Calico Brides

by Darlene Franklin

  “I had another idea to increase my earnings. I thought about all those single men at the fort and wondered where they get their long underwear. If they would buy their long underwear from me, I could use the extra money. When I asked Mr. Finnegan for red flannel, he acted like it was a bad idea.”

  Mrs. Fairfield sighed, and Birdie froze, wondering what it meant.

  When she didn’t speak, Birdie continued. She turned to Annie and said, “I did wonder if you wanted to take on this business, since you already know the men. You could make a little extra money.” She struggled to keep her expression neutral. If their secret was discovered, people wouldn’t question Annie as much as they would someone with Birdie’s past.

  Miss Kate brought in bacon and eggs, and Annie turned her attention to her plate, her face a delicate pink. She speared a bite of eggs before she answered. “I’ll stick to making things with my knitting needles.”

  The others nodded, and Birdie had a sinking sensation in her heart. The thought of a man’s underwear made Annie uncomfortable. Birdie couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced embarrassment. No wonder Ned talked about the appearance of evil.

  Mrs. Fairfield looked at Birdie with so much compassion that tears jumped to Birdie’s eyes. “It’s a bad idea. I shouldn’t have asked,” she said.

  Mrs. Peate set her slice of bacon aside. “It’s an admirable idea. From what I’ve seen of the men’s laundry, they could use some new things. Why don’t I think about the situation and see what we can do?”

  “In the meantime, start sewing, so you can sell them as soon as we’ve figured it out,” Annie said.

  Birdie shook her head. If she bought supplies before she knew she had a buyer, she might waste money. Even though she hoped to speed up the process of making extra money, she needed to wait for God’s timing.

  “If the work makes you uncomfortable, you shouldn’t pursue it. God will give you what you need,” Mrs. Fairfield said. She reached out and squeezed Birdie’s hand. “But the plan is a sound one, if that is what you feel led to do. Just remember, you’re not on your own.”

  But Birdie had a hard time believing that. She had been on her own, all her life.

  Ned kept the red flannel hidden on the shelf beneath the cash register, waiting for Birdie to ask for it. Morning after morning, she walked into the store, dropped off her eggs, and took her money without asking for the flannel.

  The bell over the door jangled. Birdie swung into the room and set the basket by the cash register with renewed light shining in her eyes. “Four of my hens dropped an extra egg today. I have enough money to buy what I need to make a dress.”

  Ned headed for the shelf of calicoes. “What do you have in mind?” How would the town respond to a pair of ex-saloon girls trying to make an honest living? Saloon supporters would object to the loss of “talent,” and the Pharisees in town would object to their presence in church. If Ned was honest with himself, he’d admit he had reservations also.

  Birdie followed him and hesitated by some of the fancier fabrics, a pretty beige silk that would look wonderful with her red hair, a fine wool on sale for a good price because it didn’t sell well during the heat of summer. If he thought she would agree, he would offer it to her for the same price as the calico.

  Next she passed behind Ned and studied the solid-colored cotton, the least expensive fabric. A frown creased her face, and she surveyed the calicoes, choosing a brown with white flowers, the plainest calico he had. She took the admonition to dress modestly very seriously, but even ugly fabric couldn’t hide her beauty. “I’ll take two lengths of this, with half a length of the brown.” She pointed to a bolt of cotton.

  Ned set out the box with sewing notions for her to examine, and she choose thread and a handful of buttons. “This is wonderful. Michal has indicated she’s ready to leave as soon as I have a dress ready.”

  Another customer came in, and Ned left Birdie for a few minutes to measure out potatoes and flour. After the lady left, Birdie brought the supplies to the counter. “How much is it?”

  “I’m glad you can do this at last.” Ned told her the total and made change for her. He glanced at the shelf below the register, his hand touching the bundle of flannel still waiting for her. He picked it up and set it down next to the calico. “I would like for you to take this. A bonus for being a good supplier and customer. Since I already cut the flannel, I can’t sell it to someone else.”

