by Kit Morgan
Mrs. Cornell sighed in exasperation.
“Is something wrong, Mrs. Cornell?” Bart asked with a suppressed grin.
“Nothing,” she said, then looked him in the eye. “Except that what Aggie says is true.” She took a deep breath. “Would you like to come work for me, Mr. Brown?”
“Me, work for you?” he said in feigned astonishment. “Why, I’m honored you’d consider me.”
“Report to the shop at eight o’clock in the morning and we’ll work out the details –”
“But I have thought of opening a shop of my own,” he interrupted.
Her mouth dropped open. “What?”
“Eldon and I were talking just this morning about how Cutter’s Creek is growing. I’m sure it could support two clothiers.”
Mrs. Cornell stood. “Now see here, Mr. Brown!”
“See … what?” he asked, bemused.
“You can’t open a dress shop!”
“I could, actually. But I think I’d rather open a tailor’s shop.”
“But … but … this town isn’t big enough …”
“For the both of us?” he finished with a grin.
Poor Mrs. Cornell looked about to lose her mind. “Ohhhh! You, you …”
“But I think I like your offer better. For now. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at eight sharp.”
Elizabeth tossed and turned that night, unable to relax. Eldon and Aggie drove her home after dessert and coffee. Mr. Brown had ceased his antagonizing of her to concentrate on a game of checkers with Lucius.
He never did examine her dress, the lout. Maybe he was afraid he’d discover she was a better dressmaker than he. At any rate, she’d find out in the next few days. She knew several orders would be coming in this week, and she’d have to jump on them if she wanted to get done in time for the ladies’ first fittings.
She suddenly sat up. “Oh goodness gracious, no!” She’d have to be sure to do all the fittings herself. What would the ladies in town think of Mr. Brown’s hands all over them, plying the measuring tape? What if she lost business because of him? No matter how good he was with the needle and thread, it would be for naught if he scared the customers away? “Oh dear,” she groaned, flopping back against the pillow.
She did her best to get comfortable and tried to sleep. All she could do now was swallow her pride and give the man a chance. Thanks to Aggie, that traitor, she had no other recourse. If he were to open up his own tailor’s shop, only two things could happen – either he’d succeed and put her own business in peril due to the competition, or he’d fail, lose his investment and starve.
The man irritated her to no end, but she didn’t want to see him fall on hard times - from the looks of him, he’d landed on quite a few already. If he was so good with a needle and thread, then why hadn’t he made himself some new clothes? And for Heaven’s sake, didn’t the man own a razor?
Elizabeth punched her pillow a few times, flipped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. If she didn’t get to sleep soon, she’d be cranky and worthless in the morning. “Oh Lord,” she prayed. “Let this work out. You know how I need the help, but I’m not sure I want his help.” She balled her hand into a fist and struck the mattress. “I don’t know what it is about that man, Lord, but he annoys me so. How can I work with him? How do I remain civil when I want to throttle him?”
With a heavy sigh, she turned to her side, closed her eyes and fell asleep. Eventually.
6
“I’m not going to let him bother me. I won’t, I won’t. Not me.” Elizabeth drank her coffee, set the cup in the dry sink and went to the kitchen hutch. “He’s not getting under my skin, by golly …” She put her morning dishes away, noticed she still held a plate in her hand and eyed the fork she’d just added to a stack of bowls. “Drat!”
She put things in the proper place, still muttering to herself the whole while: “drat, drat, drat,” or “blast it all,” and even the occasional “tarnation!” She still had no idea why Bartholomew Brown had her so rattled. What was it about that man that set her teeth on edge yet at the same time made her so … so … what?
He’d pricked her pride last night – maybe that’s what had her so upset this morning. Of course, she should have been forthcoming and told Aggie and the others that he’d come to the shop looking for work – and had given her the courtesy of bringing in samples, good samples. Some of the best she’d ever seen. So was she just scared that he might be better than she was? Well, that wasn’t really a concern if he was working for her.
