A Bride in Store

by Melissa Jagears

  That was the voice she knew—a bit lost, authentic. “This.” She held up the offending paper ball.

  He shook his head, stepping close enough that his trousers disturbed her skirts. “Which is?”

  She tried to smooth the flyer, but her angry, jittery hands brushed against his coat, causing them to tremble from another emotion entirely. The paper ripped in two.

  Never mind. She smacked the wadded paper into his hand. “Your coupon.”

  “Isn’t it great?” His smile transformed his face.

  Her irritation threatened to drain away at his enthusiasm, but she held on tight.

  He gestured toward the people walking past the end of the aisle. “Who knew a coupon could bring in so many people?”

  Oh, sweetheart, of course they’d come in for this. You gave too much away. She clamped her hand over her mouth.

  But his expression remained quizzical, his gaze as light as normal, his hands casually parked on his hips.

  She swallowed and hefted a sigh, thankful she hadn’t said that aloud. She refused to ponder why she’d found it so easy to think of him as sweetheart—she was mad at him!

  “Are you all right?” His face lost its excitement. He lifted the paper coupon ball. “If you’re not feeling well, you don’t need to buy something from me. I consider you . . .” He poked his tongue into his cheek, his eyes shifting to the side. “I mean, I don’t hold out on family or friends who need medical help.”

  “You don’t deny strangers or enemies either.”

  “Well, no. But I’m a little busy right now . . . unless you feel it’s dire.”

  “I’m not sick.”

  He rubbed a thumb against her hairline but quickly turned the gesture into feeling her forehead. Was he covering for what felt like his tucking a strand of hair behind her ear? “Good.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Stanton. I’m ready to pay.” A man in a tattered shirt and mud-caked pants held out a bundle of ready-made clothes and a bar of soap.

  Will lifted a finger to signal him to wait. He gripped her upper arm as if he might drag her with him to the cashbox. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  She glanced at the timepiece above the front door. “I don’t have much time. I must return—”

  “Just wait.” The look Will gave her would make a woman promise him her firstborn—perhaps that’s how Rumpelstiltskin had wrangled such a commitment.

  She swallowed. “All right.” Technically, she could stay as long as she wanted; she set her own hours, after all. But a smart shop owner didn’t stay closed past lunch hour on opening day—though no more than a handful of people had trickled in this morning.

  He placed a hand at the base of her neck, turning her around to guide her down the aisle. She closed her eyes against letting her imagination feel his fingers threading themselves into her hair. Though the longer his hand lay against her neck, the desire to stop imagining ebbed.

  He pointed to the right side of the store. “Go look where we used to have hanging pots. I think you’ll be impressed.” His hand slid down to her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

  With that, he left her to be brushed by customers trying to get around her. Another glance at the clock told her to leave now and talk to him later . . . yet she was curious about what he had done to the pots.

  She scooted past an elderly couple and turned the corner. On the west wall behind the wood stove, he’d removed an entire section of shelving. The Wanted posters and hand-written advertisements from folks around Salt Flatts were now all pinned neatly onto a series of boards arranged on the wall. Chairs from the upstairs apartment sat arranged for conversation, four of them pushed against two game tables, one with a chessboard, the other checkers. A newspaper and a Montgomery Ward catalog lay atop another small table.

  She’d mentioned to Axel in a letter that they ought to make the store somewhere men would congregate—someplace exactly like this. But had she said anything to Will? She ran her index finger along her scar, feeling the now familiar ridges.

  No. She couldn’t think of a time she’d discussed that idea with him. Maybe the man had some business sense after all.

  Jostled from behind, she moved to sit in the rocker. More than twelve customers milled around the aisles—all of them with paper coupons in hand.

  Now that Will had broken the townspeople’s boycott with the lure of free services, could he keep them there? He needed to make a living, but would loyalty to a shopkeeper who’d grown up in Salt Flatts hurt her?

  Had she ever seen so many women in this store? If ladies could be lured into a men’s store with a free offer, then they’d be the best targets for a campaign of her own.

