “Do you think I should?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Ruth smoothed her hair. “But I can’t while Mr. Rothenburg is there.”

  “Why not?”

  “He might think I want to talk to him.” Ruth paced to the door, spotted Sam and hurried back out of sight. “I’ll wait until evening.”

  “Maybe he’s out there because they’re taking down the display.”

  “Already?” Ruth bit her lip. She really did want to see how Sam had displayed her dress. “They wouldn’t take it down the second day the store is open.”

  “Sam said he was only keeping it on display until his order arrived.”

  Ruth worried the knob on the door. “Maybe I should go now.” Except she wasn’t ready to confront Sam. Emotions still warred inside. One moment she was mad at him. The next she wept that he would spend his own money to save the dress shop. Seconds later, she doubted he would do such a thing. Nothing made sense except that she couldn’t face Sam yet. “I hate to seem prideful.”

  Minnie let out a disgusted groan. “You are the least prideful person on earth. Go, or I’ll fetch Jen and we’ll drag you out there.”

  “Oh. All right.” Ruth grabbed her plain straw hat, squared her shoulders and marched out the door. The tinkle of the bell died away as the door slipped shut behind her. Out on the sidewalk, she felt very much alone. Sam stood in front of the display window with that pretty woman who worked for him. Miss Harris. He said something to her. She was not happy. In a huff, she turned and stalked away. The distance and the noise of the street swallowed their words, but the conversation was clearly private. Ruth should go back to the shop.

  Then Sam turned toward Ruth, his expression unreadable. No one else stood outside the store. Fifty feet separated them, but she felt a surprising tug. The thread that had once stretched between them had returned. How could that be? She’d cut it that day she told Sam to leave. But no, there it was, terribly fragile yet straining to draw them together again.

  Ruth’s feet would not move. She could not blink, could not breathe.

  Sam stared, arms at his sides. No smile. No encouragement.

  The world around them stopped. Sounds, pedestrians and cars all slipped away. Ruth saw only Sam, felt him as intensely as the night he’d kissed her. The brush of his lips. The love in his expression.

  You’re beautiful, he’d said. With or without glasses.

  Something changed inside her. The dam she’d worked so hard to build bulged against the flood of memory and emotion. Sam represented all she’d ever wanted. A good and caring man. He’d encouraged her in every way.

  Go to him.

  But her feet would not move.

  He’d lied to her. How could she trust him?

  They might have stared at each other for seconds or an hour. The thread stretched taut, tighter than the thinnest piano wire. Strike it too hard, and it would break. Ease the tension, and it might last. Could she? Could she find the strength to rebuild what they’d once had?

  She drew in a breath and willed her feet to move. One little step would do it, but before she did, he nodded curtly and returned to his store.

  The thread snapped.

  Ruth mechanically followed Sam, stopping shy of the door. Her chance was gone. She wrapped her arms around her midsection.

  Go back. The voice inside her urged retreat before someone saw her standing outside the door. Laughter. Fingers pointing. Derisive taunts. Who does Ruth Fox think she is? She’s not beautiful like Beatrice or vivacious like Jen or romantic like Minnie. She’s plain and dull and unattractive to men. Ashamed, she turned back toward the dress shop.

  But something stopped her and made her look at the department-store window. Pride? Curiosity?

  The display stole her breath. There they stood. A silvery moon and stars twinkled over beautifully painted male and female plaster mannequins that looked so much like... She closed her eyes against the rush of emotion. The night of the dance. He’d re-created it in every detail. There they stood, just like that night. The intimacy of the moment returned with such force that the dam burst.

  He loved her. He loved her. And she’d sent him away.

  Dear Lord, what have I done?

  Blinded by tears, she stumbled back to the dress shop.

  * * *

  Sam returned to the store with a heavy heart. Telling Miss Harris that she was being transferred to the Pittsburgh store was tough enough, but seeing the look on Ruth’s face hurt far worse. She’d looked terrified of him. A woman in love was not afraid of the object of her affection. A guilty woman might fear being discovered. That meant Mrs. Terchie was wrong, and Miss Harris was right. Ruth had pursued him only for the money.

  That made his decision easy. Tonight he would pack his bag.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ruth couldn’t eat a bite of supper or sleep a minute that night. Unable to turn on a lamp lest she wake Minnie, she sat on the windowsill in the light of the full moon and called to mind every Bible verse she’d ever memorized.

  Mother had urged her to rely on God’s direction for her life, but Ruth couldn’t see the path. Confusion muddled her thoughts, and the events of the past few days had left h
er emotionally spent.

