Brides of Virginia

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  By the time Parson Jeffrey finished an excellent sermon on living by faith and the congregation stood to sing the benediction, Rose held a sleeping baby in each arm. Instead of her full sleeves ballooning out as fashion dictated, they both caved in. The knot in the uppermost military cord loop was soggy from having become a teething chew. A suspicious damp spot marred her skirt, yet she wore a look of utter contentment.

  The scripture of the day from the third chapter of 1 John ran through his mind again. “My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth. And hereby we know that we are of the truth, and shall assure our hearts before him.”

  Yes, he’d come to the right place. Good people—people like Rose Masterson—lived here.

  “King me!” Leigh Anne clapped her hands delightedly.

  “Now weren’t you clever.” Rose slipped a draught atop one of Leigh Anne’s red ones. They sat by the cracker barrel in Diamond Emporium and chattered as they played the game. Rose knew Leigh Anne’s grandma timed her shopping to coordinate with the end of the school day, but she’d been a bit late today. It was too hard for Leigh Anne to walk about the store due to the heavy steel-and-leather leg braces she wore, so Rose challenged Leigh Anne to a game of draughts.

  “I get a lot of practice at board games.” Leigh Anne tried to be subtle as she scratched below her knee.

  Rose knew the brace often rubbed, so she leaned across the board and whispered, “Do you need some salve?”

  “I ran out,” Leigh Anne admitted.

  Garret sauntered over. He looked quite dashing in a casual sort of way. Instead of wearing a suit coat as he worked, he always wore a vest and gartered his shirtsleeves.

  From the way the young girl blushed, Rose decided to say something so Garret wouldn’t know what the conversation was about. Leigh Anne loathed her braces and would probably rather be shaved bald than to have them become a topic of conversation. Rose teased, “Seems to me you’ve said the same thing about root beer barrels in the past—that you’ve run out.”

  “Root beer barrels?” He squatted down beside Leigh Anne and studied the checkered board. “Looks like you have Miss Masterson on the run. Why don’t you hand me one of those draughts you captured?”

  Leigh Anne happily handed over one of the black wooden pieces.

  Garret hefted it in his hand a few times, then stood. He grabbed a few root beer barrel candies and soon was juggling the draught amid a flurry of candies. When he stopped with a flourish, he dumped the candies into Leigh Anne’s lap. “Miss Masterson trounced me in a game a few days ago. From now on, any time you beat her, I’ll pay you a piece of candy. We’ve got to stick together, you and I.”

  “I’ll share with you, Miss Rose.”

  Rose shook her head. “No, Leigh Anne. You earned those candies.”

  “Grandma says a girl should only accept gifts and candy from a man if he’s her beau. I can’t have a beau.”

  “You are a bit young,” Garret agreed.

  Leigh Anne shook her head so vehemently that her dark brown curls swirled. “I’m almost fourteen. Gladys is twelve, and her initials are already carved in the sweetheart tree. No one will have me.”

  “Leigh Anne, you don’t know that,” her grandmother refuted, having just arrived. “God might have someone special just for you.”

  Hands knotted around the candies in her lap, Leigh Anne whispered, “I’m crippled.”

  Garret hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and scowled. “Miss Leigh Anne, your limbs might be on the weak side, but your mind’s sharp as a tack, and your heart is sweet as honey. It occurs to me, one of these days, some smart fellow is going to count himself mighty lucky to have an excuse to sweep you into his arms and carry you about.”

  “You’re so romantic, Mr. Diamond.” Leigh Anne drew in a quick breath and blurted out, “Why aren’t you married?”

  “Leigh Anne!” Her grandmother pressed her hand to her bosom and nearly had apoplexy.

  The door to the emporium opened, and as a couple of ladies entered, Garret nodded his greeting, then blithely turned back to Leigh Anne. “You’re asking what everyone else is wondering. The truth is, a man has no right to call on a woman when he doesn’t have the time to attend her. I need to build my business so I’ll be able to provide well for a family. When the time comes, I want my emporium to be stable so I can dedicate myself to being a good husband, just as Christ cared for His bride, the Church.”

  “Why, now isn’t that sensible of you?” Lula Mae Evert cooed as she came closer. “As busy as you’ve been, it should not take long at all for you to realize great success with your store.”