  How could she top this?

  “What mischief are you planning?”

  She startled at Will’s voice. The back of her rocker thumped against the wall when she popped up. “Nothing.”

  “Do you like how I’ve changed things?”

  Taking another glance around, she saw nothing but perfection. She couldn’t have done better herself. “I’m surprised.”

  “In a good way, I hope?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you came to see me because . . . ?”

  Why did his voice sound so elated? He knew what he’d done to her.

  “I can’t believe you of all people would hand out coupons on a day like today.”

  He stiffened. “Did I miss someone’s funeral or . . . ?”

  Why was he playing dumb? “My grand opening.”

  “Your grand opening?” He squinted.

  “My store’s grand opening, of course.”

  He blinked. “So it’s already open?”

  “Yes. You’re passing these out the day I open, and everyone’s flocking here.”

  How could he have missed the sign? Kathleen had come by to congratulate her—though she’d admitted Carl was miffed.

  And since Will hadn’t stopped in to congratulate her on her opening day, she’d figured he’d needed time to adjust . . . until Mr. Raymond brought in Will’s coupon.

  She hadn’t figured on Will plotting against her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about your store?” Will tucked his hands under his arms, his eyes registering . . . sadness?

  She forced herself to swallow. “I didn’t want you to worry about me stealing your business . . . and . . . and this coupon made me think I’d been a fool to believe you wouldn’t do the same to me.”

  “You thought I’d try to steal your business?” He looked at the ceiling for a second, his mouth disfiguring into a frown. “Do you understand nothing about me, Eliza?”

  She took a step back from the glare he aimed at her.

  “When have I ever done anything but help you? I found somewhere for you to stay, I gave you your wages from my savings, I never asked you to pay for those stitches, I offered you a job. If I thought you cared enough for me, I’d have offered . . . I was going to offer . . .” He huffed and looked away. The hand that had been running through his hair again dropped to his side. “Why would you assume I was trying to hurt you?”

  Thankfully, the customers shopping around them were oblivious to his rambling, or at least pretended to be. She hugged herself. “You didn’t see my sign? No one told you?”

  He blinked repeatedly—almost as though he were about to cry. But no, a grown man like Will wouldn’t cry because she’d opened a store. . . . Could her accusations have hurt him that badly?

  “I’ve been really busy, Eliza. I knew something was going on, but I figured you and I . . . Well, I figured you’d at least share with me before . . .” He shook his head and looked away. “This whole time I’ve been rearranging things to your specifications, dealing with Mrs. Raymond and some other patients, waiting for you to—”

  “Rearranging to my specifications?” She slid a finger along the edge of the chessboard.

  “You think these improvements were my idea?” His face scrunched. “It’s clear you think me utterly inept. So much so you won’t work for m
e, help me, talk to me, need me for anything beyond—”

  “Excuse me.” An older gentleman hobbled over on his cane. “Can I get assistance? My wife wants another cast-iron pan for her birthday.” He smiled at Eliza. “But if I lean over that far, I might not get back up.”

  Eliza forced herself to smile back at the gentleman.

  “I’m sorry, Eliza.” Will’s eyes didn’t twinkle like the old man’s. “Seems I can’t talk for more than a few minutes in a row.”

  “No need to apologize. My lunch break’s over. I can’t stay.” A grand-opening week held too much potential for her to twiddle her thumbs.

  She clasped the apple in her pocket; she’d have to eat on the walk back. Rather unladylike, but her stomach wouldn’t survive until dinner, not with the way it was churning over the mess she’d created.

  Of course Will hadn’t meant anything by the coupon. She’d let Mr. Raymond’s anger incite irrational thoughts.

  If Carl had pulled something like this, her reaction would have been warranted—he’d have meant it. When she’d thought Will had worked against her it had stung terribly. With Carl, she’d have set her sights on outdoing him the next day, but with Will? She’d come down to blast him because he’d hurt her—not the Five and Dime—but her.

