The Heirloom Brides Collection

by Tracey V. Bateman

  She glanced around. Then frowned and looked at him. “Where are my bags?”

  Stuart gaped. “I don’t know…. I carried you in.”

  “For Pete’s sake, I have money in my bag.” She stood abruptly, swayed. Stuart sprang forward and grabbed her before she hit the ground. He could feel her breath on his neck. Warmth filled him, and his chest seemed to swell to twice its size as he held her in his arms. Gently, he set her back on the bench.

  “I’ll go. You stay put.”

  He barely felt the cold as he stepped outside and retrieved the reticule he’d noted around her wrist before. He spied a larger bag he assumed carried the rest of her meager belongings. How could someone have so little? He wanted to shower her with gowns and ribbons—like the one she’d been eyeing the day of the accident. At the very least, she needed another dress. The one she wore was torn at the bottom, probably from losing so much weight. It dragged the ground when she walked. A girl that looked like Betsy ought to be wearing the best a town like this had to offer.

  He walked back, noting the stove had begun to warm the store, and Betsy had shed one of the blankets. She still held on to the socks.

  “You planning on holding those all day or putting them on your feet?”

  Rolling her eyes, she reached for her reticule. “Thank you.” She reached inside and retrieved a dime. He stared at her as she reached out to hand it to him.

  “What’s that for?”

  “My new stockings.”

  “Take them.”

  Her gaze narrowed, and he recognized the fire back in her eyes. That was good. She was perking up. “I don’t take charity. Remember?”

  “Fine.” There was just no point in arguing with her. He walked to the drawer with the cash box, unlocked it, and drew the box out. He dropped the dime inside and glanced back at her. “Happy now?”

  “Yes.” She grinned but kept her focus on him. Finally, she let out an exasperated breath. “Well?”

  “Well, what?” Mercy, she could get so snippy.

  “Are you going to turn around so I can put these on?”

  “Um, yeah. I have some things to do in the back anyway.” He escaped to the storage room, grateful to be away from her. How was he supposed to work with her every day, all day? He was going to be a blubbering fool by the end of the week.

  Betsy found the work at Fields’ General Store barely any work at all compared to the hours and hours of grueling, body-exhausting work at Miss Annie’s. She and Stuart hadn’t discussed salary, but she couldn’t imagine it would be as much as she earned for the backbreaking work at the restaurant. As much as she wished she could make more, she knew she would work here for free if Mrs. Fields and Stuart asked her to. After all, Stuart had saved her life this morning.

  When Stuart left to make a delivery, she waited until the store was empty, then pulled the catalog from beneath the counter. She flipped through the pages until she found the one she was looking for. Her stomach sank at the prices for the various styles of rolling chairs. The doctor had said Pops would likely need one, but she would have to save for six months to afford even the lowest-priced chair. Better six months from now than never. The bell clanged, and she left the catalog where it was to help the customer.

  For the next hour, a steady stream of customers came in and out of the store. Around noon the bell clanged above the door. Betsy glanced up from filling an order for Maggie Fremont, the local seamstress, and waved at Mrs. Fields. Maggie Fremont had ordered the loveliest soft, light blue material, and lace to put at the collar. Betsy tried not to covet what she knew would be the most beautiful of gowns, but she was afraid she had failed miserably. She certainly couldn’t be buying new gowns or material to make her own when Pops needed a rolling chair. Mrs. Fields’ entrance into the store gave her something else to think about as the seamstress gathered her goods, instructed Betsy to add it to her account, and said hello to Mrs. Fields just before she left.

  It was easy to see Mrs. Fields was moving slowly and favored her hip. Betsy hurried over to her and took the basket she carried. She offered the older woman her arm and led her to a chair by the fire. “Why are you out in this cold, ma’am? Stuart said the weather makes you hurt.”

  A gentle smile touched the older woman’s lips, but she waved away the comment. “My son worries too much. The doc said I couldn’t be on my feet all day. He did not say I couldn’t be on them at all.”

