A Bride in Store

by Melissa Jagears

  Her throat constricted seeing the small pile of soil atop the pine box. The only people who’d bothered to come say good-bye stood beside her: the preacher, her lawyer, Mr. Raymond, and Will.

  Just five.

  How could the townspeople shun such a delightful woman? Will’s parents would have attended the ceremony and perhaps some other country folk had they been in town, but only five from Salt Flatts? Even Dr. Forsythe hadn’t stayed to pay his respects. All because of a disfigurement.

  Mr. Raymond gently pried the shovel from her hand and propped it against a gravestone.

  Will stood behind a nearby marker, looking into Irena’s grave as if he believed he deserved to be buried himself.

  If she hadn’t enticed him down for dinner last night, would he have spent more time with Irena and possibly prevented today’s mourning?

  Mr. Scottsmore approached her, and Mr. Raymond sidled closer. He’d hovered near her throughout the ceremony, darting quick glances between her and her lawyer for some reason. Feeling like a defenseless rabbit watching a buzzard’s claws circle closer and closer every time Mr. Raymond glanced her way, she turned her attention to Mr. Scottsmore—a pleasant chap who’d assured her the paperwork she signed with Mr. Raymond gave her a fair deal.

  “Miss Cantrell, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to stop by my office before you return home.” Her lawyer looked over his shoulder toward his buggy. “I need to pick up Mrs. Langston to attend as well but could meet you there soon.”

  Eliza wiped the corner of her eye with a rough handkerchief. “Can’t we talk another day?” Not that she wanted to return to the empty boardinghouse, but discussing business wasn’t on her agenda. She didn’t even plan to open her store.

  Mr. Scottsmore sucked air through his teeth. “I know this sounds insensitive, but I’m afraid my schedule demands we discuss the will today.”

  The will? She turned toward the gravedigger rushing to fill the hole before it rained. Had Mrs. Lightfoot left something for her? She didn’t deserve anything. She’d only known the woman for a few months and hadn’t done enough for her during her last days.

  “It’ll be all right, Eliza.” Mr. Raymond laced his arm through hers and squeezed. “I’ll escort you over.” He turned to the lawyer. “Anyone else needed?”

  “No.” Mr. Scottsmore sized up Mr. Raymond with a glance, then shrugged and shifted his gaze to her. “I know this isn’t the best of times, but if anything is going to cheer you, this meeting might. If we can’t visit now, we’ll have to reschedule two weeks out, because I—”

  Eliza held up a weary hand. “If it’s better for you, then I’ll be there.” Just yesterday she’d decided to consider others’ needs above her own. Apparently God was testing her resolve already.

  She shuffled along with Mr. Raymond toward his buggy, then took his hand as she climbed the wheel while wrestling with her stiff mourning dress.

  The second the buggy started rolling, she turned to look for Will. She should have said good-bye.

  He was walking behind them, hands in his pockets, staring at his feet. He’d said nothing much since Dr. Forsythe had left the boardinghouse.

  She slumped against the seat and held a hand to her head. She hadn’t spoken much either, shocked that her friend was gone with so little warning. She prayed Will believed her when she’d said Mrs. Lightfoot’s passing wasn’t his fault, but since he felt responsible for his little sister’s death and the other’s awkward gait, he probably blamed himself for Irena’s demise too.

  God determined a man’s days—not Will, not her. Even if she’d checked on Irena before turning in last night, that didn’t mean this morning would have been different.

  Though she might have been able to ease her friend’s passing.

  Eliza swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and looked at her lap, trying to thwart the threatening tears with copious amounts of blinking. The happy faces and gleeful conversations of those traversing the streets beside them only seemed to darken the day.

  Too soon, the team halted in front of Mr. Scottsmore’s small brick house, his parlor serving as his law office. A few weeks ago she’d excitedly climbed his steps for advice on her business deal with Mr. Raymond. Now she’d rather be anywhere else.

  Mr. Raymond helped her down and almost didn’t let go of her hand when she tugged.

  “I’ll stay outside and wait. I can take you home afterward.”