  “It’s thriving. Everyone says so,” Mrs. Busby agreed.

  A little boy at her side tilted his head far back so he could look up at Garret. “Papa says you’ll be ready to marry up by Christmas.”

  “Is that so?” Garret nearly choked on the root beer candy he’d popped into his mouth.

  Rose stood and started smacking him between the shoulder blades.

  “Yeah, to my cousin, Missy Pat—”

  His mother’s hand clapped over the boy’s mouth. “We really must hurry. I just stopped in to buy …” Her voice died out, and her already-pink cheeks went positively scarlet.

  “Some?” Garret recovered enough from his choking that he rasped out the prompt.

  “Matches,” Mrs. Busby said in a strangled tone.

  Rose had to credit Garret. He resumed his professional demeanor and ignored what amounted to an embarrassing pun. He acted as if the simple request couldn’t be interpreted in any other manner and nodded sagely. “Matches. Parlor, small box, or vest matches?”

  “Mr. Busby doesn’t smoke. I believe I’ll take some for both kitchen and parlor.”

  Garret walked toward a nearby shelf, tapped the edge, then turned around. “Mrs. Busby, I know my predecessor sold lucifers, and I have the remaining stock on the shelf. Keeping them there goes against my grain. I’d far rather give you a flint striker than sell you these old-fashioned phosphorus lucifers. I don’t think they’re safe. I have Red Top matches due in later this week.”

  “Oh, la!” Mrs. Busby waved her hand dismissively. “I learned to cook and keep house with lucifers, and I’ve never once had a single spark go astray.”

  Mrs. Blanchard bobbed her head in agreement. “They’re ever so much more convenient. Why, I simply keep a quart jar of water close by to douse the match when I’m done.”

  “I’ve seen too many sparks from those for my own comfort. I took to mail-ordering Red Tops a year ago,” Rose said.

  “As do I.” Leigh Anne’s grandmother put a can of Wedding Breakfast coffee on the counter. “Leigh Anne, are you and Rose about finished with your game?”

  “About six more moves, Grandma.”

  “I’ll be sure she gets home,” Garret promised as he headed to the counter. Rose noted he’d not taken matches along with him for Mrs. Busby. Instead, he’d stubbornly taken along a striker. “I’ll be sure to keep sulfur tops for you ladies. There’s no reason for you to need to order such necessities by mail.”

  He tallied up everyone’s purchases and sent them on their way, and Leigh Anne finished the last move of her victorious game. As Rose stood and shook the wrinkles out of her gown, the shop bell rang.

  “Mr. Diamond, I’m going to have to throw myself at your mercy.” Trevor Kendricks shuffled by the door. “Ma’s under the weather and wants some embroidery stuff—pink.” His face matched the color he requested.

  “Embroidery floss …” Garret folded his arms across his chest. “I have it by the skeins, but I’m hopeless as can be when it comes to choosing a matching hue.”

  “Did she tell you a name or number?” Leigh Anne asked softly. “Corticelli numbers the spools.”

  “Can’t rightly recollect. I get the numbers all squirreled up in my brainbox. I have a strand here in my pocket.”

  “While you youngsters match that up, I’m going to go ahead and buy
a postage stamp.” Rose went to the counter and slipped two cents to Mr. Deeter.

  “Here you are, Rose.” He slid the stamp to her and jerked his thumb back toward some brown-paper-wrapped packages on the counter. “You had more parcels come today, but they were too late, so Tommy will be delivering them tomorrow. If you needed either of these immediately, I thought you might want to know they’re here.”

  Rose smiled. “Oh, I’ll carry the smaller one home with me. I’ve been waiting for it.”

  Garret called over, “I’ll be happy to carry the other box to your house after I close tonight.”

  “How very kind of you.”

  Mr. Deeter bobbed his head. “He’s a good’un. Garret, you’d best come claim it now. I’m liable to lock up the post office while you’re busy with customers, and I don’t want Miss Rose to think we forgot about her parcel.”

  Garret strode over as Rose licked the stamp and applied it to the corner of the envelope.

  Garret’s features went taut, and Rose knew he’d read the address: Sears, Roebuck and Co.