  “Well, Stuart had to make a delivery to the doc’s office, so he asked me to keep an eye on things.”

  “You must be a very fast learner for Stuart to trust you so quickly.” She cocked her head to one side. “Why didn’t he send you on the errand? You could have peeked in on Old Joe.”

  He had given her the option, but her feet still hurt from nearly freezing and her legs felt as though she’d walked through a thick, deep, muddy mire. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep. She had tried not to think about where that was going to be. But she knew as a last resort she could bed down in Mr. Mahoney’s livery. “It was more practical for him to go. I’ll get to see Pops tonight after we close.”

  “I hope he gets back before the chicken gets cold.”

  The aroma coming from the basket made Betsy’s mouth water. She hadn’t thought about what she’d do for lunch. She hadn’t eaten since this time yesterday, and her stomach felt hollow.

  “What were you looking at in the catalog?” Mrs. Fields asked, glancing at the counter.

  Forcing herself to look away from the food, Betsy walked over and closed the book. “Doc says my pops will likely need a rolling chair. I was looking at some.”

  “I see.”

  Betsy put the catalog back under the counter, wishing Stuart’s lunch didn’t smell so good.

  “Well, are you going to eat?” Mrs. Fields lifted the towel from the basket she had set on the bench.

  “Oh no, ma’am. I don’t want to eat Stuart’s lunch.” Well, she did, but she knew it wouldn’t be nice. Especially after he’d saved her this morning and rubbed her feet.

  A chuckle came from his ma. “Honey, I made enough for you both. Just consider it part of your wages for working here. Lunch is included.”

  “H–how much will you be taking from my wages for lunch every day?” Maybe if she just had lunch a couple times a week. If what was in the basket was any indication of the sort of meals Mrs. Fields was going to cook, then she wouldn’t have to pay for another meal on those days. This would keep her satisfied until tomorrow.

  “Betsy.” She lifted the basket and patted the bench next to her. “Come sit down.”

  “But shouldn’t I keep working?”

  “Doing what? There are no customers. We’ll be slow for the next hour. Everyone is eating lunch right now.”

  Grateful to be off her feet, Betsy gave a little sigh and dropped down onto the bench. Mrs. Fields handed her a plate and fork and napkin from the basket. “Now, you get as much of that bread and chicken as you can eat. And don’t you worry about us deducting pay for this.”

  Betsy dropped the chicken leg back into the basket. “Oh no, ma’am. I couldn’t let you pay me and feed me both.”

  “You most certainly can. I own this store, and it’s my decision what and how much my employees are paid. Speaking of which, has my son explained the terms of your employment?”

  Sinking her teeth into the leg, Betsy shook her head and began to chew.

  Mrs. Fields frowned. “Mercy. That boy. Well, your salary is eleven dollars a week. Room and board are included. Does that sound fair?”

  Betsy was grateful she had swallowed the bite before Mrs. Fields finished, or she surely would have choked on it. “That’s too much. I couldn’t possibly accept such a high wage for the small amount of work I do. Plus room and board? Mrs. Fields, it sounds like you’re feeling sorry for me.”

  “What? Not at all. We have an extra room and plenty of food, and the salary is fair. If you weren’t making twice that working like a servant over at that restaurant, then
you were being robbed. As far as food and shelter, if you would feel more comfortable helping out with some of the housework, I will accept it, but it is not necessary.”

  A sigh of relief worked its way through Betsy’s lips. That was an arrangement she could accept. “Thank you, ma’am. Is my room back there?” She jerked her thumb toward the back of the store.

  “I should say not. You’ll walk home with Stuart and take his sister’s room.” She lifted her hand. “Now before you say that isn’t proper, you should know Stuart stays downstairs. He converted his father’s study to a bedroom after he died. He says he feels safer being closer to the front door. As though anyone is going to break in. Your room is upstairs and at the far end of the hall in the opposite direction. Plus, I am just next door to you. No one will think anything of it.”

