The Dressmaker's Daughters

“Ruth.” Repeating her name distracted him from the guilt. “Like in the Old Testament.” He could use biblical references, too.

“I was named after her. Ruth left her homeland to remain with her mother-in-law.”

“Did you do that also?”

She blushed. “I’m not married. No mother-in-law.”

“Yet.” He loved the rosy color that infused her cheeks. “If I remember correctly, the Old Testament Ruth didn’t stay widowed.”

A faint smile graced her lips. “Naomi did arrange for Ruth to meet her kinsman, Boaz, and he did marry her.”

“Don’t I recall that Naomi had to use a little inventive persuasion to get Boaz to notice Ruth?” Sam glanced over to see this Ruth’s cheeks ablaze. With such an alabaster complexion, every flush showed. A wisp of her honeyed hair floated free from the knot at her nape and streamed onto her shoulder. He wanted to tuck it behind her ear, an urge he hadn’t felt in eight years. Since Lillian...

Ruth ducked her head. “Perhaps.”

For some reason that he couldn’t discover, this conversation embarrassed her. He shifted to another topic. “Ruth’s a pretty name.”

“It’s plain, just like...”

Though she didn’t finish the sentence, he could guess what she’d intended to say. Just like me. But she wasn’t plain, not in the least. If only she could see how lovely she was, not in the gaudy manner of socialites, but in a natural, God-given way.

“Hello, Ruthie, dear.” A short and rather round older woman hobbled up to them with the assistance of a cane.

“Mrs. Simmons. How are you?”

Ruth addressed the woman with so much warmth that Sam took notice. Was this how small-town people treated each other? Fragments of a childhood memory came to mind. A pretty little town blanketed in snow. The glow of lights. The cheerful greetings of shopkeepers. Father laughing, holding him up to a shop window. Sam had felt loved, wanted, as if he belonged. Maybe Pearlman was like that.

Ruth stooped to embrace the older woman. “Is your knee bothering you again? I thought it was healed from your fall last winter.”

“Oh, it is. It is.” The woman chuckled. “You know how it is with rheumatism. Sometimes the old legs don’t work quite the way they ought. But enough of me. How is your father doing?”

Ruth’s smile faded. “We haven’t heard from Mother yet. She left for Battle Creek on Monday.”

Sam pretended to examine the merchandise in the drugstore window.

“Do you know when he’ll be coming home from the hospital, dear?”

Ruth’s father must be very ill if he required hospitalization. That meant the family needed the dress shop’s income even more. Sam shoved aside the guilt. It wasn’t his problem.

Mrs. Simmons grasped Ruth’s hand. “I’ve been praying for him.”

Prayer? Sam shot a sideways glance at the woman, whose round face glowed with hope and compassion. That was exactly what his mother would say.

“Thank you.” Ruth ducked her head, something she did far too frequently. “Daddy can use everyone’s prayers. We hope to get a wire from Mother soon.”

If Ruth were waiting for a wire, then they didn’t have a telephone yet. Incomprehensible. How could a business operate these days without telephone service? He shook his head. If the Foxes didn’t step into the twentieth century, their dress shop was sure to fail, Hutton’s or no Hutton’s.

“I’ll be sure to let you know,” Ruth continued. “We’re hoping for good news.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it,” Mrs. Simmons said. “I understand the sanitarium has exceptional treatment for his condition.”

Sanitarium? Mrs. Simmons must mean sanatorium. A sanatorium meant Ruth’s father suffered from a contagious and life-threatening illness like tuberculosis. He might never come home. Each word the two women uttered made his stomach roil more. Father’s marketing ploy hung over the Foxes like an invisible weight. When the department store opened in two weeks, their livelihood would be hopelessly crippled.

That wasn’t his concern. He was here to open a store. Provide quality clothing at an inexpensive price. Hutton’s brought economic benefit to the masses. It gave people more for their hard-earned money. He couldn’t let one little dress shop derail progress.