  “I’m sorry, Will. I was wrong to think you’d deliberately ruin my day.” Now she felt ill enough to need his doctoring. “Can we talk later?”

  Will glanced over his shoulder to the elderly man fidgeting with his cane. “I’ll try—”

  The man cleared his throat.

  She gave the gentleman a tense smile. “Wish your wife a happy birthday for me.”

  Will strode past her to open the front door. “I’ll drop by after work to check on Mrs. Lightfoot.”

  “I won’t be home right after work.” She held her fingers to her lips. She couldn’t avoid him just because she’d been an idiot. He didn’t deserve that—he deserved the opportunity to yell at her for thinking him underhanded. “I’ll be there around dinnertime, though.”

  She couldn’t look at him as she stepped out into the bright sunlight. What a disaster. Her dream of people lining up at her store hadn’t come true, so she’d lashed out at Will.

  She deserved his wrath . . . and she also needed better advertising. The sign evidently hadn’t caught enough people’s attention.

  She swallowed the moisture in her throat. She’d have to be careful not to chastise herself all day for thinking poorly of Will lest she cry in front of a customer.

  Feeling light-headed from skipping lunch two days in a row, Will placed a steadying hand on the counter after handing Mr. McManus his change. He fished for the sack of beef jerky he’d traded Mrs. Underwood in exchange for helping her ailing pig last night. Between the sow and his exhaustion, he hadn’t been able to check on Mrs. Lightfoot or have dinner with Eliza. Not that he’d wanted to see Eliza—at least not until he’d cooled down some.

  How could she have thought he’d intentionally hurt her?

  She’d stormed in and bitten his head off without giving him a chance to explain about the coupon—though he hadn’t known he needed to explain, since she hadn’t seen fit to tell him she was opening a store. He shook his head. He wasn’t sure what hurt more: that she’d kept such an accomplishment to herself or that she’d thought he’d set out to harm her.

  Why hadn’t she told him? Still, he wasn’t comfortable with how they’d left things.

  A customer slid her purchases toward him, and he started adding the prices without bothering to chat. Too many people in line to slow down his math with small talk.

  Did Eliza truly not care about him enough to share her big news? Or maybe she’d felt bad about making a decision that would affect him negatively, despite it making sense for her to do so.

  And if she couldn’t trust him with such a huge accomplishment, if she thought he’d somehow purposely ruin her business, maybe he didn’t know her well at all.

  Regardless, he should let Eliza know he was happy for her, but the business he’d gained with the coupons kept him swamped during work hours, and people were scheduling him for after-hours medical exams already.

  When a very pregnant woman plopped down tack and a handful of other things onto the counter, Will pressed a hand against his abdomen to attempt to silence a rumble. He had to eat no matter how unprofessional chewing looked while transacting business. He forced a tight smile. “Did you find what you need?”

  Her husband shoved a lantern and a watch onto the counter. “As long as this equals fifteen dollars, I’d say yes.”

  Will sighed. Considering he probably could have charged this couple between ten and twenty-five dollars to deliver their baby, the money he’d pocket from this twenty-dollar purchase wouldn’t pay for his time.

  Will ripped off a hunk of jerky with his teeth and started adding. “That’s $22.25.”

  “All right.” The woman fished in her reticule as Will signed her coupon.

  He rubbed the heel of his hand across his brow, where a pounding ache had started an hour ago. “I guess I’ll be seeing you in a few weeks?”

  She smiled at her husband and sheepishly nodded. She knew how much he was losing on this deal.

  Mrs. Leddbetter approached the counter with nothing in her hands, though she’d bought a set of andirons and tongs yesterday.

  “Can I help you?”

  “When can you check on Granny?”

  He blinked and pulled out the datebook he’d started using. “How about Thursday at . . . No, I’m way over at Fossil Creek. How about Friday around dinnertime?”

  “That’s three days away.”

  Her whine irritated his headache. If he wasn’t careful, he might join in with her bellyaching. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That’s the soonest I have.”

  “Fine.”

