Her Heart and Her Business Are on the Line

Dressmaker Ruth Fox gave up her dream of a husband and children long ago. Her family’s floundering dress shop, her ailing father and her two younger sisters require Ruth’s full attention. Though the handsome new stranger in town is intriguing, Ruth is certain he wouldn’t look twice at a plain spinster of twenty-six.

Sam Rothenburg’s connection with the shy young woman next door is immediate, but he knows Ruth will be crushed when she discovers his real purpose in town. Sam is secretly working to open one of his father’s large department stores in Pearlman, Michigan, which will surely put Ruth out of business. How much is Sam willing to sacrifice to claim Ruth’s heart?

The Dressmaker’s Daughters: Pursuing their dreams a stitch at a time

“Miss Fox! Ruth! Wait a minute!” Sam called out.

Her pulse accelerated along with her steps.

I can’t face him now. I’m not ready.

Sam touched her shoulder. Ruth shrugged him off and stepped into the street.

A horn blared. She turned her head in time to see a car bearing down on her. Then someone yanked her back onto the boardwalk. Only after her heartbeat slowed did she realize that the arm wrapped around her waist belonged to Sam.

“You could have been killed.” His voice shook.

She was only aware that he still held her. “Please…let go.”

He released her. “Where are you going in such a rush?”

She could not look at him. “I suppose I should thank you for saving my life.” But she did not feel thankful.

“Didn’t you hear me? Didn’t you see the car? You acted like you were running away.”

I was. But she couldn’t say that. “I’m in a hurry.”

“I can see that, but nothing is worth risking your life.”

My heart is.

CHRISTINE JOHNSON

A small-town girl, Christine Johnson has lived in every corner of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula. She loves to visit historic locations and imagine the people who once lived there. A double-finalist for RWA’s Golden Heart award, she enjoys creating stories that bring history to life while exploring the characters’ spiritual journey—and putting them in peril! Though Michigan is still her home base, she and her seafaring husband also spend time exploring the Florida Keys and other fascinating locations.

Christine loves to hear from readers. Contact her through her website at christineelizabethjohnson.com.

Groom by Design

Christine Johnson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To give unto them beauty for ashes...

—Isaiah 61:3

To God, the Author of everything, belongs all the glory.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Dear Reader,

Extract

Chapter One

Pearlman, Michigan

July 1923

“No, no, no. I won’t do it.” Ruth Fox glared at her younger sister Jen. “We have enough to do without chasing after rich men.” She glanced at the dress shop’s clock before pressing another seam on Mrs. Vanderloo’s tea gown. The wealthy client wanted her dresses by five o’clock, and Ruth was running late.

“But think how it would help Daddy.” Jen, perched on a stool at the worktable, twirled a pincushion between her hands while their youngest sister, Minnie, hung on every word. “Three daughters at home costs money. If even one of us married a wealthy man, we could help Daddy get the treatment he needs.”

“Yes, we could,” Minnie echoed. Ruth’s baby sister would go along with anything Jen suggested, no matter how ridiculous, and this went far beyond ridiculous.

Ruth finger-pressed the next seam and reached for a hot iron off the old stove. On hot summer days, she wished for an electric iron, but those cost money, and every cent was needed for the hospital. “You could best help by basting that blouse for me.”

Naturally, Jen ignored her request. Of all the sisters, she possessed the least skill and interest in sewing. Her dreams leaned more toward the adventurous, like flying airplanes.

Jen plunked the pincushion down on the worktable. “You heard the doctors. Daddy needs that electrical treatment.”

“Electrotherapy.”

“Whatever they call it. The point is it’ll cost more. After this latest episode...” Jen’s voice drifted off in concern. “Did you see the look on Mother’s face? And then she left for the sanitarium that very afternoon. It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Ruth had to stop this conversation from escalating into hysteria. “We don’t know that.”

“Because no one tells us anything.” Jen crossed her arms. “Do they think we can’t figure it out? We’re grown women. Tell me the truth, Ruthie. Mother left you in charge. I saw you looking through the ledger last night. We don’t have the money for the treatment, do we?”

Ruth hesitated. It hadn’t taken her long to discover they were deep in debt, but revealing that fact would serve no good purpose. “I’m sure Daddy and Mother have taken care of everything.”

Jen looked doubtful.

“Even if they haven’t,” Ruth added before Minnie picked up her sister’s pessimism, “it doesn’t mean we need to hound rich men. There are more reliable ways to make money.”

“It would take twenty years to earn it on our wages,” Jen countered, “and Daddy needs the money now. That’s why marrying into wealth is such a good idea. You heard the story of Nurse Walker when we last visited Daddy. How her patient Mr. Cornelius fell in love with her and paid off all her debts?”

Ruth hated to admit the story had tumbled around in her head, too.

“He was rich.” Minnie’s eyes lit with excitement. “From oil.”

“Automobiles,” Jen corrected. “But it doesn’t matter how he made his money. What we need to do is find our own Mr. Cornelius.”