  She shook her head without meeting his gaze. “No need. I’ve walked to the boardinghouse in worse weather than this.”

  “This is no day to let a woman trudge the streets alone.”

  She attempted a smile but failed. The man wanted something from her, or Mr. Scottsmore, or both, but she hadn’t the faintest notion what. “As you wish.”

  As the dark clouds on the horizon crept closer, they stood together in silence waiting for Mr. Scottsmore to arrive with Axel’s mother. Irena had never talked about Mrs. Langston. Had they once been friends?

  Mr. Raymond paced, allowing her to breathe easier.

  She knew of no connection between the banker and Mrs. Lightfoot, excepting probably a bank account. Did he hope to inherit her reserves on the basis that Irena had no friends and his bank was in possession?

  Mr. Scottsmore’s buggy turned onto Apple Street, and he guided his team to a stop.

  “My dear.” Mrs. Langston stepped onto the ground, then extended her hands to Eliza. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Was she the only person people would give their condolences to? Would Irena’s son and husband return and mourn or simply drag themselves back to divvy up her property? To have lived life unloved . . . No wonder today had turned unseasonably cold. It was as if God were chastising them all.

  “Come, ladies.” Mr. Scottsmore unlocked his door, and they followed him inside.

  Mr. Raymond looked as if he would tag along, but after he hit the top stair and the women passed in front of him, he clomped back down to the sidewalk.

  The door slammed shut.

  Mr. Scottsmore turned to face them, rubbing his hands together briskly. “That north wind is a mite chilly. Bet we’ll have a good storm, and tomorrow it’ll likely be hotter than the Fourth of July.” He gestured for them to enter the parlor and take the chairs in front of his desk.

  Eliza sat and turned to Mrs. Langston, but the woman looked as bewildered as she.

  Mr. Scottsmore picked a file off his desk and slid out a crisp paper. “Mrs. Lightfoot was a wealthy woman, as you might have figured since she could remain in a practically empty boardinghouse for eight years. She did invest a good deal and such, but that doesn’t involve you two. However, she left you ladies something—”

  “Us?” Mrs. Langston looked to Eliza and shook her head. “I understand her leaving something to Eliza, but I’ve only had one or two conversations with the woman. Perhaps she meant someone else?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t interpret intention. Your name, however, is clearly written in the will she signed. You are Fannie Langston, are you not?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Then you are the beneficiary.” He smiled a little. “She’s left you the boardinghouse. When I return from my business trip to Atchison, I’ll have you sign everything. I wanted you to know before I left, so you can decide what to do with the property. That way, whether you choose to sell or not, I can help you with any additional paperwork based on the decisions you make.”

  “She gave me the boardinghouse?” Mrs. Langston squirmed on the edge of her seat, wringing her gloves. “Why?”

  He glanced at Eliza. “I think she heard you needed some income.”

  Eliza bit her lip and didn’t look at Mrs. Langston.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to her more.” Mrs. Langston settled against the back of her seat. “I don’t deserve this.”

  Did Irena change her will to accommodate different people’s needs whenever she heard of them? Had she realized this sickness would be her end? Something tighten
ed in Eliza’s throat. Why hadn’t she done more for Irena? She’d been so busy with her store, and then just when she realized she should be caring more for Irena instead of focusing on herself . . .

  “Miss Cantrell.” Mr. Scottsmore turned to her. “You’ve been given the properties on the three hundred block on Main Street.”

  “My store?” She put a hand against the hollow of her neck. “She was the owner?”

  “Yes, your store and the two shops abutting.”

  “The bakery and confectioner?”

  “Those shops are yours as well. When I return, I’ll need to know whether you want to continue renting those buildings or sell. I’ll come back before their next payment is due, so it shouldn’t be difficult to change things over, but I’ve already been paid for legal counsel to—”

  Eliza waved her hand. “Mr. Scottsmore, don’t bother yourself any longer.” Right now was hardly the time to make decisions anyway. “I have no doubt you’ll help things transition fairly and smoothly once you return.”