  The light in Birdie’s eyes dimmed. “Thank you, but no. I decided against doing that. I’ll pay you for the flannel, of course.”

  “Nonsense.” Ned shook his head. “You never bought it.”

  “While we’re talking… ,” Birdie started.

  Another customer entered and Birdie cuddled the fabric against her chest. He expected her to disappear with the same quiet stealth that dictated most of her movements. But she waited for the new customer to finish her business and leave the store before she addressed Ned again.

  “You’ve had a busy morning.”

  “Business has been good lately.” Although Ned welcomed the trade, he knew Birdie felt uncomfortable unless the store was empty.

  “I’ve noticed that. Do you need additional help?” She tugged the fabric against her side and stared at her fingers before looking up again. “You’re already doing so much for me that I feel guilty for asking.”

  “You can ask me anything.” Ned’s heart sped a little at the thought of what Birdie might ask of him.

  “It’s my friend. She’ll need a job, and I wondered if you could use an assistant.”

  Ned scratched his head. “So far I’ve kept up with the extra business. I can’t really afford to pay anyone.”

  Birdie’s face fell, and she turned away. He should never have mentioned money.

  “Of course. I should have realized… Never mind. God will provide. That’s what Mrs. Fairfield always says.” With that, she scooted out the door.

  Birdie slumped at the street corner, away from the window where Ned could see her. I can’t stay here long. I can’t start crying my eyes out while I’m in public, where anyone can see. She called on the iron backbone that had seen her through so many difficult times. After a minute, she raised her face, free of tears, and walked down the street as if she had a right to be there. Once in the boardinghouse, she raced up the stairs to her room and flung herself across the bed and allowed the sobs to shake her body.

  I’m worthless, no matter what Pastor Fairfield says. No one believes in my dream. Why should they?

  She had thought Ned was different, but he didn’t want anything to do with a dirty saloon girl any more than anyone else did. God and Pastor Fairfield might see Birdie with new eyes, but no one else did. She allowed herself to hope that the members of the sewing circle liked her as well as their friendship suggested. “But not Ned.” With that final thought, she burrowed her head into the pillow, allowing her tears to soak the fabric.

  Get up. We don’t allow any bawling in here. Customers come for a pretty face, not one all puffy from tears. The voice of Nigel Owen from the Betwixt ’n’ Between intruded in Birdie’s thoughts, as loud as if he were in the room with her.

  Here, take some of this. It will take the edge off. Nigel had offered Birdie whiskey after her first customer humiliated her and bruised her in places she had scarcely known existed. She drank it that one time but then felt even worse. Never again. After that, she hid her true feelings, smiling on the outside while crying on the inside.

  The new Birdie had no problem crying, but she held on until she could escape to a private place before she let go. Unable to put any more into words, she repeated the same three names—Annie, Gladys, Ruth—over and over. At last the tears stopped and she sat up.

  The Bible on her nightstand opened to the eighth chapter of Romans, one Mrs. Fairfield said offered her great encouragement when she got discouraged. Birdie had read the chapter so often she almost had it memorized. She especially liked the verses about the Holy Ghost lif
ting up her heart “with groanings which cannot be uttered” and how neither height nor depth nor life nor death could separate her from the love of God. She reread the familiar words and clasped her Bible to her chest. She still couldn’t believe the God of all the universe loved her like that.

  A single tear dropped, and Birdie wiped it away. Exchanging the Bible for a brush, she ran it through her nearly waist-length hair, a hundred strokes. After she had calmed somewhat, she splashed water on her face until she had cooled, and looked into the mirror. Fiery hair framed her face, paler than usual except around the eyes, which were puffy and red. The puffy eyes didn’t matter to her, and she knew they didn’t matter to God, but Miss Kate would cluck over her. Birdie might skip lunch altogether. Why eat? She wasn’t hungry. Instead, she took her Bible and sat in a chair by the window, sipping from a glass of water and reading first one psalm then another, soaking in the promises and expressing the outrage the psalmist felt.

  After a while, Birdie heard Miss Kate’s heavy tread on the stairs. Her landlady’s voice followed a light knock on the door. “I brought you some soup, dearie. Please open your door.”