Ruth shook her head. “That was just a story. Even if it is true, that sort of thing only happens once in a lifetime.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Minnie fairly quivered with excitement. “I know someone just like Mr. Cornelius. Mr. Brandon Landers helped Mrs. Simmons when he fell in love with Anna.”

“That’s not the same,” Ruth said, though in some ways it was. The man had given Anna and her mother a home when they lost theirs. In time, he fell in love with Anna and married her. Anna’s mother still lived in the guest cottage on the Landers estate right here in Pearlman. “He married Anna for love, not money.”

“I love his brother, Reggie, and in time Reggie will love me,” Minnie insisted. “It’ll be just like Mr. Cornelius and Miss Walker.”

Ruth would never understand her baby sister. After initially shying away from the college man, she had developed a crush on him. This plan of Jen’s provided just the vehicle to encourage Minnie’s fancy for a man who didn’t deserve her.

“Mother and Daddy would never let you marry at your age,” Ruth cautioned.

“Eighteen is old enough. Plenty of girls my age are engaged, and some already married. I wouldn’t want to wait forever, like...”

Though Minnie stopped before uttering the hurtful words, Ruth knew her sister meant her. Ruth had never had a beau, never danced with a man and never experienced a romantic kiss. Oh, she longed for it all. A home. A family of her own. A good Christian husband, poor but hardworking. A man who wouldn’t mind a plain wife with poor eyesight. Countless tearful prayers had been sent heavenward, but at twenty-six, she was a spinster.

Minnie was right about girls here marrying young, but she didn’t understand that a man didn’t love you simply because you loved him. That applied doubly to rich, handsome men. The wounds they inflicted lasted a lifetime.

Ruth attacked the seam with the iron.

“I’m sorry, Ruthie,” Minnie said with a sob. “I didn’t mean anything by it. But can’t you see? Daddy needs our help, and this is the perfect solution.”

“We are already helping by taking care of the shop and house and praying for him.” Yet as Daddy’s heart grew weaker, Ruth feared the small contribution they made would never be enough. But marry for money? That road led to nothing but heartache, as their oldest sister could testify. Beatrice had married the heir to the biggest fortune in town, yet she’d confided to Ruth that her marriage was struggling.

Jen drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “Any little bit would help. Even if we can’t marry into wealth, at least we wouldn’t be living at home anymore. Daddy wouldn’t have to feed and clothe us. Any decent husband would help pay for the treatments.”

As Jen ticked off the benefits of her idea, Ruth paused in her pressing, iron held high so it wouldn’t scorch the delicate georgette crepe. Her sister had a point. None of them brought in much from their part-time jobs. The dress shop had lost clients. Maybe marriage was the only answer. Unfortunately, no man would look twice at plain old Ruth. Jen dashed around in trousers half the time, discouraging all but the most forward-thinking man. That left Minnie, and Ruth couldn’t abide the thought of her baby sister marrying that idler Reggie Landers.

Ruth pushed up her spectacles and set down the heavy iron. “There must be a better way to help Daddy. It’s not as if we can walk up to a man and ask him to marry us.”

Jen tossed her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll come up with a plan of attack.”

“A plan of attack? You make it sound like a military maneuver.” Ruth shook her head. Sometimes Jen behaved more like a boy than the lady she ought to be.

A scorched smell tickled her nostrils. The iron! In her inattention, she’d set it down. She jerked it up. Thank goodness, the silk hadn’t burned.

“I made a list of eligible bachelors.” Jen produced a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. With a great show, she smoothed it out on the tabletop.

Ruth fought a wave of panic. “No man wants to feel like he’s being hunted.”

“But it’s all right for them to pursue us,” Jen pointed out before addressing her list. “Gil Vanderloo is home from college. He asked me to dance once. A definite possibility. You could ask about him when you drop off the dresses.”

“I will do no such thing.” Through the open windows, Ruth heard the church bells ring the five-o’clock hour. “Oh, dear. Mrs. Vanderloo wanted her gowns before five so she could dress for her garden party. You’ve made me late with all this silly talk.”

She finished the last seam and slid the dress onto a hanger to cool. She plunked a plain straw hat on her head and jabbed a hatpin through the loose bun of fine blond hair at the nape of her neck. Gloves, gloves... Where were her gloves? She dashed around the shop looking for them while her sisters reviewed Jen’s list. If she weren’t already frantic, the whispers would have driven her mad.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense.” Ruth grabbed the pasteboard carton she used to protect garments against dirt but hesitated. Even this short distance could wrinkle the gowns, and Mrs. Vanderloo didn’t have time to iron them out. Considering the weather had cleared after this morning’s rain and few clouds now graced the sky, she decided to risk going without. What could happen in a few blocks?

She grabbed the hangers and held the dresses high so their hems didn’t brush the ground. Once out the door, she’d loosely drape them over her other arm and pray they didn’t crease.

Before leaving, she directed her sisters to close the shop. Without waiting for confirmation, Ruth pushed backward through the door, turned and crashed into something very solid. The impact staggered her, and in a desperate attempt to regain her balance, she dropped the hangers.

“Hello, there.” The rich baritone voice came with strong hands that caught her by the shoulders and prevented a spill.