Chapter Two

Once Mrs. Simmons left, Ruth had to face Sam and the uncomfortable knowledge that he now knew her father was in the Battle Creek Sanitarium. True, perfectly healthy people visited the famed health institution, but they had money to waste in the vain pursuit of youth. Her father obviously did not fall into that category. Sam probably figured he suffered from tuberculosis or mental illness. Neither was true, but she could not share her father’s dire prognosis without breaking into tears. Talking with Mrs. Simmons had been tough enough, but a perfect stranger? Never.

So she averted her gaze and urged him to hurry along with her to Mrs. Vanderloo’s house. Again she walked ahead, trying to ignore the knot tightening between her shoulder blades.

To his credit, he didn’t say a thing.

At first she was grateful for the silence, but then it gnawed at her. What did he think? Did he regret his offer to replace the dresses? She ought to tell him that she would pay him back, but every time she opened her mouth, a sob threatened. Finally, she gave up and plodded onward.

He matched her stride, a distinguished presence that drew the notice of the people they passed. Eloise Grattan, even more a spinster than Ruth, halted in her steps and stared in disbelief, as if she could not believe such a handsome man would ever walk with plain old Ruth Fox. Sally Neidecker tilted her head to best advantage as she paraded in front of them.

“Well, hello,” Sally purred, her sleek bob gleaming in the sunlight.

If Ruth had the gift of speaking her mind, she would ask Sally how her beau was faring.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Sam said and nodded.

Ma’am. Ruth could have laughed. Sam had assumed Sally was married. And she would be if she hadn’t broken her engagement to Reggie Landers.

Sally pursed her lips into a pout. “Miss Neidecker, Miss Sally Neidecker. And you are?”

“Late,” Sam said as he skirted around Sally. “Miss Fox?” Once again he held out his arm for Ruth.

Though she could not accept his escort, joy welled inside her. He had sidestepped Sally in order to stay with her. Though he must have acted purely from a business sense, hope fluttered to life that he might actually prefer her company.

Or he was married.

Ruth glanced at his hands. No ring, but then, not every married man wore a wedding band. That would explain his lack of interest in Sally, however. With each step, the need to know grew stronger. Was he married? She couldn’t just ask. It had to come out naturally in conversation.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her mouth felt dry, but she managed to get out a simple question. “Where do you hail from?”

If he was surprised by her sudden question, he didn’t show it. “Lately, New York.”

“The city?”

“That’s the place.”

A well-off New Yorker. He could be among the country’s elite. That thought put her even more on edge. She instinctively checked her hat and hair.

When he offered nothing more, she hazarded a glance. He caught her gaze and returned a lopsided grin that sent a bolt of heat straight to her cheeks. She turned quickly, but he must have noticed her blush. “My, it’s hot today. I don’t suppose it’s ever this hot in New York.”

“More so. The tall buildings and paved streets hold in the heat.”

His casual manner put her a bit more at ease, and she recalled that not all New Yorkers acted superior to country folk. “Mariah and Pastor Gabe—they’re sister and brother—are from New York City. Maybe you know the family. Meeks?”

“The name doesn’t sound familiar.” He glanced across the street. “How far is Mrs. Vanderloo’s house?”

“Just a couple more blocks.” The knot between her shoulders tightened. He was anxious to get this over with. How tedious her company must be. “They live on the hill.”

“The hill?”

She pointed to the rising terrain to the left. “The hill is where the wealthy live.” She struggled to keep frustration from her voice. Families like the Neideckers, Kensingtons and Vanderloos had been customers for decades, but they’d gradually stopped coming to the dress shop. Didn’t they realize how much her family depended on their business?

“The unfeeling rich, eh?”

She felt a pang of guilt. He must think she detested anyone with money. This was not going well.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “That’s not what I intended.”

He chuckled. “It’s not the money that causes the problem—it’s what people do with it.”

“I suppose you’re right.” But money could cause problems, especially when there wasn’t enough of it.

“At least you concede some aren’t half-bad,” he said. “Take your Old Testament hero King Solomon. He was rich beyond measure and just as wise.”

“Until he allowed his wealth to corrupt him.”

“Then you don’t think it’s possible for a wealthy man to be good?”