  Chapter 5

  Rose swept up the smaller package. “Isn’t this convenient? The post office and the mercantile working hand in hand. I declare, Mr. Diamond, you’ve made your emporium such a cheery place; it’s a pleasure to stop in.”

  “Thank you.” From the hectic blush on her cheeks and the way she suddenly plunged into chatter, he could tell she was embarrassed. She undoubtedly didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she’d grown accustomed to mail-order shopping. It might take a short time for her to change her ways. He could be understanding and bide his time. Garret decided to wait until he could speak with her privately. Though she expressed the firm wish to remain single, Miss Masterson’s business was worth courting.

  “We found it!” Leigh Anne called out.

  “Wonderful.” Garret hefted the larger box and carried it over to his work counter.

  “And Leigh Anne shared her candy with me,” Trevor said. He sounded like he had a marble in his mouth.

  Garret turned so the youngsters couldn’t see him and gave Rose an exaggerated wink. He went over to them, then praised, “That does look like a dandy match. Miss Leigh Anne, are you about ready to go home now?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I’m still trying to figure out where everyone lives.”

  “Oh, we’re neighbors. Leigh Anne’s two doors down from me on Elm.” Trevor handed the spool of embroidery floss to Garret and dug into his pocket. The penny he pulled out bore a fair coating of lint, which he rubbed at. “Sorry.”

  “Not a problem.” Garret flipped the penny onto the counter and lifted Leigh Anne into his arms. “Miss Masterson, would you please mind the store for me for a few moments while I escort this pretty young lady home?”

  “Now wait a minute.” Trevor handed the floss to Leigh Anne. Her hand closed around it as her mouth formed a perfect O. The strapping teen grabbed the dainty girl from Garret.

  “I’m happy to mind the store.” Rose pulled an apron from a hook on the wall.

  “Seems to me Mr. Diamond ought to mind his own store.” Trevor’s arms tightened. “Leigh’s my neighbor. No use in him wandering around when I can take care of her far better.”

  “Miss Leigh Anne.” Garret reached for her. “I promised your grandmother I’d be sure you got home.”

  “You’re keeping your word. You can be sure I’ll carry her home safe as can be. Leigh, hook your arm ‘round my neck. We need to get going. Ma’s wanting her floss, and you don’t want your grandma fretting herself about you.”

  Rose tugged Leigh Anne’s skirts down to keep her ankles covered. “Mr. Diamond, I can personally vouch for Trevor’s character. He’s dependable as the day is long and strong, as you can plainly see.”

  “Miss Leigh Anne.” Garret beetled his brows and gave her a stern look. “If you aren’t comfortable with this arrangement—”

  Her arm wound around the lad’s neck. “Miss Rose says it’s acceptable. I think we’re just fine. Thank you for asking though.”

  Garret held the door, then shut it after they left. As he turned around, Rose didn’t bother to hide her smile. She shook her finger at him. “For shame, Mr. Diamond. You don’t want anyone playing matchmaker on your behalf, and here you are, nocking an arrow on Cupid’s bow for those two.”

  “Am I supposed to understand what you’re talking about?” The deep creases bracketing the corners of his upturned mouth made it clear he knew precisely what he’d been doing, and his sudden ploy at innocence was just another game.

  She took off the apron she’d donned and draped it over his shoulder. “I’ll take that package with me now.”

  “Speaking of packages, Miss Masterson, you’ve gotten a total of three in the week since I’ve been here.”

  Rose’s step faltered. Please, Lord, don’t let him ask me about it.

  “I’m sorry the mercantile didn’t meet your needs in the past and certainly hope you’ll allow me the chance to carry the goods you need now that I’ve taken over.”

  Color stained her cheeks.

  Garret felt like a cad. “I understand there are times when a lady might wish to purchase items of a personal nature through a mail-order catalog. Please don’t think me indelicate. My intent is to run a business where you are able to find any of your other needs.”

  “I’ve been here twice in the past week to purchase things. If you’ll excuse me, I must go.”