She’d run into a man—a very tall man. A stranger, no less. An extremely handsome stranger who at that very moment still held her shoulders. Ruth swallowed hard as she looked up at his impressive height. Goodness! He practically scraped the sky, but the effort was worth it. He looked as if he’d stepped out of a moving-picture show in his meticulously tailored suit. Clean-cut and dark-haired, he exuded the confidence and charm of the fashionable set. From the expensive silk necktie and jaunty fedora to the polished black shoes, every inch of him advertised his wealth.

And she’d just plowed into him.

“Are you all right?” His voice did sound kind.

Ruth drew in a shaky breath, far too conscious of the hands he’d just removed from her shoulders. My, he was handsome! An exotic yet comfortingly familiar scent enveloped him. She breathed in deeply. Bergamot. That was it. The scent reminded her of a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea. Who was this man, and why did his touch send a shiver down her spine on such a hot day? He must think her either careless or a fool. Or half-blind. As she adjusted her glasses, the taunts of her childhood schoolmates came to mind. Goofy Ruthie. Frog eyes.

“I’m sorry.” She averted her gaze. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“The fault’s mine. I wasn’t paying attention.”

He was apologizing? She risked another glance at the exceedingly handsome man.

His lips curved into a wry smile. “Sorry about your dresses.”

Dresses? She smoothed her skirt. Oh, dear, she’d worn a plain old dress that was years out of style and fraying at the cuffs. “I’m all right.”

“I meant the ones you dropped.” He bent, and she followed his outstretched arm to the horrifying sight of Mrs. Vanderloo’s tea gowns floating in a mud puddle.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, but it couldn’t stop the strangulated cry that shot up her throat. Already she was late, and now Mrs. Vanderloo’s expensive dresses were ruined. This could cost the shop dearly.

He lifted the gowns with one hand and brushed at the mud on them with the other.

“Stop!” she cried. “You’ll only make it worse.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late.” He turned the dresses so she could see the damage.

Her eyes blurred with tears. The ivory georgette bore a streak of dirty brown, and the mint-green lace gown looked as if an entire pot of coffee had been dumped on it. For years Mrs. Vanderloo had been one of the shop’s best customers, but lately she’d gone from ordering new dresses to bringing in ready-made frocks for alterations. Each time she complained about the bill. Each time she threatened never to bring another gown to them. This would be the proverbial last straw. The shop couldn’t stand to lose more customers.

She gulped. “They’re ruined.”

“They’re just dresses.”

“Just dresses? They’re not just dresses. They’re tea gowns. Expensive ones. What will I do?” She pressed her hands to her face, nauseated at the thought of how much this would cost.

“I’m sorry,” he said more gently. “I wasn’t thinking of their value. Let me help. Since the whole thing is my fault, I’ll replace them. Is there a store in town that sells comparable gowns?”

Ruth shook her head.

“Then let me bring you some catalogs tomorrow.”

“No!” Even though Mrs. Vanderloo had bought these from a catalog, she would insist Ruth replicate them exactly, using the same or better materials at no charge.

His forehead furrowed. “I assure you that the catalogs are from the finest stores. Select any gowns you wish. Cost doesn’t matter.”

If cost didn’t matter, then he must indeed be rich.

“I couldn’t.”

“Nonsense.” He held the unmarred sleeve of the georgette gown next to her arm. “If I may make a suggestion, I’d choose a different color. Ivory doesn’t suit your fair complexion. Rose would better bring out the color in your cheeks.”

“But—” Ruth began to protest that the dresses weren’t hers when the peculiarity of his statement struck her. Few men could tell rose from blush. To most, both were pink. Yet this stranger clearly knew the full range of colors and hues. “Are you an artist? It’s not every day that I meet a man who understands color.”

He laughed. “Who doesn’t like a little color? Don’t worry. I’ll set things right. What do you say? Will you let me buy the dresses?”

The offer was incredible, especially when Ruth was to blame. “That’s not necessary—”

“Of course it is. We’ll get two that highlight your fine features.”

“But you don’t understand. The dresses aren’t mine. You see, I’m a seamstress, and these belong to a customer. I was supposed to deliver them before five o’clock so she’d have them for her garden party tonight.” Ruth broke off, acutely aware that she’d started blathering.

The man glanced at the Fox Dress Shop sign over the door, and a look of dismay crossed his face before he reined it in with a taut smile. “Then I’ll let your client choose the replacements.”

“You would do that?” Ruth tried to wrap her mind around such generosity. “But it isn’t your fault, and Mrs. Vanderloo is quite particular.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that suggested he smiled often. “Of course she is. But together we can persuade her that it’s to her best advantage to accept the replacements.”

Together? He was going to go to Mrs. Vanderloo’s house with her?

She must have been standing with her mouth agape, because that smile of his turned into a grin.

“I ran into you,” he said. “It’s only fair that I offer the apology.” He extended an arm. “Shall we?”

Ruth couldn’t breathe. This handsome, wealthy stranger wanted to escort her down Main Street in front of everyone. No man had ever done that, and this one didn’t even know her. Such a thing was not done. Tongues would wag. Ruth pressed her hands to her hot cheeks and pretended to check her hat in the window. Behind her, the stranger still held the dresses, and inside the shop her sisters grinned like monkeys.