  He wrote down her name, then motioned for the next customer in line to come forward, despite the woman beside him tapping her foot impatiently on the other side of the counter. What did she need his help finding, or grabbing, or ordering to get her fifteen dollars’ worth?

  No need to have a nightmare tonight; he was living one. If he didn’t get help soon, he’d collapse. Attending never-ending customers had to be worse than Axel abandoning him to rob a train, hearing Eliza say I do to someone else, Axel’s mouth smothering hers . . .

  No, he’d choose unrelenting business over watching the woman he cared for nearly marry another man. . . . Cared for? Did he only care for her?

  No, it was more than that. A whole lot of good that did him since the woman valued property more than a man.

  “What’s the matter, Will?” Young Clarity Faith leaned her elbows on the counter, her strawberry-blonde head tilted in concern, her bright blue eyes staring up at him rather intently. “You don’t look very happy.”

  He searched the counter to find his beef jerky again and tore off another bite. “I’m just hungry.”

  “Do you want us to go to the hotel and get a sandwich for you?”

  Mrs. Autry came up behind her granddaughter and squeezed her shoulder. “What are you offering to give somebody now?”

  “Good advice—that’s what she is offering.” Why was he playing the martyr anyway? “Thanks for the offer, Clarity Faith, but I’ll go get one myself, since I know what I like.” He walked around the corner of his counter and smacked the bell above the door enough times that most of his customers quit shopping and looked to the front.

  “If I could have everyone’s attention.” He waited until a few people from the back moseyed up. “I have to get some lunch. I know it’s four o’clock, but I’ve not eaten and am about to pass out.” And possibly strangle some people. “So if you have purchases, please find a place to set them, and when I reopen tomorrow, you can pick up where you left off. I’m sorry, but I’ve got no help and I need some food.”

  A few out-of-towners grumbled, but most turned sheepish, as if they’d purposely stolen his time. He nodded to each as they filed
out and winked at Clarity Faith. “Thank you for coming in.” When the last man exited, Will turned over the sign to Closed.

  Somehow his mother forged through the retreating flock of people.

  He held the door open for her, but the second her skirts cleared the threshold, he locked them in.

  “Why’s everyone leaving?” She frowned at the people outside the window. “I haven’t seen such a crowd in here, well . . . since ever.”

  “I’ve had crowds that big for two days.”

  “Good for you.” She glanced at his Closed sign still swinging against the glass. “But did you just send them away?”

  “I haven’t eaten lunch the last two days either.”

  His mother tsked. “That’s not good for a growing boy.”

  “I don’t think I’m growing much anymore, Ma.”

  “Right.” She hefted her basket.

  Thank you, God. Hopefully, the hamper contained the usual assortment of food, though he’d welcome double the amount at the moment.

  He nearly groaned, his mouth salivating before Ma placed any food on the counter.

  As she pulled off the tablecloth cover, a paper fluttered, skittering across the counter and toward the floor. She tried to grab it but missed.

  He snatched a biscuit before bending over to pick up the little white slip. “What’s this?”

  A fancy border decorated the paper, and the title, Five and Dime, grabbed his attention.

  FIVE AND DIME

  Grand Opening

  With $4 purchase, get a free starter place setting

  for that fine china set you’ve always wanted.

  Offer ends May 31, 1881, or as long as supplies last.

  Why hadn’t he thought of an expiration date? He smacked his crumb-covered hand against his pant leg. How many of his coupons had Oliver distributed? Could he get any back, or would he be doctoring for free until he died?

  Rachel slipped the fancy little paper out of his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me Eliza has her own store now? I bought a whole set of towels there this morning and each of the girls found something for a nickel. But I didn’t get one of these flyers until I met up with your father at the lumber mill. Since your grandmother refuses to ship my china to me, I shouldn’t pass up a free setting.” His mother’s face glowed like Nettie’s when he produced some saltwater taffy from his pockets. “She’s got three patterns to choose from, all surprisingly inexpensive. I’ll have to budget for the rest, but no reason not to get started.”