by Kit Morgan
“I …” Bart frowned and decided to skip whatever he was going to say next. “I’ll just return to the mending, then,” he finally said stiffly and walked back to the workroom.
Elizabeth sighed again and went to sit behind the front counter. Nitpicking about her business methods was bad enough, but prying into her social life – or lack of same – was just too much. What was his problem? He’d been in the war – maybe he’d suffered some sort of head injury, or just gone ‘round the bend. He wouldn’t be the first victim of battle to do so.
The problem was, if they didn’t start finding common ground, he was going to start driving her ‘round the bend!
8
The next day was mercifully uneventful. Several more women came in for fittings, and two went home with finished frocks. At the end of the day she counted the money paid her, put it away, then realized she hadn’t talked wages with Bart. A serious oversight. “Mr. Brown?”
He stepped into the workroom from the front. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m terribly sorry, but in the busyness of the last few days, we haven’t discussed your pay.”
“Oh yes, quite right.” He acted as if it hadn’t occurred to him either. Apparently their arguments had been engrossing for both of them.
“I can give you the same pay as my last assistant.”
“Your last assistant is married to a rich man and didn’t need the wages,” he replied.
“But she started work here before she was married.”
“True. Well, I happen to know what she made – that will suffice for now.”
That got a raised eyebrow. “For now?”
“I’m working in the evenings for Eldon. There’s still a few hours of light after we close here. But after his house and barn are finished, he won’t need me.”
“Then what will you do?”
“What any sensible man would do.” He smiled slightly. “Ask for a raise.”
Elizabeth shook her head and suppressed a snort. The man was amusing, even if he was going to be the death of her.
“We’d best be going,” he said. “Jack and Willow did say six’o’clock.”
She looked at him. “It’s only five, Mr. Brown.”
“Don’t you want to dress for dinner?”
Now she did laugh. “Dress for dinner? This is Cutter’s Creek, Mr. Brown, not Boston.”
He simply stood there, stunned, for a few moments before replying. “I just assumed … well, that a woman such as yourself would still retain her Eastern sensibilities. Never mind – don’t change on my account. I’m new here, after all.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together before she smiled. “Thank you for thinking of it, Mr. Brown. I was never really an Easterner – not unless you count Fort Wayne, Indiana as ‘the East.’ Around here, though, no one stands on ceremony. What I’m wearing – and what you’re wearing – should do fine.”
He returned the smile. “As you wish, Mrs. Cornell. I’ll see you tonight.” He turned and left.
Elizabeth sighed in relief as the shop door closed. She went to the front, locked it, then climbed the stairs to her apartment, muttering all the way about her maddening assistant. It had only been a few days. How was she going to last the next few weeks, possibly months, until Eldon’s house and barn were done?
Surely the man wasn’t thinking of staying on after that. With what she paid him he could feed himself and get a room at the boardinghouse, but he’d have to find another job if he wanted to rent a house like Lucius and Emma’s. Mr. Brown didn’t seem the type of man to settle for the boardinghouse.
“A tailor in Boston,” she mused. “Why on Earth would he come all the way out here? If it were me, I think I’d have gone back home.”
Elizabeth pulled out a beautiful cream-colored lace shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. “So why didn’t you move back to Boston? I can understand the war, and the gold-mining with your family … but why Montana after that?” She shook her head, still trying to puzzle the man out.
She caught a glimpse of herself in a full-length mirror and stopped, staring at her reflection. “You’re not hard on the eyes, Lizzy.” She reached up and ran a hand over one cheek. The skin was still soft. “Why are you alone? Just too strong-willed, too independent? Or have you just never found anyone else like …” She tried to brush the thought away.
But it wouldn’t go, not yet. Young Elizabeth Cheadle had been strong-willed – “a hellion,” her mother used to say. But Alexander Cornell had never thought to tame her, to break her to his will. He’d liked her, loved her, the way she was. It was only after his death that she realized how rare that trait was in a man. She’d certainly never met one since that didn’t think she needed fixing. (Case in point: Bartholomew Brown and all his unsolicited advice.)
And if she couldn’t be herself with someone else, then she’d just as soon be alone.
She still had time on her hands, so she resumed a letter she’d been writing to her mother. She mentioned she’d hired a new assistant, but without any details. Who knew what her mother would think if she found out a man was working in her dress shop? She finished the note, signed it, folded it and put it in an envelope for mailing tomorrow.
It was time to go. Elizabeth went to the mirror and gazed at her reflection again … frowned, quickly unpinned her hair, ran a brush through it and put it up again. She checked her appearance one last time and, satisfied she looked her best, reached for her reticule. “Now, Mr. Brown, you had better not make any offhand remarks about my attire.”
Fifteen minutes later, in the Carlsons’ parlor …
“Mrs. Cornell, I must say you look absolutely stunning.”
Well, that remark she would tolerate. “Thank you, Mr. Brown.”
“Did you make it yourself?”
An odd question – she’d been wearing the dress the whole day. But this was a less formal setting … “Yes, several years ago. It was one of the first dresses I made after I arrived here.”