They thought she was flirting.

She whirled away from the window and straight into the arms of the handsome man. Oh, no! She’d done it again.

“I’m sorry.” She backed away, her face blazing hot. “I didn’t realize you were standing so close. I—I was just checking my hat.” She patted it for emphasis.

The elegant suit, the gold cuff links, the silk handkerchief. A man like him would never be interested in a wallflower like her.

“You look quite presentable.” His easy smile warmed her in the most unnerving way.

It was just a compliment, she told herself. Nothing more. She was the one who’d let reason fly away on the wind. No doubt Jen’s ridiculous marriage idea had precipitated such lunacy. He just happened to match her criteria exactly. What if...? Ruth shook her head. Instead of fantasizing about relationships that could never happen, she should concentrate on the business at hand.

Mrs. Vanderloo was her customer. Ruth should handle the situation alone, but the man’s offer of two new dresses might appease the difficult client. The dress shop couldn’t afford to lose her business. Ruth had no choice but to accept. Of course, she would pay him back for the gowns. That should settle the matter.

“All right. I accept.” She might have to concede that point, but she didn’t need to take his arm. “I’d better lead the way.”

* * *

Sam Rothenburg’s day had progressed from bad to worse. First, the train had been late. Then he’d arrived at the store to find construction days behind schedule. When Miss Harris, the secretary, told him that his father was threatening to make a progress inspection, he had to find a way to spur the out-of-town crews to work faster, or Father would yank him off the project. Sam had proposed this store. He had to make it work.

He’d promised the work crews a bonus for finishing early, and they’d sped up. Then three crewmen dropped an expensive display case, shattering the glass and snapping the oak framing. Sam had left rather than lash out at the workmen. Head down and boiling with frustration, he never saw the shy, delicate creature step out of her shop.

She looked a few years younger than him. She was slender and rather plainly attired, and her gaze fluttered this way and that but never directly at him, rather like a frightened bird. Sam had never considered himself intimidating. The thought almost made him laugh. If she only knew how powerless he was. But she didn’t know him. No one here did. Per Father’s orders, no one would until after the store opened.

So he withheld his name and hoped she hadn’t seen his dismay when he learned she was a dressmaker. The moment Father realized a dress shop stood next to the future site of Hutton’s Department Store, he would crush it. Sam felt a little guilty. This lovely woman would soon find herself out of a job. That was why he’d offered to replace the gowns. It didn’t cost much to ease his conscience.

She hadn’t accepted his arm, however, showing an independent streak that impressed him.

He hurried to catch her. “You’re quick on your feet.”

She ignored his comment. “I suppose I ought to know who you are.” Her gaze never left the boardwalk ahead.

Sam swallowed his initial concern. This lady couldn’t possibly know who he was or what type of store would soon open next to hers. Father would not have given the Pearlman city council the Rothenburg name, thus no one could know a Hutton’s Department Store was opening in Pearlman. Father liked to make a spectacle of every grand opening. That was why the store windows were covered and an out-of-town crew hired. He even went so far as to use a holding company to purchase the property. Well before the Hutton’s Department Store sign was revealed, people’s curiosity would be piqued. It was a marketing ploy that had worked well in the past, and Sam expected it would generate the same response here. For now, no one must know the Rothenburgs were involved, including one lovely dressmaker.

“You can call me Sam.” No last name just yet. When pressed, he’d use Roth, but the shortened version of their name that they’d adopted during the Great War never sat well on his tongue.

“Sam.” On her lips his plain name soared. “Samuel. Like the Old Testament prophet.” Faint pink still tinged her fair cheeks. “I’m Ruth. Ruth Fox.”

Fox Dress Shop. With dismay, Sam realized she must own it. The unease returned. The arrival of a Hutton’s Department Store tended to drive local clothing stores into extinction. His family’s stores gave the common man or woman the chance to improve his or her station in life by providing fashion at affordable prices. Thanks to Hutton’s, a housekeeper could dress like a Vanderbilt at a fraction of the cost. In the past, only the well-off could afford to hire a seamstress or tailor. Those wealthy clients could continue with their hometown shop, but they usually abandoned the local tailor for the quality and value of Hutton’s merchandise. Progress was inevitable. It could also be painful.

“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.

“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.

“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.”

Peter shrugged. “I suppose.”

That was just the sort of answer he should have expected from an eighteen-year-old, but Sam wanted to learn more about Ruth. “She has pretty features. Probably draws a lot of attention at dances and church suppers.”

“We talkin’ about the same woman? The Ruth Fox I know don’t go to dances. I ain’t never seen her with a fella, neither. Maybe you mean one of her sisters. They’re all friendly as can be.”

“And Ruth’s not?”

He shrugged. “Jess quiet, is all. Kinda hard to get to know.”

