Christine Johnson - Groom by Design

“Well, do you want to know what I heard?” Jen’s smug smile told Ruth she’d heard plenty.

“I’m not listening to gossip,” Ruth said, knowing her sister would spill the news anyway.

“It’s not gossip. It’s fact. He’s working for the new store that’s opening up in the old carriage factory next door. You know. The store that everyone’s wondering about. I heard they’re going to sell automobiles.”

“Another one? There’s already the place selling Cadillacs. You’d think one would be enough for such a small town.”

Jen grinned. “Maybe he’s rich like Mr. Cornelius, and he’ll sweep one of us off our feet. Then all our troubles will be over.”

Ruth couldn’t believe Jen was still stuck on that patient-nurse romance she’d heard at the sanitarium. Such a fortuitous occurrence couldn’t happen again, or could it? “If you’re interested in Sam, you’ll have to move quickly. It doesn’t sound like he’ll be in town long.”

“Me?” Jen squeaked. “Why would I be interested in Sam? You’re the one he was doting on.”

“Doting? He helped me after we collided. Any gentleman would do the same. I’d hardly call it ‘doting.’”

“It looked like doting to me.” Jen crossed her arms. “I’d say he’s already sweet on you.”

“I’d say you’re talking nonsense, just like that idea of yours.” Ruth pulled the stack of unpaid bills closer. “Besides, Mother will be home Tuesday.” Jen would never pursue her ridiculous plan in front of their mother.

“No, she won’t.” Jen withdrew a crumpled envelope from her pocket and handed it to Ruth. “She’s staying two more weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Ruth yanked the letter from the envelope and scanned her mother’s sprawling writing. Jen was correct. Two more weeks. The family couldn’t afford the costs that had already piled up. If Mother knew they were in such dire straits, she would never have decided to stay in Battle Creek. But Daddy had always handled the bookkeeping. After he went to the sanitarium, Mother had tried to manage, but judging from the lack of ledger entries and number of addition errors, she had no head for figures.

“So you see, there’s plenty of time,” Jen said as she headed to the door, “for you and Sam.”

Before Ruth could scold her, Jen ducked outside.

Ruth lifted her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her head pounded, and she still had to finish opening the bills. She halfheartedly leafed through them until she got to the last. From Kensington Bank and Trust. Her heart stopped. If the ledger was correct, Mother hadn’t made a payment on the dress shop’s loan in months.

She ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter. A single sentence greeted her: We request your presence the morning of Monday, July 23rd at 9:00 a.m.

Her stomach dropped. What if the bank demanded they bring their payments current? She couldn’t scrape together enough for a single payment, least of all the total owed. It was impossible.

Panic raced up and down her spine. What would she do?

She stared at Mother and Daddy’s wedding photograph. They looked so young and solemn on their happy day. She pressed a finger to the handmade frame.

“What do I do, Daddy?”

He couldn’t possibly answer, but an idea sprang to mind. The bank wouldn’t expect her to do anything in her parents’ absence. Any paperwork would require Daddy’s signature.

She took a deep breath. All would come out well. She would simply go to the bank Monday morning and listen to what the banker had to say. Then she would convey his message to her mother, who would tell Daddy. That would settle the matter.

* * *

Though Father would not approve of hiring a local, in the morning Sam approached young Peter Simmons about repairing the display case. Considering the job did not require Peter to enter the store, Father shouldn’t fly into a rage. The town fathers already knew he was opening some type of retail establishment. One display case wouldn’t give away that it was a Hutton’s Department Store.

Sam stood inside the garage watching Peter assess the damage to the case. The lad looked rather young to be an expert carpenter, yet his blackened mechanic’s hands tenderly stroked the oak framing. His solemn, almost reverent expression contradicted the cowlick springing from the crown of his head. Tall and beanpole-thin, he looked like a boy trying to be a man.

“That’s a pretty bad split,” Peter said slowly as he pointed out the worst of the fractures. “It’s at the joint. I’d hafta replace three pieces. Here, here and here.” He indicated each one. “But this is old oak. I can’t match it.”

Father’s sharp eyes would notice the repair unless Peter could make it seamless. “What can’t you match? The color?”

“I’ll try, but it’ll be tough.”

Sam chewed on that. “Can you get close enough that people won’t notice?”

“Can try.”

Apparently that was the best Sam could hope for. He’d checked out the shelving and counter at the bookstore and found the workmanship first-rate. If Peter met those standards, he just might pull this off. “And the glass?”

“Got some out back that’d do. It’s not quite this clear, though. If you want the same kinda glass, we’ll hafta order it.”

Sam didn’t have the time or money to order new glass. He was going to have to pay for the repairs himself. Father didn’t accept additional costs. Period. “We’ll use what you have on hand. Your rate?”

Soon enough they settled on a reasonable fee. Sam paid half in advance, but Peter seemed less interested in the money than the work. Soon he resumed running his hands along the breaks and examining the joinery.

“I saw your work at the bookstore,” Sam commented as he tucked his wallet back into his suit jacket. “You planning on going into carpentry? You’re young. What? Twenty?”

“Eighteen.”

Just a boy. At eighteen, Sam had been ready to conquer the world. College and sport beckoned. Girls flocked to his side. Those were carefree times. He’d made friends, garnered accolades and met Lillian. Again he shoved away the thought. “So why work at the garage?”

Peter’s attention never left the display case. “It’s the family business.”

“Ah, I understand.” All too well. Families could be both a blessing and a curse. Like Peter, Sam was tied to the family business. His brother was champing at the bit to join the Hutton empire, and his father loved to pit the brothers against each other. Survival of the fittest, Father claimed. Fine. Sam would prove he deserved to inherit the business. He’d make his mark with the Pearlman store.

Ruth Fox had it easy. Sisters had to be kinder than brothers. Her father wouldn’t force the girls to fight for survival. They’d be expected to work together to make the dress shop succeed.

“Do you know the Fox family?” Since that walk yesterday, Sam had been unable to get Ruth out of his head.

Peter looked up. “Why?”

“I met one of the daughters yesterday.”

Peter stiffened. “Which one?”

“Ruth.”

“Oh.” Peter’s shoulders relaxed, and he went back to his examination of the case. “She runs the dress shop down the street.”

“Then it’s her business.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “She tell you that? I didn’t take her for one to put on airs.”

“No, no.” Sam quickly backtracked, feeling as if he’d betrayed her. “I assumed she owned it, because she seemed to be in charge.”

“It’s her pa’s.”

“I see. So she’s managing it for now.” Sam couldn’t bring himself to say aloud that he’d heard Ruth’s father was in the hospital, even though Peter no doubt knew it. “She seemed nice.”