  “Thank you.” He rose and glanced at the clock on his mantel. “Now if you don’t mind, I must be at the depot within the hour. I’m packed, but with taking Mrs. Langston home, I’ve only just enough time.”

  “Let us not keep you any longer.” Mrs. Langston stood. “If we have questions, they’ll keep.”

  He tucked away his file and hastened to hold open the front door for them to exit.

  Eliza stepped out of the office and blinked against the sun now peeking out from behind the clouds. Maybe rain wouldn’t fall after all.

  Mr. Raymond shot off the bottom stair where he and Will sat.

  She glanced at Will, his smile the only thing remotely cheerful about him. Had he stopped by for her? Surely he had no idea what Irena had willed. She cut her eyes toward Mr. Raymond. But he would. He’d known Irena was her mysterious benefactor all along.

  Why hadn’t she figured out her backer was Irena?

  She’d wanted everyone to see her as a capable businessperson despite her gender, and in all her pondering on who had let her the Five and Dime building for free, she’d never considered Mrs. Lightfoot . . . because she was a woman. Eliza grabbed the railing to keep from plopping in a miserable heap on the stair. How could she be so prejudiced?

  “I’m assuming you’ve got good news?” Mr. Raymond wrung his hands furiously.

  Did he think they’d lost the store?

  Mrs. Langston stepped around her, a hand against her heart. “To think I didn’t even know her.”

  Mr. Scottsmore lugged a trunk out his front door while Mrs. Langston clasped her hands together, smiling more than anyone should on a day like today. “She gave me the boardinghouse. Me.” She bit her lip. “That might not make Jedidiah happy, since our separation will become apparent, but maybe, just maybe, he might move with me.”

  Eliza grabbed Mrs. Langston’s hand and looked her in the eye. “Don’t let your husband walk all over you if he does. You don’t deserve the way he’s treating you.”

  “I haven’t treated him well either.” With a quick glance at Mr. Raymond, Mrs. Langston shook her head. “I’ll take what the good Lord gives me, though I’d rather not have gotten it this way. The income couldn’t have come at a better time.” She lightly squeezed Eliza’s hand. “I hope you’ll still let me sell my clothing at your store, though.”

  Mr. Raymond’s eyebrows hit his receding hairline.

  “Of course. I have no need of that space for now. But if we ever do,” she said, glancing at Mr. Raymond, “we can renegotiate then.”

  Mr. Scottsmore dashed into his home, came back out with a satchel, then locked the door. “Mrs. Langston, are you ready?”

  “Yes.” She turned to Eliza and gave her a hug. “Don’t worry about a place to stay. I’ll have to decide how to run the place before I take on boarders. Feel free to stay until then. Though I’d be honored if you became my first tenant. I’m sure I’ll enjoy your company as much as Mrs. Lightfoot did.” After a final hug, she walked toward Mr. Scottsmore’s buggy.

  “Now, wait a minute.” Mr. Raymond dashed over to the lawyer. “There was nothing in that will for me?”

  Mr. Scottsmore’s face turned blank. “No, sir. If so, I would’ve had you attend. These two ladies and Mrs. Lightfoot’s family are the only ones privy to the will’s contents. I’d suggest you not bully either woman into giving you information—”

  “I don’t bully.” He turned to Eliza and stepped so close she had to tilt her chin to meet his gaze.

  She squared her shoulders. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, Mr. Raymond.” He’d wanted her building so badly—what would he do when she told him? “The store is mine.”

  Mr. Raymond had started shaking his head before she’d finished speaking. “How can that be legal?” He turned to Mr. Scottsmore. “You know of the agreement between me and Mrs. Lightfoot. You witnessed it.”

  Mr. Scottsmore frowned. “I figured I’d tell you when I got back. The contract simply states if Miss Cantrell managed to maintain a profitable business for five years with you as her supporter, then you’d have the opportunity to purchase Mrs. Lightfoot’s property. However that opportunity no longer exists.”

  Mr. Raymond’s eyebrows furrowed, and he huffed. “Because she’s dead.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Truly, unfortunate.” Mr. Raymond seemed near tears. Though clearly mourning the brick edifice upon which he’d pinned his hopes—not Irena.