Jack and Willow Carlson sat on the sofa, watching them. “Would you like another glass of water, Captain Brown?” Willow asked.
“No, thank you. And please, do call me Bart.” He turned back to Elizabeth. “Jack tells me you opened the shop by yourself and have been running it ever since.”
“That’s right. My husband passed on as we were traveling west.” She saw him wince.
“And he was a tailor like Cap – er, Bart?” Jack asked.
“Yes, he was. We were planning to open the shop together, but …” She looked at her hands. Why it was still so painful to talk about Alexander, she didn’t know. Perhaps because no one had been able to fill that space in her life since.
“Elizabeth, would you mind helping me get a few things ready?” Willow asked.
“Of course not.” She stood and followed Willow into the kitchen. “Smells wonderful. What are we having?”
“Never mind that. What do you think of Captain Brown?”
“What do I think?” It would be easy enough to tell Willow what she thought – but it wouldn’t be polite.
“Yes, isn’t he handsome?”
“Well, he’s not unattractive. Now that the underbrush has been cleared from his face.”
Willow laughed. “He’ll have no trouble finding a wife, looking like that.”
“True, if there were any wives to be found here.” That were willing to put up with him, she mentally added.
“Yes, there is that. There’s only one woman in town I can think of that would be suitable for him.”
Elizabeth thought a moment. “Yes, but she’s not of age. Merritt Petroff is only seventeen. Even at eighteen she might be too young. The man is at least thirty if not a little older.”
“Yes, you’re right. About your age.”
“Yes …” Elizabeth stopped, looked at her and violently shook her head. “No!”
“Oh, Elizabeth! All right, I don’t mean to pry into your private affairs …”
“Then don’t.” Egads,
it was bad enough having Bart poke his nose into her life – if the townspeople started doing it, she’d have no peace.
“… but you have to admit that if you were in the market for a husband, he’d be perfect for you.”
“No, I do not have to admit that,” she said sternly. “Because he’s not. We wouldn’t suit at all.”
Willow shrugged helplessly. “Elizabeth, I apologize. But I want you to be happy.”
“I’m not happy?”
“Honestly … not really.”
Elizabeth gulped. Well, that was a shot to the heart.
“And your late husband was a tailor, and you two were coming here with the dream of owning a shop together. It’s rather like history repeating itself.”
“I hope not. My husband died, remember?”
Willow nodded. “I didn’t mean that part. Forgive me?”
Elizabeth smiled. “You’re forgiven. Do you often play matchmaker?”
“No, but this just seemed so obvious. Did you ever stop to the think the Lord might be giving you a second chance?”
Elizabeth grew solemn. “But I didn’t ask for one.” And she wasn’t sure this was one, anyway. Alexander had never aggravated her the way Bart did. She didn’t want to be Mrs. Brown – and felt sorry for anyone who did.
She was lovely – but so headstrong!
Bart studied his employer across the dining room table. She did look stunning, her hair simple but elegant. He could tell she’d taken a little extra time with it – it was different from how she wore during the day.
She really was remarkable. He couldn’t imagine how hard it was for her to keep going after her husband died. How long had it been? How long had she been in Cutter’s Creek? He knew it had come up in conversation at Eldon’s dinner table, but he’d been having so much fun teasing her he missed the details. But now she had his rapt attention.
“More chicken and dumplings, Bart?” Willow asked.
“Please,” he said, never taking his eyes off Elizabeth. He wondered if he’d be allowed to call her by her first name. It was hard not to do that now, but it wouldn’t be proper as her employee. Calling her Mrs. Cornell was a sign of respect, after all. Now if they were courting, things would be different …
Courting. There was a thought to chill the blood. He shivered accordingly.
“You’re very quiet, old friend,” Jack said.
“I take it you’re talking to me,” Bart replied, amused. “It’s your wife’s cooking that’s managed to shut me up.”
“Did you hear that, sweetheart? Your cooking’s improved. People are talking a lot less during meals.”
“Jack Carlson, don’t tease me like that in front of company,” Willow admonished.
Jack leaned toward Bart. “Truth be told, she likes it when I tease her. She’d think something was wrong with me if I didn’t.”
“All women should be teased,” Bart said, then took a bite of dumpling.
“Why is that, Mr. Brown?” Elizabeth asked tersely.
He chuckled. “It helps a man see their true character.”
Her head cocked slightly to one side. She looked adorable. “I suppose if I started teasing you, I’d see more of your character?”
“Absolutely,” he answered without hesitation.
“How so?” she asked.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Different types of men take to teasing in different ways. Isn’t that right, Jack?”
“Indeed,” Jack said as he poked at his plate. His fork connected with some chicken and he smiled.
“Take a secure man, one who has confidence in themselves,” Bart said. “He’ll take your teasing in stride. Until it gets personal – then, watch out.”
“Isn’t all teasing personal?” Elizabeth asked. “One has no reason to tease someone unless to make it personal.”
“You’re treating it like a weapon, Mrs. Cornell. It doesn’t have to be used as one – it can simply be to establish camaraderie, or to feel out how a relationship may go. Now an insecure man can’t cope with it – his sense of himself is too fragile. That’s a different story. I wouldn’t advise it.”