Another possible factor: his looks. How could she have known that an expert tailor was hiding behind that ridiculous bushy beard and those stained clothes? Maybe if he’d shaved …
“Lizzy, get a hold of yourself!” she admonished, and headed downstairs to the shop. In the workroom she glanced at the clock. Eight o’clock …
A knock at the door. Drat – it had to be him. Elizabeth took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and went up front to unlock it.
Sure enough … “Good morning, Mrs. Cornell,” Mr. Brown said politely. She noticed he was dressed properly – a dapper gray suit coat, waistcoat and trousers. He still wore the same boots, but they’d been scrubbed and polished. Gone was the shabby coat, the patched pants. Had he borrowed the clothes from Eldon or Lucius, or were they his own? Hmmm, she thought, maybe he’d be civil from now on. Especially since I am going to be his employer.
“I’m surprised you didn’t have the shop open by now.” He glided inside.
So much for that hope. She stiffened as she pushed the door shut. “I was about to.”
He pulled out a pocket watch on a chain and flipped it open. “Your clocks must be slow.”
She felt her hands curl into fists. “My clocks are perfectly on time.”
He closed his watch. “So it’s you that’s slow?”
Lord, help me not to strangle him! She uncoiled her fingers and smiled sweetly. “Mr. Brown, since you’re working here, I find it necessary to lay down a few rules.”
“Of course, as would I if it were my shop,” he said agreeably.
She gave a slow nod. “Yes, well … first of all, there’s a lot of work to be done here, and I simply do not have the time or the energy for petty arguments. I don’t need someone coming in and telling me that my clocks – or I – am slow, or any other variety of nitpicking. You are, I assure you, the only person who’s ever felt the need to treat me in such a way. If you feel that you simply must go out of your way to get my goat, then I will find an assistant who doesn’t.”
Several seconds of silence. The expressions crossing his face were a sight to behold. Finally he swallowed and nodded. “I understand, ma’am. I meant no offense.”
“Then I shall take none – but I mean what I said. Secondly, my customers are primarily women –”
“This is a dress shop, Mrs. Cornell,” he interrupted.
She forced a smile. “I’m aware. And some of my patrons might not take to a man working as my assistant.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“But they certainly won’t take to a man working as my assistant who – and I apologize if this lacks diplomacy – who is not properly groomed.”
He looked himself over. “I’m not?”
“Not for this position. For bear hunting, perhaps, but I’ve had no bears come into my shop. I will let it pass for today, but for today I’ll have you working in the back, away from the customers. When you come in tomorrow, I will expect you to have your hair cut and your beard shaved or at least trimmed to a more appropriate length.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Am I to understand that you don’t approve of my appearance?”
“Yes, I do not, and I don’t believe my customers will either.”
He clasped his hands in front of him and shook his head. “There you go again.”
Her face screwed up in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
He stepped toward her. “Judging.”
Her mouth dropped open
. “Judging! This …” No, I won’t let him do this to me. “… this is a requirement for the position, and I don’t believe it’s an unreasonable one. People do judge by appearances, Mr. Brown, and wishing it were otherwise will not change that. Do take care of it before I open tomorrow morning.”
There was an impish gleam in his eye, but otherwise he seemed, at the very least, cooperative. “Yes, ma’am. Is there a barber in town?”
She nodded. “Seneca Williams has a barbershop at the hotel, and I know he works late. You can drop by there after I close. Now, as far as my customers …”
The bell over the door rang and in walked Mrs. Petroff and Merritt. “Good morning, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Petroff greeted. Then she saw Mr. Brown and stopped short. “Oh, um … hello.”
“Good morning, madam,” he said with a slight bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mr. Brown, Mrs. Cornell’s new assistant. And you are?”
Elizabeth smiled despite herself. The man didn’t miss a beat.
It took a few seconds for Mrs. Petroff to recover, though. She glanced between him and Elizabeth before replying. “I’m Mrs. Petroff, and this is my granddaughter Merritt.”