Ruth knew she should hold her tongue, but for some reason, she couldn’t stop speaking. “God gives us all that we need. Those who accumulate more are taking it from others.”

He looked startled, and she regretted her words. What had gotten into her? She never spoke her opinions to anyone outside the family, especially not to handsome strangers.

His initial surprise soon melted back into the easy smile. “Would you forgive a man his wealth if he uses it for philanthropy?”

She had to concede that point. “Of course. I should never have said what I did.”

“I happen to like honest, open expression. Do go on.”

Ruth had already said too much. “I don’t usually state my opinions. Now, my sister Jen would tell you exactly what she thought.” For a brief moment Jen’s preposterous marriage idea flitted through her mind. What if? She eyed Sam carefully. He might be just the type to tame Jen. He certainly had the wit to match Ruth’s wild younger sister. If he had any patience at all—and their brief time together suggested he did—he could mold Jen into a proper lady. Perhaps Ruth should introduce them.

“Jen is your older sister?”

Ruth tried to guess Sam’s age. He looked to be around thirty. Perhaps he wouldn’t be interested in someone several years his junior. She mustn’t mislead him, though. “She’s next youngest after me. Twenty-four this year.”

“Next youngest? Then you have more than one sister?”

“I have three. The oldest is Beatrice. She married Blake Kensington four years ago. The Kensingtons are more or less the town fathers.” She noted a flicker of recognition at the mention of the Kensington name. Who wouldn’t notice? It was plastered on half the businesses in Pearlman. “I’m next, then Jen and last of all Minnie, but she’s just out of high school.” Ruth did not want Sam to get any ideas about Minnie. Fighting her baby sister’s attraction to one wealthy man was difficult enough. Two would be impossible. So she pushed forward the sister of choice. “Jen is quite...spirited.” That seemed the most positive way to describe her sister’s disposition. “She definitely speaks her mind. She’s probably the best conversationalist of us all.” She hazarded another glance, hoping to see a spark of interest in his expression, but instead his brow had furrowed.

“You have all sisters?”

Odd that he would pick up on that. “You think that’s unusual?”

“I suppose not. In my family, it’s just boys, though there are only two of us. I would have liked a sister. You must be a fine one.”

A sister. He thought of her like a sister. She supposed that was a good thing, seeing as she wanted to introduce him to Jen, but disappointment still blanketed her.

They walked on in silence. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. Crickets trilled and playing children shrieked. Motorcars putted past. All normal, yet today each sound reminded her that she was a plain country girl who couldn’t ever hope to interest a handsome man like Sam, no matter how much sisterly help she received. Each silent moment made her feel more and more awkward until she couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Are you the older or younger?”

His eyebrow quirked at her abrupt question. “The older. Harry is several years younger than me.”

That made Sam the heir. Even more impossible, but maybe Jen stood a chance. If the Lord wanted them together, He would make the seemingly impossible possible.

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “Did your brother come here with you?”

“No. He’s in college.”

“During the summer?” The handful of collegians from Pearlman always returned in the summer months.

“He wants to finish his graduate studies early.” Again he cast her a smile that melted her determination to stay reserved.

“I see.” She looked toward the passing storefronts so she wouldn’t have to see that unnerving smile. “When did you arrive in town?”

“This afternoon. The train was late. I should have known then that everything was going to go wrong today.”

Everything. Such as their collision and his resulting offer to patch things up with her client. “You must be terribly busy. You don’t need to come with me.”

“Don’t think you can get rid of me that easily, Miss Fox. I’ll have you know that I’m more stubborn than the proverbial mule. Besides that, I can’t get much done with a shattered—” He suddenly stopped, as if he’d just remembered something. “There was a little accident, and I need to find a good carpenter. I don’t suppose you know one.”

“Peter Simmons is the best in Pearlman. He made the bookshelves and counter at the bookstore.”

“Peter Simmons,” Sam repeated. “Related to the woman you spoke with earlier?”

She nodded, pleased that she could help the orphaned boy. “You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’ll take your word on that.”