“You mean a short-tempered man?” she said.
“An insecure man is often also a short-tempered one,” Bart told her, noting a hint of challenge in her eyes.
“Personally, I think teasing is rather childish,” she said.
“For some of us, Mrs. Cornell, it helps us keep our sense of humor.” Bart and Jack turned to each other. Bart saw Elizabeth’s eyes dart to Willow, and she seemed to grasp what he was talking about.
Her next words confirmed it. “I suppose some situations call for it.”
“So you understand?”
“I think so. Which begs a question – you’ve done more than your share of teasing me at the shop over the last few days. Was that to reveal my character, or to establish camaraderie? Were you trying to feel out how our relationship might go?”
Willow almost choked on a bite of dumpling, then giggled, put a napkin over her mouth and feigned a cough.
“All of the above, actually. But at its root, Mrs. Cornell, teasing is supposed to be fun. If it isn’t, then something’s wrong.”
Her quizzical look told him her mind was at work, trying to understand what he was saying. Perhaps he’d gone too far, but he wanted her to realize what he could see, how she appeared to him. Why did she resist him so? He wasn’t trying to pursue her. And how did he always seem to get on her bad side – or was there no other side to get on?
Elizabeth set down her fork, sat up straight and looked him in the eye. “I think I’d rather not have teasing in my shop, Mr. Brown.”
Bart felt a prick of sadness for her, for himself. “Understood, Mrs. Cornell.”
9
The rest of the evening was pleasant enough, Elizabeth thought. Bart Brown kept his mouth shut for the most part, and when he did open it he spoke to Jack or Willow. He’d occasionally make eye contact when he was talking to them, if only to acknowledge she was in the room.
She’d apparently made him mad. Good. Let him have a taste of it for once. Seriously, whoever heard of teasing someone to get to know their character? But … she could think of a few people she’d teased over the years and how they’d reacted. Some better than others. One particular girl she went to school with – Sarah? Sally? Elizabeth had teased her about something silly and the girl had almost ripped Elizabeth’s braids from her head.
And then there was Olivia Bridger – that was someone who couldn’t take being teased. Unless it was a man she was trying to get her claws into. Aggie had told her stories of Olivia’s plays for Eldon, to no avail. She shuddered at the thought of the bratty girl and took another sip of her coffee.
“Are you cold?”
Elizabeth looked up. Bart was standing next to her chair, looking concerned. It was the first time he’d spoken directly to her since supper ended. “No, but thank you for asking.” She might as well be civil to the man.
“May I escort you home, Mrs. Cornell?”
Elizabeth gazed at him. He was handsome, she had to admit. “I’m sure I can make it home on my own, Mr. Brown. I’ve walked home from here many times before. But I appreciate the offer.”
“Not in the dark, I presume?”
“A few times.” This was Cutter’s Creek, not the back alleys of Boston. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Elizabeth, before you go, would you mind helping me take the dishes into the kitchen?” Willow asked as she flitted around the room, picking up cups and saucers.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Brown.” She stood, helped Willow gather up the rest of the dessert dishes, and the two disappeared into the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” Willow hissed as soon as they were out of earshot.
“Helping you,” Elizabeth said. Though she knew where this was heading. What was wrong with this woman, and why would she not stop playing matchmaker?
“Let the man escort you home.”
“Willow,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head, “do you know how many times I’ve walked home from church by myself? Hundreds.”
“That’s not the point. The point is the man wants to escort you home. He’s trying to be a gentleman. He is a gentleman. How can you not have any interest in him? Don’t you want to get married again someday?”
“Someday. Just not right now. And frankly, not to him. He gets on my nerves enough at work.”
Willow put her hands on her hips. “Have it your way. But if you keep pushing him away, pretty soon he’s going to think you mean it.”
“I do mean it. I’m not interested in courting him. I’m not even sure he’ll work out as my assistant.”
“Really?” Willow groaned. “Oh dear. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
“If you mean matchmaking, yes.” She took Willow’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “I’m not angry about it, I’m just not interested.”
Willow nodded in understanding. “Jack and I are so happy that I guess I want to see everyone else that way too.”
“I’m glad the two of you have a good marriage. I had one too.”
“You can have one again, if you want.”
Elizabeth gave her a hug. “I’ll remember that when I’m ready. And when the man is someone I don’t want to strangle.”
Willow smiled and motioned toward the door. “We’d better go back to the parlor before they wonder what we’re doing in here.”
“Good heavens, we can’t have that.”
When they returned to the parlor Mr. Brown had her reticule and shawl draped over a chair. “Are you ready to go?”
Elizabeth glared at her things, then at him. “Must you?”
“As a matter of conscience, yes, I must.”
With a sigh of resignation she said, “Oh, very well.”
He handed her the shawl, watched her put it on, gave her her reticule, then offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She saw Willow bite her lower lip and smile at her, and inwardly she groaned. But she still wrapped her arm through his.
He turned to Willow and Jack. “What a wonderful night. Thank you, my friends.” He looked at Elizabeth. “And thank you for coming. I had a very pleasant evening.”