  Birdie closed her Bible and stood, deciding she could tell Miss Kate about what happened. She had shown an amazing amount of discretion. Crossing the room, Birdie opened the door. “Come in.”

  Miss Kate surveyed the room, dwelling on the soaked pillow and Birdie’s face. “Dearie, what has upset you so much?”

  Chapter 4

  Haydn Keller held the latest edition of the Calico Chronicle where Ned could see it through the window. A glance at the clock told Ned he had about a quarter of an hour before his first customers would arrive. Perfect. He unlocked the door, and Haydn rushed in.

  “I still can’t get used to Calico having a newspaper of our own.” Ned had advertised in the paper from the first edition two months ago, and the decision had more than paid for itself the first week. But this week’s paper held some special information.

  The headline above the fold on the front page grabbed Ned’s attention first. LOCAL ENTREPRENEUR TO JOIN BUSINESS INTERESTS WITH RESTAURATEUR. The article promised upcoming nuptials between Haydn’s grandfather and Miss Kate Polson before the end of the year. Haydn’s smile made Ned laugh.

  “If I can’t feature my own grandfather when he announces his plans to get married, when can I?” Haydn clapped Ned on his back.

  Ned perused the article. Gladys’s outreach had helped the childhood sweethearts to reconnect. If Haydn’s description of Gladys made her sound a little prettier, a tad more talented, who could blame him? “When are you going to announce your own wedding?”

  “All in good time, all in good time.” Haydn rubbed his hands together, and Ned caught the glimmer in his eyes.

  Ned continued perusing the article. “You don’t mention the sewing circle.” He looked at Haydn for an explanation.

  He shrugged. “Both Annie and Birdie have reasons to keep their projects quiet, and as far as I know, Ruth hasn’t chosen hers yet. Gladys said they preferred to keep their names out of it.”

  So Haydn didn’t print all the news all the time, instead showing sensitivity. Ned found his ad on the bottom right-hand corner of the center page. COMING SOON: READY-MADE CLOTHING FOR EVERY NEED FOR BOTH MEN AND WOMEN. Pictures of men’s long johns appeared in the ad, as well as of ladies’ dresses.

  Ned had thought long and hard about how to promote ready-made long johns without drawing attention to Birdie. The idea of advertising in the paper wouldn’t let go. He could gauge interest and, hopefully, assuage Birdie’s fears. “Perfect. Is this my copy?”

  Haydn nodded. “Good luck. We’re praying that you get a good response.” He looked at the clock. “Well, I’d better get going and deliver the rest of the papers.” He headed for the door.

  Haydn timed his paper to print on Friday, for customers who came to town to shop on Saturday. The challenge of anticipating his customers’ needs intrigued Ned. In some ways, he faced the same dilemmas Birdie did. Maybe he could teach her how to plot a profit-and-loss sheet.

  As the customers lined up outside his door, Ned remembered Birdie’s suggestion to hire one of the saloon girls. That move would probably attract the wrong kind of customer.

  God’s advice to Samuel to look at the inside of a man whispered in Ned’s mind, but he pushed it aside as he helped first one customer then another. The biggest crowd passed through after the diner closed for the day. Soldiers had come to town in anticipation of another social event, similar to the ones held earlier in the spring. Several headed in his direction. Did he dare hope they would express interest in men’s underwear?

  Lieutenant Arnold, who was in the store with Annie Bliss by his side examining dish patterns, noticed them as well. “Let me know if any of that lot gives you trouble.”

  Ned scratched his head. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.” Peering out the door, he spotted Birdie, her hair covered with a sunbonnet, hiding in the alley beside the diner. Ned couldn’t be sure, but he thought she was reading the paper. He hoped the advertisement would come as a welcome surprise.

  She glanced up long enough for him to see the scowl on her face. When she saw the soldiers headed for the store, she disappeared from view before he crossed the room. Sighing, he let the men enter. “I’m fixing to close up shop pretty soon.”