  The thought of impropriety had never crossed her mind. She was more worried about what people would think of them walking home from work together. People would talk. At least until the next piece of gossip came along. And there was always something.

  Mrs. Fields left a few minutes later after Betsy had finished her lunch. “I’m sorry he hasn’t returned yet,” Betsy said. “He said he’d be right back.”

  “It’s not of consequence. Tell him to bring back the basket when he closes shop. And I’ll see you at home tonight.”

  Luckily, the store remained mostly empty until Stuart finally returned twenty minutes later. “You missed your ma,” Betsy said, nodding toward the basket she had placed on the counter. “She brought us lunch. Although she didn’t need to bring me some, too.”

  “You know her well enough by now to know she enjoys doing things for people. Especially cooking, though she doesn’t have nearly as much time since Pa died and she started working here. She’ll be happy to start cooking again.”

  “She already is. The chicken is delicious.” She noted he seemed a little tense. “Is everything okay at Doc Avery’s?” Fear shoved at her gut. What if something had happened to Pops and Stuart was trying to help? “It’s not Pops, is it?”

  Stuart shook his head while he wolfed down his food. “That watch. It won’t keep time for more than half a day. I thought it was running, but it wasn’t. And I lost track of time drinking coffee with Doc and Mrs. Avery.”

  Betsy gave a snort. “Serves you right. Although Pops never had a problem with it. Maybe the watch just knows it doesn’t belong to you.”

  He rolled his eyes, annoyance evident in his face.

  Betsy grinned. Pops actually did occasionally have trouble with the watch. But he knew what to do to keep it running most of the time.

  “Wait a minute.”

  She jerked her chin and stared at him as his sudden words startled her. “What?”

  “You know how to fix it.”

  Betsy averted her gaze. Grabbing the feather duster from the shelf behind the counter, she moved to the shelves and began fluffing it over the already spotless items.

  “Betsy Lowell. You do know how to fix my watch.”

  “It’s not your watch.”

  “Are we going to start this again? I thought we agreed not to let the watch affect how we work together.”

  She shrugged. “Then perhaps we shouldn’t discuss it.”

  “Are you telling me you won’t show me how to keep it working?”

  Betsy held the duster in both hands and turned. She looked him square in the eyes. “Not in a million years.”

  Chapter Ten

  Stuart glared at Betsy over the dinner table that night. She was the most ungrateful girl. Here, they had given her a job, a roof over her head, food to eat, and she wouldn’t show him how to get his watch running again?

  The tension was so thick that finally Ma stopped eating, set her fork and knife down, and stared from one to the other. “All right, you two. What happened?”

  “Ask her.” He pointed his fork toward Betsy.

  Betsy continued to eat, pretending she hadn’t heard.

  Ignoring his suggestion, Ma frowned at him. “I’m asking you. Did the two of you have words?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Stuart slid another bite of roast venison into his mouth.

  “What manner?”

  Betsy drew a breath and released it as she set her utensils down and pushed back her half-eaten meal. “Mrs. Fields. My pops has a gold watch that everyone in town would recognize. I imagine you’ve even seen it.”

  “He had a gold watch,” Stuart corrected.

  “I have seen it, hundreds of times. Old Joe’s had that watch as long as I can remember.” She cast a sideways glance at Stuart. “Of course, I’ve seen it a lot more lately than I used to or ever thought I would.”

  Stuart felt his face warm, but more than embarrassed, he was angry. His mother’s words felt like a betrayal, like she was taking someone else’s side against his. “I bought it fair and square.”

  Betsy gave a very unpleasant snort. “I told you Pops never meant to leave that at the cabin. The watch is supposed to be mine on my wedding day. And that’s that.”

  The very mention of Betsy someday getting married conjured up the image of her in a gown of lace, her dark hair piled atop her head. Her beautiful blue eyes staring up at…

  He shook off the image. He wasn’t about to marry the most selfish, unpleasant girl he’d ever met just because she was beautiful.

  “Well, if he didn’t want to sell it, he shouldn’t have left it. It’s not my fault I saw the watch and decided to bid on it.”