Ruth allowed a brief smile while she considered how to get Sam and Jen in the same room. A simple introduction would tell if they were compatible. They would certainly make a fine-looking couple. Ruth’s energetic sister was the only one of them with Daddy’s dark hair, and Jen wouldn’t disappoint Sam in the honest-expression department. All Ruth needed was a reason to bring them together.

The church secretary stepped out the front door and waved. As Ruth waved back, she realized the answer was right in front of her.

“Would you care to join us for Sunday-morning services? We attend the church across the street.”

Sam glanced at the prim white building with its plain glass window. “I don’t know....”

“I could introduce you to everyone in town. As a newcomer, you’ll want to meet people.”

If she weren’t mistaken, he looked decidedly uneasy. “I’ll have to let you know tomorrow.”

That was a quick side step if she ever heard one, and she wasn’t about to get Jen involved with someone who wasn’t a Christian. “Not a churchgoer?”

“On the contrary. I simply don’t know how long I’ll be in town.”

“But today is Friday and you only just arrived. Surely you wouldn’t have to leave tomorrow.”

His cheek ticked. “You’re right, of course.” A pause. “I’d be glad to join you.”

“Good.” Ruth breathed a sigh of relief. Her plan would still work. “You can meet us in front of the dress shop. The service starts at ten o’clock.”

“Fine, but if something comes up, don’t wait for me.”

Before she could continue the conversation, he started whistling a tune. At the end of the street, they turned left and wound up Elm Street into Kensington Estates.

She pointed to the ocher-colored Victorian with dark green trim that was half-hidden behind a tall cedar hedge. “That is the Vanderloo house.”

She stopped at the gated walkway, intimidated as always by the turreted three-story home. Already cars lined the lawn, meaning Mrs. Vanderloo’s party was under way. This would not be pleasant.

“After you.” Sam opened the gate and motioned for her to precede him.

She summoned her courage and stepped ahead. In passing, his hand brushed her sleeve. A thrill ran through her, like one got from going too fast in a motorcar or running the rapids in a rowboat. She gasped at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She swallowed hard and shook her head.

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle everything. Let me do the talking.” His casual smile would have set her at ease if not for his hand on the small of her back. “I know how to smooth things over with irate women.”

Women? Plural? How many women had he managed to infuriate and why? Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to introduce him to Jen after all.

* * *

Sam couldn’t help noticing that Ruth’s eyes were the most delicate shade of blue, like winter ice. If she hadn’t lifted her gaze in surprise, he would never have seen how perfectly they matched the blue of her hatband. Her pale brows arched above her glasses, and her lips pursed into a question that was never uttered.

When she again ducked her head, he realized he’d put that badly, made it sound as if he was a scoundrel around women.

“I meant female customers,” he added hastily. “In my business I often deal with complaints.”

Her brow only furrowed deeper. “Are you in sales, then?”

It was the question he’d been dreading and avoiding. He refused to outright lie, and since Father insisted no one know that a Hutton’s Department Store was opening in town, he’d avoided all but necessary contact with the locals. Crashing into Ruth had ended that tactic.

So he rushed past a full answer. “I do have a lot of experience working with customers. Please, allow me to take the lead.”

The question mark vanished from her lips and the furrows from her brow, replaced by determination. “Thank you for your offer, but Mrs. Vanderloo is my customer.”

“And this—” he waved at the dresses “—is my fault. I trust we don’t have to go over that again.”

After a brief internal battle that played out on her lovely face, she acquiesced with a quick nod. They set off for the house. For such a small town, the home was fairly sizable, rather like a country house for a wealthy New Yorker. A circular driveway cut through the lawn, and several automobiles lined its edge, their headlamps and windshields reflecting the late-day sun. Tall oaks and maples dotted the property while crimson geraniums spilled from large clay urns on either side of the front door.

He let Ruth drop the heavy brass knocker against the thick oak door. Once its dull thud faded, the faint clink of glasses and murmur of voices drifted past on the afternoon breeze.

“She must be in the garden,” Sam said.

“Her housekeeper should answer.” Ruth knocked again.

