Christine Johnson - Groom by Design

Ruth sighed and opened an envelope from the Battle Creek Sanitarium.

The figure on the invoice made her heart stop. How could they ever pay this, not to mention the additional treatment? Yet the doctors had made it clear that without that therapy, Daddy would not survive the year.

Ruth’s hand trembled. He couldn’t die. All her prayers and pleadings must count for something. She would do anything to save him. Anything? Jen’s bold idea came to mind. Would she marry for money? Ruth didn’t contemplate the answer for long. No matter what she would do, no man of means would marry her. Jen, on the other hand, could captivate someone like Sam. Perhaps Sunday would initiate the most unlikely of Jen’s many ideas.

Ruth smiled at the thought and reached out to touch one of the miniature stuffed elephants that stood on the shelf above the desk. She’d made them for her father when she was much younger. Red, green, purple, gold, blue. She’d been so proud of them, and he’d treated each like a priceless jewel.

“Exquisite,” he’d said after receiving every one. “Perfectly stitched.”

He’d encouraged all of them in their talents. Never once did he criticize her shyness or Jen’s poor stitching. He didn’t push any of them into the dressmaking business. Ruth couldn’t spend enough time in the shop. She loved the feel of the different fabrics, the satisfaction of the perfect pleat, the hope that sprang to life with each new dress. She loved to sketch new designs and dream one of her creations could turn a goose into a swan.

She picked up the first elephant she’d made, a pathetic calico creation with uneven stitching. Only her father had recognized that it was an elephant. He gave it a place of honor. She wiped away a tear and set the elephant back in place. Her father had taken one of her elephants with him to the sanitarium, along with Jen’s tattered baby blanket, photographs of Beattie’s babies and Minnie’s copy of Little Women, which he’d promised to read. He’d insisted those treasures would heal him more quickly than any doctor.

Yet he was still sick.

“Get well, Daddy,” she whispered.

In the meantime, she had bills to pay and no money with which to do so. Mother had told her which accounts to pay and which could wait. Daddy’s care came first, followed by the dress-shop bills. She had assured Ruth that the merchants in town would extend credit a bit longer, but the drugstore had insisted on cash for a single box of aspirin, and the mercantile had refused any credit until the account was paid down. Considering her oldest sister’s husband managed the mercantile, it was a slap in the face.

Now, as Ruth stared at the ledger, she could see disaster looming. Paying the sanitarium would nearly empty the family’s bank account. She’d have to short the shop’s fabric supplier in order to buy Mrs. Vanderloo’s dresses.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Jen had crept up so softly that Ruth hadn’t heard her.

Ruth slammed the ledger shut. “Nothing to concern you.”

Jen pulled up a chair. “Just because Mother put you in charge doesn’t mean you’re the only one who knows what’s going on. I can read a ledger, too. I keep the accounts at the airfield.” She tapped the ledger cover. “I say we ask Beattie for help.”

Memories of Beatrice’s whispered fears swept over Ruth. “We can’t.”

“Why not? Blake might be tightfisted, but she’ll get it out of him somehow.”

Ruth couldn’t tell Jen that their oldest sister’s marriage was struggling. Her husband, Blake, gave her only a pittance to spend on herself. Beattie used every cent for the children. Moreover, Blake’s lack of leniency at the mercantile showed he would give his in-laws nothing. Beatrice had confirmed Blake went through money at a frightening rate. She feared gambling—or worse. No, Beattie couldn’t help.

Neither could Ruth betray a confidence. “I could never ask Beatrice to part with money intended for her children.”

Jen dismissed that excuse. “They won’t suffer. They’re Blake’s kids, too. Beattie’s our sister. She’d want to know we’re having financial trouble.”

But Beattie did know, and not being able to help pained her. “Maybe she can’t.”

Jen frowned, her eyes darting between Ruth and the ledger. “What’s really going on?”

Ruth folded up the sanitarium bill. “I’ve already said more than I should.”

“If you mean that Blake’s being a cad, I already know that.”

“Jen!”

The girl shrugged. “Everyone knows it. Pearlman’s a small town. There aren’t many secrets here.”

Ruth felt sick. Beattie would hate that her marriage was the talk of town gossips. “We shouldn’t pass along rumors.”

Jen snorted. “I’m not the one doing the passing. If you ask me, Blake Kensington was always a cad.”

Ruth rummaged through the bills to hide her distress. Aside from the problems in Beattie’s marriage, Jen had struck too close to the painful secret that Ruth had kept for over ten years—a secret that must never see the light of day.

“Are you all right?” Jen asked. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a headache.” Her head did throb, though that wasn’t the only reason she felt ill. “I’m just a little worried, is all.”

“That’s why I suggested one of us marry into wealth.” Jen’s voice lowered. “That man you met earlier looks promising. Nice suit. Nice smile. Rather handsome. Is he married?”

“Jen! I would never ask a stranger such a thing.” Though she had wanted to.

“You don’t ask directly.” Jen rolled her eyes. “You ask if his wife came with him.”

“I didn’t think of that.” Ruth straightened the stack of envelopes. “He’s not wearing a ring.” Perhaps Jen was already attracted to Sam. Ruth played up the point. “And he does act like a bachelor.”

“How does a bachelor act?”

Ruth felt her face heat again. “They flirt with pretty women.”

Jen laughed. “You do like him!”

“I do not. I simply find him interesting.”

Jen’s laughter came out in a snort. “Interesting? He’s unbelievably handsome. The man could be a moving-picture star. Maybe he is. Did you ask what he did?”

“He’s a salesman.”

“Oh.” Jen considered that a moment. “Maybe he sells moving pictures. What do they call that? A promoter?”

“I don’t think he has anything to do with moving pictures.”

Jen’s eager smile turned into a frown. “Did you at least get his name?”

“Sam.”

“Sam what?”

Ruth had to admit that she didn’t know. As far as she could recall, he’d never given his last name, though she’d told him hers. How peculiar.

Jen gave her a look of thorough exasperation. “How could you spend an hour and a half with a man and not ask him anything important? What did you talk about?”

“Business. Mrs. Vanderloo’s dresses.”

“Dresses. Of course, you’d talk about dresses. If you’re ever going to find a husband, you’ll have to learn to talk about things that interest a man.”

“We had business to address. Nothing more.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to learn a little more about the man.”

“One can hardly ask a stranger personal questions.”

“There are other ways of getting information.” Jen looked as though she was about to burst. “Unlike you, I happened to ask around.”

“You did what?” Ruth tried to look horrified, but she was curious. Still... “That’s gossiping.”

Jen rolled her eyes. “How else are we going to know? You didn’t learn anything, and you had the perfect opportunity. Business. What woman talks business with a handsome bachelor?”

Ruth wasn’t about to divulge the little he’d shared about his family or the unnerving way she’d felt when he touched her.