  “Oh,” Ma’s voice jolted Stuart back from his staredown with Betsy.

  “Oh what, Ma?”

  “It’s just I didn’t realize you happened to see it there. I was under the impression you went to the auction specifically to purchase Old Joe’s watch.”

  “Ha!” Betsy stood and glared down at him. “I knew it. You—coveter. You’ve been wanting that watch for years. Why, that practically makes you an idolater. In that watch alone you’ve broken at least two of the commandments—three if you count robbery.”

  Stuart stood as well. “I did not break any of the commandments over that watch. And if you cared about what the Bible has to say, you’d fix my watch.”

  Ma’s laughter fueled his anger, but Betsy didn’t seem to notice.

  “Oh, is there a passage about blessed are those who fix a robber’s watch?” Her voice rose. “Because I’d like to see it if there is.” She turned to his ma, her voice still raised. “Thank you for dinner, ma’am. I’ll just clean these dishes and go to bed.”

  Stuart tossed his napkin on the table. “Good night, Ma.”

  As he walked away, Betsy called after him. “You might want to check the sitting room clock in the morning. Wouldn’t want to be late to the store like you were at lunch.”

  He slammed out of the house and onto the porch into the cold night.

  Early the next day, Mrs. Avery came to the store and invited Betsy to dinner. After a tension-filled day, Betsy was only too relieved to avoid another dinner with Stuart staring daggers at her. Mrs. Avery opened the door for her and greeted her warmly. “Just in time to see your grandpa awake for a while.”

  Betsy pulled on her scarf until it came free, and shrugged out of her coat. “How’s he doing?”

  “The doc says he’s doing better. The fluid in his lungs seems to be breaking up.”

  Relief flooded over her. She tapped on his door and went in. For the first time since the accident more than a month ago, Pops was out of bed. He sat up in a rolling chair next to a table. Doc sat across from him, and they were playing checkers. Tears sprang to her eyes. Perhaps Pops truly was going to keep getting better.

  “Well, look at you. Where’d that chair come from?”

  Pops’ face brightened like a candle. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Thank heaven you came when you did,” Doc said, his lips curved in a wry smile. “Your pops here has beaten me three out of five games and was just about to beat me again. If I don’t leave soon, I may never ha
ve the confidence to play checkers again.” He waved toward the chair. “As for that. Someone in town didn’t need it anymore and showed up here with it. Said to give it to anyone who might need it.”

  “That was kind. If you’ll tell me who left it, I’ll just go by and pay them for it.”

  The doctor scowled as he made a move and Pops jumped the piece. He was still frowning when he looked up at Betsy as though she were the reason he was about to lose the game. “I said they wanted to donate it. And they did it anonymously, so I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to.”

  Doc made another move, and Pops jumped his pieces four times. “And that makes it four out of six.” He began collecting the pieces and slid them into a tin container. “You’re a good player. That’s for sure.”

  “It’s all the practice he gets with Mr. Mahoney at the general store.”

  “Speaking of that,” the doctor said, standing and offering her his chair. “Mrs. Avery says you are working at Fields’ now. How do you like it?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy having more time to see your grandpa.”

  “Yes, sir.” Which was the only reason she hadn’t gone running straight back to Miss Annie after last night’s blowup over dinner.

  As soon as the doctor left the room, Pops narrowed his gaze, scrutinizing her with his sharp senses. He always knew when something was wrong. Even now. “Tell me everything.”

  She started with the way she discovered the watch and then got dismissed from the restaurant. Shamefaced, she told him about Stuart bringing her inside and rubbing the blood back into her feet.

  Pops scowled. “You mean to tell me you let yourself get caught in the cold? I taught you better than that.”

  “I didn’t know what else to do. Where was I supposed to go? I had to wait for Stuart to show up.”

  “You could’ve come here. The Averys are up at five every morning, and you know that.”

  “I was just so upset I didn’t think.”

  “Well, can’t help but admire a man who saves a girl’s life and then her toes.”