Sam couldn’t deny that. He’d sensed her reserve, and the one time she’d stated her opinion, she’d quickly retreated behind self-deprecation. Why? What held her back? Why didn’t she trust people? Of course, if she knew who he was, she’d have good reason not to trust him. But she didn’t know, and he’d done everything he could to charm her. He’d even given her his most expensive catalogs for that Vanderloo woman’s replacement gowns. Yet she’d acted as if they were coated in curare, dropping them on the dress shop’s worktable without so much as a thank-you.

Well, if that was what she thought of his generosity, why did he bother?

“Something wrong?” Peter was staring at him.

“No. No.” Sam patted his jacket as if he’d forgotten something. “I should get back to work.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

After one last handshake, they parted. Nice, clean business deal. Exactly the way he should be dealing with Ruth Fox. But her face kept coming to mind. Those pale blue eyes, the translucent complexion, the honeyed hair. The worry creasing her forehead.

Sam hurried his step. He needed to stop thinking about her. She wasn’t his problem. Her father wasn’t his problem. Their dress shop wasn’t his problem.

He barreled down the boardwalk. Unfortunately, he had to pass the dress shop to get to his store. Despite it being a Saturday, Ruth was hard at work, her back to him as she pieced fabric at the large worktable. He slowed to take it all in: the dress form draped in voile, the bolts of fabric piled on shelves and sketches tacked to the walls. He slowed when one drawing caught his eye. He’d never seen such an exquisite gown. Who had drawn it? Ruth? Or someone else in the family? He had to know. Whoever it was, he or she displayed remarkable talent.

His fingers grazed the door handle. Her sisters weren’t there. Just Ruth. If she’d drawn the sketches, the compliment might bring her out of her reserve. His gaze flitted to the sketch of a stunning peacock-inspired gown. Ruth would glow in such a dress. He envisioned entering the finest ballrooms in New York with her on his arm. Heads would turn. The grand dames would wonder who she was. The younger ladies would ask where they could purchase such a gown.

Sam sucked in his breath. This was lunacy. He needed to get control of himself.

“Oh, good. You’re back,” called out a female voice.

Heels tapped the boardwalk, punctuated by breathless gasps.

Sam dragged his gaze away from Ruth. “Miss Harris.”

The store’s secretary hobbled toward him gingerly. Each step brought a grimace.

“Mr. Roth—”

“What is it?” he snapped before she blurted out his whole name.

She patted her bobbed brunette hair. “Your father is on the telephone. Long distance.”

Of course it was long distance. Father was in New York. At least Sam hoped he was. “What does he want?”

“I don’t know.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wincing with each movement. “He wouldn’t tell me anything except that he needs to talk to you right now.”

“All right.” He motioned her ahead. “Let’s go.”

“You go ahead.” Again she winced. “I’ll follow in a bit.” She grabbed the frame of the dress-shop window for support. The poor woman must have developed blisters.

He sighed and offered her his arm. “Father can wait a minute or two longer.”

“Thank you.” Miss Harris offered a teary smile. “You’re a real gentleman.”

Then why did he feel like a heel for wishing it was Ruth’s hand on his arm? Though pretty by conventional standards, Miss Harris didn’t inspire the slightest interest. Ruth, on the other hand...

He glanced one last time into the dress-shop window, only to see Ruth staring at him, a stunned expression on her face.

* * *

Sam had a wife. Or a girl.

Ruth looked away the moment his gaze landed on her, but she’d seen his dismay. Not only was he married, but he also didn’t want her to know about it. If he hadn’t wanted to keep his wife a secret, he would have told Ruth about her. He’d had ample opportunity. He might have mentioned he was married when she invited him to church. Any decent man would, and she’d thought him thoroughly decent.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t married. Maybe that woman was a mere acquaintance. Except she didn’t look like an acquaintance. The pretty woman hung on his arm, her head practically against his shoulder.

Feeling slightly nauseous, Ruth sank onto her stool. What had she been thinking? Daydreaming was more like it. She took a deep breath and chased away the disappointment. Rich men did not look twice at poor, plain women. This incident proved that fact. At least she’d discovered the truth before introducing him to Jen. No wonder he’d hesitated to accept her invitation to Sunday worship.

With a clatter, Jen and Minnie burst into the shop.

“Did you see that?” Jen said as she plopped onto one of the wooden stools opposite Ruth. Minnie took the other.

Ruth couldn’t discuss this calmly, so she began pinning together the panels of the blouse that she had just cut. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

“Your Sam helping that woman.”

“He’s not my Sam,” Ruth said. “He’s simply a new acquaintance.”

“He’s more than an acquaintance, silly goose. He looked for your approval before helping her.”

“What he does or doesn’t do is none of my concern.” Ruth smoothed the tricky voile before matching edges and pinning.

“I thought you liked him,” Minnie said.

“He’s a pleasant gentleman.”

“Pleasant?” Jen snorted. “That’s not going to get his attention. If you like him, you have to go after him. Let him know how you feel.”

“Go after him? You must stop listening to this modern-girl nonsense. Nice women do not chase after men.”

Ruth reached for another pin, but Jen yanked the pincushion away. “She’s not his girl.”

“Who’s not whose girl?” Ruth motioned for the pincushion.

Jen moved it farther away. “That woman. She might like your Sam, but he’s not the least bit interested in her.”