Sam’s arm had begun to ache from holding the dresses for so long. He draped them over his other arm, drawing a critical look from Miss Fox.

At last the door opened, and a trim socialite stared up at him. The perfectly coiffed hair and expensive summer suit left no doubt he was looking at Mrs. Vanderloo.

“I’m sorry. It’s an inconvenient time.” The woman began to close the door.

She thought he was a peddler, a door-to-door salesman!

Sam caught the door before she fully closed it. “I beg your pardon, Madame.” He swung the dresses before him with a flourish. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Vanderloo.” Ruth’s voice shook, only making the situation worse.

That was when the woman noticed Miss Fox, and all the venom that might have been directed at him spewed instead on Ruth. “What have you done to my gowns?”

Ruth flinched. “Th-th-there was a little accident.”

“Little? It looks like you threw them in the mud and trampled on them. What were you doing? You were supposed to bring them before five o’clock.”

“Yes, I know.” Poor Ruth’s complexion got blotchy. “I would have been here if I hadn’t dropped them—”

Sam was not going to let her take the blame. “The only reason she dropped them was because I ran into her. The fault is entirely mine and so is the remedy.”

Mrs. Vanderloo didn’t seem to hear him. “I trust you’ll make this right, Miss Fox, or I’ll have to take my business to a more reliable establishment.”

Sam clamped his jaw shut so he wouldn’t speak his mind. He would like to tell the woman that she’d have a tough time surpassing the excellent stitching he’d noted on these gowns, but Ruth rose to the occasion with surprising grace.

Calm as a pool at nightfall, she expressed her sympathy and regret, ending with “Of course, I’ll compensate you for your loss.”

She would compensate Mrs. Vanderloo? It took all of Sam’s will to hold his tongue. Ruth had claimed the credit, when he was paying the bill. Part of him wanted to correct the record, but another part remembered that Ruth’s father was in the hospital with a serious illness. Justice against charity. In the end, charity—and the lovely Ruth Fox—won out. It wouldn’t hurt his pride too much if Mrs. Vanderloo thought that Ruth was paying the full cost.

He shot the socialite his most disarming smile. “Not only will she make it right, but Miss Fox has promised to buy you two new dresses to replace those that were ruined. That’s quite a generous offer.”

As expected, Mrs. Vanderloo’s ire diminished. “I, uh—”

He lifted an arm of the ivory georgette dress to drive home the point. “Considering how outdated these frocks are, you’re making quite a bargain of it. Two new gowns in the latest fashion. You won’t find that guarantee elsewhere. Miss Fox can drop off some catalogs tomorrow.” He’d make sure Ruth had those catalogs before they parted ways tonight. “Make your choices at your leisure. We don’t want to keep you from your guests any longer.”

The woman seemed placated, until one last burst of petulance sneaked out. “But it doesn’t help me tonight. I’d planned to wear one of them.”

“That would have been a dreadful mistake.” Sam snuffed out her objections with the kind of observation that had won over reluctant girls in his college days. “The color and style are all wrong for you. Mint-green? Ivory? Not with your complexion. And the length. They must come to the ankle. Not at all stylish these days. In my opinion, that delightful navy suit brings out the copper in your stunning auburn hair.”

Mrs. Vanderloo primped with a girlish giggle, and Sam knew the battle was won.

Until he looked at Ruth. Miss Fox’s lips were pressed into an expression of undeniable displeasure. Now what had he done?

Chapter Three

That evening Ruth tried to keep her attention on the stack of bills piled on Daddy’s desk, but her thoughts kept drifting to Sam. When he’d suggested a rose-colored dress would suit her complexion, she’d foolishly thought he saw something unusual in her, but apparently he said the same sort of thing to every woman. A charming smile came in a salesman’s box of tools. It meant nothing.

Moreover, he’d abdicated his offer to buy the dresses, instead placing that burden on her. How would she manage to scrape up enough to pay for two new gowns capable of meeting Mrs. Vanderloo’s standards? She’d already spent her meager savings reducing their debt at the mercantile so the store would extend them credit again.

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.