  Please help me, Lord.

  She could think of no other words to pray.

  Moments later, her thoughts drifted to Sam and the moonlit night that he had so lovingly re-created in the window display. Even by moonlight, she had seen the love in his eyes. She had felt the tenderness in his embrace. His strength had lifted and protected her.

  Maybe that was why the betrayal had hurt so much. She’d thought she knew him, but he wasn’t who he claimed to be. That bit about shortening the name during the war? She did know German families who had done that, but it didn’t erase the fact that he no longer went by that shortened surname. A man must be completely honest with the woman he loves.

  Like you were with him?

  Mother’s gentle prodding had revealed the flaw in her carefully constructed argument. She hadn’t been completely honest with Sam. She hadn’t told him about Jen’s marriage plan. What if he’d found out? That would explain the cold stare he’d given her this afternoon and the wall that had grown between them.

  Please, Lord, help me.

  She stared at the moon and squeezed out prayer after prayer. Nothing helped. Nothing could erase the doubts and fears that crowded the nighttime hours.

  Only when the moon set and the sun lightened the eastern horizon did drowsiness lower her eyelids. She slipped into bed, grateful for rest. In what seemed only seconds, Minnie’s departure jolted her awake. Sunshine streamed through the window now, gilding the new day with promise. The verse about the vine and branches came to mind.

  Abide in Me.

  Abide. Wait and listen for His voice. Dwell in His love. But how?

  Abide in Me, and I in you.

  Was that it? Had she been so busy protecting her heart that she hadn’t let God inside, either? The stark truth shamed her. Instead of relying on God, of abiding in Him, she had put all her trust in her own abilities. God hadn’t pruned her from the life-giving vine. She had cut herself off.

  She knelt. “Forgive me, Lord. I have sinned against You by trusting only in myself. What a foolish, selfish thing to do.” Tears flowed with the words, but tears cleansed, and in the stillness of morning she felt the gentle rain of His forgiveness.

  Forgive us as we forgive others.

  She must forgive Sam—not just in the quiet of her room but face-to-face. If she hurried, she might catch him at the boardinghouse or walking to work.

  She dressed quickly and descended the stairs to the kitchen. Mother prepared eggs while Minnie sipped a cup of coffee.

  “Are you feeling all right, dear?” Mother said. “You don’t usually sleep this late.”

  Ruth glanced at the clock and gasped. “It’s after nine o’clock!” The department store would have opened already. “The dress shop...”

  “I sent Jen to open it.” Mother flipped the eggs over to lightly cook the top, just the way Daddy liked them. She must have given in to his demands for real food. “Minnie is on her way, aren’t you, dear?”

  Minnie grumbled but rose from her chair. “I don’t know what’s the rush. No one stops in anyway.”

  Yesterday, Ruth would have chided her sister, but not after this morning’s answer to prayer. “I’ll be there shortly. I have an errand to run first.”

  Before she could fetch a hat, the screen door banged open, and Jen burst into the room waving a newspaper. “He’s dead! I can’t believe it. He’s dead. Just like that.”

  Ruth froze, her thoughts immediately shifting to Daddy. But no, Mother wouldn’t be calmly cooking him eggs if something had happened. If it was in the newspaper, the person must be local and an acquaintance. Sam. Please, Lord, not Sam.

  “Who is dead?” Mother turned to Jen, still holding the spatula and egg. “Slow down, Genevieve, and take a breath before answering. The world won’t stop in the next minute.”

  Jen’s shoulders heaved as she set the newspaper on the table and opened it to display the headline: President Harding Dead.

  Ruth took a breath of relief. This was terrible news, but at least it wasn’t Sam. “How?”

  Jen looked stricken. “A stroke of apoplexy.”

  Minnie stared. Mother dropped the spatula. Egg splattered all over the floor. Ruth grabbed the counter for support.

  “The same as Daddy,” Jen stated. “His staff said he was feeling weak and unsteady the whole trip. And then last night in his hotel room in San Francisco, while his wife was reading to him, he died.”

  What had at first seemed wholly unrelated to their everyday lives now shocked them into silence. The president’s symptoms were just like Daddy’s. Their father could die at any moment.

  Mother dropped into a chair. “My heart goes out to Mrs. Harding.”

  Jen hovered over the newspaper. “Apparently she’s already on her way to Washington with the body.”

  “Jen!” Ruth admonished when she saw Mother press a handkerchief to her face. “Take care what you say.”