  Eliza wanted to kick him in the shins as badly as she’d wanted to kick Axel on the train after he’d split her cheek. Couldn’t Mr. Raymond think of anyone besides himself? She glanced at Will, whose face registered concern as he glanced between the two of them, but he’d yet to utter a word.

  But how could she be angry with Mr. Raymond’s distress? She would’ve felt the same a few days ago.

  Mr. Scottsmore rubbed the bridge of his nose, his jerky movements indicating how much he desired to leave. “The building now belongs to Miss Cantrell, who may allow you to purchase the store, if that’s her decision.”

  Mr. Raymond pierced her with his eyes.

  She looked to Will. Her choice affected their future together—what little chance they had of one. A future she’d not considered until a few days ago. A future she might wreck with her next words.

  Should she sell such a valuable income source to chase an attraction? Her mother had given up her aspirations for a man she’d loved, but in the end, she couldn’t resist the theater’s pull. Even two children hadn’t kept her from running after an irresistible dream.

  Since Eliza had turned nine, she’d wanted to own a store and had done everything in her power to acquire one—despite the terrible consequences of some not-very-well-thought-out plans. How could she relinquish her dream the moment God plopped it in her lap?

  What if she couldn’t focus on the family she and Will might one day have, but rather pined for her lost dreams? Would she be just as selfish as her own mother?

  She couldn’t do that to her children.

  “No, Mr. Raymond, I don’t intend to sell.”

  Mr. Raymond’s chest filled with air, and his shoulders turned rigid.

  Will stepped between them. “This isn’t bad, Mr. Raymond. You still have a wonderful business partner. Eliza will make you both lots of money.”

  She swallowed against the lump in her throat. She didn’t deserve Will’s defense—didn’t deserve him at all.

  Turning his palms up in defeat, Mr. Raymond released a short puff of air. “She has as good a chance at succeeding as the shoemaker I financed last week. I wouldn’t have helped her had I not believed she could pay off her loan, but I wanted the building.” He looked toward Main Street as if he could see the coveted store.

  Though Eliza kept her back stiff, her shoulders drooped a little. “Let’s not become combatants over something we can’t control. I’ll still work hard, and you still own fifty percent of the company.”

  “But none of the bui
lding.” Mr. Raymond turned a suddenly sparkling eye toward Mr. Scottsmore. “Wait, what about the shops on either side she owned?”

  “He can’t tell you, but I can.” Eliza crossed her arms. “All three are mine.”

  His head bobbed in defeat, his shoulders slouched, and his chest seemed to cave in on itself. If a man could crumple while remaining standing, Mr. Raymond held the honor. “Then I have no worries about you defaulting. We’ll be in business together for a good long time.”

  “Yes, we will, Mr. Raymond.” She stuck out her hand, and thankfully, her partner shook it before excusing himself. She couldn’t look at Will, though. She’d never leave Salt Flatts now, but he would. . . . The tears she’d pushed away on the ride over fought to return.

  Mr. Scottsmore gave them both a small bow. “If you’ll excuse me, I really need to leave. You can stop by to discuss everything with me once I return.” With that, he hopped in beside Mrs. Langston and drove away.

  Will’s face sported neither a smile nor a frown, but a deep sadness permeated his eyes as he watched both buggies speed down the street. “I’m sorry you had a tiff with Mr. Raymond today of all days, but he’ll get over it.” He held out his arm, and she laced hers with his, relishing the feel of his sturdy dependableness.

  They shuffled together toward the boardinghouse. Will believed in and cared for her. Possibly the only person that did, now that Mrs. Lightfoot had passed. “And here I’d thought Mr. Raymond believed in me.”

  “Of course he believes in you. The hope of obtaining a building wouldn’t have lured him into a bad business deal. He ensured that by reserving a full half of your business.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. Mr. Raymond was justified in having half since his money was at stake, but how like Will to twist that into meaning Mr. Raymond thought well of her.

  At the boardinghouse porch, they stopped and stared at the windows. They seemed darker, despite the sunshine breaking through the clouds.