  The soldiers were uniformly youthful, perhaps as young as sixteen, full of liquor and looking for a fight. Ned recognized a couple of them from the beer-infused brawl at the box lunch social a few months ago. Had they learned nothing?

  Always professional, Ned forced himself to serve them with a smile. He didn’t carry any items that would shame the buyer or the seller. As the men browsed, he asked, “May I help you find something?”

  “Do you have any sarsaparilla?”

  Ned nodded. “I do. Let me get it for you. How many of you want some?” He began pouring drinks from his soda fountain as fast as he could. “Could I interest you in large pickles?” He pointed to the barrel, hoping they would make their purchases and leave before Birdie decided to come another time.

  Like children set loose in the store, the soldiers bought a variety of penny candies. One hesitated, torn between licorice and lemon drops, while the rest waited at the window. One of them, the oldest, if the extra creases in his trousers suggested years of use, whistled. “Well, looky there.” He pointed across the street. “I didn’t know them ladies came out in the daytime.”

  Ned’s heart sank, but he stayed his distance, not wanting to draw extra attention to the object of the soldier’s whistle.

  The soldier who had requested sarsaparilla glanced at Birdie and shook his head. “Don’t get your hopes up. They say the lady is out of business.”

  Birdie hastened down the street, out of Ned’s line of vision. He couldn’t imagine how she felt, all those men watching her walk down the street.

  “Gentlemen, are you finished?” Ned asked, desperate to draw their attention away from Birdie.

  “Sure.” The last soldier asked for lemon drops but kept his head craned, looking over his shoulder for a final glimpse of Birdie.

  Ned had change ready even before the soldier handed over his silver dollar. “If you hurry, you’ll get to the town square in time for the horseshoe pitch.”

  “I’ll beat you there,” a blond-haired lad said.

  Relief flooded Ned as they headed in the opposite direction from Birdie, but he felt bad about what had happened. Once again, she had removed herself from a social event rather than draw attention to herself or the hosts. Not this time. She had headed in the direction of the boardinghouse. Ned had never approached her there, but maybe now was the time.

  After Ned locked the day’s earnings in his cash box, he dashed out the back door and hurried along the fastest route to Aunt Kate’s house. Birdie entered the house while he was still halfway down the street.

  To his surprise, Aunt Kate came up behind him. “Oh dear. I had to return for my second basket of cookies
, and I saw Birdie race up the steps like a scared rabbit. Do you know what happened?”

  “If I had to guess, I would say she saw someone from her past.”

  “Oh, the poor thing. When will people accept who she is now and stop worrying about her old life?” Miss Kate shook her head as she opened the door for the two of them.

  Ned peeked in the front parlor before following Miss Kate down the hall, glancing into any room that had an open door. They ended in the kitchen at the back, determining they were the only people on the first floor. A piece of newspaper stuck out from the oven. Ned opened the door and saw that the page with the ad was already charred around the edges, although the front page remained intact. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

  “Thank you.” Miss Kate flushed a becoming pink before noticing the charred pages. “That’s strange.” She raised questioning eyes in Ned’s direction.

  Sighing, Ned snatched the paper from the fire. “I expect you’ll want several copies. Too bad this one is burned. Do you mind if I go upstairs and see if Birdie will come down and talk with me?”

  “Go on with you. You can use the front parlor. I’ll be sending up prayers that you can get through to her.”

  Birdie heard the firm tread of Ned’s step as he climbed the stairs and reached the second floor. She knew it was Ned, because she’d overheard his conversation with Miss Kate. But did she want to speak with him? The assurance God gave Joshua when he was faced with a frightening situation jumped into her mind. Don’t be afraid, for I am with you.

  Uncertain, she waited midway between the settee by the window and the door. The knock came, followed by Ned’s voice. “It’s me, Ned. Ned Finnegan.”

  Her feet walked in that direction as if God Himself moved them, and she opened the door a couple of inches. “How can I help you?”

  “Please come downstairs so we can talk. The house is empty except for Aunt Kate. We can sit in the front parlor without worry of anyone overhearing us.”