Christine Johnson - Groom by Design

“A nice gentleman,” Jen mimicked, and then both she and Minnie burst into giggles.

“Hush!” Ruth hissed as she glanced left and right again.

He wasn’t coming. All those nerves had been spent on nothing.

“We’d better go.” She blinked back the disappointment.

Jen hugged Ruth around the shoulders. “I’m sorry. Something must have come up. We can still have a picnic. I’ll pack the basket.”

That promise would be forgotten as soon as they returned home, but Ruth accepted the offer with a squeeze of gratitude. “Let’s hurry. The bells have stopped.”

“Wait!” Jen pulled her to a stop. “Here he comes. Ruthie, he’s perfect for you. So tall and distinguished, like a congressman or company president. Look at that suit! It must have cost a fortune.”

Sure enough, Sam had rounded the corner and was headed their way, his fedora at a jaunty angle and an ease in his step that made Ruth’s stomach flutter. No moving-picture actor could look finer or cause such a rush of emotion. He’d hounded her thoughts since they met. She hoped he couldn’t see it in her eyes. She ducked her head and pressed a gloved hand to her abdomen to still her nerves.

“And the way he’s smiling at you,” Jen continued, apparently unaware how far her voice carried. “If you ask me, he’s already in love.”

“Jen!” Ruth twisted the handle of her bag in consternation.

Surely he’d heard Jen and was just as mortified as Ruth. Yet his gait never slowed and his smile never wavered.

“Fine morning, ladies.” He tipped his hat.

Ruth couldn’t breathe, least of all say anything. Maybe he hadn’t heard Jen after all.

“Yes, it is, Mister...” Jen paused dramatically. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

Ruth wanted to shrink into the boxwood shrub between the dress shop and the old carriage factory, but there was no escaping this encounter, especially since she was the one who’d suggested it.

“Sam,” she hissed at Jen. “I told you his name is Sam.” She mustered a weak smile for him. “Forgive my sister’s poor manners.”

Sam grinned at each of them in turn, ending with Jen. “Nothing to forgive. We haven’t met yet. Mr. Roth, but you can call me Sam.”

Roth. Nearly the same as Ruth. Ruth Roth. It sounded ridiculous. On the other hand, Jen Roth had a nice ring to it, confirming those two were meant for each other. Even Jen’s despised full name, Genevieve, sounded good.

Sam extended a hand, which Jen pumped vigorously. Considering the way he winced, she’d probably gripped him with her usual enthusiasm.

“I’m Jen, and you already met Ruth. That’s our little sister, Minnie.”

Minnie grimaced. “Jen makes me sound like a baby. I graduated from high school last month.”

If Sam’s head was spinning at being surrounded by three women, he never let on. He congratulated Minnie on the accomplishment and turned to Ruth. “Am I late? I heard church bells.”

Jen shot Ruth a look that translated “church bells” into “wedding bells.”

Ruth tried to ignore her sister. “If we hurry, we’ll arrive before the opening hymn.”

He extended an arm to her, and a little thrill bubbled up Ruth’s throat. Even though she wanted him for Jen, she warmed to the fact that he’d chosen to escort her over her younger sisters. It must be because she was the oldest. Of course. Good manners dictated he escort the oldest sister. That was all. If she hadn’t been here, he could have escorted Jen. That could be a problem at the picnic. She hoped Sam liked to fish so she could send the two of them off together.

“Well,” Jen said, “we don’t have all day. Let’s get going.” She grabbed Minnie’s arm and the pair took off in the lead.

Ruth hesitated. She didn’t want him to think she held any affection for him when he needed to fall in love with Jen. So she kept her hands on her bag and began walking after her sisters. “So glad you could join us, Mr. Roth.”

Sam frowned before matching her stride. For half a block, silence reigned between them. She looked at the storefronts. He apparently felt no compunction to talk. She fidgeted with the handle of her bag. He whistled an unfamiliar tune.

He was the first to speak. “No repercussions?”

“Of what?”

“Mrs. Vanderloo was pleased with the gowns in the catalogs?”

“Oh. Yes.” Ruth couldn’t tell him how humiliating yesterday’s encounter had been. Without Sam’s calming presence, the woman had again threatened to withdraw all business until Ruth threw in a third gown at no charge. How she would pay for that in addition to the other two was beyond imagining, but, as Mrs. Simmons always said, God would provide. Somehow.

“Good.” His tone softened and deepened. “Why don’t you show me her selections after church?”

Ruth fixed her gaze on her sisters’ backs, afraid to look at him. Sam needed to fall for Jen, not her. Definitely not her. In the end, she would only disappoint a man like Sam Roth. Jen was right that he must come from money. His good suit was even more finely tailored than the one he’d worn Friday. The linen appeared to be mixed with silk. Silk. Goodness! Never in all her life would she be able to afford a silk garment. The closest she’d ever get to silk was smoothing her hands over the fabric she fashioned into a client’s gown.

“I can stop by the shop,” he added, “or your home, if the catalogs are there.”

Ruth reined in her wandering thoughts. Sam had presented exactly the opportunity she needed to get him together with Jen. All she had to do was act. No hesitation this time. Once he fell for Jen, she’d be relieved of this terrible emotional roller coaster. “We are planning a picnic this afternoon. In the park. Why don’t you join us?”

“Your whole family will be there?” He sounded skeptical, as if he feared she was trying to trap him.

She rushed to reassure him. “Yes, my sisters and I.”

He grinned. “Sounds nice.”

She took that as acceptance, and her stomach settled back in place. “Shall we say two o’clock? Near the pavilion?”

“Two o’clock.”

They’d reached the church steps at the same time as Ruth’s oldest sister, Beatrice, and her two children. Upon spotting Sam, four-year-old Tillie planted her hand firmly in her mouth while the two-year-old boy did his best to tug away from his mother’s grasp.

“Ruth,” Beattie gasped, “I’m so glad to see you. Would you be willing to take Tillie? Little Branford is testing my patience this morning.”

Naturally, Ruth agreed. Watching Tillie meant she would have to sit in the Kensington pew. That would leave Sam with Jen and Minnie.

Jen apparently figured that out at the same time. “But you have to sit with us,” she hissed, tilting her head toward Sam.

“You’ll be fine.” Ruth smiled at her sister’s panic. “It’s only for an hour or so.”

Jen’s frown deepened as she watched Beattie attempt to calm her son. “Where’s Blake?”

Beatrice’s shoulders stiffened at the same moment that Ruth’s stomach tightened. She could guess. He’d doubtless visited the speakeasy again last night.

Beatrice, her back to them, murmured, “He’s not feeling well.”

Jen’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe he should see Doc Stevens.”

“It’s not serious.” But Beattie’s shoulders drooped, and Ruth ached for her sister. In such a small town, people had a tendency to think they knew what was going on and offer unsolicited advice. Ruth suspected this was not the first time her sister had heard such comments, but it couldn’t be welcome coming from family.

“Hurry,” Ruth urged in order to break this train of thought. “The opening hymn is starting.”

Naturally little Branford chose that moment to voice an earsplitting shriek of displeasure. Through the open door, Ruth saw the people in the last pew turn to see who was making such a fuss. Mrs. Grattan frowned until she spotted Sam. Then her displeasure turned into avid interest.