  She swept out of the mercantile with equal amounts of speed and grace. Garret watched her go, then set about reworking the display of homeopathic curatives and medicaments. They were no more than a jumble of tins, bottles, and jars in a case he’d not yet reached. As he started to empty the case and examine the contents, he groaned. Most of the bottles contained spirits and unnamed ingredients. Two were so old, sludge had formed in the bottom. A jar of Vaseline, a tin of bag balm, and Red Clove liniment were all he salvaged. The rest, Garret dumped into a bucket. He’d ask Doc if any of them were worth keeping.

  As he set the bucket in the storage room, Garret couldn’t help thinking the woman on the jar of Magnificent Mane looked quite similar to Rose Masterson. She had the same delicate features, and he imagined when Rose unpinned her hair, it would be every bit as luxurious.

  He shook his head. I’ve seen several lovely girls today—all tidy as can be, who would do credit to any man they wed. Missy Patterson, Hattie Percopie, Anna Sneedly, Constance Blanchard … Each of them from fine family backgrounds, soft-spoken—and utterly boring. Rose—mussy little Rose who forgets her hat half the time, whose topknot skids around, whose sash is more likely to be mangled than tied in a pretty bow—she’s the one I think of. What’s come over me?

  He tilted his head and rubbed the back of his neck. The memory of her flowing script on that envelope addressed to the catalog flashed through his mind.

  Then and there, he determined he’d win her business—all of her business. He’d come to Buttonhole full of dreams of making his mark in the world. He didn’t imagine himself as building a business empire. More than anything, he wanted to be a man who served the Lord and his fellowman. To his way of thinking, if every man loved his family and bettered his community, the world would be a far better place. Once he stabilized his emporium, Garret figured the Lord would send a wife his way. One step at a time—one foot in front of the other in a sure and steady walk.

  He had no way of knowing what Miss Masterson ordered. Simply put, it stretched his imagination that she’d needed four different shipments of things of such a private nature that she’d needed to mail-order them in such a short span of time.

  On occasion, he’d even ordered from a catalog or two himself. The catalogs always promised their prices were lower than those of local merchants—a fact that Garret felt was not borne out. Nonetheless, if Miss Masterson was barely eking by, she might well have been convinced by the catalog that she’d be saving money by dealing with them. Garret decided he’d show her the truth by looking
through the pages of the mail-order book and demonstrating that his prices were quite comparable. The convenience of having the purchases on hand rather than waiting for them and paying postage ought to tip the scales in her mind. After all, she did seem like a reasonable woman.

  Indeed, she was a reasonable woman, and he was a rational man. With that level of practicality betwixt them, she’d come to see the light.

  Garret wouldn’t begrudge her a final item. In fact, he’d promised to personally deliver the two other boxes that had come for her. It would give him an excuse—no, he corrected himself—a reason to go speak to her this evening.

  The store was a bit slow. Garret didn’t want to pay a call in the rumpled shirt he’d worn all day, so he stuck an iron on the store’s potbellied stove. Great-aunt Brigit always made ironing look so simple. Garret realized the chore was far more complex than he’d imagined. He couldn’t decide whether to start on the collar or the sleeves. He scowled at the shirt. Or do I start in on the main part?

  He slung a shirt over the board and decided to proceed from one side to the other. As soon as the flatiron heated up, he attacked. With more zeal than skill, he mowed over the buttons. Just then, he felt something underfoot. A quick downward glance revealed that one sleeve dragged on the floor. He flipped it up, then sniffed. Something smelled—“Oh no!” He jerked the flatiron off the shirt and scowled at the arch-shaped, yellow-brown scorch marring the garment.

  An hour later, the rest of the shirt looked passable. Garret covered up the damage with a vest and coat. He applied fresh pomade to his hair and decided to take along something to sweeten up the lady. The row of clear glass candy jars caught his attention.

  Mints? No. She might think he was telling her she had bad breath. Sour balls? Garret shook his head. He didn’t want her to misconstrue them into an odd symbol of him thinking she was tart-tongued. No man took chocolates to a woman unless he intended to court her, so he ruled those out at once. She hadn’t wanted any of Leigh Anne’s root beer barrels. Tootsie Rolls! Yes, that would be the ideal candy. It would be a subtle reminder to her that Diamond Emporium carried the finest, the latest, the best. They would also take a little while to eat, so that would stretch out the visit long enough to permit him sufficient time to state his case.