Ruth dropped her hand to the tabletop. “How do you know?”

Jen grinned. “He called her ‘Miss Harris.’ He was only helping her because she’d hurt her feet in those ridiculous shoes. If you ask me, anyone who wears such impractical footwear deserves to get blisters.”

Ruth felt such relief that she didn’t bother to scold her sister for her lack of compassion. Sam had addressed the woman formally. That meant... “She must work with him.”

“That would be my guess.” Jen leaned forward to whisper. “It leaves the door open for you.”

As always, heat flooded Ruth’s cheeks. “I am not pursuing a man. I—I couldn’t.”

“That’s where we come in. In fact, we’ve already set things in motion.”

Ruth stared at Jen. “What have you done?”

“Nothing much.” But Jen’s impish grin said otherwise. “We just talked to Beattie and came up with a plan. What you need is a pretty new ball gown, one that will catch Sam’s eye.”

“A ball gown? For me?” Though she secretly longed to someday wear a fancy gown, the stack of unpaid bills came to mind. “I’d rather spend the money on Daddy’s treatments.”

That sobered Jen for only a second. “We’ll use leftovers, scraps. You can work miracles with fabric. You design the gown. We’ll help put it together. But we have to do it quickly.”

“Why?” Ruth wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“There’s a dance at the Grange Hall next Friday,” Minnie replied.

“A dance?” Ruth did not dance. “I couldn’t.”

“Dances are the perfect place to meet men and get to know them,” Jen insisted. “There are lots of people around, so it’s not at all risky.”

That might be the case for Ruth’s sisters. Every one of them danced beautifully, even Jen. Of course! Jen. Ruth’s clumsiness could provide just the excuse to bring Sam and Jen together.

“I’ll go if you go,” Ruth said.

Jen paused. She seldom attended dances. Minnie was the one who loved them. “Me?”

“Yes. All of us. If we’re going to do this, then it has to be all of us.”

Minnie agreed right away. Jen looked uncomfortable but made the sacrifice. Now all Ruth would have to do was get Sam and Jen together on the dance floor. Her job would go easier if they’d already had a chance to talk. The hubbub following the church service might not be the ideal time. She needed another venue.

The Highbottom family walked past the shop carrying a heavy basket. The children raced ahead, eager to get to their destination. Judging from the blanket Mrs. Highbottom carried and the basket in her husband’s hands, they were headed for the park. Perfect.

Ruth gave her sisters an encouraging smile. “Tomorrow would be a good day for a picnic, don’t you think?”

“A picnic? Why?” Jen stared at Ruth as if she had lost her mind, but then her lips slowly curved back into a grin. “You invited Sam, didn’t you?”

“Not yet. But I will at church.”

“He’s coming to church with us?”

“I hope he is. He said he would try to attend.”

“Perfect.” Jen set down the pincushion. “You can ask him to the dance then.”

“Ask him?” Ruth’s plan had just backfired. “I can’t do that.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be right beside you, won’t we?” Jen glanced at Minnie, who nodded.

“A woman does not ask a man to a dance.”

“Then suggest it. Talk about it, leave him the opportunity to invite you.” Jen leaned forward and rolled the pincushion between her hands. “Don’t worry. Sam likes you. He’ll take the bait.”

Panic coiled around Ruth’s rib cage and squeezed tight. Ask a man to a dance? How? She’d stammer and blush. What if he said no? What if he laughed? What if he confirmed what she’d heard for years, that she was too plain to ever attract a man? Her only hope was a humble man who valued the inner woman more than superficial beauty. Certainly not one who was dashing and wealthy. Once Sam met Jen, he’d see that she was the better catch. But to get the two of them together, Ruth had to play along with Jen for a little while.

She breathed deeply to steady her voice. “All right, but you can’t focus all your energy on me.” She hid her shaking hands in her lap. “If one of us is going to marry a wealthy man—” she hated how that sounded “—then all three of us have to try.”

Minnie grasped what she was saying at once. “Ruth’s right. I’ll try for Reggie, and Ruth can try for Sam. Who are you going for, Jen?”

That caught the confident planner off guard. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll start looking.” She pulled her crumpled list out of her pocket. “Maybe I’ll begin at the top of the list and work my way down.”

“That’s no way to find a husband,” Ruth pointed out. “Maybe you should see who strikes your fancy—and who fancies you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.” Jen slid the pincushion to the center of the table. “The way I see it, to find a husband, you first have to decide who you want. There might be as many choices as pins in this cushion, but one of them is the right one.” She plucked out a pin. “So you try them one at a time until you find that man.”

“We’ll help you,” Minnie added. “We’ll all help each other. Right, Jen?”

Her sister nodded.

Ruth was still skeptical. “How?”

“We will solemnly promise to do all in our power to help each other win our chosen husband,” Jen said. “We’ll promote her to him. We’ll find ways to bring the two together. We’ll do whatever it takes. Agreed?”