  “It’s all right.” Mother wiped her eyes and squared her shoulders. “Mrs. Harding is only doing what must be done in times of hardship. With the Lord’s comfort, we can endure any difficulty on this earth, for we know our place as believers is with Him in eternity.”

  Ruth had forgotten how strong her mother was. She had been trying to tell her daughters this since their return from the sanitarium. Preparing them for the worst. Praying for the best. And holding fast to the Lord.

  “Oh, Mother,” Minnie sobbed and threw herself into their mother’s arms.

  Mother rubbed Minnie’s back. “Nothing in this life is certain. We can only live each day we’re granted and love those around us. Remember that, my dear daughters.”

  Love. Abide in Him. If Ruth had needed further confirmation of what she must do, she’d just gotten it.

  “Love can’t be held inside or saved up,” Mother said softly. “To truly flower, it must be given away.”

  “Even when undeserved?” Ruth whispered.

  “Especially when undeserved. That’s when love can truly change lives.”

  Beatrice loved Blake despite his faults. Ruth saw it in her eyes, in the way she looked for him and smiled when he appeared. That deep well of love gave her unending hope. It also fortified Mother to face an uncertain future. That was the sort of love Ruth wanted. But to have it, she must open the heart that she’d clenched so tightly closed and give that love away with no hope of return. It would hurt. Perhaps terribly. But she must, and even if Sam tossed her apology back at her, she would be able to continue on, for not only did God ask her to abide in Him, but He also promised to abide in her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut to stop sudden tears.

  “Ruth?” Mother gently asked. “Are you all right?”

  “There are no guarantees, are there?”

  “No, dearest. None but God. His love never fails.”

  That would be enough.

  * * *

  “I suggest you explain this.” Father stabbed a finger at the document lying on the desk.

  Sam halted in the doorway to the office. He’d barely gotten the sales staff on task and opened the doors of the store when his father had breezed past and demanded his presence upstairs.

  Father had once again appropriated Sam’s desk. The man’s fury was unmistakable. His thick eyebrows had been drawn together like the prow of a warship. He leaned forward, ready to make the kill, and Sam stood in the crosshairs.

  Father shook a piece of paper, his agitation escalating. “Imagine my surprise when I found this lying on the desk last night. I thought I’d made my directions clear. Everything—and I mean everything—must pass through me. You’re not president of this company yet.”

  Sam puzzled through what paper Father could possibly be waving in his face. He didn’t recall leaving any paperwork on the desk, and he hadn’t seen
anything there when he’d dropped off his portmanteau this morning. Best guess? The loan paperwork, even though Mr. Shea had promised to keep Sam’s involvement confidential. Father had been obsessed with the dress-shop property, as evidenced by his directive that Sam find the person who had paid off the loan.

  “I was too busy with the grand opening to look into the property next door.” Calm facts worked best in the face of fury.

  “I don’t care about that property,” Father snapped.

  “You don’t? Just two days ago you insisted I discover who made the loan payments.”

  “Unimportant in the face of this.” Again Father stabbed his index finger at the paperwork. “Surely you recognize the contract you drew up.”

  Oh, no. The contract for the head of alterations. But he’d put that... No! He’d never gotten it back from Miss Harris. He’d been so upset by her revelation of Ruth’s plan to marry into wealth that he’d completely forgotten about the contract. This must be the woman’s revenge for transferring her away from both Pearlman and him.

  Father glared at him. “You signed it.”

  “I did,” Sam said as calmly as he could manage, considering his building anger at Miss Harris’s actions.

  “First of all, we do not offer contracts. Secondly, you offered it to that woman,” Father sputtered with distaste.

  Sam’s hackles rose. “That woman has a name. Ruth Fox.”

  “That woman is no one. I told you to stay away from her. That’s the type who is only interested in your inheritance.”

  When Miss Harris said it, Sam had believed her, but the same words from Father’s mouth sounded wrong. Shy, self-effacing Ruth would never pursue a man strictly for his money. She was nothing like Lillian. Sam would not give his father the satisfaction of knowing he’d doubted Ruth for even one moment. “What if she is? There’s plenty to go around.”

  Father’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t get smart with me, boy. If you even think of marrying that low-class woman, I’ll cut you off without a penny.”

  “Ruth is not low-class. She might not have money, but she has more important qualities. Faith, love, compassion. Like Mother.” With every word, the last wisps of doubt blew away. Ruth was all of that and more, so much more. She was worth fighting for.