Jillian Hart - Last Chance Bride

The door opened into a dim, narrow foyer. The woman appeared, her hair tied back neatly and her plain green calico dress serviceable and pretty. “Call me Maude. Everyone around these parts does. Come on inside out of that sun.”

Libby introduced herself as she stepped inside and glanced around. She noticed a door at her elbow and realized it led to Maude’s apartment. Across the hall she could see a pleasant parlor for receiving guests and ahead of her the narrow staircase leading into the dim second story.

“The girls who usually live here work over at the dance hall,” the woman explained, her keys jingling in her hand as she climbed the stairs with a heavy, confident gait. “They get in late, most of ‘em, and sleep late. I try to be quiet so as not to wake ’em. We got other gals too, one works in the diner across from the livery.”

Jacob. The thought of him hurt. Jacob owned the livery.

“What kind of work do you do?” Maude asked over her shoulder.

Libby followed the woman up to the hotter third floor. “I—I came here to meet s-someone, but I’m on my own now. I’m normally employed as a seamstress.”

“A seamstress?” Humming thoughtfully, Maude marched down the narrow door-lined hallway. “Old Harv over at the dry goods has been talkin’ about gettin’ a woman to alter some of the ready-made clothes. You just might want to talk with him. Tell him I sent you.”

“Thank you.” Libby brightened. Perhaps she might find a suitable position right away.

Maude stopped at the end of the hall. “Whew, this heat would melt the core of hell, that’s for sure. I’m afraid it don’t get much cooler, just hotter right through the summer until autumn comes.”

Libby’s problems were more serious than the heat. “As long as the room’s clean.”

“Oh, it’s clean. Don’t tolerate filth in my place.” Maude swung open the door and stepped into the corner room.

Libby peered inside, almost afraid to enter. She’d learned to expect the worst, but her outlook brightened as she studied the little room.

A bare straw-tick mattress sat on a small wooden frame. A simple, scarred bureau was tucked into the corner beside a battered, but newly painted wardrobe. Maude crossed the polished wood floor and tugged open first one window and then the other. Crisp white curtains fluttered back in the hot breeze.

“It’ll be uncomfortable hot for the rest of the summer.” Maude turned to glance at the unmade bed. “I’ve got linen downstairs I’ll let you use.”

“This will be perfect.” So much more than she deserved. Libby managed a wobbly smile.

“Good.” Maude offered her hand, and they shook. “Since you’re such a nice young gal, I’ll knock off two bucks due to the heat.”

Eight dollars a week. It was too good to be true.

Maude had invited Libby into the dining room and offered her a free cup of coffee. While she turned down the offer of breakfast, placing a hand over her queasy stomach, the cup of strong, bitter coffee knocked some of the lightness out of her head.

Things were going to be fine. As she ventured out into the hot morning, Libby felt hopeful with her new keys tucked safely in her pocket and two week’s lodging paid ahead. Only $21.21 remaining. While it wasn’t a fortune, it was much more than she’d had at some points in her life.

Maude’s friend, old Harv, turned out to be the proprietor of Ellington’s Dry Goods. Libby hesitated in the doorway. The fine establishment was empty of shoppers, but stuffed with a variety of goods. Ready-made garments sat in neatly folded stacks on tables. Trousers and canvas, shirts and skirts, and a few bolts of colorful fabric. She spotted a row of fancy ribbons.

Emma. Libby tripped, and caught herself. Sadness tore at her heart.

A tall, thin man wearing spectacles appeared from a doorway in the back. “Can I help you find something, miss?”

Libby gathered her courage. It wasn’t easy. “Are you Mr. Ellington?”

“That I am.”

“I heard from Maude Baker you might be interested in hiring a seamstress. I sew tight and even seams, and I do excellent buttonholes.”

Mr. Ellington folded his arms across his chest. He was well dressed in a gray silk vest and a tailored white shirt. He looked like a man able to afford help in his store.

“I can’t say if I plan to take on someone full-time.” Ellington shook his head. “As you can plainly see, I sell ready-made. Too many bachelors up here, or married men who left their womenfolk behind. It takes only a few minutes to find them what they need.”

No work. Libby hid her disappointment. “Well, perhaps you would keep me in mind if circumstances change,” she said cordially.

“I will at that.” But he didn’t sound promising.

“I’m rooming at Mrs. Baker’s. Good day.”

No work for a seamstress. Well, she’d see about that. Libby vowed to try the other shops as she stepped out on the boardwalk. The pummeling heat of the sun slammed into her as she walked out of the building’s shade. Already the burning disc of the sun climbed toward the zenith, marking the passage of the morning.

She had little time to look for work before she ran out of money. This was a busy town. Someone would hire her. Someone had to. Her remaining funds would not last her long.

The tentative knock on the hotel room’s door startled Libby from her packing. Her morning had been an exhausting string of rejections. Expecting it to be the Indian woman she’d seen cleaning rooms down the hall, Libby tugged open the door without thought.

“Surprise!”

Emma stood in the dimly lit hallway, a covered pie plate balanced carefully in both hands. Jane shadowed the girl, standing back against the far wall.

“You left before dessert,” Emma explained, “so Jane and I brought ya some.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, but—” Libby’s throat tightened. “Does your pa know you’re here?”

Excitement slipped from Emma’s round blue eyes. “Pa’s busy at the livery. We brought fried chicken and everything.”

How could she say no? Libby held open the door. “You are the best thing to happen to me all day. Come in. You too, Jane.”

Emma walked past, careful to keep the pie balanced. Jane, bone thin and slightly stooped at the shoulders, carried a basket on one arm. Wise eyes met hers.

“Oh!” Emma stood stock-still, gazing about the room in fascination. “Look at the pretty quilt!”

Libby remembered the sparse interior of the Stone’s snug log cabin.

“Some would think that there quilt has seen better days.” Jane chuckled, meeting Libby’s gaze. “Emma, don’t touch.”

“I want a quilt of my own,” the girl said wistfully.

Libby’s heart went out to her. Emma needed a mother’s touch. Is that why she’d come, to try to fix what Jacob couldn’t?

Jane’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Are you still feelin’ poorly?”

“I’m a bit better today.” She felt heat creep up her face. Jane knows, she thought. “I’m embarrassed about last night. I just left without even thanking you for the wonderful meal. You went to all that trouble.”

“Didn’t look to me as if you had the chance to enjoy it. If your belly’s feeling settled, maybe you’d like some of my tasty chicken.”

“I want to have a picnic. We can eat right here.” Emma knelt to set the pie plate on the varnished bare floorboards and looked up expectantly. Hope shone bold in her blue eyes.

Today Emma wore a sunshine yellow calico cut in a princess style with a small yoke and rounded collar. Her sleeves were rolled up to her forearms, giving her growing room, and her skirt sported a sassy ruffle edged with yellow satin ribbon.

“Maybe Miss Hodges doesn’t want to sit on the floor, Emma,” Jane said gently.