Jen and Minnie shook on it and looked to Ruth. This promise had so many holes that it was bound to fail, but Ruth had to agree to it. If Jen were the right woman for Sam, as Ruth suspected, then the only chance she had of bringing them together was this plan. Once they discovered how suited they were to each other and fell in love, marriage would follow. And Jen was right. That marriage could solve all their problems. Sam had already demonstrated a measure of generosity and compassion. With Jen’s tireless prompting, Sam would surely help Daddy get the treatment he needed.

So Ruth placed her hand atop theirs to seal the pact.

* * *

Sam didn’t bother to sit at his desk. He picked up the telephone receiver and listened as his father got straight to the point. “I want you to look into a property that’s coming on the market. It’ll be offered at a good price—an excellent price.” Sam held the receiver a few inches away from his ear. Father’s booming voice carried across the room. Harry always joked that they didn’t need telephones and telegraphs. Father could be heard for miles without technological assistance. “If this deal works out, it’ll go a long way toward paying for your mistake.”

As usual, Father jabbed at Sam’s decision to open a store in Pearlman. In Father’s eyes, the store had already failed, and when the opening proved his point, he’d hold it over Sam for the rest of his life. No matter what it took, Sam would ensure this store not only opened strong but also thrived for years to come. That meant getting every detail right, including one broken display case. Maybe this crazy property purchase could buy him a little time.

When his father paused for a breath, Sam pulled the mouthpiece close and cut short the directive. “When am I supposed to do this? I’m spending every waking hour getting the store ready. If you send me out of town, we’ll have to delay the grand opening.”

Father cackled. “I’m not sending you anywhere, boy. You won’t have to leave your precious town to look it over. The property’s right next door.”

“Next door.” Sam got a sinking feeling as he calculated whose property that must be. Since the store was located on a corner, that could mean only two locations, and one was a house across the alley.

“Right next door.” Static crackled the line but it didn’t obliterate Father’s words. “Why didn’t you tell me we’re opening up next to a dress shop?”

Chapter Four

Sunday dawned still and sunny, one of those lazy summer days that inspired picnics, fishing and rowing on the pond. The latter was out, since Ruth’s family owned no rowboat, but, if Sam accepted their invitation to a picnic, she might be able to persuade him to dip a line in the river. Jen loved to fish. It was the perfect opportunity for romance to flower.

But first Sam had to show up for the church service so she could invite him.

“How long do we have to wait?” Minnie fussed with her hair in the dress-shop window. “The service is going to start soon.”

“I know.” Ruth bit her lip and glanced left and right to see if Sam were coming. “I told him to meet us here.”

Jen grinned. “You like him.”

“He’s simply a nice gentleman.”

The church bells rang. A rooster might as well have crowed, for like the apostle Peter, Ruth had denied the undeniable. She did like Sam. Seeing him with another woman had hurt more than it should.

“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.

Sam didn’t appear to notice. He swooped to Beatrice’s rescue and knelt before the unhappy little boy. “Good morning, Master Kensington. What seems to be the trouble?” His calm, respectful tone quieted little Branford at once.

The boy, nose running and hair mussed, stared at Sam.

“Could you show me where to sit?” Sam held out his hand.

Branford took it, still wide-eyed.

Ruth had to admire Sam’s calm in the midst of the storm. By giving the little boy a solemn duty, he’d distracted Branford and elevated him at the same time. She smiled her gratitude.

“Thank you, sir.” Beatrice looked from Sam to Ruth and back again.

She looked so worried that Ruth realized her sister had no idea who Sam was. “This is Mr. Roth. He’s a salesman and new to town. We met Friday, and he proved most helpful with a little problem I encountered. He agreed to join us at church today.”

Beatrice’s concern eased. “You are quite the rescuing knight, Mr. Roth. Thank you again.”

Sam bowed slightly. “Glad to be of assistance.”

The hymn had entered the third verse. “We should find our seats,” Ruth said. “Mr. Roth, you can join Jen and Minnie.”

Sam tapped the little boy’s hand, still firmly holding on to his. “I believe this young man has a duty to perform first. He agreed to show me to my seat.”

“Please join us, Mr. Roth.” Beatrice looked so relieved to have Sam’s assistance that Ruth couldn’t very well drag him away from her. “You already know Ruth, and little Branford seems to have taken a liking to you. It would be a big help.”

“Then how could I refuse?”

Ruth tried hard to swallow as Sam showered her with one of his oh-so-charming smiles. As if released from indenture, Jen and Minnie scurried to their regular pew, leaving Ruth with Beatrice, the children...and Sam. Her perfect plan had failed.

* * *

Sam heard little of the sermon with Ruth and a squirming toddler nearby. When he wasn’t prying the boy from under the pew or blocking him from shooting out into the aisle, Sam peeked at the fair beauty beside him. More than once he spotted a delightful flush on her cheeks.

Any interest on her part would vanish the moment she discovered his father was buying her family’s shop. The points he’d gained by helping her sister with her rambunctious boy would vanish. Sam found himself in a pinch. Father would never allow a dress shop next door to Hutton’s. He would raze the building and extend the department store. If Sam hoped to win Father’s confidence, he had to facilitate the purchase. But what would happen to Ruth?