“How do you do?” he said politely, took Merritt’s hand and gently kissed it. She blushed prettily.
“Well, Elizabeth, this is a surprise,” Mrs. Petroff went on. “The last thing I’d expect to see working in your shop is a man.”
“Mr. Brown is quite well-qualified,” Elizabeth assured her. “In fact, he used to have his own tailoring concern in Boston. Isn’t that right, Mr. Brown?”
“Indeed,” he said. “How may we be of service, Mrs. Petroff?”
Now Elizabeth was smiling unreservedly. If he behaved himself, left off the nitpicking – and got rid of most of that hair – this just might work out.
“Oh yes. Merritt has a dress Elizabeth has been working on, and we’ve come for a fitting.”
“How nice.” He motioned toward the three chairs Elizabeth used for her waiting customers. “Have a seat and, Mrs. Cornell will help you.”
Now Mrs. Petroff blushed! Then she smiled and led Merritt to the chairs.
“Mr. Brown?” Elizabeth prompted. The man was looking satisfied with himself. Time to get him back on track. “Mrs. Petroff’s dress?”
He didn’t faze easily, that was for sure. “Yes, I take it it’s in the back room?”
“It is. Let me take you back there and get you settled for the day.” She headed back, clearly expecting him to follow. Thankfully he did.
Once in the workroom, Elizabeth pulled out a chair at one of the two tables and motioned Mr. Brown toward it. As he sat, she went to the mannequin with Merritt’s dress and took a moment to admire her work. She’d made a beautiful day dress of apple-green silk with a tone-on-tone floral pattern, trims of plain and moiré silk in a darker pine green, with dark green buttons to match and lace collars and cuffs. Merritt would look stunning in it.
Elizabeth began to carefully remove it from the mannequin when she heard a clap-clap-clap behind her. “I applaud you, Mrs. Cornell,” Mr. Brown said as he looked at the dress. “May I take a closer look?”
She looked him over, but detected no sarcasm. “All right, but quickly – I don’t want to keep Merritt waiting.”
“Understood.” He got up and walked around the mannequin, occasionally running a finger over the stitching. “Superb.”
“Thank you,” she said cautiously. “Now …” Hmmm, this was going to be a little more complicated than she’d thought. She needed to do Merritt’s fitting in the back room, for privacy. But she certainly couldn’t have Mr. Brown here for that. “Well … I guess I’ll have to have you up front for the moment, while I help Merritt back here.”
“Of course,” he said with a nod. “I’ll do my best not to scare off the more sensitive customers.”
Her smile was tight – she was not going to let him irritate her. “Have Merritt come back.”
“I will indeed.” He turned on his heel and left the workroom.
A small, nagging voice rose up from nowhere: Elizabeth, why are you being so hard on this man? Her conscience would pick this moment to speak. But her answer was just as quick: because he’s being so hard on me. If he wanted to get into a battle of wills with her, he was welcome to … but he wasn’t going to win it.
“Elizabeth,” Mrs. Petroff said conspiratorially as she hurried ahead of Merritt. “Wherever did you find him?”
With a sigh, Elizabeth steeled herself to explain the man’s appearance.
“Why, he said he knows Paris fashions! Paris! What a gem!”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling. “He … what?”
“Yes, which is why I had to ask. Where did you find him?”
She sighed again. “He found me, actually. Walked right through my door.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Petroff clapped her hands. “Just like Aggie – Heaven-sent!”
That wasn’t what Elizabeth would call it, but never mind. “Merritt, let’s see how this fits.”
News traveled fast in a small town like Cutter’s Creek. By the time lunch was over – helped by Mr. Brown taking his at the local café – the word was out that the dress shop had a new employee. And not only new, but male; up to date on the latest fashions in New York, Boston and Paris; and with a beard a Canadian fur trapper would envy. It was downright unnerving.
“Oh my!” exclaimed Abigail Smith as Elizabeth returned to the front of the shop. She’d gone to the workroom to fetch some mending for Mrs. Waverly. “And you say they wear them how?”
