by Kit Morgan
“I’ll clean up if I need to.” He paced again. “But for now, I’ll keep them.”
“What’s the matter?”
Bart turned to him. “Nothing.”
“Something. You mentioned Elizabeth riled you.”
“Elizabeth?”
“Mrs. Cornell.”
“Oh, her, yes. Quite a pretty woman, but she does have her nose in the air.”
“Elizabeth? Nonsense.”
“How would you know? Have you dealt with her before?”
“My wife worked for her for almost six months – that’s her job you’re hoping to get. She just quit so she could be here with Emma and help her take care of things until the baby comes. Lucius has his job as deputy, and I’m out working on the new place. Which is why I could use a little extra help.”
“Can’t you hire some?”
“Can and have, but I’m not going to turn down an extra pair of hands.”
Bart paced to the other side of the room and back. “This Cornell woman, does she do good business?”
“Yes, and I know for a fact she needs the help, but none of the women around here can do it. They haven’t the time nor the skill for the sort of work Elizabeth turns out. You, on the other hand, would have no problem. I remember you telling me you made both men’s and women’s clothes.”
“Yes, but it’s been awhile.”
“Do you miss it?”
Bart shrugged. “Sometimes the itch to pick up a needle and thread gnaws at me. When I saw the advertisement in the mercantile, I guess it bit down hard. I figured I’d come here and have to dig ditches or something to scratch out a living.”
Eldon stood, a concerned look on his face. “Is the money gone?”
“No, put away. I’m saving it. I’d rather work to make my way than use any of it.”
“Invested?”
“Some, yes.”
Eldon nodded. “I understand how you feel. A man’s got to have purpose, use his skills.”
Bart raised a single eyebrow. “Does that mean you’ve collected a few bounties since striking it rich?”
Eldon smiled. “I have helped the sheriff and my brother track down a few outlaws.”
“Uh-huh. And will you be able to keep busy after your house is built?”
Eldon sighed. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. I’ll worry about it when the time comes.”
Bart solemnly nodded. “A man can’t sit idle. Doesn’t do him a lick of good.”
“I know.” Eldon returned to the sofa and sat. “So does this mean you’re going to work for Mrs. Cornell?”
“That’s up to her. Do you think this town can use a tailor?”
“Not sure you’d get enough business. But if you worked with Mrs. Cornell …”
“I’m not sure her husband would take kindly to his wife working with a man.”
Eldon smiled.
“What?”
“She’s a widow.”
Bart stared at him as an unfamiliar tingle went up his spine. Now what was that about? “A widow. And what are you grinning about?”
Eldon didn’t answer. “For a few years now, as I recall. Her husband was a tailor, and they came here to open the shop together. Aggie tells me he died before they arrived. Elizabeth came anyway and she’s made a go of it.” He grinned. “A mighty handsome woman, Elizabeth …”
Bart wagged a finger at him. “No. Don’t go there.”
“Why not? You have to marry sometime.”
“Eldon, no. I …”
Eldon nodded and raised his hands in apology. “Sorry, didn’t mean to dredge things up.”
Bart crossed the room and stared out the front window. “I could open my own shop eventually.” He turned to Eldon. “If I stay.”
“Cutter’s Creek is small, but it’ll grow. You very well could have your own shop in time.”
“But until then, I’ll have to do what I can.”
“You’re very skilled, friend. Why not help the woman out for a time?”
Bart looked out the window again. “She … I don’t know, rubbed me the wrong way.”
“Well, you did go into her shop looking like you’d just finished hunting beaver pelts in the Rockies. If you were her, would you hire you?”
Bart glanced at him over his shoulder. “Point taken.”
“So why not clean up?”
Bart returned to his chair and sat. “After Pru, I …”
“Not every woman judges a man by his appearance. Prudence was after your money, Bart, plain and simple.”
“And got some of it.”
“A mistake you won’t make again, I’m sure. Besides, there are no women around here like that. Even the whores that occasionally pass through are honest, from what I’ve heard.”
Bart looked sardonic. “There are always women around like that. And for some reason, I always seem to find them.”
Elizabeth couldn’t concentrate. She tried, but her eyes kept darting to the shop door when she was up front. When she was back in the workroom, it was no better – they kept gluing themselves to the door leading up front. That man was coming today.
She didn’t know how he’d managed to put such a burr under her saddle. Okay, maybe she did. But turning people away wasn’t her cup of tea, and he looked so, so … confident. Cocky was more like it. She could see it in his eyes, as if he was thinking, I’ll show you, lady, just you wait. But how could that be? The man looked like he could barely tie his shoes, let alone sew. Something wasn’t right. Maybe he was some kind of confidence man …
“Oh, why are you getting yourself all worked up?” she asked aloud. “Just tell him you can’t use him and be done with it –”
The bell above the door rang. Her heart leapt in her chest. She stood, her back stiff. Why was she so nervous?
“Hello?” the man called.
He was here! She glanced this way and that, looking for … what?! “Oh for Heaven’s sake!” She took a deep breath and went to the front. “May I help you … oh yes, Mr. Brown, how nice to see you again. I trust you brought your samples?”