He mopped his brow. All around him, women fanned themselves and men undid the buttons on their jackets, but his discomfort came more from dismay than the heat. Four women and one sick father would soon lose their livelihood, thanks to his insistence the company open a store in Pearlman.

It’s not my problem. He’d repeated those words often the past two days, but it sounded even less convincing in church.

Sam was never so happy to rise for a benediction. He’d barely heard a word of the sermon. Something about doing unto others. Standard material. The moment the benediction ended, the congregation headed for the doors, where the minister greeted them before they scattered for the shade. Sam waited in line behind Ruth and her older sister, exuberant toddler still in hand.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Mrs. Beatrice Kensington sighed as she reached for her son. “I can take him from here.”

She’d have a struggle. The boy had found his legs and wanted to run.

“Let’s wait until we’re outside.” Sam kept hold of the squirming toddler’s hand. “I don’t mind.”

Truly he didn’t, for it kept him close to Ruth and her family. The sisters did resemble one another, but each had somewhat different features. Most people would consider Beatrice the beauty of the family, but Sam preferred Ruth’s paler blue eyes and fairer complexion. Her features were also finer, more delicate. Her skin looked soft as silk.

Jen, on the other hand, was dark and tall. The family resemblance could be found in her facial features, though her eyes bordered on hazel, as if all the colors on the palette had been thrown together. Minnie was the shortest, her hair a muddy-blond, almost brown, but her eyes matched those of her oldest sister.

“New in town?” The minister’s question pulled Sam from his assessment of the sisters.

Beatrice took her son, allowing Sam the opportunity to shake Pastor Gabe’s hand.

“Just arrived on Friday.” Sam was surprised by the minister’s strong grip.

“Thought I saw you the other day,” the minister said. “You’re working on the new store, right? Peter Simmons mentioned you had him do some carpentry for you.”

Ruth’s head turned at those words, her approval clear.

Sam, on the other hand, suspected the minister really wanted to know what type of store Sam was opening. He tried to relax his shoulders. The questions would get more and more probing by the day, and people would expect answers. He shouldn’t have come to church today. He shouldn’t have agreed to spend any time at all with the townsfolk. In the past he’d maintained his distance until after the grand opening. But it was too late now. He’d introduced himself to Ruth and her family, and there was no going back.

He concentrated on the minister and forced what he hoped was a casual smile. “Peter does fine work for someone his age. I was quite impressed.”

The minister proved just as unshakable. “He certainly has God-given talent and the willingness to share. That’s what we’re all about here. Sharing.”

The emphasis wasn’t lost on Sam. Pastor Gabe expected open communication and honesty. Ruth expected the same. Both hung on Sam’s response.

He used his smile to deflect the question. “Wouldn’t expect anything different.”

“Neither would I.” The minister’s grin told Sam he understood the bluff, but wasn’t calling him on it this time. “Let me add my welcome to the others. Staying long?”

“Can’t say yet.” That was true. After the grand opening, he would probably go to another location. “I hope it’ll be a while.” He was surprised to find that was also true. In just two days, Pearlman’s tidy homes and friendly folk had captivated him.

“If you need anything while you’re here, just ask,” Pastor Gabe said.

“Thank you, but I can’t see what I’d need.”

“The offer’s open. I know pretty much everyone in town. We might be small, but we have big hearts.”

That sounded like a great advertising slogan. Sam mentally tested it for his store but dismissed the idea. In a town the size of Pearlman, Hutton’s was anything but small. When finished, it would be the largest retail establishment in town. Only the airplane-engine factory covered more square footage.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, glad to escape into the fresh air.

Beatrice followed. “Thank you again for your help.”

“My pleasure,” he said, though an hour tending the boy had exhausted him more than a full day of work.

Ruth, still holding Beatrice’s little girl, joined them in the shade of a large maple. “We’re having a picnic this afternoon. In the park. You should join us, Beattie. The children would love it. Maybe Blake would come, too.” She glanced toward Sam. “Mr. Roth agreed to join us. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“The more the merrier,” Sam dutifully replied, though the presence of Beatrice’s family would put a crimp in talking to Ruth.

“I—I don’t think so.” Beatrice’s gaze flicked to the street. “We’re busy.”

That sounded like an excuse, but Ruth didn’t press the point. “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe.” Beatrice hurried toward a sleek black Cadillac that had just pulled to a stop. She opened the rear door and lifted the children inside.

What a cad of a driver! A hired man ought to get out of the vehicle and assist the lady.

Sam started forward until he noticed that the dark-haired man behind the wheel sported a fashionable suit. The little girl called him “Daddy.” That cad was Beatrice’s husband. Sam recognized the distracted self-absorption of careless pleasure-seekers, whose quest for self-indulgence knew no limits because they’d been born privileged. Money bought them out of scrapes. Money insulated them from recrimination. Sam’s wife had been one of that set, and, to some extent, so had he. But she had paid the price for her sins, while he lived to regret his every day.

The driver leaned across to open the passenger door. Beatrice grabbed her expensive beaded bag off the fender and climbed in. Her diamond ring flashed in the sun, and the truth finally sank in. Beatrice had married into money.

The Foxes would not lose their shop. Beatrice could bail them out.

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