Mr. Brown looked this way and that, as if about to divulge a great secret. “They wear none at all.”
Abigail and Mrs. Waverly both gasped.
“What’s going on?” Elizabeth asked as she set a wrapped parcel on the counter.
“I was just telling the ladies about the lack of corsets in Rome these days.”
Elizabeth had to lean against the counter for support. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, Mrs. Cornell!” Mrs. Waverly gushed. “Mr. Brown has convinced me I must have a new dress. I wasn’t going to order one for the picnic, but since everyone else is …”
“Mrs. Waverly, you don’t have to,” Elizabeth motioned the older woman to the counter and spoke quietly. “We talked about this weeks ago – I don’t want you to overextend yourself.”
Mrs. Waverly leaned toward her. “And I so appreciate that, dear. But if I make payments, I can afford it.”
“Payments?” Elizabeth had never made a dress on credit.
“Yes, Mr. Brown said it would be no problem!”
Elizabeth’s expression went flat. “Oh, did he?” She glared at Mr. Brown, who smiled and winked. For the umpteenth time that day, her hands curled into fists. If he were any closer, she’d have had to physically restrain herself, and she was usually above such things. “A word, Mr. Brown?” She motioned sharply toward the back room.
“Certainly,” he said with a smile. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me?” Abigail and Mrs. Waverly smiled as he retreated to the workroom with Elizabeth.
She continued into the storeroom, well out of earshot. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed. “This is my shop, and I don’t offer my services on credit.”
“Why not? You’re losing business.”
“Because things happen, that’s why,” she said tersely. “These are wives of farmers and ranchers, not bankers and lawyers.”
“And your point is?”
She pressed her lips together in an attempt to stay calm. “My point, Mr. Brown, is that crops can go bad, cattle can die, rustlers can raid, locusts … and when that happens, they don’t have the money.”
His eyebrows rose in amusement. “Locusts? Really?”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Really. This isn’t Boston, Mr. Bushy Beard.”
“Mr. … Bushy Beard?!”
Egads, she’d said that out loud. “Ahem. Forgive me – you’ve made me upset. And if you keep trying to run t
hings, you’re going to upset my customers. Land sakes, you haven’t been here a day and you’re already offering credit?”
“I’m attempting to bring in more business,” he declared.
“But it’s not business if they cannot afford me.”
“Which is why they should be allowed to make payments. Then they could all afford you and be much better dressed.”
Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mr. Brown … as I’ve been saying, this isn’t Boston. Things are more chaotic out West.”
“As I’m aware – I have spent the last several years in California.” Mr. Brown took a deep breath. “Tell me, Mrs. Cornell, what does Mrs. Waverly’s husband do?”
“He’s a farmer. An elderly farmer.”
“This is May. According to this year’s Farmer’s Almanac, harvests for crops in this part of the country …”
“I don’t remotely care what the Farmer’s Almanac says.”
“… please, I assure you I am going somewhere with this.”
“Then please get there, posthaste.”
“I hasten, ma’am. You eat eggs, I take it? Drink milk? Use butter?”
“Of course I do. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, I’m sure Mrs. Waverly would have no problem supplying those items in lieu of cash, should cash be unavailable.”
Elizabeth stood there, staring at him. Was he really suggesting …?
“Back in Boston, I once made a suit of clothes for a poor but skilled young woodcarver, in exchange for a new sign for my shop. He did a very fine job, too.”
… yes, he was. “That would be a bookkeeping nightmare.”
“Ah!” Mr. Brown held up a finger. “But now you have an assistant, on which you can foist such headaches.”
Well … yes, that was true enough. But …
“I have a few other ideas I’d like to suggest. Have you thought of making some dresses for the Smiths to sell in the mercantile? Currently they have to order clothes from elsewhere that take weeks if not months to get here.”
Of course, she’d thought of it, but she’d never had the time to make extra clothes. Only … well, if her assistant was volunteering to take on the workload …