He held up a burlap sack. He looked as he had a couple of days ago – like he’d just returned from a buffalo hunt.
Elizabeth forced a smile. Well, now she had to at least look at them. She walked around the counter and stood before him. My, but he was tall. “May I?” she asked, holding out her hand.
He gave her the sack but said nothing. He just stood there, his face expressionless, and waited.
She gritted her teeth, turned to the counter and dumped the contents of the sack onto it. Oops. The garments inside had been neatly folded until she’d so casually emptied them out. She straightened a brocade vest, and … egads, it was beautiful. “My …” She turned to look at him, but he was feigning interest in the shop window’s curtains. Yes, ‘cocky’ was the word. She certainly hoped he hadn’t stolen the clothes she was examining!
She returned her attention to the pile. There was a woman’s skirt, a shirtwaist, the vest, a pair of men’s trousers and an embroidered handkerchief. She picked up and examined each and every piece, and the workmanship was incredible. Her anger flared. “Where did you get these?”
“You wanted samples, ma’am. I’ve provided them.”
She spun around. “Yes, but where did you get them?”
He sighed in exasperation, went to the counter and picked up the vest. “This, I made six years ago for a man going abroad. He never picked it up.” He held up the shirtwaist. “Also six years ago. The woman couldn’t pay so I kept them.” The skirt. “I made this yesterday, just to have something more recent. This …” He reached for the pants.
“That’s enough!” Elizabeth said, back stiff, her mouth pressed into a firm line.
He smiled. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like them?”
Her eyes flicked to the pile. “They’re beautiful. Excellent work. I couldn’t have done better myself. Now, kindly leave my shop.” She pointed to the door.
He straightened
to his full height and looked at her. “Are you saying that you find my work, less than satisfactory?”
“What?” Elizabeth said in surprise.
He shrugged. “Obviously you don’t approve, whatever the reason.” The man started to re-fold the garments and return them to the sack.
Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “Mr. Brown, I don’t appreciate you coming in here, showing me these things and thinking I’m going to hire you! Clearly these were made by someone else – how dare you pass them off as your own?”
He smiled, looked her up and down, then wrinkled his nose. “Women.” He spun on his boot heel and headed for the door.
Elizabeth fumed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He turned, and the look on his face could have frozen a hot spring. “My dear woman, if you were to get your nose out of the air long enough to see things for what they are, we’d probably get along fine. As it is, I think I’ll go find a ditch to dig. Good morning.” He left.
Elizabeth stared at the door, her mouth hanging open. A good thing there were no flies in the shop – as long as she stood there, one could’ve flown right into it. She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the man. He spoke with a sophisticated Eastern accent, not the country dialect she was used to around Cutter’s Creek, but looked and dressed like someone who hadn’t seen civilization since before the war. And the clothes in the sack …
“He is a con man. How dare he!” What a fool she’d been. Maybe she should tell the sheriff – or at least Lucius Judrow. Yes, that’s what she’d do. Who knew what other mischief the man might cause while in town?
She marched through the shop, through the workroom, into the storeroom and upstairs to her apartment to get her shawl and reticule. Best to get this business taken care of now. What if the man was dangerous? He certainly looked it, with that long hair and beard of his and his patched buckskin outfit. At least he bathed – she had to give him that.
She locked up the shop and headed straight for the sheriff’s office, hoping someone was there. She shouldn’t be leaving the shop during business hours, but she had to take care of this. After all, it was her civil duty to report the man.
Marching down the boardwalk at a good clip, she passed several people she knew but barely gave them a nod of greeting. The sooner she got this done, the better – then things could return to normal. She liked things quiet and orderly in her life, and didn’t have time to deal with the likes of Mr. Brown. Passing another’s work off as his own – how infuriating! Every time she thought about it she seethed.
Elizabeth suddenly stopped. Why was she so angry? Maybe it was just the stress of being so busy. Or professional pride – any other seamstress would be fuming at an impostor in their field, wouldn’t they?
It didn’t matter why – wrong was wrong. She shook herself and continued on.
4
“Elizabeth!” Emma Judrow said as Elizabeth entered the sheriff’s office.
“Emma! What are you doing here?”
“We came to give Lucius his lunch and visit.” She gave her swollen belly a pat. “Didn’t we, pumpkins?”
Elizabeth smiled, wondering if she were ever lucky enough to have children one day, she’d talk to her stomach. “Is the sheriff here?”
“No, he’s out at the Pearsons’ place,” Lucius said, rising from his chair. “Seems Old Man Pearson’s missing a few things.”
“I knew it!” Elizabeth said. “I just knew it!”
Lucius frowned. “Knew what? Is something wrong?”
Elizabeth steeled herself. She didn’t want to make the man out to be some kind of murderer. Then again …
“Elizabeth, what’s wrong?” Emma asked. “You look like something terrible has happened.”
“No, not really. But I have my suspicions.”
“What are you talking about?” Lucius asked.
“There’s a stranger in town. Maybe he’s the reason Mr. Pearson is missing things. This man looks the type.”
Lucius sat again, opened his desk drawer and took out paper and a pencil. “What’s he look like?”
“Well, he’s about so high.” She put her hand a few inches above her head. She looked at the hand and raised it. “Make that this high.”
Lucius jotted it down.
“He’s got scraggly long hair, and a beard down to his waist.”
“Color?” Lucius asked.
“Brown.”
“Eyes?”
“Oh, er … dark. Brown or black, I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure? Were you at a distance when you saw him?”
“No, it’s just that he had so much hair on his face I could barely see them.”
“Dark.” Lucius wrote it down. “Any distinctive features, marks?”
“Just a lot of hair and whiskers.”
“How was he dressed?”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed as she pressed herself to remember. “Long brown leather coat, patched in places. Brown Stetson, also patched. Black shirt, denim trousers, high boots. All of it filthy – he had bathed recently, but he looked like he hadn’t washed his clothes since Hector was a pup.”
Emma giggled at the expression, then bit her lower lip. “Sorry.”
Elizabeth waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Just keep an eye out for him. You never know, he could be dangerous.”
“Could be. Have to admit, I haven’t seen him around. Maybe Mr. Pearson has.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if he had,” Elizabeth said as a chill went up her spine. To think she’d had the man in her shop – twice!
“Oh, before I forget,” Emma told Lucius. “Eldon said we’re having company tomorrow night for supper.”
“We are? Who?”
“A friend of his from California. He invited him to come take a look at Cutter’s Creek, tought he might like to settle here. He’s going to have him help build the house.”
“Hmmm … he didn’t mention anything to me. But then, he did get back late last night. Spent quite a bit of time working on the new place yesterday.”
“Maybe that’s when he received the letter from his friend,” Emma said. “It would be just like Eldon to want to get things organized first so he can show him what he’s done so far.”
“That means he’ll be coming in on the afternoon stage, or maybe tomorrow’s. You up to it?”
“Certainly. Especially with Aggie there.”
“How is Aggie?” Elizabeth asked. “I so miss having her around the shop.”
“She misses you too. She’s down at the mercantile visiting with Abigail and Jasper – she’ll be along soon if you want to wait.”
“Though she’ll probably stop by the dress shop,” said Lucius. “You’d best get back there – I know you’re busy.”
“My goodness, you’re right.” Elizabeth headed for the door. “Thank you, Lucius. I hope that man leaves town before you have to arrest him.”
“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” he called after her as she hurried out the door.
Once outside, she headed back to the shop. And none too soon – Aggie was already at the door. “Oh my, here you are!” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “I was just with Emma and Lucius, and they told me you were in town.”
“Yes, I drove Emma in – she needed to get out. The weather has been so fine until today.”
“Yes, it’s a little chilly, but I don’t mind.” Elizabeth unlocked the door. “Come inside and have a cup of tea.”
Aggie followed her into the dress shop, and they went upstairs to the apartment. Once in the kitchen, Elizabeth sighed heavily. “What a day so far.”
“What’s happened? Are you behind in the work?”
She busied herself with making their tea. “Yes, but never mind about that. How’s married life?”
“The same as it was before I left the dress shop.” Aggie sat at the kitchen table. “Bliss.”
“I’m jealous,” Elizabeth said with a smile. Of course, who wouldn’t
be? Agatha Shrewsbury had come to work for Elizabeth the previous December. Back then, she’d had little more than the clothes on her back, having spent the last few years being horribly mistreated by the family she lived with, treated as a live-in slave.
But she’d managed to get free of them, come to work at Cornell’s, and then along came Eldon Judrow, who swept her off her feet and married her. Not without a little help, mind, but it was all very romantic – complete with a ball, a wretch of a woman who tried to make Aggie’s life as miserable as possible, and the heroic Eldon, who rescued Aggie from it all. Now she didn’t want for anything.
“It’s been almost five months and I can’t believe it. I still pinch myself.”
“Eldon is a wonderful man, as is his brother Lucius. You and Emma are very lucky to have such wonderful husbands.”
Aggie smiled. “I keep hearing that.”
“Because it’s true,” Elizabeth said. The kettle whistled, drawing Elizabeth’s attention. She took it off the stove and poured water into the teapot.
“Do you ever think about getting married again?” Aggie asked.
Elizabeth stopped, looked at her, turned back and poured. “No.”
Aggie picked at a loose thread on her shawl. “I’d want to. Now that I know what I’ve been missing.”
Elizabeth brought the pot to the table, then went to a hutch to get cups and saucers. “I already know what I’m missing. But I don’t know if I’d want … well, never mind.”
“Want what?”
Elizabeth set the cups and saucers on the table and sat. “When you’ve had love once, then it’s taken away from you …” She stopped, picked up the teapot, gave it a swirl and started to pour. “… you’re not keen on going through something like that again. I don’t want to deal with another heartbreak.”
Aggie looked sympathetic. “You’ve never told me that before. I’m sorry you lost your husband. Are you still in love with him?”
“Of course. He was a wonderful man.” She took a sip of her tea. “But he’s gone.”
Aggie nodded, not knowing what to say. She also took a sip, feeling a little guilty about her own good fortune. Best she change the subject. “I heard Olivia Bridger and her family finally left for Oregon.”
